Been Scarce Lately...

So here's my addition to the conversation, since I've been under a rock.

The other night at supper, something happened, who knows what. Will started crying, Samuel was crying, the Ginger Bread Man was trying to deal very patiently with them, but about to lose his cool and what do I do? Whip out the camera to capture it all on film. The GBM looked at me like I literally was the worst mother ever.

Ahmad and His Whistling Camel

While we, too, are of the eat-it-or-starve mentality, we have discovered some help for gently persuading our boys to partake of their delicious-and-nutritious suppers, even if it looks funny or has strange things sticking to it (heaven forbid there are onions or anything that is related to onion: scallions, leeks, shallots, sometimes even celery gets the cold shoulder).

Ahmad and his whistling camel. It's ironic that while I, who write children's books, am consistently bested by my husband, the finance professor at telling tales at the dinner table. He invents stories of Ahmad and his Whistling Camel and the boys beg, and I do mean BEG for more stories about Ahmad's whistling camel. The Ginger Bread Man won't tell them unless they take a bite. So he hooks them, then refuses to go on unless they take another bite. It's really hilarious. Especially the one where Ahmad's whistling camel's favorite song to whistle is "Singin' in the Rain" and he ends up in a carwash in Cairo strapped to the top of a mini cooper just so he can whistle his favorite song...

In the Spirit of Celebration, Part 5

Here's my inaugural run with technology.
Alas, neither of them are from their actual birth days. (Remember, I'm still functioning with those disposal cameras you buy at Rite Aid.)

The picture of Samuel is maybe the day after--at least we were still in the hospital. But I can't size it. He was much bigger in real life. 8 lbs 8 1/2 oz.

I snagged the picture of Will out of his scrapbook and scanned it.

Lest You be mistaken...

...by the warm fuzzy nature of my last post, let me disabuse you of any notion that I am not still in the running for Worst Mother Ever. Picture me at church tonight teaching the teenage girls. Picture me there with my children because the Ginger Bread Man is teaching a night class. Picture my children being watched by another woman while I teach. Picture my children running wild in the hallway, jumping on each other after the event is done and I'm setting up a time for a meeting. Hear the loud cries of my six-year old--cries of pain. Hear him saying, "Mommy, Will bit me!" See my face as I peer at Samuel's back, under his shirt to see skin sticking up where it shouldn't be, blood drawn, skin indented by teeth marks. Hear the sound of harsh words as I yell at my three-year old, then the sound of two sharp whacks on his bottom. Feel his shame. Feel my shame.

Queen for a day...

Will goes to a co-op preschool, which means there is a lot of parent involvement. Parents are assigned days to come be the helping parent. Today was my day. That would have been fine, but the teacher was gone for a workshop, so I got to be the teacher, with two other parents being the helping parents. Me! In charge of 12 three-year olds! Hah!

The daughter of the other helping parent was having issues. Potty issues, separation issues. Issues. ISSUES, even, if you catch my drift. So I found myself intervening, just because I was an adult who was not the Mom. I grabbed her hand and went to the corner of the room that has cushions, stuffed animals, pillows, and a quilt. It's never used, probably because the teacher just cuddles sad children, rather than sending them to a corner. Me, I might send them to a corner, but that's why I'm not the teacher. :)

Anyway, I pulled Mairead over there, and for some reason, she came. So did Will. Then Elizabeth, Mollie, and Andrew. I think Abby was there too. And Hannah. Squished together in this little corner in between the wall and the cupboard. Everyone on my lap. And I told them a story about a rabbit named Silas who discovered an enormous carrot--so big that he couldn't eat it all by himself, so when Henry the mouse came along, Silas was so thankful to have a friend to help him eat it....blah, blah, blah.

By the time I finished my ridiculous story, it was time for potty and clean up, then snack.

Who knew I (a Worst Mama Ever) would be the queen of the three-year old crowd?

The other side of things

While the rest of you are being paragons of nurturing maternal grace, I am doing the sixth load of wet blankets, sheets, pjs, and various stuffed animals from yet another night-time accident and while I'm doing it, I'm NOT contemplating how adorable my children are. (Yes, that's an elbow nudge to you, Epiphany! And BTW, my children push each other down the stairs all the time.)

On top of that, consider an upcoming trip to the in-laws for T-day and all the laundry that encompasses, AND a deadline for a 20-page workshop submission, AND a request for a completely revised manuscript (80 pages worth to be doubled) AND a sick child home from school, AND a sick child at school, and you have one ugly mama.

My children don't dare talk to me today.

Naked boys and wet washclothes

This morning at 4:45, I was awoken by a loud shouting coming from my three-year old. With the maternal instinct muscle that has gotten sooo much exercise over the past six years, I turned into an Olympic athlete, pole-vaulter and sprinter all in one, as I leapt out of bed and was at my son's side in a split-second.

Holding him close to comfort him, I discovered the hard way that he had an accident and his pajamas were soaked almost to his armpits. I stripped him down, leaving him naked while I went to get a wet wash cloth to clean him up. That wouldn't get me any WME points if the motivation was pure; however, my motivation was entirely selfish. I'd just barely gotten the eczema on his backside cleared up and I didn't want to go through another couple of weeks of applying hydrocortisone and Eucerin daily.

He followed me into the bathroom. Still naked. Then he said he wanted to get cleaned in his bedroom. So back we went, Will shivering all the way. I cleaned him up and got new pajamas for him. A few minutes rocking him,and I think I'm home-free. I get back to bed and then realize that I had been holding him close BEFORE I discovered he had an accident. Sigh.

Just a note: I didn't have the opportunity to do the WME trick of throwing down the towel, because my husband changed the sheets while I was wandering around with a naked boy and a wet washcloth.

Worst. Mama. Ever, not worst mama ever

There are some days when the title of Worst. Mama. Ever. is funny--when you discipline your child, reprimand him for climbing on the piano, snatch him from the jaws of certain death, and he turns on you, either by saying you're the worst mama ever, or as is the case in my house lately that he's going to build a new house and live there and you can't come visit.

Then there are those moments when the title Worst. Mama. Ever. feels entirely appropriate. When in the darkest places of your mind, you truly believe that you are the worst mother ever. You wonder what the heck you're doing being a parent in the first place. What ever possessed you to think you could raise a child? Or two? And you count the myriad ways you're failing your children, not the least being that you've completely lost any semblance of patience for their small bodies and large needs.

And the stress of everyday life has become so great that you feel like you're absolutely drowning in it and if a small person climbs all over you one more time or screams out "MONSTER!" or leaves rice krispies all over the kitchen floor crunching through them on the way to the living room, you'll just self-combust and all that will be left of you are little pockets and wisps of anger, smelling like gunpowder. You wonder if you could sell your child on e-bay to the highest bidder, or consider a late addition to the foster care program, because simply put, you can't do this mama thing anymore; there's bound to be someone out there who can do it better.

And after the anger has dissipated, a chubby little hand pats your shoulder, a blond head finds your chest, a serious pair of blue eyes looks at you, saying, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm so sorry." No, my boys--I'm the one who's sorry.

More torture...

It's Saturday and I'm reminded of a certain torture I inflict upon my children. Whenever we're in the car on Saturday mornings, I make them listen to Polka Party on the university's radio station. Hee hee.

Lunch

At one of our beginning-of-the-school-year meetings with Samuel's special ed team, we asked how Samuel was doing at lunch because 1. he takes hours to eat supper and he only gets 15 minutes to eat lunch at school and 2. there's the whole social aspect that we worry about (which is a major aspect of Aspergers and Autism Spectrum). At this meeting, SPED teacher agreed to observe him during lunch.

Yesterday, Samuel came home with the report from the special ed teacher, who is his case manager.

The two days she observed him:
1. The only time I have ever put candy in his lunch. I thought to myself when I was packing his lunch, "Oh, what the heck. Nice treat for the kid." I put in a small (Halloween candy-sized) box of Nerds, which he ended up spending the entire lunch time taking out of the box, counting, lining up, playing with, then putting back in the box. He brought them home and said they were gross. The only other thing he ate was a few tortilla chips ("What the heck are these parents feeding this poor boy?").

2. The menu for the second day was when I was out of his special rice bread, out of tofutti cheese and crackers, and all I had left was leftover plain rice macaroni. (Now, there's a way to win friends and influence people: cold, plain, leftover macaroni noodles.) He spent the whole lunch time making circles out of two macaroni noodles, then eating them. At least it was more than tortilla chips and Nerds.

And BTW, neither day was Zero-Nutrition Thursday.

I'm telling you, October is mine.

The lack of Shoes

"Go get your shoes, Will."

"Will, go get your shoes. We need to pick up Samuel."

"This is the third time I'm asking you. Get your shoes. Now."

No shoes.

We go to pick up Samuel from the afterschool library program. Will walks through the garage in socks, out of the car in socks, across the parking lot in socks, through the library in socks.

He wasn't happy. I only wished it had rained today.

Worst Mamas out there--October's got my name written all over it.

Who's the Mother here?

Yesterday, the Gingerbread Man had an evening meeting with People Who Make Pots of Money and Are Donating It For a Chaired Professorship at the University. So I had to take Samuel to cub scouts with Will in tow. We took an evening jaunt in the rain, collecting tree-related items (leaves, pinecones, etc.) for a naturalist to identify and discuss. During the discussion period, Will started wiggling in my lap. Off. On. Wiggle. Off again. I told him to settle down and he bit my hand! Not hard, but there was spit there. A story crossed my mind where one of my mother's friends used to pinch her children during church services to monitor their behavior when their father was on the stand. So I pinched Will. Not hard, but enough to send a message for him to settle down. He settled down nicely.

Just a Reminder

It's Zero-Nutrition Thursday!!! In honor of the day, I downed three pieces of a milk chocolate Symphony bar with toffee and almonds. Actually, I finished it. Now I've got leftover apple-cranberry pie. And, oh darn! I can't share with the children because they're allergic to the ingredients!

More on Zero Nutrition Thursday

So yesterday, in honor of Zero Nutrition Thursday or poor planning, I left my children in the hands of my husband at 5:15 pm with no supper, even though I knew they had cub scouts at 6:30. I had to leave to go to Boston. I was supposed to be meeting friends at 5 pm. The Gingerbread Man asks me what to give them for supper. All I can say is, "There's raw bacon in the fridge. Cook that or give them cold cereal."

The bacon is still in the fridge. Raw.

One of the first lessons of motherhood...

Driving to gymnastics this morning, Will discovered the button to open the window. Surprisingly, it took him three years to do so. Anyway, he opened the window. All is quiet. Tunes are playing. Along comes a fire truck. As is my habit, whenever emergency vehicles drive by, I pull over, and shut the windows (because they're so loud).

You know what's coming, don't you?

Yes, I shut four little fingers in the window.

The Milk of Human Kindness

I've been missing out on points because I'm been shuffling off my childcare duties to anyone who will take them, but tonight! Ah! A point! At supper, Will was vigorously eating pieces of grilled pork chops--without a fork, I might add. Little barbarians that we have around here. Anyway, he bit his finger when he bit down on the pork. He bit it so hard that he drew blood. Tears, drama! No ice, he screams! No ice! Then he starts shouting out "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" over and over. And it sounded so funny the way he said it that I started to laugh. I did manage to cover my mouth and turn away so that he wouldn't see, although I'm not certain my oldest son didn't catch me. I know my husband did. But then again, he was covering his mouth while he was laughing too.

Points for Daddy

So last week while I was writing like my fingers were on fire, the Gingerbread Man took the boys to the river, where there's a little island in an inlet. They came home sooner than expected because Samuel got upset at something or Will got upset at something and everything escalated, and before you could say "Blink," Samuel had thrown sand at the Gingerbread Man's face. So, for punishment...Samuel waited upstairs while we conferred. The GB Man was all for making him scrub the play structure with a toothbrush. I suggested a punishment that fit the crime, so he blind-folded him and put him in time-out for 15 minutes so he would know what it felt like to be blind (you know, sand in the eyes). Creative and effective.

The bonus of humidity

I have discovered that there is one bonus to this humidity--the doors to Will's bedroom stick. Whereas he has gotten past those "child-security" door locks in minutes, he's now stuck in there until I've had my fill of freedom or until he agrees to be nice, whichever takes longer.

One more note, or rather a question for Karen: how long did it take Lars' black eye to go away?

In the Race

Ok, so I'm losing dismally, but that's only because I haven't spent enough time in blog-land to accumulate the points. So here goes.

1. I must get some points for going back to school--so utterly selfish. I mean, really, there is no purpose behind this MFA. I leave my children for 11 days straight twice a year, and ignore them when I'm home (so I can read children's literature. But not to them, mind you.)

2. The other day both my boys had nose bleeds. Now, I know the scenario would be better if I GAVE them the nosebleeds, but let's not be too ambitious here. We were driving to pick up the Gingerbread Man and when we got there, I got out of the car, talked to GBM for a bit, then saw Will's face when I got back in the car and there was blood smeared all over it. Nice. I hadn't even noticed through the entire drive. He's got a gusher and I'm crooning along to radio tunes. Later, just so he wouldn't be left out, Samuel had one too. Then he had another one. Then Will started crying so hard (probably because I yelled--another point?) that he started bleeding again too. I take no points or credits for Samuel's bleed. But maybe Will's sadly neglected state?

3. This next one might not qualify me for points either, but I spent the entire day reading Harry Potter. Will kept asking me very sweetly to come play with him.
Me: "In just a minute, sweetie." Then twenty minutes would go by.
Will: "Mommy, come play with me."
Me: "How about if you set up the train tracks and when you're all done, I'll zoom the train?"
ALL DAY LONG.

4. Samuel asked to go for a walk two days ago. It's hot. Ok, let's go for a walk. We get two houses away and Samuel says, "It's too hot. My legs won't work. I want to go home."
Me: "No. You wanted to go for a walk, so we're going for a walk." Samuel immediately put up such a fuss that the entire neighborhood was probably recording it for Halloween music. Screams, etc. And Will and I left Samuel by the side of the road. He eventually followed, caterwauling all the way. When he tried to throw his stuffed lion at me, I let him have it and I warned him that if I heard another peep from him, he would be sent to bed when we got home. Well, when we got home, I sent him to bed.

I could continue and continue and continue, but I won't. Am I still in the race???

Long Gone

I left my children on Friday with my in-laws while my husband drove me up to Montpelier, VT for a 10-day writer's residency. What's so bad about that you say? Nothing, except people keep asking me how my family is doing without me and if I miss my boys. Umm, I don't know how my family is doing since I haven't talked to them since I left.

I know you'll say that's not worth a WMP, as it's only WM by default. But while we're on the topic of childproofing (this is for you, Joy), allow me to relate a story from last summer.

I'm upstairs in my office, seeking solitude, or at least 15 minutes on the computer when I hear my oldest son saying, "Will, should you be putting anything in the outlet? Will, should you be putting anything in there?" I ignore it. Just a few minutes on the computer...

Then I realize what is going on. I run downstairs to find my 2 year old pounding a meat thermometer in the solitary outlet that I had not covered.

Points for me?