More proof

Lindsay takes a nap in the car. It's 90 degrees outside with 95% humidity, yet she insists on the blanket. Before she fell asleep, she gave a look that just said Whatever happened to those naps I used to have in my crib? I hate this, Mama.

Oh, and notice my front-facing seat? Illegal in New Jersey for the under 20 pound set...

ETA: I surely deserve 2 WMPs on this entry if just for the Mommy Driveby in the comments...

My bid

I really hit some high notes this week in my bid for Worst Mama. Lauren had soccer camp this week while Lindsay tried to normalize her naps. Adjusted now from the trip to the West Coast, she could no longer be convinced that 11 AM was a good time for a nap, and insisted on singing for an hour, and then going to sleep. It was a struggle to wake her up at 1:15 so that we could drive a half hour to pick up Lauren. Also, she wasn't really thrilled to be roused out of bed at 8 AM. So I fed poor Lindsay a breakfast and 3 lunches this week in the car, ladies. Breakfast was merely half of a Nature's Promise blueberry waffle, but lunch was a neufchatel (light cream cheese) and apricot All Fruit on whole wheat with halved grapes and strawberries.

I picked Lauren up from camp yesterday, and she said, as she always does when I arrive, that she has to potty. So I told her to find the coach who was bringing the kids inside the school (the camp is on the field outside). The coaches were busy, so she asked one of the older campers. As they were walking to the school, I noticed a suspicious brown stain on her butt. At that moment, the woman standing next to me said, "Do you think someone else besides my 10-year-old daughter can handle this?"

I didn't reply, I thanked the little girl and took Lauren's hand and told her I had to go also.

When we got into the bathroom, I demanded she remove her shorts. "Why?"

"Because it looks like you had an accident."

"No I didn't," she replied indignantly. "I was just sitting in the sand."

And, she was right. I brushed off what I could and then asked her to put them back on. As she was struggling to take off her shin guards and put back on her shorts, she was chatting up a storm about this and that. A couple of 8-year-old girls came in to wash their hands. Lauren prattled on. At this moment, I lost my patience, "Lauren, can you put your clothes back on already so we can go?!"

"Working on it, Mom."

As the girls left the bathroom, I heard the peals of laughter and my face grew hot. Oh my gosh, I just humiliated my own child in front of older girls.

Really. I'm just that horrible.

Under Wear?

Every year, Lars grows at the end of summer. I know, because I bought back-to-school clothes in the July sales four years in a row and was annoyed each time to find the pants were too short (think flood-ready) by August. So, I haven't been surprised to observe Lars is taller each week lately. I have been surprised by how skinny his legs look! He's never been a skinny kid - even when he's stretched out in the past, he's always maintained a solid frame. This year, though, he's gotten skinny. I know it's not just my perception, either, and here's why:

The other day, the kids had broken a cardinal rule at home so hadn't gotten to have anything for themselves when Chris and I stopped at Starbucks for coffee. Ross was uncharacteristically accepting his frappucino-free plight with the grim look of someone who knows he has no chance. Lars was storming around the parking lot, alternately yelping and fuming, trying to stay both on the sidewalk and out of sight of either Chris or I (completely impossible but he gave it a very good try). Eventually, he realized he was going to have to get in the car, so he threw his entire effort into storming purposefully across the lot (between Chris and I, so not unsafe). Halfway across, his pants - selected for his usual solid frame - slid down to his knees, revealing boxers covered in rainbow-colored lizards. Undaunted, Lars shuffle-stormed the last bit toward the car and hurled himself into his seat, pants still half-mast. We let him slam the door, because VW has good sound muffling and we were hoping he wouldn't hear us collapsing with laughter by the rear bumper. Thankfully, Chris didn't spill either of our lattes, although it was touch-and-go there for a minute.

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.

None of the Pleasure, Double the Guilt

Yesterday, I had an appointment with one of my TWO doctors providing care during this pregnancy. My OB/Gyn referred me to Maternal Fetal Medicine because I am old. It's funny, I never thought 36 was old until I got pregnant...annywhoo...I was there for (yet) another targeted ultrasound, this time a detailed echocardiogram on the baby's heart. It was necessary because of "early exposure." To alcohol, that is. (Sigh. This mama guilt is really setting in early.) I didn't have the first inkling that I was pregnant until Iwas already 15 weeks along. Until that point, my dinners usually included wine and there was a VERY fun weeklong vacation in the Florida Keys. I'm no alcoholic, not by any stretch of the imagination. Still, when I saw the pink line in the window of the home pregnancy test, I shuddered with fear of fetal alcohol syndrome. I'm happy to report the doctors saw "no funny stuff" during the hour-long ultrasound, much to my relief. Just when I thought I was in the clear, ready to check out, pay my $25 and run straight home to frame the newest pictures (in 3D!) of my little one, the doctor sternly admonished me for having lost three pounds since my last visit (just one week prior.) I nearly threw my Gatorade at him, but I thought better of it since Gatorade is the only liquid I've been able to tolerate while suffering through a stomach bug this week. I guess the bright side is, I can eat that Chocolate Haagen-Dazs in my freezer AND even top it with my current craving for marshmallows.

Living in Squalor

I think this might actually be my worst bit of parenting to date. I would expect this from a mama who has a little bit of a meth problem, but I, being on a very tight budget these days, am completely drug-free. About 2 days ago Jeremiah asked me if I recalled putting Kate in her overnight pull-up the previous night. "You put her to bed last night." I responded "I assumed you did." He struck a pensive pose. "Yeah, it seems like I would've been the one to do that but I really can't remember and this morning when I went up to get her she was already on the potty and she had underwear around her ankles." We just looked at each other for a moment. "Did they feel wet? Was her bed wet?" I asked. He answered in the negative for both. We assumed she'd gone all night pee-free and allowed ourselves to feel somewhat heartened by this little gaff. An exciting step in the slow journey of potty training! I wasn't about to take that chance again, though. I thought that to myself and then promptly forgot the whole thing.

That night Kate was very late in getting to bed. There had been the stalling, the crying, the 4 fruitless trips to the potty and finally we'd reached the bedding down portion of the show. Such a sweet little girl...I admired her sleepy face as I pulled the sheet up to her chin and leaned down to give her a kiss goodnight. As I did so, I was met with a most foul stench. I change the sheets weekly...usually...don't I? I said "Kate, is your bed wet?" having no idea why her bed would be wet. She shook her head no and yawned. I glanced at the clock, considering making her get back up while I changed the sheets. They really smelled. But it was already 8:00 and I was starving. She seemed so comfy...I'll change them tomorrow, I told myself. I stretched over the side of Sarah's crib and gave the snoozing cherub a peck on the head and left the room.

Wait. It gets worse. As I frequently don't see the girls in the morning before dashing out the door, I did not do any changing of bedsheets before work the next day. Then Jeremiah put the girls to bed that night, while I was making dinner. I failed to make mention of the sheet issue. In fact, I'd forgotten again. Life moves fast, what can I say?

Finally, day 3, it's my morning to take the girls to daycare. I was rousing everyone from their pleasant sleep and rushing them out the door. When I completed my always successful play, the Tickle, Nuzzle, Lift as I call it, on Kate, I was reminded that I am a horrible mother. I picked up the giggly, groggy 3-year-old from her bed and there, plain as yellow snow, was a giant, aged pee-stain. Ugh. I did finally strip the bed at that point but I remain disgusted with myself for letting my kid sleep in her own filth. For 3 straight days. And frankly, I'm a little surprised Jeremiah never noticed. But this isn't about him. I took a whiff of her and she did, despite having bathed before bed, smell faintly of urine...but I was running late and I sent her to daycare like that. Feeling like a dismal failure of a parent I managed to cheer myself only slightly when I thought "maybe this is worth a WME point..."

Bossy, Bossy Child

So my soon to be 4 year old Kyle has apparently decided it is no longer as much fun to just tell me how to do everything. He has decided that he now needs to tell his teacher at Pre-K just how to do everything as well. She even sent home a note today saying she had to speak to him about how the classroom has only 1 teacher and he is not it! Gee, wonder what that teacher thinks we teach this child at home. See he has this really bossy streak (not my fault at all)....could just be the 1st child thing or the fact that every oldest child (of which I am not) in my family is bossy...however he has decided that I need instruction on how to do everything. Here are the latest rundowns: I need to ask directions to every place I drive (I got lost once on the way to a friend's house so now Kyle thinks I cannot possibly find my way around without help) and keeping to the whole drive thing, apparently I cannot drive either as he tells me constantly to put both of my hands on the wheel and the best of all, I need to call Daddy to help if something goes wrong with the car like having to change a tire. Sheez, did I or did I not manage to carry this child to term and deliver this child into this world? I guess that whole I gave birth to you thing just does not qualify as knowing what I am doing.

I have also come this close to ruining this child's birthday. I had the kids with me Monday and had to go to the grocery store. I, being very sick and my husband being out of town, my brain is not really firing on all cylinders. So, we come out of the store and I get to the car and pop the trunk like I always do. Easy right? Not so much when Kyle's big birthday present, a real bike, is still in my trunk. Aaaarrggghhhh.....Kyle being the smarty pants he is looks at me and says...."my bike for birthday?" I of course play it off like "oh, I don't know"....sheez....what will I do next, tell him Santa is not real???