There is a Tween in the House.

Amber became 10 years old on June 16 of this year.  There was a party, cake and presents, but no notification that there would be a tween in the house and all that comes along with that.  To say we were not ready for this stage in her childhood is an understatement.  I have learned that as a parent that I am constantly learning along with my children.  Also, that I have to go through some growing pains, too.  The first time around sucked and this time around I have been able to recognize the suck and do my best to turn the suck around.

Amber has always had drama around her, but add tween moodiness, selfishness, and only wanting to do only the fun stuff in life you have an explosive combination.  At first we didn’t really know what was going on.  SoHubby and I would whisper, “Could it be…?”.  ”NO, it couldn’t be!”  Oh but it was.  We have entered into the first stage of puberty and we have been knocked on our asses.  The moodiness we have been use to for awhile.  The same could be said for the drama.  I have learned to listen, roll my eyes out of eyesight and simply mention that maybe she shouldn’t worry so much about it, because, surely, it will be different by tomorrow.  We didn’t know that the moodiness and drama would be upped.  Another problem, that our parents didn’t face, was the drama gets to continue on through constant communication in today’s technological world. I gave Amber my old cell phone, which might have been a slight mistake on my part.  There was no phone service, but she could still connect to WiFi.  My second mistake was mentioning a free text and phone app.  If I could go back in time and smack myself, I would.  We fought the good fight against her sneaking the phone into her room at bedtime.  What we didn’t expect was her first middle school dance.  I don’t know how much I want to get into it on the big ole Internet, but my hints are boy+friends+texting=total chaos and devastation.  That died down and we went back to regular old girl drama.  Recently, that old phone has decided to not come back on, so, at this point, we will just deal with the withdrawals of not being able to text.  I better find a nice strong belt for her to bite down on.

It is hard being the oldest and being the first to do everything.  Amber was in dance, gymnastics and cheer first, which meant that her brother and sister were use to waiting around for her.  Then Amber got a taste of the waiting game and it has not been fun…for me.  Amber, now, waits for her brother while he is in TaeKwonDo and her sister while she is in dance.  Amber has dropped dance and gymnastics to focus on cheer and has learned that she simply can’t do everything due to time and money.  Oh the time and money lesson is a hard one for just about anyone to learn, much less a 10 year old. During the summer was worse, because there was no homework to keep her occupied during her wait times.  It is not easy, now, but, at least, I have a good answer to the question, “What can I do?”  I still have to “remind” her that she is not allowed to play basketball while Sam is in TKD.  I am hoping that the big guys that normally play basketball while the TKD class goes on will one day step on her and teach her a lesson.  There was much explanation of how her brother and sister have ALWAYS had to wait for her and she could show a little more patience while waiting for them, but that was met with a “how dare you ask me to consider anyone else” look and a huff finished with an arm folded.  Selfishness has just appeared and brought along back up.

I am happy to say that Amber likes school and does well.  However, the business of school escapes her.  She is a 5th grader, now, and that comes with a lot of responsibility, at least, in Amber’s mind.  She has always had to turn in lunch money, signed papers, etc, but, now, there is no teacher collecting folders and pulling it out for her.  Mom isn’t putting it into the folders and then in her bookbag.  Apparently, this is all too much for her.  And it seems this stuff falls onto me, still.  Hopefully, by college I won’t have to remind her to take her lunch money and not to buy extras.  And she will know what the extras are. I, recently, got a bill from the school for Amber’s lunch account.  It said she only had $5.45 left.  The problem with that is that I just sent in a $25 check (I have to stop for a minute and stress NEVER SEND IN CASH!  I know checks are from the dark ages, but if they are lost you can write a new one.  Once cash is lost, it is gone forever.  And kids will always lose cash.  I have heard many stories of Amber’s friends losing their lunch money, and we are not talking $2.  Many parents like to pay a month or year in advance instead of trying to come up with $2 everyday in the rush of the morning)on October 16.  There was no possible way she could have eaten that much in 4 days.  Okay, there is a way she could have eaten that much, but she swore she “NEVER”  gets extras.  So I put on my investigator hat, which luckily sits right next to my chauffeur hat, and went to work.  I talked to the head lunch lady, who had proof that not only did Amber NOT turn in her lunch money, but she does INDEED get extras.  It was all there on the computer screen.  I guess the rumor that the lunch ladies are stealing the kids lunch money and having a huge party with all the food that they have to cook and serve has been forever been proven wrong!  I climbed 3 flights of stairs, with a 30 lb toddler on my hip, to talk to Amber.  Oh the shock on her face when I informed her that 1. she didn’t turn in the check and 2 that she had been getting extras.  ”Oh you mean, the juice, gogurt, extra fries cost more,”  Amber asked.  All I could I do was sigh and do a quick once over of her folder.  Since Amber was rushing off to choir, I resigned to tearing apart her book bag and folders later this evening when she got home.  If I were to venture a guess, I will say that the check will either be found snuggled safely in her folder or scrunched down at the bottom of her bookbag.

I think back to when Amber was a baby and how I thought that was difficult.  Now, I fear the unknown of teenagerhood.  Toddler, pshaw!, I can handle a toddler.  Matter of fact, I do all day and it is a piece of cake.  Evie won’t potty trained, but that can be contained in a Pull Up.  There is no containing all that comes with tweens and then teenagers.  I am scared and pray that I make it through.  I figure by the time I have to deal with it with Evie, I will either have learned a lot or am just tired and have given up.  It seems to be the trend with parents, who have multiple children.

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Rules for an Enjoyable Summer.

I considered the title of Summer Rules, but then you would think I have lost my damn mind.  No, these are rules for my children so that they can have an enjoyable summer and I can make it through summer without my eye twitching uncontrollably.

1. SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!  Look, I went through this with my parents and, now, it is your turn.  Just for the sake of all our sanity shut the freaking door.  It isn’t really that hard and you will save the screaming…at the lizards and frogs that seem to think an opened door is an invitation to come on in and make themselves at home. If I have to come eye to eye with a lizard when I sit down on the sofa to relax, I am going to go homicidal.  On the lizard, of course.

2. Clean up after yourselves.  It is not that hard.  No one cleaned up after you at school and no one will do it at home for you.  What am I? Your mother?  Oh wait!…Scratch that.  I am not your maid, so if you keep missing your mouth while eating or drinking then clean it up.  Summer will be much better without me having a coronary everytime you spill something.

3. Just know that since I gave birth to you and you are at an age where you are capable of doing certain things that means you are my slave.  I know, I know, the Constitution outlawed slavery, but what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt me.  And let’s be honest here, I am doing the bulk of the workload, anyway.  I don’t need to add an hour long discussion on the merits of you taking out the trash to my workload.  Take it out and then you can plant your butt back on the sofa and watch your show while I  continue EVERYTHING ELSE THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE!

4. When I say enough with the My Little Pony show or any other show.  I mean ENOUGH!  There are only a handful of shows that make me want to go sit on the nearest cliff during the windy season and MLP is one of them.  I have enough screeching, whiny little creatures in real life, I don’t need to watch them on TV, too.  And Pinkie Pie needs to go away.  I don’t care where she goes, but either she can go away or get punched in the throat.

5. When I say NO, it is not a signal for you to keep asking me until my head splits in 2 and scream, ” I SAID NO!”.  No means no, even when it is said to child from parent.

6. If I tell you that we can’t go swimming this week, just leave it at that unless you want a lesson in the workings of the female body.  And walking away saying, “OH mom must be on her period” due to the fact that I just yelled at you, “NO MEANS NO!”, doesn’t help the situation.  Just know that soon you will be dealing with the same thing and I have a blog where I can enact my revenge.

7. No cracking out the kids!  This one is for SoHubby.  It is NOT 1978, which means there are other alternatives to Kool Aid to give our children.  I know you think it is funny to get them all jumpy on sugar and leave for work, but just know I have my own form of torture that I can dole out.  See number 6.

8.  If you would like to get home quick from grocery shopping, then don’t whine, complain and fart around while we are grocery shopping.  Making me remind you a million times not to stand directly behind or in front of the shopping cart, to stay with me, or to hurry up picking a toy that you just have to spend your money on takes up precious time that could have been spent racing around throwing random items into the basket so we can go home.

9. Don’t say you are bored, if you don’t want me to make you unbored.  I guarantee that whatever task I give you will be much more painful, in your mind, than the current boredom you are experiencing.  Look, there are baseboards to be cleaned, cabinets to be wiped down, extra school work that can be done, etc that will make that boredom seem like paradise.

10. There will be down days and super busy days.  The less complaining from you ensures we all have a fun summer.  I know all your friends are going on luxury vacations and having the time of your lives while you are stuck here with your parents and siblings, but it is the hand that you have been dealt so just deal with it.  You can always dream of the day when you move out of our house and do all those fun things we never let you do.  Oh and when you are daydreaming about how great your life will be once you are on your own, don’t forget to daydream that great fun job you got without any hard work where you make a ton of money.

Love,

Mom

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Cloth Diaper Burnout

I have a terrible confession to make.  I don’t even know how to say it.  Okay, here it goes….I AM TIRED OF WASHING DIAPERS!  Do I feel better?  Not particularly, because I know there are people out there doing their little smug “I told you so” dances.

Evie has been in cloth diapers since she was 3 months old.  I pushed through the blow outs with the prefolds until I got it right.  I pushed through the leaking of the one size pocket diapers until I got it right.  I had my washing routine down.  Then a few things started happening that put a damper on cloth diapers for me.  The first, and major, problem was the washing machine.  It is leaking and no one knows why.  SoHubby looked at it, although all that included was him lifting it up to discover there was nothing to see.  We called, and paid, a service guy to come out.  All he could tell me was that maybe I was putting too many items in the washer at once.  To which I reply, “Why the hell did I get a washer with an extra large option if it doesn’t hold extra large loads?”  Both men, SoHubby and repair man, blinked and stared at me until I threw up my hands and walked out.  To the great delight of the repair man, who doesn’t know why the washer is leaking or where the water is coming from, the guts of the washer still look good.  So when he called to ask if his brilliant advice of smaller loads (which puts a real cramp into my laundry routine) worked, I simply said, “I am going to wear this MUTHA out until it breaks completely.”  Or something to that effect.  In the mean time every time I do a load of laundry I get the equivalent of a small Mississippi River in my laundry room.  Since I don’t have something called a French drain (I assuming this is a drain that smokes cigarettes and doesn’t understand my silly American ways) I have been laying beach towels in the leaking spots and letting the river flow.  Not something I suggest to our civil engineers currently working on the rising Mississippi River problem.

Next I have been feeling overwhelmed lately.  I can’t pinpoint one thing exactly just a rush of little to major things going on that have been occupying my time to the point that if I have to dunk a poopy diaper in the toilet and run the washer 4 times at night then the dryer twice I might just go insane.  Another problem plaguing me is that my diapers are showing wear.  I guess if I was placed on a spewing butt daily for almost 2 years I would show some wear, too.  Heed my warning dear ladies, who are looking into cloth diapers, get the snaps.  Velcro is good until it is bad.  Also, they are stained.  Not that they are stained on the outside that you would see Evie and say, “GOOD GOD! What did that child sit in.”, but more on the inside where you wonder are these clean or not.  It isn’t for a lack of trying to get my diapers sparkling white, again, just Evie has had some toxic sludge doing in that region, lately.  Note: No raisins for her.  The aftermath is not pretty.

I have done the most heinous thing since I signed the cloth diaper contract, I have used disposable diapers from time to time.  This last time for 4 weeks.  It has been our little secret, but as what happens with all secrets, we were found out.  It was okay to use the disposable diapers when Evie had some rash that only Boudreaux’s  could handle.  That hippy dippy stuff made especially for cloth diapers was burning her butt, so I decided to go with the tried and true original butt paste.  Then there was the yeast that had taken up residence in the diapers that I practically needed an exorcism to remove.  After all that we were on our way until I found Target disposable diapers plus $1 off coupons.  It was a struggle, but I kept up with the cloth diapers, because that $14 could get me a few gallons of gas, right?  Then one day as I found a dirty diaper stuffed in the back almost behind the washer that I snapped and bought the devil of all crunchy mamas, disposable diapers.

I am coming to the end of the last box of disposable diapers and I am at a crossroads.  Do I buy another box, do I just hunker down and continue with the cloth diapers or should I take my own advice and just do both.  If you were a normal human being then you would just do what fits you at this moment in time and not worry about the rest, but I am me and I must torture myself until I am rocking in a corner mutter “cloth diapers” over and over to myself.  And don’t think potty training my 22 month old hasn’t crossed my mind, but if her siblings are any indication she is not ready.  Never mind the size issue.  Evie would have to wear a life preserver just to attempt to sit on the toilet at this point.  And remember the old saying, “don’t do anything that you don’t want to explain to the paramedics.”  So I think I will bite the bullet and take the heat and go through the stash of diapers, throw out the really worn ones and buy a DAMN! box of disposable diapers for when we are out and about.  Hey, I can always say, the summer is coming up and we will be home a majority of the time.  That would work, right?  Oh. Whatever! Go ahead.  Do your stupid “I told you so” dance!

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The Cougar Strikes!

This playdate thing is pretty ingenious.  A few of us moms get together with all our children, or whatever children we happen to have with us at the time, and while a few moms watch and socialize with each other, a mom gets to go out and do errands (or whatever) all by her lonesome.  See what we have been reduced to; looking forward to a couple of hours of going to the grocery store all alone without falling babies, children with the gimmes or the whining that this is taking too long.  However, when you get this many children together in one place and Amber drama will ensue.  It is her thing afterall.

Our hostess’ innocent son (4 years old) gotten bitten by the Amber bug.  Hey, it happens.  It seems to happen to Sam all the time.  So the 4 year old innocently asked Amber to marry him.  Where he got this idea, I am not entirely sure, but I will give you 3 guesses and the first 2 don’t count.  She could have said, “Well, not right now, but I will think about it” or “Aw, aren’t you sweet” or “I will check with my mom” and the list goes on and on.  Here is where her future as a Cougar comes into full view.  What does my lovely daughter answer, “NO!”.  I guess 8.5 years on this earth hasn’t taught her one thing about being gentle in these sticky situations.  At first it was all in fun and the 4 year old seemed to be okay with the answer.  Then it just became just mean.  Amber repeated her NO! and next thing we know we have a heart broken, crying 4 year old boy on our hands.  I am mortified.

There is a big difference between 4 years old and 8, almost 9, years old.  And there is an even bigger difference between boy and girl.  Thankfully, in true boy form, the 4 year old was back to playing in no time.  On the other hand, Amber is smug about the fact that another boy is just hopelessly in love with her.  The same thing has happen with a boy at school, although he is in her class.  She came home all outraged, because this BOY is IN LOVE with her and she is NOT.  How can it be so horrible to have someone in love with you?  The trick is to be nice about it and turn the boy down in a way that he still feels good about himself, but is clear there is no hope for you and he.  I am 38 years old and don’t think I possess this, but hey I can hope for better for my daughter. I gave Amber a strong talking to.  Basically, she was informed that I was in no way going to stand for her destroying people for sport.  We have this talk often, but mainly with respect to her brother.  I might have, also, reminded her of a few times that people have said some rotten things to her.  Not sure how many times we will have to have this talk, but I hope that some day it will sink through.  Until then I expect to be completely mortified a lot.

This parenting thing never gets easier.  Oh people will say it gets easier, but they are wrong.  It never gets easier, it just changes.  The best we can do is deal with the changes as they are rapidly thrown at us and alway protect our faces.

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I Can’t Have All the Answers All the Time

At the ripe old age of 8 years old Amber has fully embraced the art of the Smartass.   I usually have a nice comeback for her, but sometimes she can stump me and those are the times that scare me.  And just for the record, I have no idea where she gets her Smartassness.

Learning her rights:

Scene: The mall.

Amber: I want something.
Me: You may want something, but that doesn’t mean you get something.  Now be quiet.
Amber: I thought this was a free country.
Me: (Pulling her close to me and wrapping my arm around her shoulders) Oh Honey, the country is free, but you are not.
Amber: That sucks.
Me:  And that is a sure fire way to NOT get anything from your mother while at the mall.

Using religion to her advantage:

Scene: Our home.

SoHubby:  You need to learn to take pride in your work.
Amber:  (As she passes me) Pride is one of the seven Deadly Sins.
SoHubby: (Nothing)
Me: *blink blink* (Nothing)

What I should have said, but was so stunned I didn’t think of it in time: Pride maybe one of the seven Deadly Sins, but in the top 10 is “Honor thy mother and father”.  Go do your homework!

Here is where I realize that I don’t always have the answers  when I need them.  Here is where Amber realizes that sometimes she can get me.  Fortunately, she hasn’t realized that she could use those times to her advantage.  Here is where SoHubby realized that he and the boy are royally screwed with 3 females in the house.  The teen years are coming and all hell is about to break loose.  Better get working on that man cave, boys.

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Children Bill of Rights

While at dinner one night, my friend leaned over to Amber and whisper that at her house children had rights.  I am not sure what the goal was, because I assure you my friend would learn real quickly why I am at my wit’s end with my very talkative, drama queen, yet,  beautiful daughter.  However, not one to miss an opportunity to be out done I spoke up and informed my daughter, and friend, that we indeed have rights in this house.  Thus the Children Bill of Rights was born:

1. (and most important) You have the right to remain silent.
And we strongly suggest that you use it.

2. You have the right to do what I say, NOT what you think I said.
When you are a beginning human you are not ready to twist and turn things to your way.  Just do exactly as you are told and no one gets hurt.

3. You have the right to eat whatever is put in front of you.
There is no right to dessert.

4. You have a right to keep your opinions to yourself.
It is not that we don’t respect your opinion, it is just that…well…we are the adults and know more than you. SO THERE!

5. You don’t have a right to vote.
We may take into consideration your vote on certain subjects raised in the household, but overall until you pay your own mortgage and clean your own mess, your vote doesn’t have much weight.

6. You have a right to go to school.
Mainly, because it gives us a break.  At least until you start whining about homework, waking up early and, you know, going to school.  But the silence that resumes once you are in school makes us, adults, suddenly forget all that other stuff.

7. You have a right to go to bed without whining and complaint.
Again, pay your own mortgage and you can decide when you can go to bed.

8. You have a right to wear the clothes that I decide to buy for you.
Your opinion will be taken into account, but mom and dad have complete and utter veto power over all choices until, again, you pay your own mortgage. Do you see the running theme, here?

9. We may give you an allowance, but you don’t have a right to buy any damn fool thing you want.
When you are given money for pretty much being 8 yrs old you don’t have complete control over said money.  Besides, all these little pointy plastic things that you insist on bringing into my home and leaving all over the floor for me to step on in the middle of the night in my bare feet I get to veto power over what is brought into the house.

10. You have the right be happy with every decision that is handed down to you by your loving and caring parents.
You know until you can pay your own mortgage.

When the Children Bill of Rights was founded in the early times of having babies no one seem to find a Declaration of Independence.  Or maybe it somehow got lost in the sofa never to be seen again.  The truth may never be known.

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Children, by Nature, are Disgusting.

I chuckle every time some one comments on how DISGUSTING cloth diapers are, like the baby has nothing to do with that or some how disposables magically make a small human shooting out crap less DISGUSTING.  I just assume that person doesn’t have children or their child has just enter the world and they are still in the “OOOOOh, she/he is sooooooooo perfect” phrase.  Yeah, well I am here to tell you that I have had 3 kids, used disposables on 2 of them and cloth on one of them, 2 are potty trained and they are all still very disgusting.

First case:  I will never forget it.  SoHubby and I were taking a leisurely stroll through Wal-Mart one day.  I am sure we needed something, but back in those days of just one child, who was still confined to a stroller, we were still able to leisurely walk up and down the aisles of a store just for the hell out of it.  There was Amber snug in her little carseat, which was tucked into the stroller, just cooing away looking all adorable.  I didn’t know at that moment what hell waited for me.

You never know when the Poo Massacre will strike.  You can feed them what you feed them everyday.  You can have a relaxing day or an eventful day.  They can be sick or healthy.  It doesn’t matter, these little beings have been given the ability to crap twice their body weight and size and projectile it in many directions.  The diaper is just there to give the parent a false sense of security.

I looked down at Amber, who was probably older than 6 months at the time, to see something gray peeking out from her legs.  Yes, people gray.  Once you have kids you will learn that crap not only comes in many shapes and sizes, but colors, too.  So I pick up her leg simply thinking that it was some dirt or other random item that needed to be brushed away.  Oh NO!  That small peek gave a preview of what Dante’s 8th circle of hell awaited me.  I rushed her to the bathroom, where she continued to coo and laugh her way through a crap induced anxiety attack.  I peel her out of the carseat to discover that I needed a fire hose to clean up this sea of crap that laid out in front of me.  I was armed with diapers and some wipes; totally unprepared for this particular craptastic emergency.  Just imagine BP gives you a square of toilet paper and tells you to go clean up that oil just beyond that beach.  Yeah, that is how it felt.

I managed to clean Amber up and get a fresh diaper on her, but then came the problem of what to do with the baby while I hose down her carseat.  You see because I was new to this rodeo I had just taken the carseat and not the stroller.  Some how I managed to get the carseat clean enough to put Amber back in it and return to my husband, who promptly asked, “WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?”  Oh he would never ask that question again once I handed over a few Poo Massacres for him to handle.  One important lesson I learned, always layer protection around the baby to make clean up easier and never trust a flimsy diaper to hold back the Niagara Falls of Crap.

Second Case:  So you say, “Oh but that is one case with a baby.  Babies are unpredictable characters and should never be trusted.”  Very true, very true, but let’s take a case that happen just last week.  It was a Thursday and I had a full day planned.  There were doctor’s appointments, which always run late, birthday presents to exchange, lunch to be eaten, cranky children that needed to be corralled and a Bath and Body Works sale that I couldn’t miss.  I saved B&BW for last, hoping that Amber would be happy with her new pierced earrings (She got her ears pierced as her birthday present) and Sam would be happily satisfied with a full belly from lunch.  Somewhere in there he saw some lip glosses that were in the shape of doughnuts and started screaming “DOUGHNUTS!” at me for the rest of the day.  He was told that if he just BEHAVED he would be graced with 2 Krispy Kremes of his choice.  And yes, eaten inside the lovely Krispy Kreme establishment.  (If you don’t get that last statement, you don’t have a 4 year old.)  All we had left was a quick trip to B&BW.  It would be a stop that would change all of our lives and force me to never be able to step inside the Elmwood B&BW store ever again.

I have been cursed with 2 children that have bladders the size of a pea or simply have a wanderlust to see every bathroom in every establishment we enter.  So when Sam started to grab himself, jump up and down while screaming, “I have to POO!” I wasn’t surprised.  I knew that the ladies of B&BW couldn’t resist letting a cute little boy use their employees only bathroom.  I moved Sam closer to the cash registers where the young lady behind the counter would hear him and offer up her bathroom.  It worked and off went Amber and Sam to the bathroom.  Now, you may be thinking, like SoHubby, why I would let Amber go off alone with her 4 year old brother.  I have done it many times, before, and the results have been good.  Of course that would mean my son doesn’t resort back to his monkey roots and decide to create a Poo Masterpiece. Silly me, this sort of situation never occurred to me.  See he has been lulling me into a false sense of thinking that he was a civilized human being.

I am quickly looking through the Wallflowers (see how after 3 kids I am QUICKLY looking through a sale instead of a leisurely walk through the sale) which was near the open back room door where I could move into action with a split second notice.  I notice that the kids were taking a long time, so I knock on the door to ask what is going on.  Amber tells me in a very nervous and concerned voice that things were not well in that bathroom.  So I demand she unlock the door and let me in.  When that door opened, I never in a million years expected to see the horrors that awaited me.  It is still kind of a blur, but all I can remember is a very covered toilet seat, a very covered little boy, a stunned girl and asking over and over again, “WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”.  I might have, also, asked if he was a monkey in a previous life, because who in their right mind would create such a nasty mess?

I clean up the best I can with my trusty wipes, again imagine a toilet paper square and a Gulf of Mexico full of oil,  and hurry the kids to the register.  Hey, I am a bargain shopper and needed to replenish my stock of Wallflowers.  Imagine that!  I leave the restroom to meet a naive young lady working in the stock room giggling to herself.  I smile toward her while secretly  cursing her with a massive Poo Explosion from the next baby she decides to coo and cuddle.  As I leave the stockroom I am met with ea store full of shocked and appalled  customers and employees who heard everything.  I pay and chase the kids out.  Needless to say, Sam didn’t get his doughnuts that day.  Mostly because why tempt fate, again, with high sugar treats in that tummy of trouble. So you see even once they are out of diapers they are still covered in poo just a little less often and with less containment system in place.

Third Case: Our most recent case happen just today.  Now that I am using cloth diapers and no longer have that sense of security. I am always on guard, although to varying degrees.  When I expect a Poo Massacre combined with a Poo Explosion I get nothing.  When my guard is slightly down and in a hurry to get some things done that is when baby strikes.  Sneaky little babies.  I simply wanted to change Evie’s diaper before we went into Office Max to get a picture enlarged and get everyone home so we could relax and enjoy the rest of the day.  YEAH RIGHT!  I open the diaper to discover the ever common blowout.  Cloth diapers are larger than disposable diapers so blowouts reach the top of the diaper and usually stop there.  The problem comes when you open the diaper and the Poo makes a run for it.

There is Evie laying on the floor of the Suburban crying because I have to bend her in half to clean her completely while Amber sits trapped in the third row dramaing it up about the smell and Sammy running and hiding in the open parking lot.  Because you know parking lots are fun minus those huge Monster Trucks zooming through threatening to make him a Sam puddle.  For the record, Sam had escaped before I knew what was brewing in that diaper of that sweet little baby.  In the midst of trying to get Sam and not have Evie roll out of the car Poo is flying everywhere.  It got on her clothes, the clean diaper I was trying to put on her, the wetbag (a bag that us weird Cloth Diaper users use to contain dirty diapers), the floor of the car and, of course, me.  Thoroughly disgusted I abandon what we were suppose to do at Officemax, corral Sam into his carseat and fly home with a laughing naked baby in the second row.

So the next time someone says that this or that is disgusting with regards to babies or kids, just smile and know that their time is coming and soon you will find them crying in a parking lot, public bathroom or the middle of a totally inappropriate place with a laughing baby/child covered in their own bodily creations.  Oh?  You didn’t think that Poo was the only tool in which babies/kids use to disgust us with, did you?  Silly, silly adult humans.

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Her First Lesson in Money

It appears that when we leave our city for adventures further north in the Great State of Louisiana, we learn many things about ourselves.  Like, when we get together with other Republicans, fish, not kittens, are on the menu.  Or there are time warps that can take place at the local mall.  Or your seemingly sweet, innocent daughter can transform into Paris Hilton in the matter of seconds.  Who knew that a simple trip up North (Alexandria, LA) could teach us so many things?

Amber is no stranger to malls.  With me as her mother, one stop that is a definite is that I will find the local mall, where ever we may be visiting, and go exploring to see what the locals are buying.  Mainly, what I find is that every mall is selling the same thing as my local mall.  Although, sometimes I will find that stores have frozen in time.  This time it was circa 1996.  It is fun to time travel.

As we walked around the lovely little local mall of this small little Northern town, we stumbled upon a Dillard’s.  When there is no Coach store, go for Dillard’s, they will satisfy that Coach craving you have been having, but been ignoring for months.  We weaved our way through the shelves of Dooney and Bourke purses laughing at the hideous patterns, then things took a turn for the worst.  Amber grab some pink thing that I guess is high fashion and jumped up and down screaming that she wanted it.  No, SHE HAD TO HAVE IT.  I calmly placed my hands around hers, which were gripping the designer bag, and explained that there was no way in hell she would be getting a $300 purse at the tender age of 6 years old.  Oh no, there is a lot of pain, suffering and unspeakable things one must do to earn such pretty things and she will have to wait until she was married to discover what they maybe.  Not understanding the strange words falling out of her mother’s mouth, Amber went into full fit mode which was our cue to get the hell out of Dodge.

Lately, Amber has been asking for things whenever we go into stores.  Whenever she points out something that she would like I have told her to put it on her Christmas list.  I figured this would be great, she wouldn’t get everything her little heart desire right at that moment, there was something to look forward to and I would have a blueprint to go by when it was November and I wandered the Toys R us trying to remember everything she has ever asked for.  It was going so well, that Amber started a list for her brother.  AW!  So sweet, until the Envy monster slipped through the window one night and corrupted my baby. 

We have moved on to a new approach, the allowance.  I don’t know much about giving kids an allowance, so this is all new and scary territory for me.  We (and when I say we, I mean I thought about it gathered my information and then over dinner one night I laid it out for my husband who nodded his head, explained how good his pasta was, and uh huh me to death.) decided that Amber would get $6 a week.  That is $1 for every year that she is alive.  What does she do to deserve this, nothing exactly.  I figured in later years when this $1 for every year that you are born is not quite enough, we will put dollar amounts on some of the more unsavory chores around the house, cleaning the cat box jumps into my head, and let her earn more money that way.  Also, she will be required to put 20% into her piggy bank, which when full will be carried to the bank to put in her savings account, and 10% will go to the church.  That will leave her with a windfall of $3 a week to do with what she will.  I know those percentages don’t add up, but instead of carrying out a bag of change everyweek, we rounded up.  Although, she may be able to buy every piece of candy that crosses her path, that doesn’t mean she gets to eat it.  I do still have a say, because until the government says I am no longer legally obligated, I still have control in what goes on around here.

Just as I suspected, my innocent little daughter turned into a fat cat and ran around the house screaming about how rich she was and all the things she was going to buy.  I had explain that $3 doesn’t buy much and that maybe she should put it aside to buy something bigger later.  Pshaw!!  That is just crazy talk, woman.  So as we shopped for groceries at Wal-Mart (Yes, I have been beckoned back for the low prices, once again.  Can’t say I am happy about it.), Amber was a non-stop chatter box asking if she could get this or maybe that, oh no, this, wait maybe that would be better over there.  Finally, at the checkout she settled on a tube of mini M&M’s that she would eat after lunch.  *sigh*  Is school starting, soon?

I thought that it was over and she would forget about her stash of money, bu,t oh no, we still had gymnastic class to go to and there were many pretty things there to buy, too.  “Mom! Mom! Mom!  I am going to buy a leotard when I get to gymnastic class” she screamed as we were getting ready to leave.  “I don’t think you have enough money.  Those leotards cost $30 and you only have $3″ I said trying desperately not to lose my mind.  “Oh no, I have $100.”  she said all knowingly.  I ignored it.  We went through gymnastic class without incident, even when she saw the shiny leotards and asked to buy one.

Later I would find that she had over $7 in her wallet, so I interrogated her on where the money came from.  Of course, without the bright lights and a bad cop to back me up, I got no where.  So, I took the money for savings and church and gave her the rest.  Then I gave the most horrid of threats that ever could have crossed her ears, “I will put this piggy bank in my closet, if I ever catch you taking money out of it.”  “OH NO!  MOMMA, I promise I will never take any money out of it.”  That will teach her to be so greedy that she steals from herself.  Once again, parenting is keeping me on my toes and I am stumbling as usual.  I hope all this hard work and mind games will get me some responsible adults or, at the very least, rich ones that can buy me that big dream house on the beach, I have always wanted.

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Baby in the Corner

This is what happens when you don’t pick up your Elmo toys when
asked nicely by your mother.

This is your reward for listening to your mamma.
Not seen: Mom quietly weeping in the corner as she tears off her ears.

 

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Parenting Tip: Depriving Your Children

We went to a birthday party for one of Amber’s little friends, this past Saturday, and as much fun as it was for the kids, it was another learning experience for me.  First, I learned that my child is “hyper” and then I learned that she is not up on the hippest of trends among the ankle-biter set. 

George has been concerned about Amber’s hyperness since she started school.  I am not so worried.  Amber is hyper, because she is excited and, I would guess, a lot going through her brain, much like her Daddy.  Amber must be moving at all times, because if not she might actually slow down enough to notice something or hear something that I say to her.  Just recently she blanked out, much like her daddy, when I was trying to explain to her what stamps to put on her Responsibility Chart to earn her some TV time.  Since I had to say it 3 times and was still getting a “huh” look from her, she lost the stamps completely.  If her limbs are not moving, like in the car when she is strapped in, her mouth is moving.  And that mouth doesn’t take a break.  If she doesn’t have something relevant to the conversation she will bring up something from the past, like a true woman.  “Mommy, remember that time you told me, NO, and I was sad.  I hate the word, NO.  I hate to be sad.  I want to do whatever I want….blah, blah, blah”.  Me?  I turn up the radio and go into my own La La land.  I figure that this is how a healthy 5 year old acts.  I would be wrong, according to the parenting experts:  my husband and ever mother I meet.

At least 3 people at the party, commented on how hyper Amber was, mainly, because she did a dance while waiting for her ball to make it down the alley to knock down the pins.  No matter how many pins were knocked down, it was cause for a celebration dance.  I would like to think she takes pride in whatever she does, or hell, maybe she just likes to dance.  I looked around at all the other kids, at the bowling alley that night, and noticed that most of them were “calm” and went through the motions of the game.  None, including the birthday girl, seemed excited to be there.  I think that is ashame.  I guess since these kids so much in life experience this was a boring event, on the other hand, my daughter being cooped up in the house for much of the day was just happy to be anywhere.  There was one older boy who was really into the game and besides watching Amber, I watched him.  He and her were interesting.  They didn’t need to be prodded to go roll a huge heavy ball and both were geniuely excited about the game.  Why shouldn’t they be?  For a 5 yr old and, I am guessing, 8 yr old this is as good as it gets. 

I told George this story and he went to “what is wrong with her mode”.   I could see the turning of ADHD and ADD diganosis in his head.  He didn’t like it too much when I suggested that maybe she was like him.  George is always on the move, always got something going and always has a big idea.  Sure, it is tiring for us who would like to go through life under the radar, but he gets stuff done.  I don’t think this is a bad quality to have.  Some of us wait for things to happen and some of us make things happen.

While Amber was dancing to one of the many songs that I didn’t reconigize, a mother came up to me and said how her daughter loves this song.  Okay, that is nice.  I admitted I didn’t know the song and the mother was shocked that we didn’t have High School Musical on loop at our house.  Here is where something my husband told me, as I walked out the door to go to the party, got to me: ”Relax and don’t be so restrictive”.  Huh?  I don’t think I am restrictive at all.  I let Amber go hog wild at birthday parties, but politely.  I don’t want her to be known as the little girl that destroyed the area before leaving, so I keep a watchful eye.  However, she can eat as much junk as she likes and play as hard as she wants, because in the end it will make my life that more easier.  But here I was faced with not just my husband, but another mother shocked at what I don’t let my children participate in. 

We don’t watch HSM or Hannah Montana, or Zoey 101, or Zach and Cody or whatever future bloated, drugged out adult child star is hot at the moment, because I believe them to be not appropriate for my children at this age.  Look, there is enough time for Amber and Sam to find something or someone to idolize and torture me with, in the future.  I relented and let them watch SpongeBob Squarepants, which by the way has a rating of 7 yrs and older.  This is going against all my theories on parenting, I am in the miniority.  It appears that SBSP is so toddler and I am sure if the other Kindergarteners knew that Amber still watched Sesame Street, Word World and Arthur she would be shunned from recess, altogether.  Is it so bad to keep things age appropriate?  Not to say that I don’t understand when their are older siblings in the house.  I sure do, why do you think my son is screaming and going ape-shit crazy everytime he sees BOB! in the store.  Never knew how many products BOB! was selling these days.  However, we only have TVs  in the living room and our bedroom, so everyone must share what is watched, with me having final say.  I would be leaving you thinking I am on a high moral horse if I left out that sometimes the kids’ shows just get to me and I  announce that it is Mommy time and switch on Seinfeld, Will and Grace or The Real Housewives of Orange County.  So you see my kids maybe a little more advance, only if they didn’t sign heavily and run to the playroom, because mommy watches the crazy crap on TV.  

My point is this, I am with my kids most of the time and I need a break on occassion.  You should have seen how fast the hubs and I ran when the kids were in bed and it was our chance to, finally, watch the end of Dexter.  We do have some standards and I might have the fear that I could be raising a potential serial killer, if Sam was ever allowed to watch such a training film.  There are somethings that I just don’t need in my life and that phone call is one of them.  Just because we have kids, doesn’t mean our world must center around them, but it, also, doesn’t mean that they are along for our wild adult ride.  The basic rule of thumb is “Everything in moderation”.  Sure you can watch an hour of mind numbing SpongeBob, but then it is mommy’s turn to have the boob tube drain her brain.  Sure we will go to this birthday party which my cause mommy to have seizures from the lights and music, but later we will go to this art fair where you will be forced to behave.  Without some appropriate child friendly adult time, I would go nuts, so I don’t think it is too much to ask for my kids to go along with me on some of my “crazy subdued outings” if I let them have their wild and crazy children times.  Just remember if mommy is driven crazy, everyone else must drive her to the nuthouse.

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