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.