Back With a List

I've caught some sort of goop that's left me miserably croupy, and cold meds make me completely loopy. And as I drift in and out of consciousness on my couch, I am daydreaming of a day in which I could just stay in bed and sleep. Unfortunately, with a not quite two year old running rampant in the house, that is a luxury I do not have. So today's post is dedicated to reasons why mothers should be allowed sick days, or reasons why one should not blog while hopped up on cold meds, whichever more suits the bill. So without further ado, I leave you with the top ten things (Letterman style) my boys love to do when I am sick.

10. Trash the house. This should be a given, but there are those out there who are not yet parents and therefore not fully aware of a young child's 'parent is in the next room and too stupefied to move so lets massage grape jelly into the kitchen floor' philosophy.

9. Pull pillows out from under my head while I lay in surrender on the couch.

8. Host Scooby Doo Marathon days. Mom doesn't have the energy left to protest the multiple hours worth of consecutive Scooby Doo Dvd's that have been popped in her 5 disk DVD changer. And SOMEBODY (cough cough SMOOCHIE) knows it.

7. Interpret half hearted grunts as the answer yes to questions like, "Mom, can I have MORE CANDY?"

6. Chase each other around the house wearing nothing but underoos and diapers making monkey noises.

5. Giggle in a sadistic way while trying to see how high the rotini spaghetti needs to go into the air before making an audible splat on the floor- in the name of science, of course.

4. Take up target practice by aiming the newly issued Christmas nerf dart gun at the unwashed dishes sitting on the kitchen counter instead of windows and doors.

3. Be grateful mom takes on the 'just don't aim it at your brother's forehead' approach to her day.

2. Attempt to hang dirty socks from the Christmas tree.

1. Remove all jammies from the jammie drawer, spread them in a fine layer across the hardwood floor, then take a running belly flopping leap, slip and slide style. Implement a point system and see who can achieve the most air with the least amount of injuries.

Has Anyone Seen Smoochie's Mom?

Almost everyone knows that when a person has more than one child, the personalities of said children will differ greatly. I knew this even before I had children because I had a sister who is as different from myself as night and day. Yin and Yang. She's outspoken while I bottle it all in. She's outgoing & talkative while I'm quite introverted. She had 3 girls and I had 2 boys (because she hogged all the girls).

By the time Critter blessed our family, I was fully aware that he would be a person with a personality completely separate from his big brother. Critter tries daily to shatter our eardrums, I think I've had to tell Smooch to use his inside voice three times in his life. Smooch will be 8 in a couple of months and still won't climb on our kitchen counters and I'm trying to figure out just which Ninja moves Critter uses exactly to get at the Marshmallows in our pantry. And after I took them away how he managed to retrieve them from the middle of the kitchen table.

Now for the most part I'm a fairly intelligent adult woman. I knew these boys would be different. Although I can say I didn't exactly plan on HOW different they would be, I did expect it. What I didn't expect, however, is how different their Mothers would be.

Smoochie's mom was totally on the ball. He was clean, well (and promptly) fed, and at all times "dressed and ready to face the day". I quoted that because that is the phrase I used every morning when we were getting ready. A pajama day for that boy was always either a super treat meaning we had nowhere to go, or it meant the boy was super sick and too pitiful to care about getting dressed. Smoochie's mom had it all, an eagle eye, quick humor, and reflexes as quick as a rabbit. Smoochie's mom rocked. It's no wonder he never colored on a wall or cut his own hair.

Meanwhile, in the land of Neurotic 6 years later, I look around and spy Critter's mom. She's frazzled and mostly askew and partly deaf and completely off her rocker. I'm thinking Critter may be getting the shaft. Critter thinks that if his mom is putting clothes on him it means he is going "bye bye" and starts waving. And he may be right.

Critter was most recently spied in a living room (also occupied by Dad AND Big Brother) drawing on a coffee table with a pencil. This implies he has developed the ability to become invisible and his mom's eagle eye clearly needs lasik.

Critter's mom is slow and has lost her quick reflexes. She's always limping due to the recurring foot cramp that comes from stepping on poky hard plastic children's toys. She may be developing a personality disorder because she can often be spotted hunched over limping and muttering to herself.

Critter's mom has lost her sense of time and completely thrown her ability to plan for the immediate future out the window. She should really expect that every day at 5:30 Critter will be hungry and yet it still comes as a daily surprise to her. Her personal motto has recently become, "Oh crap, dinner."

I have searched our home thoroughly for any trace of Smoochie's mom, but she can't be reached for comment. (Between you and me I'm pretty sure she's locked up in a tower somewhere and won't be coming back)

And Critter's mom? Is too busy daydreaming of a bubble bath in a soaking tub with candle light ambiance and a glass of wine to bother.

Wordless Wednesday & Personality

I think it's really cool how personalities somehow shine through even in photos.

Whahuh?

I am beginning to realize our trusty family minivan is good for a few things. The biggest most obvious feature is its ability to carry and tote a large amount of both people and things. Our family spends a great deal of time in the car. With Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Annie and assorted cousins just over an hour away, often times by the end of the weekend our family minivan looks more like a family minihotel after a particularly festive room party, only for the more selective (and surprisingly temperamental) sippy cup carrying, juice box discarding sector of society. I've recently cleaned the van, though, so for at least the next couple weeks it will look like housekeeping has recently knocked on the door and come through.

Our van is also good for some interesting conversation. At some point or another, pretty much every topic under the sun has been discussed, from how tires are made to which airplane is the fastest. Often from the back seat a small-ish voice can be heard saying, "Mom?" or if it is the weekend and we are out together as a family, "Dad?" Rules state that either mom or dad is required to verbally acknowledge this inquisition before the conversation can continue. Rules also state that there are no guarantees what you will hear when the conversation does continue.

For example, the family was out in the trusty hotel on wheels minivan last week when from the back seat came the telltale, "Mom?"

"What, Smooch?"

"Maximus* got some really hot chicks."

From the driver's seat I look at Bonehead. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? Judging from the way Bonehead was looking out the window and hiding a smirk, I'm fully thinking I actually heard what I thought I heard.

A quick glance in my rear view mirror assured me that yes, in fact, I did still have a sweet little 7 year old sitting in my back seat. Thankfully I did not drive us through some sort of freaky time-space continuum or somehow Rip Van Winkle myself 16 years into the future.

Preparing some kind of mental speech about respecting girls, and how calling them 'chicks' or any other similar name really wouldn't be looked favorably upon by anyone including mom, dad, and any girl he ever comes in contact with, I felt the need to verify. "What did you just say, Smooch?"

"I said Hot. As in spicy."

By this point I was completely speechless. I truly didn't even know where to start. Fortunately for me, he felt the need to continue speaking.

"Maximus* got some hot chips. At lunch today"

It was at this point in our drive that Smooch had to sit and wonder why his mom was having such a laughing fit in the driver's seat.

*names have been changed to protect the innocent

Wordless Wednesday & Photo Opportunities

Photo Op at the local petting zoo...

There's room in every day for a little silly
AND...

A Copy of the Lovely E-Mail I Got to Send My Son's School This Evening

My son, Smoochie, came home from school and informed us that he was punched in gym class today. Upon questioning, he told us that he was punched not once, but twice. Once in the stomach, and once in the back- hard enough that he cried. We asked him what he did, and he said he told his gym teacher what happened, and his gym teacher said he would talk to the boy who hit him. According to what my son has told us, he did not hit the child back, and did exactly what he was supposed to do according to the school policy and rules.

Right now I am a very concerned parent. I was under the impression that there was a no tolerance policy regarding violence in the school system. While I do understand that there are occasions when boys will be boys, and that sometimes accidents do happen, I should be able to send my son to school without fear of his physical and mental well being. He should not be afraid of being hit at school, nor should he be afraid of being made fun of for crying because of this- both of which happened to him today.

A couple of things lead me to wonder if this situation was handled appropriately. The first and foremost being that no notification of any kind of the incident was sent home with my son to explain what may have happened. Does lack of notification mean that the situation was handled properly, and steps have been taken to ensure that it doesn't happen again?

I think the biggest thing I am looking for is assurance that this situation will not happen again, and that I can send him to school knowing that he will not be harmed again physically. As a mother, it is my duty to insure that the incident is only a one time thing, and is addressed before it has the opportunity to become a pattern. My son loves school, loves learning, loves attending, and it would be heartbreaking to see his attitude change because of something like this.

I did try to call the office, but by the time Smoochie got home today, the office was already closed. I felt an e-mail would be a much better approach than a voicemail message.

Thank you for your time,
Smoochie's Mom.


*I would like some input here, am I over reacting? Should I have just let the incident go? Because I have to confess, right now my Momma Bear Gene has been triggered, and I'm a little toasty under the collar. I can think of nothing more appealing than making heads roll. How on earth do you tell your kid to do the right thing if it happens again? To me, it's almost like telling the poor boy to be a doormat, especially if the school has done nothing. In all fairness, the school has not had a chance to respond yet, as I am sure they will do with all of the politically correctness they can muster. But there's a fine line here, really. At what point do you tell your children that violence never solves anything , and at what point do you give your child permission to stand up for him/herself?

Our Good Morning Ritual

Before I had Critter, I worried the boys would not be close because of the age difference between them. I worried needlessly because the boys both adore each other.

At least until Critter is walking and able to steal toys and sneak into sombody's bedroom and chant things like k-i-s-s-i-n-g and report every move his big brother is making to Mom & Dad. Then things might change a bit.

But in the meantime, Critter likes to wake his brother up for school. It always includes a snuggle, which is loved by both parties involved.

And it ALWAYS includes three smiles. You can't see the third one here, that one's in my heart.

Bamboozled

As part of our morning routine, I have to make sure Smoochie gets to the bus stop. The stop is 4 houses down from us, so I give him a little freedom. I wait out in front of our house with Critter, and he walks down to the bus stop on his own. I stand and wait until he’s on the bus, and Critter and I wave as the bus drives by, smiling at Smoochie’s hyper-enthused expression.

And then one morning this week, Wednesday I believe, Smooch wasn’t there to wave at me. He’d chosen to sit on the other side of the bus, ignoring the fact that mom is standing in front of her own home waving at absolutely nobody like a doofus, and I caught myself grinning and giggling madly to boot. My smile fizzled when I realized what he’d done. I was feeling the Smoochie love.

Thursday arrived. Once again, we’re standing in front of our house, and I’m giving goodbye kisses to Smooch, about to send him off to the bus stop without me. He looked at me and said, “Wave at me, Mom.”

To which my response was, “You have to sit on the right side of the bus in order for me to wave.”

I knew his OK came way too quick. Once again, I became the Crazy Mom, standing outside her home waving at absolutely nobody. He got me twice.

Bring on the Friday morning bus departure. He actually looked at me and said, “Mom, make sure you and Critter wave at me.”

I said specifically, “You HAVE TO SIT ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE BUS FOR ME TO WAVE AT YOU. If you sit on the OTHER SIDE I look like an idiot waving at absolutely nobody. Listen carefully child. If I wave at you and you are not there again, I am coming to get you, AND I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE.”

There were some giggles, an agreement, and off he went to wait at the bus stop.

Gaaaaaaaaah!

That little punk did it to me again! Only this time I KNOW he was crouched down on the other side of the bus snickering. “Watch this. Tee hee. She’s ACTUALLY WAVING! Hee hee, haa haa. I can’t believe she actually fell for it again! What a chump!”

I walked Critter into the house giggling. “Your brother got me again. I’m such a dork.”

Yeah. It’s Halloween time. Monday morning, I think I might walk that boy all the way down to the bus stop with nerd teeth in my mouth, my hair in pig tails, and toting pom poms. If I’m going to look like the neighborhood crazy, I might as well drag the boy down with me.

Seriously, I can not believe I fell for it more than once. I’m kicking myself over here.

Birds of Prey

Our 6 year old has recently become quite attitude prone and argumentative. Especially with mom (and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that mom is way too nice in a push-overish sense of the word nice) and even at times has dared to become so in front of dad.

Mom occasionally will get worked up with all buttons pushed effectively and be in the middle of a rant before she realizes “Hey, I’m arguing with a 6 year old here. Who’s the boss?” It is at that point I usually repeat my first statement (If I can remember through the haze of frustration what it was), followed by, “I’m not arguing with you. End of discussion.” And then Smoochie be-bops away like nothing ever happened leaving mom trying not to flop and twitch like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Now Dad, on the other hand, generally chooses the squash it before it becomes an issue like using an entire can of raid on the line of red ants on our front sidewalk approach. And while Smooch seems to show no remorse for working his mother into the frothing at the mouth stage (which to give credit where credit is due, few do- I have a mother and sister who both will do it for the sheer entertainment value) he will think twice before ATTEMPTING to argue with his father. Because he knows dad will squash him. Like a bug.

Which is why I was surprised when Saturday night, smack in the middle of the popcorn making ritual, Bonehead came sauntering into the living room with the “I give up” look I often have myself and plopped in our wingback chair. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was waiting. I hadn’t heard the exchange in the kitchen, but apparently it was over how the new can of Boy Scout popcorn needed to be opened. I’m thinking I should take a detour here to explain the importance of popcorn in my home.

Popcorn is the bomb. Do people even say that anymore? Oh well, I just did. We refuse to buy greasy smelly microwave popcorn. The only way it gets cooked in our home is in the hot air popper. There really is a ritual which is started off by the preparing the butter and the offering of complements to be sure it is in the correct mood of coatingness. While certain aspects of the ritual may vary, there will always be a loud “WOOOOAH! HEHEHE!” issued by Smoochie as the first few kernels fly with enough force to make a whacking sound on the other side of the giant bowl placed underneath. And there is always grated parmesan (the refrigerated kind not the canned kind because we are, after all, popcorn snobs) and oregano on the finished popcorn results. And now back to the regularly scheduled programming which left off at the frustrated plopping into the wingback chair…

Bonehead was waiting. Apparently there was a mild discussion about how to open the new package of Boy Scout popcorn, and Bonehead refuses to argue with a 6 year old. So instead of arguing and insisting his way was right, he came into the living room to wait for the sad, slumpy be-bop of Smooch into the living room to admit that yes, in fact, Dad was right, and ask for help.

It never happened. Approximately 45 seconds after Bonehead sat down, we heard the crinkle crinkle crinkle of the plastic safety seal being slid down the can followed by a smug little “Got it, Dad.” To which dad muttered something like “Unbelievable” and then went to continue with the popcorn ritual shaking his head as he went.

However, I do believe Dad lost it in the car on Sunday. We were on the way to feed a friend’s fish- which is a 45 minute drive there and another 45 minute drive back. We finally broke down and purchased the new Fratelli’s CD, which Smooch had in the back seat with him. When Smooch asked if he could open the CD for us, Bonehead responded with a “Sure kid, knock yourself out.”

And sure enough there was another fwip fwip crinkle crinkle, and Smooch handed it up front with a “Here you go.”

This would be the point where Bonehead lost a little bit of his sanity. He looked at me incredulously and stated, “What the heck did we do, breed little birds of prey? It would have taken me 30 minutes a pocket knife AND a razor to get that packaging off. (And with a swooping of his hands towards the CD for the visual) Does our kid have freeking talons or something?”

Regardless, the CD was open and ready for our enjoyment, Bonehead had finally lost a bit of his sanity, Smoochie was playing his DS like nothing had ever happened, and I was giggling at the sheer madness of our family existence. Poor Critter. He has yet to discover what he’s been born into.

Photo Story Friday and Smoothie Remnants

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Like most mothers of school age children, I recently endured the return of the school year. In an effort to cram the most bang into our summer possible, we ran in "full speed ahead" mode the complete week before the return of the school year. We managed to cram some last minute summer enjoyment in with fall preparations, soccer games, shopping trips, and a wildberry smoothie from Cariboo Coffee. By Saturday evening, when we were ready to sit down and watch a movie as a family, the overabundance of activity caught up with Smoochie. He was done. Right down to the smoothie remnants on his forehead. So I snapped yet another picture of him, and gave my heart a little reminder of the reason why I nicknamed him Smoochie in the first place.

Guaranteed Future Therapy- The Fine Print of the Parenting Handbook

Pants are made today with an elastic band on the inside. This band has button holes, and the whole concept is that you can tighten or loosen pants as needed for your specific child. This past weekend when we went jeans shopping for Smooch, we bought 4 such pairs of pants from Old Navy at 7$ each. Three were his current size, one the next size up. I figured I could just tighten them for the brief period of time before his next growth spurt.

This morning, before Smoochie got dressed and ready for school, he brought a nicely washed and folded pair of pants to me. “Mom are these the ones that need to be tightened?”

At that particular moment in my morning, I was bleary eyed, jonesing for caffeine, listening to Critter scream, and trying to make a nutritious Pb&j lunch for Smoochie. To be quite honest, at that particular ebb of my little stay at home universe, which pair of jeans needed tightening was massively eluding me. So I gave him the best answer I possibly could considering the frazzled circumstances. “I have absolutely no clue whatsoever honey, put them on and we’ll find out.”

And that was the last word from him regarding the jeans.

We went about our hectic morning, got everyone ready (I was leaving immediately after Smooch was bus bound for an early morning walk with Critter), went to the van for the stroller and told Smooch he could push his brother. He takes great 6 year old joy in that little act. Most times, he pushes like he’s been tipping the bourbon, but Critter doesn’t seem to mind, and as long as he stays mostly sidewalk bound and completely away from the road, I don’t mind either.

Now that Critter can mostly sit up by himself we finally broke out the jogging stroller, and this was Smoochie’s first test drive. He took off jogging (because it IS a jogging stroller after all) and I immediately noticed what I should have noticed at home. He was wearing the big pants. He had to hit the breaks to hike up his britches at least twice on the three house walk to the bus stop. Let’s just say I felt like a total bump for not noticing earlier, and I was faced with perhaps my greatest mothering dilemma to date.

There was no time to go back to the house and correct the situation. Do I embarrass him in front of his friends waiting at the bus stop by adjusting the band on the inside of his jeans, or do I let it slide (pun may have been intended) and close my eyes and hope beyond hope his pants don’t fall prey to gravity and expose his little Mach 5 Fruit of the Looms at school in front of 24 or so other classmates? On one hand, I’m looking at a guaranteed future therapy session full of ‘my mom is the most vile, embarrassing, evil person on the planet musings’, and on the other I was looking at probable (but not guaranteed) lifetime scarring (aka personality shaping- the stuff tough guys are made of). I decided to play the odds. I watched him hitch his boot cut denim up again twice more in line, once more before he stepped onto the first bus step, and then pulled out an eyelash and wished for the best possible outcome.

Did I do the right thing? What would you have done?

We've Been Busy- Snippets

I.

We arrived home from our mini vacation after a 4 ½ hour drive on Friday, and immediately set sail for Grandma and Grandpa’s a little over an hour away. After dinner and a shopping excursion to purchase much needed soccer gear for Smoochie, we embarked on the trip home. Bonehead had mercy on me and drove home for us. I’m normally such a control freak I feel like I’m going to fall off the edge of the earth if I’m not driving. Between Critter being in full grouch mode and 5 ½ hours on the road, I was too tired to care. He could have driven us to Hooters and I would have kissed him, given him my debit card and told him to “have fun I’ll wait here.” I was so tired I would have been just fine with that. The Weekend fun was only beginning.

II.

Smoochie’s first soccer game was Saturday morning. I’ll not be one of those parents who brags about how great their kid is at sports, because, well, David Beckham he is not. He did better than last year at staying up with the other kids, though. For some reason he feels the need to jog in place, even when he’s not moving. I must confess for a moment or two of his game, I had a couple of very scary Jane Fonda thoughts. However, I do not care really if he is the best or the worst kid on the team. What I care about is the fact that he is running around outside for an extended period of time, and not at home with his nose plastered to the TV screen.

Once the soccer game was finished, we immediately headed home so we could partake in the Great Couch Escapade of 2008. I will write an entire post regarding this event in our lives this week, but for now I’ll just throw out the warning: Couch Potatoes Beware.

Grandma and Grandpa came out to see us, so after the Couch Escapade we headed out to purchase some school clothes for Smooch since his first day back is today. I learned a very valuable lesson: Never let a 6 year old hold his own shoes. They get set down on a display somewhere in the store and you don’t have them when you get home. So after 2 shopping trips Saturday, Smoochie was prepared for the much anticipated start of school.

III.

Sunday was the Corn Fest Bike Rally for Bonehead and Smoochie. They rode about 20 miles together on the Critter Puller, and although I couldn’t go along this year, I was filled in on the fact that Smoochie can ask questions at the speed of light while pedaling a bike as well. I was worried about that, for what would Bonehead do without the rapid fire questions from Smoochie on their morning ride?

IV.

Today was the first day of school. It’s only ½ day, but even so I fought the desire to start doing Lucky Charms Leprechaun kicks after my early morning wake up. Like every doting mother, I made sure to take pictures of his first day of first grade. Our photo shoot conversation was something along these lines:

Me: Smile for the camera, Smoochie

Me: Smoochie. Smile.

Smoochie: I can’t the sun is too bright.

Me: I have to have you stand there, otherwise the camera won’t be able to see you.

Smoochie: Moooooom!! I can’t see. (grumble grumble)

Me: Fine, move over here.

Smoochie: OK.

Me: Stand still already.

Me: Every picture I take keeps turning out blurry.

Me: Smooch. Please. Stand. Still. For a moment.

Me: Good enough.

Smoochie: Woohoo! Can I push Critter? Is it time for the bus yet? Do I have ½ day or full day? Are all my school supplies in my backpack? How do my new shoes look? Will Critter miss me today? Etc. Etc. Etc……

V.

And now I sit here and smile because with Critter napping, it is so quiet, I can hear my dishwasher.

Stay tuned for the Great Couch Escapade of 2008.

Photo Story Friday and The Infamous Collision

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

This is the result of Smoochie running around his grandparents' garage one way at full speed while his cousin ran around from the other direction. Since the collision took place on the opposite corner of the garage, no one witnessed it. We did, however, hear a commotion followed by a heart wrenching scream from Smoochie. His cousin was just enough shorter than him to hit him squarely between the eyes when they collided. Fortunately, his cousin was mostly ok, but Smooch did not fare quite as well. He had an immediate goose egg followed by two black eyes as the goose egg began to drain.

This picture was taken mere minutes after the collision. It is one of my favorite pictures (I know it seems kind of mean) because of the emotions that show on his face. There was no fake posing for the camera, no pagent smile, just pure raw Smoochie feeling some pretty pure raw emotions. Smoochie has been pretty good (I’m knocking on wood here) and has not broken any bones or required any stitches. To me, this picture represents one of the few moments in his life when I would have loved to make his world better with a magic kiss, a band-aid, and a hug.

My (Most of the Time) Filter

OK. It’s deep dark confession time. Prepare for it because this one’s a doozie.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

I’m not perfect.

Oh yeah, I know I don’t usually go hinting away on my bloggy pages about the fact that my back yard and driveway currently have weeds that are quickly becoming quite Little Shop of Horror-ish. I don’t sit around and brag about the fact that it took me 4 days to empty my son’s Seattle suitcase and put his clothing away. And I try not to bore others with the fact that I have serious storage issues and there is currently a tub full of children’s blankets and sheets staring at me from the middle of my kitchen floor because for the life of me, I can’t figure out a place to store them. But there it is in all of its glory, and instead of keeping it drawered up in my refrigerator like my precious Mikes Hard Lemonade, I’m venting. It feels pretty good, actually. Hang on, because here’s another doozie.

I have sworn, on occasion, in front of my children. I am not proud of it. I actually try very hard in general not to swear. I’m not the type of person who has the stealth to incorporate four letter bombs into everyday conversation and have it come across as nonchalant. On the rare occasions when things slip out, it comes across more like a bunny rabbit on full attack with a battle axe. In fact, my swearing is so out of character that I usually don’t even have to try not to.

However, with my children around, I have to remind myself occasionally to use my filter, and sometimes that reminder, my brain, and my mouth are completely out of synch. But my son always pays attention and never misses a beat.

One morning I was driving my son to daycare before going to work. Of course, I was running a bit late- Smoochie has one speed only, and it’s in his very own time zone. I was waiting at a green light for the oncoming traffic to clear out so I could make a left hand turn. The last car was making a right hand turn, and I was waiting for him to approach the intersection and do so.

I think this gentleman was out for his weekly scenic drive, because smack dab in the middle of a frantic Wednesday morning he was taking his sweet old time. Now by that point, I had wrestled a slow poke child into readiness throughout the morning, and worked out and got myself ready as well. I was trying my darndest to not be late for work, which was almost always futile. My patience wagon was rolling along a rutted road with a broken axle. I lost my patience and went to say “Hurry up, Jackass.”

But my filter kicked in. Halfway through my sentence, I realized there was an impressionable 4 year old boy sitting in my back seat. I managed to stop myself mid sentence, and it came out, “Hurry up, Jack…” A nanosecond later from the back seat my son asked me incredulously like I’d just produced Mr. Chuck-E-Cheese himself from my pocket, “Mom you know his name?"

Meet Florida

From left to right: Bonehead, Smooch, Florida(who is waving at us), and Steve

We adopted Florida in May of 2007 while on vacation in New Jersey. I'm just teasing- it was actually in Florida- just as his name implies. From the moment Florida came home with us, he was part of the family. He’s gone everywhere with Smoochie (except school- I had to put one of my push-over feet down). He goes out to dinner with us, he helps us pick out movies at the video store frequently, and he even hangs out on my steering wheel and “pretends to drive” while we are grocery shopping. Recently, Florida traveled to St. Louis for a mini-vacay.

The morning before Smoochie left for Seattle, the whole family piled on our queen sized bed for a little family hang out time. In our home it's known as "poke and annoy" and involves index fingers and giggling. That would be me, Bonehead, Smoochie, Critter, and Florida. We then all went our separate ways and I packed Smooch up for his trip.

Florida remained out of sight snuggling on our bed and didn’t make the trip. We haven’t received a panicked phone call yet from Smoochie, so I’m assuming it’s not the crisis I thought it might be. All the same, I have a sneaking suspicion we may very well be initiating Seattle into our family soon.

Here’s a confession: In the past year and a half, I have hugged, kissed, bathed, band-aided, washed, dried, read to, scolded, laughed at, baby-sat, and diapered Florida. In the past 2 nights, I have snuggled him close because I miss Smoochie too much. I guess it was a blessing he got left behind because I’m realizing I might probably maybe (just a wee bit) have some inner attachment/separation issues…

When did he get old enough for a 2 week vacation without Mom & Dad?

Uh...

Children are wonderfully creative. Contrary to what I once believed, I am discovering they put a lot of thought into their questions. Here are a few questions I’ve been asked by Smoochie- some within the past few days.

Smooch: Mom, did we buy our house?
Me: Why yes we did, sweetie.
Smooch: Well then, where’s the house store?
Me: Uh...

Smooch: How do weather people tell what the weather is going to be in the afternoon?
Me: Uh...

Smooch: Can I play PINK-a-boo with Critter?
Me: Of course.

Smooch: Do ants carry bombs?
Me: No, why do you ask that?
Smooch: That round thing on their back looks like a bomb
Me: That’s their butt honey.
Smooch: (giggling) You said butt.
Me: Uh...

Oh. Oh My. I've Become My Mother.

I never expected this. It was the ultimate no-no to me as a 13 year old girl, and even as I grew to realize my mother knew considerably more than I previously thought, it remained on my huh-uh never list for my visions of the future. Even after marriage, children, and being close with her for the last 15 or more years, it’s still something I’ve tried to avoid. I firmly believe that as women we can love our mothers tremendously and whole heartedly. We can want to be like them. But somewhere down in our little inner psyche a little voice whispers to us as a constant reminder that we do not want to BECOME them.

It may start innocent enough. A little nose wipe with your sleeve here, a spit bath there, and then way out of left field comes using the kitchen rag to wipe a messy face (something I swore at 8 I would never do even under utmost forms of torture).

And then one day I’m going about my business blogging about one of my most embarrassing moments. Then I discover that my sweet mother has taken the time to leave me a nice lengthy comment, and WHAMMO it hits me. I am more like my mom than I previously thought. In fact, I may very well have become her. It’s left me chuckling all morning.

Mom’s comment brought back a memory I’d almost forgotten about. Smoochie attended pre-k classes at our local elementary school for a period of time. The bus would pick him up and drop him off in front of our house. I loved it because there’s something heart tugging about such a little boy trying to get on and off a big bus.

One afternoon in the middle of winter the bus dropped him off in front of our house. My son was bundled to the utmost. Big fluffy coat, check. Snowpants, check. Hood, hat, and scarf wrapped snugly, check. He resembled a 3ft tall Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

We always use our back door at our house that leads into our kitchen. Smoochie got off the bus and took off running as fast as his little legs would move for the back door, which was inside our fenced in yard.

As I watched everything unfold, my mind and my mouth were on two different pages. They were completely out of sync.

My mind went about a mile a minute. Slow down little boy, the ground is wet and slippery. Hey, our gate is closed you need to slow down. He’s gonna stop and wait for me. Slow down slow down slow down, stoooooooop!

My mouth had a total short circuit. Nothing came out, and I watched the events unfold before me in silence.

His scarf was wrapped too high upon his face, and he could not see our chain link fence quickly approaching through the brutal winter air on the other side of it. He was running blind, much like a fluffy little human bowling ball. He’s never been a very fast runner, but I do completely think he set personal speed records on this afternoon.

Fwaaack! He hit our chain link fence at full speed and bounced off it like he’d taken a running leap at a vertical trampoline. He wound up about 3 feet away on his back and stunned into total silence. His winter gear cushioned the fall, and for a moment the only sound was the tingalingaling of the chain link percussion.

And then there was laughter. I laughed so hard my tonsils froze. I fell to my knees and couldn’t breathe. Through my tears I tried to help him up and make sure he was ok, but it took a few minutes for me to compose myself enough to get us into the house. I unbundled Smoochie and made him a nice hot lunch- while chuckling of course. And then I ran to the phone to call my mom and tell her what happened through more laughter and tears- because I knew of all people she would appreciate my story the most.

I guess if becoming my mother brings years worth of tears from laughter, there could be worse fates in life. Unless you ask a 13 year old girl.

Rights of Passage

Today Smoochie performed 4 summertime rights of passage. He played on the slip and slide, learned how to spit watermelon seeds, walked barefoot in freshly mowed grass, and slurped down a freezie pop.

As I was showing him how to spit watermelon seeds, I was reminded of my own summers as a child. I mentally traveled back to the days before air conditioning was common place, when we splashed in a 3ft plastic pool for relief and ate watermelon in slices as big as our heads. Wearing little jumpers that tied at the shoulders. Walking to the little convenience store for candy and carrying our shoes the whole way. Making up games at the park in order to avoid the boredom that inevitably arrives on the longest of lazy summer days.

I realized that someday Smoochie will look back on his summer vacation(s) in much the same manner that I look back on mine. I want to plan a summer for him that includes all manner of new experiences and some of the rights of passage from my childhood as well. I want to be with him and watch the joy as he experiences catching lightning bugs at dusk, gorging on smores next to an open campfire, learning the fine art of the well aimed cannon ball.

I want him to experience all of that and more, but I am finding that I am quickly running out of ideas, and summer has only just begun. On top of that, I am limited by funds having just recently become a stay at home mom. All of this leads me to my question. What other summertime rights of passage can I pass on to my son? What stands out most in your memories? I would love any ideas that would help me make a very long summer a little more enjoyable to us all.

"Concert" x's Infinity / Weight Loss Wednesday

My hoodlum boys in the park

I have been taking Smooch and Critter to the park across town a couple/few days a week for something new to do. Last week Smooch, who is learning to read, noticed the sign out in front of the park announcing the annual summer concerts in the park on Tuesday nights. Our town’s symphony band plays in an outdoor pavilion on Tuesday nights at this particular park. I was impressed. Smooch read the entire sign by himself.

And then I made a colossal mistake.

I mentioned that MAYBE if it wasn’t raining, we could MAYBE go the following Tuesday, which was yesterday. I thought nothing of it. I’ve got to expose the kid to a little culture somehow, what’s better than free culture, and it was nice to see him get excited about it. Each day from that point brought forth a question from Smooch about what day of the week it was, because he was anxiously waiting for Tuesday to arrive.

I have mentioned before that Smoochie can talk at the speed of light. And with the speed of sound taken into consideration, that means even when his lips stop moving for a moment or two, I’m still hearing him.

The dawn of Tuesday morning brought forth the word “concert”. Every sentence that erupted from Smoochie’s mouth began with, ended with, or contained in some way or another, the word “concert”. I had more than one speed of light moment yesterday. I’m looking at the boy’s big blue eyes, his lips have stopped moving, and I’m still hearing the word. I may actually physically shudder every time I hear that word ever again.

Fortunately, once we arrived at the park with our picnic dinner last night, the word was quickly forgotten. The music was nice, the weather perfect, and I have to confess I enjoyed a little bit of quality time just hanging out with my boys.

We may even do it again. This time, though, I’ll try to keep my intentions secret until it’s time to go.


WEDNESDAY WEIGH IN TIME:

I weighed in this morning, and here is my weight loss progress as per my post last Wednesday:

Weight: -5 lbs

Exercise: Goal accomplished. I added 4 days of exercise to my week last week. This week, I plan to add 6.

Food journal: Fail. I found it a little difficult to track down a notebook with a squirmy 4 month old in my arms most of the day. I’m trying again.

Starbucks: Uh………Um…….No. I failed miserably. I did, however, switch to their light version, which is considerably fewer calories. This one’s going to kill me to accomplish, but I’m trying again.

I do have a recipe I’ll be posting in the next couple of days.

Shopping Trip

I have been a stay at home mom for just under a week now. 6 days, to be exact, and three of those 6 days were spent out of town. In those 6 days I have wondered no less than 40 and no more than 500 times exactly what I have gotten myself into.

For example, today we went grocery shopping for our food for this week. Let me be clear. I. Hate. Grocery shopping. Strongly, vehemently, and passionately. To begin with, nothing puts me in a better mood than trying to squeeze a cart and two kids down an overcrowded aisle politely. My 6 year old has taken lessons from our dog and learned how to stand in exactly the wrong spots at precisely the right time for me to trip over him or clog up the slow moving gears of shopping traffic. And although his mood today is much improved over yesterday, my 4 month old knows how to make it clear he’d rather be doing something else. Mostly, though, he was good.

Smoochie in his own way was just as good. But he has two qualities about him that make him who he is. Mostly I find them endearing, but sometimes I secretly wish for a sensory deprivation tank.

Quality #1. The ability to talk at the speed of light. My husband can tell you precisely what this speed is even when he has been over-served, but I will never remember. Really, though, there is no need to. All I have to do is ask Smoochie a question to start the launch sequence. Speech at the speed of light spews forth. Then there is no stopping it.

“Smooch, should we get a watermelon today?”

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Look, broccoli. There’s napkins. Do you want cheese crackers? How about egg plants? Why do they have to put eggs with the cold stuff? Mom. Mom. Mom. Can we get ice cream? What about the toys? How do they make cheese, Mom? Can we go buy a toy today?”

Let’s just say there’s next to no ability left in me to comparison shop with that dialogue going on in the background.

Quality #2. The ability to turn the smallest excursion into a giant project. This particular quality is one I enjoy watching in action on his grandmother because she has the patience for it. The woman is an absolute saint.

“Smooch, please would you help me carry the groceries inside?”

“Sure. What if I take the first two bags and put them by the pantry? The next bag I can put by the coffee pot, and the one after that I can put on my bed. Mom, I was swinging the bag and a can of green beans accidentally fell out. Would you like them in the freezer? I want to keep our toilet paper rolls and freeze water in them, and a balloon too. That way in the winter time I can take them outside and play bowling with them. Mom, don’t throw THAT box away, I can keep it, freeze water in it, and use it as a seat for my bowling alley this winter.”

Needless to say, a shopping trip that usually takes me an hour took 2 ½ hours.

My lesson #1 as a stay at home mom- Take a really deep breath, slow down, and try to keep up with and respond to speech at the speed of light.