A Slowpoke!
My girls are polar opposites, I’ve said it before and I will say it again. Yesterday the girls wanted to ride their bikes around the block. They are going through bicycling withdrawals since we started the remodel project and their cement patio riding ground in the backyard is gone.
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Normally the Husband takes them and I enjoy 15 minutes or so of quiet in the house, but yesterday they wanted me to come too. So we set off, the girls on their bikes, the Husband and I on foot. Immediately I knew we were going to have issues. The Little One zoomed off at lightning speed (well three-year old lightning speed). The Husband who was trying to talk to me about the day had to take of running after her.
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Meanwhile the Big One was content to just kind of cruise along. Really she let the slope of the sidewalk move her bike more so than using any real muscle power. Honestly that was fine with me. I don’t run anywhere, so I was able to keep up with her while walking at a good clip.
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Before long the Husband and Little One were out of site. This gave the Big One ample time to throw the Husband under the bus, proclaiming that “Daddy always leaves me to chase after {the Little One}.”
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So as the Big One and I continued to chat during our two laps around the block, we stopped after we got back home the second time. We hadn’t seen the Husband or Little One in quite a while, so we figured we’d just wait until they caught up to us. After a few minutes of waiting, the Big One wanted to go look for them. So we headed in the backwards loop direction to meet them. As we came around the bend on our street, we see smoke coming from the Little One {and the HusbandJ} as they came flying down the street at us.
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The Big One turned her bike around pretty quickly and started pedaling faster than she had all day. I think she feared for her life. And I heard the Husband say, “Don’t call me a slowpoke!” as he turned on his afterburners and raced for victory. The Little One and Husband blew by me as I prayed she would be able to stop before she slammed into our neighbor’s car that was partially blocking the sidewalk. All I can say about that is thank God she was wearing a hoodie and the Husband was able to {sort of} keep up with her, at least close enough to use the hoodie as a parachute of sorts!
The Chicken Patty Meltdown
Oh man, y’all lunch time at school is killin’ me. I have never actually experienced lunch at the Big One’s school but I have heard from other parents and teachers that it’s a bit chaotic. There are kids everywhere, lots of noise and just utter craziness. For my child who is really sensitive to chaos and noise, it’s a nightmare for her.
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We’ve had several days where she has cried at the mere thought of going to school and enduring the lunchtime madness. It’s especially hard after a vacation or long weekend. She has been getting better though and last week even bought lunch one day. Her teacher (who I love, love, love) actually walked through the lunch line with the Big One to help her feel more at ease. She ate her chicken nuggets and way beyond thrilled when she got home to tell me all about it.
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Yesterday was Tuesday and according to the schedule one of the lunch options on Tuesdays is chicken patty sandwiches. Armed with her newfound lunchtime confidence, the Big One announced that she wanted to buy lunch. I was thrilled. How many Go-Gurts can a kid really eat in a lifetime?
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I had no idea that because of the Monday holiday, the lunch menu changes. UGH! Are you freaking kidding me? I still don’t understand how it works. One teacher told me everything is pushed back a day, so Monday’s scheduled meals are served on Tuesday, Tuesday’s meals are available on Wednesday, etc. But then another told me, that no it’s just Tuesday that is off.
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Regardless of how it works, my child went into total meltdown mode when she was told there were no chicken patty sandwiches. Now y’all know she is a picky eater, so when the options were a three-bean chili tostada, teriyaki beef dippers with rice, chicken and cheese quesadilla or the salad bar; the kid was plum out of luck.
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Again, thank God for her teacher (really, bless this woman!), the Big One ate pretzels for lunch. I don’t know though if I will ever be able to convince her to buy lunch again. Today she opted for cold pancakes in her lunch box. Now my mission is to find some kind of insulated thing that will keep some chicken or pizza warm until lunch time.
The Things Moms Do
So this morning as I was eating a “burned” pancake I started thinking about the strange things I do as a mom. By “burned” I mean a darker brown, not really burned to be inedible but with some color on it! You know, just enough that the Big One especially would turn her nose up and say, “YUCKY!”
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Instead of dealing with the whining about the brown parts, I just ate them and my girls never even knew I burned ‘em. (In defense of my cooking, the only reason it was semi-burned was because the Big One would not get out of bed. I poured the batter on the griddle and went to rouse her for school. Silly me, assumed that the fabulous aroma of chocolate chip pancakes would be enough to get sleeping beauty out of bed. Not so much today. So after some prodding, tickling and turning the light on, she finally got up. Lord help me when she is a teenager! So technically she should have been the one to eat them!)
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Anyway, it got me thinking about something else that happened recently that was kind of an “aha” moment. It was Sunday at church. Someone gave the Little One some SweeTarts Valentine’s candy. She wanted one, so I told her she could have one, knowing full well that she doesn’t like them.
No sooner had she put it in her mouth, she pulled it out all slobbery and gross and said, “Here, I don’t wike it.” Normally I would instinctively put my hand out and accept whatever grossness she pulled out of her mouth. But this time I said, “No, you go put it in the trash.”
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My fab-friend Karen was there and it got us talking about the strange thing we do as moms; The highlight being trying to “catch” the puke when one of our kids gets sick. I’ve talked about this before, you can read it here. http://fixitmommy.com/2008/12/22/a-great-catch/
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We still didn’t come up with a definitive answer for why we accept gross things from our kids in our hands.
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Like Karen pointed out when I wrote about this before, it’s similar to the “mom arm” that magically extends at least 12 feet across your chest whenever the brakes are applied in a vehicle.
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I guess it’s just part of being a mom.
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What strange things do you instinctively do?
Out of the Mouth’s of Babes
The way I see it, taking my kids out in public is kind of like a crap shoot. You never know what they will say or do that will be embarrassing or offensive. This doesn’t stop us from going out, but it does scare me sometimes!
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So last night we went out to our favorite pizza place for dinner (Yes, I did marinate some steak for carne asada tacos. I forgot it was 2-fer Tuesday. So the Husband will have carne asada tacos for dinner tonight while the girls and I are at church.)
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We were sitting at our table enjoying the pizza goodness when the Big One starts pointing at a table diagonally across from us. We tell her for the 8th zillion time that it’s rude to point at people. (she has yet to learn the subtleties of talking about someone without them knowing you are doing it! Don’t judge me; you know you do it too!)
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So after she stops pointing, she announces, “That lady over there looks like the witch from the ‘pig story.’” I’m not sure what she is talking about, but the Husband and I simultaneously explain to her that we do not point and people, nor do we announce they look like a witch. If she sees a similarity that’s okay, but that’s the kind of thing she can tell us in the car on the way home.
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We tell her it’s hurtful to say someone looks like a witch, cartoon, monster, etc. Now, if she thinks someone looks like a princess, it’s okay to point it out. It’s a very difficult thing for her to distinguish what is “mean” and what is not.
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After all at the park earlier, some boys said, “Look at that little girl she JUMPED on the swing.” to which the Big One went into a crying tailspin, because she did not “jump” onto the swing. I still don’t know what so bad about what they said, but it bothered the Big One.
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So anyway, the Husband and I hush the Big One. Now the Big One is feeling guilty for saying something mean and hurtful. And announces, very loudly, “OH NO! I hope she didn’t hear me.” Clearly the child is not understanding the whole concept here.
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I am fairly certain that neither the woman, nor her companions heard the Big One, as they were communicating in sign language and the woman in question clearly was hearing impaired, however that didn’t stop that moment of panic when my heart stopped as I heard what was coming from my child’s mouth this time.
My Dishwasher Drew Blood
I know I usually write about dumb things my kids do, but sometimes I do dumb things too! (shocking I know!!)
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We live in an old house and by old I mean built in 1954. Most things in the house are original, sans half of the windows that we replaced right before Christmas. We only did half of the windows because we are planning a remodel, if the damn contractors would get back to us with some bids we could get things rolling. The loan funded back in October, that’s how long I have been waiting to get started!!
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So anyway there are a few screws missing … in my dishwasher. Don’t be trying to read ahead and think that I have a few screws missing, y’all. That’s just not nice
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If you have both shelves on the dishwasher pulled out, they had better be empty or else the whole thing will fall out of its cabinet and land on your toe. Yes, it hurts like hell when this happens. (again no I don’t have the screws loose, my dishwasher does!)
Normally I run the dishwasher almost every day. However, I have been sick for way too long and keep forgetting to start it. It’s been three days. Don’t’ ask me how I am still getting dishes shoved in there, I don’t know! I am starting to think it’s a magic clown car!!
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So it’s really full and I was trying to shove some more dirty stuff in there before I started it today. In a moment of brilliance, I left the bottom shelf extended and pulled the top shelf out to put more crap in. As soon as I did it, I knew I was in trouble. The whole thing came flying out of its spot. I was quick enough to get my toes out of the way but not my arm. So as I muttered some lovely words, my arm begins dripping blood and I decide there are enough dishes in the dishwasher.
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I’m not even sure which part of the dishwasher is sharp enough to draw blood; I just know that I am not doing any more dishes today.
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Maybe next time I will tell you about where not to step in the bathroom… unless you want to fall through the floor!
Silly, Silly Mommy
Today is Wednesday. I don’t like Wednesdays. The Big One gets out of school at noon-ish and it messes up the whole day. So today, after waking up the Little One from a 10 a.m. to noon nap, (She obviously is not feeling well!) we were home from school and I was making lunch for the Little One.
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The Big One went to her room. I heard her banging things around in there and asked her if she was cleaning her room. After all, her room is a disaster zone and for the last week or so I have been making comments about how it needs to be cleaned up and God forbid there was ever a fire in our house, she probably wouldn’t be able to find her way out.
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Back to my question to her, she replied, no she was not cleaning her room, rather she was making lemonade. Now before you all go getting all ethereal about what that means, let me tell you the girls’ play kitchen is in the Big One’s room, so the banging around I heard was her dumping all of the plastic food on the floor, in her search for lemons.
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Clearly perplexed by my question, about five minutes later, the Big One emerged from her room and said ….
“Mommy, why would I be cleaning my room, nobody asked me to do it.”
Oh, the joys.
Good Cop, Bad Cop ~ Verified
The Husband and I often joke that I am the “bad cop” while he is the “good cop” in our household. I am the rule enforcer. I am the punisher. I am the one who makes them pick up their clothes, toys and dishes. The Husband walks them to the donut shop on Saturday mornings. The Husband will pack them up in the car and head to the beach at 4 p.m. (does he not think about traffic, dinner time and ultimately how it will impact the bed time routine!!)
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I often wonder if the kids are really attuned to this reality or not. Well, I need not wonder anymore.
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The Little One and I were at Wal-Mart shopping. She kept asking me, “Can we buy that?” over and over and over again.
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Each time I told her no we would not be buying whatever it was.
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After about the fifth time, she says, “But why not Mommy?”
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And then it all went south for me. The conversation went something like this:
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FixItMommy: “Well, we don’t need it and I guess I am just not very much fun.”
Little One: “Yeah, you aren’t very much fun, Momma.”
FixItMommy: Quietly mutters to myself
Little One: “Daddy is fun ALL the time. You are only fun sometimes.”
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So now you all and the handful of people in Wal-Mart who heard the conversation, know the real truth. The FixItMommy is only fun sometimes.
A Kindergarten Bully
Is it bad that I gave a 5-year-old the “stink eye” today? Truth be told, she might be 6 years old for all I know. She stands at least six inches taller than the Big One and I don’t like her. Yes, I said that I do not like one of my child’s kindergarten classmates.
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This new girl (we’ll call her “Jane”) started school after the Christmas break. She cried her first day when she left her mom and toddled off to class with the other kids. I felt a little sorry for her that morning. But by the next day, I was done with this little girl.
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I asked the Big One if she played with the new girl, to which the Big One said, “Jane said we had to touch her necklace two times if we want to be her friend. And I didn’t want to touch her necklace.”
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Fair enough I said. I told the Big One that she should never have to do something like that in order to gain someone’s friendship. We talked about being nice and fun and caring, but never telling our friends what to do. We went on to talk about peer pressure (in kindergarten terms) and I assured her that she didn’t need to be friends with the new girl if she didn’t want to.
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So a couple days later the Big One had Pirate’s Booty in her lunch. {for those of you who don’t know what Pirate’s Booty is, it is white cheddar cheese puffs} She loves Pirate’s Booty, but when she came home from school she told me she didn’t want to take it for lunch anymore. I asked her why not and she told me that Jane and some of the other girls were calling her, “cheese-eater, mousey cheese-eater” at lunch while she was eating the Pirate’s Booty.
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Now I knew it was Wednesday and most of the kids in the Big One’s class buy their lunch, so most of the kids were eating pizza for lunch. So I asked the Big One what Jane and the other girls were eating for lunch. She told me pizza and I asked her what was on pizza.
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Exasperated with me, the Big One said, “I know Mommy, I told them they were cheese-eaters too, but I still don’t like them calling me that.”
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I get it.
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So it’s a new week. The Big One came home from school early yesterday because she wasn’t feeling well. Today as we were hanging up her backpack and putting away her lunch, Jane came up to the Big One and said something. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I could tell from her attitude that it was something not nice. As she passed the Big One she gave me the biggest grin, so yes, I gave her the stink eye. I didn’t say anything to her because I didn’t hear what she said, but I was pretty certain it was something mean.
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As Jane walked away the Big One got real clingy and told me she didn’t like Jane. I told her it was okay to not like someone. I told her she didn’t have to be friends with her. But I did tell her that when Jane says something mean to her to be sure to stand up tall and tell her that she is being mean and you don’t like it.
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The Big One said she’s tried that but it’s hard because Jane is in her group and she always says mean things. How in the world does a five or six year old get to be so rotten at such a young age? I feel bad for giving her the stink eye, after all she is just in kindergarten, but if she is going to make school even harder for my child you can bet that I will be perfecting my stink eye and maybe even opening my big mouth soon to put that child in her place.
She Is Trouble!!
I keep tellin’ ya’ll that the Little One is trouble, now I have unsubstantiated proof. She is three and today I found her in bed with a boy!!
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I was watching my fab-friend Karen’s son today (probably won’t get to do that again!) Earlier Gracie Lou was having a fit because the neighbors were working on their car. So she was outside barking, barking and barking some more at them. So I locked her dog-door so she had to stay inside.
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Our friend gets here and we are all playing in the Little One’s room when Gracie starts whining and freaking out. Remembering that I locked her doggie door, I got up to open it and let her out. Shortly after I left the Little One’s room I hear the bedroom door close.
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So I let the dog out and returned to the Little One’s room to find her and Super Y (Karen’s son) in bed, giggling. Oy vey!! Someone help me now!!
That Which Doesn’t Kill Me…
I’m not sure if it will make me stronger, but it will help me to realize that it’s just furniture, right? The Little One is honestly trying to kill me one little thing at a time.
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She wasn’t even awake an hour when I banned her from the furniture. The girls have these Barbie horse things with long flowing “hair.” The Little One decided that her horse’s hair had too many tangles and needed to be brushed. But of course the brush alone was not good enough. Instead she got the bottle of detangler that we use for their hair and somehow spilled half a bottle on the recliner.
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I relegated her to the Pooh bear couch, knowing that I can just pull the cover off and wash it.
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Then I noticed a bag on the couch from our trip to Target last night. The Little One had put her water cup that she brings in the car with her in the bag. No big deal I thought. I grabbed the bag off the couch to put the cup in the refrigerator and suddenly knew it was a bigger deal. The bag was dripping with water.
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The Little One had somehow detached the straw from the fancy “no-spill” cup. So now it was a definitely- going to spill cup as the straw served as sort of a one-way valve. It appears that at least 10 ounces of water was in the small Target bag. I tried desperately to get it to the kitchen where I can easily mop up the water, but in order to get to the kitchen I had to cross the Big One, the remainder of the couch and the hard wood floor.
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Of course, the Little One has zero remorse; heck she won’t even admit it was her fault. Kind of like yesterday when she “colored” with Chap Stick all over her mirrored closet doors, she insists it was “Bake-o” her imaginary “friend” who had done all the damage. I say friend in quotes because I know for sure that Bake-o is really her < evil > alter ego.
