Am I Going Mad or Am I Just a Mommy?

Preschooler Excuses

RJ: Mommy, I can't clean my room because my back is aching.............Mommy, what does "aching" mean?

Yes, as you might have guessed, I have thrown out my back.   How did I do it?  By hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock!  Absolutely pathetic.

Getting old sucks.

Makeover Monday

I have a bad habit of underestimating my time.  Last week was a miserable failure as far as my Makeover Monday goals are concerned. But hey, I've had a lot going on, so I'm going to cut myself some slack.   I did manage to play with my kids each day, but fell very short of accomplishing my other goal: read and comment on all the blogs on my blog roll, and update said blog roll. This will be my only goal this  week.

Fortunately my son RJ eagerly compensated for my shortcomings with a Makeover Monday of his own.   

RJ's Guide to Makeover Monday for Preschoolers

Pre-Makeover Suggestions:

1. Plan ahead. You probably haven't heard it before, but there's a saying that grown-ups sometimes use:  "If you fail to plan, plan to fail."
2. Schedule the Monday of your makeover wisely.  For instance, try picking a Monday morning when your Mommy has a dentist appointment and no childcare lined up.  She'll be feeling down, so she deserves a nice pick me up.  If she is exhausted from cleaning the house for a month, she'll appreciate the help all the more.  Take it from me, this is an inspired choice!
3. Study all childproofing devices in advance.  You want your makeover to be a surprise, so do not let on to any grown-ups that you can defeat their locks.
4. Get an early start.  Any time before six o'clock in the morning should work nicely.
5. Work quickly and quietly.  You don't want to ruin the surprise now, do you? 

Materials:

finger paint (red, blue, yellow, black, white-  You can mix other colors as needed.)
glitter
feathers (multicolored- fun and festive!)
chalk
markers
craft pom poms, assorted sizes
letter beads
stickers
bedspread
walls, door, windows (Do not, I repeat, do not use your art easel.  That's just unoriginal.  This is about channeling your inner Michelangelo, kids!)
assorted clothing  (If you want to do something special for Daddy too, then include one of his suits.)

Method:

1. Open all the pots of finger paint and empty them all over your bedroom's hardwood floor.  Sure, it was just polished, but you can never go wrong by adding a little color.
2. Mix a couple of the paint puddles together to make a rich shade of brown. Spread this liberally on all surfaces.  This is your base color.
3. Follow this with as many different shades as possible.
4. Time for the feathers.  Stick them in the wet paint on the walls.
5. Do the same with the pom poms. 
6. Decorate all unadorned surfaces with stickers.
7. Time for a play break:  Pour those letter beads into the back of your Tonka dump truck and drive it through the puddle of "mud" you mixed on the floor. Make some neat tread marks on the floor.
8. Hungry?  Try tasting the paint.  (I don't recommend Elmer's. It doesn't taste too good!)
9. Finish up by dumping those beads out of your dump truck so that they scatter all over the room.
10. All done.  Sit back on your bed and survey your masterpiece.
11. Celebrate by jumping up and down on your bed with your paint-covered feet.  Squeal joyfully so as to wake Mommy. 
12. Bask in the glory of your accomplishment, as your Mommy is rendered speechless by your artistry. 

                                        ~        ~        ~        ~        ~

Want to play?  Here's what to do:

1. Choose a goal. (It can be a new one each week or something more long-term.)   

2. Write a Makeover Monday post to share your goal for the week ahead. State whether or not you accomplished your goal from the previous week. Brag away! If you are working towards a long-term goal, report on your progress.
3. Don't forget to link your Makeover Monday post here using Mister Linky below.  Please leave me a comment so I feel loved.
4. Spread the good karma by visiting other Makeover Monday participants to encourage and congratulate them on their own makeovers.
5. Feel the love coming right back at you! Don't let Monday be a downer! Start your week off right by celebrating your accomplishments and those of fellow bloggers. Here's Mr. Linky.  You know what to do.

Exploration

The human body...what a wondrous thing!  There are new things to explore every day.  First, came the nose.  Then, the penis.  Now this:

RJ: Mommy?

MSM: Yes, sweetie?

RJ:  My boobies are getting bigger every day!

MSM:  Snort!...Oh, are they?

RJ: Yes, Mommy!  Look! (He pinches nipples with fingers, and then proceeds to prance around the room with chest puffed out, chanting) BOOBIES! BOOBIES! BOOBIES!

What on Earth did I laugh about before I had kids?

(So, does that mean he'll be a "boob man"?  Daddy will be so proud!)

   

Deja Vu

Yours Truly to Dear Husband: Sweetie, I'm not feeling well.  I've had this (insert one) twitching eyelid / swollen gland / shooting leg pain / cough for a few days now.

Dear Husband (rolling eyes)-  So what dreaded disease did the (insert one) Harvard Medical Guide / Internet tell you you have now?

Me- Oh, just forget it!  Some sympathetic husband you are!

Dear Husband-  I'm sure you'll be fine. You always are.  But maybe I should up your life insurance policy just in case.(Snicker.)

Me to myself-  Jerk! Why doesn't anyone take me seriously?  I'd better go take something for this!

                                  *        *        *        *           *        *

Dear Son to Yours Truly-  Mommy, I'm not feeling well. I have a cough.(Insert fake cough here.)  I need medicine!  The cherry kind.

Me (rolling eyes)- RJ, you do not need medicine.  That wasn't even a real cough.  Medicine is not candy.

Dear Son- Well, my ankles hurt.  I need medicine.

Me- I'm sure you'll be fine.

Dear Son to himself- You're a bad mommy!  Your not a good friend!

5 minutes later:

Dear Son- Mommy?  I just broke my arm. (Rubs arm and grimaces for maximum effect.)  I need medicine.   I need to go to the hostable.

Me- (shaking head)  RJ, all you did was bump your elbow on the baby gate.  We're not going to the hospital.   

Dear Son- Can I have some medicine?

Me- No medicine.  I'm sure you'll be fine.  But maybe you should rest instead of going to the playground today?  Just in case. (Snicker.)

Dear Son- No, no, no! 

That's Our Boy!

If you are a parent, you've probably experienced those moments when your child astounds you with his or her sheer brilliance.    

Yeah, you all know what I'm talking about. If the other Parental Unit also bears witness to your child's genius, you gaze at each other in amazement, and then promptly disagree about whose superior genes are at work.  If you are alone, you sprint to the phone to share the good news with anyone who will listen.  "He said his first word!  That doesn't surprise me.  I was very verbal at his age, too.  He must get that from me!" you proclaim. "Guess what, Sweetie?  Junior just drew a stick figure! you gush, while adding "Maybe we should inquire about enrichment classes? You know, I skipped kindergarten when I was young." How about your reaction when your little darling says 'please', 'thank you', or 'I love you' for the first time without being prompted?   High Fives all 'round! 

Ah, those special moments, so filled with parental pride and the smug satisfaction of a job well done.

Yesterday was not one of them.

The day started out surprisingly well.  With RJ out the door to school and the non-napping Teething Monster grumbling in her swing, I showered, tidied the house, made a shopping list and got ready to run errands.   Things were clicking along so nicely, that I decided to tempt fate and call the Overpriced Preschool to check on my grumpy son.  All was well.  I mentally patted myself on the back for being so caring.   Then we were off in the SuperMom Mobile.  Twenty minutes later, my mission was accomplished, and I arrived home with the Teething Monster finally asleep in her infant seat. The phone was ringing off the hook, waking the   Teething Monster, who started to scream.  The answering machine picked up.

"Hi, Moodswinging Mommy, this is Patient, Saintly Preschool Teacher calling again.  I thought I'd try calling your home again since you aren't answering your cellphone."

 
What?! I probed the depths of my purse to find my cellphone.  Dead battery.  Now that's responsible parenting for you! Then Baby C upped the ante and I could only hear snippets of the message...

"RJ.....naptime....fooling around...nose..don't know what....can't remove it."

As I drove to the Overpriced Preschool, I recalled a fateful trip from some years back.  My family and I were making the 300 mile trek to visit our cousins.  I am Woman by Helen Reddy was playing on the eight-track.     As my mother doled out some peppermint Tic Tacs, my parents joked about a nitwit cousin who had gotten a Tic Tac stuck up her nose.   Now I was an inquisitive child, so I'm sure you can see where this is heading.  Suffice it to say that I don't remember much other than the screaming and my burning nasal passages.

Yes, I was pretty certain that this day would come since the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Twenty minutes later, we were at the doctor's office.  RJ was surprisingly unaffected, although every time someone would mention his nose, he'd stick his finger up his nostril and shove the mystery object further north.    Poor lad!  He played happily with the waiting room toys,  so naive about what laid in store!

First came the  ear curette up the nose.  He wasn't a fan.

Then the screaming started.  Teething Monster decided to chime in too, 'cause it's more fun when you have company.  Numerous Matchbox cars and Thomas trains were offered.  Like that would help, silly Mommy!

Next came the tweezers.  These were not your normal garden-variety tweezers, nor were they an aesthetically pleasing shade of pink, like Mommy's. They looked like one big-ass pair of scissors! They must have appeared even larger through the eyes of a three-year-old!

"Nnnnoooo, nnoooo, nnnnoooo!" RJ sobbed. "Don't c..c..c..cut meee, Mommeeee!"

I can only imagine what the people in the waiting room must have been thinking. Two nurses arrived  to help.  There was talk of a specialist, sedation, and worst of all, NEEDLES! That got his attention. Eyes as wide as saucers, RJ finally laid down.  As the two nurses and I  restrained him, the doctor went to work.  In less than five seconds, a small piece of foam the size of a Cheerio was removed from his nostril.   

Where on Earth did it come from? Only one person knows, and he's not telling.

And as for our Victim? I hope that he will think twice before sticking something up his nose again.  Heaven knows where his study of cause and effect will lead my brilliant little scientist next time.

I shudder to think!

 

Playing SuperMom

Rough night last night.  For me, at least.

With lucky SuperDad blissfully hopped-up on Nyquil, I had no choice but to transform myself into SuperMom.  It's not a role I do well. I slide into the role of Martyr Mom way too easily.

Yes, a multitude of challenges confronted SuperMom last night, starting at around 2 am. It was our usual pattern, recognizable to SuperMoms everywhere:

- Baby C crying.   I leap out of bed to the rescue.  Don't worry, baby!  SuperMom is on her way!

- Stumble in dark down long hallway, accompanied by affectionate Pee Monster trying to trip me.

 - Binkify baby. Rewind. - Binkify baby again 10 minutes later.

- 20 minutes later: Now where's the flippin' binky gone?

- Sigh.   Feed baby, burp baby,  get new binky.   Plug her up.

- Bathroom break.

- Stub toe in darkened hallway.

- Get attacked by Pee Monster, who swats at my ankle.  Daring new tactic since previous tripping attempt was unsuccessful.   ( He drew blood, by the way.) Oh, do be quiet, Martyr Mom!

- Lock furry nemesis out of  bedroom.

- Reclaim tiny section of bed and scrap of duvet  from SuperDad.

- Lay awake for 2+  hours trying to think of something brilliant to write today.

- Ah, glorious slumber!

My well-deserved rest was not all that restful, as it turned out.  I awoke in a cold sweat shortly thereafter, my heart pounding, with the word "NO!" still on my lips.   I'm not quite sure if I yelled or even spoke it aloud.   SuperDad still lay comatose beside me.

A nightmare.  Bits and pieces of it still remained in my mind.  I was tied to a track, with a gigantic train barreling down on me at top speed, its evil eyes piercing the night.  Its sharp teeth were locked in a fierce snarl, its whistle, a demonic cackle.   It was at this point that I woke up.    As I lay wondering what triggered this dream, I remembered a particularly challenging paper I wrote in graduate school.  When my brain still worked. It was a study of the train metaphor in La Bete Humaine, (loosely translated as The Beast in Man), by Emile Zola.  Zola uses the image of a train as metaphor for man and society during the rule of Napoleon III (1852 to 1870) .  When gripped by the passion of his inherent primitive nature, man is not unlike the train depicted in the novel's closing passage.   In this terrifying scene,  the engineer and conductor are thrown from the train during a fight and are crushed under its wheels.  Like a wild beast without a rider, the train gallops down the track shrieking and spitting fire, towards its final fate. This must be the terrifying image from my dream! Somewhere in the mushy muddle that is my mommy brain, I had recalled something of my pre-kid life!   

I went down to the kitchen, and as I prepared my coffee Ibegan to wonder if all was not lost after all.   As I drank it down, I cast my eyes around my not-so-tidy dining room, still scattered with presents from RJ's recent birthday party.  This is what I saw:

The birthday cards...

the popcorn and rice snacks....

the Thomas Pocky and vegetable puffs (actually quite yummy!) And who could forget the Thomas backpack, lunch box, plate, utensils (pictured on the Thomas place mat), and last but not least, the portable Thomas chalk/whiteboard? Not pictured: Thomas DVD's, Thomas candy, wooden and cast-iron trains

 

Wait a second!  Come to think of it, maybe that train in my nightmare was blue...


Okay, I guess my bad dream was not the product of some painstakingly researched paper of days gone by. I hope that part of my brain is not gone for good!  Sadly, I have no choice but to concede that perhaps an extremely generous and slightly overzealous grandfather and his girlfriend are solely to blame.  Gee, thanks guys! If it's all the same with you, I think I'll sleep with one eye open tonight.

 

 

Role Reversal

I'm a teacher but I'm new to this whole school thing.

RJ  started preschool a couple of months ago., after Baby C was born. As SuperDad and I rationalized, sending RJ to school would give our social butterfly a chance to be with other children his own age. It would also allow me to spend uninterrupted time at the mall bonding with the baby.

We toured schools, picked one and registered our little man. RJ and I went for orientation a few days before his start date. As soon as we entered, he made a beeline for the Thomas train set and never looked back. A few short days later, he was headed out the door hand in hand with SuperDad, clutching his blue race car lunch box in his other hand. I'd like to say that I cried the day my baby went to school for the first time. Instead, I had a huge grin on my face. Does that make me a bad mother? If you think the answer is yes, then all I can say is that you've probably never been a mother. I poured myself a cup of coffee and gleefully sat down to watch the Today Show while Baby C napped.

Over the next few weeks, we were cautiously optimistic as we waited for the honeymoon period to end. We're still waiting. SuperDad and I continue to marvel about what our son is learning at school. When we ask RJ what he does all day, we typically get the standard "nothing," or "I play cars" in reply. We long for those rare moments when we catch a glimpse of his day through an unfamiliar song, anecdote, or question. Our smiles spread wide and SuperDad and I exchange glances as we listen in rapt attention. He can discuss hibernation and spell his name, the brilliant boy!

We love the school.  It's not without its drawbacks, though, as today's lunchtime chat would illustrate:

RJ: (Eating turkey, cheese and tomato sandwich on whole wheat bread, since I'm having a good mommy day):  Mommy, do we've fluff?

Me:  What's that, sweetie?

RJ: Do we've FLUFF?

Me: Fluff?  What do you mean, fluff?

RJ: It's white stuff, like butter. I like it!

Me: (in horror) Where did you get Fluff? RJ: Bobby Kelly* eats Fluff.  Always.

Me: Oh, does he now?

RJ: He eats it with bread. At school.  I want some.  All I have to eat is bread and cheese.

Me: (defensively) Not just bread and cheese! Mommy and Daddy make you yummy sandwiches for school with turkey or ham. You don't like your sandwiches or your fruit salad?

RJ: I want fluff......"Okay. Can I have a cheese stick, then?" he adds, grudgingly.

Me: Ok.  (handing him his favorite brand of packaged mozzarella stick which SuperDad thinks are too expensive.  He wants to substitute "sticks" cut off a block of cheese, and RJ is not convinced.)

RJ: No, I like Daddy's cheese sticks better! I want homemade ones.  (Woohoo!  Victory for SuperDad!)

Me: I'll have to get some more of Daddy's cheese sticks at the store.

RJ: Can we've Fluff? Me: No, sweetie.  No Fluff will ever enter this house. It's not good for you.

RJ: Yes it is!

Me: It's like candy. It tastes good but is not good for you or your teeth.

RJ: Okay Mommy.  (Pauses, thinking)  Mommy?

Me: Yes, love?

RJ: Can I've Fluff tomorrow?

Yes, as wonderful as preschool is, it is not without its downside. It is a hotbed of germs, and a place where our child learns unwanted behavior (not to mention a taste for Fluff). We have learned to watch what we say. "Mommy is upset because Daddy's brain is broken!" exclaimed RJ to his class one day. A few lighthearted chuckles later, SuperDad and I wondered in earnest where that came from.

School has also raised more serious questions and uncomfortable feelings for me. I recall the first time my son told me another child pushed him, and down the stairs, no less. And that he cried. We hear variations on this theme weekly. I suspect he's exaggerating, or even making up stories. "Teachable moment, don't let it pass by!" says my Inner-Teacher. But I have the heart of a Mother Lion, and all I want to do is march over to that school and defend my cub.

After ten years of writing report cards, I now receive one for the first time. How my hands tremble when I open it in the car! It is just a preschool progress report, for goodness sakes, and I can't even wait the three minute drive home! "What do you mean, his verbal expression is 'In Progress'?" questions the Mother Lion to herself. "The kid's a genius who never stops talking!" I prepare a mental to-do list. Practice writing tasks. More computer time. Increase use of tricycle. Then suddenly, the Inner-Teacher takes over. I breathe deeply and regain control of my sanity. He's doing fine. We all are. But somewhere in the back of my mind is the memory that periodically returns to irk me. It is that of a parent, expressing her belief to me that in order to be a great and caring teacher you must be a parent as well. I still don't agree one hundred percent. But now I know where she's coming from.
Tomorrow, my son will go to school. He will walk hand-in-hand with Daddy, swinging his blue race car lunch box in his other hand. It will not contain any Fluff whatsoever. I will prepare my coffee and read the paper while Baby C naps. And my Mother Lion will sleep peacefully until the next time she awakens to duke it out with my Inner-Teacher.

*Names have been changed

A Conversation

RJ to Moodswinging Mommy: "Are you my mommy?"

Me: "Yes, love."

RJ: "Is Gwanma Brenda my mommy?"

Me: "No, sweetie. I'm your mommy. Grandma Brenda is our auntie, but she's like a grandma to you."

RJ: "Is Gwanma Marsha my mommy?"

Me: "No. Grandma Marsha is Daddy's mommy. She's your grandma."

RJ: "Is Gwanma Marsha your mommy?"

Me: "No, love. My mommy is Grandma Linda," I say, as I show him a picture.

RJ: "Can Gwanma Winda come and see me?"

Me: "No, sweetie. Grandma Linda can't be here with you. She is in Heaven. She is an Angel."

RJ: "Who, who, who's Heaven?"

Me: "You mean "What's Heaven."

Quick! I need an answer!

Me: "It's a place in the sky where angels like Grandma Linda can watch over you and keep you safe."

RJ: "Can I take an airpwane and go and visit Gwanma Winda?"

Gulp.

Don't I wish.

My Little Prince

Yesterday morning, I sat on the edge of the bathtub in a fog, rubbing sleep from my eyes. RJ was perched on a step stool trying to go pee pee. It was taking forever!

"Ohhhh, Mommy, your eyes are red! Who did that to your eyes, Mommy?" he says, full of innocence and concern.

Nice! How do I answer that one? I laugh. It is funny! And at the same time, not so funny...

It makes me wonder what he's going to notice next. The dark circles under my red eyes, the graying hair? Or will it be the loose skin around my middle, perhaps the not-so- small red scar, souvenirs of my latest pregnancy? (Mental Note: Gotta start those sit ups sometime soon! Get on the treadmill, already!)

How do I answer this one? I consider the possibilities. Do I say

-"Sweetie, if you'd only sleep past 5:00 am, it would help!"

-"Mommy's tired because your sister is getting teeth and was crying all night."

-"Mommy has trouble sleeping because she's cold." (SuperDad steals the covers.)

- "Mommy is awake at night while all of you sleep because she can't stop worrying and thinking about silly things."

All of a sudden I don't feel so well.

I am jolted from my dark thoughts by warm arms that wrap around my neck. "Mommy, you need an RJ scarf." This is our son's term for a hug around the neck.

I do need an RJ scarf! Lots of RJ scarves!

He takes my hair and piles it on the top of my head. "There Mommy, now you look like a Princess."

And I feel like a Princess, bloodshot eyes and all.

Sunday Smile

I had to include this because this is pretty much how I feel a good portion of the time. I'm sure many other stay-at-home mommies could say the same! Yes, this is our RJ. Yes, instead of wading in and rescuing my son, I chose to take a picture. I know, bad Mommy! Before I get chastised by all and sundry, I want to reassure everyone in cyberspace that he was promptly extricated by the boy on the left.