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.