Tag Archives: growing up

A Hole in His Head

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L turned 5 just two short months ago. Yesterday, he lost his first tooth. Is he a) dentally precocious? b) mature? c) advanced? or d) did he try to open a container of Play-Doh by himself?

The answer is obviously d. Unable to get the top off, he decided his teeth would provide the needed leverage. He was in for a surprise.

At first he tried to hide it. He jumped up from the table where he was playing with Play-Doh and announced, “I have to go to the bathroom!” and into the bathroom he ran. Great! He’s finally listening to his body.

“Uh, Mommy? My tooth is bleeding.”

“OK. I’ll look at it when you’re done in there.”

“No, Mommy. It’s really bleeding!”

I can hear panic creeping into his voice. I go and check it out. I react badly. This causes full-fledged panic in L. He’s now completely freaked out, bleeding, and apologizing to me. He thinks he’s done something terribly wrong, and I’m not entirely sure that he hasn’t. I try to calm him down, mostly by giving him a wad of wet paper towel to keep him quiet chew on to stop the bleeding.

The issue is that his tooth wasn’t really loose. It was sort-of-beginning-to-seem-like-it-might-one-day-soon-possibly-be-loose. This tooth was not meant to come out yesterday.

Turns out, it’s OK to rip a tooth out of your head a bit prematurely. I finally calm L down with Tooth Fairy promises. We take excited pictures of him exaggeratedly grinning despite his tear streaked face. We talk to grandma and daddy to share the “good news.” Grandma says, “I wonder if you’re even on the Tooth Fairy’s list? You’re only 5. Maybe you need to write her a letter.”

L immediately gets to work dictating the following letter:

Dear Tooth Fairy,

I know that it’s not time for me to lose a tooth, but I losed [sic] a tooth today. And it surprised me. I hope you get me a toy Power Ranger. I know I’m not on the list because I’m only 5. So I’m writing to you to put me on the list. I hope you put me on the list. I love you, Tooth Fairy.

Love, L

Luckily, the Tooth Fairy found his letter where he left it on the front porch for her. She delivered him a matchbox car which changes color when plunged into water. Apparently, it’s OK that she couldn’t find a Power Ranger toy in the supermarket last night. He came running into my room this morning at 3 (3!!!) to show me his new treasure.

The new gap in his smile is a reminder that my little boy isn’t going to be little much longer. Soon he’ll probably knock out his other teeth too.

 

An Existential Freakout

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I was up late last night, having a bit of a freakout over, well, everything. I wrote this to help me clear my thoughts. This is a raw insight into my middle-of-the-night parental anguish. 

I spend so much of my time wishing my life away – wishing it was bedtime all day; wishing it was Friday all week; wishing it was Monday all weekend. (How freaking awesome is school?)

One day I’ll wish I was 36 again with two little kids. How can I find away to relish this part of my life?

I genuinely do love so much about them while they’re so little:

I love the way they learn something new all the time. I love the way they lavish me with affection. I love their un-self-consciousnesses. I love witnessing them develop their sibling relationship, independent of their parents. (Maybe I just love that they’re finally big enough that I can send them outside together unsupervised?)

But they’re just so HARD. I forget to stop being annoyed and just enjoy it. I can’t be alone in this, right? (This is where you tell me that I’m not an asshole.)

My first reaction is stop, no, don’t.

My kids spend more of their waking hours as the object of my aggravation than they do the object of my undivided attention.

I want to love them better. But I find them terribly annoying so much of the time.

Are my daily kisses, cuddles, and I love you’s enough to balance the daily grind?

Am I fucking this all up? Surely this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

My Public Service Announcements

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In case you don’t have an internet IV running through your veins 24/7 like some people I know, ahem, you may not have heard of Blinkbooks. These are short, visual brain candies covering a variety of topics from fashion to children’s stories to humor. I’ve been lucky enough to write several of these and I thought I’d share a couple I’m particularly fond of.

First up is a warning for parents of girls:

Naturally, I needed to warn parents of boys as well:

Next I was inspired by Honest Mom‘s admission that she sees cute babies and her ovaries start stabbing her better sense and judgement. I know this feeling and think it’s important to remind people everywhere what it’s really like to have a baby:

So these are what public service announcements look like when they come from Motherhood, WTF? You’re welcome.

Imaginative or Just Nuts?

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I’ve decided that imagination is nothing more than a euphemism for freaking crazy. As parents we want our kids to be as crazy as possible, and then suddenly, when they become adults, we want them to stop being crazy. Crazy to the core, right now my kids are obsessed with magic balls.

These balls are invisible, naturally, and magical. They are apparently great fun to play with, but get lost easily. As they are siblings and therefore able to fight about anything, my kids have come to blows and melted down into tears over these balls. How do you referee a fight where one kid takes and hides the other’s magic ball without destroying the crazy imagination we’re trying to foster? What about helping a child recover a lost magic ball?

The other night L had a complete breakdown. I’m talking a good half hour of sobbing despondence over a lost magic ball. Apparently S snatched it out of his hand and threw it aside. We all know that objects she throws go in any direction except the expected direction, so there was no telling where the magic ball may have landed and rolled to. I tried to tempt him with a new magic ball that I happened to have in my pocket. (I’m always prepared.) This would not do. He wanted his magic ball.

It was not until the next time we encountered the problem of lost magic balls that I came up with an infallible solution. Magic balls, in case you didn’t know, always return to their owner if said owner sings a song. The tune doesn’t matter, but the words need to roughly be “magic ball, magic ball, come back to me, come back to me…” 

I now have videos of both kids walking around the lawn singing individual variations of this song and happily reuniting with their errant magic balls. I told you they were crazy.

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I Suck More Than You Do

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I imagine that the relationships between other mothers and their young (toddler-preschooler) children remain pretty consistently good. Sure there are challenges along the way, but the actual relationship is warm, loving, supportive, not-strained. For some reason, my relationship with L has never been like this. We go through periods where we get along OK, but inevitably every few months we end up back to butting heads over everything.

This is all a surprise to me. I fully expected to need to work on my relationship with my husband, that my relationships with friends would go through ebbs and flows, that my relationships with my siblings and parents would change over time, that my relationships with my kids as they progressed through the teen years into adulthood would have challenges and need extra work. But I never imagined that my biggest struggle would be my relationship with a 4-year-old. What does this say about me?

This is the stuff that’s supposed to just come naturally, right? I’m the mom, therefore my feelings towards my son should involve things like overwhelming love, an overwhelming desire to support him, help him learn and grow, overwhelming wonderment, blah, blah, blah. He’s the child so his feelings towards me should involve things like love, thinking I’m kind of a superhero, thinking I’m the best thing since sliced bread, (despite his overwhelming desire to push boundaries,) etc. I don’t expect a nearly 5-year-old and his mom to never have disagreements, but I would expect the relationship to be straightforward. Ours is not. None of this comes naturally to me. This is all a reflection of my ineptitude. I feel like he is not a child I can parent properly. I am always irritated with him just being him. That can’t be how a mom is supposed to feel.

My “dislike” of all things L isn’t a one way street. He clearly dislikes all things mom too. He always has. He has always worshiped T and somewhat tolerated me. His first sentence was “No Mommy, Daddy!” He used to cry when it was me who came into his room to fetch him from his crib in the morning. And it was me every damn day. He’d throw his toys at me and tell me to go away that he wanted Daddy. Seriously. This started around 10 months of age. Not cool. This preference was supposed to be a phase, but it hasn’t changed one bit.

None of this is right. None of it is how it’s supposed to be. Since he’s the kid, clearly I’m the one doing something wrong. This isn’t a parenting issue that can be solved with trying a new discipline or parenting technique from a book, this is a basic thing that should be natural that I’ve got all wrong. And it’s highlighted daily by the fact that he has a sister who adores me (as she rightly should!) and who I properly adore right back. Even when she’s doing her 2-year-old gig, I “get” her in a way I’ve never gotten L.

I do not want my son to grow up with the constant message that he’s annoying me. But he is annoying me. This whole post makes me sounds like a monster. And I feel like a monster for thinking and feeling this stuff. I feel like it can’t be right. I must be missing some part of me that would make me a good mom for him. I’m hoping there are others out there feeling this! I hope there are others who went through this and now have a wonderful 20-something son to show for it. I just don’t want to ruin this child and I feel like I am.

S-isms

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Some kids are great verbalists. Not mine. L couldn’t pronounce his own (totally uncomplicated) name until he was well over 3, and he still erroneously begins words with the letter B (“becited”), and mispronounces several words like “hostible” and “resternaut.” I love these mispronunciations and am probably doing the exact wrong thing by not correcting them.

At 2, S is a chatterbox. She almost never stops talking and almost none of what she says is remotely understandable. I get about 70% of what she says. Luckily, L understands more like 85% and often acts as translator. When neither of us is around, she’s probably constantly frustrated and misunderstood. With good reason. Here are a few gems that she said just yesterday:

Me eek keys in the boo-koo-montney?

Me want more bup in my cup!

Me all done beeking!

(singing) Cakey car ish kittniss!

Any idea what she’s talking about? I actually was able to understand all of them. There was plenty she said that I couldn’t understand but I thought it might be fun to put these out there and hear your guesses. I’ll translate tomorrow.

Ten Things I’m Thankful For

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Last year I wrote a post giving thanks and I don’t think I can really top it. I have sworn to try though, because I have to beat JD over at Momagement in her Thanksgiving Thanking Throwdown. (Did you not realize that everything is a competitive sport?) This year I’m doing a list, so may I present:

Top 10 Things I’m Grateful For This Thanksgiving (in no particular order):

  1. I’m grateful for S’s sweetness, easy laughter, and good disposition. Although she never stops talking and rarely has anything remotely interesting to say, I am grateful that she finally learned to talk. And what she says is undeniably cute, at least the first 3000 times she says it.
  2. Although L’s wilfulness can be trying, I am grateful that he has a mind of his own and the wherewithal, intelligence, and gumption to assert himself. I wouldn’t mind it if his assertions weren’t always directly against what I want, but one day this trait will serve him well in the big bad world. So I will try not to beat it out of him. (Kidding, I totally don’t beat him.)
  3. I’m grateful that my kids are still in the cuddly stage. The day they don’t delight in me pretending to eat their toes or ribs will be a sad day indeed. I’m also grateful that they are so darn edibley cute! Even though this is shallow and I’m not supposed to care about it.
  4. I’m grateful that T is the man he is. That he is full of humor and warmth. That he doesn’t think I’m a total bitch. Just a partial bitch. And he likes me anyway.
  5. I’m grateful for the health of my family, and my extended family. It’s all fun and games until someone is sick, and I am hugely thankful that we’re all healthy. Knocking on wood. Seriously grateful.
  6. I would be a sniveling, cowering mess without the support of my parents. Often, I’m a sniveling, cowering mess even with their help, so I can’t imagine how bad it would be if they weren’t a couple of hours away and so willing and able to help with the kids.
  7. I am grateful my kids sleep. I can barely deal with my life as it is and they both are great sleepers. If they weren’t? I shudder to think. S will even tell me it’s time for her to rest and she’ll go upstairs! L takes a little more work, and he’s an early riser, but at least he’s not in my bed. Thank you for sleeping, Kids! And thanks for doing it in your own rooms. I love you dearly, but you are not welcome in my bed.
  8. I’m grateful I have more than I need. So many people are without the basics that they need and I definitely take what I have for granted. I have a home that’s warm, comfortable, and roomy for us. I have enough food at my disposal for us to be selective and choosy. My kids will have schools to attend nearby where they’ll receive excellent educations in a safe environment. We don’t have to toil, carry heavy burdens for miles, expose ourselves to dangerous elements, or go hungry. Ever. Having what I have is a luxury and that’s why I can fritter my days away stressed about being a good mom. I’d have no time for that if I was worried about putting food in my children’s bellies.
  9. I’m grateful that I have this blog. It’s a lifeline for me. I can send my angst, humor, and stress out there and I get back support, laughter and camaraderie. So thank YOU!
  10. Let’s see, I’ve covered the kids, the husband, the family and parents, the serious stuff and the blog. I guess all that’s left is my iPhone. I’m thankful for that. I love that thing.

Happy Thanksgiving! May your cups runneth over and your pants be stretchy!

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WTF Tapas

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L demonstrated his lack of a firm grasp on numbers when he explained how he’ll always be older than S:

L: She’s only 2. I’m 4 now but soon I’ll be 5:30.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Grandma recently took L to visit his great-uncle in a nursing home. It was time for weekly services, and L seemed puzzled by the congregation’s prayers:

L: What are they doing?

Grandma: They’re praying.

L: [Looks totally bewildered]

Grandma: L, do you know what praying is?

L: Yes, lions prey and jaguars prey….

………………………………………………………………………………………………

How boys play:

L: Here, S, take this magic wand.

S: ‘tay.

L: And this one is mine.

S: ‘tay.

L: And now… FIGHT TO THE DEATH!

………………………………………………………………………………………………

New mantra that I will share with L when he has a 4-year-old son (assuming we both live to see the day, and that my mantra is true enough for some woman to have kids with him):

He does not have a permanent personality disorder; he’s just 4. He does not have a permanent personality disorder; he’s just 4….

………………………………………………………………………………………………
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A Post About S and Grandpa

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S has memorized the How To Be An Annoying Younger Sibling Handbook. Hell, she may have revised the thing, adding new chapters such as “Sitting on Big Brother’s Head – Appropriate Situations to Employ This Most Dangerous Tactic,” and “When Hurting Yourself is Worth it in the Spririt of Getting Big Brother in Trouble,” and “Let’s Make Sure Mom Drinks Tonight.” My sweet little girl pulls hair, claws eyeballs and puts her own fingers into L’s mouth for him to bite. In her defense, she only does this stuff when she’s bored. And she will handle a whole minute of boredom before resorting to these measures.

She’s most bored when L watches TV. This is problematic for me because I plug L into the TV when I have something to do. Like cook dinner, make a phone call, or not kill him. So while I’m super busy cooking, talking on the phone, or not killing, S is in the other room stirring things up. She’s instigating a monster, and she knows it. She will sit on his head, (keep in mind, she’s usually not wearing anything on her bottom half,) pull his hair and claw at his eyes until he retaliates. In his defense, he has a HUGE tolerance for this type of crap. I have seen him watch an entire Wild Kratts with his sister on his head. When he does retaliate though, he does so with gusto. A swift twist, push and throwing maneuver and S is thrown from the couch altogether. He may leave it at that, or he may leap down after her and then the two are a blur of legs and arms as they wrestle it out on the floor.

L weighs 45 lbs. S weighs 23. Fighting is in L’s DNA. S doesn’t stand a chance.

This morning, L is plugged into a movie while I try to pack up all of our stuff as we can finally head home after a week of living with my parents. We have our electricity back and I can’t wait to get back to our normal lives. S does not want to watch a movie. So, naturally, she grabs a handful of eyeball. Like a pitbull, once she’s latched on, nothing can get her off. L is screaming and I’m yanking on S but she’s glued onto that eyeball. I finally free L from her clutches and put S into a time out. She does not stay in time outs so I am re-putting her in the corner again and again and then something strange happened.

A man came in and scooped her up. He gave her a hug and asked her if she will promise to be good. Through pathetic fake tears, she promises. He then releases her back into her freedom. WTF? Who is this man? He looks like my dad, but can’t be.

When I was growing up, my dad was the scary one. When we were naughty we quickly asked our mother, “Please don’t tell dad??” I think he still doesn’t know about the brand new ski jacket I lost in the 5th grade. (Sorry, Dad.) So who’s this softy letting my daughter out of her time out? I could have used this guy 30 years ago.

I guess the moral here is that we all have to wait about 30 years. Then when our terrible children have terrible children of their own, we can do whatever the eff we want. We can be the nice guy if we used to be the mean guy. We can give them Sugar Puff Honey Crack O’s for breakfast and then give them back to their parents. We can babysit and keep them up way past bedtime. All this is to say, that one day, we will have our revenge. Good things come to those who wait.

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Thank You

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I want you all to know that I read every comment I get here and on my FB page and every single email. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the feedback, support, advice and points of view. There are too many awesome points for me to respond to each one, so I’m writing this as a general response:

  • Yes, I am still going to go forward with having L evaluated by someone who is not that douche-bag doctor we saw the other day. My objective is to find out what makes L tick, so I can help him tick in a way that will not piss me off is more socially acceptable.
  • You’re right, all kids behave worse at home. I should be happy and proud that L can behave so well at school. It does mean, at the very least, that he’s not a psychopath, sociopath, or any other kind of terrible-path. And it also shows that he trusts me enough to never really sell him on eBay.
  • I will try to look at L’s ransacking the baking/junkfood cabinet and the freezer at dawn today as a step towards his becoming an independent, self-reliant man. (Damn, some of you are very glass-half-full people!)
  • I had an aha moment today when I read this comment:

….I’ve found my kids doing the exact same things. They ignore rules they’ve known for years, make messes just for the sake of being messy, and misbehave for me while acting the angel for everyone else. I’ve also come to realize that every time they act this way, it’s because they know they can get away with it. I realize I’ve fallen into the parent trap of frustrated speech, not following through, and trying to plead with them to do what I told them. When I follow through with discipline and kind words, all goes back to normal…

Dean is totally right on. Things were bad with L a year ago, I got really strict and mean, things got better. Things were so good that I thought I was out of the woods. I let my guard down. I let small things slide. Small things snowballed into an avalanche of bad, and now I’m here. Time to bring back mean mommy. This will not be fun, but will probably provide blog-fodder.

So, watch out, L! Mean-Mommy is back. And Daddy’s going to bring back Hammer-T. I will try very, very, very hard not to react emotionally. I will suppress my inner combustible self. I will be nonplussed, calm, and mean.