Tag: kids

bad day, children, mommyhood, tantrums

6:00 Sharp

WFAM

Since I have been slacking in many areas with the boys because I have been sick; I wanted to get back in the swing of things by preparing an actual meal for the boys. They have had so much processed, fast food lately I’m worried that they may turn into chicken nuggets.

Full Speed determined he ‘didn’t like’ the main course of pasta, peas and turkey sausage and proceeded to fight me tooth and nail about ingesting it. Little T.Puzzle decided he didn’t want raisins (I know you are impressed by this gourmet side dish). Not only was he passionately against eating the raisins, he didn’t even want them touching his plate and screamed and cried because I ignored his tearful requests (trust me, the kid’s had raisins before AND lived). Then he decided he didn’t want the beverage I chose for him. He was in and out of time-out like a revolving office door on a busy day.

After several threats, Full Speed got his act together (a little bit) but T.Puzzle spiraled deeper into his abyss of contempt. He was mad that Grandpa was sitting in ‘his chair’ in the living room. I told him to get over himself. Grandpa offered to move but I drew the line. T.Puzzle was simply not going to get his way.

Since time-outs in the dining room corner were not making a dent in his hysteria, I changed tactics and moved him upstairs to his room. He was already at a level 10 and spewing snot like a fountain. I had to sit on the other side of his door to keep it shut. He was beside himself.

After ten very long and tense moments, he calms himself enough that I can engage him in conversation. “If you stop crying and pull it together, you can come downstairs. You need to apologize to Mom first,” I say.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he bleats over and over.

He’s reasonable enough now that I think I can take him downstairs. No sooner than we cross the threshold of the living room than the level 10 tantrum commences. I call ‘uncle.’

It’s 6:00 sharp do you know where your kids are? I know one of mine is smack-dab in the middle of his bed and won’t be seen until morning.

gratitude, happiness, mommyhood

Anything is Possible

WFAM

Despite the hectic day of a sick T.Puzzle, bed delivery, and feeling quite tired; I had to pick-up Full Speed from school. The day prior, my good friend had dropped off a home-cooked meal for us and let us borrow her movie rental of ‘Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.’ She is a lifesaver. I wanted to save her some time so while I was out getting Full Speed, I wanted to return the movie.

We pull-up to the Winn-Dixie where I know there is a Red Box Movie drop-off. I tell Full Speed that I am returning the rented movie, that he can see me from his window at all times and I will only be a minute (he doesn’t like to be left in the car without me even for a few seconds). Turns out that this particular Red Box was down and a kind stranger told me to head to Wal-Mart which is nearby. For the Red Box at Wal-Mart we have to park and walk into the store (just the entry part with the carts). I give Full Speed the movie to hold as his ‘job’, grab his hand and then heave not-so-little T.Puzzle on my hip.

As we are walking to the store, Full Speed keeps asking over and over about where I “grunted” the movie. I have no idea what he is talking about as I am trying to keep everyone safe from all the cars and people. When I have a moment where I can catch my breath and think, I finally understand what he means. I say, ‘Oh, you mean RENTED not GRUNTED.” Full Speed is clearly relieved that he finally got his point across.

“I didn’t rent the movie, Miss Kelly did. She was kind enough to share it with you and T.Puzzle when she generously brought us over dinner. She is a kind friend, don’t you think?”  Full Speed agreed.

Then we turn to the Red Box and I coach him through how to insert the movie and we are a success. I turn and give him a high-five and he giggles at his simple accomplishment that Mom is making into a big deal.

I grab his hand and we make the turn to head to our truck. A woman near us stops us. “You are the sweetest family!” she genuinely says. I’m taken aback. I resist the urge to look behind me to see if she is talking to another family.

Who knew my clan had the ability to be referred to as sweet? If this is the case, than truly anything is possible.

children, health, marital blissishness, parenting

Vomitville: Part Two (It Was Only A Matter Of Time)

WFAM

pb153480After some stalling and uncertainty, the decision was made. Even though it wasn’t an early start which would have been ideal, we are headed to the Jacksonville Zoo and Gardens. Before we leave T.Puzzle gets a hold of his sippy cup from the diaper bag. He insists he is thirsty and manages to splash water down the side of the bag (you’ll need this information as it relates to later in the story).

We are in the convertible headed to the gas station. Mad Dog needs an energy drink (if you had a Full Speed and a T.Puzzle, you’d need one, too). It’s a short drive, less than a mile and the entire time, T.Puzzle is coughing and hacking. I think nothing of it as his allergies have been acting up and we are in the open air. As we park and Mad Dog exits to go to the convenience store, the hacking worsens. I undo my seatbelt, turn around and am going to try to get T.Puzzle to drink some water to hopefully ease his discomfort.

Instead I turn around just about the time he lets loose a long, cascade of multi-colored vomit. I’m helpless. I determine the best course of action is to let the seemingly endless vomit run its course and then clean-up after. The good news is, it isn’t projectile so it sort of pools on him and in his car seat sparing most of the convertible’s interior. Mad Dog approaches and I tell him, “Grab the diaper bag and find me a baggie!”

Now, as any Mom knows, you can’t be mad at your poor, pukey child so the frustration you feel rising has to go somewhere. That somewhere is usually your spouse.

Mad Dog grabs the diaper bag and I just knew, I KNEW, he wasn’t going to be able to find a baggie. On his first attempt, he makes a face and says, “T.Puzzle got vomit all over the bag!” He face twists in distorted disgust and I lose it.

“No, he didn’t, the vomit is contained to this side of the car. That is WATER from his sippy cup!” I shout. I can’t believe he is freaking out over imaginary vomit when I am up to my armpits in the real thing. AND, I still have no baggie to start putting the mountain of wipes I’m accumulating in my frantic attempts to clean up little T.Puzzle.

Eventually, after what seemed like days, Mad Dog finds a baggie, I have T.Puzzle mostly cleaned and we head home to do a T.Puzzle strip down and major clean-up. The pics I have in the post today are literally FIFTEEN minutes after his endless vomit. If only we all could recover from life so quickly.

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children, mommyhood

9-1-1

WFAM

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My time with Full Speed at home while he recovers is winding down. I’ve noticed that when it is just the two of us, it feels more like I’m spending time with a small man than my nearly five year old son.

He is a serious boy. Believe me, he loves a good chuckle but mostly he is thoughtfully observant and brimming with curiosity. As his observations become more multifaceted, I am finding it difficult to explain things in terms he can relate to. Today he asked me what it meant to have a broken heart.

“Well, you know that feeling in your chest when you feel sad?” I ask.

“No, I am not sad. I don’t feel sad. I never feel sad,” he says in a stern way. He is clearly trying to avoid his feelings in a typically male fashion.

Okay, so that approach didn’t work. I knew I needed to clearly address his question because we’ve had all sorts of discussions about bodies that don’t ‘work’ anymore as I tried to explain what happened when his Grandma died. I didn’t want him to think that a heart randomly breaks and stops working (even though it could but you know what I mean).

“When a heart is broken,” I bravely plod on, “it means more about having hurt feelings than an actual heart that hurts.” I expounded a little more and then he moved on to something else. This kid is going to give me a run for the money with his questions. It is highly entertaining and terrifying all at once.

When we were riding in the truck today, Full Speed explained he liked to wear his seatbelt under his arm instead of over his shoulder.

“Full Speed, you need to keep it over your shoulder so you stay safe,” I state firmly.

“What would happen if I never, ever wore my seatbelt again?” he asks.

“That would be against the law and you wouldn’t keep safe if we were in an accident,” I respond.

“Mom, there’s a girl in my class who says she doesn’t wear her seatbelt. We should tell the police. You should call them as soon as we get home.” He is a stickler for the rules.

I am taken aback with frustrated amusement and grow silent. I’m learning sometimes when I try to explain things we end up on a tangent so far from the starting point that I want to give up.

I don’t say anything for a few minutes and all is quiet in the backseat.

“Mom, do you know the number to the police because they need to know about so-and-so not wearing her seatbelt,” he persists.

I can ‘hear’ it now, “911 what is your emergency?” the voice on the line asks.

I say, “My five year old asks questions I can’t answer and may soon be smarter than I am. Send help immediately.”

Believe me my finger is hovered over the phone at the ready to dial.

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eyesight, health, loss of parent, mommyhood, surgery

The ‘Game Face’

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We are home after the surgery and we are thankful to be so. As evening approaches I make some popcorn and we head up to our family loft area to watch ‘The Fox and the Hound’. It feels good to be all snuggled together.

It was nice to sort of let the events of the day fade into the background. It’s exhausting constantly to have your ‘game face’ on for your children.

There was a moment when Full Speed was done with the surgery and Mad Dog and I were with him that I almost completely lost it. I was standing next to his metal crib watching him. He was still and peaceful. He was hooked up to an I.V. and all the other contraptions to monitor his vital signs and the tears started to pour down my cheeks.

I couldn’t fathom all this year has put us through. I thought back to when my Mom was diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer and the dreadfulness that ensued. I remembered going through some of my own medical procedures and testing this summer (all relatively minor with positive results) and how physically and emotionally demanding that had all been on the heels of my Mom’s medical disaster. I thought of the countless trips to downtown Jacksonville to the Children’s Clinic as I tried to get Full Speed the best vision possible, failing miserably with contacts and Mad Dog and I making the scary decision to move forward with his last-ditch eye surgeries. I also tried to process some of the strangeness of my family dynamics with my Mom missing from its core.
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Feeling overwhelmed, I wanted to curl up in a tiny ball and cry. Instead, Full Speed woke up and he was awfully cantankerous shaking off the anesthesia and I had to get my ‘game face’ back on.

When do Mommies get their moments to lose it? I’ll let you know when I finally have mine.