A Shining Parenting Moment

Or one that I can't believe that I'm even sharing.

I would ask you not to judge, but I know that you are.  And I am judging you for your judgment of me.  So there.

This one is on my little one, Henry.

Let me set up the scene for you.  It is in the morning.  We are running late.  I didn't even need that last sentence.  Mornings are almost always a mad rush, especially when I have to be at school by 7:45 for a meeting.  I have had a meeting every morning this week except for Monday.  Henry has been staying up late whether we put him to bed at a decent hour or not.  He will literally do head stands in the bed if he is not ready to sleep.  So, he gets to stay up until I think he may actually stay slightly still when I put him in bed.

I asked you not to judge.  And if you are at this point, hold on.   It gets much better.

So back to the mornings.  Since Henry has been going to bed later, he sleeps later.  I wake him at the last minute, rush him trough his bowl of cereal, slap on some clothes, and shove him (not literally, people) out the door.

Today, he didn't like the fact that I didn't let him take one of William's Lego toys along for the ride to daycare.  So he voiced his displeasure.

I no like you anymore.  I like Daddy the best.

I don't think I said anything in response.  Or I said something that did not live up to the response he expected so he went a little further:

I gonna punch you in da face.

What the (fill in any four letter word you like.  I probably thought all of them.) ??????

Surely, he didn't say what I thought he said, so I asked him again. And he replied, a little sheepishly

I gonna punch you in da face.

 I did NOT teach him that.  I really didn't know how to react.  I am not a spanker (don't judge, I tell you!)  I have my reasons and they're mine, but I couldn't help but swat that behind.  Through that diaper, though, it didn't have much of an impact (pun intended).  I was reeling for the correct course of action.  Time out?  Time out? Are you kidding me?  But, I really wasn't sure he knew what he was actually saying, just that it was bad.  So, I continued our get-out-the-door-in-the-morning routine while mumbling something about a "consequence" when he got home. As I am doing this, he's saying,

"Sorry, Mom.  I sorry."

You can stuff your sorries in a sack, Mister.

We're home for about 30 minutes when I remember the morning.  I am conflicted about following through with the consequence or all the research I've read that consequences for the very young are meaningless if they are not immediate because children will forget and then be confused when you give them such a delayed consequence.  (Did you get all that?)

So I decide to bring it up to see what he remembers.

Do you remember what you said to me this morning?

William:  I renember, Mom!  I renember what he said!

I am sure you do, but I want to see if Henry does.  Henry, what did you say to Mommy?

William:  He said,

William, I know that you know.  I want to hear from Henry.

Henry:  I said I punch you in da face.

Well, whaddya know?  He remembered.

You know you are going to have to go to time out. (DO NOT JUDGE).

I not punch you in da face.  I say nice things to you.

You still have to have a time out. 

No.  I not want to.

I say nice things.

I love you, Mommy.

I sorry.

You pretty, Mom.

Such a sweet little manipulative face.  This kid has been 3 years old for less than two weeks.

So I pick him up and promptly place him on his time out bench.  I have to admit that a little part of me is swayed by the sweet talk.  And then I hear

You're gonna get it, Mom!  You're gonna get it!

What am I raising??



I just had to know what he thought "punching in the face" meant, so I asked him.

Ummm...it mean bein' not nice?  It mean bein' not good?

Small victory.  This child is not imagining actually thrusting his fist into my face.  And since I can't let anything go, I asked William where he thinks Henry heard such a thing.

I never said it...in front of him.

Well, maybe I did say it in front of him.

0 for 2.

Mother's Day 2013

What better day to share some of the things that make my life as a mother fulfilling?

My husband wanted to have dinner for me.  I opted to have it last night rather than tonight.  (And it was delicious, by the way.  Filets seared on the stove and then cooked in the oven.  Best steak I've ever had).  William wanted to also make me breakfast this morning.  Not just any breakfast.  Pancakes.  We opted for McDonald's rather than make a mess.  I got the gift I asked for--a nice travel coffee mug.  (Those things are pretty high dollar for what they are!). I have just recently become a daily coffee drinker.  I am also one of those rare moms who would prefer something practical.

Anyway, after breakfast and a little lazing, we went to church.  The boys got their Sunday church donut (the McDonald's breakfast was no deterrent) and Henry headed to the nursery.  The non-nursery children had their short sermon, which consisted mostly of watching a short video on motherhood, and were then instructed to hand out carnations to all the ladies in the church, not just their mothers, and then give each recipient a hug.  William wisely gave me my flower first and then gave flowers  to two other women.  It was adorable to see him give them a hug.  The second lady was at the far end of the pew and he and she stretched to pass/receive the flower.  He had to run back to the front of the church, around the front row and all the way to the back again to give her a hug.  Ahh, I just love that kid.  And then he went on to children's church while we enjoyed an extra EXTRA long sermon on families and prayer.  The conclusion was to have all of the children (nursery also) return to the sanctuary so families could pray together.  Now, this church is really small.  Like, the minister can probably make out my eye color from the pulpit and we sit in the next-to-last pew.  I see Henry and walk to the front to walk him back to our pew.  William comes in and sits next to my parents on the other end of the pew. I put Henry on my lap and bow my head.

Henry, pointing to the screen st the front of the church:  MOM, WHAT'S THAT SAY?

Me:  Shh.  It says "The Lord's Prayer".  We're supposed to be praying quietly.

Henry:  WHAT'S THAT SAY???

Me:  Be quiet Henry.  It says to pray with your family.

Henry:  CAN WE GO TO MIMI'S HOUSE LATER?

Me:  Shhhhh.  You're going to Gaga's.

Henry:  I WANNA GO TO MIMI'S HOUSE AND PLAY WIF SYDNEY!

Me:  You can go to Mimi's house after Gaga's.

Henry:  I CAN GO TO MIMI'S HOUSE LATER?

Me:  Yes.  Shhhhh.

Henry:  I WANT SOMEFIN' HUNGRY!

Me:  Shhhh.  Let's say a prayer together.

Henry:  I. WANT.  SOME.  FIN'. HUN. GRY!

I "quietly" lead him to the small area a the back of the church where the donuts are to get him "somefin' hungry."  They have a HUGE, like 6 foot tall painting of Jesus hanging on the wall.  He's holding his hands out, open palmed.  Henry looks up and asks:

What's God doing?

Before I can answer, "Blessing people." or "Welcoming people."  Henry comes up with his own answer:

I fink he's loving all da peoples.

Melt.

My husband took the boys to see his mother while I relaxed at home.  I was ready for them to come home when they did, though.  We'll go see my mom later. Right now, we're all on the couch together hanging out.  No one is fighting.  Life is good!

You're So Funny, You Should Host a Talk Show

Or at least appear on one.

Last night William and I were doing homework together.  One of his tasks was to identify and find the value of a quarter.  As he meticulously wrote 25¢ on the line he commented, "Twenty-five.  That's how old you are!"

I answered, "Not quite."

He guessed, "Twenty-six, twenty-seven?"

"Not exactly.  I'm forty."

"Forty?  You gotta be kidding me!"

"Forty is no joke, kid."

I must've chuckled which gave him the notion that he was hilarious enough for late night talk shows because his follow up was

"I think that I should be on the Tonight Show.  Can you get me on there?"

"Well, it's not that easy.  You have to be invited."

"Well, can't you Facebook them or Twitter them?" (And no, my six year old does not have either. And I barely ever use Twitter myself.  Facebook is a different story, but I digress).

"Umm, it's not that simple.  They have to know of you somehow. Like you have to do something that they hear about and then invite you on."

"Well, why don't you Twit them or Tweet them or something.  I think that people would really like to see me on there.  I would crack them up.  They would think that I'm really funny."

They just might, kid.  They just might.

We're going to hold out for Jimmy Fallon.

A Two-fer

William has reached an important rite of passage in every young man's life.  Yes, an obsession with Legos.  He loves them.  He doesn't exactly know how to put them together on his own *cough* enabling parents who do it for him *cough* but he loves them.

Every time we go to Target, we have to go look at the Lego section.  And, no.  He does not get to purchase a set even close to every time.  He is satisfied with looking and putting them on the imaginary and never-ending "birthday list" or "Christmas list."  It's amazing how that works, by the way.

Can you buy this for me?

No.  Not today.

Can you get it for me for my birthday?

We'll put it on the list.

(Excitedly) Thanks, Mom! (I will be so sad when this ploy no longer works).

So, this past weekend my in-laws had the boys spend the night Friday and  told them they'd take them to Target to get a toy on Saturday.  It had to be less than $20. Where do you think William took them?  That's right.  Straight to the Lego section.  She pointed to the row of Legos that were $19.99.  His eye wandered to a row of Legos that were $39.99.

How about one of these, Gaga?

Not those.  See the 3 there?  You need to look for Legos that have a 1 as the first number.

What about this one?

Um, that has a 9 in front.  I don't think I have enough money for those, William.

Sounds like you need to get a job, Gaga.

He eventually settled on two Star Wars Death Star Lego sets for $9.99 each.  And Gaga has no plans to get a job to support William's Lego habit any time soon.

One of the sets he wants is about $70.  It's the Lego City Forest  Police Station.  Definitely one on the "Christmas list."  He talks about it all. the. time.  Santa better deliver.  I'm just saying.

This morning on the way to school, something occurred to him.

Mom.  Why do they call it Far-est City.  It's not that far. (Keep in mind.  We live in the South.  We don't always say things like you do).

Honey. It's FOR-est.  The place with lots of trees.

Yeah, cause all you have to do is turn right.  Then you go where my finger is pointing and then you go over this bridge, and then it's right there.  (Apparently he knows the exact location of an imaginary Lego forest).

Um.  Yup.  It's really not that far.

Race Card?

There comes a time in every parent's life when s/he realizes that his/her child realizes that people are different.  It's natural.  We all do it. Compare/contrast and all that jazz. But children notice things that we are embarrassed to talk about. It's not polite conversation.  You don't point out that someone's skin color is not that same as yours.  When William first described one of his teachers as the one "with the brown skin" Ben and I were nervous.  Reminded us of a Seinfeld episode.  "Should we be talking about this?  I don't think we should be talking about this."  But, when you really THINK about it, it's weird that it's weird.  People are different.  So what?  Makes life interesting.  Makes life diverse.  And pretending that you don't notice that someone looks different than you is a little strange.

Nevertheless, it's not something that's easy to broach.  So I didn't know what to think when the following transpired.

William was sitting on the couch, leaning against the arm and playing with my iPad.  Some drawing app.

White is a race and a color.

What the what? My heart skipped a beat.  What does a five year old know about race?  Who would be talking to him about that, anyway?  I took a breath and tried not to jump to conclusions.

Tell me again what you said?

White is a race AND a color.

Okay.  I didn't misunderstand.  Where do I go from here?  I channeled my very limited background in early education.  Ask questions.  Don't assume you know what a child is thinking.  Even though it was DEFINITELY obvious.  I heard it twice.

What do you mean by that?

Well, it's a 'erase' because you can erase with it, but it's also a color.

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Hold on for Dear Life

Boys are gross.  Sorry, they just are.  Okay, maybe your boy is not gross.  But YOURS is.  So, YOU know what I mean. But, maybe not you.

I came across another surprise in the toilet one morning and I had JUST had enough.  What is so hard about flushing?  It's one little swipe down, but it makes all the difference.

WILLIAM!!!

What, mom?

You HAVE to start flushing when you POOP!  It's SO gross!

(Giggle).  Okay, mom. (I was not convinced).

That's it.  You are NOT getting ANY privacy ANYmore.  From now on, I will be IN the bathroom with you EVERY time you go to make sure that you both WIPE and flush. (Aside--William is not a consistent wiper, but he is almost always a "perfect pooper."  Spot wipe checks are almost always clean, but 95% is not 100, so he needs to get in the habit.  Just sayin').

What do you mean?

What do you MEAN, what do I mean?  I mean that I will be with you in the bathroom every time you go to make sure you wipe AND flush! (Aside #2:  William loves his privacy.  Even when he wants an escort to the bathroom, for whatever reason, when he gets there he insists that you leave. That's why I figured that this would be an effective threat).

And it went back and forth with him asking me to restate my position.  If you have a young child, you probably know what I mean.  They don't always believe you the first time when it's something that they don't want to hear.  EVEN when you're consistent about following through with threats.  It's like they're always holding out hope.

He gave me one last desperate look, and clutching his hands over his "man parts" asked

Are you really going to take away my privates?

How do you explain to your child that you are not in favor of genital mutilation when that is what he pictured in his head?  I don't know if I can erase that image.

Going on a Chicken Hunt...Wanna Come Along?

So, the other morning, we were sitting at the breakfast table.  Eating breakfast food.  Cereal and oatmeal (which I know is technically a cereal) when William asks

Do chickens die when you kill them?

(A little background.  William is a little bit obsessed with mortality.  He may be a teeny tiny bit anxious.  And a candidate for Zoloft).

Me:  Well, yes.  Just about every time.

I have a great idea.  Maybe one day, when it's not a school day,  like tomorrow, we should get a bow and arrow and go hunting for chickens.  And then when we find one, we can shoot it with an arrow and kill it and then we can eat it for dinner.

Hmm...I wouldn't even know where we would go hunting for wild chickens.

I know.  Maybe we could go to a farm.

I think we could find chickens at a farm, but I don't know if we would need to kill them with a bow and arrow.

How would you kill it? (Now, I don't know why I was hesitant to tell him how you could wring a chicken's neck or chop a chicken's head off.  Even typing it now, it seems so violent.  More violent than a bow and arrow, though?  Or...)

Maybe you could shoot it with a gun.

I think that might be a little overkill.

What you said?

Never mind.  I don't think you're old enough to use a bow and arrow.  We'll just buy our chickens at Kroger.