Tag Archives: kids

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.

 

Mother’s Day

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It’s Mother’s Day. I’m writing this while in bed at 8:50 AM. I can’t remember the last time I was still in bed at this time of day. Is it my husband who is hard at work to make this happen for me? Nope, he’s sleeping soundly beside me. This lovely morning is brought to me courtesy of my mother, who is clearly the finest mother who has ever graced this Earth.

If my mother is the standard by which I’m to be measured as a mother, well, let’s just say that it’s a good thing I firmly believe that motherhood is not a competition.

What is clear to me from my mother’s example is that motherhood does not end when one’s children have grown. It simply changes. Somehow, one day I will need to let go enough to allow my children to create their own lives and families. I’ll need to sit back and watch them flourish, make mistakes, suffer heartaches, and flounder. I’ll need to allow all of this but still be nearby enough to catch them should they fall. Thanks, Mom, for your support, the the room to grow you’ve given me, and for the safety net I know is there.

Perhaps the reward for all the hard work we put in while in the trenches of child rearing is Grandmotherhood. Here’s where a mother can become a hero while witnessing the universe provide her children with their just desserts. Is there any one of us who hasn’t wistfully thought of the day when our rotten kids have rotten kids of their own? When that day comes, we can choose to swoop in and save the day like a proper superhero. Finally, our children will recognize our endless hard work on their behalf! Finally we will have children at our disposal to spoil and lavish with love, and then give back to their parents! Thank you, Mom, for being the kind of grandmother that you are. You’re so devoted to my kids and helpful to me.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there, especially mine who has given me too may precious gifts to number, including this peaceful morning. May all of your children be happy, quiet, and oddly obedient today!

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

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We all know that kids parrot what they hear. So if you swear, be prepared for embarrassing situations with your toddler. If you say mean things about relatives, your spouse, or your boss, be ready for those things to come right out of your child’s mouth at the most inopportune times.

When you have more than one child, the younger one doesn’t just have you to learn bad things from. This is a problem. Sometimes S says things in public that I’m certain people assume I say in private. But I don’t. She’s learned them from L.

For example:

One of S’s favorite things to say to me when she’s mad is, “When we get home, I’m going to hit you!”

This totally sounds like something a parent might say to a child in a moment of teeth-clenched public rage. But I never said it! I do plenty of bad things as a mom, but I don’t hit my kids. Or threaten to hit them. (I have pinched though.)

This is something she’s learned from L. He says things like this to her all the time. Because he’s a menacing jerk. But he doesn’t usually follow through. He just likes to make her scared and cry. (See previous menacing jerk comment.)

How can I make it known that I did not say this to her? I feel like I need a t-shirt that says, “Please excuse my daughter. She has a bad big brother.”

 

I Think Therefore I Write

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I’ve been in a bad mood lately. Essentially I’ve had 2 weeks of horrible PMS. It inspired this:

And this:

Then I felt bad. I am not a glass half empty kind of gal so I felt compelled to write this:

Then my life interrupted my introspection and I was reminded of what my days are really like:

and:

Hope you’ve enjoyed these as much as I enjoy writing them. You can find more of my Brites here: http://www.britely.com/allisonmotherhoodwtf

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.

WTF Tapas

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S rolled off of a chair to the floor and started crying.

me: Did you hurt yourself?

S: (sobs and nods)

me: Where did you get hurt?

S: (through tears, pointing) Over there on the floor.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

In the car:

S: I don’t feel good.

me: What feels bad?

S: My eyes feel very cold.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I think my son is a burgeoning psychopath. He’s disturbingly interested in violence. Actual conversation between my children in the car:

L: When I get home later I’m going to hit you.

S: No!

L: Would you rather I pinch you?

S: No!

L: It’s your choice. I can pinch you or hit you. Which do you want?

S: Hit me.

L: OK. With my hand or with this water bottle?

S: With your hand.

WTF? The entire time I was saying “L, stop it!” and “S, don’t answer that!” to no avail. What is wrong with him? And worse, why would she make the choice?

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Conversation I’ve had with S, more than once:

me: I love you.

S: I love you too.

me: (heart melts)

S: You are my mommy.

me: You are my daughter.

S: You are my daughter too.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

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.

WTF Tapas

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S on the potty:

L has a peanut. Do you have a peanut? I don’t have a peanut. I have a china.

…………………………………………………………………………….

L is sweet, disarming, and persuasive, and I fear that he’s going to get some girl “in trouble” one day. I don’t know what to do about this. Conversation from the other morning:

L: Mommy, I just love you so much!

me: I love you so much too.

L: I love you more. I love you so much I can’t even sleep at night. I love you so much I can’t sleep because you’re not in my bed with me.

Oh dear.

……………………………………………………………………………

S’s speech has come along way. Bad news for my S-isms, but generally good news as now she’s mostly understood. However, she has been saying some surprising things lately. Recently I was talking to another mom about babies and she said, with perfect articulation:

We don’t have a baby because our baby died.

WTF? Not only have we never had a baby die, but she also has never known any babies who have died. I have no idea where this came from. A few days earlier she said:

When me get bigger, me be a mommy. Then me die.

(No, honey, you’ll only wish you would…)*

*kidding, please don’t lecture me.

…………………………………………………………………………….

S never ever ever stops talking. If she’s awake, she’s chatting away. She has nothing to say most of the time so she simply narrates. Nothing is too mundane to escape her squeaky narration. 90% of my waking life is spent having a conversation like this one:

S: Imma gonna pick my nose now to see what stuff is in there. Now my finger is in my nose. I can’t get the stuff out. Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?

me: Yes?

S: Imma picking my nose to see what stuff is in there. That OK, Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? That OK that Imma picking my nose to see what stuff is in there? With my finger? That OK, Mommy?

me: It’s not great, S. It’s kind of gross.

S: I have my finger in my nose but I can’t get the stuff out. Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? The stuff is in my nose. It stuck. Mommy?

……………………………………………………………….

 

 

 

Winning Parenting Moments

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We all have those moments. (Don’t we??) You know, the times when you’re glad you’re not overheard or observed because you absolutely suck as a parent. Being the mom who makes you feel better about your parenting, I can assure you that I have lots of these moments. Here are a couple from just the last week:

me: L, you choose how to behave. Think about what you’re about to do. Think about your choices. (<—- Good parenting)

L: No! YOU think about YOUR choices! (<—- Bad child)

me: Trust me, I am. Right now I’m thinking about my choice to have kids! (<— Bad parenting)

Yup, that’s right. In a moment of anger I told my 5-year-old that I’m rethinking things, and in retrospect, I think that maybe I won’t go off the pill after all. Instead, I choose to be thin, well-rested and rich. I wiggled my nose but nothing happened.

I’m not the only crappy parent in my house. Here’s one for the menfolk:

L: (bouncing a ball in the house after being told not to) See? I didn’t break anything, so HA! (<—- Obnoxious child)

T: If you bounce that ball in here again you will have to sleep outside for the rest of your life. (<—- Bad parenting)

There’s something about one’s own children that can bring a person to his/her worst self in a matter of seconds. I can be a totally happy, reasonable grown-up one minute and with the smallest of efforts, one of my kids can transform me into my 3-year-old self. I’ve stomped feet. I’ve cried. I’ve yelled. I’ve threatened ridiculous things that no one believes.

How do they do it? Why are they so freaking good at it?

As an adult I have a multitude of jobs and responsibilities, some I’m pretty good at, some passable, and some not so good. As kids, my children only have one job: to find our buttons and push them. It’s all they work on day and night and they are brilliant at it. Truly, they have extraordinary innate talent and unflappable dedication to practicing their craft and sharpening their knives skills. I can try to keep a poker face, even succeed once in a while, but eventually they will get to me. They win every.single.time. Each win strengthens their resolve and their little hearts get just a little blacker.

So, if you don’t think your sweet little children have evil in their hearts, if you haven’t threatened to turn them out of your home forever, and if you haven’t tried to use witchcraft to make it all disappear, then you are doing better than at least one other mother. Congratulations.

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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