Without further ado, Kiddo, age 7, the official portraits:
Showing posts with label Bad Mommy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bad Mommy. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Mostly Wordless Wednesday... the official portraits
I finally got my act together and got Kiddo's professional portrait taken, as I've done every year around her birthday. "Around her birthday" used to mean within 3 days, max, back when she was younger. This year, "around her birthday" turned out to mean within 6 weeks, give or take a day. At any rate, it's done now, plus I had a coupon and I'll be able to save myself some mailing charges as we're heading to the motherland (aka Jersey) the week after next, so I can distribute the latest pictures in person to all the aunts, uncles and grandparents then.
Without further ado, Kiddo, age 7, the official portraits:
Without further ado, Kiddo, age 7, the official portraits:
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Oh no she didn't! Take Two
After managing to shower and dress in actual clothing for two whole consecutive days, this morning I succumbed and reverted back to my true form. Yes, I did it. I walked Kiddo to the bus in my jammies and flip flops.
My rationalizations for reverting to type follow:
- The bus picks her up at the end of our driveway. It isn't like I was up at the corner with a bunch of other parents (ahem, like last year...)
- I brushed my hair so I wasn't utterly disheveled as per my typical morning look
- I put a fleece vest on over my (15 year old, Ithaca Festival) t-shirt and had on yoga pants, so I wasn't exactly indecent, just a bit.........rumpled around the edges
- We didn't walk outside until the bus was turning onto our street, so I wasn't parading my nighties for the world to see for more than 45 seconds
Anyhow, I'd be willing to bet I am jammified more often than not when the bus picks Kiddo up, so they might as well get used to it. Actually, I'd be willing to bet that within a month or two, I'll no longer escort her all the way to the end of the driveway, but remain on the porch and wave as she makes that brief walk to the street all by herself.
Now, I'll just collect my Mother of the Year award and be on my way...
My rationalizations for reverting to type follow:
- The bus picks her up at the end of our driveway. It isn't like I was up at the corner with a bunch of other parents (ahem, like last year...)
- I brushed my hair so I wasn't utterly disheveled as per my typical morning look
- I put a fleece vest on over my (15 year old, Ithaca Festival) t-shirt and had on yoga pants, so I wasn't exactly indecent, just a bit.........rumpled around the edges
- We didn't walk outside until the bus was turning onto our street, so I wasn't parading my nighties for the world to see for more than 45 seconds
Anyhow, I'd be willing to bet I am jammified more often than not when the bus picks Kiddo up, so they might as well get used to it. Actually, I'd be willing to bet that within a month or two, I'll no longer escort her all the way to the end of the driveway, but remain on the porch and wave as she makes that brief walk to the street all by herself.
Now, I'll just collect my Mother of the Year award and be on my way...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
In case you didn't realize it, SPD sucks - or bites, as the case may be
Yesterday, Kiddo's teacher had a class picnic at her house (a short walk from the school). It was a gorgeous day - sunny, blue skies, hot. The kids played games, whacked the everloving heck out of a Nemo piñata, played in two different sprinklers, a wading pool and a super-deluxe, triple lane Slip-n-Slide. They ate pizza and chips and watermelon, they ran around, it was all good. And then.
Then it was ice cream treat time. The ice cream treats on hand were actually ice pops (apparently Popsicle is a brand name/proper noun, at least according to Blogger's spellcheck. Who knew?) in three flavors: red, blue and green. Oh, I'm sorry, "cherry, raspberry and apple" to be precise, but come on, there wasn't a drop of actual, natural anything in them - these were those kinds of pops. Kiddo came up to me as I was busily getting a lopsided sunburn by means of having begun to apply sunscreen to myself earlier that day and then being sidetracked by several kids requesting sunscreen (which: YAY kids for knowing you need and should be wearing sunscreen!) and then forgetting to finish the job on myself, and asked me if she could have one.
Now, Kiddo wasn't just asking because I'm some sort of super-strict mom who doesn't allow anything but healthy food in the house or more specifically, in her mouth. That isn't the case, I swear (she says, eyeballing the mostly empty box of Milk Duds - kept purely for medicinal purposes, really! - on her desktop and the bag of tortilla chips on the floor right next to her desk). However, with Kiddo's SPD, we've learned that we need to be careful about certain things because they throw her system totally out of whack. One of the big ones, that is in so much food - well, "fun" (aka "junk") food, anyhow - is food dye. We've learned this the hard way over the years, by tracing back sudden periods of out-of-sync behavior to a specific meal, snack or treat. Red food dye is a big one - if anything says it has any Red # Whatever, I don't let it into Kiddo's body. Same with blue (as evidenced by Kiddo's gleeful consumption of a heavily frosted, neon blue Dora cupcake at last year's preschool graduation and subsequent decline into craziness that lasted for four long days). So, I went over and checked out the ingredients on the ice pops box. Obviously, the red and blue ones were out. The green, however, well, they seemed like they might be a possibility. They *did* have blue dye and some yellow dye as well, but at the time it seemed like the green pops weren't quite as intensely colored, so I reasoned that perhaps as there was ostensibly less blue dye in the green ones than the blue ones, they'd be all right. Besides, Kiddo rarely if ever finishes an entire dessert.
Well, she finished the whole darn ice pop - whatever part of it didn't melt down the front of her, anyhow. I'd say at least 80% of the chemically delicious frozen goo was actually eaten. Within fifteen minutes of the ice pop going in to her body, the freaky behavior started coming out. She was bumping into things and kids. Her entire demeanor became suddenly obnoxious, cranky and rude. On the walk back to school she complained incessantly that her socks were hurting her, despite stopping and holding up the entire class for several minutes so she could remove her shoes, adjust her socks and rub her feet. She then jammed herself up against my side, crashing her head into me for the remainder of the walk. It was like a switch had been flipped from Sweet Kiddo to Mr. Hyde. Ugh.
The out-of-sync behavior continued into the night, with Kiddo having nightmares (highly unusual for her) and waking up at 1:30. It was nearly 3:00 before I got her adequately calmed and settled and got back into my own bed. I let her sleep in as late as possible this morning and she seemed to be doing better - she ate all her breakfast and wasn't too crabby in the car on the way to school, so I dropped her off and watched her walk in to school holding hands with two of her friends and headed off to get a massage (using the gift certificate Hubby and Kiddo gave me for Christmas - and just to give her a plug again, anyone local should really go get a massage from Joan at A Healing Sanctuary, because she is the best!) and after that, I headed over to a friend's house for lunch and a visit. It was as we were sitting at the table, eating homemade brownies and fresh strawberries and perusing the last few clues on today's NYT crossword puzzle that I heard my phone bleep. It was a text message from Kiddo's teacher. With one and a half days of school left to go this year, Kiddo had bitten a classmate on the finger (ironically enough, one of the girls with whom she'd been holding hands on her way into school this morning) and subsequently been sent to the principal's office. !!!!!
I texted back to ascertain if the classmate was okay (she was - the skin wasn't broken though she did go to the nurse who notified her mother), if Kiddo was duly remorseful (she was, and was reportedly greatly dreading the moment when I found out what had transpired), if she had apologized adequately to her friend (she had) and if I needed to come to school early. Kiddo has never been sent to the principal's office before, so I didn't know what the standard protocol is in such situations. I'd kind of hoped I would never need to learn, either, but there you have it - less than 6 hours left in her kindergarten career and there she was, getting her much-deserved chewing out (um, pun intended, now that I think about it) by the principal.
Now, I am certain that the food dye's after effects were in no small part to blame for Kiddo's wonky behavior. That isn't to say that I excuse her actions in the slightest; Kiddo has understood perfectly well for years now that biting another kid is NOT acceptable behavior. She definitely knew better, regardless of how out of whack her system was, and she absolutely needed to face the consequences of her actions. I do recognize that Kiddo was not entirely herself, though, and that the SPD had a factor in her making a bad choice. To hear Kiddo tell it, her friend was all up in her personal space while they were on the playground before lunch, and was waving her fingers in Kiddo's face. Kiddo didn't like this and decided to get the other girl to back off by promptly chomping on one of the proffered fingers. While this was a bad call in any event, Kiddo certainly is more hyper-aware of things being close to her when her system is disregulated, as it has been since the evil ice pop ingestion of yesterday afternoon. Her aide also told me that the kids didn't have snack this morning, that Kiddo was definitely not herself all morning but improved a bit after eating lunch, and that she had to do a lot of extra sensory input with Kiddo today. Kiddo was *still* cranky, clingy and not herself this evening, so I've got my fingers crossed that by tomorrow, the dye is out of her system enough that she is able to handle what will be an emotional day already. Kiddo has been sad for over a week now at the thought of the last day of school and even more so because she realizes now that this is the last day EVER for her at her current school. As excited as she is to meet new friends and go to a new school in the fall, she is still very sad to be saying goodbye. Kiddo is pretty resilient, thank goodness, so I have no doubt that she will bounce back quickly once the next few days are over and we're into the next adventure - summer camp. But in the meantime, it will be extra-extra-extra bad if she's still disregulated tomorrow and facing saying goodbye to the teacher and classmates and school she loves so much.
Yes, I am kicking myself thoroughly for having let her eat that ice pop in the first place. No, I will *not* make that mistake again. I hate that Kiddo has to suffer because of my bad judgement call. I hate that she can't have any old treat that she would like, as her friends can (well, not all of them). I wish she could go off-schedule and stay up late without it having dire consequences for days thereafter. I wish she didn't need to have a sensory diet several times a day in order to function smoothly and I wish that I didn't need to know what the first thing about a "sensory diet" even is. Heck, I wish I didn't need to know the first thing about SPD... But, it is what it is, as they say, and we have to deal with the hand we've been dealt. Our hand is full of SPD, so we'll play it the best we can. From now on, that will include *no* food dyes, no matter what color. Yeesh. I know that there are a lot worse things we could be dealing with and that our lives could be a lot more challenging than just having to manage a pretty severe case of SPD. However, this is my blog and I'm sad and exasperated and cranky and dammit, I'm gonna whine about my lot right now just because I feel like it.
Also on my mind is that one day more, and then we're facing a whole new world - summer *without* any services. Last summer, Kiddo had regular PT and OT sessions every week except for two. We've never gone this long without any services, but she's been deemed not needy enough to qualify for any extended services this year. It is the OT piece that I'm rather nervous about losing. Ten weeks without any professional oversight is a loooong chunk of time where lots of regression can occur. I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't filled with trepidation. Kiddo will also be doing summer camp at a regular, old camp, not like the summer program she's done for the past two years which was run by her former (awesome) preschool and was a sensory-based program with specially trained teachers. I'm going to be darn sure to make sure the summer camp knows to NOT give her any food with dyes in it. (We're supposed to pack their morning and afternoon snacks as well as lunch each day, so this shouldn't be an issue.) Guess we will just have to take it one day at a time and see where we are by September...
One day more...
Then it was ice cream treat time. The ice cream treats on hand were actually ice pops (apparently Popsicle is a brand name/proper noun, at least according to Blogger's spellcheck. Who knew?) in three flavors: red, blue and green. Oh, I'm sorry, "cherry, raspberry and apple" to be precise, but come on, there wasn't a drop of actual, natural anything in them - these were those kinds of pops. Kiddo came up to me as I was busily getting a lopsided sunburn by means of having begun to apply sunscreen to myself earlier that day and then being sidetracked by several kids requesting sunscreen (which: YAY kids for knowing you need and should be wearing sunscreen!) and then forgetting to finish the job on myself, and asked me if she could have one.
Now, Kiddo wasn't just asking because I'm some sort of super-strict mom who doesn't allow anything but healthy food in the house or more specifically, in her mouth. That isn't the case, I swear (she says, eyeballing the mostly empty box of Milk Duds - kept purely for medicinal purposes, really! - on her desktop and the bag of tortilla chips on the floor right next to her desk). However, with Kiddo's SPD, we've learned that we need to be careful about certain things because they throw her system totally out of whack. One of the big ones, that is in so much food - well, "fun" (aka "junk") food, anyhow - is food dye. We've learned this the hard way over the years, by tracing back sudden periods of out-of-sync behavior to a specific meal, snack or treat. Red food dye is a big one - if anything says it has any Red # Whatever, I don't let it into Kiddo's body. Same with blue (as evidenced by Kiddo's gleeful consumption of a heavily frosted, neon blue Dora cupcake at last year's preschool graduation and subsequent decline into craziness that lasted for four long days). So, I went over and checked out the ingredients on the ice pops box. Obviously, the red and blue ones were out. The green, however, well, they seemed like they might be a possibility. They *did* have blue dye and some yellow dye as well, but at the time it seemed like the green pops weren't quite as intensely colored, so I reasoned that perhaps as there was ostensibly less blue dye in the green ones than the blue ones, they'd be all right. Besides, Kiddo rarely if ever finishes an entire dessert.
Well, she finished the whole darn ice pop - whatever part of it didn't melt down the front of her, anyhow. I'd say at least 80% of the chemically delicious frozen goo was actually eaten. Within fifteen minutes of the ice pop going in to her body, the freaky behavior started coming out. She was bumping into things and kids. Her entire demeanor became suddenly obnoxious, cranky and rude. On the walk back to school she complained incessantly that her socks were hurting her, despite stopping and holding up the entire class for several minutes so she could remove her shoes, adjust her socks and rub her feet. She then jammed herself up against my side, crashing her head into me for the remainder of the walk. It was like a switch had been flipped from Sweet Kiddo to Mr. Hyde. Ugh.
The out-of-sync behavior continued into the night, with Kiddo having nightmares (highly unusual for her) and waking up at 1:30. It was nearly 3:00 before I got her adequately calmed and settled and got back into my own bed. I let her sleep in as late as possible this morning and she seemed to be doing better - she ate all her breakfast and wasn't too crabby in the car on the way to school, so I dropped her off and watched her walk in to school holding hands with two of her friends and headed off to get a massage (using the gift certificate Hubby and Kiddo gave me for Christmas - and just to give her a plug again, anyone local should really go get a massage from Joan at A Healing Sanctuary, because she is the best!) and after that, I headed over to a friend's house for lunch and a visit. It was as we were sitting at the table, eating homemade brownies and fresh strawberries and perusing the last few clues on today's NYT crossword puzzle that I heard my phone bleep. It was a text message from Kiddo's teacher. With one and a half days of school left to go this year, Kiddo had bitten a classmate on the finger (ironically enough, one of the girls with whom she'd been holding hands on her way into school this morning) and subsequently been sent to the principal's office. !!!!!
I texted back to ascertain if the classmate was okay (she was - the skin wasn't broken though she did go to the nurse who notified her mother), if Kiddo was duly remorseful (she was, and was reportedly greatly dreading the moment when I found out what had transpired), if she had apologized adequately to her friend (she had) and if I needed to come to school early. Kiddo has never been sent to the principal's office before, so I didn't know what the standard protocol is in such situations. I'd kind of hoped I would never need to learn, either, but there you have it - less than 6 hours left in her kindergarten career and there she was, getting her much-deserved chewing out (um, pun intended, now that I think about it) by the principal.
Now, I am certain that the food dye's after effects were in no small part to blame for Kiddo's wonky behavior. That isn't to say that I excuse her actions in the slightest; Kiddo has understood perfectly well for years now that biting another kid is NOT acceptable behavior. She definitely knew better, regardless of how out of whack her system was, and she absolutely needed to face the consequences of her actions. I do recognize that Kiddo was not entirely herself, though, and that the SPD had a factor in her making a bad choice. To hear Kiddo tell it, her friend was all up in her personal space while they were on the playground before lunch, and was waving her fingers in Kiddo's face. Kiddo didn't like this and decided to get the other girl to back off by promptly chomping on one of the proffered fingers. While this was a bad call in any event, Kiddo certainly is more hyper-aware of things being close to her when her system is disregulated, as it has been since the evil ice pop ingestion of yesterday afternoon. Her aide also told me that the kids didn't have snack this morning, that Kiddo was definitely not herself all morning but improved a bit after eating lunch, and that she had to do a lot of extra sensory input with Kiddo today. Kiddo was *still* cranky, clingy and not herself this evening, so I've got my fingers crossed that by tomorrow, the dye is out of her system enough that she is able to handle what will be an emotional day already. Kiddo has been sad for over a week now at the thought of the last day of school and even more so because she realizes now that this is the last day EVER for her at her current school. As excited as she is to meet new friends and go to a new school in the fall, she is still very sad to be saying goodbye. Kiddo is pretty resilient, thank goodness, so I have no doubt that she will bounce back quickly once the next few days are over and we're into the next adventure - summer camp. But in the meantime, it will be extra-extra-extra bad if she's still disregulated tomorrow and facing saying goodbye to the teacher and classmates and school she loves so much.
Yes, I am kicking myself thoroughly for having let her eat that ice pop in the first place. No, I will *not* make that mistake again. I hate that Kiddo has to suffer because of my bad judgement call. I hate that she can't have any old treat that she would like, as her friends can (well, not all of them). I wish she could go off-schedule and stay up late without it having dire consequences for days thereafter. I wish she didn't need to have a sensory diet several times a day in order to function smoothly and I wish that I didn't need to know what the first thing about a "sensory diet" even is. Heck, I wish I didn't need to know the first thing about SPD... But, it is what it is, as they say, and we have to deal with the hand we've been dealt. Our hand is full of SPD, so we'll play it the best we can. From now on, that will include *no* food dyes, no matter what color. Yeesh. I know that there are a lot worse things we could be dealing with and that our lives could be a lot more challenging than just having to manage a pretty severe case of SPD. However, this is my blog and I'm sad and exasperated and cranky and dammit, I'm gonna whine about my lot right now just because I feel like it.
Also on my mind is that one day more, and then we're facing a whole new world - summer *without* any services. Last summer, Kiddo had regular PT and OT sessions every week except for two. We've never gone this long without any services, but she's been deemed not needy enough to qualify for any extended services this year. It is the OT piece that I'm rather nervous about losing. Ten weeks without any professional oversight is a loooong chunk of time where lots of regression can occur. I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't filled with trepidation. Kiddo will also be doing summer camp at a regular, old camp, not like the summer program she's done for the past two years which was run by her former (awesome) preschool and was a sensory-based program with specially trained teachers. I'm going to be darn sure to make sure the summer camp knows to NOT give her any food with dyes in it. (We're supposed to pack their morning and afternoon snacks as well as lunch each day, so this shouldn't be an issue.) Guess we will just have to take it one day at a time and see where we are by September...
One day more...
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Hand me my trophy, please...
I am so ready for my trophy today. Mmm-hmm. Hand it over, will ya?
Why today, you ask? By which, of course, you mean today specifically, more than any other day, since I *always* deserve such accolades? I'll tell you:
Because today, the 101st day of full-day, eating-lunch-at-school school for Kiddo, I forgot to make her a lunch.
For the 100 days prior to this morning, I have gotten up, gotten Kiddo up, fixed her breakfast and then, while she sits at the table eating/picking at/staring at/utterly ignoring her meal (depends on the day), I fix her lunch and get her backpack packed with everything she needs (sneakers, notebook, folder, homework, snowpants, library book etc). Then, when that's done, I head upstairs to squirt some toothpaste on her Lion King musical toothbrush and get her clothes laid out and *then* I sit down at the computer for a few minutes and go through my morning internet routine (email, news headlines, People and E! headlines, blog reader list).
This morning? I got up, got Kiddo up, fixed her breakfast and............... got totally distracted by how I was constantly tripping over things that should have been in the laundry room but instead were everywhere in my kitchen. The counters, the floor, the stovetop, the table. Hubby finished painting the laundry room trim late last night and reassembled all the shelving in there, so instead of fixing her lunch, I decided that first, I'd put everything back into the laundry room. So I did, marveling at how nice and tidy it looks, with its fresh coat of Tear Drop Blue paint (we didn't have enough Soft Ecru, so we wound up killing off the leftover bit of the gallon we used for the downstairs bathroom, which is right next to the laundry room anyhow). I got a wee bit carried away by the beauty and wonder, and thus, when I finally emerged from the laundry room, I looked at the clock on the stove (which I could actually see again, now that it had been cleared of laundry room things) and thought to myself "Crap! Must get toothpaste on the toothbrush, stat!" and off I went upstairs. Kiddo came up a few moments later and we went about the rest of our routine ("I didn't hear Hakuna Matata play TWICE, Kiddo... Brush again!" "Moooo-oooom, I *did* brush two times already!" "No, you didn't, brush again NOW please!" ... "Why aren't you dressed yet?" "Mooo-oooom, I'm thinking!" "Well, could you please multitask and think while dressing?" ... "Stand still so I can comb your hair, please." "Mooo-oooom, I don't like it when you comb my hair." "You know, Bindi always stands still when her mom combs her hair, that's why it looks so nice on TV...") and it wasn't until 8:02, after the locating and proper placement of boots on feet, mittens on hands, coat on bod and hat on head that I reached down for Kiddo's backpack and realized that I hadn't made her a lunch.
Crap.
"Moooo-oooom, we don't say that word - it isn't nice or appropriate!"
Whoops, I thought I just thought it. Thank goodness "crap" was the only word I thought. I actually did swear aloud in Kiddo's presence the other day, but fortunately it was only the S word and it was under my breath after dripping paint on the stairs, and she was so enthralled by Happy Feet that she didn't hear me anyhow. I made it five and three quarter years before actually swearing in front of her - not too bad. But that was Sunday's award-winning moment, so I'm digressing.
Anyhow, I looked at the stovetop clock - 8:03. We need to be at the corner in three minutes. I briefly ponder how quickly I can throw some stuff into her lunch bag and as I'm standing there, empty lunch bag in hand, thinking "crap, crap, crappity crap" on the inside only this time, Kiddo figures out the situation and her face lights up.
"Mommmmmmmmm? It's okay, I am not sad that you didn't make me a lunch. We all make mistakes, don't worry. Accidents happen.
....
I can just be a buyer today, okay?"
One pair of very hopeful, big brown eyes looking up at me, breath held.
A-ha! (No, not aha, though I do love me some aha. Especially Magne. Sigh........ Whoops, digressing again.) A-ha! I can totally spin this, can't I?
"Hmmm, well, I don't know, Kiddo. It is a pretty big treat to buy your lunch........."
"Oh pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohprettyprettyplease, Mom? I'll do SUCH a good job today and I'll listen and cooperate and I'll clean my room and I won't bother the cat and I'll scratch your back for 130 minutes after school oh please Mom can I buy my lunch?"
"Hmmmmm."
I pretend to think about it for a few seconds.
"Okay. I guess that just for today, you can be a buyer."
And thus, I threw some white cheddar Cheez-Its into a baggie for her snack, tossed them into her Disney Princesses backpack and we exited the house for the bus stop, Kiddo loudly proclaiming Huzzah! and Hooray! and doing everything but throwing confetti. I texted her teacher to give her the scoop as Kiddo pondered aloud what she would buy for lunch. Toasted cheese? The entree of the day (which I don't even know, as I tossed the menu at the beginning of the month since, you know, Kiddo doesn't buy her lunch)? Ice cream? (I wouldn't be surprised if that's all Kiddo eats today....)
So, I am Mom the Hero for allowing Kiddo the rare treat of buying her lunch instead of bringing it (and buying milk, which thus far has been the only thing Kiddo has ever bought in the cafeteria) and I've got promises of good behavior and endless back scratching as well! So, gimme my trophy, please - Kiddo at least thinks I deserve it!
I'd like to say this will never happen again, that I've learned my lesson and that henceforth, I shall never neglect to pack a healthy, nutritious, cost-saving lunch for Kiddo from day 102 until the end of her school career.
I'd also like to say that George Clooney and Hugh Jackman are having a serenade-off outside my window right now, each proclaiming their undying affection and admiration through song.
I do have a great spot for that trophy, though - right on the stove top. It's all cleaned off and ready.
I'll leave you now, to get back to my cleaning and packing (the carpet cleaning dudes arrive tomorrow, so they have to actually be able to get to the carpet...) with a little of Kiddo's current toothbrush tune and a little Hugh and George, though sadly, I can't get any video of their serenade duel uploaded just now. I packed the cord for the video camera already, you see. Yeah, that's the ticket........
Monday, December 15, 2008
Breakfast of champions
You know how I told you about how all we could manage to eat of my delicious birthday cake yesterday was a teensy sliver apiece, because we were so full from lunch?
When I woke up this morning, all I could think about was that carrot cake, sitting in the fridge, almost whole. I turned to my beloved Hubby and I said to him "I'm so totally having a piece of birthday cake for breakfast." Hubby, well he just shook his head. A short while later, Kiddo woke up and stumbled into the room, sleepy-eyed and blinking in the artificial light of what passes for morning in upstate NY in December, and I asked her "Would you like carrot cake for breakfast?" Hubby shook his head again. He was mildly aghast at the thought of feeding our child cake for breakfast, but I don't think he really thought I would. I mean, he didn't put up any more strenuous objection than the head shaking, and perhaps a mumbled comment or two about feeding Kiddo cake and then sending her off to school...
Which, I did. I totally did. After Kiddo had her banana and her vitamin, I cut her a (modestly sized) slice of carrot cake and another (much less modestly sized) slice for myself. Poured her a glass of milk and myself a glass of Mountain W (our local grocery store's generic for Mountain Dew - Mama's getting old and needs her caffeine) and down we sat. It was quite a cheery breakfast hour, I must say. All I could think of was this:
Not that Dr. Cosby's excellent reasons behind "cake for breakfast" don't have enough merit on their own, mind you, but this was CARROT cake. CARROTS = Vegetables. Plus, it was cream cheese frosting. Many a time, Kiddo has cream cheese on her morning toast. Totally appropriate breakfast choice, I think! I mean, this was so completely like those "sneak healthy foods into things your kids will eat" books that Jerry Seinfeld's wife and all those other mommy geniuses are forever plugging on morning TV. Totally like that, except much less work, as all I had to do was slice and serve. (Well, Kiddo carried her own plate to the table, so really, all I had to do was slice.)
In closing, while it is true that I really should be praised for my clever way of getting Kiddo to eat veggies for breakfast, and it is a good thing that Hubby is more of a head-shaker than a conniption-thrower, let's still just keep this between us, mmmkay? (I know Kiddo won't rat me out - she knows who'll give her cake for breakfast!)
When I woke up this morning, all I could think about was that carrot cake, sitting in the fridge, almost whole. I turned to my beloved Hubby and I said to him "I'm so totally having a piece of birthday cake for breakfast." Hubby, well he just shook his head. A short while later, Kiddo woke up and stumbled into the room, sleepy-eyed and blinking in the artificial light of what passes for morning in upstate NY in December, and I asked her "Would you like carrot cake for breakfast?" Hubby shook his head again. He was mildly aghast at the thought of feeding our child cake for breakfast, but I don't think he really thought I would. I mean, he didn't put up any more strenuous objection than the head shaking, and perhaps a mumbled comment or two about feeding Kiddo cake and then sending her off to school...
Which, I did. I totally did. After Kiddo had her banana and her vitamin, I cut her a (modestly sized) slice of carrot cake and another (much less modestly sized) slice for myself. Poured her a glass of milk and myself a glass of Mountain W (our local grocery store's generic for Mountain Dew - Mama's getting old and needs her caffeine) and down we sat. It was quite a cheery breakfast hour, I must say. All I could think of was this:
Not that Dr. Cosby's excellent reasons behind "cake for breakfast" don't have enough merit on their own, mind you, but this was CARROT cake. CARROTS = Vegetables. Plus, it was cream cheese frosting. Many a time, Kiddo has cream cheese on her morning toast. Totally appropriate breakfast choice, I think! I mean, this was so completely like those "sneak healthy foods into things your kids will eat" books that Jerry Seinfeld's wife and all those other mommy geniuses are forever plugging on morning TV. Totally like that, except much less work, as all I had to do was slice and serve. (Well, Kiddo carried her own plate to the table, so really, all I had to do was slice.)
In closing, while it is true that I really should be praised for my clever way of getting Kiddo to eat veggies for breakfast, and it is a good thing that Hubby is more of a head-shaker than a conniption-thrower, let's still just keep this between us, mmmkay? (I know Kiddo won't rat me out - she knows who'll give her cake for breakfast!)
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Exclusive: The latest in parenting tips!
I have recently begun employing a new parenting method here in the Smith house. You haven't read about it in those helpful tomes by Drs. Spock or Spears, nor have you seen Matt and Meredith chatting about it on morning TV. Nope, this one is all mine, and you lucky few who read my blog are about to be let in on my little secret. You might want to grab a pen and pad to take notes, or you could just bookmark this post for future reference...
Let me give you some background. As you may know, either from reading my blog regularly or from reading my little "about me" blurb over yonder on the sidebar, I have a kid. She is five. (Or almost five and a half, as she has been reminding us for ages now. Technically, she'll be five and a half on the 26th of this month.) She just began kindergarten in September. I'm not sure if it is from being in school all day and riding the bus with older kids (all the way up to second grade!) or just a general thing about this age, but my GOODNESS has she been developing an Attitude, yes, with a capital A. This Attitude is manifesting itself in many ways - the hands-on-hips stance, complete with eye rolling and hair tossing. The exasperated tone with dramatic sighs. Impertinence. Sass and talking back. (Now, while I think a lot of this must come from hanging with her peers for seven hours a day, five days a week, I will cop to sometimes being a Less Than Perfect Mom and occasionally modeling some of those mannerisms - especially the exasperated tone.) The one that gets to me the worst, though, is the whiiiiiiiiiiiiiining. Nails-on-a-chalkboard, that is to me. (Not sure why I suddenly slipped into Yoda-speak, there. I'm not even a huge Star Wars fan - or rather: A huge Star Wars fan, I am not.) Anyhoo, the whining. The incessant whining. It has driven me to the very edge of the Cliffs of Insanity. Along with the whining comes a refusal to listen - not just the selective hearing that all children have, mind you, but a stubborn, mulish, utter refusal to stop the whiny, verbal diarrhea long enough to hear reason. This one-two combo is the quickest way to make me want to pack my bags, grab my passport and flee to a Caribbean Isle until Kiddo has grown up and gotten over herself.
I've tried many things in an attempt to curtail the whining. I've given automatic time-outs for whining. I've done the "I'm sorry, but I can't hear you when you talk in that tone" thing (which some of our friends have tried with much success with their younger child). I've done the flat-out ignoring any and all whining. Seasonally, I've gone so far as to threaten with the Big Guy in Red ("You know, Santa knows when you've been whining, and he doesn't bring presents to kids who whine...") I've even mimicked the tone and whined back - that actually worked for a brief spell, though it drove me almost as crazy to whine back as it did to hear Kiddo whine. It was like living in an early 80s SNL sketch, and not in a good way. I've even attempted to reason with her on the topic, trying to get her to see how her whining doesn't bring about positive results. (I know, I know, reason with a five year old? Hah!) No matter what I did in an attempt to STOP THE INSANITY, Kiddo persisted.
So, the other day, I was at my wits' end. (I don't have many wits about me to begin with, so I hate to reach the end of them.) Kiddo was whining on and on and on one afternoon, and nothing I said or did was able to end it. When she attached herself to my elbow and began to whine for the gazillionth time in a three hour span, I lost it. This is where my new parenting tip was born.
I stopped speaking English. I didn't bust out my rusty Spanish, rustier Italian or even rustiest of all Latin on her.
I meowed.
Yes, I began responding only in Cat. I meowed and I hissed and I meowed some more. Whatever Kiddo said to me, I replied in Cat.
And you know what? It worked!
Kiddo was shocked at first, then frustrated, then finally, amused and while she tried to be mad, she couldn't help but laugh. This snapped her straight out of the whining and bad attitude and turned her back into my pleasant, cheerful, little girl. Ahhhhhhh.
I've since learned that if I bust out the meowing, I can head off all but the worst Attitude Attacks and the godforsaken whining. Sometimes, a warning "prrrrow?" is all it takes. Yes, I will meow even in public. I really have grown utterly immune to the gawps, tsk-tskings and head-shakings of other people, as having a child with SPD leads one to either develop a very thick skin or simply never go out in public. Heck, I've done Opera Day in public, so a little meowing? No big deal!
So there you have it, my blogosphere friends. Heather's Parenting the Jellicle Way (patent pending). Feel free to try it in your own home. Hopefully, it will work as well for you as it has for me!
(And, as I'm referencing Cats, I am going to leave you with a Cats music video of one of my favorite Broadway actors, Terrence Mann, who originated the role of the Rum Tum Tugger on Broadway, way back in the early 80s.....)
Let me give you some background. As you may know, either from reading my blog regularly or from reading my little "about me" blurb over yonder on the sidebar, I have a kid. She is five. (Or almost five and a half, as she has been reminding us for ages now. Technically, she'll be five and a half on the 26th of this month.) She just began kindergarten in September. I'm not sure if it is from being in school all day and riding the bus with older kids (all the way up to second grade!) or just a general thing about this age, but my GOODNESS has she been developing an Attitude, yes, with a capital A. This Attitude is manifesting itself in many ways - the hands-on-hips stance, complete with eye rolling and hair tossing. The exasperated tone with dramatic sighs. Impertinence. Sass and talking back. (Now, while I think a lot of this must come from hanging with her peers for seven hours a day, five days a week, I will cop to sometimes being a Less Than Perfect Mom and occasionally modeling some of those mannerisms - especially the exasperated tone.) The one that gets to me the worst, though, is the whiiiiiiiiiiiiiining. Nails-on-a-chalkboard, that is to me. (Not sure why I suddenly slipped into Yoda-speak, there. I'm not even a huge Star Wars fan - or rather: A huge Star Wars fan, I am not.) Anyhoo, the whining. The incessant whining. It has driven me to the very edge of the Cliffs of Insanity. Along with the whining comes a refusal to listen - not just the selective hearing that all children have, mind you, but a stubborn, mulish, utter refusal to stop the whiny, verbal diarrhea long enough to hear reason. This one-two combo is the quickest way to make me want to pack my bags, grab my passport and flee to a Caribbean Isle until Kiddo has grown up and gotten over herself.
I've tried many things in an attempt to curtail the whining. I've given automatic time-outs for whining. I've done the "I'm sorry, but I can't hear you when you talk in that tone" thing (which some of our friends have tried with much success with their younger child). I've done the flat-out ignoring any and all whining. Seasonally, I've gone so far as to threaten with the Big Guy in Red ("You know, Santa knows when you've been whining, and he doesn't bring presents to kids who whine...") I've even mimicked the tone and whined back - that actually worked for a brief spell, though it drove me almost as crazy to whine back as it did to hear Kiddo whine. It was like living in an early 80s SNL sketch, and not in a good way. I've even attempted to reason with her on the topic, trying to get her to see how her whining doesn't bring about positive results. (I know, I know, reason with a five year old? Hah!) No matter what I did in an attempt to STOP THE INSANITY, Kiddo persisted.
So, the other day, I was at my wits' end. (I don't have many wits about me to begin with, so I hate to reach the end of them.) Kiddo was whining on and on and on one afternoon, and nothing I said or did was able to end it. When she attached herself to my elbow and began to whine for the gazillionth time in a three hour span, I lost it. This is where my new parenting tip was born.
I stopped speaking English. I didn't bust out my rusty Spanish, rustier Italian or even rustiest of all Latin on her.
I meowed.
Yes, I began responding only in Cat. I meowed and I hissed and I meowed some more. Whatever Kiddo said to me, I replied in Cat.
And you know what? It worked!
Kiddo was shocked at first, then frustrated, then finally, amused and while she tried to be mad, she couldn't help but laugh. This snapped her straight out of the whining and bad attitude and turned her back into my pleasant, cheerful, little girl. Ahhhhhhh.
I've since learned that if I bust out the meowing, I can head off all but the worst Attitude Attacks and the godforsaken whining. Sometimes, a warning "prrrrow?" is all it takes. Yes, I will meow even in public. I really have grown utterly immune to the gawps, tsk-tskings and head-shakings of other people, as having a child with SPD leads one to either develop a very thick skin or simply never go out in public. Heck, I've done Opera Day in public, so a little meowing? No big deal!
So there you have it, my blogosphere friends. Heather's Parenting the Jellicle Way (patent pending). Feel free to try it in your own home. Hopefully, it will work as well for you as it has for me!
(And, as I'm referencing Cats, I am going to leave you with a Cats music video of one of my favorite Broadway actors, Terrence Mann, who originated the role of the Rum Tum Tugger on Broadway, way back in the early 80s.....)
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Calendar girl
The following is a Bad Mommy confessional tale.......
Since I became a SAH mom, I've resorted to relying upon an old-school style wall calendar, hung prominently in the kitchen, to keep track of stuff. Back in my working days, I carried a Palm Pilot and felt as though I were missing an appendage without it, but somehow I broke free from my reliance upon my PDA once I began staying at home. Hubby and I have had something of a tradition over the years wherein we bought a desk calendar for the other person each year for Christmas. He used to get me various kinds of calendars - Jeopardy, Word of the Day, that sort of thing, whereas I always get him Dilbert calendars. Once I was at home, Hubby switched and started buying me a wall calendar instead. For the past few years, he got me one of those "Mom's Planning Calendar" kinds, with all the huge spaces for writing stuff in and stickers to mark certain days. Well, last year, without even discussing it, neither of us bought calendars for the other. I figured it would be no big deal and I'd either go back to using my PDA (I've upgraded from my ancient Palm to a hand-me-down HP PDA that Hubby passed on to me after he got his first Blackberry) or I could pick up a wall calendar sometime shortly after Christmas.
Well, next thing I know, it's early January and I was still without a wall calendar, and I was starting to freak out. My hand-me-down PDA just wasn't doing it for me (okay, so I now have gadget envy and want a crackberry of my very own, but so far, *sigh* I still have my coupla-years-old RAZR. I suppose I'd be equally happy with an iPhone, but they don't work with Verizon. *sigh* again.....) and I was starting to get desperate. I made a trip to the mall's seasonal calendar kiosk and picked up their last copy of a Mom's planner style calendar - not the same one that Hubby had given me each year, but it seemed like it would suit the purpose. Brought it home, opened it up and haaaated it. It was too long and also very narrow, column-wise, and too heavy for the "one thumbtack on the corkboard" hanging method I employ, so it kept crashing down behind the garbage and recycling cans. Grrrr. Take two - the following week, I bought a second wall calendar. It too didn't cut it - the week started with Monday instead of Sunday (really, who likes that format?!) and I kept getting confused. That was even more frustrating. Back I went to the mall the following week, except now it was almost February and the kiosk was closed up until the following holiday season. SHOOT. I wound up scouring the racks at Walmart in hopes of finding a calendar that would fit the bill. Finally, my eyes lighted upon a Far Side wall calendar. Perfect, I love The Far Side - growing up, I had a Far Side calendar every year! Also, it looked plenty large enough for writing stuff in the squares, it started on Sundays and it was only $5! Done and done. I brought it home, crowing over my triumph at finally finding a calendar to Hubby, and promptly hung it up on the wall.
There was just one, tiny problem. You see, this year's calendar isn't any regular old Far Side calendar. Nope, just my luck, this is this year's calendar:
Yeah, a little more dark, gruesome and violent than your average Far Side calendar. I wasn't really worried, though, since Kiddo rarely pays attention to such things.
Except Kiddo decided to pay very, very, VERY close attention to this particular such thing. Each month, she has gazed intently at the newly revealed, full color, gigantic comic panel, and each month, I have had to "explain" the panel to her.* (I wanted to scan in some of the pictures to illustrate my points, but the calendar is an odd size and much too large to fit on my scanner bed. Well, at least I won't be infringing on anyone's property this way!) Take, for example, the "Spider Mafia at Work" one, where a couple of cigar-chomping arachnids are lowering an unlucky fellow spider with tiny cement blocks on each of his eight feet over the side of a bridge. Yeah, that needed some quick repurposing, as did the month featuring "Scene from Dinner on Elm Street" in which a chicken pops out of a dog costume while the family is gathered around the table, chowing down on drumsticks, and says "No, I'm not your little dog Fifi! I'm the chicken you thought you fixed for dinner! Would you like to know where your little Fifi is? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" On that one, I said "Oh look, the chicken is playing a joke on the family, saying 'Surprise, I'm not your dog!' Oh hee hee, isn't that so SILLY?"
That's how I've tried to write them all off to her - "Oh, hee hee, isn't that so SILLY?" and though at times, she hasn't seemed completely convinced, she wants to be convinced and will agree with me that yes, it is silly and no, it isn't something to give her nightmares, really, after all. I mean, if Mommy says it isn't scary, then it isn't scary, right? All the five year old faith in parental explanations has been on the line anew each month this year.
Now, why didn't I just go out and get yet another calendar, you ask? Because (a) I'd already spent over thrice my annual calendar budget, (b) Hubby was getting fed up with the weekly calendar switches and (c) dagnabit, I like The Far Side! Round about May - the month that featured Dinner on Elm Street - I flipped ahead a couple of months and the upcoming cartoons didn't look too bad.
However, I didn't flip as far ahead as October. Whoops. Of course for the month that stars Halloween, there'd be an extra-creepy cartoon. This one features the Deaths at home, with some poor Shmoe knocking at their stoop, and Mr. Death saying via the caption "Dang, if it doesn't happen every time! ... We just sit down to relax and someone's knockin' at the door." I mean, that's pretty funny, I know. I chuckled as I turned the page earlier this week, but once again, Kiddo's eyes were drawn almost magnetically to the new picture as soon as she stumbled, not even fully awake, into the kitchen on the 1st and out came the dreaded words... "Mommy, what does THAT one say?" I launched into a retelling along the lines of "Oh isn't this one so SILLY? The people wearing their Halloween costumes are INSIDE the house and the person trick-or-treating has no costume on - see, they're backwards, oh HA HA HA HA HA!" Kiddo wasn't really sure she was buying this one. I "explained" it again, getting her in on it by asking her "now who wears the costumes on Halloween? The trick-or-treaters, right? And who doesn't dress up? The people who stay home and hand out the candy, right? So, this is backwards and that's why it is funny!" Mmm-hmmm, that's why, really, I mean it! It doesn't help much that the Deaths are drawn in a scary sort of way, with clawlike hands and Mr. Death with a big, toothy mouth showing underneath his glowing eyes peering out from the traditional black hood. (At least Mrs. Death has cute cat-eye glasses and lipstick underneath her hood!) Kiddo is dubious, but going with it, though I catch her standing in front of the calendar and saying "those sure are SCARY Halloween costumes those people have on!" in an uncertain sort of way.
I'm lucky that Kiddo is just learning how to read, so I can still make things up without getting caught. I'm not completely thrilled with the "Lie a Month From Mommy" aspect of this, and further, I fear I'm permanently warping her sense of humor. (Though, she does have a pretty finely honed sense of humor already - honed, that is, at the stone of Mommy's Weirdness, so I guess she's already doomed...) For what it's worth (which may be hundreds of dollars of therapy bills, I know), Kiddo doesn't seem to be obsessing over the cartoons nor does she ever have any bad dreams from them - or at all, actually, and I only have two months left for this calendar, and then we're through. I think it will be a few more years before I get another Far Side calendar. For next year, I'm thinking kittens or puppies or butterflies would be good. Nice and safe and not requiring much improvisation. Maybe I'll go crazy and get a calendar with kittens AND puppies... Unless Hubby wants to spare us both the grief and just get me a Blackberry or iPhone of my very own for Christmas this year!
* By the by, each Sunday, Kiddo pores over the comics section of the newspaper and asks us to read her the comics. Let me tell you, explaining the humor of, say, Doonesbury or Dilbert or Non Sequitor just isn't that easy - they don't translate well to the five year old audience. I might as well further confess that Hubby and I both will invent new story lines for the Sunday comics upon occasion, too. The only strips that ever seem consistently safe are good, old Garfield, Peanuts and Ziggy, though Kiddo often wants to hear Jump Start, Hi and Lois and For Better Or Worse, I think because they have kids in them. Let me just go on the record as saying nothing is more painful than "reading" Cathy or Shoe to your five year old and having to explain why it theoretically is humorous............
Since I became a SAH mom, I've resorted to relying upon an old-school style wall calendar, hung prominently in the kitchen, to keep track of stuff. Back in my working days, I carried a Palm Pilot and felt as though I were missing an appendage without it, but somehow I broke free from my reliance upon my PDA once I began staying at home. Hubby and I have had something of a tradition over the years wherein we bought a desk calendar for the other person each year for Christmas. He used to get me various kinds of calendars - Jeopardy, Word of the Day, that sort of thing, whereas I always get him Dilbert calendars. Once I was at home, Hubby switched and started buying me a wall calendar instead. For the past few years, he got me one of those "Mom's Planning Calendar" kinds, with all the huge spaces for writing stuff in and stickers to mark certain days. Well, last year, without even discussing it, neither of us bought calendars for the other. I figured it would be no big deal and I'd either go back to using my PDA (I've upgraded from my ancient Palm to a hand-me-down HP PDA that Hubby passed on to me after he got his first Blackberry) or I could pick up a wall calendar sometime shortly after Christmas.
Well, next thing I know, it's early January and I was still without a wall calendar, and I was starting to freak out. My hand-me-down PDA just wasn't doing it for me (okay, so I now have gadget envy and want a crackberry of my very own, but so far, *sigh* I still have my coupla-years-old RAZR. I suppose I'd be equally happy with an iPhone, but they don't work with Verizon. *sigh* again.....) and I was starting to get desperate. I made a trip to the mall's seasonal calendar kiosk and picked up their last copy of a Mom's planner style calendar - not the same one that Hubby had given me each year, but it seemed like it would suit the purpose. Brought it home, opened it up and haaaated it. It was too long and also very narrow, column-wise, and too heavy for the "one thumbtack on the corkboard" hanging method I employ, so it kept crashing down behind the garbage and recycling cans. Grrrr. Take two - the following week, I bought a second wall calendar. It too didn't cut it - the week started with Monday instead of Sunday (really, who likes that format?!) and I kept getting confused. That was even more frustrating. Back I went to the mall the following week, except now it was almost February and the kiosk was closed up until the following holiday season. SHOOT. I wound up scouring the racks at Walmart in hopes of finding a calendar that would fit the bill. Finally, my eyes lighted upon a Far Side wall calendar. Perfect, I love The Far Side - growing up, I had a Far Side calendar every year! Also, it looked plenty large enough for writing stuff in the squares, it started on Sundays and it was only $5! Done and done. I brought it home, crowing over my triumph at finally finding a calendar to Hubby, and promptly hung it up on the wall.
There was just one, tiny problem. You see, this year's calendar isn't any regular old Far Side calendar. Nope, just my luck, this is this year's calendar:
Yeah, a little more dark, gruesome and violent than your average Far Side calendar. I wasn't really worried, though, since Kiddo rarely pays attention to such things.
Except Kiddo decided to pay very, very, VERY close attention to this particular such thing. Each month, she has gazed intently at the newly revealed, full color, gigantic comic panel, and each month, I have had to "explain" the panel to her.* (I wanted to scan in some of the pictures to illustrate my points, but the calendar is an odd size and much too large to fit on my scanner bed. Well, at least I won't be infringing on anyone's property this way!) Take, for example, the "Spider Mafia at Work" one, where a couple of cigar-chomping arachnids are lowering an unlucky fellow spider with tiny cement blocks on each of his eight feet over the side of a bridge. Yeah, that needed some quick repurposing, as did the month featuring "Scene from Dinner on Elm Street" in which a chicken pops out of a dog costume while the family is gathered around the table, chowing down on drumsticks, and says "No, I'm not your little dog Fifi! I'm the chicken you thought you fixed for dinner! Would you like to know where your little Fifi is? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" On that one, I said "Oh look, the chicken is playing a joke on the family, saying 'Surprise, I'm not your dog!' Oh hee hee, isn't that so SILLY?"
That's how I've tried to write them all off to her - "Oh, hee hee, isn't that so SILLY?" and though at times, she hasn't seemed completely convinced, she wants to be convinced and will agree with me that yes, it is silly and no, it isn't something to give her nightmares, really, after all. I mean, if Mommy says it isn't scary, then it isn't scary, right? All the five year old faith in parental explanations has been on the line anew each month this year.
Now, why didn't I just go out and get yet another calendar, you ask? Because (a) I'd already spent over thrice my annual calendar budget, (b) Hubby was getting fed up with the weekly calendar switches and (c) dagnabit, I like The Far Side! Round about May - the month that featured Dinner on Elm Street - I flipped ahead a couple of months and the upcoming cartoons didn't look too bad.
However, I didn't flip as far ahead as October. Whoops. Of course for the month that stars Halloween, there'd be an extra-creepy cartoon. This one features the Deaths at home, with some poor Shmoe knocking at their stoop, and Mr. Death saying via the caption "Dang, if it doesn't happen every time! ... We just sit down to relax and someone's knockin' at the door." I mean, that's pretty funny, I know. I chuckled as I turned the page earlier this week, but once again, Kiddo's eyes were drawn almost magnetically to the new picture as soon as she stumbled, not even fully awake, into the kitchen on the 1st and out came the dreaded words... "Mommy, what does THAT one say?" I launched into a retelling along the lines of "Oh isn't this one so SILLY? The people wearing their Halloween costumes are INSIDE the house and the person trick-or-treating has no costume on - see, they're backwards, oh HA HA HA HA HA!" Kiddo wasn't really sure she was buying this one. I "explained" it again, getting her in on it by asking her "now who wears the costumes on Halloween? The trick-or-treaters, right? And who doesn't dress up? The people who stay home and hand out the candy, right? So, this is backwards and that's why it is funny!" Mmm-hmmm, that's why, really, I mean it! It doesn't help much that the Deaths are drawn in a scary sort of way, with clawlike hands and Mr. Death with a big, toothy mouth showing underneath his glowing eyes peering out from the traditional black hood. (At least Mrs. Death has cute cat-eye glasses and lipstick underneath her hood!) Kiddo is dubious, but going with it, though I catch her standing in front of the calendar and saying "those sure are SCARY Halloween costumes those people have on!" in an uncertain sort of way.
I'm lucky that Kiddo is just learning how to read, so I can still make things up without getting caught. I'm not completely thrilled with the "Lie a Month From Mommy" aspect of this, and further, I fear I'm permanently warping her sense of humor. (Though, she does have a pretty finely honed sense of humor already - honed, that is, at the stone of Mommy's Weirdness, so I guess she's already doomed...) For what it's worth (which may be hundreds of dollars of therapy bills, I know), Kiddo doesn't seem to be obsessing over the cartoons nor does she ever have any bad dreams from them - or at all, actually, and I only have two months left for this calendar, and then we're through. I think it will be a few more years before I get another Far Side calendar. For next year, I'm thinking kittens or puppies or butterflies would be good. Nice and safe and not requiring much improvisation. Maybe I'll go crazy and get a calendar with kittens AND puppies... Unless Hubby wants to spare us both the grief and just get me a Blackberry or iPhone of my very own for Christmas this year!
* By the by, each Sunday, Kiddo pores over the comics section of the newspaper and asks us to read her the comics. Let me tell you, explaining the humor of, say, Doonesbury or Dilbert or Non Sequitor just isn't that easy - they don't translate well to the five year old audience. I might as well further confess that Hubby and I both will invent new story lines for the Sunday comics upon occasion, too. The only strips that ever seem consistently safe are good, old Garfield, Peanuts and Ziggy, though Kiddo often wants to hear Jump Start, Hi and Lois and For Better Or Worse, I think because they have kids in them. Let me just go on the record as saying nothing is more painful than "reading" Cathy or Shoe to your five year old and having to explain why it theoretically is humorous............
Monday, September 8, 2008
Oh no, she didn't!
Oh yes, I did. I just walked Kiddo the bus stop, four houses up at the corner of our street, in my jammies. Granted, I'm not decked out in Victoria's Secret lingerie, just a t-shirt and pajama pants, and I had my barn coat on over them, plus I'd brushed my teeth and hair and washed my face. (I also put clogs on as the sidewalk is a wee bit too landmined with goose poop to traipse about barefoot safely.) So, it wasn't exactly "just rolled out of bed" (besides which, I've been up since just about 6), but it wasn't "ready to hop into the car and head out into the world" either.
Last year, when I was driving Kiddo to preschool every day, I always showered and dressed in actual clothes before heading out. Granted, sometimes they were just my gym clothes, but it wasn't like I was schlepping to preschool sans bra or toothpaste. There were other moms who frequently dropped their kids off while still in a jammified state, and I'll confess that I felt a wee bit superior upon occasion. But now, I'd venture that the school bus stop is different, especially if one is returning to one's home immediately thereafter and it is before 8:30 in the morning besides. Also, in not too many more weeks, we'll have to bundle up and no one will be able to tell if I have clothes or jammies on anyhow! (I did get called on my jammies by the other mom at the bus stop today. She said that she was jealous, actually...)
The main reason I wasn't so up-and-at-'em this morning was because I'm fighting a losing battle with a nasty head cold. All I wanted to do today was stay in bed, perhaps with an eye open to watch Matt and Meredith, but certainly not doing anything more productive. Obviously, I couldn't have my wish, what with the kiddo having to be roused, fed, glasses washed and hair done, supervised while dressing and toothbrushing, and making sure that she had everything she needed for school. She came home on Friday without her lunchbag, so by day 2 we already had made one emergency trip back over to school to collect a left-behind item. Couldn't have that happen on my watch, now could I? So, I was up but not necessarily so very at 'em, and yes, I did wear my jammies to the bus stop. A precedent was set, the slippery slope and all that, and I have a feeling that until I'm once more gainfully employed and needing to be on my way after the bus arrives, there will be many more mornings when my jammies strut the catwalk - erm, I mean sidewalk - to the corner.
I figure as long as I'm not still in my pajamas at 3 when the bus drops her off, I'm doing all right...
(PS - Still loving the bulbous bouffant from my previous post. It cracks me up every time. Hee! Oh and yes, they are Canadian, for those of you who wondered, eh...)
Last year, when I was driving Kiddo to preschool every day, I always showered and dressed in actual clothes before heading out. Granted, sometimes they were just my gym clothes, but it wasn't like I was schlepping to preschool sans bra or toothpaste. There were other moms who frequently dropped their kids off while still in a jammified state, and I'll confess that I felt a wee bit superior upon occasion. But now, I'd venture that the school bus stop is different, especially if one is returning to one's home immediately thereafter and it is before 8:30 in the morning besides. Also, in not too many more weeks, we'll have to bundle up and no one will be able to tell if I have clothes or jammies on anyhow! (I did get called on my jammies by the other mom at the bus stop today. She said that she was jealous, actually...)
The main reason I wasn't so up-and-at-'em this morning was because I'm fighting a losing battle with a nasty head cold. All I wanted to do today was stay in bed, perhaps with an eye open to watch Matt and Meredith, but certainly not doing anything more productive. Obviously, I couldn't have my wish, what with the kiddo having to be roused, fed, glasses washed and hair done, supervised while dressing and toothbrushing, and making sure that she had everything she needed for school. She came home on Friday without her lunchbag, so by day 2 we already had made one emergency trip back over to school to collect a left-behind item. Couldn't have that happen on my watch, now could I? So, I was up but not necessarily so very at 'em, and yes, I did wear my jammies to the bus stop. A precedent was set, the slippery slope and all that, and I have a feeling that until I'm once more gainfully employed and needing to be on my way after the bus arrives, there will be many more mornings when my jammies strut the catwalk - erm, I mean sidewalk - to the corner.
I figure as long as I'm not still in my pajamas at 3 when the bus drops her off, I'm doing all right...
(PS - Still loving the bulbous bouffant from my previous post. It cracks me up every time. Hee! Oh and yes, they are Canadian, for those of you who wondered, eh...)
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Wicked
I just want to be sure everybody knows - I am THE MOST WICKED MOMMY, EVER. Yep, the wickedest. That title is alllllll mine, so back off. My five year old told me so via some very loud screams just now, as I was trying to rinse the shampoo out of her hair in the shower. (Clearly, I must be wicked for not wanting her to climb out of the shower all covered in suds. Sheesh!)
Kiddo's come up with some good barbs and insults for me over the years. Her standby is "Mean Mommy" but there are others, oh, are there others. For example, earlier this week, she called me a "crabby nut" in a fit of pique. (And yes, I did have PMS and probably was a crabby nut at the time, but that didn't stop me from sending her immediately into time out. Apparently I have a reputation to uphold, dontcha know.) I've also been naughty and unkind, but this was the first time I've been wicked. The wickedest, even.
Methinks the girl is watching a few too many Disney princess movies......
I wonder which Wicked One I most resemble, in her mind?
Maleficient?
Naaaah, I may be pasty, but I'm not green. Also not quite that tall or skinny, alas. (Though I do seem to have a way with birds, given the constantly empty state of the bird feeders at our house.) Besides, we haven't let her watch Sleeping Beauty yet, so she wouldn't have the reference.
How about Cruella?
Hmmm, no, I don't think so. I don't smoke and I don't wear fur, plus I love animals. Also, again, neither tall nor skinny. (She does look to wear a large shoe, though, so in that we'd match.)
Medusa, from The Rescuers (which the kiddo just watched a week or two ago)?
Possibly, though I tend to wear less makeup and rarely wear earrings these days. Oh, but I am fairly certain that there have been moments while driving that I look very much like this:
I'm gonna have to go with Ursula, I think. She is my Wicked Alter Ego. Definitely.
Okay, I'm not purple and my hair doesn't have quite that much white in it (yet, though the kiddo is doing her best to get it there, it seems...). And I'm a bit envious of all her limbs, because there are definitely times when an extra arm or six would come in mighty handy. But from the boobs (not to mention the rest of her curves) to the sass to the big volume both in hair and voice, yep, I think I can definitely channel Madame Sea Witch when I'm being wicked.
The kiddo (aka the Poor, Unfortunate Soul) eventually relented this evening and apologized for calling me wicked. This may've been induced partially by me informing her that Wicked Mommies don't read bedtime stories or sing lullabies. (When I was singing her a lullaby a short while later, she told me I sound a lot more like Ariel than Ursula. Awwwwww.) I'm sure there will be many more times when Kiddo thinks I'm wicked (or worse) in the future. Guess I'll have to get myself some evil animal sidekicks (think Swimmy could be converted? She already swims on the dark side...) and a sassy, magical shell necklace so I'm prepared...
Kiddo's come up with some good barbs and insults for me over the years. Her standby is "Mean Mommy" but there are others, oh, are there others. For example, earlier this week, she called me a "crabby nut" in a fit of pique. (And yes, I did have PMS and probably was a crabby nut at the time, but that didn't stop me from sending her immediately into time out. Apparently I have a reputation to uphold, dontcha know.) I've also been naughty and unkind, but this was the first time I've been wicked. The wickedest, even.
Methinks the girl is watching a few too many Disney princess movies......
I wonder which Wicked One I most resemble, in her mind?
Maleficient?
Naaaah, I may be pasty, but I'm not green. Also not quite that tall or skinny, alas. (Though I do seem to have a way with birds, given the constantly empty state of the bird feeders at our house.) Besides, we haven't let her watch Sleeping Beauty yet, so she wouldn't have the reference.
How about Cruella?
Hmmm, no, I don't think so. I don't smoke and I don't wear fur, plus I love animals. Also, again, neither tall nor skinny. (She does look to wear a large shoe, though, so in that we'd match.)
Medusa, from The Rescuers (which the kiddo just watched a week or two ago)?
Possibly, though I tend to wear less makeup and rarely wear earrings these days. Oh, but I am fairly certain that there have been moments while driving that I look very much like this:
I'm gonna have to go with Ursula, I think. She is my Wicked Alter Ego. Definitely.
Okay, I'm not purple and my hair doesn't have quite that much white in it (yet, though the kiddo is doing her best to get it there, it seems...). And I'm a bit envious of all her limbs, because there are definitely times when an extra arm or six would come in mighty handy. But from the boobs (not to mention the rest of her curves) to the sass to the big volume both in hair and voice, yep, I think I can definitely channel Madame Sea Witch when I'm being wicked.
The kiddo (aka the Poor, Unfortunate Soul) eventually relented this evening and apologized for calling me wicked. This may've been induced partially by me informing her that Wicked Mommies don't read bedtime stories or sing lullabies. (When I was singing her a lullaby a short while later, she told me I sound a lot more like Ariel than Ursula. Awwwwww.) I'm sure there will be many more times when Kiddo thinks I'm wicked (or worse) in the future. Guess I'll have to get myself some evil animal sidekicks (think Swimmy could be converted? She already swims on the dark side...) and a sassy, magical shell necklace so I'm prepared...
Monday, July 7, 2008
Language fit for a princess
Why yes, that is a Disney Princess "tattoo" style bandage on my index finger, why do you ask? It was the closest bandage handy at the time, so there you go. What's that? They're all blushing? I have no idea what could've caused the girls to blush. It certainly couldn't have been the words I uttered when I sliced the side of my finger open on a sharp piece of plastic packaging in the bathroom this morning, because you know I never, ever swear.
What? You heard I dropped the F bomb as I grabbed some TP to staunch the stream of blood? Well... Who ratted me out? I bet it was Cinderella. She's such a goody-goody. Ariel and Belle, they have my back. Jasmine too. (Sleeping Beauty I'm not too sure about, because we haven't watched that one in our house yet - the dragon fight scene makes it off limits for now. So, she might be in cahoots with Cindy - you know how those blonde babes are...)
Well, in my defense, if I did let loose with a curse or two, the kiddo wasn't anywhere remotely within earshot and the cat, who was, doesn't give a flying fig about language. And, I only ever swear when I've caused myself great injury and pain. The rest of the time I've developed a highly specialized vocabulary, thanks to the "little pitcher with big ears" that is usually orbiting within 3 feet of me. The kiddo thinks that when one is cut off in traffic, for example, the appropriate exclamation is "Pickle juice!" Alternatively, one might shout (always with gusto) "CHEESE AND TOAST!" or "ZAMBONI!" I've even eliminated the words "crap" and "stupid" from my vocabulary, thanks to hearing the kiddo repeating after Mommy, at the tender age of 18 months, "crap crap crappity crap!"
I am proud to say the kiddo has never heard either Hubby or me use an actual expletive. Those princesses presently wrapped around my finger, however, well, they heard a few, and if I am going to swear, I'm gonna swear big. Yeah, of course Cinderella was telling the truth about that - like I said, she's a goody-two-shoes. She oughta just be glad it was my index finger that I sliced, not its next-door neighbor... *pbbbbbbbt*
What? You heard I dropped the F bomb as I grabbed some TP to staunch the stream of blood? Well... Who ratted me out? I bet it was Cinderella. She's such a goody-goody. Ariel and Belle, they have my back. Jasmine too. (Sleeping Beauty I'm not too sure about, because we haven't watched that one in our house yet - the dragon fight scene makes it off limits for now. So, she might be in cahoots with Cindy - you know how those blonde babes are...)
Well, in my defense, if I did let loose with a curse or two, the kiddo wasn't anywhere remotely within earshot and the cat, who was, doesn't give a flying fig about language. And, I only ever swear when I've caused myself great injury and pain. The rest of the time I've developed a highly specialized vocabulary, thanks to the "little pitcher with big ears" that is usually orbiting within 3 feet of me. The kiddo thinks that when one is cut off in traffic, for example, the appropriate exclamation is "Pickle juice!" Alternatively, one might shout (always with gusto) "CHEESE AND TOAST!" or "ZAMBONI!" I've even eliminated the words "crap" and "stupid" from my vocabulary, thanks to hearing the kiddo repeating after Mommy, at the tender age of 18 months, "crap crap crappity crap!"
I am proud to say the kiddo has never heard either Hubby or me use an actual expletive. Those princesses presently wrapped around my finger, however, well, they heard a few, and if I am going to swear, I'm gonna swear big. Yeah, of course Cinderella was telling the truth about that - like I said, she's a goody-two-shoes. She oughta just be glad it was my index finger that I sliced, not its next-door neighbor... *pbbbbbbbt*
Monday, June 16, 2008
Channeling my inner 5 year old (and not in a good way)
The kiddo decided that today was the day she was going to spill her beverage not once, but twice. First, it was a large cup of lemonade that went all over the living room carpet. This wound up requiring me to lug the cumbersome and heavy steam cleaner up the basement stairs and spend a good chunk of my afternoon cleaning the carpet, which included moving furniture and area rugs, vacuuming, spot cleaning and steam cleaning, then taking apart the steam cleaner to empty out the various chambers of their various liquids, reassembling it and lugging it back down to the basement. Needless to say, this was not on my list of things to do this afternoon and didn't leave me feeling like sunshine and roses.
So, when the kiddo, who'd promised tearfully that she'd be so much more careful and not spill her drink again as I knelt on the carpet sopping up the lemonade with paper towels, went ahead and spilled a mostly full cup of milk with Ovaltine in it at dinner, I lost it. I whipped around at the sound of the cup hitting the floor (thankfully this spill hit the linoleum and not anything carpeted or upholstered) and instantly, I was five again. Five in a really bad mood. I actually stamped my foot on the floor as I snapped "AGAIN? You spilled your drink AGAIN?!?" The kiddo's tears had started pretty much at the same time that her cup was arcing toward the floor, and she was obviously quite remorseful and extremely apologetic. Did I, the 36 year old who is known to be a klutz myself, calmly accept her apology, clean up the mess and move on? Nope, the foot stamping was just the beginning of my five year old-esque hissy fit. Opting for the dramatic route instead of the raising my voice and yelling route, I ordered the kiddo to stay in her chair (she was about to step down right into the Ovaltine lake beneath her) and with much sighing and rolling of eyes, I proceeded to mop it up. Oh, and I did some muttering under my breath, too, just for good measure. Things like "I canNOT beLIEVE that you spilled TWICE in one DAY. How MANY times do I have to REMIND you to be more CAREFUL? Do you need a baby sippy cup again? Aren't you a BIG girl?" All while she sat there, miserable and crying, forced to watch my entire tantrum.
Now, let's just run down the list of my oh-so-spectacular behaviors:
- foot stamping
- dramatic sighing/eye rolling
- muttering to myself
- ignoring the person who was speaking to me
Yep, all things that the kiddo does when SHE is upset with ME. Perfectly understandable, given that she is five. (And apparently didn't just develop all these techniques out of thin air - I hang my head in shame.) For me, however? Yeah, not too proud of the way I acted. I thought I'd left that obnoxious kid who honed her dramatics on her little sisters behind decades ago. Guess not.
For what it is worth, I did calm down shortly thereafter and had a talk with the kiddo, in which I apologized for my behavior. She said that she is going to try really hard tomorrow not to spill anything. On my part, I'm going to try to behave like the adult in the situation, since theoretically, that's what I am. We'll see how we do.
I hate days like this. Bad Mommy. Sigh.
So, when the kiddo, who'd promised tearfully that she'd be so much more careful and not spill her drink again as I knelt on the carpet sopping up the lemonade with paper towels, went ahead and spilled a mostly full cup of milk with Ovaltine in it at dinner, I lost it. I whipped around at the sound of the cup hitting the floor (thankfully this spill hit the linoleum and not anything carpeted or upholstered) and instantly, I was five again. Five in a really bad mood. I actually stamped my foot on the floor as I snapped "AGAIN? You spilled your drink AGAIN?!?" The kiddo's tears had started pretty much at the same time that her cup was arcing toward the floor, and she was obviously quite remorseful and extremely apologetic. Did I, the 36 year old who is known to be a klutz myself, calmly accept her apology, clean up the mess and move on? Nope, the foot stamping was just the beginning of my five year old-esque hissy fit. Opting for the dramatic route instead of the raising my voice and yelling route, I ordered the kiddo to stay in her chair (she was about to step down right into the Ovaltine lake beneath her) and with much sighing and rolling of eyes, I proceeded to mop it up. Oh, and I did some muttering under my breath, too, just for good measure. Things like "I canNOT beLIEVE that you spilled TWICE in one DAY. How MANY times do I have to REMIND you to be more CAREFUL? Do you need a baby sippy cup again? Aren't you a BIG girl?" All while she sat there, miserable and crying, forced to watch my entire tantrum.
Now, let's just run down the list of my oh-so-spectacular behaviors:
- foot stamping
- dramatic sighing/eye rolling
- muttering to myself
- ignoring the person who was speaking to me
Yep, all things that the kiddo does when SHE is upset with ME. Perfectly understandable, given that she is five. (And apparently didn't just develop all these techniques out of thin air - I hang my head in shame.) For me, however? Yeah, not too proud of the way I acted. I thought I'd left that obnoxious kid who honed her dramatics on her little sisters behind decades ago. Guess not.
For what it is worth, I did calm down shortly thereafter and had a talk with the kiddo, in which I apologized for my behavior. She said that she is going to try really hard tomorrow not to spill anything. On my part, I'm going to try to behave like the adult in the situation, since theoretically, that's what I am. We'll see how we do.
I hate days like this. Bad Mommy. Sigh.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I? Am an eeeediot, with a capital EEEEEE.
Seriously, I'm losing whatever few remaining marbles I once had rolling about the vast cavern of my noggin...
The latest YMCA session brochure came in the mail a few weeks ago. We've been planning to sign the kiddo up for swimming lessons again for the summer, so I figured I'd start with the Spring II session that goes through June as well as the June-August summer session. (The kiddo is seriously part fish, and has adored swimming lessons since we first started taking her, back when she was two and a mere "Shrimp-Kipper" in the pool with Mommy or Daddy. At the end of last summer, she passed the test to move up from "Pike" to "Eel" which is when the kids are in the deep end of the big, cold pool, instead of in the shallow, warm-water instructional pool. The Big Time! Oh, and also thankfully well beyond the "parent in the pool" level as well, woot woot!) I procrastinated, as is my style, on doing the registration (which could be done many ways - online, over the phone, by mail.....) until the other day when I was at the Y to work out and therefore had to be at the front desk anyway to check in, so I finally got around to it, since after all classes started for the new session this week. Yes, I patted myself heartily on the back for finally getting her registered on Monday for the class starting this afternoon. Talked up the whole swimming lesson thing to the kiddo all week, getting her even MORE psyched than she already was about the recommencement of swimming for the season. Today was an agonizing trial of patience for her, since school lets out at 11:30 but swimming doesn't start until 4. I tried to fill the time up with various tasks and errands that had to be done anyhow, thinking it would help time pass - things that she usually enjoys, even, like the post office and the drive-thru teller lane at the bank (y'know, where the cannister shoooooops up the tube and into the little banking outpost office like magic...). She got progressively more grumpy that it wasn't yet time for swimming with every passing millisecond. It was on the verge of getting ugly. She had her (brand new, chosen by the kiddo herself from the Land's End catalog and delivered to her by the UPS dude last week) bathing suit on by 2:30 and everything.
FINALLY it was time to head over to the Y. She was literally BOUNCING with glee at the impending swimming lesson - a bundle of pure excitement and joy. She didn't even complain about the pre-pool shower (which in a few weeks I'm sure will revert to its previous PITA status and become once again the thing I try to avoid if the lifeguards aren't paying attention) and was sitting poolside with the other kids with a few minutes to spare 'til 4pm.
I say hello (being the "talk to anyone" sort that I am) to the other mothers who are sitting on the bench opposite from where the kids are sitting, and catch an odd look or two in response. Well, I'd be lying if I said that catching odd looks from folks was an unusual occurrence for me - alas, it isn't. I usually chalk up this particular level of look as a "wow, this total stranger sure is chatty" type and don't really give it another thought. (As opposed to a serious Hairy Eyeball look, which is just one reason why another of my things is a total phobia of being out in public with my fly inadvertently open, and why I therefore typically safety-pin my zippers to the back of the button placket on any pants/jeans/shorts I am wearing. Also why I will never eat Oreos in public - they are the one food that invariably encrusts itself between all my teeth in a weird, chocolate grillz sorta way that makes me therefore horribly self-conscious about eating them outside the privacy of my own home/minivan, where floss and/or toothbrushes are handy. But I digress...) I wandered back over to where the kiddo was sitting poolside as the teachers swam up. I'd only intended to introduce the kiddo and explain that she was a brand-new Eel who hadn't taken lessons since the end of last summer, and as such might be a bit rusty on certain things, but as I was launching into this little spiel, I noticed I was getting the same Odd Look from the teacher.
Hmmm. This was a bit puzzling, I mean, after all, she's the teacher, shouldn't she be expecting my officially-registered child? Doesn't she have the list somewhere with the kiddo's name thereon?
Well. Turns out that the class that the kiddo is in starts NEXT week. Today was the final class of the session that's been going on for the past two months.
Damn. I am an eeeeeeediot. I must've looked at the YMCA brochure at least a dozen times in the past few weeks, and I'm telling you that I was absolutely positive it said that this session was starting this week - the 21st. Nope.
The panic that filled my heart must've been showing on my face at this point, because all I was thinking was "Oh holy heck, now I've got to pull the kiddo away from the pool while the other kids hop in the water, strip her of her bubble and haul her out of here and that is no going to be pretty AT ALL" because the oh-so-kind teacher then went on to say "But she can stay for today, that's fine."
Bless that woman. She saved me from what would've been the Meltdown to End All Meltdowns. I made a thousand apologies to her at the end of class, and she graciously said that she totally understood where I could've gotten confused, since normally the sessions are timed with the school calendars, and as Spring Break was last week, it was eminently sensible for one to assume the new session began this week, but for some reason the sessions didn't match up with the calendar just this one time.
Eminently sensible for one who didn't see the lime-green lettering on the brochure on one's kitchen counter that reads "SPRING SESSION II: APRIL 28" across the front in 36 point font, that is...
So, my latest Bad Mommy Moment was averted thanks only to the kind-heartedness of the YMCA swim instructor. The kiddo went on to get right back in the groove and was happily swimming laps (in the big pool!) and jumping in off the side in no time. I think I may bring her flowers next week...
The latest YMCA session brochure came in the mail a few weeks ago. We've been planning to sign the kiddo up for swimming lessons again for the summer, so I figured I'd start with the Spring II session that goes through June as well as the June-August summer session. (The kiddo is seriously part fish, and has adored swimming lessons since we first started taking her, back when she was two and a mere "Shrimp-Kipper" in the pool with Mommy or Daddy. At the end of last summer, she passed the test to move up from "Pike" to "Eel" which is when the kids are in the deep end of the big, cold pool, instead of in the shallow, warm-water instructional pool. The Big Time! Oh, and also thankfully well beyond the "parent in the pool" level as well, woot woot!) I procrastinated, as is my style, on doing the registration (which could be done many ways - online, over the phone, by mail.....) until the other day when I was at the Y to work out and therefore had to be at the front desk anyway to check in, so I finally got around to it, since after all classes started for the new session this week. Yes, I patted myself heartily on the back for finally getting her registered on Monday for the class starting this afternoon. Talked up the whole swimming lesson thing to the kiddo all week, getting her even MORE psyched than she already was about the recommencement of swimming for the season. Today was an agonizing trial of patience for her, since school lets out at 11:30 but swimming doesn't start until 4. I tried to fill the time up with various tasks and errands that had to be done anyhow, thinking it would help time pass - things that she usually enjoys, even, like the post office and the drive-thru teller lane at the bank (y'know, where the cannister shoooooops up the tube and into the little banking outpost office like magic...). She got progressively more grumpy that it wasn't yet time for swimming with every passing millisecond. It was on the verge of getting ugly. She had her (brand new, chosen by the kiddo herself from the Land's End catalog and delivered to her by the UPS dude last week) bathing suit on by 2:30 and everything.
FINALLY it was time to head over to the Y. She was literally BOUNCING with glee at the impending swimming lesson - a bundle of pure excitement and joy. She didn't even complain about the pre-pool shower (which in a few weeks I'm sure will revert to its previous PITA status and become once again the thing I try to avoid if the lifeguards aren't paying attention) and was sitting poolside with the other kids with a few minutes to spare 'til 4pm.
I say hello (being the "talk to anyone" sort that I am) to the other mothers who are sitting on the bench opposite from where the kids are sitting, and catch an odd look or two in response. Well, I'd be lying if I said that catching odd looks from folks was an unusual occurrence for me - alas, it isn't. I usually chalk up this particular level of look as a "wow, this total stranger sure is chatty" type and don't really give it another thought. (As opposed to a serious Hairy Eyeball look, which is just one reason why another of my things is a total phobia of being out in public with my fly inadvertently open, and why I therefore typically safety-pin my zippers to the back of the button placket on any pants/jeans/shorts I am wearing. Also why I will never eat Oreos in public - they are the one food that invariably encrusts itself between all my teeth in a weird, chocolate grillz sorta way that makes me therefore horribly self-conscious about eating them outside the privacy of my own home/minivan, where floss and/or toothbrushes are handy. But I digress...) I wandered back over to where the kiddo was sitting poolside as the teachers swam up. I'd only intended to introduce the kiddo and explain that she was a brand-new Eel who hadn't taken lessons since the end of last summer, and as such might be a bit rusty on certain things, but as I was launching into this little spiel, I noticed I was getting the same Odd Look from the teacher.
Hmmm. This was a bit puzzling, I mean, after all, she's the teacher, shouldn't she be expecting my officially-registered child? Doesn't she have the list somewhere with the kiddo's name thereon?
Well. Turns out that the class that the kiddo is in starts NEXT week. Today was the final class of the session that's been going on for the past two months.
Damn. I am an eeeeeeediot. I must've looked at the YMCA brochure at least a dozen times in the past few weeks, and I'm telling you that I was absolutely positive it said that this session was starting this week - the 21st. Nope.
The panic that filled my heart must've been showing on my face at this point, because all I was thinking was "Oh holy heck, now I've got to pull the kiddo away from the pool while the other kids hop in the water, strip her of her bubble and haul her out of here and that is no going to be pretty AT ALL" because the oh-so-kind teacher then went on to say "But she can stay for today, that's fine."
Bless that woman. She saved me from what would've been the Meltdown to End All Meltdowns. I made a thousand apologies to her at the end of class, and she graciously said that she totally understood where I could've gotten confused, since normally the sessions are timed with the school calendars, and as Spring Break was last week, it was eminently sensible for one to assume the new session began this week, but for some reason the sessions didn't match up with the calendar just this one time.
Eminently sensible for one who didn't see the lime-green lettering on the brochure on one's kitchen counter that reads "SPRING SESSION II: APRIL 28" across the front in 36 point font, that is...
So, my latest Bad Mommy Moment was averted thanks only to the kind-heartedness of the YMCA swim instructor. The kiddo went on to get right back in the groove and was happily swimming laps (in the big pool!) and jumping in off the side in no time. I think I may bring her flowers next week...
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