Chores

Since the start of my career as a wife and mother, one thing has been the bain of my existence.  No, it’s not my husband, it’s the laundry.  No matter what system I may implement to thwart it from piling up, it remains largely unthwartable.  As a family of four, we produce roughly one load of laundry a day.  You may feel that is a lot and you are right.  You may think we are being wasteful of energy, but the truth is, we are just really messy.  We are barely one step above pigs, actually.  I do not remember a time when my kids could make it through a day with out completely trashing at least two outfits a piece.  As a result I have taught them how to use the hamper and sort laundry, a task my husband has not yet mastered.  The man holds a doctorate in a science so complex, that I can not explain it, yet he is incapable of sorting his skivies into one of three catagories.  Needless to say I do not hold out much hope for the kids retaining any of this information, but it was rather comical to see my three year old picking what pile to put things in one tiny little sock at a time. 

Welcome to the Dark Side

You all hate me, I know.  I see your disapproving stares.  I can feel your hateful glares.  I don’t care.  You see, I know how you all feel, I used to be one of you.  I used to go to the grocery store and see all of those thumb prints in the hamburger and smashed up bags of chips and think of what kind of horrible mother would let her tiny minion run free to destroy my groceries.  I used to hate seeing those little rug rats running up and down my local grocer’s aisles, molesting the merchandise three feet high and below.  But that was back when I played for the other team, the I’m single and young and I have a right to buy pristine merchandise team.  Now I am the starting pitcher for the I’m tired and I just want to get my tater tots and get the hell out of here team.  Now, I do the best I can to keep the kids contained while I purchase my wares, but I know that when I reach over to pick up my ramen noodles they are pounding the marshmallows flat.  I know this and I am powerless to stop it.  I’ve tried, but then a whole new problem arises, I’m stuck with screaming, fit throwing children.  Children who young, single shoppers can not stand (old married ones aren’t that fond of them either).  Children who cause all people with in 20 yards to chase me from the store as an angry, torch wielding mob.  So, what can I do.  I have to go to the store, it is a necessity.  So, the best I can do is make my trip as short as possible and try to calm the beasts the best as I can.  However, that may involve letting them sample the grapes in the produce aisle, or letting them molest the marshmallows.  So please, the next time you see a kid doing something that makes you cringe, don’t give his  mom the stink- eye.  Try to resist the urge to judge and know that the poor woman used to play for your team and she is doing the best she can to cope with her new position. 

Diapers too Cute for Our Own Good

I was chatting with the preschool teacher at my daughter’s school this week about how many kids get to her class that still aren’t potty trained. I know a lot of preschools that won’t accept students that aren’t, but ours doesn’t have such a rule. The teacher was talking about one of the many things that makes it easier for parents of little girls: fashion. She says that she sees the two year old girls talking about how cute this or that outfit is and how they want Dora this or Hello Kitty that. I do remember that letting my daughter pick out her first underwear was an inspiration. She had to make it 3 days without an accident to get to wear them. And yes, she did it.

But then we started talking about how modern disposable diapers are actually a bit too cute. She says she thinks that, in addition to them being too comfortable (which some makers of “training pants” are working on), the fact that they feature all of kids’ favorite characters diminishes the appeal of adorable underwear, for boys and girls. Interesting. Another thing my girl never had were these darling little diapers… poor deprived thing wore Seventh Generation chlorine-free diapers because I didn’t want bleach next to her skin. And that was only at daycare; she wore cloth diapers at all other times. Dull, beige, unbleached cotton. I don’t know for a fact that either made potty training easier, but I am sure that the cuteness factor was, in fact, a factor.

Comfort in Numbers

This morning on my way out of dropping my daughter at daycare, I saw an adorable 14 month old waddling in clutching a stuffed lion. I cooed in appreciation of the picture they made and the mom said the two are inseparable. Ah, I said, buy a duplicate ASAP. Why, she wondered wide-eyed? Oh, to shatter the peace and joy of this young mother… Twice now at this very (wonderful) preschool “woobys” have gone missing. Much to the dismay of the toddler in question. Okay, dismay is a gross understatement. We’re talking crying, sleep disruption, utter fits. In one case, the wooby was no longer something stores carried… the enterprising parents went onto eBay and found a duplicate (at a premium), only to have their son reject it. Once weeks of searching had passed, he did eventually accept Wooby 2, but oh how his mother wished she’d bought two and interchanged them from the start.

Preschool Obesity

I have no clever title for this post. I am from a family of women who have struggled with their weight and all associated health issues. I know this accounts for much of my own health consciousness, maybe even to my marrying a vegetarian. So not only am I aware of how important it is to be active and try to maintain a healthy weight, I am also aware that it is easy to head way off into the other deepend, in which one becomes obsessed with not being fat. Aint nothin’ easy.

I really have a difficult time understanding the significance of height/weight charts for kids. When I have asked any questions about where my daughter falls on these, my (overweight) pediatrician looks scandalized, as if I’m going to pack my (lovely) girl off to a fat camp. Uh, no way. Just trying to get if there’s significance if she’s, say 40th in height, 60th percentile in weight. Honestly, just trying to make sense of all of the data. Anyhow, she’s 50/50 at the moment, so its all good. And we’ll keep trying to eat right and play a lot.

Anyhow, it was with a hint of horror, and an equal quantity of skepticism, that I read the headline “Rise in preschool obesity behind fitness festival” in the Waterbury Republican. The article reported that one third of the 350 Northwest Corner preschoolers surveyed by the Torrington, CT based Northwest Child and Family Health Council were found to be obese or at risk for becoming obese. The study relied on body-mass index (BMI), which may be one of the more accurate means of assessing weight risk, but still…. there are so many variables. I guess the important thing about this article was that the town held a fitness festival to encourage parents and kids to be more active, not go on diets.

Accounting for Taste

Amanda’s post about her child’s utter disdain for all things medicinal, with candy flavored being a particularly disgusting choice cracked me up. First off: you know that massive pharmaceutical companies pay unheard of sums to develop kid-friendly flavors like bubble gum (ya, every kid wants to swallow it), grape (which must bear no resemblance to the food found in nature), cherry (see previous comment), etc. And each comes with its own special indelible-ink like coloring so that when it is spewed or dribbled, as will surely be the case, mom will need to purchase industrial strength cleaning products (likely made by parent company of same pharmaceutical giant) in a vain attempt to remove the stain from their child’s garments.

But, as am prone to, I digress. Many mothers scoff at my health-food efforts with my child–whole grains, must eat vegis, drinks water, not juice or milk, and yup, hasn’t tasted candy in all of her three years. Ah! But this last may be my secret weapon: My daughter has never tasted bubble gum or artificially flavored grape juice or cherry lollypops. So she doesn’t realize how stunningly bad the medicinal facsimiles are. As such, she clamors for medicine. I can bribe her to play quietly (when she is sick and understandably clingy) by herself with the promise of her prescribed medicine. She looks forward to the rare nights when she gets cough medicine. So perhaps all this health stuff hasn’t caused my girl to entirely avoid the ups and downs of toddler health, but a welcome unexpected side effect may be her love of otherwise loathsome pseudo-candy-flavored medicine.

Handwriting Analysis

I feel confident that if my handwriting were analyzed, it would reveal numerous unpleasantries about my mental state. If nothing else, it demonstrates remarkable laziness in perfecting this fundamental skill. Yesterday, waiting for a recalled part to be replaced on my car (do they make any cars these days that don’t have parts recalled?), I used the complementary computer to check work-related emails while eavesdropping on the others in the room. A woman of about 55 or 60 was deriding “kids today” and their lack of penmanship. “Atrocious! Do they even teach it any longer?” As luck would have it, she was sitting next to a teacher, who is also the mother of a 3 year old. “My child will learn,” she said, “because I’m a teacher.” Okay, I was a pretty great student. It was unusual for me to get below an A, though I plummeted to C+ land twice: I took Physics as an elective in college and guess what? It was wicked hard. I also got a C+ in fifth grade handwriting. I don’t think it was an entire course, but rather a segment of our reading class. I remember it, so it must have stung. My solution? Pester my grandma for a typewriter, which I received two years later. I took typing class in junior high and never turned in a handwritten paper since.

So now I have a 3 year old who mastered the alphabet a year and a half ago, recognizes all the upper & lower case letters, and can spell her name (no small feat as it is nine letters). She wants to learn to write her name now. We mastered H (the first letter), but haven’t gotten far beyond that. Part of the problem? I can’t for the life of me remember how to actually draw the letters. I mean I can make them so that they are moderately legible on paper, but I know there’s actually a “right” way to write. Enter grandma: She sent my girl what on the surface appears to be one of those noisy toys you want to feed to the gift-giver. But no! It is a VTech Write & Learn Letter Pad, which not only teaches her the correct way to draw letters, but has given me an excellent review too.

Kids Shows

I am a lot of things, but I am always honest.  I am honest enough to admit that my kids watch a certain amount of television.   I am not one of those mothers who swear that they never let their kid watch t.v., but the kid knows the names of every cartoon character.  My kids enjoy a few t.v. shows, some of them are good and teach them lessons, and some of them are mindless drivel and actually make them dumber for having watched. 

Sesame Street remains a childhood staple, some of the characters have changed from when I was a kid, (my mother remembers that I was inconsolable when Mr. Hooper died) but for the most part the show has remained solid educational entertainment.  While I do not enjoy “Bob the Builder”, my kids love it and there is just enough educational merit for me not to change the channel.  “Meteor and the Mighty Monster Truck Kids” is a tremendous pile of rubbish.  I really don’t like the show, I feel I may have lost IQ points while watching it, but I let my kids watch it because it entertains them.  I don’t learn from all the shows I watch, but I watch them because I like them, they entertain me.  So I give my kids the benefit of watching for the pure entertainment value.  Come on what boy wouldn’t like a show staring Monster trucks.  I used to enjoy Tom and Jerry and I’m pretty sure they didn’t teach me anything. 

 So, while I have a rather lenient view on television viewing, there are some shows I will simply not allow on my t.v.  ”Caillou” is one of those shows.  Just the sound of Caillou’s voice makes me cringe.  The cutesy way he talks is enough to make me want to puke.  I simply can’t allow the broadcast of that awful show.  “Teletubies” is another thing I can’t deal with.  I used to put it on so that I could get some housework done.  As soon as the fake sun rose on the television my kids would enter a trance.  This was great for me, I would have a full half hour to accomplish tasks.  One day, I sat down and watched with the kids.  With in minutes my mind had simply stopped working and I too gazed at the television in a trance.  I don’t really know what happened as none of the tubbies were speaking english and like I said I was in a trance, but I’m afraid that at some point in time the creators of the show will flip a switch and thousands of children and myself will litter the streets following the will of the tubbies.  We have all probably been brainwashed to purchase more tubbie merchandise.  I don’t quite know what that demonic little baby in the sun was doing, but I know that it will no longer do it in my house. 

Infirmary

My children have just caught a cold.  I say children because while only one is currently affected the other will be in a matter of moments.  As a mother, I must first say that I hate to see either one of my children ill.  I would rather be sick than see either one of them have so much as a cough.  Having said that, I will tell you that of the two children, the older one is the worst when he is ill.  (He must get that from his father)  When my three year old is sick, it is like having a ferrel animal loose in the house.  He is growly, and refuses all treatment.  The child will not allow me to take his temperature or give him medicine.  I used to take his temperature under his arm (not the most accurate spot), then I tried an ear thermonmeter (accurate, but my husband couldn’t make it work), now I have discovered something called an infared temporal scanner.  I know, it sounds like it might be from “Star Wars,” but, you simply rub the wand on the childs forehead starting at one side and by the time you get to the other side of his head, you have an accurate temperature reading.  Brilliant!  It’s painless, quick and virtually drama free. 

The same child proves to be very difficult to medicate.  Tylenol would require nothing short of hog-tying, prying open the mouth and forcing the medicine down his throat.  This event would of course, be followed by my child vomiting red, sticky medicine everywhere. (I have a couch cushion that I can never flip over)  Then he would run off in tears, still sick and not trusting me to help him.  Now, I rely on Tylenol suppositories.  The administration route is unpleasant for all of us, but atleast I know he is getting the medication that he needs and his fever comes down with a lot less drama.   I will never understand why they are unable to make medicine that isn’t disgusting,  I tried some to prove that it wasn’t that bad and therefore not worth all of the drama but, YES, it is really that gross.  I can’t even blame the kid, the stuff is down right nasty, I wouldn’t want to take it either.  For any of you moms out there who have a kid that finds medicine revolting see if it is available in a suppository form, it has been a life saver for me.

Jon Benet Fashion (non)Sense

Out shopping for my three year old girl today. She’s in an extremely girly phase, which I have nothing to do with–not being the girly-girl type myself. She wants to wear dresses and “stockings” (Nope, I never used that word. Ever. I think my grandma did.) almost every day so I needed to restock her for spring time. My husband finds her darling in dresses, but was appalled by how short all the dresses are this season so I ended up buying a shirt for a 5 year old, which I will alter. She’ll have a preschool one-of-a-kind. Anyhow, being the little lady she is, she doesn’t exactly keep her bits covered when wearing a dress and as “stocking” season is drawing to a close, we sought out shorts.

Boy are they short. I find it quite stunning to see pre-teens in hot pants that they also roll down at the waist. I guess that this is so fabric coverage of their teen butts does not exceed 4 inches total. But in a 3T, low-rise micro shorts struck both my husband and I as extreme. So I trotted off to another store in search of longer ones, while the two of them hit Best Buy for some videos, and I heard a young (compared to me. but who isn’t?) mom cooing to her mother over bathing suits about how her 8 month old only has two and since they were planning a trip to Peurto Rico, she just had to have another. Well, I laughed and looked up from the (short) shorts. She showed me a suit to get me to help convince grandma. It was a miniscule bikiki. I laughed out loud. She didn’t.