The Ocean Is Over-rated

Bo started preschool a couple of weeks ago. Yeah, I know---I didn't even blog about it, and it's a great milestone in his eventful and important life as a 4 year old. I'd much rather blog about the weird and disgusting things he does. Mother of the year you say? Why, thank you!

Since he started on September 5th, everyday he has come home with some fish/sea-life/ocean project. They are learning about ocean life. I know this. I have 27 priceless construction paper projects to remind me.

So he has his first Show and Tell last Friday. After picking him up on Wednesday, I asked him what he wanted to bring for Show and Tell. He said he wanted to bring the paper "octa-bus" they just made in school that day. I explain to him that he should show the class something they haven't already seen that he has at home, that is important to him. So he says he wants to take the beanie baby crab that my sister sent me long before he was even an idea in my mind. He had been insisting on sleeping with it for the last couple of nights so I figure, what the heck, he can take a lame ol' beanie baby if he wants. I won't be the one standing in front of my peers extolling the virtues of a tye-dyed crab.

For the record, I don't collect beanie babies. I do however, collect thimbles.

So, Friday morning rolls around and I haven't thought about Show and Tell since Wednesday at 11:22 when we had our conversation on the way home from school. We are enjoying the usual serene morning with two perfectly obedient and compliant children who love to eat whatever I make for them and never throw their food on the floor or chase each other around the house to return the other's hair pulling or scream because I turned off SpongeBob. See above: Mother of the year.

I tell Bo to get the crab and put it in his school bag. He tells me he hates his school bag and it's stupid. I tell him to stuff it and go get the crab. He can't find it. I can't find it. The crab has left the building. We have nothing. I'm still nursing and trying to find a stupid stuffed crab has me broken out in a sweat. So, when Bo has the great idea to take his Winnie The Pooh book about making a cake and confusing flower with flour---I think it's a great idea.

I drop him off at school with his show and tell item in hand and I'm feeling like a superstar that I a) got him to school in one piece b) with his school bag and c) with his show and tell item. I mean really, you gotta give it to me---that's impressive on my part.

When I picked him up I asked him about his presentation of the book. It was great, he told his class it was his favorite book and a little bit of what it was about. He said the teacher asked him who reads it to him, his mom? And he corrects her, "no, my dad" and she, thinking he was surely mistaken since she had evidence of what a superstar mom I am and hasn't seen hide nor hair of "the dad" said, "You mean, your mom?" and Bo assures her, "No, my mom has never read me this book, only my dad." Truth be known, Winnie the Pooh bores the hell out of me. I can endure a lot for my children, but I guess I have drawn the line at Mr. Pooh.

I asked Bo if anyone else brought a book. He said his friend had. I was relieved that my kid wasn't the loser with a lame show and tell item.

Fyoosh. Made it smoothly through the first social obstacle we encountered.

Later that day, I was organizing the desk and came upon his preschool calendar. Something I apparently should have been consulting regularly. It tells me what he's learning every day (as if I didn't SEE all the ocean paraphernalia every day) and who's supposed to bring snack every day and other important events, like Show and Tell. There in all caps, bold letters it says "SHOW-AND-TELL: WE ARE LEARNING ABOUT THE OCEAN"

After reading that, I swallowed hard. No wonder he wanted to take that stupid crab, he was supposed to bring something from the ocean. Oh geez. Those teachers know now that I am a lame excuse for involved and prepared. But wait, another kid brought a book. Books aren't from the ocean. Maybe I'm not the only lame-ox. I find a lot of comfort in stupidity companionship.
"BO!? Did ____ bring a book to Show and Tell?"
"Yes!"

Good, not so bad, at least there's one other lame mom at that presch....

"It was Little Mermaid! Just like the movie we have! And he gave us all a seashell too!"

I'll Give You A Nickel If You Still Like Me By The End

I don't really have anything to post. You have been warned.

Everyone in my house is sick right now. Except me.

Who has the superior genes now? That's what I thought.

J got sick over Labor Day weekend, also know as Memorial Day Weekend when I am speaking. He seemed to be getting better but ever so slowly and with a vicious cough. This weekend, he seems to be almost back at square one. With a cough that sounds like he eats cigarettes for breakfast. Even baby Danyo has some sniffles.

Soooo, as interesting as that all is, I want to tell you some other inconsequential, potentially boring, definitely pointless, things.

Avee and I went to pick up some carryout Pho last night, for my ailing husband. That is his celebratory meal, sickbed meal, default meal, consolation meal...the boy loves Pho. Yeah, he found a Vietnamese restaurant before we've found a bank, a pediatrician, or a park for pete's sake. While waiting, Avee ran about 10 feet from me and when I didn't react (because it was down a dead end hallway that was about 15 feet long) she yelled, "Mo-o-o-o-om, I too far awaaaaaay!" Apparently I say that to Avee when she dashes away from me in public. It's always funny for me to hear what I say to my kids for the first time, coming from them.

Today it took me about an hour to figure out that Avee was feeling sick because her only symptom was hanging on me and crying excessively. My diagnosis for that is actually called ANNOYING so I didn't think "sick". During one such annoying sick display, I was trying to wash some dishes and J came and rescued me Avee. He said to her, "Why are you being so clingy to mom? You need to leave mom alone, she doesn't need to hold you all the time. She needs to clean the house while we watch her." Avee conceded that this was a decent arrangement and went and snuggled on the couch with J while I finished the dishes. And I was happy. What's wrong with THAT story?

And my last little vignette is only being recorded so I can prove to Bo in 25 years or so that I earned the house and car and luxury vacations he will be buying for me on his *brain surgeon salary. And also so you'll just have a little peek into the kind of conversations I have with this boy. I'll try not to be too graphic for those of you who are waaaaay out of this stage or not yet entered it.

Actually, before I tell you, I just want to say, in the last week or so I have come upon one of the biggest surprises in motherhood that I have yet encountered. And that is, I had no idea how much of a concerted effort it would take to keep my child from being that kid everyone points and laughs at.

I thought weird habits and behaviors happened in people who didn't have cool, attentive parents to gently guide them in the cool way to go. I didn't know that kids were born weirdos who had to be retrained. Perhaps I'm being to broad, but I really feel like Bo has all the environment and genetic input to be a cool, normal kid and he seems intent on proving me wrong. I've mentioned the fresh slobber supplying and the clickity clack talking, but so far I've tried to keep the nose-picking and sampling a little more hush-hush. And recently, I haven't been inclined to share his new habit of licking his pointer finger and poking it in to the corner of his eye. To "get the dust out" he says. Only, I saw him DO IT IN HIS SLEEP. I am sorry, but that's just nuttier than a fruitcake in my book. And where does it come from!? I guarantee it's not learned.

I've questioned myself a lot over the last 4 years. When he was 15 months old, he used to take a cloth and wipe surfaces, mimicking me cleaning, of course. Those who know me well, might contend that too was not learned. However, he started interspersing a good hearty nose-blow into the middle of all this surface cleaning. Wipe, wipe, wipe with the cloth, bring to nose, blow mightily, wipe, wipe, wipe with the cloth again. I even thought when I saw him do that for the first time---that is so weird, where on earth does he come up with this stuff, surely I don't do that without realizing it!?!?! That's how messed up this kid has me.

Anyway, I'll just tell you the conversation. You can draw conclusions.

"Bo! I don't ever want to see you doing that again, EVER. That is incredibly disgusting. Don't ever do it again. Why on earth would you even do something like that? Go wash your hands!"
"I was just...."
"No, never mind, I don't want to know why you would do it, I just want you to make sure you don't ever do it again. Okay?"
"Even if it doesn't make my hand smell bad?"

I ask you, is it normal to try and bargain like that at 4? Even for a disgusting "privilege"?

I told you I had nothing to post. Now I've gone and pulled you into the ditch with me...


*For those of you concerned he might actually become a brain surgeon, he is quite obedient when told to wash his hands.

English

I may be blogging all day today. Because I CAN'T MOVE. Why you ask? See yesterday's reference to boot camp.

About a year ago I realized that as adults, we say a lot of things that just don't make sense to children. I had spent at least 6 months telling Bo and Avee to "cut that out" or "knock it off". And being innately obedient, they appeared to listen to that very specific command. So I continued with my adult-greek for children. And then one day someone said to Bo, "mess less" and he was completely bewildered.

I still say things that don't make sense to him, but he has started asking what things mean at a rate of about 27 questions per hour. Often there are things I can't answer. Yesterday J had him ask me what "phony" meant. And this morning first thing in the morning as they were eating their breakfasts of Nilla Wafers, Bo asked me what a mystery was. I told him it was a mystery CPS hadn't been called on me yet...

These are reasonable things a 4 year old might not know yet.

He's also trying to figure out time references. He sees commercials for movies that will be on later in the month and when they say "Monday the 17th" he figures "today's Friday, Monday is in 3 days, the movie is in 3 days". It was at least 27 times of telling him "No, it's not September yet" before I even realized why he was asking. So then I started telling him, "It's next week, not this Monday." Reasonable explanation, dontcha think?

So then he starts saying things like, "Is the day before the day after tomorrow called yesterday?" and other mind twisters that I just can't be expected to figure out at...3 in the afternoon. And then finally yesterday's question, "Is 'next week' a Tuesday or a Sirsday?" I realize he has NO idea what next week means. And that's just really not fair. I wasn't speaking in greek. How was I to know a 4 year old doesn't even know what "next week" means. No wonder he wouldn't STOP TALKING ABOUT THE DUMB SHOW.

After explaining this day had to end, then 6 more days had to end, and then it would be next week, I went about my business. Very important business of finally reading HP 7.

This morning I sat down at the computer and saw he had written on our desk calendar.

In my exasperation (over graffiti-ing a perfectly good $1.98 desk calendar) I called him over to the desk, "What is this Bo?"

"Oh. I was just saying, I want it to be the end of the day."
Indeed, he did say it. Not bad for a 4 year old who doesn't even know what next week means.

Because Nice Really Does Matter

Bo just told me he was "so bon sirsty". He really doesn't say things incorrectly anymore, which is, I'm sure good for him socially, but sad for me because I do love me a good speech impediment. The translation of that phrase is "So darn thirsty." For some reason he thinks the appropriate "fake" expletive is "barn" rather than darn. Probably because we never say inappropriate words around here--he just doesn't have enough exposure to get it right.

Speaking of Bo. I'm not one to air dirty laundry, but I feel like I'm having a whale of a time with him right now, and maybe someone who reads this will have some helpful insights.

Maybe it's just having a 4-year-old but I feel like I'm CONSTANTLY on his case. He can't just be. He bugs Avee incessantly, he can't spend more than 20 minutes outside with other kids without doing something totally obnoxious to another child, usually hitting in some form or another. It's not violent or aggressive, but just completley unable to keep his hands to himself. Just now he wouldn't stop grabbing Avee and trying to throw her to the ground. Sometimes she likes wrestling, but this time she was saying no and he doesn't listen. After 4 times of her screaming, and me asking him to stop, I sent him to go lay on his bed and he screamed "SHUT UP!" as he was going. Generally, this reaction makes me laugh. He's so mad and that's the worst thing he can think to say.

This behavior comes and goes. He's the kid who opened the refrigerator this weekend after I had cleaned and organized and said, "Mom, this is an awesome fridge!" and compliments my meals at dinner. And tells me I have bad breath. So, you know---he's honest.

I guess I'm less concerned about him and "what's wrong" I mean, he just got ousted as our little boy, he just moved from one state to another leaving all kinds of good friends and familiarity, etc, etc. If it's just a phase, I can live with that. But I am concerned about me, as a parent. I'm not sure I'm responding as I should or giving him what he needs. That is, if he needs something besides a smack upside the head every other hour. Just kidding. I only smack on Tuesdays.

In other news---Today is my friend T's birthday. Go tell her happy birthday if you haven't already. You can read all about how cool I think she is here, if you are up for some reading. :)

And in other other news, I started boot camp today. I have been totally nervous about starting it because I am so completely out of shape, but I just took the plunge. It was wonderful. Everyone was really friendly and introduced themselves to me and encouraged along the way and nobody laughed hysterically at me when I got down on my hands and knees and crawled the remainder of my "killer" which is sprinting to various points across the gym. One girl made it her mission to make sure I would come back. Her theory is, if you meet everyone, there are more people for you to be "accountable" to. Pretty good theory. If they seem me in the cardio room on a treadmill going 2.8 mph, they can call me by name when they call me a loser. That's good, I'm sure.

And she is the reason for my post title. Her kindness REALLY mattered to me. I was nervous (I rarely get nervous, if ever) and I felt really out of place with all these little, tanned, muscular, in-shape men and women. She really made the difference in how my hour of boot camp went. I worked out for an entire hour. We did this thing the instructor called "the plank" which is holding your body straight like a board, above the mat with just your feet and forearms touching the mat. I couldn't really do it. I was all sweaty so my arms kept slipping, plus, I was holding up CONSIDERABLY more weight than anyone else in the class. I just told 'em, this plank done been walked on too much, I can't keep it from sagging. Might be some water damage too.

This is a long and rambly post. If you made it to the end, I really think we could make this relationship work.

I'm off to eat a chocolate malt do more lunges.

Aggravated Misdemeanor

Sooooooooo. I can't begin to tell you how validating the comments were in my last post. I try not to live for comments---but we all know they are blog crack. They are. Don't kid yourself. But yesterday, comments were just what I needed. I was sort of feeling like I couldn't possibly be doing it right if such a script is how my day is going. When most of you responded as if I were quoting you directly, it just seemed to make everything all better. So thank you.

Next item of business; I'd like to take you back to my arrival in Iowa. It was early in August. The first, to be exact. I was bereft from having left my friends and Texas. I loved the space and layout and location of where we lived. I knew that no matter what move we made, there would be compromises.

So, when I got here, I braced myself, so not be disappointed, even though I knew it wouldn't be as good. I tried really hard not to hate it. And the feeling would come and go. I'd say to myself, "This is going to be great, look at all this space." And then 20 minutes later when I had 5 bruises on each hip from turning around in the tiny kitchen to put things away, I was cursing the place.

All in all, this place is great. It has some definite perks that I am grateful for. The doorbell is not one of them. :) After two days of unpacking and discovering the different perks, I plopped into bed exhausted and fell immediately to sleep.

BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!!!!!! I sat upright in bed, shocked. Oh please don't be trying to break into my house. My husband will sleep through a tornado and I'm in no shape to beat you with a bat. Plus, we don't have a bat. My heart was racing. I stood up and looked out our window that overlooks the back patio area and where our car is parked. There was a police officer circling our van. Next to the van was the Penske truck that would be returned in the morning. I looked at the clock. 2:24 AM. If that police officer was there to tell me we couldn't park a moving truck there at TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING I was seriously going to maim someone. Seriously. I opened the window and yelled down, "Yeeeesssss?" Because I'm couth like that. He looks up at me and asks, "Is this your van?" I tell him that it is. "Well, there have been some break-ins, I need you to come down here and tell me if anything has been taken from your car."

"I'll be right down," I say. What I mean is, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!??!? Uhhhhh, I need to find some pants. Crap. I can't wake up J, he's impossible to wake up. I am SO not coming down there without a bat or my husband..."

I start to brave it and head down there and then my mind flashes of all the damn CSI episodes I've watched and a couple of America's Most Wanted and I yell up the stairs for J. "I don't know if this is a cop impersonator, I need you to come outside with me." He hadn't heard the conversation I had from the window, but he comes downstairs trusting that what I just said meant something.

Outside, our van door is ajar. I had bought groceries and left the van unlocked so J could unload some heavier things. He didn't think to lock it when he was done and neither did I. We may as well have rolled out a red carpet for the thief.

Fortunately there was only a diaper bag left in the van. 12 hours before, my niece had cleared all our junk out from our travels. He would have scored a couple of portable dvd players, wallets, rotten fruit, half a dozen baby einstein videos, and some melted gum.

The dude got busted while breaking into our car and that's why our door was ajar.
He pilfered through my diaper bag. I am SO leaving poopy diapers in there for the next crook.
I couldn't think of a single thing in my diaper bag that he would have made off with, but the officer kept pressing me to check if anything was missing. I was mostly glad he'd been caught and not too worried, I knew I hadn't left anything valuable. And AGAIN (this is the third time my car has been broken into---two other times were in Provo, of all places) the crook wanted nothing to do with my CDs. They were left alone. I guess people are right, my taste in music is awful. Who cares, me and Joseph and his amazing technicolor dream coat will still be rocking---his loss.

The officer dumped out an envelope full of loot they'd reclaimed. A small hairbrush that was well-used and two pairs of women's sunglasses. I was really surprised by this---who steals hairbrushes? Is there a black market for used 88 cent hairbrushes that I just don't know about? Nothing of mine, everything seemed to be intact in my car.

The officer took our names and said if I found anything to be missing, give him a call.

We went inside and I still wasn't sure he was a cop so I made J call to verify he was a real officer and he was where he was supposed to be. He was f'real y'all. So we went to bed.

As I lay my head on my pillow, I suddenly remember I had a wad of twenties that I had just haphazardly stashed in the outside pocket of my diaper bag two days before when we were driving up. Five of them. I did the math. I spent two of them driving up so that left $60. Then, I used one to fill the tank, and then....that left 2 twenties. And I couldn't remember if I had used my debit card or one of the twenties for lunch that day. I was too tired to go back out and check.

The next day I was driving around, had forgotten to check the diaper bag, but needed a quarter so I reached into my change drawer--aka ashtray and it was empty. Swiped clean of even the straw wrappers that sometimes get stuffed into it. That's when I new, the dude got away with my cash.

I called and reported it. The lady who took my information asked about how much change was in the ashtray. I told her, "Two McDonald's happy meal's change from a $10, times about 23." She was all, "I'm not a calculator ma'am, you're going to have to give me a total." They are there to protect and to serve, NOT to add up my stolen loose change.

Either way, I'm out some dough. I mean, does anyone know if the guy gets to keep it if in 24 hours no one claims it? And surely he was released from jail by then, right? Some things I'd like to know.

I'd actually even forgotten about this stinky welcome to the great state of Iowa, until I got a letter in the mail yesterday. From the county attorney. I am officially a victim. Well, right after I fill out the forms that say I am. They want a victim impact statement. And for me to be at his trial. Um, I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, the lazy part of me says, "meh, I don't have time for this." Then, the vigilante part of me (which is quite large, I must say) says, "Yeah, sucka, you messed with the WRONG minivan, you're going DOWN for your three aggravated misdemeanors and your one attempted aggravated misdemeanor on my sweet ride!" But I'm not feeling it too much.

On the upside, this place is feeling more and more like home every day. I guess it's true. Home is where the freezer that holds your Ben and Jerry's is.

Parenting Script revisited

So, I'm having the kind of day where there's nothing really wrong, but I'm wondering what the heck I've gotten myself into. There really must be more to life...

I recalled a post I did after feeling this way once, and looking back, see that it was just about two weeks shy of being exactly a year ago I posted it.

Must be seasonal.

I'm reposting it. And maybe next year at this time, I'll feel need to post it again.


Get your shoes on!

Do you have your underwear on?

Finish your sandwich!

Why is your sandwich on the floor?

Get OFF of there!

Do you know what you want?

Well, what do you want!?

Then close the refrigerator!

You are BIGGER than her, just move away if you don't like it!

Are you kidding me? Toothpaste?! You really thought that was okay?

Why are you co----STOP coloring on the table top!

1....2....3.....

ARRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

If I see that gum one more time....

Get your feet off the table!

If Dad saw that you would be in SO much trouble right now!

If I hear her squawk one more time because of you....

Because.

Because.

Because.

BECAUSE!!!!

Give me a break, it's a BANANA for crying out loud.

Because you need a nap. Because I said. Because if you don't get in there I'm gonna blow my stack!

Stop playing with your food---I'm sick of wiping yogurt off the bottom of the table.

No more tv.

No more movies.

No more dvds.

No more videos.

No you cannot have the remote control.

I AM watching?!

What am I watching?

Because you always have to wear a seatbelt.

No, you aren't the police officer.

Please don't say 'dammit'.

No, she did not say 'dammit', she can't even talk yet!

Please stop yelling everything you say, I'm right here.

Yes! I know David kills Goliath every time, I don't need to watch it.

Because I don't.

That is not a toy!

Stop hitting that!
Stop tearing that!
Stop whining!
Stop touching that!
Stop wasting that!
Stop doing that!
Stop! Stop! Stop!

2007's additions

Please stay in your bed.
You can't go outside unless you put on some pants.
Please get off the baby.
GET OFF THE BABY!!!!
No, it's not September yet.
No, it's not July either.
I don't care if batteries are included, I'm still not buying it.
I'm not holding you, you are in trouble right now.
I understand that Diego does it, but he's a CARTOON!
We do NOT pretend choke people!
Did you really think it was a good idea to put that acorn in your mouth?
Neosporin is NOT candy!
Because I am not a short order cook!
Who pulled the cushions off of the couch?
Please stop standing on my neck.
Close the shower curtain and get out of here!
I'm not going anywhere, I'm just combing my hair!

And the #1 phrase I say the most, "If you ________ one more time, I will __________.
Fill in the blank with any number of obnoxious and annoying behaviors followed by a semi-ridiculous threat that may or may not be followed through by me.

Not Just Overheard, Experienced!

This weekend we went on a little day outing to some Amish-like colonies nearby. They aren't Amish. But I'm ignorant about them, so I've resorted to calling them Amish-like. Sort of like how I'm educated-like, or smart-like.

We had a really great time. Everything we saw or did revolved around food, and that is a good day for me.

In one of the shops we were in, the chocolate one, to be exact, there was a chatty and young cashier. I was carrying Danyo in a sling and she pointed to it and said, "How old is your baby?"

Since his birthday is June 2nd, the very beginning of June, and it's the end of August, I said, "He's almost 3 months."

Then SHE said, "I have a little boy who's 3 months."

And I think, oh cool, wouldn't that be funny if our boys were the exact same age? So I ask, "Oh really, what's his birthday?"

Innocent enough, no?

She twists up her face, to show she's thinking really hard, she looks up with her eyes, as though into her mind to recall that date, that ever-so elusive date of the BIRTH OF YOUR CHILD. At this point, I was certain I had mis-heard her and she hadn't said SHE had a child, she'd said something else.

Then she starts guessing, "Juuuuune, uh, June tweeeeennnnnnnnnnty, um, June twenty something." I just nodded. The connection was lost. It wasn't even her child. And a June twenty something child isn't 3 months old. Whatever.

But then she says, "Oh gosh, I just don't know. I was there! I just can't remember."

I smiled politely, my niece finished her transaction and we left. Outside I said, "I could have sworn she said she had a 3 month old but..." and Erica says, "She DID say that. That was so weird."

And then we laughed. Because it was weird and so entirely random.

I mean, there's striking up conversation and then there's---well, making up fictional babies.

At least I can be certain my baby is cuter than hers.