Category Archives: Parenting

I don’t think that word means what you think it means

Jack and I were shopping at Costco this weekend and as usual, I looked at the dog beds.  As usual they were too big and too ugly.  I said, “I wish the dog beds here weren’t so fat and ugly.”

Jack was appalled at my language.  “It is NOT NICE to say FAT and UGLY.”  I told Jack that I was not talking about a person, and that the dog beds knew they were big and ugly, because I mention it every time I look at them.

Still fuming, I heard him muttering to himself. “Not nice, mumble mumble. When you SAY THAT it makes me think you are… no I am not allowed to say that.. mumble mumble.”  Then he looked up at me and said, “You are STUPENDOUS.”

I said, “Aww, Jack, you are such a sweet boy.”

He looked surprised.

The Pancake Story

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You know when you volunteer to bring in food for a class party and you get there, and there is a ton of food and you know the kids are just going to take a bunch, eat some, and then a lot of it is going to go to waste?  And then you think, “ugh.  What a waste. And who brought donuts?  And can I silently judge that person and eat one of the donuts at the same time?” Then there all these moms standing around, and you know there is work to be done, but you can’t quite figure out what you are supposed to do?  Or all the easy jobs are taken and you don’t want to do the hard or complicated or boring ones?  NO? Is it just me?

Big redacted section on the reason for this particular breakfast and why I thought the idea wasn’t that great and why I volunteered to make whole wheat pancakes.

I volunteered to bring in pancakes for a class breakfast.  And in my mind, I  was one of many parents who would be bringing in pancakes or something.  I didn’t write down the date of the breakfast for some reason, so I was glad and horrified when I got the email saying to be at school on a certain day at 7:45am to start cooking so all the food would be ready for 60 kids by 8:05.   (Side note – there was one other mom cooking pancakes that day.) Between when I volunteered and when the day arrived, I found out I would have work to do between 8:00 and 8:30, so I asked if I needed to stay and help, which I am sure was expected, but I thought I could shirk it because there would be so so so many other volunteers, but at least I was planning ahead when I said, “I am going to make the pancakes at home, and how long exactly do I need to stay and help because Mondays are crazy at work…?”  I didn’t hear back.

Now, I would never complain about Dave, especially on my blog, so this next section is really about me, and how awesome I have become after 14.5 short years of marriage.

I tried to pawn the pancake helping duties off on Dave.  There was a miscommunication.

Monday morning, we had this conversation:

Me: Here are 80 pancakes.  I don’t know how long you’ll have to stay and help out.

Dave: I don’t have time to stay and help out.  I have to work.

Me:  But when we talked about it, I said, “I have to work Monday morning.  I can’t help out with the breakfast.” And you said, “Why don’t you let me handle everything?”

Dave: Yeah.  That’s what I said.  And then I said I was sure I could drop off the pancakes.  And then you said. “Well if all I had to do was drop them off, I could handle that.”

Me: Yeah.  That’s what I said.

And scene.

Well actually, then we argued about whether or not he should take a half full bottle of syrup “just in case.”

Then Dave left to drop off 80 pancakes and 2 kids.

I sat at home working.  And thinking.  I thought about how I was extremely worried about how 4 teachers could possibly manage to feed 60 kids pancakes.  What if there were no other parents to help?  WHO WOULD WIPE DOWN THE TABLES AFTERWARDS?  Of course, maybe the tables wouldn’t be sticky if there was no syrup? I started to imagine myself getting really mad at Dave, and then I thought, who cares?  A younger MegaMegan could have been angry for weeks about this.  But really.  Not worth it.  I have officially grown as a person.  When Dave got home, I found out which moms were there and I txted them my thanks for covering for me.  Those moms know what to do at class parties. I probably should buy them each a glass of wine.

So now that I am so mature that I can recover from a miscommunication/argument in less than an hour, the next step is to not be a freak show in the first place. But that would make for pretty boring blog posts.

 

Logic

Better mommy bloggers than I, have written more than I care to write about the Elf on the Shelf.  But I will share this conversation that my little logician Jack and I had the other day.

Jack:  Something about Pinocchio, blah, blah, blah, right Mommy?

Me:  I’m not sure, I don’t know too much about Pinocchio because he freaks me out.

Jack:  Mom!  Look at the Elf on the Shelf!  Is he Pinocchio???!!!  No!  The Elf on the Shelf freaks you out!  That means you are not freaked out by Pinocchio.”

 

So there you have it

 

 

 

Apple Store, Part 2

One part of our disappointing trip to the Apple Store that was more “funny” than disappointing, was Jack’s comment in the children’s area.

By “funny”, I mean that I laughed when I should have been horrified.  Can you get more Typical Boulder than riding your bike to the Apple Store on a rainy Saturday?  Of course we went to Whole Foods on our way home, for free-range tofu.  (Not really, we get our tofu at the grocery store that is closer to our house.) Oh wait, the typical Boulderite would probably actually drive their SUV to the Apple Store.  Oh wait, we did drive that day.  But it was in our fuel efficient car!  Now I’m confused, are we typical Boulderites or not?

Regardless, why was my almost 4 year old playing educational video games at the Apple Store when he could have been doing experiential learning on a hike with hand made wooden toys, from locally-crafted, beetle-kill trees?  And why for the love of God, did he have to loudly say, “I DON”T WANT TO PLAY THIS DORA GAME.  DON’T THEY HAVE ANY VIDEO GAMES THAT GO LIKE THIS?”  And then he made gun sounds and mimicked the action of shooting a room full of people with an AK-47.

And then I laughed.

Who is in Charge?

The other night my poor baby boy came up stairs crying because he had a bloody nose.  I took him into the bathroom and sat him on my lap while I pinched his nose for some period of time that seemed like an eternity but may have been less than a minute.   Jack told me that I was pinching too hard and that he was fine and wanted to go back to bed.   I thought, “Wow!  He recovered from that scare so quickly.  What a big boy.”  Because I remember sort of freaking out about bloody noses as a kid.  Of course Jack has more experience with them, living in this dry air, and living with an older brother who occasionally “hits him too hard with a pillow accidentally.”

I took Jack back to bed, tucked him in, laid there for a second until he screamed, “IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN” and I bolted awake and pinched his nose again.  Some indeterminate amount of time later, he patted my arm and said, “That’s good, Mom.  I’ll lay down and come get you if I need you.”

I trotted off to bed like a good little mommy, shaking my head at my big boy and his calm maturity.

I got in bed, closed my eyes and slept for 5-10 seconds before hearing, “MOM!  MY NOSE IS BLEEDING AGAIN!!!”

This third nose bleed (ok, I am sure it was just a continuation of the first one) is the one that woke me all the way up.  This time, instead of being in awe of the way my 3 year old can take charge of a situation I thought, “WHY AM I LISTENING TO A THREE YEAR OLD?  Who is in charge here?”  Not him, and certainly not me.  So I turned to my good and loyal friend, my constant companion, the internet.  It turns out, you are supposed to pinch a bloody nose for 10 minutes.  Not a random about of time, or until your 3 year old gets bored, and you both just really want to go back to sleep.  It’s 10 minutes people.

Jack and I sat on the couch, and I pinched his nose for 10 minutes by the clock on the microwave.  Then we all went to bed and slept until morning.  Thanks, internet.

Kidless

We said goodbye to the kids this afternoon, which they viewed as an interruption to their card game with the cousins. I had been pretty vague with them about our plans to prevent anyone from worrying about anything in advance. But they knew they were going to get to sleep in the RV with Grandmom and Grandad for a few days. So this morning when I said, “Daddy and I are driving back to Colorado today and you’ll be with Grandmom and Grandad. We’ll see you in a few days” I guess I was excepting some sadness on Jack’s part. Luke cheered. Jack was happy. I thought, “He doesn’t get it. I can either keep explaining to him until he realizes how much he is going to miss me, or else, stop talking about it and let him be oblivious, and then he can freak out later, after I leave.” Of course I chose option B and resigned myself to the guilt of not fully explaining the situation.

And then one of those rare lightbulbs went off in my head. He got it, and he was going to be fine. And I could go on and on about how he was going to miss me, until he got upset, but he’d only be getting upset because that is what I was expecting him to do.

Thank you, lightbulb!

And now to enjoy a few kidless days, which we kick off with a 15 hour road trip home.

>The Day it All Fell Apart

>Just need to record this conversation in case I ever wonder, “Where did I go wrong?”

I am working, and I am burned out, and Jack is home with me, and he doesn’t want to nap. An hour after I put him down, I heard the garage door open, and I though it was Dave. Then I heard the sound of little feet running from room to room. Contrary to the to implications of the High School Varsity Cross Country Jacket that I can see from where I am sitting right now, Dave is not a runner, so I got up to investigate.

It was Jack, and we had the following conversation:

Jack: I don’t want to nap.
Me: You have to
Jack: I promise I won’t be grouchy
Me: You said that last time.
Jack: If I am grouchy, you can just get me a class of water and I will not be grouchy.
Me: OK, You don’t have to nap, but you have to go to your room for quiet time.
Jack: OK.
Jack: Can I be loud?
Me: Sure.

And scene.

>File Under: Neglectful Parenting

>This is one of those stories I shouldn’t share because it makes me look like a bad parent, but here goes.

Today, Jack decided to go to the bathroom all on his own and told us about it afterwords. I was so proud (and surprised)! And when I asked for details about how he did it, he said, “Oh, I just left the door open and just listened to the TV for a minute.”

What a problem solver!