Apparently, my life is crazy enough that I qualify. *snort*
I'm an elementary school teacher in urban Canada. One would think that managing 25 of someone else's kids all day would give me some quality skills for my own two munchkins, but you'd be mistaken.
I have two boys, CleverMonkey aged 3.5 and Bruiser aged 18months. My husband and I work split shifts - I work mornings, he works afternoons and evenings and some weekends. We have two large neurotic dogs and a gerbil.
My eldest is very articulate and the world's biggest extrovert. He's the strange kid who walks up to you in the mall, takes your hand and says "We're going to WalMart my mom says WalMart is terrible but I think it's a lot of fun and there's a McDonald's in WalMart and they sell Thomas trains do you like Thomas trains my favourite train is Murdoch because he's so fast..."
My youngest is the bizarre combination of completely fearless and not walking yet. Example, I left him for thirty seconds to put a diaper in the garbage and found that he'd made a giant pyramid of Little People building and was sitting on the windowsill pointing out the birds and looking very pleased with himself. Still don't know how he did it...
I love my children. I adore my children. Both my pregnancies were high risk and I value those children as the true blessings they are. I would sell them to the circus at least two days out of every week. And I'm sure that there will be lots of stories coming out of my house. Looking forward to sharing.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
BOO!
This happened last week but with my weekend away and all I forgot to post.
I had a lingering cold and was feeling particularly run down. I decided that we all must nap. Helen is no problem...she naps anyway. Ruthie is another story. She probably needs a nap, but resists in every possible way. So I desperately explained to her that Mommy was sick and needed to sleep, but I couldn't sleep if she was awake (though I later found out DH did just that while I was away) so she really needed to sleep that day. She protested at first, but then agreed. I reinforced the importance of her staying in her room and put her to bed. I left my dolor open so that I could hear her if she tried to make a break for it. It was quiet and soon I had dozed off. I don't know how long I was sleeping when I awoke to this feeling that someone was in my room. I turned my head and saw Ruthie standing at my night stand, reaching for something. She wasn't facing me, so she didn't realize I was awake. I yelled "Hey. What are you doing in here?" A startled Ruthie jumped, screamed and ran back to her room crying. I heard her, and briefly contemplated going in to comfort her. But I didn't. I went back to sleep.
I had a lingering cold and was feeling particularly run down. I decided that we all must nap. Helen is no problem...she naps anyway. Ruthie is another story. She probably needs a nap, but resists in every possible way. So I desperately explained to her that Mommy was sick and needed to sleep, but I couldn't sleep if she was awake (though I later found out DH did just that while I was away) so she really needed to sleep that day. She protested at first, but then agreed. I reinforced the importance of her staying in her room and put her to bed. I left my dolor open so that I could hear her if she tried to make a break for it. It was quiet and soon I had dozed off. I don't know how long I was sleeping when I awoke to this feeling that someone was in my room. I turned my head and saw Ruthie standing at my night stand, reaching for something. She wasn't facing me, so she didn't realize I was awake. I yelled "Hey. What are you doing in here?" A startled Ruthie jumped, screamed and ran back to her room crying. I heard her, and briefly contemplated going in to comfort her. But I didn't. I went back to sleep.
Run Like the Wind
Well, last night brought on another tantrum from Ruthie at bedtime. I maintained my cool for significantly longer than my husband, and he got all pissed off when I told him to just leave her and go downstairs. At that point, he was mad, she was maniacal. Let them both cool off and see what happens. So I got Helen ready for bed while Ruthie is screaming at maximum volume again. She kept busting in wailing while I was trying to read poor little Helen her bedtime story. I finally locked her out and she beat on the door and screamed until I was done with her sister. I emerged from Helen's room and told Ruthie I would help her when she stopped. I then deposited her in her room and the screaming escalated (and just when I thought it couldn't get any louder). Helen, who always goes to sleep without a problem, began crying. I saw red and realized that letting Ruthie scream it out on her own wasn't going to work if Helen was going to sleep. So we ran. That's right. I brought her downstairs, jammed her boots on her feet, got her coat and hat on, brought her outside and let her run. She's only three, so I couldn't let her run, in the dark, unsupervised. so I ran with her. i held her hand and informed her that we we'd stop running when her screaming stopped. We got less than a quarter mile form the house when she stopped. We turned aorund, I let go of her hand and let her follow me as I walked at a pretty brisk pace back to the house. She went in, got off her coat, her hat and her boots without a word, and went to bed. No story. She began to cry again when I left her room and I told her that we'd get all of her stuff back on and go run again if she wasn't quiet. She stopped. I didn't hear from her again until morning. DH told me that bordered on child abuse. I reminded him that he is a runner and runs for his mental health just as much as for his physical health, and perhaps that running cleared her little brain of whatever was making her so hysterical. And I ran right there with her. So think of it as quality time with mom instead.
Freeze-Out Week at WME *
The boys played hockey Sunday morning (7:15am, oh Lordy) to win 2-1 after an exciting game! We came home to a second breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and fruit before drifting in to a bit of Sunday afternoon stupor around 10am. At noon, we regrouped and decided that Chris and the kids would come to my hockey game later, an away game but not very far from where we live. We agreed on the time we would leave and then went back to assorted fun.
Thirty minutes before our set departure, I called half-hour and reminded everyone to be ready (bathroom, shoes, jackets, book for the car, etc.) to go at 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes later, Lars was sitting in front of his computer, wearing his shoes, parka and hat, determined to play his game until the last possible second. Ross was exactly where he had been and when I offered a gentle reminder to get ready, he said, "Oh, I'm not going. I'll call Ryan and go to his house."
"No, you may not invite yourself over to a friend's house. Get your shoes and coat, we're leaving in thirteen minutes." Ross turned off the xBox and stood up, which seemed like a good sign until his face went purple and he burst into shouts.
"I'M NOT GOING AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO," he raged. He stormed around, mainly for his own benefit as Chris and Lars were playing computer games and I was packing my things, for the next ten minutes. At the two-minutes-to-go mark, Lars went to the bathroom and Chris brought my things out to the car. I collected Ross, still writhing, hooking him under one leg and the opposing arm, grabbing his jacket off the chair as we headed to the door. I carried him out to the car, dumped him in, and shut the door. [Begin full-scale temper tantrum here. Not pretty.]
Chris headed back toward the house, intending to get boots for Ross but I called him off. "But we're going to an ICE rink," Chris said, "His feet will be cold!"
"Oh, I hope so! I put his jacket in there with him and we'll carry him from the car to the bleachers. He can stick his feet in my shoes while I'm on the ice, for warmth, but he'll just have to stay wherever we put him - they'll be too big for him to walk around in." Chris got into the car somewhat reluctantly and off we went.
Ross fussed the whole way to the rink, about 40 minutes. Lars endured the ride with his hands over his ears. When we got there, Ross was carried in and deposited in a seat at the away end, near where my team would sit. Lars got to come to the dressing room to get my shoes and to be adored by my teammates, who are mostly all moms and suckers for adorable blond boys who won their Mites game that morning. When Lars went away with my shoes, I got more than a few strange looks, so I explained why Ross was shoeless in the stands. Oooooh - you've never seen more snickering moms!
We skated hard for a shut-out win, 2-0. I got the first goal on a gorgeous breakaway, stealing the puck in the neutral zone and managing to keep it with me long enough to stun the goalie so I could wedge it into the net. My fans (all three of them, I might add) went wild!
In the car on the way home, I wondered aloud how many times the boys would be caught under-prepared before they would figure out that Chris and I mean business and that we will get our way? Ross piped up, "Well, it's happened to me TWO times already and I STILL haven't learned!"
* For more frozen toes, be sure to check Emmay's post!
Thirty minutes before our set departure, I called half-hour and reminded everyone to be ready (bathroom, shoes, jackets, book for the car, etc.) to go at 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes later, Lars was sitting in front of his computer, wearing his shoes, parka and hat, determined to play his game until the last possible second. Ross was exactly where he had been and when I offered a gentle reminder to get ready, he said, "Oh, I'm not going. I'll call Ryan and go to his house."
"No, you may not invite yourself over to a friend's house. Get your shoes and coat, we're leaving in thirteen minutes." Ross turned off the xBox and stood up, which seemed like a good sign until his face went purple and he burst into shouts.
"I'M NOT GOING AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO," he raged. He stormed around, mainly for his own benefit as Chris and Lars were playing computer games and I was packing my things, for the next ten minutes. At the two-minutes-to-go mark, Lars went to the bathroom and Chris brought my things out to the car. I collected Ross, still writhing, hooking him under one leg and the opposing arm, grabbing his jacket off the chair as we headed to the door. I carried him out to the car, dumped him in, and shut the door. [Begin full-scale temper tantrum here. Not pretty.]
Chris headed back toward the house, intending to get boots for Ross but I called him off. "But we're going to an ICE rink," Chris said, "His feet will be cold!"
"Oh, I hope so! I put his jacket in there with him and we'll carry him from the car to the bleachers. He can stick his feet in my shoes while I'm on the ice, for warmth, but he'll just have to stay wherever we put him - they'll be too big for him to walk around in." Chris got into the car somewhat reluctantly and off we went.
Ross fussed the whole way to the rink, about 40 minutes. Lars endured the ride with his hands over his ears. When we got there, Ross was carried in and deposited in a seat at the away end, near where my team would sit. Lars got to come to the dressing room to get my shoes and to be adored by my teammates, who are mostly all moms and suckers for adorable blond boys who won their Mites game that morning. When Lars went away with my shoes, I got more than a few strange looks, so I explained why Ross was shoeless in the stands. Oooooh - you've never seen more snickering moms!
We skated hard for a shut-out win, 2-0. I got the first goal on a gorgeous breakaway, stealing the puck in the neutral zone and managing to keep it with me long enough to stun the goalie so I could wedge it into the net. My fans (all three of them, I might add) went wild!
In the car on the way home, I wondered aloud how many times the boys would be caught under-prepared before they would figure out that Chris and I mean business and that we will get our way? Ross piped up, "Well, it's happened to me TWO times already and I STILL haven't learned!"
* For more frozen toes, be sure to check Emmay's post!
Monday, January 28, 2008
Pissed Off
For the thing I'm pissed off about. My husband called me a "blankety blank".
This is because our 4yr old daughter peed her pants this morning before her nap, she didn't ask for a dry pullup (big health no-no to sit in pee all day), we discovered she had a full pullup a few minutes ago, and she burst into tears telling me she wanted a hug. I told her "pee in pants is wet and smelly. I'll be happy to hug you when you are dry and smell good. Feel free to go take a bath or shower to clean up." I got that idea from several other bloggers who have adopted older children, going thru the "wetting" experience.
So, what does my husband do? He says "Blankety Blank. You are a blankety blank". Swell. AND he scoops up the 4yr old (she's almost 5) and hugs and smothers her in affection. I never said I wouldn't hug her. I gave her a natural consequence for her actions. My husband already thinks it's consequence enough to be in pullups and diapers. I think she needs a gentle reality check, in several aspects of natural consequences, if they apply to the situation. I told my husband "there are lots of consequences to say, being an alcoholic." It's just so. I'm not trying to punish her, but open her eyes to the consequences of her actions.
In the meantime, our daughter is crying profusely into my husband's chest because I won't hug her (since she hasn't bathed yet). I told her "Well, how about if I wet my pants, and ask you to come sit on my wet lap and give me a hug? How would that be?" She screams "NOT GOOD!" Well, there you have it. I told her I feel the same way, but I'm more than happy to hug her when she's cleaned up. Mainly I worry that she has the naive view that this can continue with willy nilly consequences (pullups and diapers), and she thinks the rest of the world is fine with this behavior. I feel it's my job to open her eyes. We have told her countless times that if she pees her pants in kindergarten, kids will make fun of her. We haven't told her this to be mean, but to give her a glimpse of social consequences to her actions. Already she's at the point now where people at church don't want to deal with her in the preschool class. Sigh................Makes me feel warm and fuzzy, but that's another story entirely.
So what do you think? Think I'm a blankety blank for being straight up with her, telling her I would be more than happy to hug her after a bath and clean clothes? Please weigh in. And I really don't think I should be called names...................
This is because our 4yr old daughter peed her pants this morning before her nap, she didn't ask for a dry pullup (big health no-no to sit in pee all day), we discovered she had a full pullup a few minutes ago, and she burst into tears telling me she wanted a hug. I told her "pee in pants is wet and smelly. I'll be happy to hug you when you are dry and smell good. Feel free to go take a bath or shower to clean up." I got that idea from several other bloggers who have adopted older children, going thru the "wetting" experience.
So, what does my husband do? He says "Blankety Blank. You are a blankety blank". Swell. AND he scoops up the 4yr old (she's almost 5) and hugs and smothers her in affection. I never said I wouldn't hug her. I gave her a natural consequence for her actions. My husband already thinks it's consequence enough to be in pullups and diapers. I think she needs a gentle reality check, in several aspects of natural consequences, if they apply to the situation. I told my husband "there are lots of consequences to say, being an alcoholic." It's just so. I'm not trying to punish her, but open her eyes to the consequences of her actions.
In the meantime, our daughter is crying profusely into my husband's chest because I won't hug her (since she hasn't bathed yet). I told her "Well, how about if I wet my pants, and ask you to come sit on my wet lap and give me a hug? How would that be?" She screams "NOT GOOD!" Well, there you have it. I told her I feel the same way, but I'm more than happy to hug her when she's cleaned up. Mainly I worry that she has the naive view that this can continue with willy nilly consequences (pullups and diapers), and she thinks the rest of the world is fine with this behavior. I feel it's my job to open her eyes. We have told her countless times that if she pees her pants in kindergarten, kids will make fun of her. We haven't told her this to be mean, but to give her a glimpse of social consequences to her actions. Already she's at the point now where people at church don't want to deal with her in the preschool class. Sigh................Makes me feel warm and fuzzy, but that's another story entirely.
So what do you think? Think I'm a blankety blank for being straight up with her, telling her I would be more than happy to hug her after a bath and clean clothes? Please weigh in. And I really don't think I should be called names...................
The dentist
This post isn't going to earn me any points, but I thought I'd do an informal poll.
I took Lauren to the dentist today. He is a pediatric dentist. I'd like to tell you I know him well, but the truth is managed care doesn't really permit knowing your doctor. Lauren has been seeing him since she turned 3.
This visit when the hygienist came to get Lauren, I grabbed my purse and started to get Lindsay. She stopped me. "Uh, I'll just be taking Lauren back by herself."
"No." I said.
"Why," she said, her face very close to mine. "Do you have some problem with that?"
"No." I replied. "But I need to ask Lauren..."
She interrupted me and kneeled to talk to Lauren, her face very close to Lauren's. "Don't you want to give your mom a break?" She asked. Lauren didn't reply, and looked a little alarmed. "You're big enough to come back by yourself...and if you need your mom, I will come back and get her."
"Okay." Lauren said.
"My name is Julie." She said, as they walked through the door together.
I was so anxious the entire time I was there. Now, I am an awkward person. I don't do chit-chat well. But I really felt in that moment I failed Lauren because I allowed myself to be managed by this woman whose motives I didn't understand. About twenty minutes later, she popped her head out to let me know Lauren was fine and watching Snoopy. A half hour later, I was called in to speak with the dentist who chastised me for allowing Lauren to brush her own teeth, and told me I'd have to bring her in to have a cavity filled.
I was too flummoxed by the cavity, dealing with the copay and making another appointment (they only had 3 appointments, 2 of them I couldn't take because Lauren is out of town for a week, and all of the appointments were during school...they were unwilling to discuss an appointment farther than 3 weeks out) to really say anything to the dentist, but I felt like it just wasn't right that I couldn't go in with Lauren - after all, I accompany her for every doctor's appointment, every other specialist we've ever seen...and I think it would've been OK if Lauren said, "Gee, Mom, I really want to go by myself."
Am I overreacting?
I took Lauren to the dentist today. He is a pediatric dentist. I'd like to tell you I know him well, but the truth is managed care doesn't really permit knowing your doctor. Lauren has been seeing him since she turned 3.
This visit when the hygienist came to get Lauren, I grabbed my purse and started to get Lindsay. She stopped me. "Uh, I'll just be taking Lauren back by herself."
"No." I said.
"Why," she said, her face very close to mine. "Do you have some problem with that?"
"No." I replied. "But I need to ask Lauren..."
She interrupted me and kneeled to talk to Lauren, her face very close to Lauren's. "Don't you want to give your mom a break?" She asked. Lauren didn't reply, and looked a little alarmed. "You're big enough to come back by yourself...and if you need your mom, I will come back and get her."
"Okay." Lauren said.
"My name is Julie." She said, as they walked through the door together.
I was so anxious the entire time I was there. Now, I am an awkward person. I don't do chit-chat well. But I really felt in that moment I failed Lauren because I allowed myself to be managed by this woman whose motives I didn't understand. About twenty minutes later, she popped her head out to let me know Lauren was fine and watching Snoopy. A half hour later, I was called in to speak with the dentist who chastised me for allowing Lauren to brush her own teeth, and told me I'd have to bring her in to have a cavity filled.
I was too flummoxed by the cavity, dealing with the copay and making another appointment (they only had 3 appointments, 2 of them I couldn't take because Lauren is out of town for a week, and all of the appointments were during school...they were unwilling to discuss an appointment farther than 3 weeks out) to really say anything to the dentist, but I felt like it just wasn't right that I couldn't go in with Lauren - after all, I accompany her for every doctor's appointment, every other specialist we've ever seen...and I think it would've been OK if Lauren said, "Gee, Mom, I really want to go by myself."
Am I overreacting?
Baby it's cold outside
As I mentioned in my previous post, I was away for the weekend. I might add that I was away sans children or husband. Woot! I got back later yesterday afternoon. And I reluctantly agree to give the girls a bath. Benny says I can reconnect with them. Yeah, while I'm unpacking my bags and they're drowning. I hate giving baths which is why he normally does it. But, I tell him I will if he just gets them up and into the tub while I finish unpacking the car. I finish and head upstairs where I am greeted by Ruthie, whio is creaming because she can't get her undershirt off. Ruthie is completely capable of getting her undershirt off. She just refuses to listen to us while we try to instruct her, and instead chooses to erupt in to total fits of hysteria and a maniacal screaming. I calmly try to remind her how to get off her shirt. She just screams. I eventually take her and place he in her room, which is mere feet from the bathroom. She continues to scream and opens her door. I close her door. She opens it, screaming. I lock it. She opens it screaming. After a few round of this game, I am totally through with her screaming. I drag her downstairs, put a coat on over her undershirt and send her outside to the porch, shoeless, in the 30 degree cold. (She did have socks on.) I plop her onto the porch step and tell her she can come back in when she is done screaming. I close the door. (Oops, I forgot to turn on the porch light.) She attempts to open the front door, so I lock it. She screams. And screams. I stood right there and listenedd to her, while little Helen ployed in hate tub upstairs, unsupervised. I finally opened the door, and she stopped, came in, and didn't give me another minute of trouble all night.
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