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.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
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!
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!
Monday, August 26, 2013
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.
“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?
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?
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Nola, the ghost whisperer
For those of you who have read my book, A Life Out of Context, the name Dig will mean something to you. Dig was one of my closet childhood friends and that friendship followed into adulthood. In 2001, Dig tragically passed away and my world changed forever.
Fast forward eight years and something amazing happened. Nola, who was two and a half years old, was playing by herself in her bedroom. I was one room away cleaning the bathroom when I heard her say, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
My ears perked up and I left the bathroom to make sure I was hearing her correctly. "What did you say my Bug?" I asked her.
She looked up at me and repeated, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
The shock on my face did not seem to alarm her and she went on playing. Now, Dig's name had come up from time to time but not on a daily basis, so I could not believe what she was saying. Then she stopped playing, pointed at the wall and said, "he's in there you know."
She said it so nonchalantly, yeah there's a guy in the wall and he's talking to me, big whoop.
My stomach nearly fell out of my body. He's in the wall, I thought. I couldn't believe it. What's he doing in there? Wait...is he really in there? I felt so confused.
Prior to losing Dig, I hadn't thought much about the afterlife but when we lost him, I prayed that it existed. Of course, should my prayers be answered then Dig's spirit living on was possible and I hated to admit it, but I was a bit scared.
I took a few deep breaths and searched for answers, "is he nice?" I asked my baby.
"Oh yes," she answered confidently.
After a few seconds of mental deliberation, I decided to drop the fearful act and embrace the possibility that my girl was communicating with one of my greatest friends.
Later that evening, when Nola's dad returned home from work, I told him the Dig story. Nola listened to me recall the event then pointed at the kitchen cupboard and said, "he's in there now."
My eyes widened and I looked at Nola's dad who seemed a bit nervous. "Nola," I replied, "what does he look like?"
She was only two and a half and didn't seem to understand the question.
"Honey, what color is his hair," I said modifying my question.
Without skipping a beat she replied, "brown."
"Okay," said her dad,"that's enough."
Nola knew too much and although it freaked me out, I found weird sense of peace, because Dig may have finally met my baby girl.
Fast forward eight years and something amazing happened. Nola, who was two and a half years old, was playing by herself in her bedroom. I was one room away cleaning the bathroom when I heard her say, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
My ears perked up and I left the bathroom to make sure I was hearing her correctly. "What did you say my Bug?" I asked her.
She looked up at me and repeated, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
The shock on my face did not seem to alarm her and she went on playing. Now, Dig's name had come up from time to time but not on a daily basis, so I could not believe what she was saying. Then she stopped playing, pointed at the wall and said, "he's in there you know."
She said it so nonchalantly, yeah there's a guy in the wall and he's talking to me, big whoop.
My stomach nearly fell out of my body. He's in the wall, I thought. I couldn't believe it. What's he doing in there? Wait...is he really in there? I felt so confused.
Prior to losing Dig, I hadn't thought much about the afterlife but when we lost him, I prayed that it existed. Of course, should my prayers be answered then Dig's spirit living on was possible and I hated to admit it, but I was a bit scared.
I took a few deep breaths and searched for answers, "is he nice?" I asked my baby.
"Oh yes," she answered confidently.
After a few seconds of mental deliberation, I decided to drop the fearful act and embrace the possibility that my girl was communicating with one of my greatest friends.
Later that evening, when Nola's dad returned home from work, I told him the Dig story. Nola listened to me recall the event then pointed at the kitchen cupboard and said, "he's in there now."
My eyes widened and I looked at Nola's dad who seemed a bit nervous. "Nola," I replied, "what does he look like?"
She was only two and a half and didn't seem to understand the question.
"Honey, what color is his hair," I said modifying my question.
Without skipping a beat she replied, "brown."
"Okay," said her dad,"that's enough."
Nola knew too much and although it freaked me out, I found weird sense of peace, because Dig may have finally met my baby girl.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Last Night
Last night, around two thirty in the morning, my Miles crawled into bed with me. Usually Nola is the one to sneak in so it was a bit surprising to me. I snuggled him for a few minutes then decided to bring him back to his own bed. A tired mom is never a good thing.
As I closed my eyes and tried to get comfortable, well as comfortable as two people can get in a twin bed, I heard a buzzing noise. My eyes opened and I looked around. Did I hear a buzzing noise? I questioned myself. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with tinnitus which causes a slight ringing in ones ears, I've learned to live with it but it caused me to question whether or not I had actually heard a bug fly by my head. Then I heard it again, my arms started swatting the air and soon I was squeezing my hand together in an attempt to catch the thing mid air. After I began slapping my head, I wondered if it was my imagination and I was beating myself up for no apparent reason.
Silence soon followed. Did I get it? Did my efforts pay off? No such luck, because it only took a few seconds for the buzzing to begin all over again.
In the meantime, Miles started to toss and turn. I looked over at him hoping I had not forced him awake by my out of control flailing arms. To my surprise, his eyes were open and almost a scary open. I wondered if he were even awake. Questions began circulating in my brain: was it terror in his eyes, was he hurt? There was that buzzing noise again. Before I could look up to find the invisible creature Miles spoke, "what IS that noise!"
Ahhh...the expression on my baby's face was finally revealed. He had actually gone crazy; mosquito buzzing your ear crazy and I did not blame the kid, I was right there with him.
"How about we go back to my bed, Bud?"
" Yes," he answered. "Right now."
As I closed my eyes and tried to get comfortable, well as comfortable as two people can get in a twin bed, I heard a buzzing noise. My eyes opened and I looked around. Did I hear a buzzing noise? I questioned myself. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with tinnitus which causes a slight ringing in ones ears, I've learned to live with it but it caused me to question whether or not I had actually heard a bug fly by my head. Then I heard it again, my arms started swatting the air and soon I was squeezing my hand together in an attempt to catch the thing mid air. After I began slapping my head, I wondered if it was my imagination and I was beating myself up for no apparent reason.
Silence soon followed. Did I get it? Did my efforts pay off? No such luck, because it only took a few seconds for the buzzing to begin all over again.
In the meantime, Miles started to toss and turn. I looked over at him hoping I had not forced him awake by my out of control flailing arms. To my surprise, his eyes were open and almost a scary open. I wondered if he were even awake. Questions began circulating in my brain: was it terror in his eyes, was he hurt? There was that buzzing noise again. Before I could look up to find the invisible creature Miles spoke, "what IS that noise!"
Ahhh...the expression on my baby's face was finally revealed. He had actually gone crazy; mosquito buzzing your ear crazy and I did not blame the kid, I was right there with him.
"How about we go back to my bed, Bud?"
" Yes," he answered. "Right now."
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Innocent at first glance
I love to take my kids to the park. They enjoy the monkey bars, the swings, the slides and interacting with other children. It's great exercise for them and a chance for me to sit and relax even if it's only for a few minutes at a time.
Today, however, my parental bliss was damaged by some disturbing imagery. Now let's get this straight, I'm not some prude who has forgotten what it's like to be a teenager, I teach middle school so I can't forget. And I remember witnessing graffiti as a kid, for a good time call... or Carrie loves Steve, that kind of stuff, it was everywhere. I even knew some kids from the neighborhood who were busted writing curse words on the picnic tables at the park. What I am trying to say is that normal naughtiness doesn't phase me. What I saw today is burned into my brain, so I am going to pass it on to you with the hopes that I forget about it asap.
While my lovely children were playing on the so-called innocent park equipment, I decided to look inside the tubes that connect the climbing platforms. I anticipated a few phone numbers, which I saw but was a bit unsettled by the large penis that sat above my kid's heads as they crawled through the tube. Really? An enormous penis. Why perverted teens? Why? That prompted me to do some more investigating and I was on to explore another tube. More phone numbers, some curse words and a drawing of a naked girl with her breasts hanging down, her knees spread and her vagina hanging out for all to see. What the hell? All of these innocent kids were playing under an image that, should it be found in a life drawing class, could be considered a work of art, but here at the park, it was much more pornographic. At that moment, I wished that I were armed with a black marker or some acetone.
With some resistance, I decided to proceed to the last tube but this time I felt prepared because I was thinking like a perverted teen. But those teens got me again and I felt speechless. There on the last tube of disgust was a swastika with some verbiage related to Hitler. Who are these kids and why are they defacing property in this manner? I actually preferred the pornographic images to the Hitler references.
When my kids and I left the park, I had it in my head to go back to the park and erase the graffiti as soon as possible. But now, as I am writing this entry, I am going to email someone in the parks and rec department. Maybe if they are aware of these markings they can assign someone to check the park tubes routinely. Erasing the stuff won't fix the problem but it will make me feel better, I'd like my kids to stay innocent for as long as possible.
Today, however, my parental bliss was damaged by some disturbing imagery. Now let's get this straight, I'm not some prude who has forgotten what it's like to be a teenager, I teach middle school so I can't forget. And I remember witnessing graffiti as a kid, for a good time call... or Carrie loves Steve, that kind of stuff, it was everywhere. I even knew some kids from the neighborhood who were busted writing curse words on the picnic tables at the park. What I am trying to say is that normal naughtiness doesn't phase me. What I saw today is burned into my brain, so I am going to pass it on to you with the hopes that I forget about it asap.
While my lovely children were playing on the so-called innocent park equipment, I decided to look inside the tubes that connect the climbing platforms. I anticipated a few phone numbers, which I saw but was a bit unsettled by the large penis that sat above my kid's heads as they crawled through the tube. Really? An enormous penis. Why perverted teens? Why? That prompted me to do some more investigating and I was on to explore another tube. More phone numbers, some curse words and a drawing of a naked girl with her breasts hanging down, her knees spread and her vagina hanging out for all to see. What the hell? All of these innocent kids were playing under an image that, should it be found in a life drawing class, could be considered a work of art, but here at the park, it was much more pornographic. At that moment, I wished that I were armed with a black marker or some acetone.
With some resistance, I decided to proceed to the last tube but this time I felt prepared because I was thinking like a perverted teen. But those teens got me again and I felt speechless. There on the last tube of disgust was a swastika with some verbiage related to Hitler. Who are these kids and why are they defacing property in this manner? I actually preferred the pornographic images to the Hitler references.
When my kids and I left the park, I had it in my head to go back to the park and erase the graffiti as soon as possible. But now, as I am writing this entry, I am going to email someone in the parks and rec department. Maybe if they are aware of these markings they can assign someone to check the park tubes routinely. Erasing the stuff won't fix the problem but it will make me feel better, I'd like my kids to stay innocent for as long as possible.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Girl vs. Boy
My thoughts on life have changed enormously since having children. I once believed that girls could do anything boys could do. But now that I have a son of my own, I stand corrected. I have personally never urinated on the shirt I was wearing.
As I reflect on this idea, I suppose that I could if I had some sort of hose contraption or funnel. Or maybe if I were wearing a mullet type of shirt and it fell into the toilet, okay maybe then. But I am not talking about a shirt that was near the toilet, this shirt was on my son's body at the time and I am pretty sure that he soaked the collar as well.
Miles, who may never speak to me again should he ever read this story, occasionally calls me into the restroom. Most of the time he calls so I can help him out with number two, but there are times when something has gone miserably wrong and a wet shirt was definitely one of those times.
As I walked into the bathroom, I saw him sitting on the pot crying. Apparently, he had sat down to go number two but forgot to push his you know what down. The thing was pointing straight up and soaked his entire shirt outfit. And once his penis started shooting up he pushed it down which caused him to not only soak his shirt but his underwear, pants and socks too. What a mess. What makes this story worse is that it was a band night. Miles wears a white button up dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants every time he watches my dad's band play and that night, he was dressed to kill.
I pulled my sobbing boy from his throne of shame and cleaned him up the best I could. Then I hand washed his sacred outfit and blow dried it with my hand dryer. We where short on time and I had to improvise.
When we were finally ready to go, he was smiling and so was I. He had his band outfit spit shined and I had just been proven wrong, apparently girls can't do everything guys can do. And in this case, thank goodness.
As I reflect on this idea, I suppose that I could if I had some sort of hose contraption or funnel. Or maybe if I were wearing a mullet type of shirt and it fell into the toilet, okay maybe then. But I am not talking about a shirt that was near the toilet, this shirt was on my son's body at the time and I am pretty sure that he soaked the collar as well.
Miles, who may never speak to me again should he ever read this story, occasionally calls me into the restroom. Most of the time he calls so I can help him out with number two, but there are times when something has gone miserably wrong and a wet shirt was definitely one of those times.
As I walked into the bathroom, I saw him sitting on the pot crying. Apparently, he had sat down to go number two but forgot to push his you know what down. The thing was pointing straight up and soaked his entire shirt outfit. And once his penis started shooting up he pushed it down which caused him to not only soak his shirt but his underwear, pants and socks too. What a mess. What makes this story worse is that it was a band night. Miles wears a white button up dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants every time he watches my dad's band play and that night, he was dressed to kill.
I pulled my sobbing boy from his throne of shame and cleaned him up the best I could. Then I hand washed his sacred outfit and blow dried it with my hand dryer. We where short on time and I had to improvise.
When we were finally ready to go, he was smiling and so was I. He had his band outfit spit shined and I had just been proven wrong, apparently girls can't do everything guys can do. And in this case, thank goodness.
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