Max never messed with the childproofed areas around the house. He never tried to open cabinets or get into the toilet. He did attempt the occasional drawer, but, since he couldn’t get far, he’d just get frustrated and give up. That’s why we never even completely childproofed the drawers in the kitchen, he just didn’t care about them. I have even joked that half of the drawers are childproofed, except the knife drawer…you think I’m kidding? So, you can imagine my shock and complete bewilderment when I discovered Kate’s new pastime: removing the outlet covers! It started slowly, and I didn’t even know what was really going on. I caught her a few times with the plastic covers in her mouth and thought, “Ah. That must have been Ryan’s neglectful oversight,” and I would make a mental note to chastise him about the dangers of leaving electrical outlets exposed. But it started happening so often, I decided that even Ryan wouldn’t be that careless, so I decided to set her by an outlet and see if my suspicions were correct. So, I sat and watched a ten month old carefully and meticulously pry away the thin, plastic cover that separated her little body from about 15000 watts of pure shock. She has since made it her new sport…nay, her personal MISSION to search and destroy all outlet covers. The problem is, she is completely opposite from Max in terms of patience. I’m sure he tried to get the covers off, but gave up quickly and moved on to bigger and better dangers; like the stairs(man, that kid loved climbing stairs!). Kate, on the other hand, has the patience of a nun and the focus of a knife juggler. She also has freakishly long, bony fingers that enable her to get in between about a half millimeter of space to pry that sucker clean off. I’m a little out of my league on this one. I have tried saying “No!” in my assertive voice while I remove her from the dangerous situation, but she just laughs and keeps on prying. So I guess I’ll have to keep searching the internet for the perfect outlet cover, and keep fishing plastic covers out of her mouth until I find a better solution. ni0h'[ioj’klm;.,…she also likes to help me type:)
This has nothing to do with kids or being a mom, but I HAD to share the top stories on Yahoo News tonight….I cannot make this up! The first major headline reads, “Iceland on the Brink of ‘National Bankruptcy'” and the second major headline reads, “Bond girl reveals she had two extra fingers.” And THAT Senators Obama and McCain is the reason why America is the greatest nation on earth….our ability to split focus and make sure to get ALL of the important news gets to the people. God I love the USA!
For my son’s first Halloween, I dressed him like a little pony. For his second, he roared like a lion. This past Halloween he was an overstuffed, over-sugared dragon. However, this Halloween the cutsie, adorable, plush costumes are a thing of the past and he wants to be….Spiderman. Of course, it’s the outfit with the fake muscles, which cracks me up every year to see a little, scrawny 4 year old head flanked by a sea of padding and ripples, waiting eagerly at the door for the “good stuff.” And boy, do I hand out the premium, quality good stuff!! It was kinda sad when I realized that, from now on, I would be doing Pirates and Ninja’s and Batman. Yes, it was pretty depressing…..then I went to Babies R’Us. I was walking up the aisle when I saw it. The most adorable, sickening sweet costume I just HAD to stuff my 10 month old into! Just when I thought that no kid could possibly look as cute in a plush baby costume as Max did…..I saw it. A Daisy costume complete with pedals around the head and ladybugs on the stem(her body). The link isn’t the exact one, Kate’s has legs instead of bunting. But Oh. My. Gosh. I raced home and put it on her immediately. I am happy to report that my Halloween has been salvaged. She is so freakin’ cute I think I’m going to be sick….now I’ve gotta figure out how long I can ride THIS wave. Maybe a ladybug next year? A puppy? How bout a good ole’ pumpkin? I’ve already started counting down the Halloweens until I have to contend with the slutty cheerleader or vamp or whatever other revealing girls costumes they are marketing towards our pre-teens. But, for now, I’m just going to enjoy my muscled Spiderman and sweet, adorable Daisy….and take loads of pictures for blackmailing purposes when she tells me she’s wants to be this.
My three year old has three towels that he HAS to use; a monkey, frog and dog. They were gifts from my baby shower while I was pregnant with him. They are those cutsie, hooded bath towels that look so adorable in the store, and even MORE adorable when they’re wrapped around a chubby faced 9 month old. Well, my son is three now, so you can imagine what those cutsie, animal towels look like now…but I digress. I washed all three the other day and, while Max was in the bathtub, I hung the frog and the monkey from the bathroom door(in plain sight of my little angel), and folded the dog towel and stored it under the sink(out of his sight). I asked Max, “What do you want to be tonight? A frog or monkey?” His eyes darted to the door. I could see his little eyes jump back and forth between the frog and monkey hanging….I could hear the wheels turning in his head. Then he smiled that devilish little grin that you mothers of “spirited” children know so well. He looked at me with a Cheshire cat grin, and I knew EXACTLY what was coming. “I want to be a doggie…HAHAHAHAHA!” Which translated roughly means, “I want to be the animal that you DON’T have readily available. Now run off, head hung low with defeat, and get me the animal towel that I so desire or I’m gonna make you sorry you chose to sit on your lazy ass all day instead of doing the laundry, including ALL of my towels. Off you go mother. Off. You. Go.” I watched as my adorable little angel laughed at my perceived incompetence, but little did HE know….I was one step ahead. I sweetly looked at him and said, “Well, you’re in luck Max. Because I happen to have the doggie one right here,” and I reached behind me and produced the folded dog towel. He was stunned. Shocked beyond words and that mischievous grin on his face froze, and then slowly faded as he realized he had been had. But, he was not going to go down without a fight and proceeded to scream, “NO! I WANT TO BE A FROGGIE!!!” So I sweetly and politely reached for the frog towel. “NO! I WANT TO BE A…A….ummmm…I DON’T WANT ANY ANIMALS!!!!” I applaud his last ditch effort to obtain some sort of control over the situation, but, yet again, I reached behind me and produced a yellow non-animal towel. He didn’t say it, but I could tell….defeat. He slowly stood up and humbly asked for the dog towel. It doesn’t happen very often, but that day….at that moment….I WAS the smarterest person in the room. You can’t play a playa sucka!
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a huge Oprah fan(you go girlfriend!). Throughout the years, she’s had different shows with different guests all with the same theme; when you get that weird feeling about a situation and the hair on the back of your neck stands up….run. She’s said it over and over and so have her guests. They all had similar stories and the same message…listen to your instincts and don’t worry about offending someone. Well, a situation happened to me when I was at Target just yesterday and I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, but then I got to thinking(Uh, oh! She’s THINKING again!).
I was in the Halloween costume aisle with my 3 year old. I usually have him walking right next to me or just a few feet ahead of me. For some reason, yesterday he was trailing me as we went up and down the aisles, arguing about whether he wanted to be a pirate(his idea) or a cutsie cowboy riding a stuffed horse(my idea). He was about 4 feet behind me, standing at the end of the aisle where it meets the cross aisle. It was one of those situations where I was looking the opposite direction, but I knew exactly where he was. I just turned my eyes off of him for 2 seconds and when I looked back, I saw him squatting down examining a costume, and an older gentleman standing there staring at him. He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s, had facial hair and was a bit overweight. He wasn’t smiling or scowling or had any sort of decipherable expression; he was staring blankly at Max. As soon as I saw this dude…you guessed it. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight out and I caught his eye as I called for my son. It would have been completely undetectable to any passer by…just two strangers who caught each others gaze. But for just a millisecond, we stared each other down. I don’t know what he was thinking, but the ever so slight expression in my eyes said, “Back the F*@k off.” Then, he broke our connection and just kept walking. No smile, no nod of acknowledgement, no look of surprise…..nothing.
Of course, I felt bad immediately after and entertained all of the other, more tame possibilities: he was looking past Max at a costume; he was tired and just had the stares; he was wondering what was so intriguing; he was just an asshole; he was just a harmless old man who’d just received death-beam rays shooting out of this crazy woman’s eyes for no apparent reason. Yes, I tried to justify them all, but kept coming back to the same conclusion: I had just stared down evil.
Why am I writing such a depressing and heavy post on this awesomely funny and light blog? Because this is a blog about being a mother and I know that we all do it. We all get relaxed a bit in public and allow our kids out of our sights for just a second or two…nobody wants to be that insane, overbearing mother who’s constantly screaming at her kid to “Get OVER here!” when the kid is like, 6 inches away. However, I think, in that moment, God sent me a little warning. Just a little red flag to remind me to keep a better eye on one of His children. Well, I heard ya, loud and clear and I hope that you all will keep your guards up and always listen to that little voice that says, “This doesn’t feel right.”
Not to belittle the whole “failure to thrive” thing, but honestly….if a doctor said that I was in the 20th percentile for weight and 40th percentile for height, I just might make out with her. Seriously. We spend the first years of our lives trying to gain weight and keep up with the average percentiles. We then proceed to spend the rest of our lives trying to LOSE weight and keep up with rail thin teenagers and actresses! Oh, the irony. Why am I saying all this? I took Kate in for her 9 month check-up and the pediatrician said she was too, “skinny.” She only gained .2 oz in three months and barely grew in height. It seems as if Miss Thang decided that growing was just too much to deal with and she went on hiatus…such a diva! Like I said, I don’t mean to make light of the fact that she didn’t grow, as evident by the mere fact that I marched home and proceeded to shove food down her throat! I just thought how interesting it was that being called skinny and petite is not such a good thing when we’re little, but TOTALLY acceptable when we’re older. I use to be considered skinny and petite…now I would give my left nut to be called skinny. That is, if I actually had nuts to sacrifice to the skinny gods.
Oh, and don’t you like the fact that on September 11th, the 7th anniversary of our nation’s most devastating terrorist attacks…I’m only concerned with being skinny? Typical.
I’m updating the blog theme….may take a while!
They said it wouldn’t last. They said it was just a “phase,” and she would grow out of it. But, I’m pretty sure that Kate going “commando” is here to stay. What? No, no…I’m not talking about her not wearing a diaper. I’m talking about her crawling like a foot soldier in the trenches during the Tet Offensive. It’s actually kinda cute and I should post a video of her, but I get kinda creeped out when I think about putting my kids’ images on a public blog. But you get the idea. They use to say that army crawling was a sign of developmental delay. But she’s already pulling herself up to stand, cruising and, most importantly, deciding that it’s time to stop taking Max’s crap, and START fighting back. Or, at least, yell at him when he starts pushing her around. So “They” obviously never met my kid!
She started pretty early. Back when she was about 5 months old, I would be washing dishes or something(yes, we have a dishwasher yet I STILL get stuck hand washing. What is that?), and I’d her this little, baby grunting coming from the living room. I’d walk over, and there she was. Pulling herself along, dragging dead, lifeless legs behind her; all the while eyeballing Max’s matchbox car, and using every ounce of her willpower to reach it to get it in her mouth! It was quite a sight to behold….disturbing actually. I actually think that she just got tired of waiting on me to get her what she wanted. There it was. Staring at her. LAUGHING at her. The toy that she wanted but couldn’t have. I’m sure it was torture, but I admire the fact that she didn’t just lay around screaming for something. No, she used her feminine wiles and brute strength to get exactly what she wanted. A woman after my own heart.
Four words that I’m starting to dread…”Wanna play Ned’s Head?” My mom bought this game, “What’s in Ned’s Head” a few months ago and not a day has passed since that my 3 year old hasn’t played it! It’s actually a really gross game, you reach in the big, oversized cartoon head and pull out things like a dirty diaper, vomit, bird poop etc. Yeah. But, nonetheless, my son is completely sold on this game and plays it constantly, and anything that keeps his attention longer than 20 minutes is the most genius invention by my standards. The good part is that it’s quiet. When I’m trying to get the baby to sleep, I slyly suggest he go upstairs and play Ned’s Head while whispering quiet, like a mouse. He bounds off happily, squeaking like a mouse and deliriously excited to reach into a head and pull out a brain. He has spent hours pulling out the objects, laying them on their respective cards and lining them all up in sequence. Lately, he’s been pulling me upstairs to play with him, which was fun at first and made me feel like I was spending good, quality time with him….until about the 207th time I pulled out the stinky sock and I’m begging him to play something different! A puzzle? How about a game of Connect Four? Anyway, just thought I’d share this little gem I found incase there are others out there who need 30 minutes of peace and quiet from their pre-schooler!
My son started pre-school today and I think I was more broken up about it than he was! He’s been attending a Montessori school since he was 18 months, so the idea of “school” is not new to him. I can’t help but think back to that time when he was almost 2 and going through some tough separation anxiety. Every time I started driving in the direction of the school he’d start screaming, “No School, No School! No School Mommy!” It made my heart melt almost to the point of me turning around. Note here I said “almost.” There was no chance in H-E double hockey sticks(doesn’t quite have the same impact as saying it, does it?), I was going to miss my opportunity to have a few hours to clean, run errands or, God forbid…..shower! It was difficult leaving a red-faced, screaming boy whose got his face pressed up against the glass, begging you not to go(here’s where you all send out a collective “Awwwweee”).
Yes, those days were tough on both of us but after a few months of the same battle, it does start to wear on you. You start to dread going anywhere because you know it’s going to be a big, loud production leaving him at the child care place and all you want to do is get your stupid hair cut without running after a toddler who decided that the color girl didn’t know what she was doing and it’s up to HIM to mix your hair color specially for you. But, the days go by and your toddler gets older and smarter and more independent, and one day you wake up and he’s begging you to leave him at the gym’s kid center and asking when he can go back to school. My husband dropped him off this morning and said that it was like letting a bull out of a pin, that’s how excited he was. I guess I should be happy and a bit relieved that my kid is the one that doesn’t cling and throw a fit….but I’m actually kinda sad. I’m starting to miss those days when he didn’t want to leave my side, but everyone’s gotta move on sometime and with kids, you’re either in, or you’re out(only to be read in Heidi Klum’s weird accent from Project Runway). Meaning, one day you’re the cat’s pajamas and they just love, love, LOVE you and can’t be without you; the next, when they don’t need you anymore, you’re wanted about as much as a sailor wants a venereal disease. At least I have an 8 month old and I’m very much looking forward to bitching about separation anxiety all over again.