Do We Really...

live in a world where Kevin Federline and Larry Birkhead are two of the most influential fathers in the United States? Really?

For the Love of Truth

We have been spending quite a bit of time recently trying to get The Boy to understand the concept of telling the truth. This has become especially important around the infamous bedtime routine as he attempts anything and everything to get out of going to bed on time.

As most preschoolers learn, if you say you have to go to the bathroom, that will get you a couple of extra minutes before the lights are officially out. The Boy has also figured out that if you say you have to poop, this will get you more time because it takes longer to finish that business than the other. The Boy, more or less, has always been a once a day kinda kid when it comes to number 2 since he turned one. But, when you are dealing with a child, you often need to give them the benefit of the doubt and let them go anyway if they say they have to. The problem with this in our house hold is that The Boy has usually just gone poop a few hours before bedtime. Nine times out of ten he doesn't need to go again and cannot go again if we let him try.

What does this have to do with telling the truth you might ask? Well, every night after The Boy goes through his routine and the light is turned off he stops us as we are leaving his room.

The Boy: I have to go poo poo.
Momma or Daddy: You just went.
The Boy: No, I didn't go yet today.
Us: Yes you did.
The Boy: No I didn't, not yet.

This goes on for a few minutes. We then start in with telling the truth. No matter how many times we explain what it means to tell the truth, he won't tell the truth. We always let him go to the bathroom if he says he has to, but we do try to reason with him first and we try to get him to understand the meaning of the truth. We really didn't think he was ever going to get it and then over the weekend I got this conversation.

The Boy: Momma, I have to go poo poo.
I walk back to his room to start the process. He is already out of his bed.
The Boy: Momma, come down here.
I bend down. The Boy, very lovingly, put both hands on my face, looks me straight in the eye and says...
The Boy: I didn't go yet today Momma, did I? Tell me the truth.

He hadn't...to the bathroom we go.

The Mystery of Technology

We are in the age of technology. Gadgets, Ipods, Crackberries...etc. etc. Don't get me wrong, I love my cell phone, but I am not really into it as much as other folks often are. I am slightly behind the times, I just got a pink Razor. I love it, it is mine, but it has the basic features...nothing overly cool, not even text messaging. I don't text. My parents have had cell phones for about a year now. They both text, just each other, like crazy. I think it is funny. I don't know why, I just do. Despite the fact that they text and take pictures and use the cell phone for lots of different things, my mother still hasn't gotten the concept of voicemail. On Friday of the holiday weekend, I received another voicemail from my mother where it sounds like she is miraculously hoping I will talk back to her while she is leaving a voicemail.

Mom: Ummm, it's just me, I was wondering, could you tell me what time you want us to come up on Saturday? LONG PAUSE Well, okay, I guess you should just call me back.

Yes, I will have to call you back because, I can't hear your question until I call my voicemail box, enter my password and listen to your message. That's how it works. It makes me smile every single time it happens.

Becoming Domesticated

When I was in the 7th grade I had to divide my school year between two classes of practicality, home ec and shop. Being the tomboy that I was, I much preferred wood shop. We spent time in home ec talking about cleaning, cooking and babysitting...things I already knew a lot about because of my family situation. The only thing I didn't know and ended up not liking was the sewing portion of the home ec class. I made a vest that while sewn, looked atrocious. Fast forward 17 years and here I am excited to spend 2 1/2 hours every Monday night for 5 weeks learning how to sew. Maybe if I had paid more attention in the 7th grade, I wouldn't feel so inept now.

I have to write that I am in love with my sewing class and with sewing in general. Last night I made a pillow sham in less than an hour. Maybe for most people this would be a walk in the park, but for me and my senseless need for perfection, it is awesome and I am sure I bugged the heck out of the instructor by asking her too many questions. But, I now know how to sew a straight seam, sew in a zipper and what a selvage is. It is a miracle. Now, I have to be sure that I practice and keep it up. Who would have ever thought that I would want to sew in my free time. It is nice to feel like I have accomplished something. I will never buy linens again.

Our next project in class is a vest. I'll let you know if it comes out better than the one in the 7th grade.

Scarred for Life

Working Momitis strikes again. I had a major blunder this morning. Today was The Boy's Thanksgiving Day Party at preschool. I try to volunteer at these events when I can and that usually means I will spend the morning with The Boy and all his classmates reading a story and helping with a snack and a craft with all the other moms. I am a working mom...there aren't that many in the mix at this particular preschool. I was not able to volunteer on site for this party, but still wanting and needing to fill the role of mommy, I decided to volunteer to supply construction paper for the craft.


On the way into work after dropping The Boy off, I think....hmmm....was today the Thanksgiving Day party? No, it should be tomorrow. Why would it be today?


I call The Husband and ask if he remembers. He too thinks it is tomorrow. No big deal, I will bring the paper tomorrow morning. Well, I get to work, start shuffling papers and find the November newsletter for preschool. Low and behold, IT IS TODAY! The party was to start at 10:15...it was 10:15. I rush to gather the paper and speed the distance to the school. The entire way there I am thinking that I am a horrible mommy...if I weren't working, I wouldn't have forgotten such and important thing. I had visions of the kiddos crying because they didn't have the paper they needed for the craft.

I walk into the school profusely apologizing to the Room Parents only to find out they really didn't need the paper anyway, there was already some there. Imagine that, construction paper at a school, already, who would have thought? Despite the fact that all was well and that The Boy and his friends had no idea that I forgot the paper for the project, I still feel badly. Why is that? He isn't making me feel badly. On the contrary, he was excited to see that I actually could come for a little while for his celebration. I helped him a little with his craft, which was a bit lame, I might add and he was so happy. I find myself wondering if stay at home mommies feel guilty and if they do, why? Deep down, I know I am a great mom...I just hate the feeling of missing out.

I Have to Get it Ready

Momma: Are we finished playing with the animals?
The Boy: Yes, it is time to play football. Do you know how to play the football game?
Momma: Yes, I do. But first we need to put away your animals.
The Boy: Okay.

We proceed to pick up animals for 2.5 seconds. The Boy gets up and goes toward the ball area.

Momma: We need to pick up your animals before we get the football.
The Boy: I need to get the football game ready. You pick up the animals and then I will be ready with the football. I need to get ready, then you can be ready. Pick up the animals.

Getting ready to play football consists of walking and getting the football. He got ready, I picked up the rest of the animals.

Music To My Ears

I love it when I get to see my genes come through on The Boy. It happens every so often and I think, "Yay, he is partly my child." This week has been such a joy to me because The Boy has found his voice. He has always been partial to music and singing, but he is stretching out, he is developing his own style. It is so fun to see it happening. He is making up his own songs, changing the words and changing keys. I too like to sing and love music, but his facination with it all is somewhat different than mine. He asked me this morning if he could take a music class (they offer classes at the performing arts school next to Montessori starting at 3 years, but we still have a couple of months to go) and my first reaction was "how do you know what a music class is?" and my second was, "how can you not take one?" Maybe what I don't know is that the faculty at his school are pimping alternative programming to get more money out of those of us who are already bled dry. I have faith that isn't the case, but still have to wonder.

You may be asking yourself, where are my genes showing...well The Boy has an already developed sense of music memory. We now have to be very careful what we listen to in the car or at home (not that we listen to death music or anything) because as soon as he hears it, he can sing it and ask for it. My music memory is like that. I more than likely know what year the song came out, who sings it and have a memory associated with it as well. He characterizes songs that he likes as his songs and asks us to turn off the songs he doesn't like (i.e., Country). I love it. I love hearing him in the back seat singing at the top of his lungs, mostly in tune and on key. I love seeing the facial expressions that go along with the high notes and the low notes. I love seeing him pretend to play whatever musical instrument is in the backgroud whether it is a violin, guitar, piano, drums or trumpet. He just gets it and I LOVE it! Now we just have to get him more interested in VeggieTales and less interested in Maroon 5.

New Discoveries

This morning The Boy discovered the magnificence of his shadow. The Boy has, of course, seen his shadow before when outside in the sun. But this morning, he noticed his shadow in the upstairs hallway. This is where one of three nightlights lives in our house. I was still "lounging" in bed listening to my boys discuss the happenings of the morning, you know, milk and whether Curious George was on this morning, when The Husband tells The Boy to go wake me up. I eagerly wait anticipating the mandatory wake up kiss when I hear The Boy stop and make that noise that only communicates total awe.

The Boy: Daddy, Daddy, look how tall I am.
Daddy: Oh, that is your shadow.
The Boy: My shadow?
Daddy: Yes, that light casts a shadow on the wall.
The Boy: It makes me taller.
Daddy: If you walk to the wall, your shadow will get smaller.
I hear The Boy pitter patter down the hall.
The Boy: It does, I have to show momma.

He wakes me up and takes me to the hallway and shows me how he grows and gets smaller. It made me appreciate the power of the simple shadow. Seeing him amazed is a great way to wake up in the morning.

Doctor in the Making?

The Boy is sleeping later and later recently. Could it be that this creature who has spent his entire life waking up before 6:30 AM will now, possibly, sleep until 7:15 EVERY morning from here on out? I will keep you posted. Last night could have been a fluke of Halloween Night excitement.

This morning when The Boy finally got out of bed, he had a strange article of clothing over his hand and arm...a sock. When I asked him why he had a sock on his arm, he told us that he had a boo boo and that was his bandaid. It made him feel better. He also told us that he put the sock on his arm sometime in the middle of the night. I had to almost bribe him to take it off before we went to school. He finally did. When asked what caused the boo boo on the ride to school he told me in was a dinosaur, the same one that was eating his feet last night under the dinner table. I honestly thought when I saw the sock on his hand when he woke up, that he was just confused in the middle of the night and put it on his hand/arm, but nope he had an imaginary dinosaur bite that needed medical attention. Who am I to question that procedure? I am just glad he was able to handle it without parental assistance in the middle of the night.