Look Mama, No Pants!

Now that Zane and I are home from Tallahassee, our "three-pack" has settled back into a very nice family rhythm.

I am blessed with a baby-daddy who is a really good baby daddy. Since we are breastfeeding Zane, PG enthusiastically performs every task he can perform (yes, even changing dirty diapers...)

Now that we are home, PG takes responsibility for feeding Z his once daily bowl of rice cereal, bathing him and putting him down to sleep at night.

He also takes over in the morning after I nurse Zane at 7:00am. They play; they laugh; they smile at each other; they take field trips to the lanai and the backyard; and, when I am out of hair and makeup and ready for wardrobe, PG changes Z and dresses him for the day.

At left is a picture from this morning. There was a bit of protest, but Zane did leave the house properly attired in his shorts.

Bringing out the top shelf parenting for the neighbors

I wrote on my personal blog yesterday about being socially awkward.

Today was a collection of errors. I'd purchased new white patent leather shoes for Lauren yesterday, and she begged to wear them. I replied that wearing them to church would be a better choice because that way if they were terribly uncomfortable, as new shoes sometimes are, church is only a couple of hours. But she insisted she'd tried them on and sometimes you have to let them learn these lessons themselves. I bought them a half size large since that had always been right before for dress shoes. These were a half size too big.

It's Lindsay's birthday today, so I was trying to allow as many of her "big girl" choices as possible. I let her select her clothing from another option (including showing her 3 pairs of identical white socks). She chose her milk cup (although nearly had a tantrum because yellow wasn't an option). She opted to walk to the bus stop rather than ride in the stroller. The way we handled this yesterday was sort of like a game of red-light/green-light where you can't move unless you are holding hands. It is a harder game when your sister is skipping 10 feet ahead. She finally asked to be carried.

Not that I need an excuse to fly off the handle about something, but I'd set up the coffee pot without coffee, so my reward was puzzlement over water light with milk. And the moment of how much coffee did I put in, I don't recall putting it in...oh, because I didn't put it in... was probably priceless, but I'd had exactly a sip of the replacement coffee.

I opted to quickly cross while there was a contractor van about a block away, which meant I had to walk briskly, but Lauren had to hustle. When she saw the van approaching, she freaked out and stopped in the middle of the road at which point I shrieked, "Hurry up, Lauren! What are you doing?!" Her too big shoes slipped on the asphalt as I yelled, "Move it!" As her feet hit the safety of the curb, I began a tirade of "When I tell you to move, you move" sort of blather just as I notice a newish VW station wagon on the curb -- the PTO president and her son with windows open. We waved to Frankie, and I turned my back to quietly continue my rant, knowing it was already too late.

Forecast: Stormy

Ross is fuming. He wanted his summer haircut yesterday but didn't do his homework until after dinner and dragged it out until well past bedtime. He wanted his summer haircut today but spent twenty minutes after hockey practice doing who knows what - certainly not brushing his teeth and getting undressed for a haircut before his shower. When I pointed out the time and said we'd try for his haircut tomorrow, Ross lost it. NOBODY LOVES HIM.

He carried on like a spitting cat all through his too-long shower and had worked himself up into quite a state by the time he'd managed to don pajamas and get in bed. Ross burrowed completely under his comforter and commanded that I go away, so I kiss Lars goodnight and turn off the light. Then, I sat on the top stair to listen. Do all moms do this?

A shout from the upper bunk, "Nobody loves me! I don't care about my favorite food! Or my favorite candy! Or anything!"

"I love you," a steady voice from the lower bunk offers.

"No, you don't!"

"Mama loves you," the small voice of reason puts in.

"No, she doesn't!"

"Daddy loves you," again from below.

"I DON'T CARE! ABOUT ANYTHING!"

"What about Beary?" Lars inquires after Ross' doll, who's been carefully cared for since Ross chose him for his sixth birthday.

"What ABOUT Beary?"

"Do you care about Beary?" Lars wants to know.

"Of course I care about Beary! Beary is the ONLY ONE who loves me! Beary and the guys in my bed!" (Beardog, the red-eyed tree frog, and nine Webkinz sigh with relief).

"I love you," puts in Lars, again.

"You need to GET A LIFE," spouts Ross. "Here's $15 to buy a life," he begins and follows with quite a diatribe of words I can't believe he's picked up at elementary school (thankfully, while mean, all are PG).

As Ross goes on, I sneak into their room and crouch by the lower bunk, feeling for Lars' hand. As I squeeze it in mine, Lars whispers, "Why are you here?" I squeeze his hand again. He squeezes back and we listen to the diatribe above. I feel powerless to stop the pre-teen angst cloud forming above him but hope that a secret Mama-shield will be strong enough to deflect the worst of it.

Query

Why has it taken me over nine years to figure out that if I claim I am pooping, I can get five minutes to myself?

Chores

Among Lauren's regular tasks is to clear her plate from a meal and place it next to the sink. She does it about 80% of the time without being asked.

Lindsay has been struggling a bit lately with wanting to do "big girl" stuff. She no longer wants to sit strapped in at the table, she wants to sit on a chair. This hasn't been completely disastrous, however, she usually gets distracted 4 bites in and wanders away from the table. Today, she brought her plate into the living room and set it on the coffee table.

Since she'd eaten exactly none of it, I hoped that the coffee table snack atmosphere would encourage just a couple more bites of the leftover vegetarian pasta dish from last night. She ate a solitary rotini, and then went elsewhere with her plate. I, as I am likely to do, got distracted by three things, ended up bringing her upstairs for a diaper change, settled her for a nap, and found myself in the kitchen with 2 baskets of laundry. I glanced over at the counter to notice that Lindsay had placed Lauren's art table stool in front of the cutting board. She'd stood on it to very carefully place her plate, still full, squarely on the board with the fork beside it. I had to set down the laundry basket. Lindsay finished her lunch, and cleared her plate and left it by the sink.

I am officially alarmed.

Just WAIT Worst Mama's. Just WAIT. Someday you too will have teenagers and will be able to have weeks where you feel like all you do is rack up points. Brandon missed the bus today FOR THE SECOND DAY IN A ROW. Now making him walk the 7 miles to school only works if you have a kid who is motivated to actually get to school. Brandon, I fear, would make it there sometime around lunch which won't help him pass his finals next week, and subsequently his classes in general.

Fun times.

So this morning when I got back from driving him in anger-charged silence to school Ben was out of bed and waiting for me. After getting him his breakfast I plopped down on the couch and said "I'm so tired, Ben."

Ben said "Why weren't you sleeping?"

"Because Brandon missed the bus this morning and I had to drive him to school."

"Oh" said Ben. "He's such a little smart aweck!"

Awesome. I have taught my younger son that my older son is a little "smart aleck." Just give me the freakin worst mama crown and lets call it a day.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day from the Worst Mamas!