Unhappy Hour

I'm sure most of you are familiar with happy hour. Or at least you were familiar with it back in your twenties, or during what I like to call our "fun years". You know the drill; you go out to a local bar between 5 and 7pm, enjoy a deal on drinks and get happy. If you're lucky, you get some food thrown in with the deal and you get ecstatic.

I like to call that time of day in our house the unhappy hour.

It starts and ends at the same time, and there is usually some drinking and eating happening, but it's not very happy. At least not for me. There is just too much going on in the house and I can't seem to accomplish anything in one fell swoop. Interruptions to dinner-making abound, and my mind starts to unravel.

Perhaps I need to be pouring some cosmos into martini glasses during this time instead of milk into sippy cups.

Let's take tonight for example.

Unfortunately, my husband didn't make it home in time for unhappy hour tonight. Here's what he missed.

My son had not had his afternoon nap, so being the crankiest in the house, he was first in line at the food buffet. This entailed placing him in his high chair, or prison cell, depending on how you look at it, and putting anything and everything from the pantry onto his tray. Cheese puffs, goldfish, pretzels, you name it. Lots of good bar food.

After his third attempt at escape, I let him out of his chair. Of course he then proceeded to crawl up to me at every opportunity, no matter where I put him in the house, and attach himself to my leg, begging for mercy.

After a few rounds of leg attachments while I was dealing with raw chicken and an 8 inch kitchen knife, he moved on to play with my daughter's dirty shoes and socks lying on the floor.

What? Something wrong with that?

Then the dog barked for his dinner. Promptly after filling up his bowl with dog food, my son found his way to the dog bowls.

Remember that old puppy chow commercial where the puppies come racing around the kitchen corner for their food? It's like that, but my son is the puppy. And he comes a runnin' when he hears that food hit the bowl. He just can't stay away from that stuff. The good news is he doesn't eat it. Anymore.

After a few rounds of son vs. dog (the dog that is three times my son's size was gracious enough to back off every time the baby got close to the bowl - apparently he got the memo on the new sheriff in town), the dog finally finished his dinner. At least someone in the house was fed.

I then turned down the rice that was boiling over and continued cooking. At this point I decided to give my son some actual dinner. I put some more food on his tray and let him go at it. I was a little late in remembering that his hands were all over the dog food and water, but I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that dogs have less bacteria in their mouths than humans.

I'm also pretty sure that researcher never smelled my dog's breath.

And where were my daughter's, you ask? Parked in front of the tv, where any self-respecting child would be during this chaos. But they were in separate rooms, since I had upset my oldest earlier on and she went to sulk. She also refuses to watch her little sister's "baby" shows. After a brief pow-wow with her, I was back to making dinner.

There was a small talking-to with my younger daughter when it was time to turn off the tv and come to the table, but we made it through relatively unscathed.

Meanwhile my son was on his third solo attempt at the stairs. After a final rescue, he was back in the high chair.

And dinner was served.

Two surly girls, one over-active, dog-food-throwing boy, an ass-breath dog and a missing husband; putting the un back into unhappy hour.

Tomorrow we order in pizza. And beer.

A Simple Question

Here’s a recap of what happened on my 7 minute trip to dropping off my daughters at their schools this morning.

ME (reaching for a lip balm to use): Anyone want some chapstick?

DAUGHTERS: Me!!

I hand the chapstick to my younger daughter, thinking that I usually give things to my oldest first, so I want to try to be fair.

OLDEST: Hey, don’t roll it up too far, it’ll break.

Youngest daughter silently keeps twisting it up, and still has yet to use it.

OLDEST: You’re gonna break it!

Youngest is still twisting it up.

OLDEST: Mom, she’s rolling it up too high!!

Youngest finally manages to put some on her lips.

OLDEST: Can I have it now!?

Youngest continues to twist the chapstick up and down.

OLDEST: Give it to me!!

Youngest finally hands it over to her sister, without the cap.

OLDEST (after using it): I need the cap.

Youngest continues to hold on to the top.

OLDEST: Mom, she won’t give me the top!!

YOUNGEST: I want to put it back on!!

OLDEST: GIVE IT TO ME!

YOUNGEST: NO!!!

ME (reaching out to the back seat to Oldest): Give me the chapstick.

ME (reaching out to the back seat to Youngest): Give me the top.

"Geez. All this because I offered you two some chapstick" (said in my best guilt-inducing voice with a scowl thrown in for good measure).

The car finally fell quiet.

Silence.

Is.

Golden.

All I Want For Memorial Day...

Over the past few months I have started to see a lot of gapped smiles among my daughters’ friends. They hit that 5 or 6 year old age and before you know it teeth are falling out like little pebbles. And they all love to show off their new look.

“Look! Look! I lost a toof!”

In fact, I have had quite a few conversations with other mothers based solely around their children losing their teeth.

Ummmm…..boooooring.

Now don’t get me wrong. Their children are adorable, but if I had to hear one more time about how someone’s darling kid lost their tooth I was going to start knocking some out myself.

Of course that’s how I felt until MY child lost her tooth this morning. Now here I am, blogging about it and telling all the world that MY DAUGHTER LOST HER FIRST TOOTH!

How grand!

How amazing!















Isn’t she adorable!?

Right there in the middle of eating her pancake it finally falls out. Whoda thunk it? A pancake.

At least she doesn’t look like Mater from the Cars movie anymore. That tooth was practically sticking straight out from all the tongue prodding and finger prying.

Okay, enough of that gag-inducing, isn't my child the greatest, she's a little tooth prodigy talk. On to the lesson learned.

Here's a word to the wise.

If your child has a loose tooth, you need to have a plan in place for getting that little something that the Tooth Fairy leaves behind. Decide what it will be with that first wiggle and then get on it. Because those suckers can fall out without much warning. And then you are up a creek without a paddle. Or a silver dollar. Or a toy. Or whatever.

So my advice is to start stockpiling those treasures now, because if one of those teeth falls out while your child is brushing before bedtime, you are in trouble buddy.

All those $20 bills in your wallet will make for an expensive year.

The World Is Her Oyster

In my daughter’s Kindergarten class they have a 'Story Wall'. This is where the teacher posts the students’ latest stories. It’s usually just a one page sheet in which the children answer a question and can draw a picture if they so choose.

This morning the teacher tells me to take a look at the story wall because my daughter’s story this past week was pretty cute.

"Of course it was," I think, but refrain some saying so out loud. Sometimes a mother's pride has to be contained for the sake of tact.

As I am glancing around looking for my daughter’s page, I see that the question is “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I see all one word and one sentence answers from the children in her class as I read their "stories" (now I am heavily quoting because it is quite a liberal use of the word). In some cases there is only a picture. Most of the answers state that the kids in her class want to be a teacher, or a nurse, or a fire fighter, or something pretty typical for a bunch of 5 and 6 year olds. One child even writes “archatect”, which, even so simply stated and misspelled, is quite impressive.

I finally find my daughter’s story page. Here is her answer, in her own words:

Well first I want to be a kindergarten techer for one year.
Then I want to be an Amarican Idol. Then when its time for me to be off of Amarican Idol I will try to be Presidint.

Her story is also accompanied by three pictures, one for each career.

YOU GO, GIRL.

On The Wagon

I'm one of those no-nonsense kind of moms.

My kid turns one, and we are off the bottle. And no more formula too.

Withdrawal symptoms can be troublesome, so I usually go somewhat cold turkey.

Sounds a little harsh I know, but it's all based on my theory that my child won't miss something if he can't see it. There is only so long this theory can be applied, and in my experience it is mostly before their 2nd birthday, and in some cases before their 1st.

I have weened the pacifiers before their 1st birthdays; actually before they were 9 months old. So far I have been 3 for 3 on the binkies.

I ween the bottles at their first birthdays; again, 3 for 3.

There is one thing that I will never ween my children from, and that's the transitional object. For that, I have no timeline. They can snuggle with their favorite animal or blanket (daughter 1: Bunny, daughter 2: Pierre the pig, son: blanket) until they go off to college. Or they can take it with them to the dorm, I really don't care. To me, snuggling is THAT important.

But sucking on things? Not so important. Don't get me wrong; this is VERY important as a newborn and infant. But, in my experience, it loses it's ability to soothe them somewhere around that 9 or 10 month old age. That's when it becomes a habit. And THAT'S when it becomes much too hard to take something away.

Hence why we go completely bottle-less in under 24 hours. If he sees a bottle, he'll cry and whine and I will give in. But if he doesn't see one, his withdrawal symptoms are much more manageable. Nothing that a little patience and perserverence can't solve.

Although there is a little trickery involved.

My son used to hit the juice pretty hard on the bottle. He'd suck that thing dry and then keep at it, hoping to get a few more drops out that may have been lodged in a crevice somewhere. In fact, he's been known to go to the bottle drawer (within his reach) and take them out and suck on them completely empty.

So I first gave him his formula in a sippy cup a few days ago. Once he figured out what was in there, he went at it. But he was lacking the vigor of his bottle days. So be it.

That was the official beginning of the end. Then I started mixing milk in with his formula. I would have done that longer, but I ran out of formula. And with groceries costing us an arm, a leg and an eyeball these days, I wasn't about to buy more.

So there went the formula.

When I gave him just straight up cold milk in his sippy cup, he proceeded to throw it overboard from his high chair without even tasting it.

So I picked it up and shook it in front of him (much like I did with formula).

This invoked quite a curiousity, so he took a swig.

Nope, still not formula, so it went for a high dive again.

Then I went for the double play; I microwaved it and then shook it.

This invoked a lot more swigs, but it still eventually took a plunge overboard.

So be it.

I kept that cup around for the next hour, offering it to him as he played. And sure enough, he finished it eventually.

Now I have the top rack of my dishwasher back, and I couldn't be happier.

Persistence always pays off.

It felt more like 364 days...

Today is my son's first birthday.

How time flies.

I really cannot believe that 365 days ago we were welcoming him into this world. And on that day he completed our family in more ways then he will ever know.

His sisters absolutely adore him. And really they should get some credit for raising him to this point, because without their help I would not have made it through this year.

They get him food, give him is bottle, and keep him giggling. And they put out the APB when he has something (anything) in his mouth that is not a food product. Bless them.

It goes without saying that he is the prince of our house.

He crawls faster than any two legged being I've ever seen. In fact, he gets going so fast sometimes that his arms can't keep up with his quick little legs and he dives head first onto the floor. He then cries as if somebody done him wrong.

He has a serious love affair going with his blanket, which I foresee being in his life for quite some time. He even takes it a little further and has extra-blanketal affairs with any blanket or pillow in his vicinity. Just quick little three second snuggles that will last him until he returns to his true love.

He loves to snuggle close with mommy and daddy after nap time (and truth be told, he prefers daddy).

He never wants to stop playing to take a nap or go to bed, and yet, he does it anyway. And withouth barely a fuss. Yes, he is that angelic.

He is the most happy-go-lucky person I know.

With all that happiness on his side, I know he will always make his own good luck.

Because when he smiles at you, his heart reaches out, takes your hand and guides you to your happy place.

He is our son.

Can I Get a Happy Place With That?

I really do want to live in the moment with my kids. I do, I do. But sometimes it just isn't in the cards. Those rose-colored glasses get all smudged with sticky little fingerprints and I just can't see anymore. I can't find my patience or my positive attitude. They are filed away in my mental mommy system of emotions and outlooks, and I just can't find them. All I keep finding under "P" is pissed off.

So I say screw it. And I wallow a little. Who doesn't, right?

Today was one of those days. I just couldn't find my happy place. It was lost somewhere underneath the banana-smeared shirt with the tear-soaked shoulders. I think maybe when I put it away last time it got misfiled under "N" for Not Gonna Happen.

So instead I tried to grin and bear it until my husband got home. And that's when all the tantrums and fevers and sweat (did I mention we are in the midst of a heat wave?) came bubbling back up to the surface and unloaded themselves onto my poor, unsuspecting, was-in-a-good-mood-before-he-got-home husband.

Then he lost his happy place too. And they never see it coming, do they? I feel bad. At least I did feel bad for a few minutes. And then I told him to "buck up".

Sometimes I really wish my day could start at the drive through. I could just pull on up to the window and place my order.

"I'll take the 3 year old that follows directions, but hold the whining. And I also need a 6 year old that puts her shoes away and doesn't complain about dinner. And I need a 1 year old that is healthy for at least 30 days straight - can I get a receipt for that one in case it doesn't last for the full warranty period?

Oh, and this time, don't forget my Happy Place."

All Things Orange

I might venture to say that you would never notice how many orange foods there are until you realize that it constitutes roughly 90% of what your son eats.

My one year old has a clear preference for the auburn edibles.

It started with sweet potatoes, squash and carrots. Then came along canteloupe, peaches and apricots. Then cheddar cheese. And of course, oranges (that one seems a bit obvious, wouldn't you say?).

And that's just the naturals. Now he is discovering the more upscale items that fall into the orange color spectrum. This category includes such delectables as gold fish crackers, cheese puffs, and macaroni and cheese.

All of those are definitely his favorites. Not to mention the almost-orange-sort-of-brown colored chicken nuggets.

And if you squint, I could also include spaghetti. After all, it does leave behind quite an orange colored face when he's done.

Mmm, mmm, good.

I'm getting a bit concerned that my child will turn into an oompa-loompa.

In the MOMent

I know we are supposed to say that Mothers’ Day is no big deal; it’s just a Hallmark holiday. Or that every day should be Mother’s Day. I guess that means you can call me a sucker, because I like it. It’s a rare day that everyone cleans the house, let’s me sleep in, and brings me breakfast in bed. So I’m going to enjoy it, damn it. And you should too.

But really, this day isn’t about me. For me, the best part of this weekend is taking a moment to truly appreciate my kids. After all, without them, I’m not a mother.

Lately I’ve learned that I’m a happier and better mother when I can be in the moment with my kids. All too often I find myself racing from one thing to the next, just trying to get through my day without going cuckoo for cocoa puffs. But when I do that, I end up losing sight of my kids.

This is one of the many simple things I have learned from my children. Live in the now. It’s why our kids are so in love with every new toy or make such a lively squeal when they see cupcakes. It’s all about what’s in front of them at this very moment.

So I say, for today, and any other day you can manage to get it done:

Fret not about being late for every SINGLE thing for the next 18 years and instead take a mental picture of every big smile full of pure love shining through from the heart.

Forget about the tantrums and the whining, and remember the big, soulful eyes with wet eyelashes clumped together that look up at you when they need comforting.

Hold off on the sigh of exasperation when your child asks yet ANOTHER ‘why’ question, and instead be amazed by the accomplishments of the human sponge brain.

Don’t worry about the fact that your child hasn’t had a shred of nutrition in three days and respect the growth that literally happens before your very eyes, whether you want it to or not.

Wait just a few minutes before racing through a bath that is already an hour past bedtime and inspire some giggles that make your heart smile.

And next time you hug your children goodnight, let in the love and appreciation that comes from simply being who you are, not what you do.

Know that this little person standing before you, growing more mature by the minute, is still your sweet newborn baby inside. And recognize that as each day goes by, this child will be farther and farther away from that little baby, moving ever closer to their independent future.

Take time to live in the moment, and bask in their essential need for the unique love, respect, trust and pride that only a Mother can provide.

Welcome to My Water Cooler

Man, I am so cool. I mean I don't want to toot my own horn, but I was almost a whole month ahead of this wave of attention on "mommy blogging". Sure, sure, there are women out there that have been at this blogging thing for five or six years now. But that's beside the point. This is about me. After all, this is MY blog, right?

Don't know what I'm talking about? Take a look at this video from The Today Show. But don't forget to come back here afterwards.

It all started for me about a month or two ago when I got an email from one of my best friends. She wanted to cheer me up after a hectic day (in other words, a Wednesday) so she sent me an email about Heather Armstrong and her blog. What my friend didn't see coming is that she was instantly putting me in touch with hundreds of other women that were also having a hectic day. A hectic mommy day, that is. I really had no idea they were all out there, just a click away.

So now here we are, numbering in the thousands and growing. And we're out here telling everyone about our families, our work, or whatever strikes us that day. And apparently some people don't want these women sharing their personal lives because they feel it will in some way harm the children that are the stars of the show.

But I say if you feel that way, then stop reading. It's a free world and if people want to share their stories with millions of other people, so be it. Will their children hate them later? That's not for us to worry about; leave that to the writers.

The way I see it, what all this "mommy blogging" is really about is a chance for us moms to have a water cooler. If being a mom to our kids meant going to an office, we could connect to a somewhat larger community by sharing stories around the proverbial water cooler. We'd have meetings about topics like "How to Get Your Toddler Out the Door in Under 10 Minutes" and "When is a Wet Diaper Just Too Wet?". We'd let others know that they are not alone, and we'd share all the details about how we could do this job better. Because it is a job. And it's the most important one there is, in my opinion. And let's face it, we're not in June Cleaver's world anymore. This job is tough and we're not afraid to complain about it.

Now we can stand together and laugh at the moments in our lives that might otherwise have us running for the hills. We can share and commiserate and revel in the victories and frustrations of being a mother.

And since I'm doubting that all of these mommy blog fans and readers could fit into any one woman's living room, I say, blog away. Put it out there. Because I like knowing that I am not alone in this experience.

Marshmallows Anyone?

This morning my youngest daughter did her usual Tuesday routine. It's a pretty simple routine actually. It involves saying "I don't want to go to school" in response to everything we ask her to do. The plus side is she is REALLY good at expressing this feeling.

After a dozen or so reiterations of this sentiment, I feel like shutting her in her room until she's ready for prom. But alas, that would not get us to the preschool, which, as all studies indicate, would lead to her life as a high school drop out without any notion of what a prom may be.

So we struggle through. One way I have learned to get the desired behavior is by offering a reward. When I was working as a therapist and social worker with foster children, I had a foster parent tell me that developing a 'reward chart' and offering stickers and treats as positive reinforcement was bribery. And she used a capital B. In fact, she was a capital B, but that's another story.

My response was this: if you were to take orders all day from an authority figure, like, say, a boss, you would want to be recognized for your hard work too, right? You'd not only want your pay check, but you'd want a gold star (pay raise, recognition award, title change, fill-in-the-blank) for doing a good job. So don't undermine your kids' hard work at learning and adapting to this crazy world by saying they don't deserve a little treat for doing the right thing every now and then.

Herein lie the marshmallows. When I'm trying to get out the door in the morning, and then I'm trying to peel my child off my leg at the preschool, I use the magic of marshmallows to encourage good behavior. And it works. If she goes in without a fuss she gets some mini marshmallows when I pick her up after school. And you better believe it's the first request she makes. Quickly followed by a statement like "I had sooo much fun at school today".

Could this be considered bribery? Perhaps. Does it work? Definitely. Will I be arriving at the high school after her first day on campus with a little green cup filled with mini marshmallows? Let's hope not.

Souvenirs Here!

So yesterday I finally surrendered one of my pregnancy souvenirs.

When I was pregnant with my first child, my belly button popped out. While this is a common thing with a lot of pregnant women, mine never went back to normal. I kept thinking it might be the extra weight, or that it was just a little confused like the rest of my body, adjusting to a new state of normal. But when the weight was gone my belly button still slightly resembled a ping pong ball. Okay, that may be a little exaggerated. Maybe a smooshed grape.

Turns out I had a an umbilical hernia, that I had to have surgically repaired. Why hadn't I known about this possibility beforehand? I mean I would still have gotten pregnant and had my child, but at least I could have been a little mentally prepared for the change. Of course it didn't end there. The pregnancy souvenir shop at the maternity wards are loaded with all kinds of useless and unattractive trinkets and doo hickeys. And pregnant women WILL take home some along with their newborns, like it or not.

I think when you first get pregnant, your OB should give you a chance to pick out your souvenirs. Maybe we could make some kind of deal if we negotiate it all up front.

"I'll take the stretchmarks, but only in the butt, not in the belly. If you can make that happen, I'll take an extra dose of morning sickness and a side of spider veins. And please NO HEMORRHOIDS. I'll take skin tags instead."

If the doctors were really smart, they'd offer some post child bearing services in combination with their OB practice. They could have signs in their offices that read "Have me deliver your second child and get your vericose vein treatment half off! And if you are crazy enough to come back a third time, I'll throw in some free stretchmark cream!"