Archives for March 2009

Â¼ Cup Pea Chopstick Challenge

March 31, 2009 by Kathryn

Laylee’s been talking smack. She’s learned how to hold a chopstick recently. Now, I’m not saying she’s learned how to hold chopsticks or even A chopstick correctly. No. Not so much. She has opposable thumbs and she can use them along with her other phalanges to keep a chopstick from falling out of her hand.

She thinks this is really something. Every once in a while, she successfully stabs something with a chopstick and manages to zip it into her mouth before it falls off. She’s even been known to use both sticks together to awkwardly pick up a lump of rice and shovel it in.

Now normally, I’d say, “Cute. She’s learning,” and I’d encourage her and try to teach her better technique ala Mr. Miyagi. But when I offered to help her, she told me she’s already too good. Yep. She informed me that she’s better than me, she’s better than Dan, she’s better than that one Chinese guy who works at your local Chinese restaurant and patiently teaches lame white people how to maneuver a pair, while laughing at them on the inside. She slaughters that guy at chopsticks.

Finally, sick of Laylee getting all up in his grill, Dan challenged her to a chopstick-off. The challenge involved Â¼ cup of peas for each of them, meticulously measured by an impartial judge named Me. We set a timer. They were off.

Did she remember that Dan served a mission in China Town in New York City? Did she remember that he can speak both Cantonese and Mandarin while using those chopsticks? Did she remember that he has a will of steel and refuses to lose to anyone, a trait which I find simultaneously sexy and frustrating?

He mopped the floor with her six-year-old butt, consuming peas at a rate of 4:1. She didn’t stand a chance. It’s not that she wasn’t focused. Because she was. She didn’t look to the left or to the right. She stared at the peas and even in her pathetic loss, I felt that she was a contender. And she held her head high.

“I will win one day. When he’s old, like as old as great great great grandpa who’s dead was, like right before he died? That’s when I’ll win.”

Okay. So she’s already planning to beat down the helpless 98-year-old vegetable with a pair of chopsticks? Nice.

Chrubol with a Capitol CH

March 29, 2009 by Kathryn

Magoo has developed a great love affair with markers. He likes to write all over his body with them but only if they are of the non-washable variety. We’ve been upping the consequences each time and at this point anyone under the age of 30 is forbidden from using non-washable markers at all.

It’s not like he draws a cute little flower on his toe, or writes his name on his bicep. No. Recently he drew multicolored tiger stripes all the way up both arms, starting at the wrists. Laylee knows the rules and she loves nothing more than to be the enforcer. For a while there, every time I would punish Magoo, she would lean in conspiratorially and loudly whisper, “MOM! I AGREE WITH YOU!”

So it didn’t surprise me the other morning when we were sitting in our living room, having a serious meeting with someone we’re hiring to do some work for our family, and Laylee came in and quietly but frantically waved this note in my face. The kids had been warned not to disturb us during this meeting but she knew something had to be done. Apparently there wasn’t time to find a piece of paper.

Translation: Magoo drawed on himself again now. Stop him right now. He is in TROUBLE!

Chrubol indeed. He had given himself a nose which he was quite proud of.

It was this deed that moved me to outlaw all un-washable markers. Hopefully when he does this in the future it will not take 4 days to wear off and on the 3rd day, his nose will not look painfully bruised. I think a man should have to earn that look with a good honest rumble.

Googling Solutions to Cleaning Blood Stains While Teaching Preschool

March 25, 2009 by Kathryn

Do you remember a while back I wrote a post about the level of sheer carnage occurring with my brawling preschoolers? Well things have calmed down through the months. The kids have stopped the smackdown and their attention spans have stretched to include schoolish activities lasting up to 15 minutes in length as long as the mother who’s teaching does a pretty elaborate song and dance routine to keep them engaged. It’s been going pretty well.

There are six moms in my group and we all take turns teaching our group of 3-year-olds from a purchased curriculum, complete with activities and pre-cut craft projects. Then we get 5 weeks off to run errands, go to doctors’ appointments or simply lay around the house bonding with our much loved inter-uterine parasite.

This morning the kids arrived at my house and I was optimistic. I was ready. I’d even vacuumed the floor and laid out all the supplies.

Over the last few days Laylee and Magoo have set up a spaceship playhouse under the stairs, under the staircase with the 8-inch wooden beam along the outside of it. It’s a cramped space and they’ve pushed the couch up against the opening so there’s only the teeniest space for them to climb in and out of their hideout. I decided to let them leave it up for a few days and the preschoolers were thrilled.

15 minutes into the playdate, one sweet teeny 3-year-old smashed her nose at full speed into the wooden beam while jumping around inside the spaceship. Blood was EVERYWHERE. The poor kid was in pain and completely traumatized by the red dribbling all down her clothes, the couch and smeared all over her face. I ran her into the kitchen where I sat on the floor, holding her and sent Magoo to get a full roll of toilet paper and my cell phone.

The bleeding was intense for someone so tiny and in a soft voice she kept saying, “I want my mom.” But her mom was unreachable and I was the next best thing.

While I tried to stop the gushing, the other kids ran around like total insane sun-starved maniacs from the rainy northwest who CANNOT HANDLE ONE MORE DAY TRAPPED INSIDE. They were squawking, sword-fighting and hitting the walls, the furniture and each other with various objects.

Then another one started screaming. Poor little S-Dawg with the cast on his arm and the brand new baby brother at home had smashed the back of his head on the wooden beam and was howling in pain. All the other kids came running. “S-DAWG SMACKED HIS HEAD.”

One of my most basic parenting instincts kicked in and I decided that hemorrhaging trumps concussion so I called out comforting words to the poor little guy while rocking the bleeder and changing her compresses. Meanwhile the other children, forgetting their fallen friends, went all Lord of the Flies again.

Eventually I got her cleaned up and convinced her to change into some of Laylee’s clothes. She insisted that the shirt be pretty enough or she’d remain happily in her gore. If she were 3 years older, she’d be Laylee’s very best friend.

I dealt with Head Wound Boy, outlawed the space ships, outlawed the swords and light sabers and got everyone to chill while I googled “how to remove blood from upholstery” and followed the listed instructions.

We started preschool over an hour late today but all the children were alive or at least clinging to life when they left my house. That is my story.

Calling All Sports Fans

March 25, 2009 by Kathryn

Do your kids participate in competitive sports? How in the world do you cope with it. Recent experience has shown me that I can. not. handle the pressure of watching my loved ones play in sporting events where there’s a chance they might lose. I’ve written about it at Parenting and I’d love for you to come and share your experience, stories or possible advice. Because I need to chill way the heck out.

[read more at Parenting.com]

Best Wine List Ever

March 23, 2009 by Kathryn

What makes for an award-winning wine list?

Nice font choice?

Good use of white spice?

High quality paper?

I hardly think it was the art work.

I wonder what it would take for my To-Do list to become “award winning.”

Reminders

March 20, 2009 by Kathryn

I’m very tunnel-visioned when I feel yucky like this. I feel like it will go on forever. I feel like no one has ever suffered so greatly. I feel that my feelings are self-centered and off base and yet I feel them and live in my tunnel whining just loudly enough for everyone outside the tunnel to hear me.

Luckily there are reminders in my life that tell my why I’m doing this, why I’m glad I’m doing this, why there’s nothing I’d rather do.

A few days ago, Laylee put this folded piece of paper outside my bedroom door. I saw it. I saw that it was made out of one of my stationary cards. I resisted the urge to remind her that I’ve asked her perhaps 37 times not to use my stationary cards without asking. I waited.

Yesterday afternoon she implored me, “Mom. Do not move your mail box like you did last time I left one for you. If you move it, you just won’t get any mail.”

I know you’re shocked that last time I found a crumpled-looking piece of paper on the floor outside my bedroom, I threw it out. This time she made it a little harder for me to discard by writing its name on the paper. OH! It’s a Ma-ole Box. Got it.

She told me that “some kids from school” had sent home letters for me and dad and that she’d deliver them later. She said the kids wanted to remain anonymous. I pretended I hadn’t seen her write the letters or helped her spell “Kathryn” on one of them.

Then last night, I came home from a church dinner, emptied the dinner out into the porcelain dinner receptacle and headed upstairs to change my clothes, discouraged and with a mingled sense of hunger and food-loathing.

In my ma-ole box were 4 letters. One was for Dan from a secret admirer:
Envelope:

Card:

One was for me from a similarly “secret” admirer:
Envelope:

Card:

Then there was one for Dad from Laylee.
Envelope:

Front:

Back:

And one to me From Laylee:
Envelope:

Back:

The backs of the 2 cards from Laylee are what really got my motherly feelings flowing straight through my eyeballs. I’ve felt so lame and inadequate these past few weeks but in her mind I am still the source of soaring hugs, floating hearts and love. I want to be those things and according to my daughter, I still am. This was what I needed.

Today I was a Mom — Part Two

March 19, 2009 by Kathryn

A while ago I wrote a post called Today I Was a Mom. The title of the post was meant to imply that although I rarely get my job perfectly right, there are those precious few days when I can hold my head high and say, “Yay. I did it. Today I was a MOM!”

A lot of people enjoyed or identified with the post. Several others said it made them feel inadequate, that if that’s what it takes to be a mom everyday, then they were failures. One man repeatedly emailed me about the post, calling me smug and telling me that I lived a charmed life with no real problems and should shut my stupid mouth. It was sweet.

Today I’d like to share a different kind of mom day. Here is my report:

I woke up late and wandered downstairs to find Magoo watching cartoons.

I pulled Laylee reluctantly from bed and fed them sugar cereal and leftovers from last night’s dinner for breakfast, while I got dressed.

She asked if she could wear a dress to school and I agreed that yes she could… another day… if I ever did laundry again.

I dropped Laylee off 2 minutes late for school but was grateful that she made it in before they shut the main doors so she wouldn’t have to go to the office for a late slip.

After unloading Magoo at preschool where he cried because he didn’t want to attend without his baseball cap, which I could not find, I drove to the mall in search of new makeup.

I could write a whole post about how much Sephora intimidates me but I went inside anyway to have an expert help me pick out facial supplies to help cover or at least blur my pregnancy breakout. The woman who was helping me did a great job selling me on the Bare Minerals and applying them to my face and then added the finishing touch of orange blush over my entire face.

I bought the makeup and left the store looking like a pumpkin, sure that I could do a better job applying it than she had and picked up Magoo from his class.

We had 20 minutes until I needed to walk the 2 blocks to pick Laylee up from the bus stop so instead of going home and walking back up the street, I parked at the bus stop with the squirming Magoo and waited it out. Who needs unnecessary movement in her life or the life of her previously active 3-year-old? Not me apparently.

I purchased a smoothie at the mall but didn’t notice that when I placed it in the drink holder, I punched a tiny hole in the bottom of the cup with the straw. The contents of the cup leaked out all over the carpeting of my car which now smells like vomit but strangely not because I vomited in it this time.

I only let my kids play outside for 10 minutes this afternoon because the cold weather makes me nauseous and I didn’t want them to play unsupervised.

I then yelled at my kids for jumping around inside the house because it “makes the ground shake” which aggravates my nausea.

I used the word “nauseous” in it’s various forms around 300 more times.

Then I let them watch full episodes of Electric Company on PBSKIDS.org for 3 hours to keep them entertained while I laid on the couch with a pillow over my head to suppress my dehydration headache.

On the way out the door to my PTA meeting, I decided to take a quick potty break, afraid of using the teeny toilets at the elementary school. Sadly I didn’t notice the giant puddle Magoo had left for me on the toilet seat until after I sat down and dipped my shirt into it.

I madly dug through the mountain of clean but unfolded laundry on the couch where I’ve been getting all my clothes for the last week and found a shirt long enough to cover up the fact that I’m wearing my pants unzipped these days.

Although I called and begged repeatedly for the kids to get their coats and shoes on, it did not happen. Lately they have this attitude that seems to say, “What are you gonna do? Get off the couch and make me? Stop barfing and make me?” And they’re right, I’m not.

When we all got into the car, I noticed that the garage door was still open from their microscopic outdoor play time. But I couldn’t just close it. Oh no. The kids had strategically placed outdoor toys all along the line of where the door is supposed to hit when it goes down.

I cleaned up the toys with clenched teeth and growled back at the van and its passengers. Then I noticed the broken mega jumbo bottle of bubble solution spilled all over the floor of the garage.

I wasn’t nice.

When we got to the meeting, Dan was already there to pick the kids up so they didn’t get to go in and play with the babysitter. They cried. They yelled. I exited the car.

I showed no sympathy.

I got home while Dan was bathing the kids and told him I needed to go lie down, leaving him to do bedtime alone. I blew the kids kisses and headed downstairs to turn into a vegetable in front of the TV.

I felt sick. I felt guilty. I’ll do better tomorrow.

It’s In the Spin

March 18, 2009 by Kathryn

I’d gotten up the gumption to tidy the kitchen, sweep the floors and even eat some food. These gumptionful actions sent me straight to the couch where I was contemplating a long term stay. I had both phones next to me, my laptop on top of where it’s supposed to go as per its creative name. I was wasting time on Facebook.

Laylee and Magoo walked into the room looking somber.

“Mom,” she began, “I decided it would be better to just tell you the truth.”

“Yeah,” piped in Igor, shaking his head but standing boldly at her right shoulder.

“Just tell me what happened.”

“Well, I was getting out the cheese,” she said, holding up a 2lb babyloaf of Tillamook, “And the salsa fell down.”

“Yeah,” her henchman echoed, trying to look sober but actually looking super-glad he wasn’t to blame. “And broke.” “With glass.”

I looked up at her. I’d just cleaned the kitchen floor for the first time in weeks and now I was recovering, only to be told that the little filth-mongers who are my children have just shattered a bottle of salsa on the floor.

How do you respond to someone who says, “I decided it would be better to tell you the truth”?

Do you freak out and tell them by your actions, “You probably should have lied because I am Ticked OFF!”?

No. You remain calm. You roll off the couch and you clean up the salsa and glass off the floor. You thank them for telling the truth. Maybe you passive-aggressively remind them that you just finished cleaning the floor and ask them to be more careful.

When they spin it like that, you don’t have much choice. I think they know this. It’s all part of the plan.

Laylee’s Take on Work/Family Relations

March 18, 2009 by Kathryn

Sometimes her play mirrors reality and sometimes it more closely resembles reality as she wishes it would be. Other times I have no idea where her playtime dialogue and drama comes from, like when she plays a mom who is a raving lunatic, completely controlling of her children and yelling at them in a crazy German accent. I have never used a German accent so I see this type of play as pure imagination run amok.
[read more]

There’s Still Time for Ye Olde Holiday Fun, Me Lads and Lassies

March 17, 2009 by Kathryn

The night before Valentine’s Day, Valentine’s Day Eve respectively, Laylee went on and on about how awesome the holiday was going to be and how she could not WAIT until tomorrow.

“Uuuuhhhhh….. yeah. It’s gonna be so awesome,” I replied.

My plan for the day was to say, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” and give her a big hug, then go about my business. After putting the kids to bed I got a call from my friend Nancy about something unrelated to Valentine’s Day and mentioned that I was in deep doggy droppings because I didn’t have the energy or creativity to pull off an even remotely awesome Valentine’s for the kids.

She may argue with me on how I quote her here but she said something along the lines of, “Dude! All you have to do to be the best mom ever on Valentine’s Day is make pink pancakes in the shape of hearts. Bam! Best mom ever. Oh, and St. Patrick’s Day is coming up so buy lucky charms for breakfast and dye the milk green. Bam! Best mom ever.”

I took her advice to heart and it worked. The kids thought it was the most special amazing Valentine’s Day ever. Although I must admit I one-upped the Nanster by cutting out red paper hearts, writing shmoopish messages on them and taping them to pieces of candy for the kids.

Today when the green milk emerged from the fridge and SUGAR CEREAL was pulled from the cupboard, my kids’ heads mildly exploded. Laylee was 100% sure that Leprechauns were to blame for the violated milk, which Laylee and Magoo then slurped with a fervor, that can only be induced by alleged magic.

You know, you still have time to follow Nancy’s advice and be the best mom ever today. No one ever said that sugar cereal and milk that looks like it came from a diseased cow don’t make a perfectly acceptable dinner.