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Posts Tagged ‘motherhood’

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You are three years old.

You chose standard birthday candles over a giant number three. You requested chocolate cake with yellow frosting (at first you wanted blue, and we were glad you changed your mind). You held the frosting tube as Mama wrote “Happy Birthday” (you didn’t want your name on it), put gummy bears on it, and stuck the candles deep into it in a nice little cluster.

You wave goodbye to Mama and blow her kisses when she leaves you at school.

You sometimes push your classmates and then grin at the teacher.

You recently declined an offer of honey to soothe your cough, saying, “No, I’d like a chocolate biscuit for my cough.”

You have lost the baby fat from your feet.

You had your first hearing and vision tests at your three-year checkup — the nurse was amazed at how well you followed directions.

You told the doctor (when he asked) that Mama was a boy. This was also part of your checkup. Other than that, you passed with flying colors. And to be fair, you could have been confused — Mama always calls herself a lady or a woman, not a girl.

You got a basketball hoop, a science book, and a marble track for your birthday. You love all three.

You sometimes declare “I don’t like you Mama, I want Daddy to put me to bed” when Mama is putting you to bed.

You sometimes declare “I don’t like you Daddy, I want Mama to put me to bed” when Daddy is putting you to bed.

You were reluctant to come downstairs to join the crowd (of five people) at your birthday party. Half an hour later, you were chatting happily with everyone.

You count to three like so: “One, two, tree!” This leaves no doubt of your Polish heritage.

You get royally pissed off when Mama says she can’t understand you when you whine.

You were able to sing snippets of “All the Single Ladies (Put a Ring on it)” after hearing Mama sing it twice. This leaves no doubt that you are Mama’s offspring.

You recently learned how to propel yourself around the pool on a water noodle. You were concerned when Mama showed you she wasn’t holding the noodle anymore, but then your face lit up when you realized you had independence in the water.

You are flirting with the idea of potty training but have thus far only condescended to practice sitting on the toilet.

You continue to be a picky eater — so much so that you refused to eat the pancakes at your school’s Pajama Day and only ate a few bites of frosting from your birthday cake. Well, that and all the gummy bears on your piece. And the gummy bears from Mama’s piece.

You are three years old, and your new favorite phrase is, “I can do it myself!”

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Blast From the Past

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Did you know that “February” can be translated as “couch, cookies and cocoa”? Or so I’ve been told.

Here, then, is a post from a year ago, about something I’m still doing: Using a timer to trick the Boo into doing what I want him to do. Although now he asks for additional timers to be set…

There are so many long stretches of parenting a small child that are absolutely mind-numbing in their repetitiveness that when you occasionally come up with a genius childrearing idea on the fly, it’s both a shock and cause for celebration.

I had one of those moments a few months ago when I asked the Boo to take me upstairs instead of telling him we had to go up. I have no idea why I did it, but the appeal to his budding independence was instant and dramatic — he seized my finger and practically dragged me up behind him. A couple of weeks ago, though, I came up with an even better trick, though once again I couldn’t tell you where the idea came from.

The Boo was being particularly disinclined to be happy about delaying his desires, which is to say, it was close to nap time on yet another butt-cold day in February and I needed to do a few more things before I could grant his wish to help him play at the sink. I pulled out my phone and opened the clock app.

“I tell you what. I’ll set the timer. When you hear the bells, it’s time for water play.”

He looked a little unsure about this timer thing, but he was pleased that I let him push the start button. Then I made a huge deal about the bells ringing and let him push the cancel button. Then I set it again to signal the end of water play, because he will seriously spend as much time as we let him “washing” dishes.

So now, instead of whining at me (my least favorite thing about my kid) when he needs to wait or stop doing something he likes, he submits to the will of the phone. Because, see, the command is coming from the phone — the provider of videos and games and general fun — not from me. And he doesn’t have it in him to whine at the phone.

Yet.

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One day, about six months ago I think, I was singing to the Boo. I don’t know the real title of the song, and I changed the words to half the verse because I couldn’t remember them. But one part was true to the original:

When you’re not near me, I’m blue

I had sung this to my kid many times before, but on this occasion, he stopped me and asked why I was blue, not yellow or green. After I stopped laughing, I said, “It means when my little boy is far away, I get sad.”

“Do you cry, Mama?”

“Sure, I guess so, yes.”

He sprang up from my lap, giggling, and put himself in the farthest corner of the room.

“Are you blue, Mama?”

I said yes, I was indeed blue.

“Are you going to cry, Mama?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

I did my best fake cry. And he laughed.

“Cry some more, Mama.”

He waited until I had gotten myself thoroughly worked up. I had taken a couple of breaks to peek at him, and each time he commanded me to cry some more. Finally, he decided he should put me out of my misery and ran to me, hurling himself into my arms.

Since that day, he has periodically asked me to play “the blue game” with him. He requires me to cry ever more theatrically, for longer periods, before he will launch himself from across the room.

It is my favorite game, ever.

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Damn, that was a killer flip turn.

Will my stupid broken toe ever quit bugging me? And why can’t I remember to tape it before I swim?

Why that lady is wearing shorts? Looks like she’s going to swim laps.

It would be cool to have prescription goggles so I could kind of see stuff while I swim.

What is THAT? Maybe it wouldn’t be cool to see better underwater.

So apparently I will never be able to swim backstroke in a straight line. Jesus.

Shorts lady is the the water, without shorts. Did she really think we couldn’t deal with the sight of her thighs? Poor thing.

Okay, I flipped over just like before, so why is my head pointing at the bottom of the pool?

Huh, backstroke is a lot easier if I rock my torso side to side when I pull my arms down.

I wonder if I can get away with one trip to Target this week?

I’d really like to live in Paris for a while. Or Tokyo.

Where does that guy get off telling me I should have been swimming against the wall? Doesn’t he know the first one in the lane gets to pick what side they want? Amateur.

Why do my legs feel so heavy today?

Why do I feel so spazzy doing dolphin kick? Well, at least it’s getting easier.

No, I really need to pop into Target. Crap. Why do we always need more stuff?

Damn, that was a killer flip turn.

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It’s been over a week since Toyfest ’14, a/k/a Christmas, and already the memories are fading. Herewith I hope to capture at least a few.

– You asked if Santa was coming/if it was Christmas every few days for the entire month of December. You also asked where Santa was. A lot. Whenever Mama asked if you wanted to meet Santa, you said no, then you asked to go see him day after Christmas.

– You enjoyed decorating the tree, which in your world means telling Mama where to put the ornaments, and then occasionally pulling them off and leaving them somewhere after trying and failing to put them back on.

– You didn’t notice the gradual increase of gifts under the tree, but the appearance of a stuffed stocking on Christmas morning made an impression. (See cookies for Santa entry below.)

– You enjoyed making cookies with Mama, and became proficient at sifting and dumping and stirring. Rolling cookie dough balls in sugar, not so much — though you were very good at eating spoonfuls of sugar. You also loved playing with the stand mixer — it spent about a month on the floor so you could look at it, ask questions about it, attach and detach the beaters, and turn it on and off (with supervision).

– You went with Mama and Daddy to deliver plates of cookies to the neighbors. You only wanted to climb the stairs to ring the bell at one house, where twin girls live. At another house, the Chinese granny treated you to her rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” — on the harmonica.

– You enjoyed the Polish Christmas Eve tradition of oplatki — basically a giant communion wafer stamped with Christmas scenes that you break and eat with family while wishing them well in the coming year.

– You seemed skeptical about leaving a note and cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer, but you gamely went along with it. We left your empty stocking next to the plate so Santa could fill it for you, and he did — with Gummi Bears, jelly beans, a tiny motorcycle, and a Caillou doll.

– You really got into opening presents this year, but we still didn’t get through all of them on Christmas. However, you also enjoyed opening the stragglers for days afterward. And still, everyone was so generous that we held a few of our gifts back for your birthday.

– You liked all your presents, but particularly enjoyed playing with your take-apart engine (from Daddy) and watching Totoro (from Grammie) on Christmas Day. As the days have gone by, you’ve been playing with everything in rotation.

– You were okay with putting away the ornaments and lights, but balked at parting with your Trans-Siberian Orchestra CD and negotiated to keep it for an extra day. Mama was not thrilled with this arrangement, but agree to it in the spirit of Christmas.

– You occasionally ask where the ornaments are, and if it’s Christmas again. Mama does her best to explain that Christmas only happens once a year.

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I know, it’s Hanukah and Christmas and I should be writing about that, or how weird it is that the Boo has absorbed a bunch of Santa lore by osmosis. But while I bake and wrap and pack and ship, Merry Merry HO HO is not what bubbles up when I think about what I want to write about.

About a month ago, the hubs suggested I take a night class at a local university, to get some time for myself. I was so touched, I almost teared up. I considered it, but between the cost and my lack of time to study, I opted to get an extra swimming session in.

Last weekend, we moved an old compact stereo to the Boo’s room so he can muck with it and yell into the Karaoke mike to his little heart’s content. The hubs went to fetch a few CDs, and then I heard it. Mannheim Steamroller Christmas. Or maybe Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Either way: Oh God no please make it stop. I’m not even sure the hubs knew how much I detest that “music” but he probably has a clue now since I made sure he saw one of my 88 eyerolls.

But. He loves it. He was dancing to it. And, because Daddy is Cool, the Boo was dancing too. Having a fabulous time with his adored Daddy. So I did the kindest thing I could think of to do. I walked away.

Last week, as I was gathering the 888 things the Boo needed for an overnight at his Grammie’s while mentally scrambling to put together a date night outfit, he came to find me. He was beaming, seriously, grinning and so, so very proud. And smeared with an impressive amount of Aquaphor (basically Vaseline) from his nipples to the top of his diaper. His shirt and pants had gotten in the way, so they were also, um, very well moisturized.

I gasped, a little confused, and then it hit me: I had put some of the stuff on his belly to soothe the rug burn he’d given himself sliding down the stairs. He was proud because he’d taken care of himself. He was happy because he’d done it all by himself. All of those thoughts flew through my head, and then I started laughing, because it really was very funny.

Friends, you can keep your menfolk who bring you flowers for no reason. I’ll keep mine, and let my heart fill with love whenever I get to swim laps on a weeknight. And I will show my love by leaving the room when a good Daddy-son session is centered on music I can’t stand. And if the Boo ever anoints himself again, I’ll do my best to react with love — toward myself, for being silly enough to leave the Aquaphor where he can get to it.

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We spent Thanksgiving with my family in LA. Herewith, the highlights of the Boo’s first West Coast encounter.

You did very well on the flights, though it must be said the extra attention from the Southwest flight attendants was very helpful. As was the iPad loaded with Caillou videos.

You glommed onto your Unk almost as soon as you saw him. Within a week, you were asking for your Auntie when you woke up from naps and dancing a little greeting jig for her. She danced right along with you.

You wanted to know if we were still in LA every time with left Unk and Auntie’s house.

You saw Frozen, Cars, and The Little Mermaid for the first time, and joined your cousins in the traditional post-screening dance parties. You kept asking for the “build a snowman movie” for the rest of the trip.

You followed your girl cousins around the house, prompting one of them to complain a bit about your puppy-dog ways. A few days later, they were reading books to you.

You got creamed by one high-swinging cousin. After that, you were very careful to give her a wide berth whenever she was on the swing — and she stopped swinging to play with you on the playhouse slide.

You ate meals very nicely both with the family and at restaurants. There may have been chocolate chips involved.

You adjusted to the new time zone within 24 hours, and were willing to sleep on the floor at night as long as you got to sleep on your cousin’s bed for naps. Once back home, you started lobbying for a big bed almost immediately by complaining about the bars on your toddler bed.

You learned how to eat a Popsicle, thanks to your cousins and your Unk, who responded to your confusion with, “Look at them and do what they,re doing.”

You saw Dolphins herding fish to shore.

You took such a shine to your grandpa-in-law (you let him pick you up!) that he volunteered to be your surrogate grandpa since both of yours are gone.

You were fascinated by the ocean, waves, surfers, and sand at Venice Beach. A big wave surprised you and knocked you on your butt in the 64-degree water, but once you got over the shock you wanted to go right back in. You grabbed handfuls of sand over and over and wanted to take some home — this, despite being reluctant to touch it at school.

You began shouting “mine!” and “I want to do it myself!” after a few days with your cousins.

You also began poking your cousins after a few days, and began following pokes with, “Time out?” and a grin. So much for that disciplinary tactic.

You occasionally asked to go home, usually when you were tired or hungry.

You did not miss your toys, probably because it was so warm you went outside as soon as you finished breakfast and had to be coaxed in after dark on more than one occasion.

You learned the word “thankful” because of the family’s suppertime thankfulness tradition. Once, you said you were thankful for school, another time, for Mama. Back at home, you’re responding to mealtimes by saying, “I want to say something” and then saying what you’re thankful for.

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My kid talks pretty much all the time. If he’s not talking, I assume he’s sleeping, concentrating on taking something apart, or sick. Here are some of his recent bon mots:

Boo: Can I watch cartoons?
Me: Um, later perhaps.
Boo: Is it later now?

Me: Tomorrow is a school day, and it’s a music day! I’m so excited for you!
Boo: I’m going to cry at school.
Me: Why are you going to cry?
Boo: Because I miss Mama.

Boo: That lightbulb is burnded out. We need to change it.
Me: Oh yeah? How do we do that?
Boo: First you get the ladder from the basement, then you bring it all the way upstairs, and put it carefully over there, and climb way up high, then you take the old lightbulb out, then you put the new lightbulb in, then you put the ladder away!
Me: Yep, that’s how you do it.

Boo, contemplating a container of ice on the deck: What’s under the ice?
Me: More ice. It’s all ice. Ice is very very cold water.
Boo: What will happen if we put more water on it?
Me: The water will turn into ice.
Boo: I want to put more water on it now!

First thing in the morning, clutching his tiger nightlight:
“See, Tigey needs new batteries, so I bringded him out into the hall, and we need to get the screwdriver, and open the battery compartment, and put in new batteries! That’s how we do it!”

At the end of our bedtime ritual, which concludes with him blowing me kisses — something he added this week:
“It’s good to give Mama kisses.”

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The first time I took the Boo into a swimming pool, he got so happy so fast that rainbows shot out his behind. Then the swimming instructor came over and got in his face and he started crying. But the water made him so happy that he soon forgot the scary lady.

Soon, I resolved to sign up for a Y membership so he could get more water time. I figured I could take a stab at swimming laps too, since I hate gyms and I haven’t worked out regularly in at least 5 years. (Probably more like 7 to 10.)

The first time I pushed off from the wall, I got so happy so fast that rainbows shot out my behind. It had been 25 years, but my body remembered how to do what I wanted it to do. I paused in the middle of a lap to laugh. I swam until I was exhausted and hauled myself out, panting my way to the showers, indescribably pleased.

Since then, I swim any time I can. If I am tired when I start, I forget about it in the water. If my back hurts, I can’t feel it when I’m swimming. If I am in a crappy mood when I start, I am pooping rainbows when I finish. The water holds me as I move forward, giving me peace and joy and happiness as I move through it.

I don’t want to call it a benediction, even though it does border on the mystical. But my body loves the water so much it feels like a gift every time I’m in it — even when I’m sharing the lane with a tank of a triathlete and a dogpaddler who belongs in the “old people walking” section.

The other night at the Boo’s first parent-teacher conference, I uttered the words, “Water is his jam.” Turns out it’s my jam too.

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You consistently said you wanted to be a bee for weeks before Halloween. So two days before the big night, Mama got to work with a black sweatshirt, yellow duct tape, coat hangers, pipe cleaners, and pom-poms. Because there might be bee costumes for little boys online, but in the Halloween stores they only have ones for little girls, babies and full-grown women.

You said you didn’t want to go trick-or-treating when you woke up on Halloween.

You changed your tune after your nap, when Mama reminded you about the whole candy thing.

You were a trooper about struggling into your costume – even with the sides snipped, the duct tape turned your sweatshirt-costume into a straitjacket. (Note to self: If the boy is a bee next year, apply the tape after you put the sweatshirt on.)

You looked so great in your costume that somebody thought it was store-bought. (At this point, Mama actually huffed on her nails and buffed them on her shoulder.)

You vibrated with joy every time Mama said you could eat your candy on the spot. A nearby dad thought you were shivering.

You had a death grip on a lollipop in your hand for most of the time we were going from house to house.

You loved hunting for houses with porch lights on. You also enjoyed ringing doorbells.

You asked for chocolate first thing in the morning on November 1, and said you wanted to go to Halloween later that day.

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