Leakage

Today, my child peed on me. Not my diapered child. The potty trained one. This took skill on his part and ignorance on mine. Alas, another experience has made me smarter.

We spent the night at the home of some good friends who also have two small children. There were four kids under the age of three; four adults; and several bottles of wine. We predicted pure chaos, and were looking forward to the adventure, but our night went very smoothly. (The wine went down that way, too.)

Harrison woke at his usual ungodly hour of 4:10 am, and we had some quiet play time while the rest of the house slept. I’m just kidding. My kid is a maniac and he found all of the loud toys in the house, then proceeded to use them in rapid succession until he had some playmates.

My friend and I were enjoying some coffee while our little darlings played, when Harrison asked to use the bathroom. I was relishing in the glory of the fact that at least one of my kids didn’t require diapers. I thought about how simple it was to just saunter off to the bathroom with my little one rather than tote around all of the crap that goes with babies-who-don’t-pee-on-toilets.

I had to juggle putting Harrison on the toilet while I watched Ella toddle toward the bathroom door. In preparation for her arrival, I turned to shut the door, when all of a sudden, I was showered with a warm spray of urine.

I screamed and quickly tried to avert the stream, but it was too late. I had already been covered in pee, and after assessing the situation, I realized that the entire bathroom was coated as well. My dear boy who has been using the toilet seamlessly for months forgot to tuck himself in at the toilet, and made a mess of our friends’ restroom. Meanwhile, I couldn’t figure out how to divert my curious little girl from the mess, so, in a tiny half bath, I was soaked head to toe with pee, my daughter was stepping in puddles of urine, and my son wasn’t exactly sure what all the chaos was about. I guarantee you that he WILL be standing to pee from now on.

Dinner Out

I remember once, years ago, going out to dinner and being appalled by a loud toddler. I asked my mom why that kid’s mom wasn’t keeping him quiet. She smiled, and said, “You wait, my dear.” Actually, that was her comment to a lot of my questions.

And here I am, several years later, two kids smarter, and a lot more reluctant to go out to dinner. Don’t get me wrong, we still go out. It’s part of our lifestyle. We’ve always been of the mind that if our children get used to the experience of dining out and appropriate dinner table behavior at a young age, they will be well behaved in social settings in general.

Perhaps we were setting our expectations too high. Last night we dined out with my in laws. Being the grandparents of my lovely offspring, they kind of have to love my children, thank GOD. The other patrons, however, had no such ties. And, for once, Harrison and Ella were on the same page. That page must have read, “Let’s see how obnoxious we can be!”

It probably wasn’t Ella’s fault that the table top was glass. Therefore, when she banged her spoon on it in rapid succession, of COURSE it was going to make a loud noise. But, you know I’m a responsible parent, so I snatched that spoon right away once she started getting the attention of people seven tables away. My child must believe she was in the middle of composing a masterpiece, because her deafening screeches as a response to me repossessing the spoon were unbearable. I thought quickly and gave her some bread to pacify my poor princess. She threw said bread into her Rara’s purse, one small piece at a time.

I remembered that there were some toys in my diaper bag, so I grabbed a few and tried to entice her with them. That little tease looked me right in the eye while taking the toys and immediately threw them on the floor-four feet away from the table. I forgot to mention that I was cornered in the booth and blocked by her high chair so I had to perform an act that most gymnasts would admire to get out of there and retrieve them.

Once Ella got bored with the present company, she turned around in her seat and sang “hello” to all dining patrons, servers, and bussers, waving as though she were the queen.

Harrison couldn’t have possibly let this nonsense go on any longer. The thought of another child being more publicly obnoxious than him was abhorrent. He’s currently on somewhat of a hunger strike, and eats ONLY fruit snacks and graham crackers. This is why we were surprised when he took the entire loaf of bread and bit into the center of it, carefully chewing, and then placed the remains back on the cutting board in the center of the table. Bread anyone?

He also decided this would be the day he drank out of a “big boy” cup. Let’s keep this part short and just tell you that I used four napkins to fix that situation.

All that drinking made for several trips to the bathroom. On one such occasion, the ladies’ room was occupied, but you don’t mess around when a toddler needs to pee, so yours truly went into the men’s room. And because it was that kind of night, the hostess and a gentleman patron were standing outside the door to greet us as we exited. I did the walk of shame back to our table as Harrison pranced through the restaurant, free from bladder fullness.

My child wishes and hopes for his daddy all day long, but insisted at a very high volume that he must sit beside Mommy at dinner. I noted that this was odd, because we spend everysinglesecond together throughout the day. Doesn’t he want a break from me? A little space, perhaps? No. As a matter of fact, we had to hold hands once my meal came. This happened, of course, right at the moment that Ella thought she had been in her high chair too long, thus, she came to sit in my lap.

That haddock looked so good. I wonder how it tasted.

My father in law started feeding the kids cherries directly out of his manhattans. I suggested maybe he shouldn’t rinse them off before he doled them out, but he was afraid of the after-effects. I was just hoping a little bourbon might take the edge off. In other words, I was hoping he’d feed me some cherries. Or bourbon. I could have used some bourbon.

SInce I don’t drink bourbon, I probably won’t be going out to dinner with the kids again any time soon.

Dear Harrison (A letter from December)

I wrote this to Harrison several months ago. When he’s grown up, I will share it with him. Now, I’d like to share it with you. 

12.18.14

Dear Harrison,

Today you woke up full of energy and ready to begin a new adventure. Today I woke up and checked my email. You wanted to play and hug and eat cheerios. I wanted to drink my coffee and have a moment of peace and figure out why Amazon hadn’t delivered the package I had ordered. You did some naughty things even before we left for preschool and deep inside I knew you just wanted me to pay attention to you rather than making phone calls to the post office. Really, I knew you had it right all along, but my day went on and I dropped you off at school and headed for the gym.

Just so you know, that package had THE ONE present you wanted for Christmas inside. And I found it. And it was delivered later today. And even if it hadn’t been; no big deal, really. But between the time I dropped you off at school and the time I picked you up, something happened.

After I addressed the package delivery debacle, I took a few laps around the track. I saw the daycare kids playing on the mats in the lower gym. All of the children had taken their shoes and socks off and they were prancing, with their tiny feet, all about the gymnastics mats. They merrily followed one behind the other, playing some game instructed by their teacher. It made my heart warm and happy. Then I looked in the corner and I noticed one little barefooted boy sitting by himself. I could tell he wasn’t sitting out because he didn’t want to play. He had been placed in that corner by an adult. He had been naughty, and that was the consequence. I saw that little blonde haired boy sitting up on his knees, doing everything he could to sit still. I saw him watch anxiously, wanting to play and wanting to follow along. I saw his little bare feet tap his little bare toes on the blue mat, and I knew in an instant that that boy would be you someday. Someday you would have too much energy  and excitement for whatever program you were involved in and you would be separated. In a way, that’s what I did to you this morning. And I knew then that I needed to change. I needed to embrace your excitement and energy and love.

How many times did I separate those energetic, happy boys from my own classroom? How many times did I stifle the very life of a child? I don’t know, but I’m sure it wasn’t just a few times. Harrison, you are making me a better person, better mom, and better teacher just by being you. I hope that you can bear with me as I grow with you. I love you.

Mother’s Day

For a mommy blogger, the Mother’s Day post is imperative. How did it go? What did you get? All questions I’ve heard several times today. Well, here’s a little recap.

50% of my children can talk. The talking population spent a lot of time whining today and the non talking party spent a lot of time screeching and flashing the neighbors through our slider door. It was one of the loudest days I’ve had in recent memory.

I got to sleep in, so that’s a major plus. I may have had a teensy weensey bit too much champagne last night. And after that I had a couple glasses of wine. So, after I slept in until 8am, I took a nap at 9. Any day meant for celebration in my honor includes a nap, so Justin was not surprised about this at all. He was, in fact, surprised when I announced at 4pm that I would be taking a second nap. He raised his eyebrows and I explained that I’d have to wait a whole year to get to take two naps in one day so I was going to take full advantage of the situation.

In the short hour or so that I was awake this morning, I received some lovely gifts (earrings, necklace, and bracelet) from my family, plus a sweet card. Justin made me breakfast complete with heart shaped watermelon slices. He does rock.

We made one major mistake; a mistake no seasoned parents should ever make. We made plans during Harrison’s nap time. The immediate effects were not detrimental, but the long term outcome resulted in some ridiculous hysteria.

Following his extremely late and interrupted nap time, Harrison woke up requesting chips. But since we were eating chips outside and not inside in front of the tv, chips were thrown in disgust.

At dinner time, the little guy was having difficulty getting steak on his fork. This is only after he served two time outs for refusing to sit at the dinner table. The steak seemed to be the last straw, and I very nearly lost an eye to a flailing fork. Luckily, I still have my eyes, and Harrison managed to eat some dinner.

After dinner, while we were snuggling on the couch, Harrison was counting his fingers. He exclaimed that he had eight fingers. When I recounted with him using my own hands, he adamantly disagreed and insisted that HE only had eight. OK buddy. Some arguments I’m not going to win tonight. butyouhaveten.

We thought we were home free when we put the kids to bed. Silly us. Harrison spent a lot of time babbling and whining about being in bed, and at one point I sent Justin in to check on him. It turns out there was a particle of sand on his foot, a remnant from our trip to the beach this afternoon, which was causing him angst. Like any intelligent, yet manipulative toddler, he found several other things to demand of his daddy during this visit, including but not limited to, leaving the light on, more water, a snack, and his momma. The only request that was granted was his momma.

His momma. He wanted his momma. And, although my children were mildly obnoxious throughout the day, it was knowing I am needed by my son at the end of the day that makes this day what it is. It was him singing “Happy Birthday” when I walked out of my bedroom (well, there’s no “Happy Mother’s Day” song, so he had to improvise), it was Ella sitting on my lap at the beach carrying on a one-sided conversation of indiscernible babble. It was the dandelions that my boy picked and proudly presented to me. It was holding tiny hands, slobbery kisses, and belly laughs. It was a husband who loves me unconditionally, with whom I get the privilege to be a parent. Happy Mother’s Day.

Ella’s Day

Today, it was Ella. I know she’s going to grow up to be even more eccentric than her big brother, but I’m biding my time with her as my demure little baby. Today, though, she showed her true colors.

It was 80 degrees in May, in the state of Maine. That pretty much means the sky is spitting skittles. I thought I’d be supermom and take the kids out for ice cream, then to the library, and finally, to the playground. I didn’t even know if Ella would like ice cream, but it turns out that she can’t live without it. She finished each bite with a high pitched squeal loud enough for the next county to hear; apparently, I was not feeding her fast enough. The other patrons in the ice cream shop thought this was hilarious, but of course one woman informed me that she’d stop her crying if I didn’t give in to her every time. Thank you, ma’am. I wasn’t sure what would calm her down.

Ella had broken my $2 sunglasses earlier in the day, so I decided it would be a good time to purchase a new pair. I should have thought twice and waited until she wasn’t with me. We headed into the store to find some more shades. Initially, she was tearing sunglasses off the rack at a pace so rapid that I couldn’t put them back fast enough. Then she discovered the stairs, and since we live in a one-story, this was an amusement park to her.

I left the store in a complete sweat. Of course, it’s mother’s day weekend, so I had to swing into the local jewelry store to pick up some presents. By the way, take it from me: Do.not.take.children.jewelry.shopping.

Again, this store had stairs, which Ella needed to test out. The sales associates made a point of reminding me every three seconds that “one was escaping”. I did know this, and I thought it was the perfect solution to my needing to pick out presents and her being occupied. The other people in the store were not so sure that this parenting tactic was a good idea. What could go wrong though? I finally gave in and picked her up. Luckily Harrison has a good fashion sense and picked out the jewelry we needed while I wrestled a very unhappy girl in my arms.

Because I am a daring and persevering individual, I extended my shopping extravaganza to visit a friend in a local shop up the street. A shop, mind you, with breakable things. Many breakable things. Usually, Harrison gravitates toward them, but like I said, this was Ella’s day. Harrison was completely happy checking out a pear shaped candle, something that he couldn’t really destroy, which was awesome. Ella spent her time, albeit strapped in to the stroller, hanging her little body out as far as it could go in an effort to grab nearby baubles. My friend actually told me I looked refreshed. Exasperated was more like it, I told her.

You are waiting to hear about the playground? I had said we were going to the playground, hadn’t I? Well, yeah, I was too exhausted from our visit downtown to even attempt such a thing. Harrison even seemed relieved to go straight home.

We did, in fact make it home in one piece, however, as I write this, she is chewing on the corner of the table. I can’t wait til bedtime.

lemons and diapers

Dear Wal-Mart Cashier:

Today, you were bored. You stood at the self checkout line to facilitate transactions that customers were supposed to complete on their own. Normally, I would appreciate your assistance; however, today, you took your job a little too far.

Yes, I know my son was a bit antsy. He was ready to leave the store and the checkout aisle was not at all interesting to him. But, he doesn’t need anyone to tell him to be quiet except me. Sure, he picked up some candy from the displays that your company so conveniently placed at his eye level. If he shouldn’t try to pry the package open with his teeth, I should be the one to redirect him, not you.

Meanwhile, I’m looking up the SKU for lemons. It would have helped me if you knew the SKU of lemons. But you didn’t even know I was scanning lemons.

My sleeping daughter? The one completely content in her carseat in the grocery cart? Yes, she would have stayed asleep had you not prodded her awake. But, here we all are, eyes wide open, and a little ornery about it. Could you not though?? Could you not touch her tiny little feet and hands?? Could you just have let her rest? Because, that nap was my saving grace, and now the peace in my life is over.

In the meantime, the ginormous box of diapers I’m trying to purchase won’t scan. Do you know how to scan this box? Because I could use some help. Instead you’re telling my son not to do anything except breathe.

And now that you have criticized my little boy to the point where I must intervene; where his free roaming is constricted to the shopping cart seat, you have done enough. But no, you decide to taunt him by taking his toy dinosaur away from him. You think it’s a silly joke, but my boy wants his dinosaur. And then you tickle him. You prod him and poke him and pick at him and I don’t know why on earth you think this is ok.  GET  OFF MY KID, lady. Scan some lemons, and leave my children and me alone.

So Good You Can Taste It

Apparently I have been starving my poor son of the privilege of visiting craft stores for nearly three years. The other day, I took him to JoAnn Fabric to pick up some supplies because he wanted to paint. He was overtly impressed with each passing aisle. I’m lucky we got out of there spending less than $50, because he thought we probably needed everything, including several jars of buttons, which he tried to stuff in his pockets. I have no idea what his intentions were with the big round plastic buttons, but he was adamant that he needed them. I was able to distract him with a chalkboard and we proceeded to the checkout without much incident.

Well, don’t get me wrong, I’m no marketing specialist. But I’ve noticed in several stores lately that there is an exorbitant amount of CRAP in the checkout aisles. And naturally, they are not the short little stands like in the grocery stores. No, you have to go through a freaking labyrinth to get to the cash register. Surrounding you through the maze are coloring books, lip glosses, lotions, and, of course, candy. Lots of candy.

I noticed Harrison was lagging behind a bit as I made my way to the sales associate, however, I was just simply not paying attention to what caught his eye. “Mama, I want this.” Yes. Of course you do. I turned to see what his latest desire was, and he had in his hand a package of orange and yellow gummy rings, covered with sugar. Now, I am no saint when it comes to my kids’ diets, but I can promise you that these treats have never been in the mouths of my babes. Even for me, they were simply too much.

Harrison is used to me telling him that we cannot buy his heart’s desire, so he threw no fuss when I said, “No baby, go put that back.” But the cashier started giggling, and I looked at her, perplexed. I thought, ‘Do you not have children? Do you not know my suffering?!’ I was briefly annoyed at her snicker, because I thought we should be a united front. I thought she should say, “Your mom said no, buddy. You gotta put ‘em back!” I immediately took her laughing defensively, and my thoughts must have shown through my facial expression (and, if you know me, my ‘mean teacher glare’ probably was playing a small part). She said, “Your son is licking that package, ma’am.”

Sure enough, Harrison was holding the bag of gummies that were full of grossness, and LICKING it. WTF?! Just holding the closed package, as though he knew I was going to say no, and licking the outside of it, hoping for some residual sweetness to filter on through the plastic. Who is this child??? Who taught him this?? I do not go around the grocery store licking wine bottles!!

My mortification was so deep that I did not even offer to buy the snack my son slobbered on, yet I simply let another sales associate take them and put them BACK ON THE SHELF. Some poor soul is going to buy that package that my child licked. Someone is going to open that snack and eat it, and they’re going to hold that package that my son had in his mouth, and they will be none the wiser. Good God. I don’t know if I can live with myself.

Wait, You’re Gay?

It didn’t matter seven years ago, when she called to interview me for a job. “You live on the same street as my best friend,” she said. That was odd because I was pretty sure my only neighbors in this rural Maine town were goats. Turns out, I did have neighbors, and one of them was indeed her best friend.

It didn’t matter when we began tutoring students together after school. What mattered was, were there enough snacks, and did I remember to sharpen the pencils? (Usually, I didn’t.)

It didn’t matter when we worked side-by-side one summer, sharing the suckiness of teachers working during break, the suckiness of our boss, and the suckiness of scheduling people to work for us. I never got the hang of that, scheduling people, but Ivy and I got the hang of being friends. It wasn’t long before we were out-of-work friends too.

We both liked beer. We had dry senses of humor. We found ourselves and each other quite hilarious. The fact that her best friend lived on my street in this tiny town in Maine where I knew no one made me feel connected. She would call and say, “Can I stop by when I’m in the neighborhood?” Fuck yes. No one is ever in my neighborhood. Come on over, I’d tell her. And when she came over, it didn’t matter.

I honestly thought we’d covered all the topics. We’ve had silly talks and serious talks, and we talk just to talk sometimes. We send pictures back and forth, pictures of iconic members of our past, such as a My Little Pony figurine and a toy horse named Porky, both of whom took up residence on the desk we shared for a substantial amount of time. We talked about past relationships that might have been just as sucky as our old boss. We talked about work, and working out. We talked about mutual friends. We went places. We just simply became great friends. It didn’t matter then either.

So, I was a little surprised that my friend of OVER SEVEN YEARS told me last night that she was gay. It wasn’t a, “hey, I think you should know…I’m finally coming out” thing. She’s been out. She’s dated. She’s lived her life out in the open and it.just.never.came.up. Not because the topic was avoided. It just never came up. We had such a good time being friends, that her sexual orientation just was never an issue. I think mine was probably obvious being that I’m married to a man, so she never thought to ask me. And I never thought to ask her, because, well, you just don’t think to ask people that in the middle of a good conversation or a fun outing or a ridiculous work day.

We had to laugh at the silliness that this never was a topic of conversation. But then I thought, what if EVERYONE acted like this? What if NO ONE cared? Because, really, why should you care?

And you might be asking yourself how this story ended up in my parenting blog. Well, my life is parenting and every experience that I have bounces back to how it might impact my children. I can only hope that I will raise them with the same open-mindedness and love that my parents raised me so that they might find the quality of friends that I have now.

Mayfair

Today, we went downtown for Mayfair, a city wide yard sale and get-out-of-your-house-because-its-nice event. It was truly a gorgeous day, especially appreciated after so many snowy and rainy months we’ve had to spend inside. I was delighted to get out of the house with my little family and prance them around town in search of fun things to do.

There were two problems: 1. Justin was sick and 2. Harrison was a jerk. There’s pretty much nothing worse than a sick man-husband, but I won’t dwell on that now, primarily because he reads everything I write. Couple that with a cranky kid, and my fantasies of outdoor bliss just simply flew out the metaphorical window.

So there we were in the middle of downtown, with the rest of our city’s population milling about and Justin informs Harrison that they must hold hands to cross the street. Oh. My. Word. You would have thought Justin asked H to rip off his hand and throw it in the river. So Harrison starts flailing about and screaming as only toddlers do. His degree of irrationality simply amazes me because I, I am extremely irrational, and he makes me look like a wet noodle.

He’s acting the way I might act if you told me champagne was discontinued, or if yoga pants went out of style. I would be completely irate. But this was NO BIG DEAL. We hold hands every time we cross the street. I am positive Harrison was playing on Justin’s sick-man short temper, thinking he could manipulate the situation to meet his own desires. An absolute breakdown occurred on Front Street, and there was nothing we could do to stop it. So, we quietly let him work out his anger with shouts and whines and wiggles of discontent. Then the looks come. Then the stares. Could he be getting abducted? Is he in danger?, they think. Should we intervene?

But, all of a sudden, the light of knowledge flickered in the onlookers’ eyes. Oh. He’s angry. He’s a toddler. There is nothing we can do. To those people who averted their eyes, thank you. To those people who gave sympathetic glances, I am so happy to know I’m not the only one with an irrational offspring. To the few condescending, holier-than-thou individuals who looked at my sweet sweet family with disgust, I’m not fooled. Your skeletons are still inside your closet. But my perfect imperfections are strolling along beside me in their double jogging stroller because I’m proud of them. I’m proud my sick husband endured illness to spend the day with his family. I’m proud my son is expressing himself. I’m proud I didn’t disappoint myself by spending the day inside at home despite a few challenges. My husband is going to feel better. My kid is going to learn to express his emotions appropriately, But you, you’re going to go home and be disappointed in yourself way more than you were with my family’s behavior. Stop judging and start loving, my neighbors.

Derby

So, Justin is laying on the couch watching the Kentucky Derby coverage. Harrison repeatedly asks to watch a show, and Justin replies that he may, but only once the Derby is over.

There must be hundreds of horses on television, but the second a commercial comes on with a beautiful, partially dressed woman beside a beach, holding the reins to her horse, Harrison announces, “Hey Dada, this is the show you’ve been waiting for!” Boy does this boy have his dad pegged.