She’s Jealous Of The Treadmill.

I think my daughter tried to kill me.

Maybe not kill me but occupy all my time which means the same in 3 year old brain.

This week, I made a change in my life for the better. I’m FINALLY GOT MYSELF ON AN EXERCISE ROUTINE AND BY ROUTINE, I MEAN DAILY RUNNING AND HEALTHY EATING AND STUFF!

But my daughter said Eff you, Mom.
Eff you and that big monstrosity in the living room that you won’t let me or my brother play on.

Her brother is back in school and she has me all to herself. Playing with toys, sitting side by side with her “school work”, baking and cooking,
just her and me. The Dynamic Duo. Just The Girls. Me and Mini….um…Me.

And speaking of mini, I’m not so much anymore.
I’ve gained approximately 30 lbs as I’ve been dealing with chronic pain these past few years and while I’m not overweight, (my BMI is still okay) I don’t feel good. I’m not strong and am exhausted most of the time. It’s been easier to sit and play LEGOS than go take a walk. Because of this, I’ve had to make a decision. Put exercise into my day to day life or be unhealthy and miserable.
During my alone time with the girl, I’d squeeze in a walk or run, depending on her neediness. In the beginning, she was cool. She’d play about a foot or two away from my machine. When she wanted something, I’d ask for her patience until mommy finished with her current lap. Most of the time, she would respond with “Okay, Mommy”.

But today, she wasn’t having any of that business. Despite our homeschooling activities and getting her toys down so she could play while I started my workout, the little jogblocker reached over and flipped off the switch.
While I was in mid-run.

I did a notsograceful skippity-step and planted both feet on the sides of the machine and I think, after I regained a regular heartbeat, I yelled at her. She gave me a sheepish look. That type of look that says yeah, that was intentional but I didn’t really want to hurt you…are you hurt, Mommy?!? Since I believe in my heart that she’d never meant harm, I got off the treadmill and apologized. We hugged and tickled and I smothered her in sloppy kisses.

You don’t like the treadmill, do you?

She shook her head.

it’s okay. You don’t have to like it but it’s going to help mommy get healthy again. I need to use it more often and that’s going to take up some of our play time but I’ll still able to do things with you. Promise!

Okay, Mommy.

Now, is it okay to flip off the switch when Mommy or Daddy is on it exercising?

No.

It’s really not, sweetie, and super dangerous. I could’ve been hurt pretty bad. Let’s not do that again.

….o-kay….

After more cuddles and kisses, I went back on the losingmylbs machine and she went back to telling Flynn Rider to be nicer to Rapunzel. In other words, back to our routine. Hopefully now, she will see that nothing can take away my time with her.

And I won’t think she’s trying to kill me again.
Until the next interruption that affects our playtime. Like binge watching.

t.r.m.

To The Mom At Target Who Had Some Pee Issues.

Mama in the suit,
I had a rare moment today. I got the freedom to be in Target alone and it was nothing short of beautiful.
Normally shopping at Target is quite blissful but when it happens while I’m completely alone, it’s like a bubbly bath that never gets cold. It’s a bliss sandwich with bliss fries on the side.
You were not alone. You were pushing a cart with a 2 year old in tow. He didn’t want to be in the cart. He made that well known to the surrounding masses. He was grabbing everything off the shelves and despite your distractions, he giggled and ran away.
I saw you. I saw you and understood.

As I traveled the 50 feet away from your son’s latest tantrum with the tired cries of please get in the cart, honey, I felt the bottom of my flip flop suddenly become wet. I looked down and around my aisle and didn’t really see anything. Upon further investigating, the appearances of small puddles were visible down my aisle and the next. Following the breadcrumbs, I found myself right back to you, dear parent. You were walking a little bit quicker and your tiny one was holding his pants tight around the crotch.
“Can I help you out?” I said as I gestured with my nodding head toward the spotted floor.
Looking down at the wet floor and then at me with clear embarrassment, you scooped up the pee-maker and sped away.
I never wanted to embarrass you. I offered my help because you and I are similar in a few ways. Maybe more than a few if by chance I could’ve connected with you.

Your son’s puddle-making makes a great over a cup of coffee or glass of wine story.

From my point of view, your son has recently started potty training and brave you is out and about despite that fact. I hardly ever took my kids out for the first month or so after they were “officially” potty trained so you are a far more flexible mama than I ever was. I give you tons of parenting credit for that. Seriously…..respect.

I wanted to just tell you that I understand. I’m on your side. I hoped you saw the humor in the pattern of urine rings down the makeup aisle. I know I did. To me, it brought back memories when my little girl who was 3 months into her pee-pee training. We were at this same store and she decided that she would become a waterfall in the toy aisle, despite my repeated questions of “DO YOU NEED TO GO POTTY?!? My baby girl looked at me with such remorse as if she was never going to gain my trust back. We carried on with our shopping, although we were a little bit quicker in our pace now as we headed toward the exit. When I saw the next red and khaki wearing helper, I mentioned the necessary clean up requirements in the Disney Princesses aisle.
But I’m rambling now.
I know you can’t hear me anymore. You are long gone with a half-soaked toddler and stains on your business suit attire so I’ll stop talking now. But I promise to let the employees know about the puddles. We’ve all been there. It happens and you move on. I need to move on myself. Besides, I gotta head home to wash my feet.

Just know this:
I wish you tons of happy moments with your little leaky man. Better or worse, these are the memories that live on to become great blackmail usage later.

My best to you, mama in the suit.
t.r.m.

Photo source: KTLA news

Oh, You Are Gonna Get Sick Now

Our kids are back in school. It’s a glorious time to be alive. No more Mom, I’m bored every 5 minutes as they sit among their multitude of toys and games. Peace and quiet. That is, until the inevitable. You can’t hide from the inevitable. It’ll bite you in the ass.

Right now, it’s best to just numb your ass because it’s coming.

It’s time to get ready for the sicks.

Right now, your kids are sitting down in their assigned desks and have started high-fiving their table neighbor after sneezing in their hands. Kid A just coughed in your daughter’s ear. Kid C has peed and not washed his hands. It doesn’t matter if the kids are kinders or high schoolers, those ill bugs are going to find their way to your house. I should know. My kid has been in school three days and he spent most of the morning coughing up a lung. He might have left said lung in the car now that I think about it.

It sucks that some kids get so sick minutes after returning to school. It also sucks that I’m currently out of bleach.

Just to be clear, I’m not talking about major pandemics in third world countries nor is this a discussion about vaccinating. I’m talking about the everyday, run-of-the-mill sniffley, coughing, maybe tossing your tacos sicks. The one that happens out of the blue. The one that your kid brings home that makes you quarantine your house.

You can say that it helps our kids build up their immunities to catch the flu. I absolutely agree with that. It’s the reason that I didn’t hesitate to take my two-week old son out in public. I did the same with my daughter. They weren’t premmies and we braved the environment. Both my babies caught colds, ear infections and the like. I was forced to be the doctorslashmom until I had to bring them into a medical professional. I had no regrets about exposing them because it taught me so much about parenting. And I believe it helped them learn to understand their bodies.

In fact, I think learning how to handle a child who is sick or ill is on the top of the list in parenting skills. The very top. When your child is sick, your needs are not the priority. Interpretation: you aren’t going be eating or sleeping for a while. It’s like bringing home a newborn all over again. Also, and I can’t stress this enough….You are going to get sick too. Maybe not during the first cold or the second round of sniffles but it’s going to happen.

I’m the one in my house who catches their colds. Despite preventative measures like vitamins, healthy eating, washing hands, bleaching the whole house, washing all clothing and bedding, avoiding my children, etc., I still get sick 8 times out of 10. I deal. I whine to my husband. I rest and I don’t rest. Everyone gets well based on illness duration and we go about our lives until the next epidemic.

I think my whole point is that you and your kids are going to catch the flu despite anything you do. It’s annoying as all hell but it’s also a good thing too. So, clean your house as you would normally do but there’s no need to go hazmat crazy. Let those snotty beasts come home to you and embrace life. Maybe carry some Kleenex with you but yeah, embrace life.

t.r.m.

 

 

 

 

My Son, The Negotiator

I just found this piece among my online ramblings on Facebook (you know, in that place where you can write down  “notes”) and I believe it deserves to be thrown out into the world. Here’s CP when he was Baby Ninja’s age…

 

Ah, the art of negotiation. It fosters heavy communication. It helps create debate. It’s the drive that helps us develop our skills to survive as human beings.

And it’s my toddler’s way of making me pull my hair out. 

He’s a smart little cookie, that son of mine. At 3 and 1/2 he has learned that his talking skills and questioning skills have prepped him for wearing us down. 

Now, I think I have mad patience. I can stand up strong to him and look down at those sweet blond curls and big blue eyes and NOT give in to his every whim….most of the time.

Then this happens:

Mom? Can I have that toy?

…pointing to the 1 millionth ridiculous item advertised onTV that has the plastic toy life span of 4.6 seconds in the hands of my kid.

 

Honey, no. You have lots of toys and it’s going to be Christmas soon. 

 

……….gear grinding noises start coming from my son’s head….

 

But mom, I’ll buy it.

 

……I’m intrigued…..

 

 

You will? With what money?

 

The money you give me.

 

I’m not giving you any money!

 

Yes, you are. I just went potty in the toilet.

 

That’s right. You did go potty in the toilet but that’s something you have to do every day because you are a big boy now. I spent money on your underwear and on the disinfectant to clean the toilet. Also, I bought toilet paper in which I’ve been using by the truckload now. So, you see, I don’t have any money left.

 

Oh. I’m sorry, mommy.

 

That’s okay, sweetheart.

 

He leaves and then returns a minute later with a 5 dollar bill.

 

NOW, can I buy the toy?

 

Where did you get that?

 

I told Grandma I went potty and she was very proud of me. I said you have no money from all the potty paper and she gave me this. Can I buy the toy now?

Crap. 

 

t.r.m.

At 6 Years Old, He Plans To Live In His Parent’s Basement

I can’t move my arm.

I wish I could say it was because I hurt it playing a kick ass round of tennis or I did an hour of lifting weights but nah…

It seems that I have a 43 pound bawling child hanging on it with the grip of a thousand monkeys and he’s “never gonna let go”.

In two days, he goes back to school. Yep, he leaves for first grade. When I say “leave”, I mean the entire distance from school to home is two miles. I can walk there in 20 minutes, drive there in five but that’s not enough for him. Somehow he has equated “going back to school” with “leaving for college”. He has told me that he cannot leave me…he can never leave me. I can only assume this has a tiny bit to do with the thousands of commercials telling us parents to Pack up your kids!! so he is a slightly confused.

He cries and tells me he will never ever ever go away from us.

Trust me, kid. You will want to leave us.

He whimpers and says we’ll be too far away.

See distance information above.

He bawls and says he loves me so so so much.

Well, of course he does…but maybe not for all the sweet reasons that parents want their kids to miss them.

For the past 12 weeks, we were with him all day everyday. This was his first experience to feel what “summer” was all about:
Outside playtime and building LEGOS.
Beach trips and vacations.
Playing with friends.
Swimming every day.
Ice cream.
Bike rides.
Being in your pjs all day (Kinda like what mom already does) and playing with his electronics with less restrictions.

Now, those days will turn into getting up, forcing breakfast down his throat and heading to school. He will work for 5 hours on reading, math and art and then he’ll have…
Outside playtime and building LEGOS.
Playing with friends.
Swimming until it gets too cold.
Ice cream.
Bike rides.
Being in your pjs all day on the weekends (with the rest of us) and playing with his electronics with a few more restrictions.

You can see why he is so upset. His mini schedule of all day awesome is going to change. To part day awesome.
Only I can fix it and make it better, right?
Nope. His ass is going back to school.

Our past experiences has proven that my kid is very resilient and flexible. It’ll take three days tops to get him back to a routine. He already gets up at the crack of dawn so I’m not worried about that. He’ll be fine. He’ll be good. He’ll go back to the familiar oldies like…
“Don’t kiss me in front of my friends, Mom!!
Mom, stop dancing! You are embarrassing me!!”

As for the living with mom and dad forever phase, I’m not too concerned. We must be doing something right if he wants to be with us so bad.
I better enjoy it while it lasts because when he turns 18, he’s probably going to hate me for changing the locks on the front door with his suitcases outside.

t.r.m.