Category Archives: Parenting

>Signs: Ignored

>Thinking backwards in chronological order, the signs I missed are thus:

1.) We had so much time to get to the bus that Jack and Luke and I all walked. Jack has never walked to the bus, there is no time for his meandering style. I only walk occasionally. Usually it’s a jog, sometimes a sprint. We left the house 2 minutes early today. Two. Whole. Minutes.

2.) Luke was watching a little TV with his hat, and coat and backpack on before we left. Usually, our race to the bus involves a sort of relay where the baton is in the form of Luke’s backpack and half of his outerwear, that I try to assemble on him as we are running.

3.) I flipped through a magazine for a bit once everyone was ready. Really.

And what did these three signs not tell me? Then did not tell me that I had forgotten something.

Dave is halfway through his 8 day business trip, and this morning I was about 44 hours into what I thought was a 24 hour illness. I did manage to eat something for breakfast, and I was as excited about that as someone who has had 5 crackers and a banana in 2 days can be. At lunch I decided to attempt some peanut butter on a cracker.

But the peanut butter was mysteriously not on the counter. It was… in the cabinet? That doesn’t sound right. That must mean I… I… OMG What did I pack for Luke’s lunch? Think! Think! OK, Milk. A cupcake. Half an apple. Ok, that’s all I’ve got.

And then our morning frantic freakout happened at 11:30 instead of 7:25. OMGIneedtomakea sandwichthebreadisn’tdefrostedpopitinthetoasterandgetpantsonJack. JackhaspantsneedsshoesthebreadisupmakethesandwhichwearealmostoutofhoneyOMG. Pause. Would it occur to Luke to get the hot lunch? Nohe’llcomehomestarvingandangryandcrabbyandmissinghisdadfinishthesandwhich.
ThrowshoesandajacketonJackgrabthekeysandcellphonerunoutthedoor.

I didn’t know when lunchtime really is, so we ended up getting to school 10 minutes ahead of time. Jack and I sat on a bench and smiled at people for 9 minutes after I finished tying his shoes and buttoning his jacket. Then we met the first graders as they came in, and we sat with Luke while he ate some of his lunch.

It was delightful.

>You Know You Are The Mom of Boys When…

>
You know you are the mom of boys when you are reading the target weekly ad and you say, “Why would they have the slogon ‘Optimus Price’ and not use a picture of Optimis Prime?”

And then it gets even better! Luke said, “Do you know who that is?”
And I said, “Yes. Bumblebee.”

Note to readers: We have not seen the Transformers Movie. I know all this from the action figures and the books and the old cartoons. But if you want to call me MetaMegan Fox, that is fine, we look a lot alike.

>Mow

>I made Dave drive me to the library after dinner, after insisting that I wouldn’t ride in the cargo trailer with Jack. When we got there, Dave asked why, exactly, he had to drive me since I am not pain killer free. I didn’t really have a good answer. Maybe over the past week+ I forgot how to drive. Maybe it was that half glass of wine.

Anyway, when we got home, it was pretty close to bedtime, but Dave was weeding, I was filling Dave in on some gossip, Luke was reading, and Jack was hanging off the front door knob yelling, “Mil! Mil! Miiiiiiillllllllll!” I let him into the house and handed him a sippy of milk. He said, “Dink do.”

We went back outside and before you know it, Jack was pointing to the gate to the backyard yelling, “MOW! MOW! MOW! MOW!”

And I said, “Do you want your milk? It’s right over there. There’s your milk!”

And Jack said, “MOW! MOW! MOW! MOW!”

And I said, “You’re milk is right there.”

And Dave said, “He wants to MOW. The lawn.”

Ooooh. So I let him get his John Deere mower from the backyard and then he was happy. It was pretty obvious, but I was really clueless. It must have been that half glass of wine.

>Beer

>I was doing some awesome mothering this evening after Jack and I got home. I said, “Let’s read a book!” And then we sat down on the couch to look at the Crate and Barrel catalog. We got to a crazy wine rack section, and Jack pointed to the bottles and said, “Beer.” Well, it sounded like “Bee-uhr”.

Me: No, that’s wine.
Jack: Bee-uhr.
Me: Actually, that’s wine.
Jack: Bee-uhr. Bee-urh. Bee-uhr.

When I told the story to Dave and Luke, they thought it was pretty funny. Dave started laughing even before the funny part because I said we were reading Crate and Barrel Magazine. “Uh, you mean catalog, right?”

>Back in the (Bay) Days

>I was sharing my wonderful Fourth of July memories with my family during the fire works on Saturday. My dad used to outdo everyone with a different adjective for each firework display, and my mom went with the old standby of “oooh” “ahhhh” “ohhhhh”. And I LOVED the fireworks. My favorite of my dad’s adjectives was “multi-faceted” which I heard as “multi-fascinating”. Of course nothing could top Bay Days, and all through college whenever I would meet someone new from Bay Village (which was often since lots of people from Bay went to my college and since I didn’t go to Bay High, I didn’t know any of them) I always said, “Wasn’t Bay Days the best?” The answer was always yes. I partly did this to annoy Dave because he thought Bay Days was lame.

What was Bay Days? Well, I think it was mostly a place where goldfish went to live their last week. I know we always left with one or two and the fate of one of those goldfish could be the subject of a chapter in my memoir. More on that some other day. Other than the goldfish you could win, I think there were rides. And maybe a parade? Definitely fireworks. Bay Days and Mardi Gras were the highlight of my social calendar from about age 6 until 14.

I still love to go to the fireworks, so this year, when I was told to dial into a conference call at 9:00 pm on the 4th of July, I had to politely decline. And then when Jack fell off a chair and split his lip I told him to shake it off. And when Luke started whining, and whining, and whining, and Dave said, “Maybe going to the fireworks isn’t such a good idea after all”, I responded with, “I want to go to the fireworks, so we are going to the fireworks. Now everyone needs to quit whining and bleeding, and start pedalling or we are going to miss it, and I am going to be angry!”

It was really the stuff of memories. Family togetherness and all. So once we got there and sat down 2 seconds before the show started, I tried to fill everyone in on how much fun I had at the fireworks as a kid, with my family. It really worked to change everyone’s mood. Dave came up with some great adjectives. Jack did a lot of oohing and ahhing. I ran out of adjectives pretty quickly, and I think that might be because the fireworks display was a lot longer, and possibly better than the Bay Days display. Luke got into the spirit finally. Well, sort of. His favorite fireworks response was, “Oooh. Ahhh. Lame.”

>Using Your Words

>When Luke started to talk he could say his L’s but for some reason, he had trouble with “Luke”. In fact, I think his Grandmom was really surprised one time when he said, “I’m Nuke!” I think there is a fine line with new talkers regarding when to correct and when to just use proper pronounciation yourself and hope they learn from example. But on the day I decided to work on changing Nuke to Luke, we had this conversation:

Me: Luke, repeat after me, OK?
Luke:OK
Me: La la la la la.
Luke: La la la la la.
Me: La la la la Luke.
Luke: La la la la Mommy.

He has a sense of humor, that one.

The other one… he is in a very impatient phase. He just goes from zero to shrieking in 2 seconds, so I had to trot out that so very new millennium expression, “Use your words.”

Jack: AIEEEEAAIEEEE
Me: Use your words, Jack.
Jack: AAAAIIIIEEEEEEE!
Me: Do you want some more, Jack?
Jack: More, Jack!

We have been calling Luke “Bubba” since Jack was born and Luke decided this week that he doesn’t like it anymore. Which is too bad, because every morning after Jack has seen me and Dave, he calls out a cute little, “Bubba.. Buuuuuuuhbaaaaaaaa” until Luke makes an appearance. So this morning, Dave said, “Jack. Say La la la la Luke.”
And a video would be more appropriate for showing Jack’s reply, but if you couldn’t tell by the declining qualities of my photos since our return from Mexico, my camera is broken.
So imagine Jack saying the following with his tongue sticking way out of his mouth:

La la la la Uke.

>Chicken Pot, Chicken Pot, Chicken Pot Pie!

>Luke hates chicken pot pie, but Dave and I love it. Mmm. Chicken pot pie. Whenever we grill a beer butt chicken, I take all the leftovers, and mix them in with chicken gravy and frozen vegetables, and freeze the whole thing for later in an 8×8 pan. Then I take half of this chicken pot pie topping and put it on top of my defrosted pan of leftovers. Mmmm. Chicken pot pie. It’s so good. Well, the last time it wasn’t so good because I kind of tried to improvise the gravy out of chicken stock and chicken. And not much else. And it was sort of yucky. But that is just one time. One tiny little mistake. And really, I have made delicious versions on many, many occasions. And Luke has hated them all. We pretty much always threaten to send him to bed without dinner every time I make it because of his attitude. The rule is, no complaining about my meals unless I say, “How did you like it?” He knows the rules.

So when I got home from work today, Luke was sulking in the back yard because he hates chicken pot pie. Then he came into the kitchen.

Luke: What’s for dinner?
Me: Chicken Pot Pie.
Luke: I HATE chicken pot pie!
Dave: Do you want to go to your room without any dinner?

And that is when I pulled an awesome parenting trick out of my hat, and asked him to help me make the pie crust. He chopped butter, he pulsed the food processor, he rolled out the dough, he brushed it with egg wash and he cut the little slits in it.

And then, at dinner, he ate every last bite.

And yet…

I couldn’t help but be annoyed by his many comments along these lines:
-Wow – this is the best chicken pot pie I have ever had.
-It’s weird, because this time, I am eating the whole thing and I have never done that before.
-I wonder what is just so different about this chicken pot pie that makes it so delicious.

OK, I get it! Your pie crust is awesome. Don’t eat so much, I want leftovers.

>If That Doesn’t Work, Try Throwing Me Down The Stairs

>At least a year or so ago, Luke’s friends saw an America’s Funniest Home Videos episode about different ways to get that loose tooth out of your mouth, and they have been dying for a chance to try some of them out. And that is how Luke came to have one end of a string tied around his tooth and the other end tied to a hippity hop.

From May2009

Dave and I both find loose teeth to be sort of disgusting, so we had to leave all the string tying to our good friend.

From May2009

The plan was to throw the hippity hop down the stairs to the basement. It didn’t work, but between you and me, I think Luke was pushing the string off his tooth with his tongue at the last second. I came to that conclusion because in the video, you can hear, “You are pushing the string off your tooth with your tongue!” I’d share the video, but it’s just the back of everyone’s head as they crowd around to see the spectacle.

After a few tries, Luke said, “Hold onto the ball and throw me down the stairs.” That’s when I decided to stop the madness.

This all took place about 2 weeks ago, and I am happy to report that the tooth is finally out. This morning I noticed that the tooth appeared to be about 1/4 inch taller than the rest of Luke’s teeth. I think it was just resting on his gums because when he wiggled it with his tongue it just came out. Finally!

>Granola, Revisited

>Once upon a time, I loved to cook and plan menus, and make delicious meals and desserts. Then Jack was born. The End.

Somehow I found myself alone in the house, and the kitchen wasn’t already disaster, so I decided to make some granola. The recipe calls for 2 cups of oats, but I usually double most of the recipe and then throw in an extra cup of oats to justify the sugar and honey and orange juice. And I don’t really measure the oats, I just get 5 scoops out of the bulk bin. And that seems just about right. So I started to make granola and I measured, heated, stirred, chopped, mixed just about everything and then I dumped the oats out into the bowl on top. But it wasn’t 5 cups/scoops. It was way, way more than that. I stirred and stirred, but it was pretty dry. So I mixed up another batch of brown sugar, orange juice, honey, vanilla, and canola oil. And I stirred and stirred and stirred. Still sort of dry. So I poured some orange juice into the bowl, with a glop of honey and some canola oil. And I stirred. Little more juice. Little drop of oil. And done.

Then I hoped it would either be disgusting, since there was no way I could ever replicate it, or really, really good, because I now had two giant tupperware containers full of it. And there was still a lot left on the tray, but I was just too tired to deal with it at that point. For the rest of the evening everyone took a handful whenever they walked by. (Why yes, there is granola all over the floor, why do you ask?) I left it out and considered myself a nice mommy for preparing Luke’s breakfast the night before. Nothing like getting up on a Saturday morning and watching cartoons while you eat homemade granola out of the pan.

And then, Saturday morning, a miracle happened.

Luke was watching cartoons and eating handfuls of granola when I walked by with Baby Jack, who had made it abundantly clear through both verbal and non-verbal communication that he was interested in nursing. I grabbed a handful of granola, ate some, handed a bite to Jack and then sat down to nurse him. And he started to nurse, and then he sat up and said, “Mo? Pees?” And he did the signs for both more and please. And he wasn’t talking about breast milk. Faster than you can imagine, I had him in his high chair, eating a bowl of granola, and he hasn’t nursed since. He has eaten a lot of granola though. It’s been 6 days now, but I still feel like I am “in the process of weaning him”. That is because, according to Dave, I am “crazy”.

>You Might Be A Mom If…

>If I were to rip off Jeff Foxworthy and start a comedy act about being a mom, I might use a lame line like this one:

If the highlight of your week is finding Tension Tamer tea on sale (buy one get one) at the grocery… You might be a mom.

Of course, that isn’t really true. Luke has had some major milestones in the fine motor department. He’s learning to tie his shoes and how to buckle a belt. It’s big. See, he has holes in almost every pair of pants and I couldn’t bring myself to buy a bunch more size 5 pants when he’ll grow out of them immediately. But 6 is way too big. I almost cracked and bought some pants at Target, but then that same week the snap broke on a practically new pair. So Dave picked up 5 pairs of pants for a $12.00 total at Savers. Unfortunately they don’t all have the adjustable waist so they are too big. At first I thought, “great, what a waste.” Then I realized that there are things that could be done about this problem! I could sew elastic into the waste! In these hard economic times, I could salvage the $2.00 pants with a little seamstressing. Good, old fashioned do-it-yourselfedness. I was sharing this revelation to Dave and he said, “Or he could just wear a belt.” Apparently that is how men keep their pants up.

Also big! His picture was in the paper. So cute. I rarely have time for the paper in the morning, but this must have been the one day this week where everyone’s alarm went off on time. So I glanced at the paper and there he was!

Jack has an ear infection, poor little guy. He’s been pretty uncomfortable. And I stayed home with him Wednesday and a half day today. I am so lucky I can work from home. Otherwise, I would have used 4.5 out of my 6 sick days for the year this month already. Good times!

On the bright side, Jack has gotten really good with signs since he has been in the toddler room and his vocabulary seems to be exploding. He can sign more, please, thank you. And he sort of says more please and thank you. And basketball. It sounds like “boy-guh-ball”. And he says, “Eh uh. Eh uh. Eh uh.” Which means, “may I please have that?”

So that is all the rambling for now. Time for some tension tamer.