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Why I hate taking my kids to the park

October 17, 2012 in Becoming Less Dumb, Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood

Note: I started this post over a week ago, when my husband was home and had gone to the park with me. He had Addy and I had Arden. But since he’s been gone, I’ve gone to a park with both children, on my own, and I am even more of a total basket case. But I still go because it’s better for me to be a basket case and to get them out of the house than to not go at all…it still sucks though. And I’m open to suggestions on how to make it easier.

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Yesterday we went for a picnic at a park. Arden LOVES this park – and I do, too. However, it turns me into a nervous wreck.

There’s a huge wooden structure that replicates a castle. Inside the castle are turns and small openings. It’s really not that complicated, once you explore it a couple of times, but I’m sure it makes the kids feel like they’re really getting somewhere. At the top of the castle is a slide – that’s the only way to get down from the top. Otherwise, there are four exits at the bottom, and if the child exits from any of those, there are multiple other areas of the park they’re directed. This knowledge turns my stomach upside down.

Luckily, I can fit easily through the tiny doorways and “halls” of the castle, so I can go with Arden to keep an eye on him. But my stress level rises when he wants to go down the slide because I know I can’t make it to the bottom of the slide in time to meet him there (however, uh, I just though – why don’t I just go down the slide after him?? I’m an idiot…) Am I a freaking nut or what?

At one point I decided that maybe it was best to stay by the slide and wait for him to get all the way up the castle and back down again. So that’s what I did. But on about the sixth run, he didn’t come back down the slide – just as I had feared. So then a fearful decision needed to be made: Do I continue to wait by the slide, or do I go into and up into the castle to try and find him? Or, better yet, do I go to the other side of the castle to look for him in case he had ventured off into another corner of the park – and risk not being at the bottom of the slide if he just lolly-gagged his way up this time? Keep in mind, there are a lot of other children and parents at this park – it’s very popular.

I shuffled back and forth near the slide for a few seconds, desperate to find sight of him. I had to really try and contain myself. I wanted to scream for him, scream his name but I just couldn’t. Instead, I took off and hurriedly wound through the structures trying to take in the details of every child I saw, trying to weed him out. The longer it took to find him, the more scared I became. I knew I would find him, but the thought kept nagging me, what if I didn’t?

Finally, I found him, crossing a “bridge” outside of the castle. I grabbed him and got kneeled down and tried to tell him that I’d been looking for him. I had told him before letting him go into the castle by himself that he was only to go up to the top and down the slide and I was trying to scold him, make him understand that he’d disobeyed me and that I was scared because I couldn’t find him. He was OBLIVIOUS. Completely oblivious.

Ugh. What do you do? Immediately take him out of the park and go home? What’s the protocol here? I’m not opposed to doing that – I know that sometimes you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet but really, is that what I should do?

Am I to blame for being so scared someone could take him, even though chances are no one will? Or, is he to blame because he didn’t listen and do exactly as I had instructed him? He’s only three and a half, mind you. Was I asking too much from a three-year old?

Ugh.

This is why I hate going to the park. I am a nervous wreck. When Addy is with me I am so afraid that she’ll fall through a slat, bonk her head going down the slide, or fall off of a ladder. I can’t wait until they’re old enough that I can, if I want to, just sit on a bench and watch them play. When the only thing I’ll have to worry about is having a good view.

Maybe I shouldn’t say “I can’t wait”. That time will be here before I know it.

I really need a vacation.

Word.

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Don’t rush to kiss the boo-boos

September 30, 2012 in Becoming Less Dumb, Hardy-har-har, Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood

A couple of evenings ago, we set out for a walk around the ‘hood. We invited our cute little six-year-old neighbor friend along. The kids were riding their bikes about two houses down and then purposely falling over into someone’s yard. They’d giggle for a bit and then get back on their bikes and do it all over again.

Finally we made it home and wouldn’t ya know it, that’s when Arden fell over on accident, scratching up his palms. He held them up to me, whaling, summoning me to come look. I instinctively went to him, pulled a palm to my lips and lightly gave it a kiss.

“Blauck! Arden, your hand stinks!” I exclaimed.

Our little friend quickly revealed the source if the smell, “He fell in dog poop.”

Whoa! Way to go, Me!

Let my mistake be a lesson to you…don’t be so quick to kiss the boo-boos. They’ll survive…you might not.

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Boy meets razor

September 24, 2012 in Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood

I knew it would happen one day. But I still wasn’t prepared when it finally did happen.

It’s awful.

Just awful.

His hair. His pretty blonde hair.

The CutWhacked.

It looks like he got into a fight with a cat. Make that three cats… and a honey badger.

Ugh.

And it’s so obvious.

He took to his father’s clippers – the kind that beauticians use to clean up the back of the neck – and zipped off a clump of hair right on the top of his head, in a spot on the side, and then a very, very visible spot in the back.

Here’s how brainless I can be: I saw a patch of straight blonde hair next to my bathroom sink…I honestly thought nothing past this thought, “Huh…I didn’t realize Neil’s hair had gotten that long (side note: he’s practically bald). Wait a minute – his hair isn’t that light….Oh! There’s my fingernail clippers – I thought I had lost those….” I wasn’t privy to the cutting incident until I caught sight of the light patch on the back of Arden’s head after he insisted on being “line leader” on the way to the car that day. Gah. And so after Dr. Obvious informed me that my son had cut his hair, my first thought was, “Well, I’m just going to have to get the rest of it cut off.” What?? No way! Sanity followed quickly and I was immediately prepared to take on the critical looks from other parents. I deserve it. I trusted my son, out of my sight for ten minutes. Shame on me.

At least it was just his hair.

Ugh.

 

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One of those days

September 19, 2012 in Anger Inducers, Becoming Less Dumb, Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood

Oh my gosh it’s been one of those days – and it’s not even over.

All day I’ve been sort of on the edge. My stomach has been clenched and I just feel like I’m going to crumble. I have to share my day with you.

I got up a little early because I had a lot to do this morning. We had a new employee coming over to fill out paperwork and I needed to be ready with both kids to take Arden to his preschool. In addition, I was meeting with a lady to try and sell some of baby things that I don’t need anymore – trying to get a little fun money.

I got out the door late, but who cares, at least I was out the door. Got over to Arden’s preschool and as soon as I spotted some of his classmates I looked up to see that the teacher accompanying them was not the teacher who had just started less than a week ago and whom Arden fell in love with right away. There has been constant turnover at that school since Arden started and he does not do well when there is change. So far, we’ve been able to get him comfortable through each change, but not without a lot of reassurance and listening to a lot of, “Mommy, I don’t want to go to school.” (Mind you, he only does this when there is a new teacher.) But this morning was a turning point. I’m over it.

I looked over at the administrator and said, “Uh, what’s the deal? What’s going on with his teacher?”

She replied, sincerely, “Oh, I am SO sorry (I had told them all about his love for this new teacher that is now gone) but Ms. Carmen had a disabled adult son to take care of and just couldn’t stay with us.”

Damn, I thought. She went on to say that she was doing interviews and was trying to find a permanent teacher for his class and maybe we could put him in Ms. Amelia’s class since she was a permanent teacher.

Over my dead body. That woman is a total bitch. I don’t want her near him. “Uh, that’s okay. I’ll just keep him with me,” I said, “and  we’ll see how it goes on Friday.” Now, I really do like the school. It’s been a wonderful experience for him, aside from the whole nap trauma (the one where we learned that naps cause him terrible anxiety to the point where I wonder if he needs to be on antidepressants…okay, not THAT bad but you get the idea).  I hate to make a change but this turnover crap is ridiculous. I mean, I’m not stupid, I know there’s going to be people coming and going – particularly in the price range I can afford, but come on! I think it’s time to get serious about finding another place, as much as I hate to.

Okay, so then we hit the highway to meet this lady. I had agreed to meet her in the middle because she lived an hour away and I felt bad that she was going to have to drive that far. Plus I thought there might be a better chance that she would buy from me if I put a little effort into meeting her and I am pretty eager to get rid of this stuff. Well, she did buy from me, just not enough to justify spending the money in gas getting to her and the hassle of dealing with the kids while we stood at my car (actually my friend’s car but we’ll get to that). Okay, fine. So we’re done with that and head back home. Lesson learned.

On the way home, Arden mentions something about going to the park. Yea. Okay, I thought. I’ve been so busy the last few days that I haven’t gotten to spend good time with the kids so it would fun to hang at the park a bit. However, by this time it was time for Addy’s nap and so I made a deal with Arden that we would go this place we call ”The Toy Place” after Addy woke up from her nap. And then I think, oh wouldn’t it be fun to invite one of Arden’s neighbor friends to go with us so I got on the phone with her grandmother.

While on the phone with her, I got into telling her about the daycare dilemma. And during this conversation, the kids started screaming and crying in the back seat and wouldn’t stop, so I had to end the call. This chaos had only ended seconds before we turned down a street in our neighborhood and I thought I spotted a neighbor/friend. I was kind of staring at her so that if she saw me (in this strange car) I could wave at her. Just as I passed her I saw a vehicle backing out of their driveway and I had to crank the car to the left to swerve out of the way! The other car’s tail-end was sticking into the street before they stopped. As I looked in my rearview, a little shaken, I saw the driver’s hand waving out the window as if to say, “Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Funny, because I was thinking the same about him! I started berating him out loud and usually when this happens I have no control over the words that come out. But this time, thank goodness, I was able to think ahead far enough that nothing regrettable came out of my mouth. Ugh. The bastard. (I did have the right of way, right?)

So anyway, we got home and put Addy down. When she got up we fumbled our way out the door. But I had noticed that my friend’s oil light would flicker on and off intermittently. Great. And when I couldn’t get a hold of her, my husband suggested that I take her car to the place she gets her oil changed and have them check it and top it off if necessary. So just before I got onto the highway, I crossed two lanes to get turned in the direction of the Jiffy Lube. Got there and in record time they were able to get the car taken care of – without even getting my kids out of the car (Historically, I’ve hated Jiffy Lube but this visit made me question that.)

And finally we were on our way to “The Toy Place”. We were about two minutes away from pulling into the parking garage when I looked into the rearview to see Arden’s head cranked to the side and his eyes closed. Great. He’s fallen asleep. Freaking perfect. This means that whatever outing we were on has abruptly ended. So I continued on past the parking garage and headed home. On the way home, Addy began to cry several times, surely because she was hungry. By this time it was now about 1:30 and the kids had only breakfast to eat. I was planning to stop somewhere and grab a bite, take it to a park and while Arden napped in his carseat, Addy and I would play and eat right by the car. But forget that idea because I just knew that wherever I went I would have to listen her cry throughout the whole ordering process, so I just continued toward the house – listening to her cry.

Unfortunately, my fuse was short from the time I woke up this morning and this crying was seeping into every crevice of my being – and inflating.  I. Could. Not. Handle. It. I turned up the music hoping to get her sidetracked and when that didn’t work I continued to turn up the music. And when that didn’t cover the sound of her screaming I lost it…and I started screaming. Which woke up Arden and he promtly started yelling at Adalei to stop crying. “STOP CRYING I DON’T WANT TO LISTEN TO IT!” He yelled.

Oh great. Now I’ve dug this hole much, much deeper. Good going, Mom.

At that point I pretty much left the music loud and watched the kids scream from the rearview mirror. I’m not proud of myself, mind you, that’s just the way things went. I slid into my driveway with both kids still sniffling and Guns N’ Roses on the radio. My friend has one of those radios that keeps playing after you turn the car off until you open the door so when I thrust the door open, the music was surely audible for a good two to three seconds. I shut the car door and leapt to the front door and exclaimed, out loud to myself, “Great. This was a colossal f’ng failure!!” Except I said the real “f” word. Then, after unlocking the front door and whipping around to let get the kids out of their car seats, I made eye contact with my centenarian neighbor. She was sitting in her car, eyeballing me through her open window.

Fabulous. Did I mention she’s very pristine and perfect? Great. She’s probably sitting in her car trying to recall the number to the city’s ordinance division to have a cop come out and site me for noise pollution and possible child endangerment.

Bring it, Lady!!

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And now, after the kids are to bed…

Sigh.

Well, yea, so it was one of those days. It quickly got calm once I got Adalei thrown into her high chair and tossed a broken banana onto her tray. She was immediately pacified.

And I dangled a lunch size container of ravioli into Arden’s line of vision and he was quickly mesmerized into silence.

It doesn’t take much sometimes…just a mother with food.

Whoo!

Glad this day is over.

Bottoms up!!

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When a good bath goes bad

September 4, 2012 in Hardy-har-har, Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood, Pokes at Parenthood

Speaking of poo poo…

Why

In. The. Hell.

Does it seem.

Like every time I go to give Adalei a bath she poops in the tub?

WHY? Oh WHY?

She loves bath time, so she’s only sabotaging herself – well, and making the next thirty minutes quite busy for ME because now I have to rip her out of the bath tub, diaper her as soon as possible (because sometimes the pooping doesn’t end in the bath tub) and then commence bleaching out the bathtub and all it’s contents while simultaneously fighting off a now very irate toddler?

It might have been funny the first couple of times, an unfortunate right of passage for all mothers of young children. But now that we’ll soon be counting on both hands the number of times this has happened? I’m thinking of bathing her in swim diapers from now until she’s twenty.

And no, the fact that it has completely been my fault, several of those times, for putting her in the bath just minutes after her last bite of dinner (hello!) hasn’t escaped me. But what about the other times? Is she TRYING to be funny?? And in my defense, my ambition to be the best mother for her is what leads me to put aside the memory of scooping poop out of the bathtub and once again temp fate by putting her in there after a very messy dinner. I certainly pay a price for trying to be a good mom. Don’t we all.

This girl of mine.

Sheesh.

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The poo poo debate: One of the many questions ya don’t think about until you have kids

September 3, 2012 in Kidlens, Life Lessons, Marriage Tales, Motherhood

Here’s something for you, parents of younger children, to think about. Those of you who have yet to experience the excitement and joy that is potty training…Get ready. This is serious bidness.

When I was getting ready to teach Arden to use the potty, I remember reading in a book that you needed to make a choice as to what terms you wanted to use. This is something I had never given much thought. Hmmm…I came to the conclusion that “poo poo” and “pee pee” seemed innocent and generally accepted enough. That’s what I would use. Okay, so “poo poo” and “pee pee” it was. Everything’s great.

However, for some reason, my husband has initiated a change in the program. A change that I, for some reason, don’t like. He has started to apply the term “duke”, in place of “poo-poo”.

Hmmm….how do we feel about this? It seems strange to me that I’m even wasting my breath over what probably is a non-issue…

…or is it?

To me, the term “duke” is similar to the word “dookie” and let me tell ya, where I grew up, on the south side, the boys used to use this word. And they used it in a way that was teetering on the edge of rebellion. It was a bad word. Girls didn’t say it, and boys only said it among their friends. So for me it’s a bad word, only slightly better than “the F word”.

So, I ask you, my distinguished readers: Is “duke” an acceptable replacement for “poo poo”? Am I being a little too prissy pants here?

Take my poll over on the top right of the page. It’s anonymous. And if you have anything to share, I’m all ears. I would love to hear your thoughts. Tell me, what terms do you use (or plan to use) in this whole potty business, and why?

 

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An indiscretion, a key to the city, and a few unanswered questions

July 19, 2012 in Becoming Less Dumb, Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood

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As I said yesterday, we are in the Golden State for a wedding. The wedding has obviously come and gone but we thought we would stay for a few more days and make it into a little va-ca. A few things have happened on this trip that have made it memorable. For example, our truck broke down on the way here, but we were quickly up and running again, thanks to my grease-monkey husband; Adalei fell off a bed for the first time in her life, leaving behind a still visible bruise on her forehead; She also fell out of the camper, down the metal steps and onto her belly on the concrete pad – no injuries, thank goodness, but that was a painful lesson in just how quickly she can get things figured out (i.e. how to open the door); And one more thing, we lost our son in the RV park. The last one takes the cake.

In California, particularly in and around the largest cities, many people live full-time in their RV’s. So, as a traveling RV’er, you have to be aware that just because you see a listing somewhere for an RV Park, it might not actually mean you can stay there as they might be filled up with people who live in the park. In parks that do allow overnighters, you can be sure that there will be many full-timers somewhere on the property. We happen to be be staying in a park now that has a separate area for the full-timers, beyond a cedar-fence divider from the overnight spots. You can still move freely from one side to the other, though.

On the other side of the fence are many children who live there, and as soon as my son saw them he wanted to make friends. Any time they were within earshot, he asked them if they wanted to play and went right into riding his bike with them or showing them his new scooter. For the most part, he stayed right outside the camper, but he would wander a little too far away if he weren’t paying attention, so we really had to watch him closely. In addition to his distance, we had to watch for other vehicles, making sure to call him back when we saw someone driving our way, just to be safe.

Last night, as I was cleaning dinner dishes and watching Addy inside, Neil had Arden outside, watching him ride his scooter. I heard Neil talking to the couple in the neighboring camper, a friendly retired couple from Phoenix. I wondered a few times where my son was, but didn’t want to interrupt Neil to ask him, for fear of sounding like an overzealous and untrusting wife. Only about twenty seconds after I had set aside my concern, Neil came to the camper steps and asked inside, “Did Arden come inside?”

WHAT THE – ?

NO!

I swooped Adalei onto my hip and rushed outside as my husband mumbled, “I was only talking for a few seconds – he was just right here…”

I made a b-line for the part of the park where the full-timers stay, hoping that he had followed another child back there to play. I really started to panic when I didn’t see any of the other children – WAIT! There they were! But I didn’t see Arden’s little blonde head in the crowd.

I interrupted them, “Have you seen the little blonde-haired boy”, and made a motion with my hands to indicate his height. They knew exactly who I was talking about.

“No. No – Wait! Maybe he’s over there – he was playing with my cousin -” and the little boy quickly jumped on his bike and sped away. I thanked the remaining children and started back towards my camper. On my way back I past a man walking a dog so I asked him if he’d seen my little blonde haired boy (I was so embarrassed to be asking – paired with fear of where he might have gone). Oh, the guy acknowledged, maybe one street over, he said as he motioned for the next row of RV’s.

I jetted between some campers to the next street and as soon as I turned to look towards the fenced part, where the full-timers live, there he was, coming my direction with a few other boys.

“Mommy!” he exclaimed, oblivious and excited to see me.

I grabbed the handle to his scooter and forced him off of it so he would have to walk next to me. I wanted to get back quickly to our camper to find his dad and let him know everything was okay. In the distance, I saw the guy who had helped me locate Arden, and I gave him a wave.

Of course, all this hub-bub upset Arden, which would potentially delay things, so I had to try and calm him but keep him moving. As we rounded the end of a row, I saw the little boy who had jumped on his bike to go look for Arden and I waved at him and told him ‘thank you’. We made it back and I found Neil between the RVs in another row. We all went back inside our camper. Neil took Adalei and I held Arden and tried to get him calmed down, while letting him know what he had done.

Just as things started to get calmed down, there was a knock on the door. I answered the door, still holding Arden, to find a strange man.

“After you’ve had a few minutes to settle down from the shock of finding your son, you should know that those little boys really jumped into action to help find him,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” I said, “They were so sweet.”

“Yea, they really jumped into action. We’ve got some really good kids here.”

Again, I agreed as I reached for the door to pull it shut, signaling to the stranger to beat it.

As I shut the door, I thought, what the eff did that guy want and what the hell was he trying to accomplish by coming over here? What did he want – for me to talk to the mayor and get the kids a key to the city? Is is protocol to drag my son out and wander around the RV park, looking for every one of “those kids” to thank them for their effort in finding my precious child? Freaking weirdo.

As if momentarily losing my son wasn’t bad enough, now I have to listen to a pitch from the one-man-kudos-brigade.

Ultimately, I sort of wanted to beat my husband for not paying attention, but I knew that he already felt bad enough that he didn’t need to hear it from me. And I knew that it could have been me. But let me tell ya, my kid didn’t get to play on his bike or scooter again. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was when neighbor kids sprung into action to help return a little three year old back to his mommy but my fear was that it would warrant another visit from that reward seeking weirdo.

This entire incident brings back to light a question I have had since Arden began to walk: How do you explain to a young child why they can’t go further than a certain distance away from you? Do they understand the words “danger” and “safe”? When I use those words with Arden he just stares at me blankly, like he is trying to make sense of it.

I realize now that I should have been more swift with the consequences when he ventured outside the invisible boundaries I had pointed out to him. But still, what are appropriate consequences for a three and a half year old that just wants to play with other kids so badly and doesn’t understand that he’s could get hurt when out of our sight?

Ugh.

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Weddings and small children don’t mix – but wine and dance music does

July 17, 2012 in Hardy-har-har, Kidlens, Life Lessons, Marriage Tales, Motherhood, Pokes at Parenthood

A few days ago, the 4eyedblonde clan loaded up and headed for Californ I.A., for a wedding.

At a winery.

Now, if you thought for a second that we are the type of people to let a couple of small, bratty kids get in the way of free booze, you need to reevaluate your understanding of the term “alcoholic”. We might be old, but we aren’t mature enough to keep from driving for two days to get free, fresh, wine.

But, let me tell you something I hadn’t the foresight to plan for when loading up for the trip: Kids make fancy weddings difficult - dare I say it, unenjoyable even. Gasp!

I felt like I was trying to wrangle two little piglets into the farthest corner of the garden-like area where the ceremony was taking place, without making a spectacle of myself and my kids. I was trying to blend in with the scenery, but I don’t think a three year old’s continuous rock-kicking and subsequent hushed scolding can at all blend with a vineyard wedding complete with a professional violinist playing sweetly. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince Adalei that it was not a good idea to play in the rocks, just like her brother, subsequently dirtying up her cute clothes – just like her brother.

Why am I so horrible about finding any form of entertainment for my children that would circumvent the behavior that causes me so much stress? Stupid – stupid – stupid. But then again, what could I have given them, really? It’s not like I can read a book to them, or play a game of memory, or tickle them. I tried to tempt Arden with my new best friend – my iPhone – but had no luck. And my biggest fear was that, in the middle of the vow exchange, one – or both – of my kids would do something to make a crap-ton of noise and cause everyone to stop what they were doing and turn to look at us. I decided I just had to get the hell out of there.

So finally, after the bride had made her way to the front, and the official had everyone’s attention, I swooped Adalei onto my hip like a super heavy Cabbage Patch, all slumped over, and grasped Arden’s defiant hand and steered them down the hill back to the entrance to the winery, out of earshot of the other guests. I had expected this part – it’s just part of being mommy to young kids. I know I can’t expect them to sit still, with their hands in their laps – so I knew to just get over it. But after the new bride and groom appeared at the bottom of the hill, where I was hiding with the kids, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad that I didn’t get to see them make their vows. The bride was so gorgeous, and the groom looked so proud. I was sad to have missed out.

But I would have been more sad to have been remembered as the mom with the kids who squealed and screamed all through the ceremony, embarrassing the couple.

Note: My husband was tasked with managing the camcorder, so he wasn’t available to help with the kids, not that there would have been anything he could have done to keep them quiet either.

After the ceremony it was, like, fifty times worse. I actually considered leaving my husband at the wedding and taking the kids back to our camper. Arden wanted to run around and Adalei  wanted to do investigating of her own. And I’m sure you can imagine how well their agendas meshed – uh, they didn’t. Arden wanted to climb on all the tables and Adalei wanted to practice her walking skills while dragging her blankie all over the nasty, stone paved patio. I had to watch Arden like a hawk, knowing that the second I looked away he would be gone and I would become the irresponsible parent wandering around the winery with a look of panic tattooed on my face, holding my wiggly daughter on my hip. I’m telling you, I couldn’t have a conversation with ANYONE because I constantly had to be on guard. Even after the ceremony, while everyone wondered around waiting for dinner (for TWO EFFING HOURS), it was still uncomfortably stressful, trying to keep track of the kids while simultaneously trying to engage in adult conversation.

Neil got all pissed off at me for being so up tight but it was impossible for me to enjoy anything when all I could concentrate on was my squirmy kids. I just wanted to go home and be done with it. And just when you might agree with him, make a note that there were a couple of times when another guest returned my son to me after he had been separated from his dad. And sure, these were probably all good people, attending this beautiful wedding, but aside from fearing my son would meet an unmasked boogie man, what if he ventured into some place where I couldn’t find him? It’s a working vineyard.

Then, finally, dinner came – praise God. This gave us all something to do, in one place, to keep ourselves busy – for a few minutes until Arden saw another child sneak something from the desert table and thought this gave him permission to do the same. Well, shit.

Slowly, we made it through dinner and I decided it might be safe to have a glass or two of wine. And then, finally – and I do mean finally – the D.J. started his gig and everyone swamped the dance floor. Arden went toe to toe with the only other little boy guest (there were only about three other children there, and they were all about eight years old) in an impromptu dance-off. My boy has SKILLS now! (Skills he OBVIOUSLY  got from his mother) Everyone sort of backed up and watched him. It was so cute! And Addy had found a happy place on the chest of my friend, the mother of the bride. At that point, I can finally say I had been having fun for a while. But it seemed like a long time coming though.

Quickly enough, the dance part of the wedding was over and it was time to leave. They flipped on the lights and everyone made their way out of the tent and back down to the winery entrance.

Do I wish I didn’t have kids so that I could have enjoyed this engagement without the stress of managing two iddy bitties? No. Do I wish that we could have had a pop-up babysitter for the occasion? You’re damn right. That wedding was an awakening.

Let my experience be a lesson for you: If you are invited to a wedding, and you would like to stay for the duration, unless the venue has entertainment for your young children, do not go. Or, find a babysitter. Trust me. Even if you are one of those go-with-the-flow flexible moms I wish to be some day, don’t tempt fate. Don’t do it.

Unless you bring your own kiddie entertainment. A little mobile magician, perhaps?

Word

 

 

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Funny thing happened on the way back from the bathroom

July 4, 2012 in Kidlens, Life Lessons, Motherhood, Uncategorized

Look at what I found upon my return from a trip to the bathroom. Good thing MOST of the markers used were Crayola, thus easily washable.

I was just glad he was coloring on her instead of trying to take away her toys or push her down. It’s funny, the things you eventually find to be acceptable behavior after a while…

 

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Bon appetit

June 18, 2012 in Hungry Like a Wolf (Food), Kidlens, Life Lessons

“Remind me of how stupid of an idea this is if I suggest it again.” — Me, after yet another ignorant attempt at eating out with young children.

Why do I continue to do this to myself? (And why isn’t there a law enforcing restaurants to clean high chairs and booster seats more often – like after each use, perhaps? Is that asking too much?)

Dining out will never be like it was before kids. Not even when they’re not with me. Why, oh why does this cold hard fact continue to elude me when the idea of eating out pops up? I have gotten used to the fact that it will be years before I will again be able to jump in the car at a moment’s notice but I can not accept the fact that enjoying a meal out again won’t likely happen again until I am old enough to think that Golden Corral sounds delicious. Ugh.

Yesterday, just after Little Lady awoke from her morning nap, we decided to hit a salad bar for lunch. We had been feeling kind of sluggish for the last few days – The Husb especially, with his work schedule flip-flopping between days and nights. We were hoping that a fill up of some wholesome greens would give us a boost. I was starving when my husband asked if we could stop at a fish store before going to eat. No problem, I thought. Everyone was in a cheerful mood (at that moment).

He picked up some fish that we then had to run back to the house. Great. Let’s make this quick.

After a surprisingly quick dash to the house, we were on our way to eat. Praise Allah. I felt like my stomach was beginning to turn inside out. I was huuuungry.

So we got to the restaurant and took our place in line.

Almost there.

Then trouble started.

As The Husb held Little Dude a few feet away, I could see some obvious signs of a fatigue-induced meltdown brewing. Restlessness. Grouchy facial expression. Then I saw Little Dude smack his dad in the face.

GREAT.

After quickly making eye contact with me, My husband whisked Little Dude out the door. I eagerly tried to find sight of them outside but I couldn’t. Little Lady and I inched closer and closer to the register but still no sight of The Husb and son. We’ve never left a restaurant before eating so I wasn’t sure what to make of the whole deal.

Finally I reached the register … just as I missed a call from The Husb. Damn! I tried dialing him back while pulling out my credit card in slow motion, wondering if he had tried to call to tell me to bag our lunch plans and meet him at the car.

He didn’t answer. (Ain’t that the way it goes?)

So I slowly gave the lady my card and, literally, the moment she swiped it My husband popped his head in the door and gave me the sign to leave. Doh! The woman behind me asked, “You’re not staying?” I promptly ignored her – was she writing a book? What business was it of hers, and if she was patient she would have her question answered without even wasting her breath.

Me? Crabby? Why yes. Yes I was. And don’t forget hungry, too.

So we crammed back into the car and listened to Arden scream at the top of his lungs that he didn’t want to leave. “Stop! Stop! I hungry! I stop cwying! Go back!” His screaming inevitably scared Addy so she too began crying. Aaaahhh…. The joys of parenthood.

On our way home the car returned to a quiet peaceful place. So Neil and I debated whether or not to make another attempt to eat out at another salad place nearby. The decision was made to make another go of it and so we headed toward our new destination.

This time we were able to find a seat and make our plates with only the usual amount of ruckus. But it wasn’t long until Addy was throwing shit on the floor and turning her nose up at everything we had chosen for her. And soon it became necessary to pull her out of the high chair and try to keep her occupied long enough for us to gulp down as much food as we could before we lost her all together … Which didn’t take but a couple more minutes when I had to abandon my plate to walk around with her so that at least ONE of us (a.k.a. Neil) could eat.

On the bright side, though, Arden was an angel.

Am I rambling?

Yes. I believe I am.

The point is that eating out is just as enjoyable as eating cold, leftover spaghetti. Therefor, I think next time that is what I will choose to do – save myself the money, hope, and agony.

Bon appe-friggin-tit.

Word.

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