Have you seen TLC’s What Not to Wear? I love that show and was wondering, will someone just please nominate me and get it over with? I won’t be offended. I promise.
Every morning starts the same way. I open my closet and ponder the same question. Should I wear the white tee-shirt or the black tee-shirt? I buy a couple of new tee-shirts each spring and add them to my existing collection of white and black tee-shirts. I just can’t help myself. I’m not sure what my problem is but even when I do decide to add a little splash of color to my wardrobe it’s always with a tee-shirt. I often wonder why I can’t dress a little cuter or a little trendier like some of my friends from M.O.P.S. (Mothers of Preschoolers). You know who you are ladies so I won’t mention any names.
Heather.
Honey.
Okay so I guess I lied about not mentioning any names but I couldn’t help myself. These girls always look so nice.
I used to have a much nicer wardrobe but ever since I’ve become a stay-at-home mom I have gotten into this horrible rut. Maybe I’ve just gotten lazy. Or perhaps it’s called having a 3 year old and a 4 year old and who has the time or money to grab anything other than a couple of tee-shirts when I am out shopping. For myself. Which is rare.
I do have a couple of nice things that aren’t tee-shirts and if I need to I will buy something new for a particular occasion but I guess I just don’t see the point in dressing up to schlep the kids to school or to go to Wal-Mart to get groceries. Heck. When I’m at Wal-mart as long as I’m just wearing a shirt I look better than half of the people I see there.
Anyway, after watching quiet a few episodes of What Not to Wear, I know that Clinton and Stacy would have a field day with all of my white and black tee shirts. (I just got up and went to my closet. I counted 6 white tee-shirts and 8 black shirts. I think I have a problem.) They have done episodes with stay-at-home moms before and they always suggest getting some cute jogging suits for errands and a really nice little dress for date night with hubby. The prices that these moms end up paying in New York City for some cute jogging suits really make my jaw drop. I could send both of my kids to preschool for one month for they price they are paying for one jogging suit!
And don’t even get me started with how much they will spend on one really nice dress to wear to dinner with their husbands. Let’s face it. Where am I going to go around here that I would need to wear a dress to dinner? Unless it was prom night, I would be laughed right out of Carrabba’s! And I think I would feel ridiculous running errands in a $300 jogging outfit. But seriously folks, I could probably get used to it.
So if you do nominate me and they pick me for the $5000 shopping spree, I promise to look surprised. I will even pretend to be upset that my friends thought I needed a makeover.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
What about all the lasts?
All of the baby books go on and on about when to expect the first smile, the first step, the first word. They go on in great detail about what milestones your baby should be reaching and when they should be reaching them. We made sure to get as many of these firsts as we could on film. We got Sarah rolling over for the first time and Peter taking his first step. I have journal entries about their first words, where we were, how we felt, how they looked. All of this care was taken so that I would be able to look back and fondly recall all of the important firsts in my babies’ lives. So that I could remember everything exactly as it was.
But no one warned me to be on the look out for the lasts. No one told me to pay attention so that I would notice and remember the last time my son twirled his hair the way he had done a thousand times before. I used to think it was an adorable little nervous habit and at the same time I worried that he might be sitting in his very first job interview nervously twirling his hair between his right thumb and forefinger trying to figure out the best way to answer the question “Which piece of fruit would you be in the fruit bowl?” He used to do it all the time but he doesn't do it any more. I wish I could see him do it again. How did I miss the very last time?
No one told me to pay attention so that I would recall the last night, the exact last moment my little girl would fall asleep with her pacifier plunged firmly between her lips sucking like she was Maggie Simpson. She always looked so calm and peaceful sleeping with her paci but I was too busy worrying that she would be the only kid in kindergarten toting a pacifier, an assortment of blankets, doll babies and other lovies with her on her first day that I forgot to notice the last time she used it.
And what about all the other lasts I have missed. When exactly was the last time Peter said “oh-goo” when he meant yogurt or “nambies” when he meant bananas? When exactly was the last time I carried a sleepy Sarah to her room and whispered “lay your head on my shoulder” and she did? How did my babies look as they drifted off to sleep the very last time I held them after giving them their very last bottle? Why don’t I have a picture of that sweet sleepy expression? How did they look the very last time they splashed happily around in their little baby bathtub? How did it look the very last time they scooted across the floor on all fours before they learned how to walk? How did they look the very last time they threw Cheerios off their high chair table? How could I have missed all these lasts? Why didn’t I know to be looking for them, recording them, capturing them?
There are many days over the last 4 and a half years when I have thought things like "when will he be potty trained?", “will she ever learn to walk?", “if only they were older we could…” and now I look back and in my quest to hurry and grow them up I’ve missed too many of the lasts.
I don’t want to miss any more. I want to remember the very last time Peter is small enough to be picked up or the last time Sarah gives me her hand as we are walking across the backyard. I want to remember the last time they call me “Mommy” because it won’t be long until I am just plain old Mom. I want to remember and enjoy it all. I don’t want to hurry things up because unfortunately things are moving way too fast on their own.
But no one warned me to be on the look out for the lasts. No one told me to pay attention so that I would notice and remember the last time my son twirled his hair the way he had done a thousand times before. I used to think it was an adorable little nervous habit and at the same time I worried that he might be sitting in his very first job interview nervously twirling his hair between his right thumb and forefinger trying to figure out the best way to answer the question “Which piece of fruit would you be in the fruit bowl?” He used to do it all the time but he doesn't do it any more. I wish I could see him do it again. How did I miss the very last time?
No one told me to pay attention so that I would recall the last night, the exact last moment my little girl would fall asleep with her pacifier plunged firmly between her lips sucking like she was Maggie Simpson. She always looked so calm and peaceful sleeping with her paci but I was too busy worrying that she would be the only kid in kindergarten toting a pacifier, an assortment of blankets, doll babies and other lovies with her on her first day that I forgot to notice the last time she used it.
And what about all the other lasts I have missed. When exactly was the last time Peter said “oh-goo” when he meant yogurt or “nambies” when he meant bananas? When exactly was the last time I carried a sleepy Sarah to her room and whispered “lay your head on my shoulder” and she did? How did my babies look as they drifted off to sleep the very last time I held them after giving them their very last bottle? Why don’t I have a picture of that sweet sleepy expression? How did they look the very last time they splashed happily around in their little baby bathtub? How did it look the very last time they scooted across the floor on all fours before they learned how to walk? How did they look the very last time they threw Cheerios off their high chair table? How could I have missed all these lasts? Why didn’t I know to be looking for them, recording them, capturing them?
There are many days over the last 4 and a half years when I have thought things like "when will he be potty trained?", “will she ever learn to walk?", “if only they were older we could…” and now I look back and in my quest to hurry and grow them up I’ve missed too many of the lasts.
I don’t want to miss any more. I want to remember the very last time Peter is small enough to be picked up or the last time Sarah gives me her hand as we are walking across the backyard. I want to remember the last time they call me “Mommy” because it won’t be long until I am just plain old Mom. I want to remember and enjoy it all. I don’t want to hurry things up because unfortunately things are moving way too fast on their own.
Monday, July 23, 2007
He's less Jerry Seinfeld, more Chris Rock...
Up to this point Peter’s attempts at comedy have gone a little like this:
Peter: Knock. Knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Peter: Orange.
Me: Orange who?
Peter: Orange in that bowl over there! Hahahahahahahahaha!
Me: (weakly) Ha ha!
Luckily he passed quickly out of the knock knock phase after a couple of weeks of doing these lame jokes at the dinner table. But yesterday he entered into a whole new realm of funny. It was so funny I’m not even sure he knew he was making a joke. In fact, I’m quite certain he didn’t.
The weather around here has been so beautiful the last couple of days that we decided to eat dinner on the patio. After dinner we sat on the front porch with my parents to enjoy the breeze and the mild summer weather we have been having. Peter was playing in the yard while the adults were sitting on rocking chairs chatting. He came running up to me with his hands behind him on his bottom. My first thought was, “He’s got to poop.” He was running oddly with a strange gait and he had a peculiar look on his face. The look was part grin and part mischief so my second thought was, “Has he already pooped?” He stood in front of me and said, “Mommy, I need to go poop!” I said, “All right. Let’s go.” Before I could stand up to head into the house he made a farting noise with his mouth and from behind his back threw down a stick that was about 6 inches long, two inches in circumference and curved a bit in the center. He started to giggle and I laughed until I cried.
Sarah decided she wanted to get into the act so she ran up and said, “Mommy! I’ve got to poop.” So I said, “O.k. let’s poop.” And then she just stood there and started laughing. So we all laughed at the fact that she didn’t have any idea what was going on.
Peter was so proud that he had made us all laugh that he did it again and again and again and again until finally I had to tell him to stop and stop and stop and stop. Finally he stopped but not until he tried the gag with every stick, rock and twig he could find.
Even though the joke was a little crude, okay maybe a lot crude, I was so proud of him! I took his joke as a sign of his grand intelligence and brilliant sense of humor. Okay maybe that's taking it a bit far but I can't wait to see what other jokes our little comedian has up his sleeves in the future!
Peter: Knock. Knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Peter: Orange.
Me: Orange who?
Peter: Orange in that bowl over there! Hahahahahahahahaha!
Me: (weakly) Ha ha!
Luckily he passed quickly out of the knock knock phase after a couple of weeks of doing these lame jokes at the dinner table. But yesterday he entered into a whole new realm of funny. It was so funny I’m not even sure he knew he was making a joke. In fact, I’m quite certain he didn’t.
The weather around here has been so beautiful the last couple of days that we decided to eat dinner on the patio. After dinner we sat on the front porch with my parents to enjoy the breeze and the mild summer weather we have been having. Peter was playing in the yard while the adults were sitting on rocking chairs chatting. He came running up to me with his hands behind him on his bottom. My first thought was, “He’s got to poop.” He was running oddly with a strange gait and he had a peculiar look on his face. The look was part grin and part mischief so my second thought was, “Has he already pooped?” He stood in front of me and said, “Mommy, I need to go poop!” I said, “All right. Let’s go.” Before I could stand up to head into the house he made a farting noise with his mouth and from behind his back threw down a stick that was about 6 inches long, two inches in circumference and curved a bit in the center. He started to giggle and I laughed until I cried.
Sarah decided she wanted to get into the act so she ran up and said, “Mommy! I’ve got to poop.” So I said, “O.k. let’s poop.” And then she just stood there and started laughing. So we all laughed at the fact that she didn’t have any idea what was going on.
Peter was so proud that he had made us all laugh that he did it again and again and again and again until finally I had to tell him to stop and stop and stop and stop. Finally he stopped but not until he tried the gag with every stick, rock and twig he could find.
Even though the joke was a little crude, okay maybe a lot crude, I was so proud of him! I took his joke as a sign of his grand intelligence and brilliant sense of humor. Okay maybe that's taking it a bit far but I can't wait to see what other jokes our little comedian has up his sleeves in the future!
Friday, June 29, 2007
Chuck E. Cheese, anyone?
Last night Peter’s t-ball team had their end of season party at Chuck E. Cheese. When we pulled into the parking lot I could tell that some of the boys had their team shirts on. I said, “Oh, rats!” Peter immediately said, “What’s wrong, Mommy?” with this very alarmed little voice. “Oh it’s nothing,” I tried to say nonchalantly. “I just see some of your teammates and they are wearing their t-ball shirts. I meant to bring yours. It’s no big deal. I’m sure there will be some other kids without theirs on.” Why did I have to open my big mouth in the first place?
As I was unbuckling him and helping him out of the car he said, “I don’t want to go in. I’m afraid they will laugh at me.” I asked him why he thought they would laugh at him. “What if they laugh because I don’t have my shirt on? They won’t recognize me.” I wanted to cry right there standing in the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese. I’m sure standing in the parking lot of CEC has brought many a parent to tears but this was for something other than the knowledge that loud music, flashing lights and mediocre pizza was in their future. My little one was clearly unsure of himself because of something stupid I did. I reassured him that they would know who he was and we headed in. As soon as we got inside the music and lights hypnotized him and he forgot all about his insecurities.
I am so proud of Peter. Not because he learned some baseball fundamentals this season like which direction to head around the bases, how to swing a bat and that snack time comes after the game. I’m not proud because of any of that. I’m proud because he played on a team without knowing anyone. He jumped right in. He took on a sport he didn’t know anything about and he did it on a team where he didn’t know anyone. He didn’t seem scared about not knowing anyone he just did it. He didn’t really make any friends on the team but that’s not his fault. Our coach rarely had practice and it’s hard to make friends when you are actually “playing” the game. He seemed excited to go to every game and he really seemed to want to fit in. I guess that’s what made me sad standing in the parking lot. I didn’t think he really cared about fitting in at the age of four but I guess all we any of us want is to find a place where we fit.
I am going to try harder next season to see if he can get on a team with some of his friends and I am going to try harder to talk to some parents at the games. It will be easier for him to make friends it I make friends. Not sure why but at the age of 37, I still feel like I’m the pudgy 12 year old trying to fit in trying to find a place where I fit.
When it was time to eat pizza I convinced Peter to sit at the table with his teammates. He sat down and started to eat. It almost made me cry to see this beautiful little boy in his camouflage t-shirt surrounded by white Cubs shirts. He didn’t care about any of that at this point he was just happy to be eating pizza.
As I was unbuckling him and helping him out of the car he said, “I don’t want to go in. I’m afraid they will laugh at me.” I asked him why he thought they would laugh at him. “What if they laugh because I don’t have my shirt on? They won’t recognize me.” I wanted to cry right there standing in the parking lot of Chuck E. Cheese. I’m sure standing in the parking lot of CEC has brought many a parent to tears but this was for something other than the knowledge that loud music, flashing lights and mediocre pizza was in their future. My little one was clearly unsure of himself because of something stupid I did. I reassured him that they would know who he was and we headed in. As soon as we got inside the music and lights hypnotized him and he forgot all about his insecurities.
I am so proud of Peter. Not because he learned some baseball fundamentals this season like which direction to head around the bases, how to swing a bat and that snack time comes after the game. I’m not proud because of any of that. I’m proud because he played on a team without knowing anyone. He jumped right in. He took on a sport he didn’t know anything about and he did it on a team where he didn’t know anyone. He didn’t seem scared about not knowing anyone he just did it. He didn’t really make any friends on the team but that’s not his fault. Our coach rarely had practice and it’s hard to make friends when you are actually “playing” the game. He seemed excited to go to every game and he really seemed to want to fit in. I guess that’s what made me sad standing in the parking lot. I didn’t think he really cared about fitting in at the age of four but I guess all we any of us want is to find a place where we fit.
I am going to try harder next season to see if he can get on a team with some of his friends and I am going to try harder to talk to some parents at the games. It will be easier for him to make friends it I make friends. Not sure why but at the age of 37, I still feel like I’m the pudgy 12 year old trying to fit in trying to find a place where I fit.
When it was time to eat pizza I convinced Peter to sit at the table with his teammates. He sat down and started to eat. It almost made me cry to see this beautiful little boy in his camouflage t-shirt surrounded by white Cubs shirts. He didn’t care about any of that at this point he was just happy to be eating pizza.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Could it be PMS?! Already?
Yesterday my daughter cried for 30 minutes. I kid you not…30 minutes straight. You are probably thinking what’s the big deal my baby cries for that long every day before his nap. It wouldn’t be a big deal except that my daughter is three! Three years old not three months old!
It all started out innocently enough. She was opening a box that contained her new piggy bank and as she was trying to pull the porcelain bank out of the box she whacked the piggy bank against her lip. This started the crying jag. I tried to calm her down and inform her that there was not any “bleed” as she likes to call it and that she would be fine. Then she started asking for candy and from there our conversation went something like this:
Me: We don’t have any candy.
Sarah: But I want candy. (The wails starting to increase here.)
M: We’ll get more candy at Halloween.
S: That’s too long.
M: It’s not as far away as you think. We have summer vacation. Then the beginning of
school and then Halloween.
S: I don’t want to go to school. (More intense wailing starting now.)
M: Why not?
S: I don’t want Emma to start big kid’s school. (Emma is one of our neighbors. She will
start kindergarten in the fall leaving Sarah behind in preschool.)
M: But Emma’s 5 now and she has to go to kindergarten.
At this point the wails were inconsolable. The fat wet tears were hot as they slid down her cheeks and I realized there was nothing I could do. I decided just to leave her in her room and let her cry it out. Sometimes as a girl (or a grown woman) there is nothing better than a good hard cry. I was expecting this behavior from Sarah as a teen but not at the ripe old age of three! Is she experiencing PMS? What’s going on? If this is the kind of crying fit she can pitch now, what is in store for me in the future when her hormones kick in? I can hardly wait.
And just to illustrate that this cry really did last 30 minutes here are some of the things I accomplished while she was crying:
I washed all the dishes in the sink. I checked the 10 emails in my in box and responded to the one that wasn’t spam. I emptied the trash and replaced the bag in the can. I watered the flowers on the front porch and on the patio. I checked on Peter who was suspiciously quiet in his bedroom. I got the mail from the mailbox, reviewed it and threw the junk mail in the trash bag that was out in the garage. (I hate putting trash in a new bag so soon after I just removed the full bag. It’s a little pet peeve of mine.) I chatted on the phone with my mom. I scrubbed my bathroom grout a little more. I removed the clean clothes from the dryer and brought them upstairs to be folded.
At this point I checked on Sarah who was still crying. Admittedly at this point it was more of a hard whine and moan combo as opposed to actual crying with tears but the sound of it was still just as annoying. I asked her if she wanted to help me fold the laundry and the moaning/whining/crying stopped immediately. She actually started to smile when I told her she could put away her underwear. Geez…I guess I could have saved us all the trauma of this crying jag by asking her to scrub the toilets! I’ll remember this next month!
It all started out innocently enough. She was opening a box that contained her new piggy bank and as she was trying to pull the porcelain bank out of the box she whacked the piggy bank against her lip. This started the crying jag. I tried to calm her down and inform her that there was not any “bleed” as she likes to call it and that she would be fine. Then she started asking for candy and from there our conversation went something like this:
Me: We don’t have any candy.
Sarah: But I want candy. (The wails starting to increase here.)
M: We’ll get more candy at Halloween.
S: That’s too long.
M: It’s not as far away as you think. We have summer vacation. Then the beginning of
school and then Halloween.
S: I don’t want to go to school. (More intense wailing starting now.)
M: Why not?
S: I don’t want Emma to start big kid’s school. (Emma is one of our neighbors. She will
start kindergarten in the fall leaving Sarah behind in preschool.)
M: But Emma’s 5 now and she has to go to kindergarten.
At this point the wails were inconsolable. The fat wet tears were hot as they slid down her cheeks and I realized there was nothing I could do. I decided just to leave her in her room and let her cry it out. Sometimes as a girl (or a grown woman) there is nothing better than a good hard cry. I was expecting this behavior from Sarah as a teen but not at the ripe old age of three! Is she experiencing PMS? What’s going on? If this is the kind of crying fit she can pitch now, what is in store for me in the future when her hormones kick in? I can hardly wait.
And just to illustrate that this cry really did last 30 minutes here are some of the things I accomplished while she was crying:
I washed all the dishes in the sink. I checked the 10 emails in my in box and responded to the one that wasn’t spam. I emptied the trash and replaced the bag in the can. I watered the flowers on the front porch and on the patio. I checked on Peter who was suspiciously quiet in his bedroom. I got the mail from the mailbox, reviewed it and threw the junk mail in the trash bag that was out in the garage. (I hate putting trash in a new bag so soon after I just removed the full bag. It’s a little pet peeve of mine.) I chatted on the phone with my mom. I scrubbed my bathroom grout a little more. I removed the clean clothes from the dryer and brought them upstairs to be folded.
At this point I checked on Sarah who was still crying. Admittedly at this point it was more of a hard whine and moan combo as opposed to actual crying with tears but the sound of it was still just as annoying. I asked her if she wanted to help me fold the laundry and the moaning/whining/crying stopped immediately. She actually started to smile when I told her she could put away her underwear. Geez…I guess I could have saved us all the trauma of this crying jag by asking her to scrub the toilets! I’ll remember this next month!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The best laid plans....
This morning did not start out quite as I had planned. Dan was having lunch with customers so I didn’t have to make his lunch this morning. I also didn’t have to turn on the sprinklers this morning since it rained last night. I was excited about having a little extra time this morning to read some mommy blogs and drink my coffee in peace before Dan left for work and the kids got up demanding to be fed and asking that simple question that makes a cold sweat run down my neck in the summer, “What are we doing today?”
My coffee pot was set to start brewing at 6:10am so that when I got dressed and came downstairs it would be waiting for me. As I was coming down the stairs, I noticed a big chip out of the nail polish on my big toe. No problem, I thought. I’ll just touch it up. Unfortunately, the nail polish bottle slipped out of my hands and L’Oreal’s Rajin' Cajun was everywhere! “Oh, no!” I softly screamed not wanting to wake up the masses. I was down on my hands and knees instantly surveying the mess. I started with the paper towels and then realized that I was going to have to call in the big guns. I grabbed the Magic Eraser that I keep in the shower and started scrubbing. The polish came off the ceramic tiles with no problem but I wasn’t so lucky with the grout. I scrubbed and scrubbed and then decided to take a break. The coffee and the mommy blogs were calling my name. I headed downstairs and poured myself a cup of coffee. I guess somewhere in between my setting up the coffee maker and it actually making the coffee the filter folded down on itself. There were more grounds in my coffee pot than in the filter. Gross! There is nothing worse than getting a mouth full of grounds when you think you are going to get a nice warm sip of coffee!
I got over that little fiasco, got Dan off to work, got Peter started on his breakfast, made three lunches to take to the park, then headed upstairs to scrub the grout some more. At this point, Sarah started screaming and crying. I ran into her room and saw that her face was covered in blood! Another nosebleed! Even though they are painless they really freak her out. It took 10 minutes to get her calmed down and the nosebleed stopped. It was somewhere between applying pressure with a warm cloth and trying to grab baby elephant and little blankie that I realized that I was going to have to wash the sheets again. She had a nosebleed the night before and I had to wash her sheets and take her comforter to the cleaners. If anyone knows me well they know I hate, hate, hate to wash sheets. The length of time I go between washing sheets is a dirty little secret I will take to my grave! Anyway, I got the sheets in the laundry, scrubbed a blood stain out of her mattress, removed dried nail polish from my feet and hands and removed my toe nail polish. It was time to meet my friends and the playground and I didn’t want to be late. No, my day didn’t start as planned but I survived!
My coffee pot was set to start brewing at 6:10am so that when I got dressed and came downstairs it would be waiting for me. As I was coming down the stairs, I noticed a big chip out of the nail polish on my big toe. No problem, I thought. I’ll just touch it up. Unfortunately, the nail polish bottle slipped out of my hands and L’Oreal’s Rajin' Cajun was everywhere! “Oh, no!” I softly screamed not wanting to wake up the masses. I was down on my hands and knees instantly surveying the mess. I started with the paper towels and then realized that I was going to have to call in the big guns. I grabbed the Magic Eraser that I keep in the shower and started scrubbing. The polish came off the ceramic tiles with no problem but I wasn’t so lucky with the grout. I scrubbed and scrubbed and then decided to take a break. The coffee and the mommy blogs were calling my name. I headed downstairs and poured myself a cup of coffee. I guess somewhere in between my setting up the coffee maker and it actually making the coffee the filter folded down on itself. There were more grounds in my coffee pot than in the filter. Gross! There is nothing worse than getting a mouth full of grounds when you think you are going to get a nice warm sip of coffee!
I got over that little fiasco, got Dan off to work, got Peter started on his breakfast, made three lunches to take to the park, then headed upstairs to scrub the grout some more. At this point, Sarah started screaming and crying. I ran into her room and saw that her face was covered in blood! Another nosebleed! Even though they are painless they really freak her out. It took 10 minutes to get her calmed down and the nosebleed stopped. It was somewhere between applying pressure with a warm cloth and trying to grab baby elephant and little blankie that I realized that I was going to have to wash the sheets again. She had a nosebleed the night before and I had to wash her sheets and take her comforter to the cleaners. If anyone knows me well they know I hate, hate, hate to wash sheets. The length of time I go between washing sheets is a dirty little secret I will take to my grave! Anyway, I got the sheets in the laundry, scrubbed a blood stain out of her mattress, removed dried nail polish from my feet and hands and removed my toe nail polish. It was time to meet my friends and the playground and I didn’t want to be late. No, my day didn’t start as planned but I survived!
Monday, May 21, 2007
To the tree! To the tree!
Peter has always been fascinated with peeing outside. I think he first did it sometime last spring after we had moved in with my parents.
If I am not mistaken, he saw my brother do it and thought it was the coolest thing ever.
Thanks, Uncle Brad.
I never encouraged this activity but at the same time I never discouraged it either. Part of me though it was cute. Now that we have our own house, yard and trees (if you count the two really old ones that could possible fall down at any moment) that are located conveniently right next to the playset, I find that Peter has been peeing outside more frequently.
Sarah thinks it is the coolest thing ever and several times I have caught her tugging at her pants after he has done it. I tried to explain that girls can't pee outside and that boys really shouldn't do it either. I guess that fell on deaf ears.
On Saturday the kids were outside playing while I was in the kitchen cleaning and Peter came running in the house shouting, "Mommy, Mommy! I peed on the tree and Sarah pooped right beside it!"
I went running outside and sure enough she had!
She was so proud. She pointed and beamed. And just like the poop, I was steaming!
I immediately made a new rule. There will be no more peeing OR pooping outside! Period. End of story!
If I am not mistaken, he saw my brother do it and thought it was the coolest thing ever.
Thanks, Uncle Brad.
I never encouraged this activity but at the same time I never discouraged it either. Part of me though it was cute. Now that we have our own house, yard and trees (if you count the two really old ones that could possible fall down at any moment) that are located conveniently right next to the playset, I find that Peter has been peeing outside more frequently.
Sarah thinks it is the coolest thing ever and several times I have caught her tugging at her pants after he has done it. I tried to explain that girls can't pee outside and that boys really shouldn't do it either. I guess that fell on deaf ears.
On Saturday the kids were outside playing while I was in the kitchen cleaning and Peter came running in the house shouting, "Mommy, Mommy! I peed on the tree and Sarah pooped right beside it!"
I went running outside and sure enough she had!
She was so proud. She pointed and beamed. And just like the poop, I was steaming!
I immediately made a new rule. There will be no more peeing OR pooping outside! Period. End of story!
Friday, April 20, 2007
Whatever will be, will be...
I spent part of this afternoon cleaning out the kid's closets. I do this at the change of every season. I fold up all of the past season's clothes, put them in Rubbermaid boxes, label the outside of the box and store them in the basement. I have a total of 37 boxes. The whole process depressed me today. It never has in the past. It normally excites me. I get a thrill from cleaning, organizing, straightening. But today it made me sad. I guess it's because the whole reason I saved the clothes was because I might need them one day for another baby.
I started saving Peter's clothes knowing that we definitely would have another baby. I started saving Sarah's clothes because I thought we most likely would have a third baby and I would be set - it could be a girl or boy and I would be ready! But now, I have a strong feeling that I am not pregnant. I will know for sure in a week or so. Even if I am pregnant though I have a bed feeling. I have had to start taking the Carbatrol again and that's the medicine that I am quite certain caused my miscarriage in November. My neurologist assured me it was safe but I have done research on the Internet and while 90% of women who take it have normal babies there are many problems with the remaining 10%.
I have been so excited because for the last month I have had to take NO pain medications of any kind. I thought that after almost 3 years, finally, my pain was gone and I could have baby number three and live happily ever after. Dan has finally been home and not travelling so conception seemed highly likely. However, less than a week after we were purposefully "trying" I started to have pain again and needed the pain medication. I lay in bed at night while I am having one of my spells and I know that if I am not pregnant this month I definitely have to go back on the Betaseron which means we are officially done trying to get pregnant again. No one recommends being on Betaseron and being pregnant. In fact, they recommend that you stop taking it for at least three months before you even start trying. In light of the fact that my pain is coming back it is probably for the best that I am most likely not pregnant. As much as I want to have another baby, I don't want my MS to spiral out of control. As with everything in my life, I am trying to give it up to God and let him lead the way.
I started saving Peter's clothes knowing that we definitely would have another baby. I started saving Sarah's clothes because I thought we most likely would have a third baby and I would be set - it could be a girl or boy and I would be ready! But now, I have a strong feeling that I am not pregnant. I will know for sure in a week or so. Even if I am pregnant though I have a bed feeling. I have had to start taking the Carbatrol again and that's the medicine that I am quite certain caused my miscarriage in November. My neurologist assured me it was safe but I have done research on the Internet and while 90% of women who take it have normal babies there are many problems with the remaining 10%.
I have been so excited because for the last month I have had to take NO pain medications of any kind. I thought that after almost 3 years, finally, my pain was gone and I could have baby number three and live happily ever after. Dan has finally been home and not travelling so conception seemed highly likely. However, less than a week after we were purposefully "trying" I started to have pain again and needed the pain medication. I lay in bed at night while I am having one of my spells and I know that if I am not pregnant this month I definitely have to go back on the Betaseron which means we are officially done trying to get pregnant again. No one recommends being on Betaseron and being pregnant. In fact, they recommend that you stop taking it for at least three months before you even start trying. In light of the fact that my pain is coming back it is probably for the best that I am most likely not pregnant. As much as I want to have another baby, I don't want my MS to spiral out of control. As with everything in my life, I am trying to give it up to God and let him lead the way.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Batter up!
Peter had his first t-ball game on Saturday! It was a hoot! I was worried that Peter would perform poorly since he only had one real practice and one “sort of “ practice at the coach’s house. Peter did quite well. Just as good, if not better, than many of the other players! I was proud. Although, I have to say that it didn’t start out so well.
Peter’s team took the field first and Peter was in right field. He basically spent most of the time twirling around or playing in the dirt. No balls came his way and if they would have I don’t think he would have done anything other than watch them roll by. He did get a hit in the first inning though and that was pretty exciting and unlike most of the other kids he actually threw his bat down and ran to first base!
During the second inning he was one of the two kids that got to play “pitcher”. He did much better at this position. He actually fielded balls and threw them to first base! I think he did better because there was actually something to do.
He got hits when he got up to bat in the 2nd and 3rd innings and even got a triple. I guess it was a triple…the coach called it that anyway. It’s really hard to tell with all the commotion that’s happening on the field when someone hits the ball. There’s lots of yelling and screaming by the parents and coaches and lots of confused looks on the faces of the kids. Then, of course, when the kids figure out what they are supposed to do there is a lot of awakward throwing and catching and it is just so cute. The kids were trying so hard that the parents on both teams were clapping for all the kids.
At the end of the game the coach awarded Peter the game ball. He really didn’t understand the significance of it until we told all the grandparents, aunts, uncles etc. Then he started to feel a little proud. He’s probably not sure what he is proud about but he’s proud!
Speaking of proud…I was so proud of him. He got out there and didn’t something that he wasn’t very sure of and did it quite well. It really didn’t even seem to bother him that he didn’t know any of the other kids very well yet. He just did his thing! That makes me happy.
Of course my happiness was a little tarnished this morning in Wal-Mart. On Sunday I took the camcorder to Mom and Dad’s and hooked it up to the TV so Mom could see her grandson in action. You could hear my voice in a couple of places laughing at Peter when he was twirling around and playing in the dirt. This morning he asked me why I was laughing. I felt horrible! What a terrible mother I am! I never want Peter to feel that I am laughing at him. I tried to explain it to him but it sounded weak and feeble. Hopefully he knows I love him and that I was laughing with him and not at him.
Not to self…must censor self when video recorder is on!
Peter’s team took the field first and Peter was in right field. He basically spent most of the time twirling around or playing in the dirt. No balls came his way and if they would have I don’t think he would have done anything other than watch them roll by. He did get a hit in the first inning though and that was pretty exciting and unlike most of the other kids he actually threw his bat down and ran to first base!
During the second inning he was one of the two kids that got to play “pitcher”. He did much better at this position. He actually fielded balls and threw them to first base! I think he did better because there was actually something to do.
He got hits when he got up to bat in the 2nd and 3rd innings and even got a triple. I guess it was a triple…the coach called it that anyway. It’s really hard to tell with all the commotion that’s happening on the field when someone hits the ball. There’s lots of yelling and screaming by the parents and coaches and lots of confused looks on the faces of the kids. Then, of course, when the kids figure out what they are supposed to do there is a lot of awakward throwing and catching and it is just so cute. The kids were trying so hard that the parents on both teams were clapping for all the kids.
At the end of the game the coach awarded Peter the game ball. He really didn’t understand the significance of it until we told all the grandparents, aunts, uncles etc. Then he started to feel a little proud. He’s probably not sure what he is proud about but he’s proud!
Speaking of proud…I was so proud of him. He got out there and didn’t something that he wasn’t very sure of and did it quite well. It really didn’t even seem to bother him that he didn’t know any of the other kids very well yet. He just did his thing! That makes me happy.
Of course my happiness was a little tarnished this morning in Wal-Mart. On Sunday I took the camcorder to Mom and Dad’s and hooked it up to the TV so Mom could see her grandson in action. You could hear my voice in a couple of places laughing at Peter when he was twirling around and playing in the dirt. This morning he asked me why I was laughing. I felt horrible! What a terrible mother I am! I never want Peter to feel that I am laughing at him. I tried to explain it to him but it sounded weak and feeble. Hopefully he knows I love him and that I was laughing with him and not at him.
Not to self…must censor self when video recorder is on!
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