children, mommyhood, rock and a hard place

Hot Bananas

WFAM

You know in life that sometimes you have to pick your battles. Sometimes you’ll let your two year old change into an orange Lightning McQueen t-shirt when you had already placed a perfectly acceptable navy blue Lightning McQueen one on him. In life, you aren’t going to win them all.

When Mad Dog originally wanted to take our then two and a half year old Full Speed to see the first Transformers movie, I resisted. It seemed too violent and full of innuendo for me to think it was a good fit for Full Speed.  After a lot of persistence on Mad Dog’s part I relented. You know pick your battles and all.

So of course when the second Transformers movie came out you know who and who were first in line. Fine. At least I didn’t have to go.

Now this cinematic wonder is out on DVD. We own it. Of course.

Full Speed has adjusted fairly well to seeing the violent action. He doesn’t have scary nightmares and honestly, he is exactly as hyper as he was before (off the charts).

Well, my opinion of the movie’s effect may have shifted slightly this morning. I was eating breakfast with my adorable boys. We had a lengthy discussion about omnivores vs. herbivores (Full Speed loves dinosaurs).  T.Puzzle sang ‘Hakuna Matata’ and I announced that everyone who was eating at the table were bananavores. They thought that was giggly silly. I even belted out a few bars of ‘Hakuna Matata’ myself.

Full Speed looks at me and says, “You’re hot, but not too bright.” He means it as a way to compliment my singing but I don’t find this very complimentary. I’m speechless in fact. It didn’t feel like a very proud parenting moment either.

In the second Transformers movie there is a point when an evil robot thing refers to Megan Fox’s character in the same way. In that context it seems fitting. At home eating breakfast with my two boys it does not.

I asked Full Speed to not say that again and let it go at that. I didn’t make a big deal about it because I wasn’t sure where to begin. I would have to define ‘hotness’ and wasn’t sure how to make the term relatable to a five year old. Then, I would have to go off into the feminist juncture about never insulting a woman’s intelligence or evaluating her based primarily on her appearance. That seemed like a whole lot of heavy discourse before 8 a.m. We hadn’t even finished our bananas yet.

Surprised Frack

children, marital blissishness, parenting

Three Ring Circus

WFAM

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Today is a momentous day for our family. We are going to the store to buy a trundle bed for T.Puzzle’s room. Our plan is to get T.Puzzle used to sleeping in the pull-out part of the bed (as it is low to the ground in case he should fall). Once he is comfortable and it has become routine, we would allow for his brother to sleep in the regular part of the trundle bed on occasion (I guess only if I’m in the mood to torture myself).

It has taken Mad Dog and me awhile to agree on the type and style of bed we want. We had seen something on-line we both agreed on and were glad to see the same model on the store-room floor.

Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

It’s not.

The boys decide that the assortment of beds and furniture on display are there solely for their entertainment. Soon, T.Puzzle is climbing every, single one of the bunk beds and leaning dangerously over every edge he can access. I’m running around with my hands up in what I like to call the ‘perma-catch’ formation. You have to cup your hands sort of like a basket and the object is to always keep them directly under your child. This is not easy. Two year olds are notoriously fast and they rarely stay in one place.

While I am playing “Catch the Two Year Old”, Full Speed is frustrated that he is not getting my focus of attention. He is getting pouty and every two seconds is announcing, “Look at me, I’m in the soccer chair. Look at me, I’m in the football bed. Look at me; I’m lying in the middle of the floor.”

I try to be patient but my patience is wearing thin. I try to calmly explain to Full Speed that I in fact, cannot watch him. I have to watch his little brother. T.Puzzle’s life depends on having my full concentration.

Out of the corner of my eye it appears that Mad Dog is engaged in some chit-chat with the salesman. Ladies, you’ve seen it before. When two men talk with their arms folded across their chests. It looks comfortable, relaxed and lengthy. I want to cry. (In Mad Dog’s defense, he was attempting to negotiate.)

How can Mad Dog not see that I am inches away from losing my mind? He never noticed. He didn’t even bat an eyelash that T.Puzzle almost hurled himself to serious, permanent injury 14 times.

As we exit the store (finally!), T.Puzzle trips dramatically THREE times because he is so wound up. Each time he sprawls across the floor as if he was hit by a bomb. I can’t take it.

We get to our car and T.Puzzle trips AGAIN. I pick him up and he turns his head so fast, I don’t have time to get my face out of the way. The corner of his glasses catch my nose and it hurts. I am beyond frustrated.

I yell at Mad Dog. He yells back. So much for a momentous family outing. Well, I suppose it was momentous, just for all the wrong reasons.

Now that I have some distance from the situation, I’m realizing my frustration didn’t have anything to do with Mad Dog (I am sorry). It couldn’t have happened any other way. Mad Dog had to focus on negotiation and payment and my part of the deal was to keep my children safe (easier said than done). I think why I was so upset is the knowledge that I can’t ever walk into a store setting with my boys and not have it turn into a three ring circus. The good news is circuses are highly entertaining.

p9203295

children, humor, mommyhood, parenting

Heads or Tails?

WFAM

The FWe are at Dave & Busters for Full Speed’s official birthday celebration. We have an assortment of family and friends and the air is filled with happy sounds. We have bravely placed all the kids ranging in age from 2 through 13 at one table. My friend, who is also the Mom of two boys, quickly surveys the table for possible weapons and promptly removes all the knives from the place settings. It’s like watching a combustible science experiment as the kids clamor about each trying to talk louder than their neighbor.  They are clearly having a blast.

My friends with their two month old and three year old daughters arrive soon after everyone has placed their orders. Therefore, as a majority of the party is finishing up their food, these friends still have food left to eat. Since I remember what it’s like having a new baby (barely, believe me, I have purposefully blocked a majority of it out) I plan to linger and hold the baby so my friend can finish her food. She didn’t ask me because she’s a Mom and Moms never ask for help. I do it because I want to. I remember how all I wanted in the world when my boys were tiny was a chance to eat my food in peace. I still haven’t achieved that level of nirvana yet (my boys can still be rather high maintenance at restaurants). I’m a lot closer than I used to be. I have hope.

Mad Dog grabs Full Speed and heads towards the gaming area of Dave & Buster’s with the group. He looks at me holding the teeny, tiny baby and says, “Who’s got T.Puzzle?” I know he means for someone to watch him because he clearly wants to play man-to-man defense with the boys. However, I’m holding a baby, give me a freakin’ minute! The F@

Eventually, Mad Dog pawns T.Puzzle off on Grandma (I know she doesn’t mind in the least). As they depart, my friend and I marvel at how men are conditioned to only watch one child at a time. That is so not an option for Moms. We’ve got all kids all the time. Unless of course tomorrow I decide I’m only going to care for one boy at a time.

It might go something like this. I would say, “Go get Mommy a quarter, Full Speed. It’s time to decide who Mommy watches today. Heads or Tails?”

children, parenting, self-discovery

Survival of the Fittest

WFAM

only one for you FrickFrack has them all

A while back our Nan turned ninety-three and we celebrated with pizza, cake and balloons. As parting gifts to the boys, they each received a lovely birthday balloon. As soon as we got home I tied two, plastic dinosaur spoons on the ends of them to prevent them from launching up into the highest peaks of our cathedral ceilings in our front room (this is considered no man’s land for balloons).

Works like a charm (mostly). A few days in one of the unfortunate balloons detaches from the spoon and creeps up to an unreachable ceiling crevice. The second balloon survives a long time.

Soon, this balloon detaches as well from its spoon and rises to the ceiling. Not the crazy, never-going-to-reach-it ceiling but the one in our family room. You know what? I don’t care. I’m too tired (from being sick all week) to stand on a chair and get it. The boys don’t seem to mind and I let it go. What goes up eventually must come down, right?

We are in the front room where they are playing Transformers (T.Puzzle is lucky to get one; Full Speed gets the rest in typical, big brother fashion). We hear a strange, repetitive hitting sound in the other room. Come to find out, the silly balloon is caught up in our ceiling fan and is being beat senseless. It takes me awhile to figure out how to get it down. Every time I position myself on a couch or chair to grab it, it is already long gone. Somehow, on one of its wild, bobbing turns I manage to grab it and pull seventeen muscles running along my rib cage in the process. Ouch.

I’m so annoyed with this balloon I toss it in our game room. I figure it’s off of the main living area, the boys won’t fiddle with it and I can regain a semblance of peace. Nope.

Guess what gets caught in the game room fan? Only this time to get down the unrelenting balloon I have to get a running start and leap for it. Try to picture me leaping. I know, funny right? I’m no ballerina that’s for damn sure. This time I pull one hundred and seventeen muscles all over my entire body. Ouch.

I now have the errant balloon in custody and have placed it in lockdown (really it’s the laundry room but there are zero fans in there). If an inanimate object can outsmart me for that length of time, how am I going to outwit, outplay, outlast (used to love Survivor) my boys? I have no idea. Unfortunately, I’m not made of helium. I can’t float away when I’m having a tough day. As a parent I’m going to have to be like a ceiling fan. I’ll have to keep coming at them over and over and over. I’m in it, to win it.

Frick and Frack at play

health, self care (or lack thereof)

Ocean Drive

WFAM

p2142575So, at five-thirty this a.m. I find myself awakened to a swollen throat. The right side of my neck is throbbing and my right ear is aching like a son of a gun. I realize with dread that this is the day I have to seek medical attention.

First, Full Speed is off to school and then secondly, I have to stop for my allergy shots (I’m so close to maintenance shots which means less future trips to the allergist that I cannot skip). From there I will head to the Minute Clinic at CVS pharmacy. Of course T.Puzzle must accompany me on both of these glorious outings (let the record reflect my sarcasm).

The allergy shots went fine if you think getting poked with a sharp needle three times is fine (which I do not). I think T.Puzzle may have overdosed on Cheerios and Goldfish (the crackers, not the actual fish in the office aquarium) while we waited. I didn’t mind because he was quietly content.

I called Mad Dog and asked him to get directions to the Minute Clinic from the allergy office and text them to me. He did and I sent him a quick text of ‘thanks’.

I think I am delirious. I didn’t trust the directions and felt I knew what I was doing. I went the wrong way for a long, long time. I pull over because I am sensing we are getting close to the ocean which isn’t good unless of course you want to go to the ocean (which I do not). I call Mad Dog and he tells me immediately where I made my mistake and how to correct it. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been sick all week or if I am fed up that I’ve been sick all week, but I didn’t handle this suggested course correction well. Okay, I flippin’ lose it. Don’t worry, Mad Dog has heard worse from me but it doesn’t make it right. We end our conversation and tears are streaming down my frustrated face.

I turn around and I finally stumble upon the Clinic. T.Puzzle and I enter and then wait to check-in at the kiosk. I kid you not; the man in front of us took FOREVER to sign in. I don’t know what he was doing but it took an enormous amount of willpower not to yank the touch-screen stylus from his hand and enter his information for him (as a side note, it took me less than two minutes to sign in and I was holding a squirming, thirty-five pound, two year old).

We wait our turn and I bring out the DVD player for T.Puzzle. That is something I rarely do. Believe me I have weathered enough outings, doctor’s appointments, ophthalmology visits without resorting to digital entertainment for my kids. Today is the exception because I feel like crap. The woman next to me makes some snotty comment about ‘kids today’ and how they need computerized stuff to be entertained and that they don’t know how to exist without it. I felt too crappy to argue but it really cheesed me off.

To add insult to injury when I finally see the nurse practitioner she says there isn’t a darn thing she can do to alleviate my misery. Basically, I had a nasty virus and my body is fighting it off the best it can, hence the enormous, painful swelling of my glands in my neck. The swelling is what is making my throat hurt and probably causing the earache, too.

I realize I should be thankful that it hasn’t manifested into a nasty bacterial infection in my sinuses, ears or throat (which is what normally happens). However, I was hoping for something, anything to make me feel better. Only time can heal all wounds and apparently viruses, too.