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“Did You Run Her Over?”

Yesterday was a beautiful day, so after nap we threw swimsuits on the family and headed up to a nearby park that has a shallow, narrow river (basically a glorified creek) running through it. We were clearly not the only people with the idea to cool off, so the dirt/gravel parking lot was packed. We navigated a spot and headed down to the water to swim. 

After playing in the water for awhile, the boys decided they were done, so we dried off and loaded back into the car. As we started to inch through the still-packed parking lot a young woman carrying a baby fell about 15 yards in front of our car. She was carrying a baby and she took great pains (quite literally) to not drop him or fall on him when she tripped, so she ended up slamming down quite hard on her back with her baby on top of her. 

My mom instinct kicked in and I threw the car in to park and leaped out to help her. She was crying tears I know all to well, tears of frustration and embarrassment, more than tears of pain. I lifted her baby off her chest and another man who had noticed her fall and I pulled her to standing. While we were trying to help her find her car in the mess of a parking lot, her boyfriend found her amidst the commotion and led her and the baby back to their car.

I headed back to my car glad to be part of a society where people still care about other people and stop to help them out. 

I climbed in the car and Logan (my 4 and 1/2 year-old), who had been watching the scene unfold, posed a question for me, his voice laden with concern: “Mama, did you run that lady over?”

Needless to day, it wasn’t really the question that I expected. “No Logan, I did not run her over! She fell down, so I helped her back up.”

So either Logan thinks I’m a crazy, reckless driver or our parking lot safety talks make more of an impact than I ever imagined.

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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My Birthday, Version 2.0

Tonight is a do-over for my birthday. My real birthday falls in December, and this year it happened to be 3 days after the birth of my youngest, and my wee one and I had just stumbled out of the NICU in a jumbled, sleep-deprived, haze. My sister offered to take the big boys overnight for my birthday months before, and she was still excited to do so. We figured we’d drop them off at her house and have dinner at my favorite steakhouse with the newest addition to our family.

We dropped the boys off over an hour late (because someone forgot how long it takes to get out of the house with a brand new baby), and were on our way. The restaurant was a debacle as they were out of rolls (which was a complete tragedy considering that they have the best rolls EVER, and also that I had just been let off of the severe carb restriction that I had due to gestational diabetes), and they served us some seriously undercooked shrimp, which had some serious ramifications later (I’ll let you fill in the blanks there).

On the way home we had to pull over in a parking lot to feed the baby. Since it was late and nothing was open, I ended up feeding the baby in the front seat of our (parked) car, while trying to keep him warm enough, in the dark. Yeah, that was a party.

We embarked on the drive home (as the steakhouse is 45 minutes from where we live), and my husband made a comment that at least this drive gave us some nice time to chat since we’d been so busy that week and had no time to talk. At least that’s what I assume he said. I can’t be sure, as I dozed off about 25 seconds after we started driving. Conversationalist, fail. Although, I apparently I muttered random intelligible comments throughout the drive home, so I get points for trying.

So, anyway, my sweet husband has decided that we are going to have a do-over tonight on my half birthday. Oh, and for the 1st time ever, we’re leaving all 3 kids with a babysitter! I’m really excited. We’re going to the steakhouse (and a movie!) and I have high hopes. I’m cautiously optimistic that they’ll have rolls and I will stay far away from the shrimp!

Maybe this time I’ll get a less painful present.

Cute, but I was not wildly fond of the packaging it had to come in.

Cute, but I was not wildly fond of the packaging it had to come in.

 
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Posted by on June 21, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

I Stole My Kid’s Bed

Yep, that’s right. I stole it. Right in front of him. Not because I wanted a toddler bed (with a lumpy crib mattress as old as the toddler himself) for myself. But because I’m the kind of mommy who follows through with the crazy punishments that I threaten, even though I know it’s a little insane.

So you may be wondering what sort of preschooler infraction warrants parental bed theft as a punishment. Clearly this means you haven’t spent enough time in our house.

Logan (the currently bedless 3 and 1/2 year old) has a great imagination. His bed is sometimes a tractor, sometimes a train, sometimes a rocket ship, sometimes it’s a dinosaur, sometimes it’s a giant trampoline. And this is usually fine. I love me some childhood imagination. What I don’t love is when this imagination causes him to jump/kick/destroy a bed that is not only supposed to sleep him, but that I would like to be able to pass down to the younger sibling (fresh with his own lumpy mattress, of course). He gotten several warnings about the bed destruction. The last warning came with a threat: If you mess up your bed one more time, you will not have a bed.

And then today rolls around. I’m getting the boys ready for nap and I notice some pretty serious bed damage. I ask Logan what happened, and he provided my with a sheepishly honest response: “Well Mama, I was doin’ some jumpin’…”

And then I stole his bed. He watched me with a look of mild horror as I hauled his bed out into the living room.

Of course, I reminded him how he had been warned, and we had a quick talk about respecting property. And then I tucked him into a nice blanket on the floor.

I’m not sure when he gets his bed back. Or where I’m going to put his bed while it’s in “time-out.” Currently it’s blocking my front door. I’m sure my husband will have some input when he tries to come inside after work today.

 

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

(in)Sanity

Today I tried to have a perfect day. I really did. I wanted a day without stress and without incident.

When my kids woke up at 7 instead of 8 because of freaking Daylight Savings Time, did I convince them it was still night-time, and that they needed to go back to sleep? (And I know that some parents out there are thinking that I’m lucky that my kids sleep until 8 regularly, and I shouldn’t be complaining. However, I. AM. NOT. A. MORNING. PERSON. Not even a little bit. So yep, a 7am wake up scream does not make me happy.) No, I did not. I mustered all of my energy and got the little rats up and got breakfast started (toaster paynk-paynks? you ask, why certainly.)

Liam settled into shoveling food into his face, while Logan spent the whole breakfast time in the bathroom. He did not want to go potty, a fact that he established by screaming it at the top of his lungs. “I DON’T WANNA GO POTTY! NOOOOOOO! I WANNA PUT MY UNNIES ON! UNNIES! UNNNNIIIIEEESSSS!” I calmly explained that his undies and breakfast were all ready for him, and he could have both as soon as we peed. After a good half hour in the bathroom he relented.

I had given Logan oranges along with his pancake, because Liam was having bananas and Logan doesn’t like bananas. Immediately upon sitting down he demanded a banana. Knowing that there is no arguing with him, I gave him a half of a banana. Which he ate exactly 2 bites of before feeding the remainder to the dog.

I decided that I would get some mileage out of the new membership that we purchased to Mobius, a children’s museum. After breakfast, we proceeded to get dressed and ready. I put Liam’s shoes on. He took them off. I put them back on. He took them back off. I put them back on. He took them off, and tried to feed them to the dog. I wondered if I could make my millions by inventing some sort of shoe suspenders that attached to a belt or something so that babies could not remove their own shoes. I gave up on Liam wearing shoes. I tried to convince Logan to pick matching socks, an idea he wanted nothing to do with, and we all finally ended my mostly dressed and ready.

We arrived downtown and went to a parking lot that is about 10 blocks away from the children’s museum because my mom works in the building and lets us use a parking pass whenever we go downtown. I can’t say no to free parking. We go up and visit my mom in her office for a bit, and I try to get Logan to go the bathroom while we are there. This results in another big stand-off until I am lamenting that the bathroom walls are cinderblock so it’s unlikely that I would be able to smash my head through one. I finally tell Logan that he doesn’t have to go right now, but if he pees his pants, we’re going straight home, and going to nap before lunch. And suddenly someone is ready to potty. That’s right: threatening children with malnourishment works!

We proceed to the children’s museum many blocks away. On the way there Liam pulls off his socks no less than 25 times. For those of you who aren’t so good at math that’s 2.5 times per block. If it wasn’t so cold, I wouldn’t push it, but I’m actually afraid his feet might fall off from the cold. We arrive at the children’s museum just minutes after a large preschool field trip does. What was supposed to be a quiet morning is now a zoo. We actually have a lot of fun at the museum, despite the baby almost getting destroyed by a crazy preschooler on a push car. Logan whines when we have to leave.

We get home, eat lunch, and the kids go down for nap. I listen to a message from my mother in law about home school curriculum accreditation that sends me into a stress frenzy. Which is why I spent the last 2 hours researching homeschooling laws etc. online. I’ve also just remembered that I need to schedule dentist appointments and Christmas pictures. I seriously don’t even want to know what my blood pressure is today.

So today wasn’t anywhere near perfect, but several parts of it have been very fun. I feel like maybe I’m setting my expectations too high for having a 1 and a 3 year old. Instead of a perfect day tomorrow, I think we’ll shoot for a fun and messy day where my blood pressure can stay within normal limits (mostly).

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

There’s Nothing to See Here

I have a love/hate relationship with the internet. It allows me to do the majority of my college classes from home, to keep up with old friends that I never see (thank you Facebook), to find a recipe for dinner in moments, to be able to almost instantly settle an argument between my husband and I about whether or not it was a full moon that night (you know I was right), to be able to stream a VeggieTales program to my TV when I’m sick and need the preschooler to sit still for a darn minute, and to update a blog with my random parenting musings. The internet can be pretty awesome. Then there is my hate relationship with it. So much stuff is out there, and as a relatively conservative mama, I feel like there is a lot of stuff out there on the internet that really shouldn’t be. Which brings me to the actual story.

So, I have the ability to look at what people typed into search engines that caused them to find and click on my blog. Usually it’s a very boring report to look at, so I almost never do. However this week an entry on the search engine terms list caught my eye: “licking peanut butter off a little girl’s toes.” Okay, so I don’t know this person, but that does not sound like an appropriate Google search to me. Now, I have done some strange Google searches such as: “can a screaming child cause a brain aneurysm,” and “how to scrub poop off of very textured walls,” and right after that, “how to stop toddler from smearing poop on walls.” So really, I am no stranger to the random Google search. However, the person who found my blog via that search was likely not looking for anything too innocent, at least in my opinion. Although search engines usually pull up a brief abstract from the site, and the post that this search pulled up was about my trip to a school orientation that culminated in my 11 month old son Liam, licking peanut butter off of his own feet. Not exactly a risqué situation. I really do hope this person wasn’t looking for anything inappropriate, but just having a weird Google search moment of their own. However, I realize that this is probably not the case.

So back to my relationship with the internet. I love my kids. I love talking about them. I love bragging them up. I love showing them off. Right before I saw this search engine list, I had been working on a silly post about my kids with a lot of silly pictures. After I saw this search engine term, I was hesitant to finish the post. Currently (except for the one picture tied to this page), the only pictures I post of my kids online are the ones in my Facebook page that I control the access to. I don’t think any parent has to actually say this, as it’s strongly implied, but I don’t want perverts looking at pictures of my kids. So after much consideration, I have decided to finish the post, complete with pictures. Honestly it was a good reminder that anything I post, people can see, and use as they’d like, even if these people are less than savory characters. With that in mind, I will not post anything like bath-tub or potty-training pictures (even though I have some totally G-rated awesome ones). However, a picture of my 3 year-old passed out in his plate of pizza will probably be okay.

I’d honestly like to assume the best in people, and that the person who used that search term forgot to include “a dog” or something at the beginning of the phrase. But if not: Greetings Perverts! You will not find any weird pervert-ey material that you may have looking for here, but you may find some amusing adventures of a stay-at-home mama. And I can say with certainty that there will be no pictures posted of anyone, even the dog, licking peanut butter off of anything.

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

The Walk of Shame

So Saturday was a magical day. My lovely husband allowed me to sleep in (although that did not prevent my toddler from climbing up on my bed, leaping atop me, ripping back the covers, and shouting “Mommy! Mommy! Are you SLEEPING!”). My eyes are closed, I’m immobile and unresponsive, and well, I’m in bed. I know you are two, but come on Sherlock, deduce! So, good morning, I’m up. After my gentle awakening, I shuffled to the kitchen where I consumed a beautiful Krispy Creme maple bar (which we never have in our house). The only reason we have a box of Krispy Cremes in our house to start with is that my husband phoned me during his lunch break on Friday with what he told me was an urgent errand that could not wait. He needed me to head all the way out to Krispy Creme to pick up a dozen doughnuts because it was (I kid you not) National Doughnut Day. Oh, the joys of being a stay at home mom. If the puke, poop, and general childcare don’t keep me busy enough, I have national doughnut emergencies to attend to. I however enjoy the occasional Krispy Creme, so I obliged.

So back to Saturday morning:

I enjoy my delicious day after National Doughnut Day maple bar, check my email, play with the kids, and just have a relaxing morning. Everyone is in a great mood and my potty training toddler is on a roll with zero, that’s right zero accidents all morning. He even goes down at nap time without a huge fight, and Liam (our 7 month old) seems to be in a good mood too so we slather him with sunblock, add a giant hat and some baby sunglasses, and when we are finished he resembles a very tiny, pudgy, happy 80-year-old man. We plop him in his exersaucer on the deck and he’s good to go.

So the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and my husband and I settle in to do some yard work. I am not normally a yard work doing type of mama (to give you an idea I do not, to this day, know how in creation one would turn on a lawnmower), but Saturday was going so nicely that I was into it. I mixed chemicals, I pulled weeds, I stepped in dog poop while wearing flip-flops (not intended, and not technically yard work I guess). The point is, I was doing it, and I was having fun. At one point the afternoon took a turn for the worse when my husband and I had a slight disagreement (okay, that’s a lie, it got ugly) about whether we should apply Round-Up to the weeds behind the garage before or after weed whacking them. Speaking of which, the weed whacker is another lawn appliance that I have no idea how to use. Not that I ever will since I am completely unwilling to be within 50 feet of one while it’s on. I literally yelled to my husband from 50 feet away for a solid 5 minutes while he was weed whacking on Saturday before he noticed me. Then he didn’t even want the water I’d just ruined my throat offering to him. So anyway, we settle the Round-Up / weed whacker debate, by agreeing to do it the right way (which was incidentally the way that both I and the manufacturer recommended).

We finish the yard work, and our boys wake from their naps. We delight them by announcing that we are going to the park. (Well we delight Logan al least. Liam just sort of drools, then smiles, so I’m willing to accept that as a sign of delight as well.) So we arrive at the park and our perfect day continues. We’ve never been to this one before so Logan is running around, having a blast, and Liam is chilling in his stroller, decked out in his 80-year-old man sun gear, peacefully chewing on his hat.

Then it happens, we have our first melt down. Logan wants to play in the splash pad, but we don’t have swim trunks for him with us. It was very warm, and not wanting to stomp on the fun, we strike a bargain. If he goes pee pee on the potty, he can play in the water. My logic for this is that we have 2 extra pairs of undies and an extra pair of shorts in the bag because of potty training, so if he pees on the potty now (instead of in his shorts later) we won’t need the extra shorts, so he can get the pair he is wearing wet in the splash pad, and we can change into the dry stuff when he’s done.

So with the joy of splashing at stake, he forces that pee out in the park bathroom, and we remove his shirt and sandals, and he has a blast in the water. So it’s back to our picture perfect day. Afterwards, he soggily drips out to the car where we change him into his dry stuff. Since the kids are doing great, and we are having a magical family day together, and it’s dinner time, we decide to go out. We pick a relatively popular buffet near the park because I want a huge salad, and they are sure to have something Logan wants.

Dinner starts well enough, for oh, about the first 3 minutes. I bring Logan a plate filled with everything he loves; mac and cheese, pickles, a hamburger, peaches, carrots, ect. I figure that this should buy us 20 minutes since he is a major eater. Not even close. He eats most of his mac and cheese in the first 2 minutes then announces that he is ready to go bye-bye. Not so fast mister. Mommy and Daddy would like to take a few bites of their food. So Logan briefly entertains himself (as well as the not quite as amused diners around us) by standing on the bench of the booth and singing the Belly Button song from VeggiTales and Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, very enthusiastically (read: very loudly). We get him to sit down and he demands blackberries. Loudly. Repeatedly. I go to look for some darn berries, and all I can find is a canned berry medley, served on cake. I am desperate so I figure what the heck, and grab him a piece. He enjoys this. He enjoys it all over his hands, face, shirt, pants, legs, and hair. I should mention that he is 2 and a half and usually pretty handy with a fork and spoon, but whatever. He enjoys it, and is mostly quiet (bonus). Until he is done. And then he is loud again, so I do what any responsible, slightly embarrassed parent would do; I run and get him another slice. The quiet doesn’t last as long this time. And I should mention that this whole time the baby has finally had enough of being good-tempered and has decided to fuss so the Husband and I are passing him back and forth the entire meal, taking turns eating one-handed.

So the big event: Logan announces he needs to go pee pee. As parents of a potty training toddler my husband and I snap into red alert crisis mode. I grab the baby out of Matt’s arms, he in turn, turns to grab Logan to carry him to the bathroom because there’s just no time to walk. As he reaches for him, Logan pees. In his pants. On the seat. In the middle of a crowded restaurant. Lovely. Matt runs him to the bathroom with the diaper bag in tow, to clean him up. They return several minutes later. Logan shows up happy, face wiped, hands washed, dry, wearing only his polo, his sandals, and his truck undies. He is happily munching on a cookie.

Right… we used his extra pants for the splash pad. Darn it. At this point I hurriedly tell my husband that I hope he’s done eating because it’s time to go. Of course we are at the furthest table from the door. I march through the restaurant with my pantsless toddler, determined to get to the car (and out of sight as quickly as possible). Logan, however, does not share my shame or my mission. He casually saunters towards the door, stopping to check out what other people are eating, or to roll his fire truck on the ground.  We finally arrive at the car (what seems like) 11 hours later.

Safely on the road I turn to my husband. “Oh my God, that was horrible!” I tell him. He replies, “What? I think that with two kids that wasn’t so bad.” Ah, the lowered standards of having multiple children. As I said, it was a magical day.

 
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Posted by on June 5, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

The (not so) Super Mama Speaks

 

So I’m going to tell you a little about me, which I know sounds self absorbed, but I’ve been told that all writers are self absorbed (at least a little), and it seems that bloggers are probably a little more self absorbed than your average novelist (but hey, it’s the nature of the job).

So 5 fun facts about your resident (not so) Super Mama:

1.  I am a happily married lady (sorry all you single daddies out there this Super Mama is taken). I’ve known my husband (Matt) all of my adult life and we have been married for 5+ years. He is the best (insert sweet awwww noises).

2.  I have two amazing beautiful children, Logan and Liam, who are 2 and 1/2 and 6 months, respectively.  And God (and IUD) willing I will not have any more (crossing my fingers for good measure). The way I see it I have 2 hands and I have 2 kids. It’s a balanced equation. If I have another kid, I’m going to need another hand (and that may be the one thing in life that you can’t order on Amazon).

3.  I stay at home full time with the aforementioned children, while the aforementioned husband goes to work and actually converses with adults. I cannot remember what that is like, but it sure sounds neat. Our conversations in the evening usually go something like Matt will say, “so Mr. So and So totally broke the Whatity What and that made Ms. Whoever mad and she almost lost Mr. Big Client!” (He works at an insurance company – how much would you listen?) And then me: “Guess how many times Liam pooped today?!” And then without waiting for a response from him “4, and once was so much it came out of the diaper!”   Can you say “power couple?”

4.  I have another fun math equation for you. Add together 2 adults + 2 kids + a ton of baby stuff + a ton of toddler toys + a longhair cat + a longhair dog and then cram them all into 748 square feet of house (yes 748 square feet – that is not a typo – and it’s square feet – not square yards or anything) and what does that equal? On days that I’m in a good mood (and no one is having a tantrum) we say ‘cozy’ and the rest of the time ‘chaos.’

5.  Most importantly I love my husband, I love my boys, I love the darn pets, and I even love my tiny house.  Parenting is a hard job, maybe the hardest job (not that I was ever a nuclear physicist, but it sure is harder than waitressing), and in order to deal, some days I’m snarky or sarcastic, but there is always love (and maybe a little wit) behind it.

Just ask my two year old who I am and he’ll tell you, I’m “Mama.”  I may not be a Super Mama, but honestly most days being just a Mama is enough.

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2011 in Uncategorized