On the first day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. a smile that was meant just for me.
On the second day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the third day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the fourth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the fifth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the sixth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the seventh day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the eighth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the ninth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the tenth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 11 messy burp cloths, 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks, and a smile that was meant just for me.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my baby gave to me …. 12 TP rolls a flowing, 11 messy burp cloths, 10 clean fingers and toesies, 9 dirty diapers, 8 more months of milking, 7 tiny giggles, 6 kisses blowing, 5 blessed hours of sleep...4 bear hugs, 3 drooly kisses, 2 rosy cheeks,
And a smile that was meant just for me!
About Me
- Jennifer
- I'm a wife of 19 years to Jeff and mother to two teens, Michael 18, and Tracy 15. The cats, Hannah and Leia,are female so I have a little female energy in the house besides me! In my previous life BK (before kids) I was a technical writer, poet, and essayist. Now I'm a write-at-home mom who tries to find the balance between writing, doing for kids, doing for hubbie, doing for the house, and doing for myself.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Aly's Legacy
A neighbor of mine lost her only child a few months ago. Her only daughter. Her name was Aly. She had just turned 19 and had just finished her first year of college. She wanted to be a nurse or doctor, last I heard. She seemed like a good kid. She loved kids, even babysat for my son once. She died suddenly, from an accidental prescription drug overdose.
As a neighbor I am in shock, for this hits too close to home. As a mother, this is unfathomable. How do you lose a child, your only child, your world? As a mother, how do you recover from this? One day your daughter is here, the next she's gone forever, all her hopes and dreams with her.
When I first heard about Aly's death I was shocked. To read in the news that 1 in 5 teens has abused a prescription pain medication (The Partnership For A Drug-free America, http://www.drugfree.org/) is one thing, but when a young person in your neighborhood dies from partying with a morphine patch is somehow inconceivable. And yet, as I remember when I was a teenager and all that was available I realize that not much has changed. Back then instead of using prescription drugs teenagers sniffed glue or took cough medicine with codeine to get high, among other things.
I know how young adults are with their devil-may-care attitudes, for I was just one of them it seems. I feel lucky to have survived that period of my life, for I thought that I was invincible. However, it could as easily have been my mother who had to deal with her daughter's death.
But it wasn't and now I am a mother. Now I know how it feels to love someone more than yourself, to vow to protect someone to the ends of this earth, to feel the gut wrenching fear of loss. I cannot imagine life without my two young boys. I feel lucky to have them here with me under my roof, but guilty as I think about my neighbor several houses down whose daughter's room is empty. I feel fear as I think about my boys' futures: how do I protect them from something like this?
I received a letter from Aly's parents sometime after her death asking to spread the word about the dangers of prescription drugs that do not belong to you. "Warn your children," they wrote. "They think they are invincible, we all did. Just because the drug isn't illegal like heroin or cocaine or crack, doesn't mean it is safe if it is prescribed by a doctor for another. One tragic mistake can take their life away and leave many hearts broken."
After reading this letter I realized that my responsibility as a writer is to share this information with as many people as possible. My children aren't yet old enough for this to be a real threat to me but knowledge is power and if we get the word out now about the dangers of prescription drugs, perhaps by the time my boys are teenagers enough actions will have been taken to get these drugs out of the hands of young people.
As I get older I am finding that there are no guarantees in life. There is nothing written in stone that says that my children will be protected from all hardships and loss or that I will not experience an untimely loss myself. But I have to believe that all the love we bestow on our children will give us some insurance. And so let's hug them, squeeze them, love them, and TALK to them. And do a lot of praying.
Please do me a favor and share this information with your children or with the parents of teenaged children. Pass it on and spread the word. If the untimely death of a teenager can spark some change in this world then her passing will not have been in vain.
As a neighbor I am in shock, for this hits too close to home. As a mother, this is unfathomable. How do you lose a child, your only child, your world? As a mother, how do you recover from this? One day your daughter is here, the next she's gone forever, all her hopes and dreams with her.
When I first heard about Aly's death I was shocked. To read in the news that 1 in 5 teens has abused a prescription pain medication (The Partnership For A Drug-free America, http://www.drugfree.org/) is one thing, but when a young person in your neighborhood dies from partying with a morphine patch is somehow inconceivable. And yet, as I remember when I was a teenager and all that was available I realize that not much has changed. Back then instead of using prescription drugs teenagers sniffed glue or took cough medicine with codeine to get high, among other things.
I know how young adults are with their devil-may-care attitudes, for I was just one of them it seems. I feel lucky to have survived that period of my life, for I thought that I was invincible. However, it could as easily have been my mother who had to deal with her daughter's death.
But it wasn't and now I am a mother. Now I know how it feels to love someone more than yourself, to vow to protect someone to the ends of this earth, to feel the gut wrenching fear of loss. I cannot imagine life without my two young boys. I feel lucky to have them here with me under my roof, but guilty as I think about my neighbor several houses down whose daughter's room is empty. I feel fear as I think about my boys' futures: how do I protect them from something like this?
I received a letter from Aly's parents sometime after her death asking to spread the word about the dangers of prescription drugs that do not belong to you. "Warn your children," they wrote. "They think they are invincible, we all did. Just because the drug isn't illegal like heroin or cocaine or crack, doesn't mean it is safe if it is prescribed by a doctor for another. One tragic mistake can take their life away and leave many hearts broken."
After reading this letter I realized that my responsibility as a writer is to share this information with as many people as possible. My children aren't yet old enough for this to be a real threat to me but knowledge is power and if we get the word out now about the dangers of prescription drugs, perhaps by the time my boys are teenagers enough actions will have been taken to get these drugs out of the hands of young people.
As I get older I am finding that there are no guarantees in life. There is nothing written in stone that says that my children will be protected from all hardships and loss or that I will not experience an untimely loss myself. But I have to believe that all the love we bestow on our children will give us some insurance. And so let's hug them, squeeze them, love them, and TALK to them. And do a lot of praying.
Please do me a favor and share this information with your children or with the parents of teenaged children. Pass it on and spread the word. If the untimely death of a teenager can spark some change in this world then her passing will not have been in vain.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Survival of the Stitches!
Tonight Jeff and I can officially call ourselves seasoned parents: we survived a trip to Urgent Care for one of our sons.
It happened like this:
It was about 6:30 p.m. and Michael had just put on his pajamas. He'd had a busy week and weekend and was needing to go to bed early, says me. Apparently he didn't agree with this because he started that before bedtime rough housing thing that boys do with their fathers (at least mine do). I was putting away dishes in the kitchen and the boys and Jeff were in the living room.
All of a sudden I heard a loud thwack of head hitting solid surface. Immediately following was a loud, high-pitched scream, the one reserved only for serious hurts. I ran into the living room and saw Jeff holding Michael's head. His first instinct was to see if Michael's head was bleeding. Sure enough, it was.
"What happened?" I asked without raising my voice. Somehow I was not entering panic mode but instead was calm.
"Michael hit his head on the corner of the coffee table," Jeff replied.
"Murphy's Law," I said. "We haven't had a coffee table in the house since Michael was little for just this reason and 10 days after we get one someone gets hurt."
I was not experienced with head wound treatment but knew enough to find a spare cloth, wet it down, and put it on the back of Michael's head and apply pressure. After a few minutes I lifted the cloth to see the damage. What I saw was not good - a one-inch gash of broken skin on the back of Michael's head along with a lot of blood.
"Looks like a trip to the hospital for stitches," I said. Jeff agreed. Michael didn't.
"Noooooo!!!" Michael wailed. "I don't want to go to the hospital! I don't want to get stitches!"
Does anyone ever WANT to get stitches? Probably not. Michael doesn't do well with being hurt and has to have band-aids for little tiny paper cuts. The last time he had to have a shot at the doctor's office he hid under the table and I had to drag him out in order for him to get the shot.
I've never had stitches so I have no experience to go by as far as what happens, but I tried my best to assure Michael that it wouldn't hurt much and that we really needed to get his head fixed. Luckily for us we realized that we could go to the Urgent Care facility a mile down the road and bypass the ER experience.
"I'm scared Momma, I'm really scared," Michael said to me as I held the cloth against his head while Jeff drove.
"It'll be ok," I reassured him. "I'll be with you the whole time and hold your hand."
Despite this fact, he was pretty hysterical by the time the nurse took us back to the cot where he would get his stitches. I'm not the best at thinking on the fly, but I have to give myself a pat on the back because tonight I stood up to the challenge.
"How about if I tell you a story?" I asked him.
"Uh huh," he mumbled through his tears.
"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a little boy named Michael..." I don't know if it was the tone of my voice or if he really was enthralled by my stories (or maybe it was the 25 mg of Benedryl they gave him), but he calmed right down and remained that way while the nurse cut the hair around his cut and cleaned it, and through the doctor's assessment that he would indeed need 4 stitches.
We had plenty of time for stories too since we had to wait about 30 minutes for the Benadryl to take effect and the Lidocaine to numb his wound. By the time the doctor came in to stitch Michael up, he was pretty groggy. He only cried a little bit when the doctor gave him a couple shots of local anesthesia to numb him up. And he laid perfectly still for the stitches. Not even a peep.
So, 1 1/2 hours, $40, four Lego stickers, and two tired children later we said goodbye to the Urgent Care staff, thankful that we hadn't had to take a trip to the Emergency Room (for we would probably still be there) and thankful that the situation hadn't been much worse.
Nothing can prepare one for situations like these but I'm proud that Jeff and I were both mavericks through it all. No one passed out from the sight of blood or the gaping wound or the stitching of skin. We remained cool, calm, and collected. We survived.
Tomorrow, I'm afraid, will be a different story. That's when I get to tackle the fun task of washing the wound and putting salve on it. I'm sure that will be like trying to get a cat to take a bath. Maybe I can try the story trick again.
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Michael..."
It happened like this:
It was about 6:30 p.m. and Michael had just put on his pajamas. He'd had a busy week and weekend and was needing to go to bed early, says me. Apparently he didn't agree with this because he started that before bedtime rough housing thing that boys do with their fathers (at least mine do). I was putting away dishes in the kitchen and the boys and Jeff were in the living room.
All of a sudden I heard a loud thwack of head hitting solid surface. Immediately following was a loud, high-pitched scream, the one reserved only for serious hurts. I ran into the living room and saw Jeff holding Michael's head. His first instinct was to see if Michael's head was bleeding. Sure enough, it was.
"What happened?" I asked without raising my voice. Somehow I was not entering panic mode but instead was calm.
"Michael hit his head on the corner of the coffee table," Jeff replied.
"Murphy's Law," I said. "We haven't had a coffee table in the house since Michael was little for just this reason and 10 days after we get one someone gets hurt."
I was not experienced with head wound treatment but knew enough to find a spare cloth, wet it down, and put it on the back of Michael's head and apply pressure. After a few minutes I lifted the cloth to see the damage. What I saw was not good - a one-inch gash of broken skin on the back of Michael's head along with a lot of blood.
"Looks like a trip to the hospital for stitches," I said. Jeff agreed. Michael didn't.
"Noooooo!!!" Michael wailed. "I don't want to go to the hospital! I don't want to get stitches!"
Does anyone ever WANT to get stitches? Probably not. Michael doesn't do well with being hurt and has to have band-aids for little tiny paper cuts. The last time he had to have a shot at the doctor's office he hid under the table and I had to drag him out in order for him to get the shot.
I've never had stitches so I have no experience to go by as far as what happens, but I tried my best to assure Michael that it wouldn't hurt much and that we really needed to get his head fixed. Luckily for us we realized that we could go to the Urgent Care facility a mile down the road and bypass the ER experience.
"I'm scared Momma, I'm really scared," Michael said to me as I held the cloth against his head while Jeff drove.
"It'll be ok," I reassured him. "I'll be with you the whole time and hold your hand."
Despite this fact, he was pretty hysterical by the time the nurse took us back to the cot where he would get his stitches. I'm not the best at thinking on the fly, but I have to give myself a pat on the back because tonight I stood up to the challenge.
"How about if I tell you a story?" I asked him.
"Uh huh," he mumbled through his tears.
"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a little boy named Michael..." I don't know if it was the tone of my voice or if he really was enthralled by my stories (or maybe it was the 25 mg of Benedryl they gave him), but he calmed right down and remained that way while the nurse cut the hair around his cut and cleaned it, and through the doctor's assessment that he would indeed need 4 stitches.
We had plenty of time for stories too since we had to wait about 30 minutes for the Benadryl to take effect and the Lidocaine to numb his wound. By the time the doctor came in to stitch Michael up, he was pretty groggy. He only cried a little bit when the doctor gave him a couple shots of local anesthesia to numb him up. And he laid perfectly still for the stitches. Not even a peep.
So, 1 1/2 hours, $40, four Lego stickers, and two tired children later we said goodbye to the Urgent Care staff, thankful that we hadn't had to take a trip to the Emergency Room (for we would probably still be there) and thankful that the situation hadn't been much worse.
Nothing can prepare one for situations like these but I'm proud that Jeff and I were both mavericks through it all. No one passed out from the sight of blood or the gaping wound or the stitching of skin. We remained cool, calm, and collected. We survived.
Tomorrow, I'm afraid, will be a different story. That's when I get to tackle the fun task of washing the wound and putting salve on it. I'm sure that will be like trying to get a cat to take a bath. Maybe I can try the story trick again.
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Michael..."
Monday, October 27, 2008
All By Myself!
Nicholas has a new mantra: "I can do it ALL BY MYSELF!" He says it about everything from putting jelly on his waffle to putting on his shirt in the morning. He is very proud about this budding independence of his.
"Nicholas, come brush your teeth," I tell him as I get the toothpaste and toothbrush out.
"I can do it all by myself," he demands as he grabs the toothpaste from me and squeezes twice the amount he needs onto the toothbrush.
I try to let him do as much by himself as he can for I know this is important for his development. He'll ask me for help when he needs it, which is often. This morning he wanted to get dressed right after he got up. While I tried to clear my head for the day he went into his room, took off his pajamas, picked out a shirt, put it on, put some underwear on, and came to get me to get him some pants.
"Do you want to wear jeans or sweatpants today?" I asked him.
"Sweatpants," he said. I picked out a pair of sweatpants and automatically held them so he could step into them.
"Mom!" he cried. "I can do it all by myself!"
"I can do it all by myself." These words are music to my ears for up until about a month ago he could never bear to be without me.
From the time this child entered the world we were stuck together like glue. I knew right from the start that he was going to give us a run for our money. When Michael was born he didn't cry at all; he just looked around taking it all in (and to this day he is the same way - he absorbs his environment). Not Nicholas. He came out screaming and crying and wouldn't calm down until he was handed to his mother and put to the breast.
As an infant, Nicholas liked to be held and if you put him down he would scream and cry until you picked him up again. Eventually we were able to put him in his swing for a long nap. At 6 weeks old he slept through the night for 10 hours at a stretch. How we celebrated when this happened. Unfortunately it was short lived and then his need for me was so much more intense. It was a need, too. He just wouldn't be satisfied with anyone - not Daddy, not Grandma or Grandpa - unless it was Mom.
Last month, much to my delight, he took a couple major steps forward in the "All by myself" campaign. First he mastered going poop in the potty almost overnight (going pee pee took a little longer but now I don't have to constantly hound him about going every 30 minutes), and then he started preschool AND had a sleepover by himself at Grandma's all on the same day.
I was floored by the grace in which he executed the latter two steps. The first day of preschool he walked through the door full of confidence and delight. I hung around for about 5 minutes and then told him I was going to go but I would be back to pick him up soon.
"Ok, Mom," he said and gave me a hug, then went back to playing with blocks. As I walked out the door I was surprised to find that I was tearing up, partly with joy at how easily we parted and partly with sadness that my baby was already hitting this milestone. I kept my cell phone on as I ran errands, expecting to get a call that he was inconsolable and needed me, but the call didn't come. When I picked him up he was excited to see me and so proud of himself for staying all by himself.
That same afternoon we went over to my mom's house to visit and celebrate his first day of preschool. I don't know if he was still riding the high of his newfound independance or just trying to see how brave he could be, but I know that I just about fell on my face when he uttered these words that my mom had been waiting almost 3 years to hear: "Grandma, can I have a sleepover?"
Of course she didn't say no so we went home and packed his suitcase. Upon dropping him off, I told my mom to call if I needed to come pick him up, even if it was at 3:00 in the morning. Then I went home to wait for that phone call. O ye of little faith, I thought ashamedly.
That night I had the best sleep I've had for about 5 years. I didn't wake up once - the phone never rang. I waited until I got Michael off to school then called my mom, anxious to hear the report.
Apparently Nicholas had the best sleep he's ever had too. "He didn't wake up once," my mom told me. "He was happy and didn't even cry for his mommy."
I was so excited for him and for myself. This was nothing short of a miracle! My clingy babe was turning into an independant little boy. I could see my future opening before my eyes: weekends away with the girls, trips away with my husband. Finally I would have some freedom!
In a fairy tale, this is just what would happen: Nicholas would continue to love being apart from his mom and be content to go to school by himself and have sleepovers away from home all the time. Alas, he fell victim to the two steps forward one step back rule of thumb.
In a few weeks he decided that he really didn't like going to preschool without me and began screaming and crying when I would leave him. His teacher and I decided that in order to prevent him from being traumatized from school forever that it was in his best interest if we pulled him from the program. It broke my heart to do so because we love this teacher and this particular preschool program, but he hasn't mentioned going back ever since so I know that it was the right thing to do. As far as sleepovers, well, he likes the idea of having one, but when it gets down to the time when Mom or Dad has to leave, he decides that he wants to go too.
And so I get what I had wanted in the first place: more quality time with my second-born son. Weekends away will just have to wait a little longer, but I'm taking time for myself at night or on the weekend. And Nicholas, well, he is still asserting himself and his independance, this time by tackling tasks like pouring cereal and milk into a bowl by himself or getting the juice out of the refrigerator.
"Nicholas, come brush your teeth," I tell him as I get the toothpaste and toothbrush out.
"I can do it all by myself," he demands as he grabs the toothpaste from me and squeezes twice the amount he needs onto the toothbrush.
I try to let him do as much by himself as he can for I know this is important for his development. He'll ask me for help when he needs it, which is often. This morning he wanted to get dressed right after he got up. While I tried to clear my head for the day he went into his room, took off his pajamas, picked out a shirt, put it on, put some underwear on, and came to get me to get him some pants.
"Do you want to wear jeans or sweatpants today?" I asked him.
"Sweatpants," he said. I picked out a pair of sweatpants and automatically held them so he could step into them.
"Mom!" he cried. "I can do it all by myself!"
"I can do it all by myself." These words are music to my ears for up until about a month ago he could never bear to be without me.
From the time this child entered the world we were stuck together like glue. I knew right from the start that he was going to give us a run for our money. When Michael was born he didn't cry at all; he just looked around taking it all in (and to this day he is the same way - he absorbs his environment). Not Nicholas. He came out screaming and crying and wouldn't calm down until he was handed to his mother and put to the breast.
As an infant, Nicholas liked to be held and if you put him down he would scream and cry until you picked him up again. Eventually we were able to put him in his swing for a long nap. At 6 weeks old he slept through the night for 10 hours at a stretch. How we celebrated when this happened. Unfortunately it was short lived and then his need for me was so much more intense. It was a need, too. He just wouldn't be satisfied with anyone - not Daddy, not Grandma or Grandpa - unless it was Mom.
Last month, much to my delight, he took a couple major steps forward in the "All by myself" campaign. First he mastered going poop in the potty almost overnight (going pee pee took a little longer but now I don't have to constantly hound him about going every 30 minutes), and then he started preschool AND had a sleepover by himself at Grandma's all on the same day.
I was floored by the grace in which he executed the latter two steps. The first day of preschool he walked through the door full of confidence and delight. I hung around for about 5 minutes and then told him I was going to go but I would be back to pick him up soon.
"Ok, Mom," he said and gave me a hug, then went back to playing with blocks. As I walked out the door I was surprised to find that I was tearing up, partly with joy at how easily we parted and partly with sadness that my baby was already hitting this milestone. I kept my cell phone on as I ran errands, expecting to get a call that he was inconsolable and needed me, but the call didn't come. When I picked him up he was excited to see me and so proud of himself for staying all by himself.
That same afternoon we went over to my mom's house to visit and celebrate his first day of preschool. I don't know if he was still riding the high of his newfound independance or just trying to see how brave he could be, but I know that I just about fell on my face when he uttered these words that my mom had been waiting almost 3 years to hear: "Grandma, can I have a sleepover?"
Of course she didn't say no so we went home and packed his suitcase. Upon dropping him off, I told my mom to call if I needed to come pick him up, even if it was at 3:00 in the morning. Then I went home to wait for that phone call. O ye of little faith, I thought ashamedly.
That night I had the best sleep I've had for about 5 years. I didn't wake up once - the phone never rang. I waited until I got Michael off to school then called my mom, anxious to hear the report.
Apparently Nicholas had the best sleep he's ever had too. "He didn't wake up once," my mom told me. "He was happy and didn't even cry for his mommy."
I was so excited for him and for myself. This was nothing short of a miracle! My clingy babe was turning into an independant little boy. I could see my future opening before my eyes: weekends away with the girls, trips away with my husband. Finally I would have some freedom!
In a fairy tale, this is just what would happen: Nicholas would continue to love being apart from his mom and be content to go to school by himself and have sleepovers away from home all the time. Alas, he fell victim to the two steps forward one step back rule of thumb.
In a few weeks he decided that he really didn't like going to preschool without me and began screaming and crying when I would leave him. His teacher and I decided that in order to prevent him from being traumatized from school forever that it was in his best interest if we pulled him from the program. It broke my heart to do so because we love this teacher and this particular preschool program, but he hasn't mentioned going back ever since so I know that it was the right thing to do. As far as sleepovers, well, he likes the idea of having one, but when it gets down to the time when Mom or Dad has to leave, he decides that he wants to go too.
And so I get what I had wanted in the first place: more quality time with my second-born son. Weekends away will just have to wait a little longer, but I'm taking time for myself at night or on the weekend. And Nicholas, well, he is still asserting himself and his independance, this time by tackling tasks like pouring cereal and milk into a bowl by himself or getting the juice out of the refrigerator.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Bugs, Bugs, Bugs!!
The e-mail came late Friday afternoon. It said, "Dear Parents, we found out late today that we have several students in the building that have head lice."
My heart stopped. Lice?! LICE?! As in creepy crawly bugs that cling to a child's head like bears to honey? Come on, I thought. We're only one month into the kindergarten and already we're getting notes about lice in the school?!
"Please check your children for nits," the e-mail continued. "They look like dandruff, but are difficult to get off the hair shaft unlike dandruff." I hoped that since Michael only went to school twice that week he wouldn't be very likely to come in contact with the lice, but called him over to me to check his head anyway.
"Mom, what are you doing?" he said as I lifted up his hair and randomly checked the roots for nits. (Even typing the word nits gives me the creeps - to think that something could be crawling around in my son's hair is unimaginable.)
"I'm looking for bugs, buddy," I replied. "Sometimes little bugs can get in your hair and then you have to get them out."
"How would you get them out?" he asked, intrigued by the thought.
"Well, you might have to get your head shaved cause then the bugs wouldn't have any hair to hold onto," I told him, not really knowing if that were true but it sounded good and maybe it would scare him into holding still for me.
It did. "Oh, I don't want that to happen," he said and sat like a stone so I could do a thorough check.
Luckily, I didn't find anything. I know from hearing horror stories what a pain having a child with lice can be. I think that apart from the vomiting flu, having your child come home with lice is a mother's biggest nightmare. Not only do you have to get the lice out of the hair, which can be tricky, then you have to decontaminate the whole house and hope that you got all the lice because leaving behind just one can start the process over again. I know a woman who battled lice on and off for 2 years and finally got rid of them by smothering them with mayonaise and plastic bags.
Hopefully I won't have to go through that. Michael came home from school today and told me that someone went through his hair and looked for bugs. I didn't receive a phone call from the school so I have to assume that he is bug-free. And that's the way it will hopefully stay. Bugs belong outside in the grass and trees, not in little boys' heads. But I'll keep checking anyway.
Here are some informational links about lice and how to get rid of them:
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/fs_headlice.pdf
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/PPHS/headlice_checklist.pdf
http://www.s-e-a.net/
My heart stopped. Lice?! LICE?! As in creepy crawly bugs that cling to a child's head like bears to honey? Come on, I thought. We're only one month into the kindergarten and already we're getting notes about lice in the school?!
"Please check your children for nits," the e-mail continued. "They look like dandruff, but are difficult to get off the hair shaft unlike dandruff." I hoped that since Michael only went to school twice that week he wouldn't be very likely to come in contact with the lice, but called him over to me to check his head anyway.
"Mom, what are you doing?" he said as I lifted up his hair and randomly checked the roots for nits. (Even typing the word nits gives me the creeps - to think that something could be crawling around in my son's hair is unimaginable.)
"I'm looking for bugs, buddy," I replied. "Sometimes little bugs can get in your hair and then you have to get them out."
"How would you get them out?" he asked, intrigued by the thought.
"Well, you might have to get your head shaved cause then the bugs wouldn't have any hair to hold onto," I told him, not really knowing if that were true but it sounded good and maybe it would scare him into holding still for me.
It did. "Oh, I don't want that to happen," he said and sat like a stone so I could do a thorough check.
Luckily, I didn't find anything. I know from hearing horror stories what a pain having a child with lice can be. I think that apart from the vomiting flu, having your child come home with lice is a mother's biggest nightmare. Not only do you have to get the lice out of the hair, which can be tricky, then you have to decontaminate the whole house and hope that you got all the lice because leaving behind just one can start the process over again. I know a woman who battled lice on and off for 2 years and finally got rid of them by smothering them with mayonaise and plastic bags.
Hopefully I won't have to go through that. Michael came home from school today and told me that someone went through his hair and looked for bugs. I didn't receive a phone call from the school so I have to assume that he is bug-free. And that's the way it will hopefully stay. Bugs belong outside in the grass and trees, not in little boys' heads. But I'll keep checking anyway.
Here are some informational links about lice and how to get rid of them:
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/fs_headlice.pdf
http://www.oakgov.com/health/assets/Documents/PPHS/headlice_checklist.pdf
http://www.s-e-a.net/
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Fling
My husband is having a fling. I know about it too. In fact, he wants me to join in. I just don't know how I feel about having a threesome ..... with a boat. That's right, the other woman is a boat. A 1996 Four Winns Fling.
It all came about in August right before we went on our yearly vacation up north to a small cabin on a small lake by Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park. This would be our third year taking the kids up to the cabin we rented with my sister-in-law, niece, and brother, who, to put it mildly, is a fishing enthusiast.
The first year the guys went fishing in the rowboat that was provided with the cabin. The rowing proved to be too taxing for them so the second year my husband Jeff borrowed a motor from one of his friends with a boat. He and my brother spent the entire week trying to get that motor to work so they could attach it to the rowboat and go fishing in style. Alas, they never got it started and had to be satisfied with catching fish waist-deep in the lake.
So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised with what was coming next. As our trip approached, Jeff frequented the computer at every spare chance he got.
"Whatcha doing?" I asked him as he sat at the computer while I cleaned up the dinner dishes yet again.
"Nothing," he replied. "Just surfing."
"Surfing for what?" I asked as I walked over to peek at what he was doing. When he saw that I was not going to stop being nosy until I had a satisfactory answer he spilled his plan.
"I'm looking for boats so we can take one up north on vacation."
Oh, the boat obsession thing again.
"What are we going to do with a boat?" I began my argument, one of which he'd heard many, many times. "The kids are too little to tube or water ski and besides, they are afraid of the water anyway!"
"Well, I found a small one on craigslist.com and it's in good shape and is only a mile away. I think I'm going to take a look at it," he said, my argument falling on deaf ears. Oh crap, I thought, this time he's seriously looking. Time to pull out all the stops.
"Where would we store a boat? We can't even fit the cars in the garage right now? And with gas being so high - is buying a boat right now a smart thing?"
Apparently he'd been thinking about the boat for a long time and had done his research so he had an answer for all my questions.
"We can store it at your dad's - he'd let us right? And because this is a small boat it really won't take that much gas. Besides, I've already received an e-mail from the seller and I'm going to take a look tomorrow. Come on, it'll be fun to have a boat!"
He had such a happy look on his face that I conceded. "All right, go take a look at the boat and I'll think about it," I said, but even as I spoke those words I knew the decision wasn't up to me and that if the boat was in good shape the sale was already made.
I did, however, keep up my end of the bargain and think about what life would be like with a boat in it. And I didn't really like what I saw. For one thing, I am not a boat person. I am a land dweller. I like to have both feet planted on solid ground not in a wobbly boat that pollutes the air with gas fumes. Lakes have too many things in them, like seaweed and FISH. Anyone who knows me knows of my fear of the finned ones. I won't even go into the water when minnows appear at the shore. So for me to go in a boat on a lake where if I fall in I might come in contact with a fish is not something that appeals to me.
And another thing: Jeff gets very involved and obsessed with his toys and this boat would be yet another distraction away from me and the boys. I could see it now - the yard would go to pot because every nice weekend for the rest of the summer would be spent on the boat. And evenings would be spent tinkering on the boat.
I kept these thoughts to myself because Jeff came home from the viewing looking so happy as he said "Family, we are almost the proud owners of a boat!" He said almost because he did want to get my input first. So we went to have a look. I have to tell you, I didn't see stars or fireworks as he must have when he first laid eyes on the boat. To me I saw a tiny boat that looked like it was in good shape. To Jeff, it was fun, excitement, and thrill in a small package. Jeff tried to sell me on all the details, like the fact that this boat would retain its value if we decided in a few years that the boating life was not for us after all. "What fun we could have as a family on this boat!" he pontificated. I knew that if I didn't agree that he would either buy it anyway or continue his search until he wore me down, so I relented with strings.
"I'm not totally sold on this boat thing," I told him. "You'll have to do some heavy convincing."
The next day the boat was ours. And the affair had begun. His, not mine.
The first time he got a chance to drive the boat as the owner was on the lake up north, 5 days after he bought it.
"Do you know what you're doing?" I asked him as I helped him back the boat into the water. He assured me he did but I could tell he didn't. The wind was blowing kind of hard and each time he tried to get the boat started it would start to drift back into shore. I was no help because I knew absolutely nothing about boats. Luckily for him a kind, brave soul saw his need and came to help him get the boat started and going in the direction he wanted. I watched him throttle it to full speed as the motor took, hair flying off his forehead as the nose of the boat rose sharply in the air. Well, at least he's happy, I thought. I just hope he doesn't get stranded in the middle of the lake.
That week at the lake was the best week we'd had at the cabin. I'd actually have to say that the boat was a big reason: the dads got to spend some quality time teaching their kids how to fish on the boat; therefore, the moms got some alone time to relax and bake in the sun. And everyone knows that when moms are happy, everyone is happy!
Back home, however, real life with the boat set in. As I'd predicted, every nice weekend was planned around the boat. We took it out with friends one Saturday and were on it for 6 hours. Well, the guys and kids were at least for the novelty of going around a lake in circles had wore off on me up north. Plus, when I was on the boat with Jeff and the kids I was always worried about the kids' safety.
"Don't go so fast," I would tell him as we zoomed over the waves from another boat. "What if you bounce the kids out of the boat?" Jeff assured me that would not happen, but I didn't believe him.
Needless to say, I haven't been on the boat too much. I would much rather be at home than on the boat. He has gone out with the kids and with friends but I can tell that he really wants to take me for a ride and convince me that having a boat is fun. After all, that's what he bought it for.
Tomorrow he will get his chance. The kids are going to the zoo with their grandparents and the weather is supposed to be perfect. So I'll leave my misgivings about the boat behind and try to have fun. After all, why should the boat get to have all the fun? I'd like to have a fling with my husband too!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Art Of Vomit
Welcome to cold and flu season! Nicholas and I have been down and out with a cold so I haven't had much time to devote to writing. I wrote this piece a couple of years ago but I think it's still timely. Enjoy!
At times I feel very inadequate as a parent. Like when the boys are sick. Nowhere in the parenting books does it tell you how to deal with vomit.
I’m changing 2 ½ year old Michael’s diaper on his bedroom floor and 4 month old Nicholas is lying next to him. Michael begins coughing uncontrollably and the next thing I know he’s throwing up all over himself. Reflexively I stand him up, where he finishes vomiting. His shirt is soaked, the floor is now spotted in dark pink, and I have vomit on me. For a moment I’m frozen like a deer in headlights - I don’t know what to do first. Do I clean off my hands or get a towel to clean the floor or Michael’s face and shirt? I’m thankful that Nicholas didn’t get any on him – that would have created a second wave of dumbfoundedness. I quickly run to the bathroom rinse my hands and grab a towel to wipe off Michael’s face. Then I race back to my crying son.
I am faced with the dilemma of how to take off his shirt without getting vomit all over his head. I opt with the backwards removal by drawing the back of his shirt over his head hair first so as to minimize exposure to the face. Now it’s off to the bathroom for an impromptu but well needed bath. In between washing Michael’s toes and fingers I go to his bedroom and scrub the carpet to get rid of the stain and the stench. One hour later Michael is cozy in pajamas and the vomit crisis has been almost forgotten.
Being only 2 ½ years into this parenting thing I haven’t had a lot of experience in the art of vomit. I guess vomit removal isn’t one of those innate parenting skills like boo boo kissing. It’s like any other messy situation that kids create – you just deal with it as best you can and someday perhaps handling it will become second nature.
How did my mom manage when my brother and I were sick? I don’t recall her hesitating for a second. I remember warm hugs and lots of kisses and cold cloths against my forehead. I remember her soothing my fears with a simple “Shh, Mom’s here,” as she wiped my face. I remember being surrounded with love and knowing that I would get well because my mom was taking care of me.
I hope that’s what Michael and Nicholas will remember about being sick when they are older - the hugs and kisses and love – and not the traumatic stuff like when I inadvertently shot liquid Motrin up Michael’s nose when he bumped the cup as I was lifting it to his mouth, or the pain that he went through when he had Nursemaid’s Elbow. Nicholas hasn’t been sick much so far but I’m sure there will be instances that I hope he doesn’t remember.
I recently asked my mom the best way to clean up vomit. She hesitated as if she’d forgotten (or just put those memories in a far dark corner of her brain), but then told me to scrub it with “a lot of soapy water.” And, I am learning, a lot of love. Thanks, Mom.
Have you had any experiences with vomit or have you perfected the art of cleaning up vomit? Send me an e-mail or comment on this blog - I'm still trying to learn how to deal with it!
At times I feel very inadequate as a parent. Like when the boys are sick. Nowhere in the parenting books does it tell you how to deal with vomit.
I’m changing 2 ½ year old Michael’s diaper on his bedroom floor and 4 month old Nicholas is lying next to him. Michael begins coughing uncontrollably and the next thing I know he’s throwing up all over himself. Reflexively I stand him up, where he finishes vomiting. His shirt is soaked, the floor is now spotted in dark pink, and I have vomit on me. For a moment I’m frozen like a deer in headlights - I don’t know what to do first. Do I clean off my hands or get a towel to clean the floor or Michael’s face and shirt? I’m thankful that Nicholas didn’t get any on him – that would have created a second wave of dumbfoundedness. I quickly run to the bathroom rinse my hands and grab a towel to wipe off Michael’s face. Then I race back to my crying son.
I am faced with the dilemma of how to take off his shirt without getting vomit all over his head. I opt with the backwards removal by drawing the back of his shirt over his head hair first so as to minimize exposure to the face. Now it’s off to the bathroom for an impromptu but well needed bath. In between washing Michael’s toes and fingers I go to his bedroom and scrub the carpet to get rid of the stain and the stench. One hour later Michael is cozy in pajamas and the vomit crisis has been almost forgotten.
Being only 2 ½ years into this parenting thing I haven’t had a lot of experience in the art of vomit. I guess vomit removal isn’t one of those innate parenting skills like boo boo kissing. It’s like any other messy situation that kids create – you just deal with it as best you can and someday perhaps handling it will become second nature.
How did my mom manage when my brother and I were sick? I don’t recall her hesitating for a second. I remember warm hugs and lots of kisses and cold cloths against my forehead. I remember her soothing my fears with a simple “Shh, Mom’s here,” as she wiped my face. I remember being surrounded with love and knowing that I would get well because my mom was taking care of me.
I hope that’s what Michael and Nicholas will remember about being sick when they are older - the hugs and kisses and love – and not the traumatic stuff like when I inadvertently shot liquid Motrin up Michael’s nose when he bumped the cup as I was lifting it to his mouth, or the pain that he went through when he had Nursemaid’s Elbow. Nicholas hasn’t been sick much so far but I’m sure there will be instances that I hope he doesn’t remember.
I recently asked my mom the best way to clean up vomit. She hesitated as if she’d forgotten (or just put those memories in a far dark corner of her brain), but then told me to scrub it with “a lot of soapy water.” And, I am learning, a lot of love. Thanks, Mom.
Have you had any experiences with vomit or have you perfected the art of cleaning up vomit? Send me an e-mail or comment on this blog - I'm still trying to learn how to deal with it!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The First Day - Part Two
Well, I'm happy to report that Michael's first day of kindergarten went off without a hitch. Unless you count me coming unglued in the shower as a hitch. Which I did.Bright and early at 6:50 I woke Michael up. He was in a deep sleep and hard to wake up but when he did I've never seen him get dressed so quickly. Phase one complete, I said to myself.
He picked through his breakfast, eating only part of his french toast. He complained of a tummy ache, which I immediately chalked up to nerves, and excused him from the table to go brush his teeth.
After teeth brushing it was time to put on the shoes. Not just any shoes, but tie shoes, ones he doesn't know how to operate just yet. His teacher said that was fine because she ties a lot of shoes and likes to help teach the kids to tie their own shoes. Score another point for her!
I like to be on time or even early, but my family does not and does their best to torture me by dilly dallying so we are always late. Amazingly enough, however, we were ready to go by 7:30, the time I had targeted to get out the door. That way we would be on time for sure: 5 minutes to walk to the bus stop that was just down at the end of our street, and 10 minutes to wait for the bus, which is what the bus notice suggested. Phase 2 complete.
So, backpack on his back and head held high, Michael set out for his first day of kindergarten. He looked so confident and unafraid. He looked so sure of himself. He looked like a kindergartener.
Of course no one else showed up at the bus stop until about 3 minutes before the bus came. They'd already had their first day of school so the newness of the experience had worn off for them. When we did see that big yellow vehicle making its way down the street, I had to ward off a lump in my throat in order to tell Michael that his bus was coming.
I took a deep breath. Here it is, I thought, that one defining moment that every parent both looks forward to and dreads at the same time - their child getting on the bus for the first day of school.
When the bus stopped, all the kids lined up and Michael followed. I had to pull him back in order to give him a hug - he was so anxious to get on that bus. I couldn't even squeak out an "I love you" because I knew it would cause me to cry and I didn't want to cry in front of him.
And just like that he was on the bus and in his seat. He didn't even look back at me as he got on the bus. No separation anxiety here. We could see him through the window and he waved to us and we waved back to him. Luckily for me the bus driver diverted my attention from the enormity of the moment by telling us that from now on bus pickup wouldn't be until 8:00. Fifteen more minutes to sleep, I thought. Hurrah! Then she closed the doors and drove away, carrying my very precious cargo.
All day long I wished I could be a fly on the wall of Michael's classroom. As Nicholas and I finished our breakfast I wondered what Michael was doing. Would he remember how to get to his classroom? Would he remember where to put his lunchbox and backback? Would his confidence remain or would he suddently turn shy as he sometimes does in new situations?
Finally at 3:20 it was time to go meet Michael's bus. Both Nicholas and I were anxious to see him as we had both missed him. The bus was on time and Michael was, of course, the last one to emerge.
"Hi buddy!" I cried as I knelt down and enfolded him in my open arms for a great big bear hug. "How was your first day of kindergarten?""It was great!" he said as he hugged me back with all his might, melting into my arms and relieving all of his pent-up anxiety from the day.
"Did you miss me?" I asked as we walked back to the house.
"No," he answered honestly.
"Well, I missed you," I told him.
"Why?" Why indeed! Our children have no idea how hard this day is for their parents!
As I pelleted him with a barrage of questions he eagerly told me about his day, which surprised me as I really didn't expect to get much information from him.
"Mom," he began, "we had two recesses instead of one, and we even got rest time where we got to watch some tv! We had center time and I played in the kitchen and with blocks and I drew lots of pictures and colored. We had music and our we sang songs while our music teacher played the guitar. I had so much fun today, Mom! How many days until I get to go back?"
I gave him another hug and this time it was my pent-up anxiety from the day that was relieved. My little innocent boy had survived his first day of kindergarten unscathed and unchanged. For now.
I'm happy to report that Michael and I have now survived 2 days of kindergarten and each time it gets a little easier to release him to the bus. He even has a new friend, Samantha, a curly haired blonde (of course) who came up to him and asked it he wanted to be her friend. I think he's in love but I don't think I have to worry about losing him to her yet because he said that he still likes food better than her!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Breaking News!
We interrupt this blog for a breaking news flash! Last night Nicholas had his first ever sleepover at his Aunt Janet's house! Without me!
This is the child that, for the past 2 years and 11 months couldn't bear to be away from his mother. He is the poster child for attachment parenting. This is the kid that would cry and panic if he couldn't find me in the house. "Mama, mama, MAMA!" he would cry, and I would reply "Nicholas," to him until he found me, like an out of water Marco Polo game. This is the kid who has slept next to me ever since he was born. And just like that he has a sleepover.
How did he do? He had a few minutes of crying at 1:00 a.m. when he asked to come downstairs and "wait" for us to pick him up. My sister-in-law didn't tell him that we weren't coming, she just sat with him on the couch until he fell asleep. Same thing at 4:00 a.m. Then he woke up at 6:00 for the day.
"Aunt Janet," he said. "Is it morning?"
"Yes, it is Nicholas," she replied.
"I had a sleepover!!" he said excitedly. I can just see the proud look on his face too.
How did I do? Well, I am ecstatic, overjoyed, and over the moon about this accomplishment. I am also very tired - needless to say, I didn't sleep very well. I think we'll both need a nap today!
So many monumental milestones have occurred in the last month for both of my kids - potty training for Nicholas, first day of kindergarten for Michael, first sleepover for Nicholas. Next week Nicholas starts preschool - without me. I've been wondering how he would do with the separation. Now I know.
What's next for him as he eases into his own independance and away from the hold he has on me? I don't know, but bring it on!!!!
This is the child that, for the past 2 years and 11 months couldn't bear to be away from his mother. He is the poster child for attachment parenting. This is the kid that would cry and panic if he couldn't find me in the house. "Mama, mama, MAMA!" he would cry, and I would reply "Nicholas," to him until he found me, like an out of water Marco Polo game. This is the kid who has slept next to me ever since he was born. And just like that he has a sleepover.
How did he do? He had a few minutes of crying at 1:00 a.m. when he asked to come downstairs and "wait" for us to pick him up. My sister-in-law didn't tell him that we weren't coming, she just sat with him on the couch until he fell asleep. Same thing at 4:00 a.m. Then he woke up at 6:00 for the day.
"Aunt Janet," he said. "Is it morning?"
"Yes, it is Nicholas," she replied.
"I had a sleepover!!" he said excitedly. I can just see the proud look on his face too.
How did I do? Well, I am ecstatic, overjoyed, and over the moon about this accomplishment. I am also very tired - needless to say, I didn't sleep very well. I think we'll both need a nap today!
So many monumental milestones have occurred in the last month for both of my kids - potty training for Nicholas, first day of kindergarten for Michael, first sleepover for Nicholas. Next week Nicholas starts preschool - without me. I've been wondering how he would do with the separation. Now I know.
What's next for him as he eases into his own independance and away from the hold he has on me? I don't know, but bring it on!!!!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The First Day - Part One
Tomorrow is Michael's first official day of kindergarten. Our whole life changes tomorrow. He's looking so forward to it - to meeting new friends and eating lunch in the cafeteria, but especially taking the bus ride to and from school. He rode it at the kindergarten orientation he went to on Tuesday and thought it was great fun.The orientation was interesting. Neither of us had any idea of what to expect. I told Michael that he would get to see his classroom and meet his teacher again and see all the other kids that were going to be in his class, but beyond that I wasn't sure what we would do.
I wasn't far off the mark. When we went into the classroom we were greeted by Michael's teacher, Mrs. N. She remembered him right away (I told him later that he had made a good first impression when he gave her flowers at the Meet the Teacher picnic). She then handed me two folders: one was Michael's school folder and the other contained the PTO (that's Parent Teacher Organization for you school newbies) information. Inside Michael's school folder was a parent's dream - it contained enough information to answer all of my questions, plus some! This is a teacher that I can love, I thought.
Our task that day was to participate in an informal, self-directed scavenger hunt around the classroom, completing tasks such as finding the bathroom, finding the sink and washing hands, reading a story at the reading pad (of course all the stories were about starting school and I was hard pressed to find one that wouldn't make me cry - I failed at that), and doing a craft project that would later be posted in the hallway.
Then came the bus ride. Parents and kids got to ride and ask questions. Much to my relief I learned that any bus worries I might have are unfounded. When Michael gets off the bus at school the first day he will be directed to his room and won't have a chance to get lost. And when he rides the bus home he'll have a "Bus Buddy" who will help him choose the right bus to get on.The hour went by so fast that I barely had time to take a picture of Michael with his teacher before it was time to go. Michael hadn't really had the chance to meet any new friends but I assured him that he would have no problems on the first day since he is the best friend maker I know. Michael had been a little nervous before the orientation but now that he was familiar with the school and his room his nervousness turned into excitement for his real first day.
Tonight as I lay in bed with him we talked about his first day tomorrow.
"Are you scared?" I asked him.
"No, I'm not," he replied. "I'm excited to ride the bus and meet new friends." That's my boy.
I, however, am not looking forward to tomorrow morning. It is going to be a rude awakening. For one thing, we are quite out of practice at getting up before 8:00. But now we have to get up before 7:00 for him to catch the bus by 7:45. There's a lot to do in that hour too: get dressed, eat breakfast, brush teeth, put shoes and coat on, gather up backpack and lunch. I could do all that in 30 minutes or less. My child, however, is slower than a snail and sometimes thinks his name is "Come on!" I swear I'm considering having him wear his school clothes to bed just to save some time in the morning. We did a practice run this morning and it took him 25 minutes alone just to eat breakfast!
However, we laid out his clothes before he went to bed and I have his backpack and lunch all ready to go. And I'm making him a relatively fast breakfast to eat (french toast and bacon). We should be able to do this morning thing tomorrow.
Regretably my own mom won't be here for Michael's first day of school (she's in Italy celebrating her 40th wedding anniversary with my dad). So tomorrow I'll have to recall the wisdom she wrote to me before she left for her trip:
"June 9, 2003...you became a mother. A job that will last a lifetime and one that changes like the colors of a kaleidoscope. You immersed yourself into motherhood, giving Michael your undivided attention, love, and support. You nurtured his imagination, his zeal for knowledge, and his creativity. You carefully selected his books, his television viewing, and his playmates. You monitored his food, kissed his boo-boos, helped him recover from imagined hurts, and encouraged him in all of his pursuits.
September 2008...Michael begins kindergarten. And now your protected little boy makes his first venture from the nest...to a world that belongs to him. Where he will need to make friends, negotiate challenges, abide by rules, and be responsible for himself.
You've laid the groundwork and have given your little boy so much to carry him in his school life. He has confidence that his world is safe, he has a healthy body, he has exuberance for learning, and he has a compassionate heart.
So as you prepare for this first step away from home, remember the wise words of Erma Bombeck who said:
'Parenting is like flying a kite. We work so hard to create and make it as perfect as we can. And then we launch it...running with it to make it fly higher and higher...further and further from our sight. And when it gets to its apex we let it go.'"
I'm letting go, Mom, really I am. One finger at a time.
Watch for part two of this blog - a full report of Michael's first day of school. In it I will answer these questions: Did he make any friends (probably)? Did I cry as I put him on the bus (of course!)? Did Nicholas cry because he couldn't go with Michael to school?
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The End Is Near
The end is near. I can see it in the very near future: NO MORE DIAPERS!!! I really never thought I'd see this day but it is almost here and I can hardly contain myself. I've already put away the changing pad and put shorts in the drawer where the diapers used to be.
I hope I'm not getting ahead of myself. Nicholas has only been going poop in the potty for a few weeks now and only this week did he start going pee in the potty. However, he's going about the whole potty training thing a whole lot better than 5-year old Michael did.
With Michael, potty training was a huge fiasco. We started with pull-ups, the Lightning Mcqueen pull-ups that have the flags and piston cups on them that disappear when wet. Michael had just turned 3 and we'd just seen the Cars movie so the pull-ups were a big hit. He got that he had to pull them down to go pee in the potty and it was a big deal to keep them dry. We also gave him potty treats for every time he went pee in the potty (yogurt covered raisins were what worked best for us). Pretty soon he was pretty good about staying dry and going in the potty.
You'd think that these sweet treats would have motivated him to go poop in the potty too but they didn't. He would not go poop in the potty. He said he was scared. I bought him a Cars sweatsuit and told him that he couldn't wear it until he went poop in the potty. He didn't care. I bought him one of those Dora CD players that had the plastic CDs and a book to go with it and propped it up where he could see it for inspiration. Still no poop. I bought him special Wiggles underwear. Nothing. He pooped in the pull-ups though, and that was messy, especially when he decided to take off the poopy pull-up and set it and his poopy butt on the white living room carpet (can we as parents morally deduct carpet cleaning expenses from the college fund?).
I'd about had it with potty training when one day right before we went on a week-long vacation he went poop in the potty! I saw fireworks, I heard music, I was so happy that at 3 years and 2 months my eldest son was finally potty trained! And he was. After that initial poop, he had no problems going. Just in time for preschool too.
My youngest son, Nicholas, is only 2 3/4 but he's been showing signs of interest in the potty for several months. I didn't really expect him to potty train before the age that his brother did, but I thought we should try anyway.
At the beginning of the summer we had the potty talk - I told him that if he wanted to go to preschool in the fall with his favorite teacher (he did) he had to go pee and poop in the potty and not in his diapers. "They don't allow diapers in preschool," I told him. He nodded and said "OK" but I didn't think he really got it. I brought up the potty anyway. He was excited when he peed in it but it wasn't enough of a thrill for him to want to continue. It was a start and stop deal until a few weeks ago.
One night at the dinner table (again, this is right before we went on our annual week-long vacation) he announced to me that he had a poopy butt and he wanted to go in the potty. I thought he meant that he had a poopy diaper but when I checked he was dry. He said, "No Mom, I want to go poop in the potty!" You will not see a mom move faster than when her little ones utter these words when they are still in diapers (ok, maybe when they say that they have to throw up!). I whisked him away to the nearest bathroom, took off his diaper, and put him on the potty seat. I'd had a lot of practice because we had done this before many times.
Imagine my surprise when with little effort some poop finally came out. He didn't cry, he didn't complain, it just happened. Those of you who know Nicholas know that he has been quite challenging in the past so this came as quite a surprise to me. I thought to myself, "Finally this kid does something with ease!" Of course, just that week I had panicked about him not being anywhere near potty trained and yanked him out of his precious fall preschool slot.
He's been pretty good about going poop in the potty ever since. He's only gone once in his diaper and that's because he had just woken up from his nap and wasn't too keen on being disrobed while still tired. The peeing, though, that's another story.
I tried using pull-ups on Nicholas too. I told him the same thing about keeping the flags and piston cups dry but he didn't get it and kept peeing in them. He kept wanting to wear underwear but he would always pee in them. My mom kept on me about getting him totally potty trained - "Just take him every 15 minutes or so and get him used to going," she told me. I wasn't so sure though. He's the type of kid who will do things when he's ready and I didn't want to push him. After all, he was still younger than Michael was when we started potty training him.
It took a call from my neighbor to get me to see the light. Her son, Jack, was 3 in May and she hadn't started potty training him at all. Once again, though, the call of preschool set off the potty training panic in her and she told me that she was just going to put him in underwear. No more diapers, she said. If he has an accident I'll just clean it up. No big deal.
No big deal indeed! I thought, If Jack can go straight from diapers to underwear, so can Nicholas. So I called him to me and told him that he wasn't going to be wearing diapers anymore except at nighttime and that he could now wear his underwear. He was so excited. He and Grandma had just gone shopping and bought new Spiderman underwear, so he immediately went and put a pair on. He was so proud of those underwear.
"Nicholas," I said trying to make my voice seem like it was coming from his underwear. "This is Spiderman. Please do something for me and keep me dry. I don't like being wet!"
"OK," he said. And he did it!! To my surprise, he has only had a couple accidents in the short 4 days since I instituted the plan. Even through naps he stays dry.
So I'm crossing my fingers that this is not a fluke and he is, indeed, potty trained. I know I've still got to eventually deal with the nighttime diaper, and we have to teach him to pee standing up and have a class in wiping etiquette, but I can see it - the end is near! Hurrah!!
(I've got to run. I've got to see if his preschool slot is still available!)
I hope I'm not getting ahead of myself. Nicholas has only been going poop in the potty for a few weeks now and only this week did he start going pee in the potty. However, he's going about the whole potty training thing a whole lot better than 5-year old Michael did.
With Michael, potty training was a huge fiasco. We started with pull-ups, the Lightning Mcqueen pull-ups that have the flags and piston cups on them that disappear when wet. Michael had just turned 3 and we'd just seen the Cars movie so the pull-ups were a big hit. He got that he had to pull them down to go pee in the potty and it was a big deal to keep them dry. We also gave him potty treats for every time he went pee in the potty (yogurt covered raisins were what worked best for us). Pretty soon he was pretty good about staying dry and going in the potty.
You'd think that these sweet treats would have motivated him to go poop in the potty too but they didn't. He would not go poop in the potty. He said he was scared. I bought him a Cars sweatsuit and told him that he couldn't wear it until he went poop in the potty. He didn't care. I bought him one of those Dora CD players that had the plastic CDs and a book to go with it and propped it up where he could see it for inspiration. Still no poop. I bought him special Wiggles underwear. Nothing. He pooped in the pull-ups though, and that was messy, especially when he decided to take off the poopy pull-up and set it and his poopy butt on the white living room carpet (can we as parents morally deduct carpet cleaning expenses from the college fund?).
I'd about had it with potty training when one day right before we went on a week-long vacation he went poop in the potty! I saw fireworks, I heard music, I was so happy that at 3 years and 2 months my eldest son was finally potty trained! And he was. After that initial poop, he had no problems going. Just in time for preschool too.
My youngest son, Nicholas, is only 2 3/4 but he's been showing signs of interest in the potty for several months. I didn't really expect him to potty train before the age that his brother did, but I thought we should try anyway.
At the beginning of the summer we had the potty talk - I told him that if he wanted to go to preschool in the fall with his favorite teacher (he did) he had to go pee and poop in the potty and not in his diapers. "They don't allow diapers in preschool," I told him. He nodded and said "OK" but I didn't think he really got it. I brought up the potty anyway. He was excited when he peed in it but it wasn't enough of a thrill for him to want to continue. It was a start and stop deal until a few weeks ago.
One night at the dinner table (again, this is right before we went on our annual week-long vacation) he announced to me that he had a poopy butt and he wanted to go in the potty. I thought he meant that he had a poopy diaper but when I checked he was dry. He said, "No Mom, I want to go poop in the potty!" You will not see a mom move faster than when her little ones utter these words when they are still in diapers (ok, maybe when they say that they have to throw up!). I whisked him away to the nearest bathroom, took off his diaper, and put him on the potty seat. I'd had a lot of practice because we had done this before many times.
Imagine my surprise when with little effort some poop finally came out. He didn't cry, he didn't complain, it just happened. Those of you who know Nicholas know that he has been quite challenging in the past so this came as quite a surprise to me. I thought to myself, "Finally this kid does something with ease!" Of course, just that week I had panicked about him not being anywhere near potty trained and yanked him out of his precious fall preschool slot.
He's been pretty good about going poop in the potty ever since. He's only gone once in his diaper and that's because he had just woken up from his nap and wasn't too keen on being disrobed while still tired. The peeing, though, that's another story.
I tried using pull-ups on Nicholas too. I told him the same thing about keeping the flags and piston cups dry but he didn't get it and kept peeing in them. He kept wanting to wear underwear but he would always pee in them. My mom kept on me about getting him totally potty trained - "Just take him every 15 minutes or so and get him used to going," she told me. I wasn't so sure though. He's the type of kid who will do things when he's ready and I didn't want to push him. After all, he was still younger than Michael was when we started potty training him.
It took a call from my neighbor to get me to see the light. Her son, Jack, was 3 in May and she hadn't started potty training him at all. Once again, though, the call of preschool set off the potty training panic in her and she told me that she was just going to put him in underwear. No more diapers, she said. If he has an accident I'll just clean it up. No big deal.
No big deal indeed! I thought, If Jack can go straight from diapers to underwear, so can Nicholas. So I called him to me and told him that he wasn't going to be wearing diapers anymore except at nighttime and that he could now wear his underwear. He was so excited. He and Grandma had just gone shopping and bought new Spiderman underwear, so he immediately went and put a pair on. He was so proud of those underwear.
"Nicholas," I said trying to make my voice seem like it was coming from his underwear. "This is Spiderman. Please do something for me and keep me dry. I don't like being wet!"
"OK," he said. And he did it!! To my surprise, he has only had a couple accidents in the short 4 days since I instituted the plan. Even through naps he stays dry.
So I'm crossing my fingers that this is not a fluke and he is, indeed, potty trained. I know I've still got to eventually deal with the nighttime diaper, and we have to teach him to pee standing up and have a class in wiping etiquette, but I can see it - the end is near! Hurrah!!
(I've got to run. I've got to see if his preschool slot is still available!)
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The End of the Innocence
My baby starts Kindergarten in 6 days. Six days, 9 hours, and fifty minutes to be exact. I'm excited, happy, terrified, and sad. I'm excited because this is going to open up a whole new world for him - of learning, experiences, and friends. I'm terrified because this is going to open up a whole new world for him and slowly pull him away from me and the secure arena that he and I have spent 5 years playing, learning, and loving in.Seems like just yesterday we brought him home from the hospital all shiny and new, so innocent and trusting. We were ready for this trip into parenthood, but we didn't know what was in store or just how much our son would change our lives. So much has happened in this short 5 years. I remember the evolution of his being and all his monumental firsts: first smile, first laugh, first tooth, first time he rolled over, first time he crawled, first solid food, first tooth, first step, first word (duck), when he became a big brother, first pee pee and poop in the potty, first day at preschool, first time he wrote his name, and just recently the first time he rode a bike without training wheels.
As we enter the school age years I'm going to be trading in some of those firsts for new ones: first lost tooth for first new tooth, first girlfriend for first time he said "I love you" to me, first lunch at school for first solid food, first bus ride to school for first car ride, first sleepover at a friend's house for first night he spent away from home (at Grandma's), first time he reads a book for first word.
When my husband and I went to the Kindergarten Open House this past March, I teared up as we walked down the hall to what will be his classroom. It wasn't just the fact that my little guy was going to be going to school, it was that to me this was the end of a very innocent chapter in our lives and the opening of an unknown book. I was lucky enough to be able to stay home with him as he morphed from an infant to a toddler to a preschooler. I liked being there to experience new things with him and see him grow and learn. I find that I am saddened that I won't be there to experience his excitement as he reads a sentence for the first time or makes a new friend.
I feel a lurch in my heart when I think of my son being entrusted to another. For the first time in his life he will be totally out of my control and in someone else's hands for 2-3 days a week. Who will make sure he eats a good lunch so he has energy for the day (and a good lunch doesn't just mean eating the dessert!)? Who will tell him not to use his shirt for a napkin or to keep his finger out of his nose? Who will remind him to go to the bathroom? How will he survive a whole day without me? Will he miss me as much as I'll miss him?
And how will he react to new situations when I'm not around? What if he's bullied by a big kid? What if (God forbid) someone picks a fight with him? We have no experience with these kinds of things and why should we - he's only 5 for crying out loud! And what about all the stuff that he's bound to pick up from the other kids who are older or have older siblings?
I shouldn't worry, I know. I have taught my son about manners and family values and how to be a good friend. He really is a good kid (he brought his teacher a bouquet of "homepicked" wildflowers on meet the teacher day - his idea). He's smart and I know that he will do ok. We will survive.
What it boils down to is that I don't want my son to grow up too fast, not yet, not yet!! I remember when he was little - I couldn't wait for him to eat solid food or crawl or walk or be out of diapers or hit any one of his many milestones that signified growing up. Many times we would be out in public and an older mom or dad would smile upon us and tell us to enjoy him when he was young because he would be grown up before we knew it. And we would smile back at them and think that we had all the time in the world. But now he's starting school, which is to me, the spring board for the rest of his life. From here on out our lives will be organized according to the school schedule - holidays, vacations, even what time we get up in the morning.
I guess you could call my musings toddleresque, for I realize I am being selfish. I have had 5 years of my son all to myself and now I have to share and I don't want to. But share I must for I am not cut out for homeschooling. I just hope this person that gets to take over for me on a temporary basis, his teacher, gets to really know and understand my son like I do. It would ease my heart if perhaps she could even love him a little. Or a lot. Like I do.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Welcome to My Blog!!
Ta da!! Here it is! Finally I have a space to voice my opinions, share my thoughts, and keep up my writing skills. Why am I doing a blog? Those of you who knew me when I moved to Santa Fe, NM about 10 years ago may remember that I tried to keep you informed of my doings with a newsletter called The Santa Fe Reportress. I didn't do it very often because it cost a lot of money in paper and postage, but I enjoyed informing family and friends of my new home and all the cool things there were to do there. After I returned home and got married and had Michael, I wanted to create a website to keep everyone up to date on life in the Byrnes family, but was short on time and resources.
Needless to say, once Nicholas was born I had even less time to do any writing nor did I have the energy to do it. However, now that Michael and Nicholas are older I have managed to find some time to write. I have done a lot of writing this year, some paid, some just for fun. And now I plan on sharing it. I'm going to try to blog at least once a week if not more, so keep checking back. And please - I welcome any kind of feedback. Someday when the kids are in school I will have to go back to work so this keeps my writing skills fresh. Who knows, maybe I'll turn into a famous blogger and won't have to go back to work?!
Jen
Needless to say, once Nicholas was born I had even less time to do any writing nor did I have the energy to do it. However, now that Michael and Nicholas are older I have managed to find some time to write. I have done a lot of writing this year, some paid, some just for fun. And now I plan on sharing it. I'm going to try to blog at least once a week if not more, so keep checking back. And please - I welcome any kind of feedback. Someday when the kids are in school I will have to go back to work so this keeps my writing skills fresh. Who knows, maybe I'll turn into a famous blogger and won't have to go back to work?!
Jen
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