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Category Archives: Parenting

You’ve Got Your Hands Full

Once a year the neighboring town has a huge community yard sale. I wanted to go, but alas, it was the one Saturday that my lovely husband was scheduled to work. However, today I woke up and the sky was bright, and all 3 kids were in a good mood, so off we went.

The yard sales are wildly popular, so the whole town turns into gridlock. So after weeding through traffic, we turned down a side street, found a parking spot, and unloaded. I strapped the little one to my chest, and plopped the big boys in the double umbrella stroller. Normally I would let the big boys walk, but the traffic was so thick, I felt that they would be a lot safer seated in a stroller. As I walked around the neighborhood perusing different yard sales (that were very picked over due to the fact that we weren’t early birds) people kept staring, and pointing, and gaping their mouths open a little. I wasn’t getting it, but then someone actually spoke to me. “Wow! You sure have your hands full!” I replied back happily, “Yes, full of blessings!” And it continued. Within one block three different people stopped to tell me how full my hands were. And each time, I took it as a compliment, smiled, and offered a kind word back.

I’m now quite used to navigating life with three kids that are 4 years old and under, and today everyone was well-behaved. It was easy, and I was excited to be “that” mom to these strangers. You know, the mom with a pile of small kids, who still manages to be put together and happy. Her kids are well-behaved, no one is crying, whining, fighting, spitting, or yelling “POO POO” the top of their lungs, and then giggling wildly. She remembered the sunscreen, her sweet little baby is giving everyone smiles, and she isn’t wearing clothes drenched in baby vomit. People thought I was that mom, and I was loving it. With three small kids, I rarely get to be that mom. It was awesome. For about 5 blocks. Then we came to the hill.

The path we took led us up a steep hill with no sidewalks. I was doing okay at 1st, but then the baby started to cry. I (of course) hadn’t brought a pacifier and the pre-nap meltdown was in full swing. I did a goofy bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy walk up the hill to try to calm him to sleep. “You’ve got your hands full!” I replied with a smile and a quick nod.

And then the hill got steeper. And I was feeling the full weight of the 80 or so pounds of toddler and preschooler I was pushing up the hill in the full heat 90 degree day. “You’ve got your hands full!” Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. A forced smile and a bright “Yep!” Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy.

And the top of the hill was no where in sight. The baby spit up all down the front of me. I started to sweat. I forged on. Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. “Mommy! I gotta go potty! I gotta go NOW!” I double my speed. “Hold on buddy. We’ll be to a bathroom soon! Please try your hardest not to potty in your pants.” Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. Sprint.Sprint. Sprint. Bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy. Sprint. Sprint. Sprint. “You’ve got your hands full!” A half-smile and a half nod.

Yeah, I’m no longer “that” mom. I’m sweaty and hot. I’ve got a crying baby and a preschooler trying not to pee his pants. I’m so different from “that” mom, I can’t believe that I (or any one else) mistook myself for her. I’m a mess, just trying to keep up with caring for my three small boys. Then we arrive at the top of the hill.

The baby is suddenly quiet. He has succumbed to the many rounds of the bounce-bounce-jiggle-shimmy and is asleep against my chest. The big boys are chatting with each other about all the surroundings. I ask my oldest how he’s doing holding his potty in, and he replies “Oh, I’m fine mama. I’ll go potty when we eat lunch.”

I’m back to me. I’m by no means “that” mom, no matter how much I like wearing her perfectly coordinated shoes. I sometimes get to pretend to be her, but life is usually quick in snapping me back into reality. Sometimes I’m the sweaty exhausted mom, dancing her grumpy kids up a never-ending hill, but usually I’m just me. In clothes that rarely match and flip-flops carting my three awesome boys around, soaked in spit-up, making occasional emergency potty runs, breaking up fights over matchbox cars, watching my big boys delight in the big, exciting world around them, and feeling the rise and fall of my tiniest boy’s chest as he naps against me.

I don’t need to be “that” mom to know that my hands are indeed, full of blessings.

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Posted by on June 8, 2013 in kids, Parenting

 

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Seeking Mom Canidates

You must be available to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. We will allow you to have a second job, or go to school, or perhaps have a hobby, but you must be willing to drop these other thing immediately if we need you.

You must be willing to work from 6:30am to 8:30pm, and you will be on call all night, every night.

You must be able to multitask. This does not just mean that you can throw a load of clothes in the wash while making breakfast. You must multitask on a higher level. You have to be able to read the ingredient labels of food in the grocery store while holding a wiggling, screaming 25lb toddler, while managing to stop the preschooler from knocking over an entire display of wine bottles. Olympic gymnasts who have experience in law enforcement will be considered.

You must be able to run fast, with cat-like reflexes. Wether the child decides to wander into the street or hug a feral cat, you must always be prepared to spring into action. *On a related note, for your own safety, you should be fully vaccinated. Your job interview will include a 20 yard dash.

You must be okay with cleaning. No, not “light cleaning duties.” You must change diapers, wipe bottoms, and inevitably clean barf off of the long-haired dog. Additional duties include cleaning jam off of the couch, applesauce off of the floor, and perhaps even poop off of the walls. A haz-mat suit will not be supplied.

On a related note: You must be comfortable with being barfed, peed, and pooped on. Yes, it will happen at some point, no you are not allowed to cry, and you may not be allowed to shower right away.

You must be organized. You need to be able to wrestle both kids into their clothes, pack the diaper bag, let the dog out one last time, and still be able to find your phone and keys. You will also need to keep track of dentist appointments, doctor appointments, vet appointments, play dates, and birthday parties. You will need to be able to do this all in your head because the one year old already ate your calendar.

On a related note: You will need to have an excellent memory. You need to be able to remember what you need from the grocery store even though you left your list on the counter at home. You will also need to be able to remember where the toddler put his blanket, and where the baby left his shoes. You will also need to remember when you left your keys in the fridge.

You must be creative. As this job doesn’t always go according to plan, you must be able to roll with the punches. For example, if you run out of diapers, you must have the foresight to try this.

Duct tape. Not just for ducts.

You must have no need for privacy. If you would like to be in the bathroom alone, arrange to do it while they are napping. You must be comfortable with at least one (but usually more) person in the bathroom with you at all times. If you lock the door, you must be prepared to hear them bang on it the whole time you are peeing.

You must be a first aid expert. You will need to be able to kiss boo-boos and put unnecessary band-aids on places that aren’t even cut because it makes them feel better. You also need to be able to remain calm enough to call the doctor’s office when the child falls out of the shopping cart or starts peeing blood. We prefer an M.D. for this position, but nurses will also be considered.

You must be a master chef. You must be able to cook a wonderful nutritious meal that adults will enjoy, that kids will also be willing to eat. You must do this even though one of the children currently refuses to eat anything that is not orange. Culinary school graduates will be considered.

Work attire is casual. Sweatpants are common, and pajamas are acceptable. We ask that you are willing to both shower and wear jeans on dress-up days.

Because of the demanding nature of this job we have determined that $16/hour would be fair. Since this job is 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, that works out to be a yearly salary of about $140,000.

You will not be getting that. We will pay you with the love of these adorable people instead.

What do you mean, you'd rather have the money

 

 
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Posted by on February 8, 2012 in kids, Parenting

 

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This Cat May Need Fresh Batteries

A conversation with Logan tonight:

(Logan has just begun to discover that certain toys need batteries, and if they don’t have them, they don’t work.)

Logan: Buttons doesn’t need batteries. (Important to note: Buttons is the cat)

Me: Why not?

Logan: Cause he doesn’t need them. (Typical toddler logic.)

Me: Does he have batteries?

Logan: No, Mama.

Me: How does he run then? (I’m trying to get him to understand that food is fuel, and that we eat to get energy. Toys run on batteries, people and pets run on food. Admittedly it’s a bit of an advanced concept for a toddler.)

Logan: Uh, Mama, Buttons doesn’t run.

Oozes yes. Runs, not so much.

Perhaps I should have been more clear with my “how things work” lesson. However, it’s true. Our incredibly lazy, fully indoor cat, indeed does not run (in the “gets places quickly” sense of the word).

It’s awesome how preschoolers can be both wrong and spot on at the exact same time.

 

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2012 in kids, Parenting, Pets, Stuff My Kids Say

 

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Baby Book Failure

So, I am a baby book failure. My oldest sons baby mementos (birth announcement, hospital bracelet, teeny tiny hospital issue hat, ect) are safely stored in a shoe box that I have apparently lost. His little brothers stuff is shoved into the bottom drawer of out filing cabinet, so at least I know that I can find it. Don’t think that this means that I love the baby more. Just to prove that that’s not the case, I’ll let you in on a little secret: Liam’s (the baby) name isn’t even on his keepsake birth certificate (the one they give you at the hospital along with an address to mail $35 to if you want the real deal). Nope, it never got filled out. They were in such a hurry to get us out of there they just handed us a blank one. It looks official though, and I’m thinking that maybe I’ll save it until he is a teenager, and use it to play a really good practical joke on him. Maybe I’ll fill it in to convince him his name isn’t Liam, rather it’s something with more character like, “Belthazar” or “Penguin Pants.” I like to keep my options open.

So, since I do not keep baby books, I don’t have an awesome place to write down the hilarious stuff that comes out of these little people’s mouths. So without further ado, stuff my awesome kids say:

We’ll start with Liam, because he is little and doesn’t say much. He says both Mama and Dada, and though he does say Dada more, I’m not offended. I just take it to mean “Dada come change my poopy diaper!” He does a lot of indiscriminate screaming to try to get his point across (Liam, not Dada), but he is starting to add a few words to his vocabulary. Most recently, he has taken to flinging things on the floor and squealing “Unh-Ahhh,” his version of “Uh-Oh.” Since he is most often flinging food, the dog is his best friend right now. The polite boy that he is, he has started saying “akew” when you give him food. This is baby for “thank-you.”

Logan says piles of funny stuff because he is three and in addition to having a strange little brain, he is also repeating everything he hears. And as you may know, the husband and I are pretty funny. When Logan was a baby, he said all of the usuals, such as “Mama, Dada, up, doggy,” etc. One of my personal favorites was “key-key” (kitty), which was always screamed while in pursuit of the cat. I don’t think that his little 1-year-old brain understood that he was giving the key-key ample time to escape with his warning screech. However, now that he is three, he says tons of awesome things. It’s amazing listening to this tiny little brain that has a shaky grasp on language as it is, saying everything he thinks with no filter. Some of my recent favorites:

When asking for batteries to be replaced in a toy, Logan mentioned that his brother Liam did not run on batteries. When further probed, he revealed that “Leelee runs on cerals and puppies!” No wonder he can crawl so fast.

“I gotta get my bunkles out!” Bunkles = Tangles

Upon asking to describe what he happened when he fell down: “I hurt my pants!”

“I need a napkin!” After vomiting everywhere. You may need a napkin buddy, but I need a haz-mat team.

“Don’t poke my hair!”

Come on though, who wouldn't want to poke awesome hair like this?

 

So, because I am a baby book failure, I have decided that I will blog about all of the things that normal people put in baby books (normal being a relative term I suppose, unless of course normal people write love songs to the pediatric urologist in their baby books).

On that note, I suppose I should mention that Liam started walking this week. Of course I can’t remember which day. If I could I might not be a baby book failure.

 
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Posted by on January 28, 2012 in kids, Parenting, Stuff My Kids Say

 

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Smokey the Bear Would Be Disappointed In Me

I remember Smokey the Bear from grade school. “Only YOU can prevent forest fires!” I have never played with matches, I am cautious with campfires, I make sure that the BBQ is turned off and the fire is extinguished. I’m a pretty fire safe lady. But as I write this my house reeks of smoke, to the point I’m afraid that it is going to set of the smoke alarms, again. So apparently Smokey the Bear was limited in his scope. Yes, I can prevent forest fires, but house fires are clearly a whole other story. I suppose that Smokey only cares if a fire takes out his home, not mine. Selfish bear.

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Let’s rewind back to the Christmas Eve service at our church this year. We were having a small family style service in our church’s living room, cozy and complete with cookies, cocoa, and pretty little tea-lite candles on the table. All was well until the middle of the service when Liam had crawled over and was attempting to eat my husband’s sheet music. He was defenseless against the attack, as he was using both of his hands to play the guitar. I moved the stack of sheet music further toward the center of the table. Problem solved. Until about 30 seconds later when the song took an interesting turn. “O come, o come Emman-Uh! Nicole, FIRE!” Yep I had set the stack of music directly on top of the candle which shockingly resulted in a fire. I grabbed the stack of paper and blew on it. When that didn’t prove effective, I ran the papers to the bathroom and extinguished them in the sink. Christmas service continued with a sense of excitement in the air. The only drawback was my husband trying to play the songs with a large chunk burned away. Everyone was quite understanding. I chalked it up to a fluke. It had been a long day, and I was exhausted. Tired people set the occasional accidental fire. Whatever.

Moving forward, we had friends over for dinner this weekend. I made mini pizzas and some of them had olive oil for a sauce. I opened the oven to check on the pizzas, and moments later the smoke detectors were going off. Some of the olive oil had gotten on the burner of the stove and created a nice smoke cloud. The smoke detectors in our house are really quite awesome. 1st of all, our 750 square foot house that would be totally covered with one smoke detector, has 3. They followed code, and placed one in each bedroom and in the living room. The bedrooms are right off of the living room, meaning that we have 3 smoke detectors all within about 6 square feet. When one goes off, they all go off. On top of that, the smoke detectors are hardwired, and I don’t really know what that entails except for the fact that they don’t need batteries, and you can’t turn them off in the case of a false alarm. You just have to stand there and fan them repeatedly until they decide that the threat has passed and calm down. So we fanned them, they calmed down, and we all had some laughs about my cooking.

Fast forward to this afternoon. I was on the couch dinking around on Facebookdoing homework, and suddenly with no warning, the smoke detectors were at it again. I glanced into the kitchen to make sure that I had indeed turned the oven off after lunch. I had, so I assumed that perhaps it was the cool mist humidifier that I was running for the baby in the playroom while he napped. I went into the playroom, and other than the smoke detector making the baby scream, all was well. Just as I was silently cursing the stupid crazy smoke detectors, I walked into the boys’ room. It was pungent with smoke. I went straight to the electric baseboard heater to examine it while Logan pointed at the smoke detector and informed me, “Mama, I think it be makin noises.” Really buddy, ya think? The curtains were still hanging clear of it, so I crouched down to see if anything had fallen behind the dresser. I found three sippy cups of water neatly lined up against the heater, but they were barely even warm, so I peeked inside the actual vent part and saw an obstruction. I fished around in the vent and found this:

Mmmm... warm and toasty

Yep, that is a singed sock and a very burned part of what used to be a Target receipt. Being the genius that I am, I pulled these out of the very hot heater with my bare hands. Please note, that my finger is now blistered. I then aired out the room the best I could opening all of the doors and windows, even though it was freezing out. Once the room was sufficiently aired out, I put the kiddos back down to nap, but not before I had a little talk with the three year-old about not putting stuff in the heater. He listened very carefully and nodded yes, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he is not the actual culprit. I happen to know someone who has just learned the skill of putting things into other thing (like blocks into a cup, or perhaps socks into a heater vent), and has a particular disdain for socks. I cannot actually prove my theory, but I’m pretty certain that the perp is 2 foot 7, blue eyes, blond hair (but mostly bald), and looks a little something like this:

I thought his crimes would stop at texting and driving; who knew arson would be next

I am actually so grateful for my annoying smoke detectors because I was seriously sitting 5 feet away from his room and I didn’t smell anything until I opened the door. Yikes! Just to be on the safe side, I piled blankets on him and turned the heater off for the rest of his nap (either that or I turned it all the way up- half of our heater knobs are installed upside down, so it’s hard to remember in which room to do what).

So Smokey the Bear was right. I can prevent forest fires. However, my fire prevention skills apparently stop there, as I clearly cannot prevent indoor fires. I’m not sure what his advice to me would be, but I feel like even though a have yet to set a forest fire, he’d probably be disappointed in me.

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2012 in Cooking, kids, Parenting

 

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My (Dip-alicious) Plan for World Peace

My three year-old is going through a phase. He has to have everything his way. He has to do what he wants, when he wants to do it. Everyone who disagrees with him is wrong. He has become a control freak. I think that this phase is most commonly refered to as “childhood.” I would say that I hope it stops soon, but to be quite honest, I still might be going through the same phase myself. And even though I don’t usually resort to throwing whiney tantrums, I do tend to get my way. Because I am the adult. Or at least I put up a pretty good front pretending that I am.

Everything has become a battle. I’ve found (the hard way, of course) the secret to doing battle with three year-olds. Are you ready for this parenting wisdom? I choose to not battle him whenever possible. This only works for little things like letting him wear whatever the heck he wants, even if he looks completely ridiculous. I did have problems with him wanting to wear dirty clothes, but I just told him that everything in his hamper is dirty, and gross, and might have baby poop on it. Now he won’t go within three feet of the thing, let alone resurrect any clothes out of it. We also have our nonnegotiables: you will wear a jacket and shoes, you will sit buckled into your car seat, you will say please and thank you, and you won’t have screaming banshee fits in public unless you want to start a war with mama. We do try to offer lot of choices: green beans or carrots, fork or spoon, milk or water, simmer down or time-out. However, sometimes you can’t win.

Lately we’ve been in the midst of a food battle. This kid has been an awesome eater for the last two years, but his appetite has diminished considerably lately. And what’s worse is that he barely eats any fruits or vegetables any more. It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to worry about scurvy. Which leads us to lunch the other day. I made sandwiches and pear slices. Logan was, once again, refusing to eat his pear slices. I tried to coax him into trying a bite.

Him: “No! I don’t like appwles!”

Me: “They’re not apples! They’re pears. You will like pears. Look, brother likes his pears.”

Him: “No pears! I don’t like them!”

Me: “No sandwich until you try your pears.”

Him: “NOOOOOOOO!” (He thinks for a moment) “Can I have some dip-dip then please?”

Me: “Sure pal.”

Please take this moment to note, that my child (much like most young children) loves dip-dip. He’s mostly a ranch or ketchup guy, but he likes all kinds of dip-dip. I totally use this to my advantage. I take his plate into the kitchen and grab a jar of left over baby food that our youngest never ate from the pantry. To be extra spiteful, I made sure it was pears. I plopped some pear puree on the plate alongside his sliced pears and gave it back to him. He dipped the pears into the pear puree, and made yummy noises. He ate all of them, and asked for more. He felt like he won, but really I won. So in my book we both won. And you can judge me for tricking my kid, but at least now he’s not going to get scurvy. I am totally counting this as a parenting victory.

Dip-dip has restored the peace in our house (at least temporarily). And I think I’m on to something here. Perhaps I’ll call the UN to pitch them my idea…

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2012 in Food, kids, Parenting

 

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Post-Holiday Chaotic Bliss (Complete With Sweatpants and Cardboard Boxes)

My husband was on vacation from the 17th through the 25th of this month. Coincidently I did not post on the blog during this time. Some may suspect that this lack of posting was because I was busy hanging out with my husband (which I suppose may be true). However, truly, my lack of posting can mostly be boiled down to a lack of material. As it turns out when my husband is home to help manage the chaos that tends to saturate my life, my life is actually a lot less chaotic. And as a result, less interesting. It’s times like these that I can rejoice in the fact that I don’t have a live in nanny. Can you imagine how boring my life would be? I wouldn’t get to experience any of the crazy antics that tend to ensue when I take my children out of the house by myself, and I would probably be out of excuses for my hair being in a permanent bun, and for wearing yoga pants (which unless you actually practice yoga, are pretty much sweat pants) a lot of the time. Kind of a no-win situation.

Now that my husbands vacation is over, the chaos is back in full swing. The munchkins and I have a nasty cold, which my in-no-way-medically-trained-mother diagnosed over the phone as either bronchitis or pneumonia. She couldn’t do an in-person diagnosis because she refused to come within 3 square miles of my germs. Regardless, due to our cold (which is not probable to be bronchitis or pneumonia), the kiddos and I have been hanging around the house, fighting over the new toys. I’d like to say that it’s just the kids fighting over the toys, but seriously, the Weeble Treehouse that we got for the baby is awesome! You know you want one.

Even with all of the new toys, the most popular playthings in our house this week have been the boxes. Which I think is great. Playing like this: fun!

This is The. Best. Toy. Ever.

 Finding your toddler has climbed atop the new kiddie table, crawled inside the box, and is about to fling himself (box and all) off the side onto his unsuspecting baby brother, significantly less fun. Sadly, there is no picture of this because I felt a need to stop bodily harm from occurring to either child. This scenario has further confirmed the suspicion that while my son has my blue eyes, and my awesome hair, he was entirely bestowed with Daddy’s reasoning skills.

Since Daddy is back to work, and since there are still tons of awesome boxes lying around, I predict that more chaos is to ensue. But, as I’ve made clear, chaos makes life interesting. So until school starts back up for me next week, I will be chilling in my yoga pants with messy hair, enjoying the chaos that my children create around me. Ahhh, back to normal.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2011 in Holidays, kids, Parenting

 

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