Tag Archives: parenting

April 28, 2015 · 2:47 pm

Counting Stars

These are Jr’s glow-in-the-dark wall stars.  He earned them after 2 weeks straight of awesomely pleasant and peaceful bedtimes.
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He lovey loves them so, and helped me stick them up around his Spider Man poster on the wall where he can best see them as he drifts off to sleep.

That was exactly 3 nights ago.

Then last night, in a blaze of mortifying pre-school tantrum glory that I still haven’t been able to pin-point a reason for, he lost them all in a bedroom cage match of parent/child wills that will live in infamy in the annals of our family.

With all the screaming, bed-stripping, arm flailing, insult and stuffed buddy hurling gusto he could muster going on for a surreal amount of time, there is no doubt it was  NOT his best moment.

I can also say it wasn’t mine.

I saw things beginning to escalate when he started wrestling a bit with his Superman sleeping bag and reminded him that he could lose the stars if bedtime went bad (right to a threat?  REALLY KERI!?  REALLY!?)

Then I whipped the sleeping bag out of his bed, and went right down the check list of stuff I could take away if he didn’t cool it.

What happened to the “Yoga poses to help your child calm down” article I had read over and over recently, trying to prepare for just such an occasion?  What happened to me staying calm so he would?   WHAT HAPPENED KERI!?

We had two weeks of great bedtimes under our belts, so what hellish moon were we now under to be guiding us both down such a crummy path so quickly?  How were we suddenly there in the near-darkness of his bedroom, him jumping up and down on his bare mattress in his button-up santa jammies next to a pile of ripped off bedding and yelling; and me furiously plucking stars of the wall while stating “now you have to start all over friend, isn’t that sad!!!?”

Consequences?  I am 100% down with consequences.  But this?  I think if I search deep down in my hurt-mommy-heart, this was more just me being hurt and turning it back on him.

This was so far from my finest moment in mommydom that my view of those moments faded away faster than the baggie of glowing stars I chucked angrily into the hallway.  This was a low.

After the dust settled and Jr was asleep in a tantrum-exhausted heap in his bed, I put one star back up, near a leg at the head of his bed where he won’t see it.  But I will.

And I hope it reminds me to just try the damn yoga poses next time.

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April 3, 2015 · 1:16 pm

The Age of the Questionable Decision

So Junior turned 4 last weekend.

In a blaze of Grandparent-spoiling, cupcake hogging, Superhero party glory.

Now I don’t want to jump the gun on my assumptions – we are only a week in to this whole “being 4” situation. But can I just say that week number one has been a freaking whopper.

It appears to me, in my snap judgement brain, that 4 should be known as “The Age of the Questionable Decision.”

We have had more diving off of things than I can remember him desiring to do in his whole life combined, (back yard play set, couches, stairs, footstools, beds, TOILETS…) you name it, he wants to climb it and dive off. As of this week, quite suddenly.

WHY GOD – WHY THE DIVING?

WHY!?

I had congratulated myself on a job well done with his superhero party – attendees of all ages seemed to have a great time, and Jr was surrounded with all kinds of awesome gifts to explore while we cleaned up the aftermath. All was well, right?

Except then I got a call from my life-long friend letting me know that her husband had Jr in his sights as he was riding AWAY FROM THE HOUSE and off around the corner at full pre-schooler-strength speed on his trike, with no knowledge of the parents and at least one set of grandparents all inside the house assuming he was with someone else.

(I still can’t talk about it without shaking my head… how could that happen? HOW!? I keep having flashbacks and randomly grabbing him into hugs that I am sure are stunting his growth or something.)

Guess who learned to unhook the back gate? Yep.

Guess whose daddy put a lock on said gate an hour later? Yep.

BTW – Jr stated for the record that he was “going to Texas to see his cousin.”  On a trike.  I mean adorable, yes… but scary as shit and only one of at least 4 times I have been hysterical thus far into his very short time as a 4-year-old.   Again, Keri nails the mom thing. I should write a manual, I am sure.

But we are not alone in the Age Of the Questionable Decision.

OH NO NO NO, my friends.

There’s Jr’s little friend down the street, whose father recently shared the story of his offspring running FULL THROTTLE across the park, through the cul-de-sac, and over to a neighbor’s trash can before LICKING IT, for no reason at all. Running through the street to lick a trash can like it was a giant ice cream cone = Questionable Decision.

Or one of Jr’s preschool chums who tapped me on the shoulder when I was picking him up from school this week and pointed to what was left of a bent curtain rod, held up over a window with some tape, and said proudly “ I CLIMBED THE CURTAINS TODAY!! TWICE!” Evidently after his time out from round one, he decided to give it another go. (God bless Jr’s teacher. I bet she buys her wine by the case.) Curtains as climbing wall = Questionable Decision.

I have found myself, in the small time that we have spent beginning to wade out into the deeper waters of 4 years old, leaving the wading pool of toddlerhood behind us, looking deep into Jr’s eyes, trying with no success to do some sort of Mommy Vulcan Mind Meld in an attempt to crack the nut that is 4-year-old decision-making logic.

No dice…. The kid is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a “Captain Ca’Merica” costume, laughing his head off as he careens off the porch toward the concrete.

Sigh.

Does Crazy 8s make suits out of bubble wrap?

Can you lo-jack your kid?

Do band-aids come in mega bulk?

 

Give me strength. (And eyes in the back of my head.)

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November 13, 2014 · 4:17 pm

The Universe mocks me in the morning.

Can I just preface this with a confession – I ABHOR lateness.

If we agree on 5 pm for a glass of wine and chat some place, I am the girl who is there at 4:55.

That being said – I suck at mornings. I SUPER SUCK at mornings.

I do everything right the night before: clothes for Jr and myself selected and ready, lunches packed, bags together… I am on top of it.

And then sometime in the middle of the night, shit must just go off the rails. Because come dawn’s early light, getting out the door seems suddenly as difficult as climbing a 14er in a too tight pencil skirt and stilettos.  I can’t get out the damn door in anything even brushing up against the definition of a timely fashion in the mornings.

 

Stuff just happens.

 

This morning we have managed to get coats, hats, gloves, etc on and secured, and I am loading bags out the door and into the car, SO CLOSE to departure that if this was a plane the flight attendants would be in their seats, and Jr declares “MY CAR SNACKS!!”

So I run back though the house to the kitchen to grab his go-cup of Cherrios, just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of Binky-the-wonder-dog starting to throw up… somewhere… off in the distance.

I track down the barf and start cleaning it up, bags still hanging off of every arm – determined to push through and get on the road.

Standing over me, watching this display and snacking down his cereal, Jr inquires “Mom, everyone throws up, right?”

“Yep that is true buddy, everyone is sick sometimes, even doggies.”

“Just like everybody poops? “   Errr…. Ok…. “I’m pooping right now,” he says, standing over me, 4 feet away from the bathroom door.

Add another item to the “to be cleaned up “ list.

 

I sigh and put all of the bags down.

One dumps its contents all over the floor.

Yep.

 

Getting out the door is nothing short of an epic trudge every damn day. You can pack the lunches the night before, but you can’t plan for the poop, people.

Poop happens. And barf. And horrific coffee spills. And “NOT THAT SHIRT, I WANT THE RED SHIRT” wardrobe meltdowns. (Sometimes even from Jr. HA!)

I inevitably end up in the parking lot of Jr’s school taking my first conference call of the day while picking the remnants of a cheerio explosion out of my messy top-knot (sure, we can call that “intentional” messiness. You betcha.)

I have tried getting up earlier. I have tried getting Jr up earlier.

You know what I determined about getting up earlier?   There is just more time for shit to hit the fan and slow you down.

Screw it – I’m sleeping in. Maybe I can get out the door before the universe notices we are even up one of these days.

 

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October 28, 2014 · 11:15 pm

Not even Sour Patch Kids. Just sayin’.

Dear Husband,
That was the worst Toddler bedtime the history of crappy bedtimes…

I mean EVER.
Drank 2 martinis….

Ate all of your sugar-coated, NOT-SOUR, gummy bear thingys. It was a lot.

Don’t ever ask about them, k?

Love you.

Just Sayin’.

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August 29, 2014 · 9:41 am

It’s a substantial gift. No, REALLY. Just Sayin’.

This morning in Jr’s room, our “waking up conversation” centered around his little “Cars 2” racing set, currently residing at NeNe and Pop’s house.

He loves it, and loves Lightening McQueen, but I confess that we don’t know ALL the character names.

Me: “If we hurry up and get dressed we can go to NeNe’s and see Lightening and um, the other guy…. who is he?  Fransisco? I think that is it… we can go see them.”

Jr: “I don’t think that is his name, mom.”  (exasperated eyeroll added for emphasis.)

Me: “What do you want his name to be then?  Steve?  Bob? Phillip?”

Jr:  (cutting me off) “PHILLIP!  His name is Phillip, I think.”

Me:  “You like Phillip?  Ok, Phillip The Car…  wait!  Phillip the car!  Get it “Phill-up the car!?”

Jr: Blank stare

Me: literally slapping knee “It’s funny – mommy made a pun – Fill up the car…  Phillip The Car.”  Lots and LOTS of laughing.

The Mr. (from his office down the hall) “That’s really bad, Keri.  Seriously.  You need coffee.”

Jr:  continued Blank stare

 

COME ON – that’s comedy gold, people!!  I am funny even on ACCIDENT.

Sometimes our gifts are totally unappreciated.

Just Sayin’.

 

 

 

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