Christmas Come Early

We pulled out our Advent calendar this week. It's a sweet little felt pocket thing that I received as a gift last year (which has always seemed strange to me - holiday items given as holiday gifts...but whatever). A little wooden Santa hat comes with it, and your child (ostensibly, unless you're the kind of adult who likes to have Santa-themed felt Advent Calendars) is supposed to put the little hat in the pocket marked with the date to keep track of how many days there are left until Christmas. Yes, I know that was a very long sentence. You can read; you'll be fine.

Anyway, so on Sunday night, I supervised the placement of the hat into the 2 pocket. On Monday morning, I awoke to discover that apparently it was the 6th of December. Yesterday morning, it had become the 20th. Last night, E told me that it was Christmas Eve and in the morning we would open our presents...

He Teaches Me Well

Note: I can't remember if I've already blogged this, or when exactly it happened. But it was in the last couple of months, so...

Driving home one night, E asked me how God made space. I started describing the Big Bang theory, basically ending with "So it was a big explosion, isn't that cool?!"

E flatly denied it, saying "Mom, that's not cool, that's dangerous. Someone could have gotten hurt."

Resuming my role as stern safety regulations officer, I replied "You're right, that's true, but there weren't any people or animals around then, so no one was there to get hurt."

E shot back, "God and Jesus were there!"

Getting a bit desperate now, I floundered "Yeah, well, God and Jesus can't be hurt, sweetheart."

Without pause, my 4-year-old: "But, MOM, Jesus died!!"

Needless to say, I lost the argument.

I hope he becomes a lawyer.

That way, he'll be able to take care of/support his mother when she's lost all of her neurological function from racking her brains in order to hold intelligent conversations with him.

Green Kids

In the car recently (a lot of my stories start that way), E held up an empty Reeses Pieces bag (don't judge me, it was left over from a movie, ok?!) and asked: "Is this recyclable?"

I swear. That's what he said.

Someone's Nanay (aka my mom) has been getting to him...

Career Planning

My bf D is an oil engineer who travels a lot for work. Tonight, hearing me explain to someone that D was gone "on a job", E asked "What kind of job?" This is always a difficult description for me to make, because I'm not quite sure what exactly D does on these "jobs", therefore my family has a standing joke that D is secretly a CIA agent. Anyway, so I plunge in headfirst, saying "Well, you know that D is an engineer [for the longest time, my dad had E convinced that D was the type of engineer who drives trains...], and when he's gone, he helps get oil out of the ground by digging with lots of big tools."

E: "When I grow up, I'm going to be an engineer, and I'm gonna help D do his job. Because sometimes, when I go outside with my friends, I dig in the ground, and I help dig things up, and so I'm already an engineer."

...But at Least I'm Better than Some

After dance class, on our way home, E & I heard Alvin & the Chipmunks' "Christmas Don't Be Late" (or whatever it's called) on the radio. Thinking that E would appreciate the silliness of the song, I turned the volume up and urged him to listen. Apparently, he was listening more seriously than I had supposed...

"Their voices are not as pretty as yours."

Everybody's a Critic

Tonight, I was singing a very, very late lullaby to E (bedtime doesn't matter so much when there is a lot of attention to be had...). I've been sick for what seems like ages, and I was trying to keep my voice down so as not to disturb my grandmother across the hall. So my voice happened to be scratchy, whispery, and intermittently punctuated by coughs. E listened patiently and at the end, asked, "Why isn't your voice pretty tonight?"

Thanksgiving is:

...Not as exciting as someone else's toys and a large, empty living room to play in.

Must Remember...

E decided he was going to make a science project.

While I was in the shower this morning, he was describing it to me from the next room. These were his instructions:

1) Put water on a piece of paper
2) "Paint" over it (the water? the paper?) with a pencil
3) Glue a "seed" (also known as a paper clip in the adult world) to the paper
4) Watch the seed grow

E asked me if I thought it was a good idea, and I replied that we could definitely do parts of it, but that we'd have to use an actual seed in an actual pot, and (more importantly to the overall success of the project) do it at Nanay's house...

E replied that he thought this was definitely a good plan, and as he walked out of my bedroom, he commanded:

"Don't forget about this idea, Mom. Keep it in your brain."

Notes on a Celebration

(At the risk of violating my tenuous anonymity on this blog,) I am proud to state that today we celebrated our home state's 100th birthday. I took E out of school and we drove to the original state capital to witness the Centennial Parade taking place there.

There were huge state school bands, tiny high school bands with one person to an instrument, pioneers tugging around oxen, trick ropers, nuns, a children's Irish dance group, a float with representatives from every Indian tribe in the state, old cars, old tractors, cheerleaders throwing Mardi Gras beads, oil rigs, and a Budweiser wagon with a team of matched Clydesdales.

The parade (which was fantastic) lasted for 2 hours, and consisted of everything from cowboys to Indians.

Interestingly enough, my son, who is more than a quarter Native American, was dressed as a cowboy...

Another Door Opens

If you ever happen to have made the mistake of going to a popular restaurant with a child who's on the verge of being cranky and tired, here's a good way to keep said child busy while waiting to be seated:

Employ him as doorman

Everyone wins. It keeps the kid entertained, you look like a good parent who has taught your child to open doors for his elders, and the other patrons get to coo over your "handsome young man."

Bonus points if you can teach him to wink at the ladies.

First Confession

Apparently, early today, E told my father that he was "going to go tell Jesus" on him because Dad was "being naughty and scaring children"...

My mother, of course, was all "he's a good Catholic boy." She thinks she's funny.

Out-Manuevered

Usually, threatening the loss of a bedtime story (half of the normal allotment) in the couple of hours before bedtime is enough to curtail any shenanigans that a rapidly-tiring child o' mine is likely to engage in. Tonight I had already given the warning, due to the excessive amount of whining that was going on. So I was a little surprised when, 30 minutes later, there was a hint of a whine upon being asked to change into his pajamas.

"E," I said, with all the maternal sternness I could muster, "was that a whine?"
"Yes," he said, simply, smiling up at me.
A little nonplussed, but rallying, I asked, "Do you remember what I said would happen if you whined any more tonight?"
"Yes," he beamed, obviously proud of himself, "I'd lose a story."
"Well, then if you whined, I guess you have to lose a story..." I guessed that upon having the connection laid out for him, he'd consider his original definition.

It was not to be:

"Yay! I'm glad when I only get one story because then I get more sleep."

Cross-Painting

E's elementary school held a Fall Carnival this evening, for which I (probably because I was directly under the eye of his teacher, who reminds me of both my mother and one of my former piano instructors...meaning I do whatever she tells me...) volunteered 45 minutes to help set-up the classroom.

This year, Mrs. S landed the salon room, which is apparently a hugely popular thing with the tykes. After experiencing it first-hand, I'd have to say I agree.

The salon this year consisted of 2 nail tables, 2 temporary tattoo tables, and "hair painting".

After serving my sentence, I for some reason landed a job painting nails. Now, I rarely do my own nails, because I play guitar, which is not conducive to nicely polished fingernails. In addition, I have never liked the effect of nail polish on my stumpy "man-hand" fingers, and I prefer to leave them nude and therefore ignored. Also, I have a boy-child, and not a girl-child. This is all meant to illustrate that I don't paint nails.

Well, I did today. There was a huge rush for the nail painting table, and I was faced with the dire prospect of doing tiny nail after tiny nail under the critical eyes of countless mothers. I took a long, long, long time doing it, too.

The interesting thing was that after a certain time, I ended up painting boys' nails.

Now, these weren't little boys (meaning above the age of 8 or so). According to them all, this was "the one time of the year" when this was acceptable, so they were determined to get their due. And not all of them chose black, in fact only 1 did. The rest chose any combination of blue, red, and/or pink. I'm serious. I painted more boy nails than girl nails, all told.

While I was painting some kid's nails a brilliant shade of pink, my own boy-child happened to walk up, my faithful parents in tow. After explaining what I was doing, I teasingly asked if I'd be allowed to paint his nails. At first, I met with a sharp no, but then apparently he changed his mind. Probably due to the fact that the boy whose nails I was painting was much bigger than E is. My mom offered to paint them for him, since I was busy, but E insisted on waiting his turn. He then somberly sat down in front of me, handed me a bottle of black nail polish, and held out his hand.

My baby's fingernails are black. And on purpose.

And the rest of the evening, he kept telling people that his mom had put "makeup" on him...

Dreams

Yesterday, E asked, "How do you get to space, mom?" Assuming that he already knew about spaceships, etc., I replied, "You have to be an astronaut to go into space."

E, obviously intrigued: "Well, how do you get to be an astronaut? Because that's what I want to be when I get big."
Me, thinking: "Aw, that's adorable!"
Me [seizing the chance to reinforce education...]:"You have to learn all your math and do really well in school."
E, horrified: "You mean I have to learn my numbers?!?"
Me, timidly: "Well, yes, to do math you have to know your numbers."
E, disgusted: "I don't think I can do that."

Pause

E, resigned: "Maybe I'll just be one for Halloween instead."

He's Getting Old...

E's in the next room taking a bath while I'm snatching a few moments to check my email. A second ago, he called out "I can't find my towel [meaning wash cloth] any more! I need you to help me find it!" Assuming he was teasing me, I ignored him for a little while, and then when his cries became increasingly more distressed, I finally peeked around the corner at him.

Me: "What's the problem?"
E: "I can't find my towel. It's supposed to be here and I just can't find it."
Me: "You mean the one on your head?"
E: "OH!......I didn't see it there..."

Someone's Been Making Up Too Many Answers...

The other day, E and I were playing in the living room. He was getting frustrated at his inability to take the lid off of a small barrel (it was rather difficult, he has small hands and chubby fingers) so tossed it aside.

A few minutes later, when we were picking up his toys, I removed the lid from the barrel to put some very small pieces inside for safe-keeping.

E watched me in awe, before saying, "Mom, how'd you do that?"

And then, before I could muster an answer that didn't involve "because I'm bigger than you", he supplied one for me:

"Oh, magic."

Bad Influences

Tomorrow, my parents are taking E to the fair. Unfortunately, the rides don't open until 11 AM, and E's pre-K starts at 12:30 PM...which means about an hour of ride time, all told. However, I was planning on taking him in the afternoon/early evening, after my Pharmacology test at 9 AM.

But they asked if he could skip school. To go to the fair.

Something seems wrong in this picture...

It's Not BRAIN surgery!!

Earlier today, E and I were in the grocery store, attempting to decide which type of applesauce we were going to purchase. Naturally, I was pushing for the generic brand, and E was excited about Mott's, since he recognized it from Nanay's house...Anyway, eventually I gave in and reached for the Mott's, only to realize that the Non-Sugar "Organic" type was right below it. I switched packages, forgetting that my child is not blind. He immediately gave cry to his indignant feelings of betrayal, and I had to persuade him that, yes, indeed, he did want the green package, because it had strawberry applesauce in it, while the other package just had regular, old boring applesauce. He, after all, is not the least bit interested about where his applesauce comes from, only what color it is.

Well, in the end, it worked and he accepted the exchange.

We moseyed on down the aisle, and E said "I wanted the strawberry one because I like strawberry." [See how I do that? I convince him it was his idea all along. Because I'm just that good.]
I replied: "I know, and you know how I know? Because I'm a mom, and moms know everything." [I'm also trying to convince him that I have eyes in the back of my head...]
E: "Nuh UH! I know everything!"
Me: "Nope, just moms know everything."
E: "Well, MOM, you gotta share your brain!!"

Damn You, Dr. Seuss (with apologies, love and respect)

One of E's favorite books a couple of years ago was Dr. Seuss's "Happy Birthday to You!" I'm sure it was partly because of the rhythmic nature of his works, and partly because the man was so wordy that it took him 60 pages to tell "The Cat In the Hat". [I know, not exactly complicated subject matter, you wouldn't think it would take that long, right?] And after all, the longer the book, the farther away bedtime is.

Anyway, reading "HBtY!" every night was fine with me for a while, as I've always thought that Dr. Seuss wrote his books to appeal to both children and their parents. I find his whimsical stories and made-up words endearing and they definitely make for some funny tongue-twisting. Plus, "HBtY!" was my favorite Dr. S. book when I was a kid, so it was nice to pass the love on, as it were. And most importantly, before I managed to get too tired of it, E switched his allegiance to a different book.

Well, he hadn't really rediscovered it until recently. You see, once he gets off an addiction kick, he's done with that thing for a loooong time (happens with movies, books, toys, food, people, you name it).

But tonight we read it together. And I realized that book has a lot more pitfalls in it than I ever expected.

You see, E's at the "But what does it mean?" stage right now. Everything has to have a definition, from pictures to facial expressions to colors to words.

I hit the first snag at the memorable line(s), "If you'd never been born, well then what would you be...Why, you might be a WASN'T!"

Interruption #1: "Mom, what's a 'wasn't'?"
"Um, it means you're nothing."
"How can you be nothing?"
"Just listen to the story, honey." [That's right, I said it. You try explaining it...]

My next notable hang-up came at "If you'd never been born, then you might be an ISN'T! An isn't has no fun at all. No he disn't."

Interruption #218: "Mom, what's 'disn't'?"
"It means 'doesn't'." [He let that one pass. I don't know how.]

We managed to get by "Klopfers" and "Pal-alace" without difficulty.

But THEN we got to the part where the birthday band is coming by, with their Drummers and Strummers and Zummers and Plumbers...

Interruption #578: "Mom, what instrument is that?"
And he pointed to a contraption of bongos and maracas and harp strings and pipes that shared only a remote resemblance to its more mundane instrumental relatives...

And I gave up:
"I have no idea."

Apparently, good ol' Theodor should have included a freaking labeled guide and dictionary to his books, because they are NOT "easy reading" for this mom and her very confused little boy.

To Cave or Not To Cave

E's OGs (Other Grandparents) brought him back from his Daddy Z's today. Unfortunately, it was after 9 PM by the time we met up, and E had already been asleep for an hour or so by that time.

Which meant that by the time I got him home at 9:45, read him a story, rubbed his back, gave him a face massage and sang him a song (yes, this is the normal routine...he's high maintenance, what can I say?), he was wide awake.

So for a couple of hours, I was in and out of his room every 15 minutes or so, reassuring him that he would eventually fall asleep, encouraging him to turn his light on and "read" for awhile, refusing to let him have something to eat.

That would have been, if not fine, at least tolerable, except for the fact that test block starts in a week, and I was trying to study. So it was neither fine nor tolerable, but extremely frustrating. You can imagine how difficult it is to concentrate on memorizing the billion different types of cancer when your study groove is broken every 15 minutes by a little voice saying (or screaming) "Mommy, I can't sleep!"

So I finally gave in and did the unthinkable.

Right now, he's lying tucked up on the living room couch in the dark, watching Toy Story, on the condition that if he gets up or makes any noise, back to the Unsleepable-In Bed he goes. And I'm happily engaged in reading about neoplasia.

I can't decide if I'm a really bad disciplinarian or a genius.

It Was True at Some Point, At Least

E just started Pre-K at a public elementary school. He goes Monday through Friday from 12:30 to 3:30 in the afternoon. There are 20 children in his class, with a teacher, a teacher's assistant, and a student teacher.

I was a bit leery of putting him in Pre-K. Our experience with a private preschool last fall didn't go over well. The teacher didn't impress me, E was having a hard time adjusting to certain of his classmates, and it got to where he was screaming every time we dropped him off. Because he'd been in a preschool before (which he had loved), I wrote the entire experience off as just a bad apple, and withdrew him from the program after about 4 months.

However, that meant that my parents had to bear the brunt of childwatching during the school year. And while they love him, and they love taking care of him, he's an extremely active/curious/ high-maintenance 4-year-old, and they're in their 50s. They're not spring chickens (sorry, 'rents, if you read this...I love you!). I felt like it was wearing them out to watch him for what sometimes amounted to 9 hours a day. I mean, let's not kid ourselves, it wears me out to watch him all day.

Plus, seeing as how E is an only child (and likely to stay that way for a long, long time), and my parents' neighborhood is composed mostly of retired and mid-life couples with grown children, he didn't have that many playmates. And the poor thing loves other kids. So I made the decision (with parental encouragement) to enroll him in Pre-K.

And so far, it's been a delight. He comes home jabbering about his friends and his teachers every day, he loves being the "helper", and talks about the little "jobs" they give the kids to do around the classroom. Seeing as how school's in the afternoon, he gets to spend the mornings with Nanay & Poppa, and then they can rest while he's being worn out playing at school. He's been sleeping better at night, he has something concrete to look forward to every afternoon, he gets to be around other kids, and the g'rents get a well-earned rest.

Anyway, today was the first Pre-K parents' meeting. I attended, like the active parent I am (going to be). It lasted for maybe 10 minutes, and its real purpose was just so that his teacher, Mrs. S., could meet those parents that she hadn't yet, and we could pick up a big set of papers about the program and our kids.

So at the end, after I'd collected all my shnizzle, I went to go speak with Mrs. S. I had met her briefly at the open house before school started, and had seen her when picking E up from school, but had never officially met her. Upon introducing myself as E's mother, she told me that he's apparently a joy to have in class, and that he's a well-behaved, sweet child.

I'm so glad someone thinks that on a daily basis.

Kidding, kidding...

Are You My Mother?

Because I'm a young, single mom, I've always been wary of misinterpretation as far as who E's mother is. Not from E himself, but from other people.

It doesn't help that his last name is different than mine. You'd think in this day and age, with all the freaking divorces, professional women keeping their last names, etc., people would be used to parents having different last names from their kids. But no. Every time I pull out my ID or sign for E, I get weird looks. Sigh.

And I look like I'm about 18. And my mom looks like she's less than 40. So I tend to hear that my "little brother" is adorable. Or people will exclaim that my mom doesn't look old enough to have a teenager AND a 4 year old. It gets old fast.

Worst is when my son calls my dad "Daddy", which he does a lot. It catches Poppa's attention a lot faster than "Poppa" does. I mean, come on, he's been answering to "Daddy" for over 20 years, and "Poppa" has only been around for the last couple. However, that habit gets awkward, because while Dad doesn't look old, per se, he looks quite a bit older than I do. So when E goes around calling me "Mama" and Poppa "Daddy", my poor father gets the "you're a creepy old man" looks. It's kind of funny, admittedly.

Anyway, my parents, E and I were eating dinner out some time ago, when a work acquaintance of my dad's walks by. They strike up a conversation, and she eventually starts cooing over E...I mean, she couldn't help it, he's adorable. So Dad's like, "he looks like me, doesn't he?" in that proud Poppa way that all parents/grandparents/relatives of cute kids have. The poor lady goes "No, he looks like his mom!" while gesturing toward my mother. The rest of us just kind of smiled, willing to let it pass.

But not E. He indignantly stated: "That's not my mom! That's my nanay! This is my mom!!"

And that's my boy.

Out of the Mouths of Those We Wish to Keep Quiet

A friend and I were in the car recently, discussing the deer that could be found around a certain fish hatchery near my apartment. E piped up in the backseat:

"I used to have a pet fish."
Friend: "Oh? What happened to it?"
E: "My mom fed it too much and it died."

I'm So Emo Even My Kid's Emo

Portrait of Mommy
by E


You wonder what that weird horn in the middle of my forehead is? So did I.

When I asked, E said: "Oh, that's your hair in your face."

Finding Nemo

Over the summer, E developed a love for the water. He'd never really been scared of it before, per se, but he wasn't all too eager to jump in it every chance he got. I think the whole "I might be cold when I get out" thing wasn't quite up his alley. And he doesn't like bulky clothing, so those little wetsuits with attached life jackets (or just a life jacket with regular trunks) weren't his thing either. Last summer, we lived 30 minutes away from a fantastic water park, with a really great kids' section. We went maybe once because he didn't like the fountains that sprayed water in his face. And our apartment complex had a (relatively) nice pool that we never actually used because he never wanted to go swimming. Even at hotels, he was happier sitting on the edge of the hot tub and dangling his feet in than splashing in the pool.

But this summer, he has been like a freaking little fish. I think the graduation to water wings played a big part. We went to the water park 3 times, to the city pool once, swam at various hotel pools while on vacation, and now that we're back in one place, we've been going to the complex pool at least once, and usually twice a day. With the help of the aforementioned devices, he can tread water, swim across the pool, jump in and put his face in the water. It's fantastic, this new love of the water.

And it's been great in bargaining. "If you whine one more time we won't go swimming today," works like a charm.

I'm Baaaaack

After a long, waaaaay more extended leave of absence than really required, I am finally (relatively) permanently reconnected to the World Wide Web. I'm thrilled, my email account is thrilled, and you should also be thrilled.

I promise, more excellent, opinionated posts are on their way. They've been fomenting in my brain all this time. You're lucky.

But right now, I have to go deal with a little boy who missed his mommy on her first day back to school...and therefore needs all her attention at the moment.

Later, tater

Conversations

At home-
E: "I burped, excuse me."
[Mom is doing a crossword, and is only listening with half an ear]
E: "I'm excused."
[Mom smiles absentmindedly, continues trying to figure out 26-Across]
E (very aggrieved): "MOM! I had to excuse MYSELF!"

In the car-
E: "Mom, can Poppa sit next to me?"
Mom: "Babe, our car's still small and he won't have enough room for his legs in the back."
E: "Well, when will our car grow up?"

Last-Minute Needs...

So, I made one of those "I need one thing at Wal-Mart" trips this evening. For literally, one thing. That I absolutely HAD TO HAVE right then. And then, naturally, it became like 10 things. Because once I was there, I was like, "Oh, yeah, that's right, I forgot that I promised I'd get E this..." Never fails.

[Incidentally, "Achy Breaky Heart" is playing overhead at Kettle, my hometown's only "Internet Cafe"...I am sad to discover that that song did not die as it should have, in the 90s...]

But my point is, you know how all supermarkets and stores of similar ilk have their checkout aisles so nicely set up with all the things that a busy mom/normal person is likely to forget otherwise? Like Kleenex and chapstick and batteries and soap and God only knows what else? And naturally, all those dinky little toys that your kids just HAVE to have, and all your own favorite candy and fluff magazines, so then if Mommy gets a present, then E has to have one...It's quite sneaky of them.

I rarely wait until I'm actually in the checkout line to realize that I've forgotten something... (Usually I'm merrily walking along, pushing my cart, and then suddenly remember and halt, and cause a traffic jam that just ripples across the store...)...so I don't usually utilize the mini-convenience store that is a Wal-Mart checkout line.

However, this time, I happened to do just that. Right up until we walked into the line, I had forgotten that I had told E I'd buy him some chapstick "of his very own". And luckily for me, they had the usual selection of like 10 different types just waiting for me.

While I was carefully perusing the labels (God forbid I should pick something too girly or too minty or too "spicy"), I happened to notice something peculiar among the humdrum items: several bottles of K*Y Touch Mass@ge Oil.

Honestly, are there that many people twiddling their thumbs in line at supermarkets who suddenly think: "Damn, I forgot my m@ssage oil!!!"

Wal-Mart seems to think so.

Personally, I'd think co#doms would be higher up on my list of "Things People Forget to Purchase That They're Really Gonna Regret Forgetting." But whatever.


[Also, I'm bleeping things so I don't get spammed. Because this is a family forum...Ha, right.]

Can You Tell It's New?

E, to my mom, as she climbed into my car: "Don't touch ANYTHING in my mom's car."

E, to my brother, as he climbed into the driver's seat: "You have got to BE CAREFUL in my mom's car."

Boys Just Wanna Have Fun

Recent exchange with E...

Me: Hey, E, we're gonna get a new car soon. Does that sound like a good idea?

E: [Dawning hope in eyes, accompanied by several Hummer-shaped stars...]

Me: But it's NOT going to be a Hummer.

E: [Pouting]


Exchange with E after buying said new car...

Me: Do you like the car, even though it's not a Hummer?

E: Yes. But we're going to call it a Transformer.

Happenings

We had a blast in the Twin Cities, visiting the fam.

We just happened to go to the Mall of America, while we were there.

We just happened to buy all-day ride passes at the (former?) Camp Snoopy. That was a BIG DEAL for us. Usually, as kids, my sibs and I were limited to 3 rides each, unless one of my uncles was feeling generous and bought us passes. I think my parents were feeling generous this time because E was back among us. (Like a fungus.) Not that they bought the passes, that would have been asking a bit much. But they bought one for my brother, so that I got to ride all the kiddie rides with E and all the grown-up rides with David.

Speaking of "E", my new favorite thing is to call him "Tiny Dancer", because of:
A: his habit of dancing
B: his genetic fate of rather stunted stature (ha, not really, he's not that short, just short...)
C: my love of Elton John and a certain song that I used to think had lyrics involving "head lice".
PS: if you don't know why I thought it was a song about head lice, I'm not going to talk to you any more, because you're obviously not an Elton John fan.

So I'm seriously considering switching my son's "E" pseudonym to "Tiny Dancer" or perhaps just "T.D.", to preserve the rather feminine anonymity of his nickname...I'll let you know what I decide...

Anyway, after we'd all ridden ourselves silly on the amusement park rides, we happened to find ourselves in Lego Land. They have a rather fascinating play area with piles and piles of Legos in huge bins, and a racing ramp, so you can make and race your own Lego Cars. Brilliant.

E, of course, dug right in, oblivious to the nearby family argument going on about where the 20 members of the extended gene pool were going to meet for dinner, and how we were all going to get there. After about 15-20 minutes of planning and negotiating, we finally decided on a destination. E, my brother, and I were ordered to hitch a ride to the restaurant with my Nana & Papa (you see, organizing a family reunion is kind of like organizing troops. The general doesn't take disobedience well, because that could lead to someone dying...).

Well, in my distracted folly, I didn't realize that E, of course, hadn't been privy to our discussion, and all of a sudden, we had to race for the restaurant to make it by the agreed time. So he got no "you have 5 minutes to play" warning. Instead, I told him we had to go, picked him up bodily, took his Lego car away and left it in a nearby collection bin, and walked out of the area.

BAD IDEA.

The mall exit was, predictably, as far away from Lego Land as we could possibly have gotten. He kicked and screamed for the entire walk. He's a pretty strong little kiddo, and at one point, I had to deliver him to my brother, who is considerably stronger than I, to manhandle through the building.

I was extraordinarily embarrassed, because no parent wants to have to make the Mother's Walk of Shame for more than a few feet, much less make that walk in front of one's own grandparents! My mom was one of seven kids, and I have a dozen or so cousins, so it's not as if they're unused to screaming children, but still!

But all my Nana said was a mild: "I hope no one thinks we're kidnapping him..."

At which point, my traitorous and unmotherly inner self happened to think: "If a security guard came up right now and questioned me, I would say 'You are absolutely right, you should find this child's real mother.'"

Back Where He Belongs

I didn't cry when he left. And I cried maybe once when he was gone.

But I cried like a baby when he came back. And days later, I'm still teary-eyed.

I'm glad he's back.



Incidentally, we're in Minnesota, celebrating my grandparents' 56th anniversary.

Sweating the Small Things

The other night, I had one of the most pleasant dreams of my life.

I dreamed I was helping E get dressed in the morning.

I gave him a choice of shirts. And he rejected both and proceeded to empty his entire shirt drawer in search of the perfect shirt. He does that because he insists I don't pick cool shirts for him. He's a bit of a brat....I watched him pick shorts and undergarment and socks. I argued with him about the merits of wearing his adorable green sneakers that reflect so nicely on his (and his mom's) coolness versus his old clunky tennis shoes that are a size too big for him...

I know, I know, not exactly earth-shattering or even that interesting to write about. But it really illustrated to me what I find precious about my time with him. It's not necessarily the big events like taking him to the zoo or playing with him at the park. Although those are wonderful as well. But the things that I really miss are the everyday things that I don't even think about when he's here and when they're commonplace.

The other day I was driving and absentmindedly reached back toward the back seat, looking for a small hand to grasp. It wasn't until the hand wasn't there that I realized how frequently I perform that particular maneuver.

For another example, I was saddened by my laundry last week. I enjoy doing laundry usually (I know, it's such a housewifely thing for me to actually enjoy doing...). I like that it takes a short time to see results and that at the end of the procedure, you have a bunch of clean clothing that you probably forgot you even owned in the intervening time between when you threw the article in question into the laundry basket, and removed it on Laundry Day. Not that I have a Laundry Day, per se. Laundry Day is Whenever Mommy Has Time Day, in my establishment.

But anyway, the cleansing of tiny socks that wouldn't be worn for some time, and the folding of countless tiny shirts that would go unworn, was inexplicably sad.

Good thing he's coming home on Thursday, huh?

A Guest Post for Your Consideration

"My rant against a facebook group about kids in college classrooms"
By: my sister (sorry about the copyright or whatever, kiddo. Get your own blog...)

4:13pm 06/14/07

So a while ago I came across a facebook group dedicated to keeping children of students out of the college classrooms. Their message was, if memory serves, three-fold: children are distracting, get a sitter, don't allow people who haven't paid for the privilege to sit in on a college class.

This particularly incensed me in that I have known parents who have had no choice but to take their children to class. I have even had to take my sweet, darling baby nephew to a voice lesson and he was an angel! Last minute cancellations and insufficient funds are among the myriad reasons why one might be compelled to bring their child to class.

The group complained about children being distracting to which I might answer that people in general are distracting. The world is distracting. Get over it. Harsh as it may seem, the classroom environment is rarely one that is free of diversions (with the possible exception of test days). I would find the antics of junior playing quietly with his cars in the corner no less enthralling than the kid who sits next to me talking to his buddy the whole time. And don't even try to tell me that everyone in the class is always focused 100% on the material being presented. And those who are should be used to narrowing the focus of their concentration.

Simply getting a sitter for one's child is not always an option. Many parents already have sitters in place or day care or preschool in which their children are enrolled. But complications with such plans are unavoidable, and there are the occasions where the parent is left without recourse to those secondary care providers. The parent is then left with the option of either remaining at home to care for the child, or taking that same child to class with them. I would hazard a guess that the grand majority of the time, the parent would opt to remain home with the child. It's not like anyone is all excited to bring their kid in the middle of somewhere where the kid isn't welcome.

But there are times when doing so is unavoidable. Sometimes it is imperative for one to attend class - like say for an important lecture or to pick up some materials or for a quiz. On days where it is critical for one to attend class, the addition of a child is what one may call a 'necessary evil'. However, as I have already speculated, I think that this is more than likely the exception rather than the rule to bringing one's child to class and as long as it is not a habitual occurrence I think it behooves the student population to demonstrate a modicum of tolerance. But that's just me.

The last complaint (I believe) was that students paid for the privilege of attending classes, and to bring someone in - even if that someone was a five year old who had no concept of the materials being discussed - who hadn't paid was cheapening the academic experience of the students. In making such assertions of course, they ignore the fact that many people who haven't paid to attend the class make appearances: potential students or even friends who just want to sit in on the class. Perhaps if these dissenters could adjust their thinking to include children as potential students there would be no problem. Then there is of course the fact that students' attendance is sketchy at best and if attendance is used to gauge the value of the class it appears variable by student. The fact that a parent would still want to attend class, even with a child in tow, would thereby imply that the class was of some value to that person. If paying a fee grants the privilege of attendance, then parents who've paid tuition should have the same right to attend class.

Accusations of bad parenting were lobbed by this group against the parents who bring their children to class, their argument being that kids will not enjoy sitting through a college class. If it was considered bad parenting on every occasion in which a parent brought a child somewhere where the latter would not enjoy it, then how many church outings, doctor's visits, car rides would be condemned as bad parenting? I would argue that the parent doing well in class - and by extension doing well in college and earning one's degree - is tied to the welfare of the child.

The existence of this group demonstrates a narrow-mindedness to the difficulties that arise when a person is both a student and a parent, particularly when one is a single parent. Decisions must be made while weighing the complex issues at hand, and parents deserve a little respect for their heroic efforts. Basically what I'm saying to this facebook group (who probably will never read a word of this rant) is that as long as this isn't a perpetual problem in the classroom, grow up and try to demonstrate a little sympathy and understanding. Trust me, you'll be better off for it.

One is the loneliest number...

I'm sorry if I'm still extraordinarily morose in this forum. It's really the only place where I'm allowing myself to be so. I keep a stiff upper lip and all that jazz in the real world. I'm really not that depressed. Just...incomplete, I suppose.

Before E left, he and I had several talks about his visit to his dad. I gently reminded him that it would seem like a really long time, but that I would always be back to get him (and screw you, people who say that you should never say things like that to kids, it makes us both feel better!), like I always have been. We went through the usual "Why are you making me go to Daddy Zak's house?", which is always a fun conversation to have with a child...He said that he'd miss me, but that he wouldn't cry. And I (because I'm apparently completely anti-gender roles) said, "well, you know that it's O.K. to cry if you miss someone, or because you're sad. It's not all right to cry when you're not getting your own way." The poor kid said, "But they don't like when I cry." Which, what can I say to that? No one likes it when kids cry! And how do you explain the difference to a child?! I said something like, "They'll understand if you cry because you're sad." (And that was probably completely the wrong thing to say, whatever, shut up!)

I got to witness E having the same conversation with my dad. Except E was the one to gently comfort his Poppa: "I'm going to be gone for a long time, Poppa, and you're going to miss me.
But I'll be back, so don't be too sad." Sniff.

And then, right before he was about to go, as I was putting on his shoes, he asked "Mom, will you be in my heart?"


Don't ever have kids. They'll kill you with their cuteness.

Getting Back into the Swing of Things...

EDIT: I added a post from May. Find it below or here

It's hard to be a SAHM. I couldn't even manage it for one week without practically going crazy. Now, don't get me wrong, I adore my son and I would give anything to be able to spend more time with him during the school year. But he wears me the heck out. I feel kind of sorry for my parents, who watched him almost non-stop this past semester, when he wasn't in preschool. He must have driven them crazy. And naturally, having to deal with Mommy's discipline methods after having spent all this time basking in the relative leniency of adoring grandparents was a bit difficult for both of us. Especially since that difficulty translated itself into whining and hissy fits....(ok, ok, for both E and me. Shut up.)

So I initiated the "star chart." Basically, for every day that E manages to not piss me off doesn't whine or throw a hissy fit, he gets a star sticker. And then after so many stars, he gets a small present. Since he's four, the goal for stars starts at 4, then goes to 5, 6, 7, you get the point. It's actually worked quite well, and before he left for his dad's house, he had gotten 4 stars in 5 days, and a Transformer was the reward. (Yeah, yeah, it's not exactly small, but he was leaving for 2 weeks, go easy on me...)

It took FOREVER to explain it to him. It kind of went like this:

Evan: How many stars do I need to get a present?
Mom: Well, first, you need 4 stars. After you get 4, you'll get a small present.
Evan: I have a star right now, let me put it on the chart.
Mom: No way, Jose, you get stars for being good. Not just because.
Evan: But I AM good!
Mom: I mean, when you don't whine or cry. Or scream.
Evan: Oh. Well, then what happens?
Mom: For every day that you don't whine or cry (or scream), you'll get one star to put on your chart.
Evan: ....And then what?
Mom: Then, after you get 4 stars, you can have a present!
Evan: What kind of present?
Mom: A small one.
Evan: When?
Mom: Oh, for God's sake, when you get 4 stars!!
Evan: Well, I have a star right here...

A Little Bit at a Loss

So, E left Tuesday to spend 2 weeks with his dad, and I am, as the title so clearly states, a little bit at a loss for words. And for what to do with myself while he's gone. I mean, I'd like to think I'm not one of those parents who's completely and utterly wrapped up in my child. But the fact is that he's larger than life for me (I mean, how could he not be, he's pretty much a midget...) and when he's gone, life seems a lot more bland.

No cutesy things to post about. No mommy issues banging around in my head. No goodnight stories. No spontaneous kisses. No counting to three. And then five. And then ten.

Just silence. And much sleeping in. Which, granted, I'm not complaining about that, per se. But I do rather miss my alarm clock.

Xbox and the internet do their best to keep me occupied, but they're only human constructs. My son is a gift from God. And it's rather difficult to not get hung up on how wide the gap really is.

So I'm trying not to post, to prevent myself from becoming far too lachrymose. I may go back and finish some of the posts that I just grew bored of before they made it into the stark reality of the web. Keep your eyes open.

And think of something for me to do.

One small step for everyone else...

It's amazing what little things may become triumphs in the lives of kids and parents.

I mean, the first time your baby sleeps through the night is cause for a freaking house party. First solids, sitting up, crawling, walking, talking, potty-training...even non-parents understand and ask about these things at the proverbial water cooler.

But as your children grow, you begin to feel self-congratulatory for the most ridiculous things. And when you talk about them, other people probably look at you like you're a bit insane.

For instance, today my mom and I celebrated because E made it one entire day without throwing a hissy fit or whining or crying. A whole day. Now, those lucky/unlucky individuals among you who have never spent an entire day with a very spoiled, high-tempered, stubborn small child may not understand how blissful or terrible that one day can be. And today was blissful. No crying when nap/bed time came around. No screaming when we left the mall. No whining for cookies. (And before you judge, yes, he does get into trouble if he does these things. I have to be rather strict to offset my parents' shameless spoiling of him. But I'd rather he just didn't misbehave at all, so I didn't have to discipline him...) E was, literally, the perfect child. But people who don't have Mini-Me's running around (and even some who do) generally think, "That's how children should always be, you must be doing something wrong." Don't deny it, I used to think the same things.

And the very first flossing session E ever endured deserved a late-night call to Nanay so that she could share in our collective pride. He solemnly informed her that because he is now 4 (and NOT 3), he can hold still long enough for his teeth to be flossed. After all, "10 year old boys can do it, so 4 year old boys can too. But 2 and 3 year olds can NOT because they're babies." I mean, seriously, flossing is not something that anyone but your dentist truly cares about.

But these little things are so important because they still mark the passing of time for us. They are signs that our children won't always be small, that they're growing and changing right in front of our eyes. They're reminders that we should take the time to appreciate what is happening in this moment, despite the temper tantrums and bed-wetting that make us secretly wish our children were older. Because someday they will no longer call to us to come see that they put their socks on correctly or they made their beds. Days will be shorter, time will pass more quickly, and the things we celebrate will be so much bigger. And we will miss those small triumphs, because they were at the beginning...

Now, if only E and I can start having the sort of triumph that involves him staying in his own bed all night.

The Stage Life

My parents, E and I drove to visit my little sister at her summer job in a nearby state today. She is a performer (read: singer and dancer) at an amusement park there. This particular park has several live shows that run during the summer, one of which is a musical revue focusing on rock and roll hits from the 60s to the 90s or so. They were having Friends and Family Day, so we drove 6 or so hours to see the show for free!

It was a blast! She's always wanted to do a show like it, and it was great to see her in her element finally! She did a great job and made me teary-eyed at parts (which is ridiculous...I'm so emotional it's sickening...). The kid made me proud.

E danced through the entire thing. He was sooooo excited to see his "Lulu" up on stage. I'm really hoping to foster this music love in him, and I'd love to put him in dance lessons, but I know there's such a huge social stigma that I'm afraid I'm going to have to just teach him myself and wait till he's old enough to take break-dancing lessons or something. Because, you know, boys who dance are cool only if they throw themselves on the floor and contort themselves into weird positions. Because that's manly...

ANYWAY! At one point, the cast were performing Material Girl and the girls were dressed up in the classic Marilyn Monroe pink sheath gowns and gloves, and they happened to be breakaway gowns that ended up as little mini things. And of course, they were properly utilized in the show, much to the amusement of the audience.

Well, when asked what his favorite part of the show had been, E said "I liked it when they took their clothes off..."

Just wrong.

Random Song Lyrics

Nowhere Near
~Tracey Thorn

Dog days of summer
Heat haze and bad temper
And whole days of shouting
“Would you listen to me?”

See, I’m the one in charge now
What happened to me?
I turned into someone’s mother

Really someone should give me a uniform
Or someone should show me where is the door
Or someone should come around and explain
How it is that love forgets to speak its name

And then you turn on the news
And it’s somebody else’s news
And it’s always such bad news
And I’m no good with sad news anymore
Gets me running upstairs
To count heads in tangled beds

And someone tears up that uniform
And somewhere gently closes a door
And I’m right here once more
Crying, confessing, and counting my blessings

Don’t let go
Cause we’ll never know
And even when the sky is clear
And the moon looks really close
Well it’s nowhere near

Imagined Slights

I hate doctors. They're snobby. And they don't listen well.

I hate med students too. They're pretty snobby as well. And they always act like they carry the freaking weight of the world on their shoulders.

But I hate blond wives of 3rd and 4th year med students the most right now. Or I did last Saturday. Now, this is a fair warning. This isn't a particularly kind post. And most of it's pure, evil speculation on my part. And I don't really feel this way about such people in general. But the point of this post is to illustrate a situation that may someday arise in your life. So mark it well and be prepared...

Last Friday was the last day of school for me (Praise the Almighty, Brother!). So on Saturday, the school holds this big stupid shindig called "Big Stupid Shindig" (I'm lying) for all the medical students and their families/friends/significant others/escorts. It started at 7 PM and ostensibly went until midnight.

Well, our families (see above) were invited, and I had already shelled out mucho buckaroos for my favorite babysitter (my little brother) on Friday night. So I decided I'd just haul the munchkin along for kicks. I had a long talk with him before we went about speaking when spoken to and minding manners and not running around, etc. And he was actually pretty much the best kid ever that night, and I told him so after we left. It's such a gift when our children behave precisely the way we want them to, when we want them to. Mainly because it happens so infrequently...

E was the only child there above the age of 2 (not counting the male portion of the attendees, naturally). And apparently, all the mommies and daddies of those 2-year-olds were SUPER PALS. All the 2-year-olds either had pregnant moms or siblings in slings, which I think is pretty cool. I mean, that way, you don't ever have to actually play with your children, because you just provide them with automatic playmates for life!! (And I'm kidding. My mom had both my younger sister and brother before I was three and a half. But seriously, we did have playmates for life...) But all the kids had long blond curls, whether boy/girl, and were dressed in that My-Child-Will-Grow-Up-To-Play-Golf-On-His/Her-Lunch-Breaks kind of clothing from the Gap or wherever parents find that sort of thing (personally, I think I must go blind when that sort of clothing appears before my eyes, because I have never seen it for anyone other than rich old men and their trophy wives. Maybe I shop at the wrong stores...). All the mothers had the same kind of haircut and the same kind of maternity clothing. They probably all grew up in the same preppy schools and took preppy dance lessons from the same preppy teachers. But I'm not bitter. I'm just saying...

All of the kids were playing on a raised platform at one end of the room, which was right next to the table where I was sitting with my friends. Some of the other parents were up on the platform with their kids, but I could see E from where I was sitting (and he's not 2...), so I didn't feel the need to be right there to point out the "horsies" out the window for his visual enjoyment.

Now, my child is very, very comfortable with adults (most of the time). He will initiate conversations with total strangers and is quite capable of holding up his end of the dialogue for a looooong time. He also likes babies (meaning, anyone shorter/younger than he is...so not that many people). So my darling boy was striking up convos with these trophy wives about their toddlers....

And they wouldn't talk to him.

It just about broke my heart, watching him try to get their attention and them turning away to rave one more time about the divine pedicures they got at this so-posh spa where everyone goes nowadays (now, keep in mind that I am extrapolating. But I'm still probably right.). Luckily, E didn't notice, other than the fact that he was being straight up ignored most of the time. But still. It hurt me.

I'm not sure why they wouldn't talk to him. It's not like you can't understand him when he speaks. And it's not like they couldn't hear him (believe me, that wasn't it). The only thing I could come up with is that they just weren't used to talking to people who actually speak in sentences (as opposed to their own toddlers, their very busy med student husbands, and their empty-headed friends...yes, it irritated me, can you tell?).

Anyway, for those of you with very small children: learn to talk to the older kids, if you can't already. It's not hard, I promise. I can carry on a conversation with E without even listening to what he's saying half the time, because he will talk with very little encouragement. Someday those kids will be yours. And you'll be the mom cringing in the corner as your child gets ignored.



I can't wait till E starts grade school. Can't you just imagine how hateful I'll be then?

Strange Dichotomy

This morning, on my way to take my final Histology exam (Ever! Thank you, Jesus!), I was listening to my favorite morning radio show (radio morning show? I don't know...), which follows the usual method of bringing up interesting/inane/ridiculous topics of conversation and asking people to call in about them. Like: "What's the craziest thing your teenager's ever done?" or "What do you think about giving little kids their own cell phones?" Usually they manage to have pretty interesting discussions while snarking about everyone and everything under the sun. So, naturally, I like it.

Well, this morning, they were talking about high school graduation and how the respect factor has left ceremonial shows like it. At this point, they were saying that some parents are just downright obnoxious about their kids' graduations. You know the type, the ones who bring air horns and silly string to utilize the instant Junior walks across the stage, or who paint big, glittery signs that say "WE LOVE YOU, BABY GIRL, WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU FOR GRADUATING FROM FREAKING HIGH SCHOOL!". (Which, I'm not deriding high school graduation. It's a proud time for everyone. But there are ways to celebrate and then there are ways to celebrate. Painting your hairy, middle-aged chest in the likeness of a school logo is not one of them. Save it for homecoming, Dad.)

ANYWAY! So they're talking about how their own generation (it's a classic rock station, so it's not like these people are college kids or anything) has lost the ability to regulate themselves or whatever. They brought up fights at Little League games, insane soccer moms, etc. Basically, middle-aged people are rotten. And old. They have no redeeming qualities unless they're radio deejays.

Well, then, all of a sudden, they segued into how terrible "kids" (meaning teenagers, mostly) are today, how they have no respect for their elders, etc. etc. etc.

Hm, where do you think the kids learned it? From that harbinger of evil, MTV? From those terrible people in showbiz today? Sure, maybe. But who are those people? The great majority of pop culture icons are not in the same generation as the greatest portion of their fans. The great majority of producers are not teenagers, I hope. So my generation and those behind me are basically being fed devil smut by the older generations. Sure, at some point, we have to take responsibility for our own actions, but if we're already put at a disadvantage by the way we were raised, isn't it that much more difficult for us to turn into saints (and no, I'm not talking about myself here. I am practically a saint, so I don't want you thinking things about my mama and daddy...THEY'RE GOOD PEOPLE!)?!?!

But the real clincher is that I don't think it's necessarily the fault of "bad" parenting or the fault of "our immoral society" or even the fault of "those darn kids"! It's really evolution's fault. Or God's fault, depending on which biologically developmental view you are currently embracing. (PS: If you're Catholic, like some of us are blessed enough to be, you can believe that it's both evolution AND God's fault...Good ol' JPII said so himself.)

WARNING: RATHER RIDICULOUS EVOLUTIONARY CONCEPT DISCUSSED BELOW!! DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE A NATURALLY SERIOUS PERSON!!

I think the problem is, that at one time, in our primordial past, parents had to make sure their children obeyed implicitly, in order to promote sheer survival. I mean, if Sally Mae asks every time why she has to come in when the vampires are roaming the hillside, Sally Mae's parents' genes are gonna die out pretty quickly. (Because, obviously, Sally Mae's gonna get bitten, and vampires don't have children, didn't you know?) So it was in the best interests of the gene pool to foster traits that enforced discipline and rules. Much like in the animal kingdom. I mean, there aren't many baby kittens wandering far from their mothers, right? Because if they do, they're probably going to Baby Kitten Heaven pretty fast.

However, at some point, the needs of the gene pool changed. Strict and ultimate discipline wasn't necessary for survival any more, and in fact, the traits of more lenient parents were (because those parents were just more likely to let their onry teenager live after sneaking in 2 hours past curfew, therefore leading to the propagation of those genes...see how that works? You now know more than they do in Kansas!).

And parents can't really help that they're so freaking excited about their kids growing up! I mean, what sort of evolutionary advantage does it give you to have your kids stay at home all their lives? Maybe in ye olden days, when people were liable to die a lot sooner, they didn't need any encouragement to get out there and start havin' babies. Evolutionary drive does a lot for libido. But nowadays, people can have kids till they're practically going straight from the nursing home to L&D! There's not really that urge to start playing the Barry White records at 18 any more (I mean, don't get me wrong, plenty of people still do that...right?...I wouldn't know. I'm just saying, the overall drive is different. Whatever. Shut up.) So people are complacent to hang out at home. And mom and dad are starting to evolve to where they want you out of the house so you can go propagate the species. So they make a big deal about all the big "life events" you're experiencing as a kid. I mean, come on, they have a graduation for kindergarten now. Parents even got the teachers in on the "let's encourage them to grow up and leave home" Master Plan.

My point is, next time you see a kid with his pants hanging down to there or a mom beating another parent to a bloody pulp with her giant foam finger...don't roll your eyes and blame society. It's really not our fault. It's God's.

Or biology's. Depends on whether you're from Kansas. Or whether you're Catholic...

Nuts Who Are About to Crack

E called me on the phone after my mom picked him up from his dad's this afternoon in our old hometown, T. They're going to stay there till tomorrow, seeing as how I'm currently trying to see how much studying I can cram into my brain before Monday and the Physiology final (went almost 12 hours today, it was amazing...And exhausting...). Anyway, so E called me and was chatting away about what his dad got him for his birthday. I was like, yes, yes, I know, your birthday was totally 2 weeks ago and you already gave me this list, I know your presents were fantastic. Enough already...Ha, kidding. But seriously...Toward the end of the conversation, I asked him if he had gotten me a Mother's Day present (which, I need one. And he likes to give me gifts. Although usually they come in the form of pretend food made from bathwater and soap bubbles...). He said "No..." in a worried tone of voice, so I laughingly reassured him that Nanay would help him pick something out. He apparently rejected that thought, though, because the next thing I heard was him speaking to my mom: "Nanay, I need to buy my mom a present. I think she wants a nutcracker."

(I have to explain: E has a rather peculiar obsession with nutcrackers, and he always has, from the time he was very small. He actually has 3 or 4 now, as I've been buying cool specimens (pirate nutcracker, knight nutcracker, prince nutcracker) since he was a tiny baby. Last Christmas, his favorite movie was "The Nutcracker Ballet" (the version with Macaulay Culkin, actually). In addition, he likes to pretend that HE'S a nutcracker, and he'll put on "nutcracker makeup", go as stiff and expressionless as a board, and open/close his mouth if you "pull" on an imaginary handle on his back. The kid has an imagination like someone on hallucinogens...)


Anyway, so he then returned to his conversation with me: "Mom, do you want a nutcracker?" I said "Sure, honey, I'll love whatever you give me." He then asked "Well, would you like a small one or a big one?" I reiterated "Just pick something out." E: "Ok, you want a big one."

Looks like a big nutcracker is in my future.

I wish I didn't have to work so hard at this whole med school thing (which, ok, I kinda knew what I was getting myself into...doesn't mean I have to like it any more). It feels like I get up, take him to "daycare" (aka Nanay and Poppa's house), go to school or to study, get home in time for dinner, and then it's bedtime. I hate that feeling. It's not really as bad as that, and I have the weekends, but it's still not like being a SAHM would be. Non-moms really don't understand the conflicts that pull us, do they? Anyway, I miss being able to spend my free time with E.

Scratch that. I just miss free time. Period.

Semantics

I really don't have the time for blogging right now, but to boost the number of "May" Posts over there in the nifty right-hand column, I suppose I should post something, huh?

Finals start Monday, which is why I've been in absentia for so long. Poor E has been suffering through day-long fun times with Nanay and Poppa. I'm sure he misses me tons. NOT. They get to do fun stuff like go to the zoo and go see "Meet the Robinsons" and play at the playground, while I sit in the bookstore and study. I'm so jealous.

Random story ahead:
My dad bought one of those "SLOW! Children playing" signs to use at their house when they're playing with E outside. I think he bought it more for the reason that he likes to pretend it's "slow children" instead of "slow, children", rather than for any belief in its inherent safety value. On the way to drop E off at my parents' house one morning, E said "Mom, Poppa bought me a sign that says 'Children playing slow.'" I said, "I know, he told me." E: "Well, I don't want it to say 'Children playing slow'! I want it to say 'Children playing fast'!"

Four...

...always seemed so grown-up. Like, waaaaay older than three. Right up there with five, in fact. Babies at three are now "children" at four. I mean, pre-K is an option, people, they're practically teenagers, right? RIGHT?!

And yet, on the 27th, the day He turned four, he announced from the backseat: "Mom, I can't undo my seat belt anymore, because I'm four now."

Apparently, he considers himself to be either a) regressing or b) gaining a handservant to do all of his daily tasks for him.

Maybe the teenager comment was more apt than I thought.

Too Many Questions...Not Enough Energy

E asks so many freaking questions. Like, seriously. I can't even brush his teeth for 2 minutes without him interrupting every 10 seconds. Let me give you a typical exchange:

Brush-brush-brush
[E jerks head away] "Mom, why do you have to brush my teeth?"
(Now, note that I've been brushing his teeth for almost 4 years, and I've explained the whole concept of cavities and leftover food like 10,000 times. Keep that in mind when you're shaking your head at my impatience and complete lack of parental understanding.)
[Me resuming brushing] "Because you can't do it yourself."
[Talking through the brush] "But I already brushed there...and there...and there."
[Me rolling my eyes] "Well, I still have to check, just in case. You don't want your teeth to turn green, do you?"
(That particular reference usually shuts him up...)
[Silence for about 20 seconds as he contemplates this horror.] "Mom? Why will my teeth turn green?"
[Sighing exasperatedly] "Because you didn't brush them right."
(Note my use of the circular attack. It works well because it makes me seem like I know what I'm talking about, while limiting his flow of new questions.)
[Chewing on toothbrush in frustrated anger]

And that's how we go through toothbrushes so quickly. They're worn out by endless cycles of Q & A.

In other news, we had a mega blow-out dinner with my family tonight. My little sister's 21st birthday was today, and E's real birthday is tomorrow, so we all went to dinner with many presents and much wrapping paper. It was fun. I managed to last almost all the way through dinner as far as not letting E unwrap presents. But about 5 minutes before the food came (when we'd already been there for an hour or so, and the poor kid had been waiting patiently), I finally caved. And that was fine. But then after dinner, the real feeding frenzy began.

And this is why I don't do the birthday present thing at his birthday parties (which I will post about later, at more leisure and better mood). Because after every shredding of carefully-wrapped gift, it was "What's next?" He barely paused to look at what he was given, and he didn't even notice when he got 2 of the same thing (it was a freakin' cool Spiderman car, too, little booger). There was no appreciation of the gift for quality, just appreciation for the sheer quantity. Frankly, it was depressing, because I love picking out presents and I agonize over them, so it's a bit disconcerting to see things tossed aside so casually. And yes, I'm complaining. Because I try to avoid materialism and birthdays always seem to shove it so mercilessly in my face.

Anyway, I know he'll love them all appropriately later. It just hurts a teensy bit. Sniff, sniff.

There was a group of adults sitting adjacent to our table (of 7 adults and one child) at the restaurant, and they made snotty remarks pretty much all through the meal. About the "sort of people who celebrate birthdays at restaurants", etc. It was awesome. They were old, frumpy, and grumpy. And we weren't being noisy, messy, or disruptive. Plus, we were at a family restaurant. I'm like, "Seriously, if you want to have a completely quiet meal with no children in sight, go to a freaking grown-up restaurant, morons." I hate people who act like you've done something societally destructive by bringing your children out in public.

End rant. I'm out.

It's His Party, I'll Cry If I Want To

My angst regarding my tiny devil's birthday party has been partially resolved. The venue has been set, the treats have been bought, and the weather has been checked.

The weathermen better be freakin' right, or I'll sue someone. Little kids' birthday parties are not things that should be messed with. Or rather, moms giving little kids' birthday parties are not things that should be messed with. Because they're tense.

I didn't buy candy. Because I don't ever buy candy. Because when I buy candy for children, somehow it ends up going straight to my hips. And thighs. And abdomen. Self control is not an issue, I swear. E doesn't eat candy anyway, so he won't miss it.

Instead, I bought toys. Those little 88 cent toys they sell at Wally World that are freaking amazing for like one hour. And then they break. But for that one hour, they seem better than all of those expensive toys your kid just had to have for Christmas last year, lest he/she be ostracized from Gymboree. Because you know that those toys only get really appreciated for approximately the same amount of time, and then they end up on the shelf with Ticklish Elmo and the Birthday edition of Barb-idiot. You know it.

Toys don't cause cavities. Keep that in mind.

I ordered a freakin' birthday cake with pirates on it. It was amazing. The things I do for that kid: "Whipped or butter cream?" (I don't freaking know! Which one tastes better?) "What size?" (Why don't you tell me, you're the one who sells these things to desperate moms all day!) "What flavor?" (Um, what flavor do you think I should get?) "What time do you want to pick it up?" (Good Lord, there are too many choices, just give me the mother-lovin' cake, already!) Plus, the poor girl got caught right as she was finishing up her shift (or so I tell myself, because otherwise she was just being rude, and I'd rather not think the worst of people who work in bakeries, because they work with my food). Wow, there are a lot of parentheses in that paragraph. Time for a new one.

Now I'm just afraid that I'll forget something vital tomorrow. Like an ice cream scoop or one of the bajillion swords hanging out at my apartment/my parents' house. You know, those things that are just essential for uber-little kid fun.

Reflections on Mortality

Last night, as E was getting ready for bed, he struck up a conversation with me regarding death, of all things:

"Mom, sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes they happen to little kids. Sometimes little kids die."

"That's true, sometimes children die. But everyone dies, you know."

"Well, I haven't died yet."

"I know, and I'm glad you're still alive."

"I'm glad I'm still not died [sic] too. I hope I don't die for a long, long, long time."

"I hope that too, baby."

"Mom, I hope you don't die for a long, long, long time either."

Pause while Mommy tries not to cry.

"Ok, let's brush my teeth."

The workings of kids' minds are amazing to me. I don't understand how someone who has lived for not quite 4 years can mentally wrestle with the concept of his mother's death, not to mention his own. We discuss it, but in relation to things like bugs and pet fish. I did take him to my best friend's grandpa's funeral about a month ago, and that sparked some interesting discussions about missing people that we love and heaven, etc. I suppose his mind was just working away at the idea all of this time and eventually he worked it around to apply it to himself. The sheer delight of watching how kids grow and develop is reason enough to be a parent, in my opinion.

The human brain is amazing. Too bad I'm terrible at neurosciences, or I might actually find it interesting...

Bedtime Prayers

If you're a parent, you've inevitably come up against the bedtime blues. Unless your kid is better about sleeping than mine is. In which case, I hate you, and you are ordered to leave this blog now.

This didn't used to be a problem for me. My mother cursed my name when E started sleeping through the night at 4 months (right about the time I went back to school, thank goodness). All up through the age of 2, bedtime was pretty much a breeze. Put baby in crib, turn off light, baby falls asleep, sleeps like a rock, and doesn't wake up till morning. Perfect! I was filled with sympathy for (ok, more like lording it over) those poor parents with croupy babies or light sleepers or any of the myriad of sleepytime woes that parents come up against.

Well, God saw fit to pay me back. In full. More like ten times over.

E is terrible about bedtime. Absolutely terrible. And for a kid who is generally easy-going, adjustable, flexible and surprisingly obedient (including a good eater, ridiculously clean and a great sharer, excuse me while I boast), I suppose it is fit punishment that bedtime is so difficult with him. He screams, cajoles, gets up, kicks, throws, scratches, and generally makes a nuisance of himself for at least an hour after bedtime.

Things started getting bad my senior year of college, when E was about 2 and a 1/2. All of a sudden, I noticed that my study time was dwindling fast and the culprit was clearly the screaming demon down the hall. And it made me feel so guilty, too, because I lived in on-campus apartments, where the walls were thin, so I'm sure that my neighbor (sorry, Henry) spent many a sleepless/studyless night while E resided on the other side of his bedroom wall. I did everything I could to fix things: kept E to a strict schedule with daytime nap included, worked out a long bedtime routine that never changed, made sure he didn't have caffeine or sugar in the evenings, insisted he stay in his own bed, and did everything that should have worked. And it sort of did, but bedtime was definitely not a party at my house.

But then I moved back home with my parents the summer after I graduated, and things quickly deteriorated even further. My mother is of the "if you lay down with him, he will sleep" mindset, so I let her try it. It got to where she would be laying down with him for over an hour before one of them (inevitably my mother) would finally succumb to sleep.

And then medical school started. I blithely put E back on his steady schedule, determined to be firm/strict/hard-nosed about bedtime, and refusing to let a puny 3 year old stand between me and my textbooks.

Apparently, I'm not too good at this parenting thing.

Bedtime is now a constant battle. And I'm not sure where I've gone wrong. I keep having to come up with different tactics to ensure he goes to sleep before midnight, and before you doubt, I promise that I have tried each of these for at least a month, if not two. But the little devil keeps working around them, so then I have to alter things! It's not my fault, I swear!

First, there was the "set the timer and check on him every 10 minutes". Well, that worked for a little while, but then when I would check on him, he would ask me to stay until the timer went off. And the time he wanted me to stay became longer and longer, while I kept trying to make it shorter and shorter. And then he became terrified of the timer's ring. So end of that story.

Then came the "I'll lay down with you until you fall asleep" tactic. I figured, my mother's a pediatrician, she knows what she's talking about, right? Well, apparently, my son knows more than she does, because I would either fall asleep and waste my entire evening or when I would leave, E would wake up. Not good options.

Somewhere in the semester came the "Let him cry it out" strategy. That worked for about one night, and then it turned into "Bring him back to his room when he gets up" strategy. E's not one to take things lying down. He's more the type who will vociferously voice his opinion in your face, rather than down the hall. And I was leading (note: not carrying, because you're supposed to minimize the reward of attention, blah blah blah) him back to bed more frequently than every 5 minutes. I'm sad to say that most often, a light smack on the butt and a stern word did more than all my silence and patience put together. What can I say, he's a stubborn kid.

More recently came the "Mommy will study in the hallway where you can see her" phase. That worked ok, despite E's tendency for striking up conversations with me while I was trying to focus on neuroscience, but then the hall light burned out and Mommy didn't have the time to buy a replacement or the height to utilize a replacement. Too bad, kiddo.

So now we're back to the timer phase. And oh, Lord, please help me keep one step ahead of this kid. Because he's swiftly defeating me.

Amazed by Children

As E and I were driving home from my parents' house this evening, E piped up from the back seat: "When I get home, I'm going to put my milk [a plastic carton of milk from a restaurant] in the 'frigerator without its lid on."

Immediately thinking the worst (I prefer for my car to remain un-milkified), I gasped "Did you lose the lid?"

"No," he replied "I just want to leave the lid off so my milk will freeze and get cold enough for me to drink."

I explained to him that the milk would still get cold with the lid on the container, and that lid-on was a better policy as far as mommy's kitchen floors went.

"But I don't want the outside to get cold. I want the inside of the milk to get cold." He exclaimed.

Kids are neat.

Medieval Times

So, we went to a medieval fair in a nearby town last Saturday. I kind of just went because I thought E might like it. There were Renaissance fairs every year in a town 30 minutes from where I grew up, but I never attended one, for some reason. I have been to similar events (the British variety, actually, so slightly more authentic as far as actual location goes...), but I didn't really know what to expect.

I definitely did not expect to have a BLAST!

E and I went with my little brother, David. We got there at about noon, and settled down to having some fair food. E had a pepperoni pizza pastry, and I had a broccoli and cheese puff (being on my Lenten vegetarian kick), and it was shockingly delicious! Broccoli, cheese and the "puff" factor does not sound a) delicious, b) sweetly flaky or c) extremely filling, but it was definitely d) all of the above! I can't really vouch for the pizza pastry, but seeing as how E devoured the thing in about 10 minutes (which is eating very quickly, for him...), I assume it was divine.

They had tons of stuff to do at the fair. Aside from the countless medieval clothing booths and toy sword booths, they had a real forge with men making real weapons, a knife/axe/"Oriental star"-throwing section, fortune-telling, "beer" stands (the fair took place on a dry campus, so it wasn't really beer...), acrobats, pirates, mermaids, elephant/camel/llama/horse/cow/donkey rides, a hammock swing tree, jewelry counters, witches, 2 play areas, fairy stores, a medieval crime & punishment corner, King Arthur's court, belly dancing shows, jousting, medieval singing, bagpipe concerts, and pretty much everything under the sun. Lots for kids to touch and play with, lots for adults to look at and pay too much money for. I was impressed by the level of involvement of the fair attendees. There were entire families rigged up in their best costumes, which ranged from pirate to Tudor to Renaissance to true medieval and everything in between. Everything was clean (as in, nothing that I had to cover E's eyes for) and nothing was too expensive. The only thing I couldn't find was cotton candy, and I was pretty disappointed about that, but I figured that it was a divine sign that I didn't really need cotton candy...

Some of the coolest attractions were the people in really awesome costumes just wandering around the fairgrounds providing camera-happy people (ahem...) with photo-ops. Like the man all in black on stilts, with a black mask, long black claws and long black spider legs (or something) coming out of his back. He was awesome and scary, and we got some cool pictures. Or the girl dressed as a real-live satyr (except she had clothes on, unlike some of the pictures you will find if you choose to Google the word). She was also on some sort of stilt-like contraption (I assume) that enabled her legs to have that awesome backward look that animal hind legs have. She was cool.

E finally met the 3-yr-old son of a classmate of mine, and they really hit it off, as I knew they would. They're both only children, both 3, both boys, both spoiled rotten, so why wouldn't they get along, right? They were comparing weapons (they both got toy swords, naturally), and even taught each other some choice phrases. At one point, E broke into the adult conversation with "I doubt it", and N quickly picked that up, and then N said "holy moly!" when the jousting tournament was beginning, and E was immediately trying it out. Little boys are hilarious.

Let me put it this way, when N's mom, Becky, said "Now, N, E may not want to sword fight with you," I knew it was a match made in heaven...

The long and short of it is, that the fair was awesome, and I'd highly recommend it as a family affair. Or as just a sightseeing expedition. Let me tell you, some of the things I saw were not excusable just because the wearers were in pretend-mode. But that's another, more grown-up story...

Birthday Parties

E's birthday is in a month. Those of you who have ever hosted a child's birthday know that the month before the event is one of great stress, debate and decision, as everyone involved embarks on the Search for the Perfect Birthday Venue.

E's first birthday was at a park, with adults only. Not too thrilling for either adults or birthday boy, but what can you expect, he was one! He couldn't even play on the playground! But he was only one, didn't go to preschool, and didn't have siblings or nearby cousins, so there was no reason to go anywhere else. It was probably the best little kids' birthday party I've ever been to. Mainly because there was only one little kid.

His second birthday was at a Chuck E. Cheese-type place. We had one additional kid to this party, my best friend's 6-year-old sister. And of course, there were all the other children at the "restaurant" to romp and play with. I don't know if you have ever noticed (...how could you not?...) that crying turns into screaming when there are more than a couple children in one enclosed place. Probably because they're vying for the most attention. Like freaking baby birds. They scream when they get excited, they scream when they're hungry, they scream when they don't get their way, they scream when the presents come out, they scream when the presents are put away, they scream when you arrive and they scream when you leave. It's quite exhilarating. I recommend ear plugs.

His third birthday was a blast. We went back to the first park, ordered pizza, played soccer and Frisbee, ran around the playground, and finished with cupcakes. Note: cupcakes make for great pictures, as far as both kids and grown-ups are concerned. There were 3 other kids at this party, and a whole bunch of adults. It was awesome. The weather was kind, the park was clean and the kids were good. Plus, there was no money involved for venue-renting, and we got to stay as long as we wanted.

I'm planning on going to a nearby small town (which we can call N) for the party. Our city (ha, I'm totally tempted to call it O.C.) is rather infamous for its wind, and I'd like to do another outdoor shindig. But the thought of all those napkins and plates and birthday hats blowing away in the breeze fills me with a rabid anti-litterer's horror. N has the perks of less wind and nearness to the great portion of our guest list. And it's less likely to be swamped with other birthday boys and girls on the weekend. All great reasons, in my mind.

Now the only problem is where in N? There's a lovely park, which would be free, but subject to the vagaries of the weather. And there's a lovely kid's style party place, which would be weather-independent, but would cost money out the wazoo. We'll have 4 kids and about 20 adults, which means that I'd basically have to pay for a bunch of grown-ups to play in a maze and ball-pit for 1.5 hours. Because there's a freaking minimum of 8 paying guests per birthday package. Which is ridiculous. I mean, why should they care? If I want to pay the same price for only 6 kids to have a birthday party, wouldn't that be better for them? I've never understood that...Plus, if we did pay for everyone, or at least 8 people (psh, whatever!), we'd all have to eat pizza, because they don't allow outside food (which is another point: when you grow up with picky siblings, you learn about all sorts of establishments' policies toward outside food).

Anyway, the point of this is that I think that we'll be going to the park. Because then I can order grown-up food for the grown-ups and kid food for the kids. I'm all about the grown-up food. I just hope the weather holds, because if not, that's a lot of pizza and not very many ball-pit-goers to pay for. And I'm stingy.

I survived my spring break vacation...

but unfortunately, studying for the next test block is taking over my life, which is why this post is going to be short.

E survived his week with his dad and actually came back a day early, which was a welcome surprise! I had a couple of breakdowns, but I survived with much crying on shoulders, etc. I think we'll both be okay.

I went to TX with my parents and siblings and we didn't kill each other, or say "I Hate You" even once, which is an improvement. I don't know why we persist in vacationing together, it's usually more stressful than not being on vacation...

All in all, it was a pretty good week.

Firsts are sometimes hard to bear

This week will be E's first entire week away from me. We've never been apart for more than 3 or 4 days at a time, and he'll be gone for 10 days total, at his biological father's.

In our state, we have carefully developed "guidelines" for what visitation is supposed to be like at every age. But unless a particular judge chooses to use those guidelines, you're screwed, and there is no real recourse. So the temporary visitation schedule allows for every other spring break to be alternated between parents. Fun for kids, right? Wouldn't it be more in the kids' best interests to have long holidays shared (or split) between parents every year? Well, it's not like that because that would be more inconvenient for the parents, I suppose. Those things were taken into consideration when developing the guidelines, but again, the use of said guidelines is subjective.

At least mine has been relatively well protected from the vagaries of the courts until now...But when he asks why he has to go, what do I tell him? I think answers like "Because your daddy loves you, so he needs to see you and spend time with you too" are already growing old. They don't really have manuals on explaining visitation to your preschooler.

So this will be a rather lonely vacation. Motherhood shouldn't have to be this painful.