It seems like everywhere I go, there is some reminder, some person, tv show, article or else reminding me that our country is in a terrible place right now. Stocks are terrible, people are losing their retirements and their homes and everyone is worried - on both sides - about the coming election and whose vision of "change" will win out. And of course if it will pay out.
It's easy to get caught up in all of it and to worry about the state of our savings and our pending lack of home equity and how to afford all the gifts we want to purchase for Christmas. I did. I was caught up in it. I just blogged about my lust for a $300 dinosaur. Sheesh.
And then I got a gentile reminder of how very fortunate we are from Jen at one plus two. I "found" Jen's blog through Redneck Mommy a few months ago and was fascinated with the journey she is about to embark on. I'd detail it here, but she does a much better job of it on her own site, so hop over if you care to learn more. The quick and dirty is that she is planning on moving with her family to the Belizean jungle to live a life free of commercialism and modern luxuries. But currently, her little village and all the folks who are already becoming her new extended family is under water. Really makes me see how that $300 could be more than a little better spent. So I donated. Not much by our standards, but what I could, and I've been assured that in that part of the world the money will go much farther than it would here.
I'm not asking everyone I know to run to her site and donate your little hearts out (although it would be nice if you are so inclined), nor do I want or need a reminder that there are plenty facing hardships in our own backyards (yes, I'm also working my tookas off for Fin's school's Christmas-family-adoptapalooza). But I just thought it would be nice for everyone to remember someone else in this holiday season fast approaching. Donate in someone's name instead of giving a gift. Pick a name, or two or three, off that tree at church - and if you don't have a church, find someone who does and ask them to grab you one. Drop a toy off in one of the boxes that are already popping up all over town. Just do something nice for someone you don't know.
And, although it kills me to say this, please return the Kota dinosaurs you bought for Fin and Dash and send the money to someone who really needs it...
Monday, October 27, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
All I Want for Christmas...
Its the kind of present that makes you squeal with delight when you come down the stairs on Christmas morning.
It's the kind of present that makes you believe that Santa DOES exist.
It's a baby dinosaur you can RIDE ON! (Ok, maybe not you, the weight limit is under 100lbs, but at least your kids can live the dream) Check it out...
So I first saw this marvel on the web last week and immediately informed the hubs that we NEEDED to have it. He looked at the pricetag and offered that for that price, it better also be able to clean, cook, do laundry and babysit. I hated to, but I agreed. Then I saw it - in the box - in Target. Again, I called the hubs and asked him to talk me off of the cliff of immediate purchase. He asked if it could learn to do all of the aforementioned chores. And again, I agreed and left the store.
Then today we went to Toys R Us and they had one TO PLAY WITH! Fin nearly wet himself with delight and the little one started trying to fling himself out of the cart and onto it's back. The happy twosome spent the next twenty minutes feeding Kota his prehistoric leaves and petting his chin - alternating between giving him 100% of their attention and looking at me with their "Is he REAL?" expressions. And they weren't the only one's impressed - and I'm not just talking about the kids being dragged quickly by as their parents did their best to stifle their desire for a dino of their own - no, I mean the hubs. He finally looked at me, seeing the wonder in our boys, and finally admitted that he got it. That thing is wicked cool. If it came bigger, I'd buy it for myself!
Finally we retired to the back of the store where Fin and I chased eachother around on Razor scooters (which was my turn to say that, many years late, I totally get the whole Razor thing, they're fun!) before heading home.
So Santa if you're reading this, Fin and Dash want Kota and Mommy would like a Razor scooter. Because they shouldn't have all the fun, right?
It's the kind of present that makes you believe that Santa DOES exist.
It's a baby dinosaur you can RIDE ON! (Ok, maybe not you, the weight limit is under 100lbs, but at least your kids can live the dream) Check it out...
So I first saw this marvel on the web last week and immediately informed the hubs that we NEEDED to have it. He looked at the pricetag and offered that for that price, it better also be able to clean, cook, do laundry and babysit. I hated to, but I agreed. Then I saw it - in the box - in Target. Again, I called the hubs and asked him to talk me off of the cliff of immediate purchase. He asked if it could learn to do all of the aforementioned chores. And again, I agreed and left the store.
Then today we went to Toys R Us and they had one TO PLAY WITH! Fin nearly wet himself with delight and the little one started trying to fling himself out of the cart and onto it's back. The happy twosome spent the next twenty minutes feeding Kota his prehistoric leaves and petting his chin - alternating between giving him 100% of their attention and looking at me with their "Is he REAL?" expressions. And they weren't the only one's impressed - and I'm not just talking about the kids being dragged quickly by as their parents did their best to stifle their desire for a dino of their own - no, I mean the hubs. He finally looked at me, seeing the wonder in our boys, and finally admitted that he got it. That thing is wicked cool. If it came bigger, I'd buy it for myself!
Finally we retired to the back of the store where Fin and I chased eachother around on Razor scooters (which was my turn to say that, many years late, I totally get the whole Razor thing, they're fun!) before heading home.
So Santa if you're reading this, Fin and Dash want Kota and Mommy would like a Razor scooter. Because they shouldn't have all the fun, right?
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Supernanny HELP!
It was bound to happen at some point, but I really thought it would take longer. Today, I got called in to talk to the teacher.
It seems that Fin decided to throw a bunch of blocks. Which wasn't so much the issue as he then REFUSED to pick them up. Even with the threat of not being allowed to participate in show and tell. And he had a GOOD show and tell. But still, there would be no picking up the blocks. So I was called in so that the teacher could explain to me why Fin wasn't allowed to do show and tell. And as I sat there, shell shocked and embarrassed (did I mention the two other mothers waiting behind me to talk to the teacher and also the mother I know who volunteered today and I'm sure saw the whole thing), I listened to his teacher telling him - in a voice that can only exist in a woman who is a preschool teacher - that we don't throw toys on the floor because then they'll break and no one will be able to play with them. And then we left.
So the whole way to the car I'm telling Fin how much trouble he's in while in my head congratulating myself that he didn't throw them AT anyone, and also wondering if "they could have broken" is really a good argument for not throwing blocks. I mean, I haven't ever seen the blocks, but I'm pretty sure they're not made of glass...
Being that I don't have Supernanny on speed dial (yet), I got in the car and called my mom.
"Did you ask the teacher what you should do?"
Uh, no, I got the hell out of there so I could beat my kid in the privacy of my own car!
"No, I was too thrown to do anything other than nod."
She gave me several suggestions when we got home I gave Fin a long lecture incorporating all of them:
1) School is a privilege, not a right
2) School is your Job right now (which seemed a little bit contradictory per #1, but I'm all about covering my bases)
3) If you're bad, you won't be able to go back to school, won't you be sad/miss your friends/miss learning etc.
4) Your father is going to be disappointed in you when he gets home
5) No play date this afternoon (there wasn't one anyway, but man did I ham up how fantastic that imaginary play date would have been!)
Then I told him he had to stay in his room to think about his behavior.
When I came to check on him ten minutes later, he was asleep. Not that it matters much though since I swear that kid could stay in his room for days and not care. He has no toys in his room, but is totally content to play and have a conversation with HIS BEDDING.
Post - nap things went pretty smoothly, but I'm still at a total loss on how to discipline this child. The only thing that I know really really works is taking him out of the situation. When we leave a play date early, man he knows he was bad. I even thought about creating an afternoon play date just so I could take him to it, let him see it, and then leave. That seemed a little too mean.
As my mom pointed out - it something with every kid. They're not learning like they should, they have socialization issues, they're a bully or being bullied...they throw blocks and then refuse to pick them up. I'd be a total liar if I said I didn't know that the latter would be our challenge with Fin. I'd also be a liar if said I'd take a different issue over the one we have.
But how do I get him to behave better - at least while he's at school?
On the bright side, at least I don't have to think of something new for show and tell next week.
It seems that Fin decided to throw a bunch of blocks. Which wasn't so much the issue as he then REFUSED to pick them up. Even with the threat of not being allowed to participate in show and tell. And he had a GOOD show and tell. But still, there would be no picking up the blocks. So I was called in so that the teacher could explain to me why Fin wasn't allowed to do show and tell. And as I sat there, shell shocked and embarrassed (did I mention the two other mothers waiting behind me to talk to the teacher and also the mother I know who volunteered today and I'm sure saw the whole thing), I listened to his teacher telling him - in a voice that can only exist in a woman who is a preschool teacher - that we don't throw toys on the floor because then they'll break and no one will be able to play with them. And then we left.
So the whole way to the car I'm telling Fin how much trouble he's in while in my head congratulating myself that he didn't throw them AT anyone, and also wondering if "they could have broken" is really a good argument for not throwing blocks. I mean, I haven't ever seen the blocks, but I'm pretty sure they're not made of glass...
Being that I don't have Supernanny on speed dial (yet), I got in the car and called my mom.
"Did you ask the teacher what you should do?"
Uh, no, I got the hell out of there so I could beat my kid in the privacy of my own car!
"No, I was too thrown to do anything other than nod."
She gave me several suggestions when we got home I gave Fin a long lecture incorporating all of them:
1) School is a privilege, not a right
2) School is your Job right now (which seemed a little bit contradictory per #1, but I'm all about covering my bases)
3) If you're bad, you won't be able to go back to school, won't you be sad/miss your friends/miss learning etc.
4) Your father is going to be disappointed in you when he gets home
5) No play date this afternoon (there wasn't one anyway, but man did I ham up how fantastic that imaginary play date would have been!)
Then I told him he had to stay in his room to think about his behavior.
When I came to check on him ten minutes later, he was asleep. Not that it matters much though since I swear that kid could stay in his room for days and not care. He has no toys in his room, but is totally content to play and have a conversation with HIS BEDDING.
Post - nap things went pretty smoothly, but I'm still at a total loss on how to discipline this child. The only thing that I know really really works is taking him out of the situation. When we leave a play date early, man he knows he was bad. I even thought about creating an afternoon play date just so I could take him to it, let him see it, and then leave. That seemed a little too mean.
As my mom pointed out - it something with every kid. They're not learning like they should, they have socialization issues, they're a bully or being bullied...they throw blocks and then refuse to pick them up. I'd be a total liar if I said I didn't know that the latter would be our challenge with Fin. I'd also be a liar if said I'd take a different issue over the one we have.
But how do I get him to behave better - at least while he's at school?
On the bright side, at least I don't have to think of something new for show and tell next week.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Pukeocalypse (Revisited)
So earlier this week, Her Bad Mother issued something of a challenge. After narrating the story of baby poo gone awry, Hold The Mustard, she asked readers to relay their own tales of children's embarassing and public bodily functions. Sure she wanted comments, but I had a story that was too good not to record for future embarassment posterity...
Fin has a senstive stomach, always has poor kid. And that's awful for me - I HATE puke. Give me the stinkiest, leakiest diapers on the planet and I'll take them any day over puke. Chalk it up to the fact that one's a normally occuring bodily function and one is sooo not. But Anyway, Fin's what I call a puker - one of those kids who can get sick at the drop of a hat. As such I have far more than a mama's share of stories where he's decorated various strollers, locals, and people with his talent. But there's one occassion that just stands out.
When Fin was little (and of course, there was no Dash of yet to speak) we used to go on long walks with the other mamas. In our zeal to work off those last of the baby lbs, we made our walks longer and longer. One of the favorite routes was to Whole Foods. It's almost 7 miles roundtrip and mostly street-side. I was always mindful to feed Fin before setting out on these journeys since not only did he have a sensitive stomach, he was (is) also very selective about what goes in it. So picture us at Whole foods, three mamas and three babies in strollers and since we had been walking, we were some hungry mamas. I was so surprised that Fin actually liked my sandwhich, that I didn't think about the fact that his tummy might have already been a tad on the full side.
I'm sure you get where this is going.
I should have also mentioned that Fin is also an amazingly quiet puker. Which explains why I didn't notice anything amiss until I heard the gasps of my friends and everyone else in viewing distance. It was like one of those gross out movies where you can totally tell there is a hose behind the puker's head. Only there was no hose. And seemingly no end in sight. I watched in horror for a few seconds, then worried, then wondered when the hell he was going to stop! When he finally seemed "done" I wheeled him (oh yeah, did I mention, he was IN THE STROLLER this whole time?!?!) into the ladies room. Triage. I grabbed him out of the stroller and stripped him, throwing the dirty clothes on the floor. Then I washed him thoroughly in the sink and changed a diaper midair (I know, mommies are the true Ninjas). Then I looked from my clean (and now very happy) baby to the stroller. It was a horror scene. I started throwing handfuls of water from the sink at the stroller. NOT HELPING. At this point, we've been in the bathroom damn near half an hour so one of the other mamas came in to check on us and had the good sense to take the happy baby away from his near hysterical mama. Now it was just me and the stroller. And the bathroom was already beginning to STINK.
Don't forget, I'm at BEST three very long miles from home. With a naked baby. And a DISGUSTING stroller.
So I started abusing their whole supply of paper towels along with some sink-soap and doing my best to at least get the dang thing wiped down...and I the whole time I can HEAR people talking outside the door about how there's this crazy lady in the bathroom trying to hose vomit off of her stroller.
Knowing that I'm beat, I wheel out the vomit-mobile which is now soaking wet and still reeking (why oh WHY does kids puke smell so much worse than adult puke?). And just when I'm ready to live the nightmare of carrying naked Fin while pushing the sopping stroller the long way home, my friend Monika comes to the rescue. Her hubs is home and can come pick us up and drive us to our home. Touched by another mamma's consideration (not to mention the fact that she was willing to let that STINK anywhere NEAR her car), I made it home. Where it took me three rounds with the hose and carpet cleaner and lysol to get the stroller to "passable".
And that is my worst story of public embarassement (at least involving bodily functions)... at least so far.
Fin has a senstive stomach, always has poor kid. And that's awful for me - I HATE puke. Give me the stinkiest, leakiest diapers on the planet and I'll take them any day over puke. Chalk it up to the fact that one's a normally occuring bodily function and one is sooo not. But Anyway, Fin's what I call a puker - one of those kids who can get sick at the drop of a hat. As such I have far more than a mama's share of stories where he's decorated various strollers, locals, and people with his talent. But there's one occassion that just stands out.
When Fin was little (and of course, there was no Dash of yet to speak) we used to go on long walks with the other mamas. In our zeal to work off those last of the baby lbs, we made our walks longer and longer. One of the favorite routes was to Whole Foods. It's almost 7 miles roundtrip and mostly street-side. I was always mindful to feed Fin before setting out on these journeys since not only did he have a sensitive stomach, he was (is) also very selective about what goes in it. So picture us at Whole foods, three mamas and three babies in strollers and since we had been walking, we were some hungry mamas. I was so surprised that Fin actually liked my sandwhich, that I didn't think about the fact that his tummy might have already been a tad on the full side.
I'm sure you get where this is going.
I should have also mentioned that Fin is also an amazingly quiet puker. Which explains why I didn't notice anything amiss until I heard the gasps of my friends and everyone else in viewing distance. It was like one of those gross out movies where you can totally tell there is a hose behind the puker's head. Only there was no hose. And seemingly no end in sight. I watched in horror for a few seconds, then worried, then wondered when the hell he was going to stop! When he finally seemed "done" I wheeled him (oh yeah, did I mention, he was IN THE STROLLER this whole time?!?!) into the ladies room. Triage. I grabbed him out of the stroller and stripped him, throwing the dirty clothes on the floor. Then I washed him thoroughly in the sink and changed a diaper midair (I know, mommies are the true Ninjas). Then I looked from my clean (and now very happy) baby to the stroller. It was a horror scene. I started throwing handfuls of water from the sink at the stroller. NOT HELPING. At this point, we've been in the bathroom damn near half an hour so one of the other mamas came in to check on us and had the good sense to take the happy baby away from his near hysterical mama. Now it was just me and the stroller. And the bathroom was already beginning to STINK.
Don't forget, I'm at BEST three very long miles from home. With a naked baby. And a DISGUSTING stroller.
So I started abusing their whole supply of paper towels along with some sink-soap and doing my best to at least get the dang thing wiped down...and I the whole time I can HEAR people talking outside the door about how there's this crazy lady in the bathroom trying to hose vomit off of her stroller.
Knowing that I'm beat, I wheel out the vomit-mobile which is now soaking wet and still reeking (why oh WHY does kids puke smell so much worse than adult puke?). And just when I'm ready to live the nightmare of carrying naked Fin while pushing the sopping stroller the long way home, my friend Monika comes to the rescue. Her hubs is home and can come pick us up and drive us to our home. Touched by another mamma's consideration (not to mention the fact that she was willing to let that STINK anywhere NEAR her car), I made it home. Where it took me three rounds with the hose and carpet cleaner and lysol to get the stroller to "passable".
And that is my worst story of public embarassement (at least involving bodily functions)... at least so far.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Do I REALLY Have to Play Nice?
So I have to be honest about something, and I'm just going to come right out and say it so I can immediately stifle any ridiculous idea your imagination can conjure. I have a wicked fear of being left out. Or left behind. Or left. Wicked. So, there's that.
When I got to school to pick Fin up on Thursday there was some weird mommy dynamic going on. One of the mama's I usually chat with a little had run into a friend and the other one was giving me the brush-off (or so I have decided in my paranoia). All of a sudden I felt like there had been a "make friends" social that I had missed. Seriously, I had to rack my brain to try and figure out if there WAS something I had missed. So I picked Fin up and fretted the rest of the day.
After the kids were asleep, and it was just me and Woob in our quiet room, I pelted him with questions: Should I be worried about this? Does it matter if the other mommies are friends? Does it matter if I have no mommy friends in his class? Do you think I could have done something to irritate them already? And then again, does this really matter?
Like any good husband, he stared at me for a few minutes, hoping that I would answer at least some of those myself and take the heat off of him. And like any good wife, I started over-explaining my fears. I know that at some point it does matter. At some point his social standing may indeed be decided by his mama's buds even more so than his own. And I get that. I lived that myself. And I'm sure we'd see alot less of James if I didn't like Monika so much. On the flip side, as I laughingly told Moni the next day, even if the boys decided they didn't like eachother, we'd say tough tatas. But does it matter now?
(Its amazing when you have children how closely you have to examine every teeny decision that could have any impact on their future and who they might become...)
The consensus was that, no it doesn't really matter yet. A relief, I don't have to play nice just yet. And then Woob injected that it "wouldn't hurt to start being sweeter." After a long argument on the difference between "sweet" and "nice", it was still suggested that I try being a little nicer and perhaps a little more approachable. So I asked Woob a question I'm sure no husband wants to hear...
No, I did not ask him if I was "her" size.
I asked him to give three adjectives to describe me, and they didn't have to be nice one's. Brave, I know. He tossed out: Honest, Loyal and Bossy. I guess that last one caught a look because he ammended it to Organized. Ok, I agree. Even with the bossy. I know who I am, and mostly I'm pretty proud of all of it. Sure I still have days where I feel like my body is the enemy (as I'm sure anyone who has had two kids close understands), but my personality? Not so much. I have some sharp edges and I choose to embrace them rather than file them down. I am, probably above all things, honest. And often, that comes as incompatible with nice. And I am loyal, fiercely so, which can also butt up against nice. And Bossy? Yeah. Even if I'd asked him for 10, I don't think Nice would have been one. Possibly kind, or empathetic, considerate maybe, but not nice. And I'm ok with that. And I'm glad that at least for now I can just rest happy with my friends who are ok with that too. Maybe next year I'll try being the Nice mom. At least until the boys out me. Heh.
When I got to school to pick Fin up on Thursday there was some weird mommy dynamic going on. One of the mama's I usually chat with a little had run into a friend and the other one was giving me the brush-off (or so I have decided in my paranoia). All of a sudden I felt like there had been a "make friends" social that I had missed. Seriously, I had to rack my brain to try and figure out if there WAS something I had missed. So I picked Fin up and fretted the rest of the day.
After the kids were asleep, and it was just me and Woob in our quiet room, I pelted him with questions: Should I be worried about this? Does it matter if the other mommies are friends? Does it matter if I have no mommy friends in his class? Do you think I could have done something to irritate them already? And then again, does this really matter?
Like any good husband, he stared at me for a few minutes, hoping that I would answer at least some of those myself and take the heat off of him. And like any good wife, I started over-explaining my fears. I know that at some point it does matter. At some point his social standing may indeed be decided by his mama's buds even more so than his own. And I get that. I lived that myself. And I'm sure we'd see alot less of James if I didn't like Monika so much. On the flip side, as I laughingly told Moni the next day, even if the boys decided they didn't like eachother, we'd say tough tatas. But does it matter now?
(Its amazing when you have children how closely you have to examine every teeny decision that could have any impact on their future and who they might become...)
The consensus was that, no it doesn't really matter yet. A relief, I don't have to play nice just yet. And then Woob injected that it "wouldn't hurt to start being sweeter." After a long argument on the difference between "sweet" and "nice", it was still suggested that I try being a little nicer and perhaps a little more approachable. So I asked Woob a question I'm sure no husband wants to hear...
No, I did not ask him if I was "her" size.
I asked him to give three adjectives to describe me, and they didn't have to be nice one's. Brave, I know. He tossed out: Honest, Loyal and Bossy. I guess that last one caught a look because he ammended it to Organized. Ok, I agree. Even with the bossy. I know who I am, and mostly I'm pretty proud of all of it. Sure I still have days where I feel like my body is the enemy (as I'm sure anyone who has had two kids close understands), but my personality? Not so much. I have some sharp edges and I choose to embrace them rather than file them down. I am, probably above all things, honest. And often, that comes as incompatible with nice. And I am loyal, fiercely so, which can also butt up against nice. And Bossy? Yeah. Even if I'd asked him for 10, I don't think Nice would have been one. Possibly kind, or empathetic, considerate maybe, but not nice. And I'm ok with that. And I'm glad that at least for now I can just rest happy with my friends who are ok with that too. Maybe next year I'll try being the Nice mom. At least until the boys out me. Heh.
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