Naked Mom

     I don't run around the house naked but I don't shy away from it either. If I need to shower, sometimes I have one of my kids in there with me. If I need to change for the day, sometimes my kids are hanging out while I change. I don't find the need to be discrete yet, though my experience the other day was interesting to say the least.
     Miles and I were playing boats. I don't mind playing with him but my knees tend to give out after about a half an hour of crawling around on the floor. So once I hit my limit, I mentioned to him that I needed a shower. Sometimes he joins me and other times he takes a bath while I shower but not that morning, he wanted to continue playing boats. Fine with me I told him. So I went to the bathroom shutting the door behind me but leaving it unlocked as usual. I then disrobed, grabbed a towel and walked toward the shower. Luckily I was paying attention because the door flew open and I caught it before it nailed me in the face.
     "Hey, Bud, what do you need?"
     "You forgot to put the pretend boat on the pretend trailer."
     "Oh, sorry Bud. I'll get it once I get done showering, okay?"
     "No, mom! I need the boat on the trailer otherwise I can't drive back home!"
     "Bud, I'm naked right now and need to shower first. You are just going to have to wait."
     Crying ensued. Now, I'm not one of those moms who can ignore crying. I realize that some women have a gift and can tune it out in order to get things done but not me. It digs deep into my soul and I cannot relax for anything. And I really wanted to take a relaxing shower, just five minutes of alone time. So I gave in to my crying little man.
     "Okay, okay, I'll help you get the boat on the trailer." I made a quick motion with my hands and added some sound effects then said, "there."
     "No, mom, I need to back the trailer up first." He replied almost laughing at my attempt to place a nonexistent boat in the wrong spot.
     How silly of me, I thought.
     "Just wait a minute while I back up my truck."
     So I stood there, naked with the bathroom door wide open watching my son back up a fake trailer. He actually didn't seem to notice my nakedness, all he cared about was getting his pretend play right.
     "Watch your foot mom."
     "Oh, okay, thanks," I said moving my foot out of the way.
     "Okay, I've got the trailer in the water now you can put the boat on it."
     "Right," I replied. Then I made a clicking noise to show that I hooked the rope on the boat. My next move would be to mimic the sound of the power winch. I would have been a much nicer moment had I not been naked but again, Miles could only stare in the direction of our fake boat.
     "Alright, Bud, I think we've got it."
     "Thanks, mom," he said. Then he got into his pretend truck and drove out of the bathroom giving me our trademark two honks on the way.
     I closed the door behind him and jumped my freezing butt into the warm water of my shower. Miles is very serious about his vehicles and apparently I will do almost anything to humor my kids.
     

Caribou Coffee

     I just dropped Miles off at preschool this morning, then saw my doctor to help relieve my constant allergy symptoms and soon found myself at Caribou Coffee to relax and write.
     After I ordered my drink, I turned around to assess the seating situation. There was one large table open and two small tables. The small tables left little room for my computer and notebook but they were near the outlet. I opened up my computer to see if I even needed an outlet when I noticed that my screen was full of kid fingerprints. I proceeded to grab some napkins from the restroom then returned to my small table to wipe down the disturbingly dirty screen. In the meantime, a women entered the coffee shop and took her turn at assessing the seating availability. I did not want to take a spot near the outlet if I didn't need to so I quickly booted up my computer and noticed that I was fully charged. I gathered my bag, purse and computer and moved to the outlet-less larger table. I thought I was possibly doing someone a favor but I just I was wrong.
     The new patron, who had turned her back for a few seconds, looked at my swift move from small table to large table and must have believed it to be an act of competition because she commented, "well, aren't you fast." The disgust in her voice made me laugh, not at her of course, just at the irony of the situation. I moved in case she needed the outlet and she thought my actions were aggressive and selfish. Did I explain myself to this woman? No, I did not. It seemed as though she wanted to get as far from me as possible, so I respected the body language she projected toward me. I hope she at least enjoys her coffee!

Flu Shot

     I'm usually a pretty nice person. I like to fix trouble not cause it. I believe that people should be nice to one another and find ways to agree using peaceful solutions to problems. Now just because I am usually an agreeable person doesn't mean that I am always that girl. Case in point, the flu shot, or any shot in general.
     Between the ages of five and six I went to the doctor with my mother for a "check up," or what I thought was a check. It actually turned into a morning of terror in my eyes. The nurse took me through the normal routine of weight, height and temperature. Then the doctor came in to see me and everything seemed on the up and up. I was satisfied and ready to go, but the doctor had other plans for me. Soon the nurse entered the room armed with a shot and not just any shot, a booster shot. I know that we have all had them but they are huge and painful. I looked into my unassuming mom's face and simple said, "no."
     She seemed surprised that her usually agreeable daughter would take such a stand and then explained to me the importance of the shot. I could care less why I might need it, I just knew that I didn't want it and decided that I would go to great lengths not to get it.
     As my mom tried to calm me down, I watched the nurse prepare for my doom. When she was ready I started screaming and shouting no! My shocked mother stared at me in horror. She was so confused. She told me to sit still, that it would only take a few seconds and that it wouldn't hurt. I didn't care. I kept screaming and trying to find an exit. Four people plus my mother were needed to hold me down. I was like a caged, rabid animal.
     When it was all over, I said, "well that didn't hurt that bad." I thought my mother was going to kill me. Even though it didn't hurt, that did not stop me from experiencing panic attacks every time I had to get a shot from that day forward.
     The first time I brought my own five year old to get her booster shot I prepared myself. I knew that karma would find me and make me pay. But low and behold, Nola did not fuss or cry or even experience a bit of anxiety before or during the doctor visit. I couldn't understand it but I didn't think too much about it. I had dodged a bullet and I knew it.
     Okay, I dodged a bullet until this year that is. Last year, my four year old Miles followed in his sister's footsteps by sticking out his arm bravely and accepting the flu shot. He was so proud of himself. But this year has been an entirely different story. He has cried so many times about the shot. I casually brought it up about a month ago and he lost it. I couldn't believe it. Everything went so well last year, what is going on this time around?
     Then yesterday my parents were watching him while I was teaching and they had to go get their flu shots. He sobbed and sobbed and then we finally got it through to him that he was not getting a shot. We also reminded him that this year he could get the nasal spray instead of a shot. He could have cared less, flu shot, nasal spray, they all meant discomfort in his eyes.
     Tomorrow I am bringing both of my kids and myself in for our own morning of doom. I have yet to tell Miles about the appointment and will probably wait until the last minute. I know it sounds mean to do that but I understand his anxiety and know that too much information will not help the situation. I just cross my fingers that all goes well. Man, karma has found me and she bites worse than the flu shot ever did!

Helicopter Parent

     I am not a helicopter parent, you know the kind of parent who hovers around their child at all costs. Yes, I have stayed home with my kids for the last six years but I like my space too. So if my kids want to play by themselves or with their friends without me, great. That being said, my participation in Nola's school's ice skating outing may have painted a different story.
     It started off with excitement from both of my kids. Yay! We were going ice skating and not just anywhere, we were going to skate in the ice arena that housed the high school hockey teams. How cool is that? Pretty cool actually.
     The first order of business was to check out ice skates. Nola and I got our skates first, two pairs of brown, vintage figure skates. Then I asked for hockey skates for Miles so he could be like the big boys, but the smallest size they had was 12 and he wears an 11. I contemplated which skates to rent for a few minutes and since I didn't want to return later only to get hockey skates so Miles could be like the big boys, we went with the 12's.
     Miles skates worked out well and he was dressed and ready in no time. Nola went through three skate changes before finding the right fit and I went through two. The figure skates hurt my feet so badly that I eventually switched to hockey skates, something I should have done for Nola from the beginning.
     A half an hour later, we were finally ready to try out the ice. Nola did not like the unsteadiness of her feet so she grabbed a walker to assist her. Then Miles and I followed and the second we stepped onto the ice, he started screaming. He hated it. He had no control and so he screamed as though someone had ripped the head off of his favorite stuffed animal.
     Great, I thought, now what? We were finally ready to participate in our highly anticipated activity and my kids were nervous wrecks at best. Nola was in better shape then Miles so I decided to help him first. I let go of his hand and moved behind him. I then put my arms around his chest and started to glide from side to side. His tears instantly turned off and laughter ensued. Yay, my plan for Miles worked! Now I had to focus on Nola.
     She was fairly stable with her PVC pipe walker but not entirely happy. She shuffled around the ice slowly but would not let me out of her sights. She wanted me next to her at all times. It had to be her inexperience with skating because she is normally not that clingy. She didn't even cheer up when her friends were near her, she only wanted me. Oh, did I forget to say that Miles only wanted me as well. Now let's do the math, two kids, one mom, yeah that's right, it does not split equally.
     If I left Nola in order to skate with Miles, she would cry. And Nola does not cry. She's the kind of kid who could break her arm then take a big breath and say, "I'm good. Seriously, I'm fine." So to see her crying was so bizarre.
     "Bug, honey, what is wrong?" I finally asked her.
     "I want you to stay by me," she replied.
     "Well, honey, I can't be by you and Miles at the same time. I need both hands to hold him so you have to skate separately. I'm not going to leave you for very long."
     "I don't care."
     Man, I was getting nowhere. I decided to recruit some of her friends to help me but she only wanted me. And Miles, who was actually having a good time skating, only wanted me to help him. Although he did not cry when it was Nola's turn. He just sat patiently on the ice and waited for me.
     Needless to say, I was torn. Torn between my two kids and sore as hell. Yes I did find a way to make Miles smile while skating but it was killing my back to bend over and my wrists where he held on for dear life. Anyone who was paying attention to us must have thought that I was the most overinvolved parent on the planet. But there was nothing I could do, it was my kids first time skating and they were scared to death.
     When Nola continued to cry even when I was near her, I finally escorted her to the side and took her skates off. I should have gotten her hockey skates from the beginning because I think that pain was also a problem for her. She begged me to leave the ice arena but Miles wanted to stay so I convinced her to walk out on the ice with her boots while I skated with Miles. She had more control with her boots so a smile actually appeared on her face. We bummed around for a few more minutes then decided to head out and grab some dinner.
     I swear to you that this experience was both stressful and unforgettable. But the next day, it was all the kids could talk about. Skating this and skating that. I did not correct them but their tales of "fun" did not sync up with my recollection. I guess all that mattered was that they remembered having fun and weren't scarred for life, unlike my back which needed serious icing from two hours of improper form.

Age

     I recently turned 39 years old. Does that make me uncomfortable? Not really. I feel young and come from a long line of relatives who seem to take age with stride, so I truly don't obsess about it. That being said, when my age was put into perspective by my daughter, I did cringe a little.
     Nola and I occasionally watch So You Think You Can Dance. It is such a fun show and usually kid friendly. Well this year there is a dancer named Fik-shun and he is adorable. He is a twitch dancer which is like street dance or hip hop. He is great with his own genre of dancing but has excelled in other forms as well. So, last week, I was talking to my mom about the show and explained to her that Fik-shun was so cute that I wanted to put him in my pocket and take him home with me.
     Nola, who was sitting near us looked straight at me and said, "Mom," imagine a bit of an attitude with the word mom, "You can't take Fik-shun home with you, he's 18 and your 39!"
     I guess I did sound like a bit of a cougar talking about a boy who could actually be my own child should I have given birth at 21. So I now recant my statement that age doesn't bother me, in the right context, it's slightly alarming. 

I'm Not a Boy

     I suppose it's pretty obvious, since I delivered two children and all, that I am in fact, a girl. Why am I pointing out this well known fact? Well...it's my main defense in the Miles verses potty training saga. Okay, saga may be a bit of a stretch, but I may have scarred my little man for life by teaching him one seemingly strange step in his bathroom routine.
     Because I am a girl I found training a boy to urinate fairly challenging. So after many, many, many months of shameless treats, countless failures and bribes, Miles finally learned to pee unassisted. Of course we had accidents here and there but for the most part, by the time he was three and a half, he was potty trained.
     Now when I go to the toilet and conduct my business, I always end with a few squares of toilet paper to towel off if you will. The problem is that I took my toilet routine and bestowed it on my Miles. So after he urinates, he grabs some toilet paper from the roll then dabs off the excess. I know what you are thinking, doesn't she know that guys shake instead of dab? Yes, I have learned that over the years but I've seen Miles shake and his technique is ineffective and quite messy. Again, I am not a boy, so I had to improvise.
     On occasion, I have mentioned this approach to male friends and family members and I usually get an eye roll at the very least or an astounding, "Ang! The poor kid is going to get teased!"
     I feel as though he will grow out of this, eventually, hopefully before Kindergarten starts!

Trader Joe's

     My kids and I were en route to Trader Joe’s when I was informed that my daughter had left the house without shoes. Nola is usually a very responsible six year old so I found this information rather surprising.     “I thought I had flip flops in the car,” she relayed to me after I questioned her forgetfulness. Now that made more sense.
     “Okay, Bug, we’ll work it out.”
     Once we reached the store, I parked the car then met Nola at her door. She climbed into my arms and I found a way to place her comfortably on my hip.

     “Come on, Bud, let’s go,” I said to a crabby faced Miles. “What’s wrong, Bud?”
     He stomped his foot, folded his arms and mumbled, “I want mom to hold me too.”
     I stared off dramatically as the quick and easy shopping trip I had planned began to fade from my reality. “Bud, I have to hold Nola because she forgot her shoes, you can both sit in the cart once we get inside, or you could push the cart if you want.” I was hoping to earn brownie points with the cart pushing activity. Normally my kids fight over who gets to push the cart but today Nola would surely be riding.
     “No, I want mom to hold me too!” he snapped crossing his arms.
     “Fine,” I answered. “Nola and I are just going to go then.” Were we really going to go, absolutely not, but I had tried this approach in the past with much success and was banking on it working again. But do you think it did? Not for a second. My stubborn child, who actually acquired the gene from his mother, stood his ground. I hated to have my four year old beat me in a face-off, but a crowded parking lot was no place to teach him a lesson.
     So I returned to the car and saw that he was still knotted up with his arms folded tightly. I gently explained to him that we were shopping for groceries that would accompany us to our much anticipated cabin trip. His ears perked up and the wheels in his head began to turn. Miles would live on a lake if he could so I knew the word cabin would catch his attention. 
     Miles ultimately agreed to exit the car but there was a trade off, I had to hold him. So, I grabbed his left hand with my right then struggled to hold Nola with my left arm. She’s a skinny little girl but still weighs almost fifty pounds, two hands would have definitely served me better. When we finally reached the cart corral, I breathed a sigh of relief as I set her down. I placed Miles in the bed of the cart and Nola in the front seat. Her legs barely fit through those toddler holes but we eventually muscled them in.
     Let the picking begin. Prior to this summer my kids got along splendidly. They received the mom look from time to time but we never had that many problems. But now, at ages four and six, they had learned to annoy each other.
     “Mom! Miles keeps touching me!”
     “No I don’t”
     “Yes you do, Bud, I just saw you,” I replied.
     “I’m just petting her arm.”
     “Well, stop petting her arm.”
     “Yeah, stop petting my arm.”
     You can see where this is going…nowhere fast. Here were a few of my not so unique catch phrases:
     “I’m going to pull both of you out of this cart if you keep this up.”
     “We are going to leave without getting anything if you don’t stop.”
     “Stop arguing, you are making a scene.”
     This is the one that really got them: “You are not going to eat any of those little cookies on the way home.” Silence.
     “But we want to eat those cookies.”
     “Well, keep it up and you won’t.”
     To make a long story short, my kids did not have cookies on the way home. Instead, they sat in silence. Miles was sad and Nola was bitter. In the past, a sharp look put my kids in their place so this punishment, their first real punishment, was going to be memorable.
     They remained quiet on entering our house and soon their aunt, my sister, joined us. We were in the kitchen and I was still a bit crabby about my shopping experience therefore exhaled my angst in my sister’s direction. Nola, who was sitting in the other room yelled, “I can here you!”
     Oops! Sorry, Bug. How about we make a deal, I will watch what I say and where I say it, and you stop fighting with your brother. I think that it’s a pretty good trade off, don’t you?