The Carnivore

I suppose my son thinks that he is part dinosaur or something. I can understand not wanting to eat zucchini or....the dreaded carrots, but he eats all the meat off of his plate and leaves his macaroni and cheese tonight. (I'm not even going to bother with the zucchini - it's a lost cause). And, tonight was fish sticks! Then again, slather some ketchup on any meat and it's instantly a fave. He even ate the one extra fish stick from my plate. You'd think I was trying to poison him by shoveling one last forkful of mac & cheese into his mouth. He sits there head in his hands with his cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk. Just waiting me out. Hoping that I will just say, "Fine, just spit it out in the trash."

I turn the TV off. No more Spongebob. He just eyes me, as if saying, "So, what's it gonna be, mommy? You tough enough to wait me out, or can we just call this a draw and I spit it out?" So, I pull out my trump card - the time out chair. "Gavin," I say in one final warning, "if you don't swallow that food in the next two minutes, you're gonna sit in the time out chair until you do." Two minutes pass. Guess what's still in his mouth. "Did you swallow it?" He shakes his head. "Then you go in time out." "OK.", as nonchalantly as I asked him to go take a walk with me. I put him in the chair and tell him he's not budging until he swallows that food. Who magically appears five minutes later with a mouth wide open, like I'm doing a security check of orifices on where to hide food? Yep. Gavin.

I don't get it he'll scarf down the meat in like 5 minutes, but let the mac & cheese sit in his mouth for half an hour then swallow it within 5 minutes of the time-out chair. Why do I even need to get to the time-out chair - isn't the threat enough? I told him, "Don't you think that would have been easier if you just swallowed that one bite for mommy right away? You coulda watched some Spongebob before bed, but no!"

Maybe if I breaded the mac & cheese or the zucchini, he'll eat it. After all it resembles his most beloved food - the chicken nugget.

No Wanna Nap

As we speak, Gavin is chanting from his crib "NO WANNA NAP!" I have to say that I'm still adjusting to his resistance to naps. Baeleigh always went down for a nap with absolutely no trouble. She napped well into 5 years old. I think I'll be lucky to make it to 3 with Gavin. Though I'm learning that if I time them right after lunch, like 12:30pm, he easily agrees to it. Now at 3:28pm, or really any time after 1:30pm, he fights me. And, by fighting I mean kicking and screaming all the way up the stairs. This is proceeded by 10-30 minutes of crying and if I'm lucky an actual hour of napping, but normally more like 30 minutes.

And, I say that Baeleigh is strong-willed and stubborn.

Bedtime Stories

I've always thought that Baeleigh had my independent streak. And she does, but unfortunately Gavin may have gotten it passed on to him as well along with a dash of attitude from at least one of his parents (pointing at Tommy). If there is a stereotype for a little boy, there's a picture of Gavin underneath of that description. He hits, kicks, smacks, pulls the dogs tail, runs off from me, throws nasty temper tantrums, pinches and will even laugh if you hurt yourself. All that and you can't help but stiffle a laugh when he yells at me: "Bop it, Mommy!" and raises his hand up at me to smack me. Or he squinches up his nose and says, "I no wannit, Mommy!" He'll fit to the bitter end (of the stairs or into this room) when bedtime comes, but once he's changed and I mention that mommy will read him a story, he quiets down and climbs into bed. He prepare his spot with his 10 stuffed buddies encircling him, props his head up on his hands and says, "Story mommy." Just the expression on his face as he readies himself to listen intently to the same two stories that he asks for every night (I have got to expand his book collection - Baeleigh's old ones are long gone) is priceless.

And, for a two year old, he's got quite the opinion on him. For example, lately his requested bedtime reading has been repeatedly Brown Bear, Brown Bear - What Do You See? I try to make this as interactive as possible for two reasons: 1) it distracts him from realizing that he's actually going to bed (prevents the whole tantrum scene) and 2) because he needs some encouragement to remember colors and numbers. (If I ever get this child to recognize colors, it'll be a miracle. Baeleigh knew colors at like 1 1/2.) So, I read, "Red bird, red bird, what do you see? I see a....goldfish looking at me!" Gavin's response: "Mommy, bite you!" "Goldfish won't bite you!", "Yes, BITE-CHOOO MOMMY!" and nodding his head furiously with eyes popped wide open. Not sure where the fascination is with everything biting you came from, but nonetheless. And, it's always the goldfish, the dog and the horse. Go figure! Whoever's telling him that they bite, I have yet to figure out. Meanwhile, as I turn each page, Baeleigh is attempting to interject her daily word minimum on me with some loose tie in to whatever random animal I turned the page too. "Yeah, Gavin, white dog. You know Mr. Guido's white dog, Tinkerbell, yeah, she came over and peed in our yard and G said go home Tinkerbell and kept shooing her away and she just kept barking but Gavin was made because he dropped his popsicle on the ground..." Something like that. You know, the sentences that never end or have a breath of a pause in sight. Mental note: Increase separate Baeleigh-Mommy time so that she can expunge her brainload of thoughts on me in peace, and not during Gavin's bedtime routine.

Neither kid never ceases to amuse or surprise me.

Bee Boy!

Gavin turned 2 on Wednesday. As he would say, "I bee boy!" Indeed! Our little boy has also graduated into his toddler bed, meaning the front rail of his crib has now been taken off. Two weeks before his birthday, he climbed out of said crib and met Daddy in the bathroom to say good morning.

Amazingly, the conversion hasn't been so bad. Gavin, in all his big boy responsibilities, has also given up his binkie. And, thank goodness, because he had practically gnawed through his last one. He didn't really use them to suck on anyway. More like cutting his teeth. The last one's predecessor could have been used as a cheese cloth it had so many holes in it. But, back to sleeping in a big boy bed. He's been really good about it, climbing right in and laying down. Tommy and I are stunned. We're still thinking that he's just enamored with the junior pillow we provided him. There are drool marks all over it.

The last two nights though, he's been a little more reluctant to be put to bed. He climbs in happy enough, but once I tuck him in and hand him his Tigger or Doggie and I get the mega frowny face. Pull the heart strings why don't ya, kid! So, I kneel next to his bed on the couch cushions that we've placed in front of it to act as a safety net for any rolling off the bed and just rub his face or hair. The frown deepens. He almost seems afraid for me to leave him. I offer to read him a story, and he acknowledges with, "uh-huh, story". So I break out a little Goodnight Moon and such and he intently follows along, then I try to tuck him in again. Same pouty lip. At some point though, it me or him that has to cave and so far I've been brave. Ok, not without one last snuggle in my arms before he climbs back into bed the final time. Then, kisses, "mwahs", a flip of the switch to start the fan and walk out and shut the door behind me. Miraculously, not a peep is made and he falls to sleep.

Love you, bee boy!

Things I Remember About You: Gavin

In continuation of my montage of thoughts to not forget about my little ones. I realize Gavin's a lot younger, but there is no shortage of things to remember:

-Jumping as hard as you could in your jumperoo, only to fall asleep in it later on
-Countless walks with mommy while on maternity leave to calm your colic
-Wanting to be on mommy's hip or by my side every second I was near you
-Shoving your arms between mommy's chest and your body when I hold you against me
-Your kitty cat sound with the toss of your head from side to side - Meeeeoooooow
-Wrapping your arms around my leg to give me a hug or just coming over and laying your head in my lap, just because
-Screaming "Ant!" then proceeding to immediately stomp on it
-Pots and pans and tupperware
-Growling or roaring at me
-Your shrill, high-pitched screams
-Chomping holes into your binkies
-You're a sweat ball
-Fascination with your sister's flip flops, and to Daddy's shagrin most especially the pink ones
-Love of dancing and your innate ability to have rhythm (which your sister doesn't have)
-Strong-willed independence (no idea where you get that from)
-Calling your sister "Bae-Bae", but you can't pronounce your own name
-Hatred for being dressed or spending any time on the changer
-Your love of the outdoors
-The way you say "Buh, byyyyyyyye" drawn out
-A bottomless belly, as you never EVER turn down food
-Tinkering with the remote, and your uncanny ability to totally screw up the TV, cable box, etc. taking Mommy or Daddy minutes to fix what you did in a second (e.g., closed captioning on the cable box)
-Walking and swinging your arms and clapping them together
-Constant fascination with daddy's truck (half fear, half intrigue)
-Enthusiasm for all sports, especially cars, to Daddy's excitement ("vroom-vroooooms")
-Looking up to your sister, already being a shadow

Gavin will be 2 in 4 days and I have absolutely no idea where that time went, but I also can't wait to see him grow and develop into a wonderful young man. I have no doubt that Baeleigh and Gavin will both grow up to be productive, successful and loving adults. And, I guess I can say, along with Tommy, "yeah, I did that."

Things I remember about you: Baeleigh

I'm being a little nostalgic lately. There's an inner debate rumbling in my head. I'm 32 years old, 2 kids, a husband of nearly 8 years, great career...and I feel old. Ever feel like you've somehow passed all your milestones? And what's next? I know, I know. I have lots of life left to lead. But somewhere in the back of my head I think: Marriage, check; kids, check; career, check check. I feel like one of those bugs that has fulfilled her destiny and now must just wait to die. Ok, a little dramatic, but that's where I am.

It made me start thinking how fast time has flown by and what do I remember of it, specifically my kids that seem to practically grow in front of my very eyes. Have I savored every last moment of that time together? Have I been that hands-on mom that I wanted to be to date? I want to look back and think of all those fond memories, but sometimes my memory seems clouded. Is that because my life is such a whirlwind of things to do or accomplish that I haven't enjoyed what was in front of me the whole time? I've always thought myself to be a pretty good multi-tasker. Hell, I live for it. So, for more of my own purposes of my own mental sanity, I thought I'd write out a little list of those things I recall off the top of my head, starting with Baeleigh. That way when I practically hyperventilate over the lost time, I can remember those little things about her. It's amazing what I recall when I just give a little time to let the memories bubble up.

-Falling alseep on mommy's chest pratically every night as a baby
-Practically watching "30 Minute Meals" 24-7 on maternity leave, and now you'll watch it voluntarily like she's a lost relative
-Wrinkling up your nose at me, shoulders shrugged
-Trying to wriggle your nose like mommy
-Watching you twirl around (eyes spotting the wrong direction) in the living room til you fell over dizzy or chasing Max
-Your giggly laugh when I tickle your knees
-Chasing or "bumping" Max in your walker
-Catching you at the end of your stairs somersault
-Super-Baeleigh
-Extremely high fevers (103+) with cold rags and popsicles to cool you down
-Throwing you on the bed, bouncing on the bed
-Watching you catch your first fish on your SpongeBob fishing rod
-"Driving" Pop-Pop's boat
-Excercising with me, specifically downward dog and leg kicks
-Eskimo kisses
-Your fascination with lady bugs (though not large balloon versions)
-Pumpkin patches and the zoo (chasing that poor horse and goat around at 17 months to brush it)
-Visits to Smoothie King, the Beach, the park, the No. Beach Farmer's market (to play on the ship)
-Watching you scared out of your wits excited on the county fair and amusement rides
-Cooking muffins for breakast, cookies for Santa and deviled eggs for family get-togethers
-Cuddling on the couch to watch TV/movies
-Picking up rocks in the driveway and finding them in your pockets when we washed the clothes
-Blowing bubbles and eating popsicles on the front porch
-Stooping down to watch the ants go in and out of the cracks on the sidewalk
-Learning to ride your bike on training wheels in the cul-de-sac but not understanding that backwards peddling was the brake
-Helping me sweep and dust, you love the dust pan
-Catching you at the end of the water slides over and over again
-Big Thunder Railroad (wasn't sure you were scared or excited until you said "let's go again")
-Reading you bedtime stories
-Ten gazillion barrettes and ponytails in my hair
-Pink Barbie glasses
-Being a big girl for your first double flu shot (previously it's always taken an army of nurses to hold your screaming self down)
-Being a Room Mom for your first dance recital
-Your pre-school graduation and bawling over the slideshow and when they called your name
-Hugging you before you jumped on the school bus for the very first time to kindergarten
-Watching you read Dr. Suess to your brother
-Helping you with your homework, especially your poems

Feel free to add on.

Miss Literal

Today is Baeleigh's first day back to school from Spring break. As usual, she skipped into the bathroom, having completed none of her morning routine. She was practically bubbling over with energy this morning, not unlike any morning. I asked her, "So, are we going to start off on the right foot today and get a sticker?" This year we've had little trouble with her focusing on classwork, fidgeting in class, not zipping her lip when she's supposed to be quiet, etc. Normal kindergartner behavior, I think. The kids are on a sticker system, where every day they get a sticker placed on their calendar if they were good. Needless to say, we've had a few dry months here and there. Occasionally a streak of stickers (and these tend to coincide with parental and grand-parental bribery), but more comments written in the boxes (i.e., not good). What is Baeleigh's reply to my question about starting out on the right foot? "Mommy, which one is my right foot again?"

I'm guessing today will bring more comments in the box.

Mommy-In-Training

Baeleigh begged and pleaded with Santa and any adult that would listen that she wanted a doll-baby that would eat and wet. The Kate Gosselin in me cringed at the picture this painted in my head. Baby food smeared all over everything and wet, or worse "dirty", diapers strewn all over the house. Like taking on the responsibilities of another baby without actually going through the pregnancy. Tommy is probably wondering if this counts as the third that we continue to debate over.

Regardless of my exhaustion over the sheer thought of the doll, we relented. Baeleigh opened up her Baby Alive on Christmas Day and was over the moon. Luckily, this happens to be only a "wetting" Baby Alive. No food required, except the "bottle" you feed her with to make her wet. Enter big sigh of relief here. Curious as to how this doll worked myself, I asked Baeleigh to feed her. She proceeded to hook up the straw to the Baby's mouth (apparently more of a sippie cup than a bottle set-up), then began the horrifying part - at least from a mother's perspective. Baeleigh then literally squeezed that Baby's belly so that the Baby could "suck" the water from the bottle. I can't help but wonder, though, what warped mind came up with exactly how this doll works. I know that she understands it's a toy, but it's just shocking to watch her learn how to be a mommy by practically force-feeding her baby to eat and pumping its stomach like she was performing CPR.

But there is more, later my dad and I were curious as to just how it "peeped" into the diaper. I investigated, unstrapping the diaper. How does it not just come running straight out? Well, apparently the whole exit hole is much smaller, the size of a pin. So, it trickles out. When I asked Baeleigh why I had two wet diapers sitting on my counter instead of the trash, she tells me "Mommy, that's what you do, you just let'em sit there and dry out?" Really? Can I do that with Gavin's diapers? Think of the money I'd save. Granted, the child's saving me from burning through her baby doll diapers, but again what in the world is this doll (or should I say her G - lol!) teaching her?!

Oh, and I don't know about you, but that Baby Alive is creepy looking. This photo above doesn't do its eyes justice. They are huge and darkly lined, bright blue. It certainly doesn't help as I'm reading the last of the Twilight series. You know, with the creepy baby dreams that Bella has?

This Is My Brain on Sprout...

Anyone wondering why I may be forgetful or ditsy at times. I can recite these on command. One only knows what other vital information is being purged from my brain to accommodate this baby "crack". There should be a warning for adults listening to this.

....Any questions?

Oh, and Happy New Year! Here's to 2010 and all that it brings!

TV Rots Your Brain

We got over 21 inches of snow this weekend, more than Baeleigh has EVER seen in her lifetime. She seemed excited to go out and play in it. At least until she actually went outside and played in it. I will grant her this, the snow came up to probably her upper thighs and was not that easy to walk in.

Saturday was just a quick romp with daddy. Some snowball fights, a couple of snow angels, being thrown into piles of snow. Sunday was shoveling day. So, Baeleigh was pretty much on her own, other than the few snow angels that she and I did together, attempting a snowman (not good snow for that) and me demonstrating that she could do a belly flop into the snow and not get hurt. After that, I had to help clear the impossible driveway (thinking that we would get our next door neighbor to help plow it for us - another story!). After about 10 minutes, I find her staring at us. I'm watching you guys, she says. The little supervisor. Are you serious?? Go play! How often do we get almost two feet of snow?! Go build a fort. No, I wanna help. So, I ask her to push the snow off to the sides of our perimeter we've created. That lasted about five minutes. I'm tiiiired, she says. Tired? You haven't done anything. I wanna go in. WHAT?! Are you crazy?! It's boring out here. Obviously, I need to read this kid some Calvin & Hobbes.

Now I can relate to not having a buddy to play in the snow with, but mommy and daddy had some (huh, a lot) of shoveling to do. So, I take another break to play in the snow with her, but the child is practically listless. I'll come out again tomorrow, she says. I wanna go back inside. Sad. SpongeBob wins over two feet of snow.

What is with these kids today? No imagination. I think I'll need to cut back on the TV watching. TV is rotting her brain. Maybe I should rethink the ski school trip this year too. Is she gonna just sit on the sidelines bored? Maybe just some snowtubing until I see more interest.

Musings of a Six Year Old

Baeleigh asked me tonight when daddy was going to be home. I told her that he was working late. Why? He's moving his office closer to home. Oh yeah, that's great! Mommy, you work really far away, why don't you move your office closer to home? Well, that's a little easier said than done, honey. Oh, is that because you aren't as strong as daddy?

You can't help but laugh, especially when I'm visually a 19-story building being carried on my shoulders.

Birthday Bae

Today my baby turns six. Though she'd hate to hear me call her "my baby". (That's Gavin right? She's the big girl.) Looking at her new pictures, though, it was hard to see just that. The baby-ness in her face is nearly gone, exclusive of those squeezable cheeks she's inherited from yours truly, and mommy has to come to grips with her baby growing up.

Baeleigh, I can see, struggles with that same dichotomy. She straddles the world of babies but also dipping her toe into childhood. She's a very smart and quick-witted girl, and this is easily confused with maturity ahead of her years. I often find myself debating and/or negotiating with my six-year old, only to remind myself that hey, I'm in charge here. Mind you, I fully expect these power struggles to persist throughout our relationship, and at times welcome it. Yet, Baeleigh also doubles as mommy's sidekick. She is the mirror image of me, my mini-me. I see a beautiful, smart, funny and gregarious little girl developing, and I am very proud of her. It's the willfulness and ambitious drive that I see so clearly in her that has also gotten me to this point in my life. I wish the same for her. I have high expectations, hopes and dreams for her. Happy birthday, my little monkey. I love you.

And, two days ago Miss Bae learned to tie her shoes. Just in time for her birthday.

Santa's Calling

In my devious attempt to pry Christmas ideas out of my 5-year old, I may have told my daughter a little white lie. Santa called me. Yep, you heard, he called me. Has me on speed dial. Asked me what Baeleigh, who was a good girl this year, wanted for Christmas. You see he was putting together his preliminary list of toys for all the good kids, and wanted to know if there was one thing in the whole wide world that Baeleigh wanted what it would be.

Baeleigh's eyes were practically bugging out of her head. Santa called? You? Yeah, that's right. Me. I'm very tight with Santa. Me and him go way back. The skeptical eyebrow is still raised. So, I coaxed, "If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?" "Weeeelllll," she said, looking frantically around the room like the idea was going to pop off the wall or from under the bed. "A doll that I can feed." Seriously? That's it. "Baeleigh, you have two dolls, both sitting in that crib over there and you don't play with either of them." "Ummmmm. I dunno." This was like pulling teeth. She's only pointed and practically shouted at me every time some new fangled toy comes on TV that mommy basically ignores the whole dramatic scene. Yeah, yeah, you want that. I get it. Ok, maybe I should have taken notes. So, sue me. The only thing I remember is Zhu Zhu pets, an annoying interactive hamster crappily made and of course the hottest thing since talking Elmo for this Christmas season. However, now that I've bought one of the damn things (at twice the retail price mind you) and persuaded my mother to purchase all the accessories, she doesn't even acknowledge the ad when it comes on TV. It's like the dollhouse and Littlest Pet Shop crap from last year that sites in the corner of the playroom as apparently the basement spiders' quarters.

After Baeleigh succeeded in fully frustrating her mother, what does she ask me? Mommy, how did Santa call you? My cell phone, duh. Mommy, Santa does not have a cell phone. Um, yes, he does. Give me his number, she says, drop dead serious. No way, Jose. Yes, Mommy. North Pole.

Satisfied, but I think still skeptical, she let it go. What is it with no mythical icons not being able to have cell phones?? I can understand her skepticism of the Easter Bunny. I mean come on, it's a four-legged furry animal, but Santa. Please. Cut mommy some slack and just play along. Ok?

Where's the Balance?

Out the window, that's where! I'd say I have no idea where the month went, but I know where it went, and where it's going and how it will be until at least Thanksgiving. And, I have to say I'm struggling with that. The everyday day-to-day is hard enough to keep up with. Let alone when you have a deliverable, or two, the size of say a newly constructed power plant.

Typically it isn't THIS intense at work, but lately I've been working long hours and not uncommonly weekends. I can sort of see the light at the end of the tunnel but couple that with holidays, unforeseen flu (possibly swine) and signing up for a 10K (months before I knew my schedule would be like this, mind you) that I haven't had time to train for but really want to still do (and will do tomorrow) and I think you see how I have a recipe to fail. At least at something. And, of course, I won't let that be work. Meaning what's shorted? You guessed it - family.

I keep thinking that I'll reach some sort of epiphany in household/family organization. This said epiphany never seems to arrive. The schedule I attempt to create is never followed. The husband is overwhelmed in his new demands. Things I typically take care of. Full-time, long stretch care of the kids, with no help from super-mom. The grocery store. Dinner (or should I say pick-up). Packing lunches. Early unexpected kid pick-ups. Doctor's appointments. So I'm left to barely tread water, put out fires and keep everyone as healthy as possible.

And thank goodness for two great sets of grandparents that live so close by to help keep the kids busy, away from cooties and ushered back and forth to dance classes.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. But, we will survive. HEY, HEY!

The Dog Ate My Homework

With Bae starting kindergarten this year, I'm not sure who was more eager, me or her. I have always wanted to be a hands-on parent. The kind that participated in PTA, maybe baked some birthday cupcakes for class, looked over my kids' school work, helped them their homework. I got my wish, minus the PTA for the moment (that's another story). Chalk that up to my competitive and ambitious nature. Little did I know that I needed to be careful what I wished for.

Every night Baeleigh brings home her folder, containing all her assignments of the day and any homework that she might have. Ah, but it also contains every flyer, permission slip, application, Scholastic and student document. There is something daily. Every day I ask her, "Baeleigh, do you have any homework?" "No," she says, "No, wait, YES!" Inevitably, it's not her homework, it's mine. And, I have to say, I'm a little overwhelmed as a kindergarten parent. Does this get easier? Will there be a test? Do I need to study for 1st grade? Can I say the dog ate my homework?

Stream of Consciousness

Sometimes I feel like my little brain just can't hold all of the details that I'm trying to remember, such as doctor appointments, what day tomorrow is at school (e.g., Violet Day), items on the grocery list this week, or just calling my mom to see how her month off from work is. I thought it might be amusing to just see what bubbles up in my mind in the next five minutes. So, here goes:

• Looking down at Baeleigh's Kindergarten supply list: The list seems shorter than I thought, but what does my child need 4 boxes of 16-pack crayons for? I need to sign up for school email alerts.
• My orchid is looking incredibly unhealthy today, and after entering day four of ownership I think I got jipped out of $13.99. Hmm, haven't water the plants in my office today - that was on my to-do list. Not that the orchid needs water.
• Why are there so many motorcycles that rev their engines in my office's neighborhood?
• Should I cut back on my soda consumption? I took two grocery bags full of cans down to recycling yesterday, and I'm staring at the new accumulation (one soda) on my desk.
• The kids need baths tonight.
• One last night before Tommy heads out of town, and a good night of sleep. Does he only choose to make it a "family night" tonight because "So you think you can dance" is on? Working out tomorrow night will hopefully make me sleepy.
• Should I circulate an email to ask my co-workers to contribute to a baby welcoming basket for one of my staff?
• When is my financial advisor ever going to call back about our retirement accounts?
• What is tomorrow at Bae's school? Guess I gotta go look that up.

Quite an eclectic mix of thoughts, wouldn't you say? Some are distractions, but mostly it's just a lot to keep organized in my head. Now, if I can only find that perfect system, and then train Tommy on it. I feel like I need a triage station in my kitchen or something. Or maybe I'll just take on Tommy's mentality of it all and just assume that he'll take care of it. I do like the sound of THAT plan.

Women Need Details - Or At Least This Woman Does

Would it be that hard for certain people to elaborate on their commentary? For example:

I bought a very cute Juicy Couture (one sale) one piece bathing suit, and Tommy responds: "Huh. A one piece. Well, you are older and a mom. Uh, it's cute, just don't stop wearing bikinis." Does that mean I should return it??

I got my hair cut short last night. Tommy's reaction: "Well, you look older. It's different!" Always a good reaction to a girl who thinks it's a super-cute hair cut and specifically told the hair stylist to not give her a "mom haircut". What's with this "older" and "mom" thing?

His mom's reaction to my hair cut last night: "Grandmother still remembers when you were upset over Tommy shaving his hair off for the first time." Huh? What does that have to do with my hair?! Should Tommy be upset that I cut my hair?

Baeleigh when asked why she's on red at school: "I don't know" or "'Cuz." Ugh.

Deliverables to my boss on a daily basis. "Looks fine." "Looks Ok." Or simply no comment and just forwarded on. I only hear negative feedback. But usually, it's crickets. Is "fine" or "OK" mediocre or a good job? I dunno. I just want to know that I'm exceling at my job.

I don't need a life story but give me a little more detail, please. Otherwise, my pessimistic self is left to interpret her own ideas of this evaluation. And that's never good.

Face Painting, Four Eyes and False Tales

My goal was to spend some quality time with Baeleigh today, much needed with all the daycare drama of late. Here are a few things that I learned today:

Lesson #1: Under promise and over deliver.
Whole Foods (WF) had sent out via Facebook a promotion for the Second Sunday Farmer's Market, complete with free face painting this Sunday a week or so back. Perfect for both Mommy and Baeleigh. After arriving at WF at 12:30pm, finding a stupid parking space on Level II of the garage, lugging two hot, cranky kids into the store and thinking it odd that not one child had his/her face painted, I inquired at the customer service desk. "Huh" was pretty much my response. The farmer's market and said face-painting was not there. Luckily, I had my blackberry and googled it. Apparently, it was actually down at Ridgely Avenue - wherever that was. Already promised and staring down into Baeleigh's eager eyes, I endeavored to find this damn place. My low-blood sugar, short-tempered self then lugged the kids back up the parking garage ramp, packed the kids back into the car (wrestling Gavin's unwilling arms under the car seat straps) and turned on the GPS. Farmer's market found, I unpacked the kids, made Gavin a bottle, wrestled his arms again with the raptor claws now attached permanently to his bottle and strolled them down to the face-painting tent. Baeleigh got her garden princess face and we were now on our way - gee, that only took about an hour and a half and most of my afternoon for something that literally took all of 5 minutes to do. Hey, WF, you wanna be a little clearer on the location of your promoted events (that aren't even YOURS in the first place or even remotely NEAR the vicinity of your store) and not waste a parent's day! Next time I won't be opening my mouth about where we are going (which I typically don't to Baeleigh for this specific reason but had to bribe her away from the grandparents somehow!)

Lesson #2: Running into walls and tripping over your own feet is not just klutziness.
It was more of a precaution, well-check sort of exam than me thinking that something actually needed to be checked. I had really thought that Baeleigh's more frequent comments about needing to sit closer to the TV or up close during story time was just a ploy to either sit where she wanted or just be the center of attention. These requests were typically part of a fight with teachers to sit in a chair or in the spot in the circle that she wanted. Mommy was floored as she began reciting the eye exam lines though. It was obvious to even me that she could not read the 20/20 line and it was even worse on her left side. Astigmatism. As mommy began to come to the realization that her daughter would need glasses, she also felt a deep tinge of guilt for not having taken her sooner. The doctor alleviated my fears commending me that I had brought her in sooner than most parents who typically don't bring their kids in until seven or eight. I think Baeleigh picked out about 10 or 15 pairs of glasses - 13 of which were pink of course - before I finally got her to narrow down to one, a hot pink wire Barbie frame. Pretty spiffy! She'll need glasses to correct her vision and possibly vision therapy (which I had never heard of).

False Tales - Lesson #3: What you don't tell her to not hurt her, will.
In an effort to finally end the pirate look that Baeleigh has been sporting for probably six months now, I trolled the mall looking for another store that might have a spring-loaded ear piercing gun. We had tried Claire's before and that might as well have been a hot poker through her ear - torturous and slow. I recalled Piercing Pagoda. I thought I had her by bribing her with ice cream and a little white lie that it wouldn't hurt. That worked until she actually got in the chair and the poor lady pulled out the pen to mark said ear. Then, that deal went out the window. Begging while appease a most-opportunely ticked off, I've-had-it-with-this-stroller-mommy Gavin, I conned her into just letting the lady see if the earring would be even. (It's weak, I know, but I was desperate.) She was almost with me, after having squinched away from me and the lady for about a good 15 minutes, not buying any of our B.S. But somehow, this lady managed to convince her she was just cleaning it, and in that split second that she let her guard done. Cha-chink! I was done. Then, came the worst part, she screamed like I just cut her ear off in the middle of the mall, with everybody staring at me like I've just qualified for the Worst Mommy of the Year Award. At least it's done. Hopefully, that'll be one of those memories she'll supress. Not one of my brightest moments as Mommy I suppose. I'm such a bad liar anyway.

Red Light, GREEN Light

I used to play this game as a kid. Along with freeze tag and Red Rover. I never knew that somehow I'd be playing a version of it as an adult. Except now, it's not so much a game as a direct reflection of how well my day is going.

You see, Baeleigh's behavior system at daycare is based off a stoplight scheme. Green = good. Yellow = warning. Red = bad. Pretty simple. Five greens in a row and she gets to pick from the treasure box, except over the last several months she hasn't even seen that treasure box. In fact, she's more typically on red than green. In turn, Mommy, after a hard day at work, gets to come home to that big, fat Red. It looms over me as I drive home - is she or isn't she? As soon as I walk in the door, you can almost feel the thickness of the air, the silence - the "Uh-oh, she's home." The gig is up and any last few giggles that I hear before I come in the door cease. I might be approached by a sad face, a suck-up or simply tears. All of which quickly forewarn me of what's next in store.

And, the new predicament has been how to approach discplining her for this "red" day without making Mommy (or Daddy) the evil, mean parents. Difficult, to say the least. Especially, when it's the third in a row and you want relief from disciplining just as much as she does. We've tried timeouts, no TV, early bedtimes and nothing seems to break it. My new approach is to focus more on the positive of what she can do if she's on green and reasoning with her that she creates her own destiny. More of a "you can DO it!" sort of pep talk, but she still has to "do the time", so to speak" for her crime. Sometimes this works and sometimes it doesn't. Today - she's on green. And, I let out a big sigh of relief that I can go home and celebrate that green with her.

If anybody's got any other suggestion though, I'm all ears.

Show Me Some Attitude

On Sunday, I got to be a Room Mom for Baeleigh's first dance recital. What is a Room Mom you ask? Well, it is the star role of helping to entertain, dress, primp, feed, take to the bathroom a gaggle of 5-7 year olds backstage during their dance recital.

Although I saw the whole show as a ticket-holder the previous night, Baeleigh was also performing on Sunday. Rather than pay another $16 to basically be there to pick up my kid. I volunteered as a Room Mom. As her number neared, I lined the girls up in the hallway. When it was our turn we filed in, and I figured I'd have to wait at the door until she was brought out again. But, No! I walked in right behind her and stood there waiting our turn behind the curtain, mixed in with several other dance groups all equally as excited to take the stage. The same curtain that I hid behind in my high school years for school performances and dance classes. Some of the girls were huddled together running through their numbers one last time. Instructors were tucked behind the front black drapes mimicking the dance numbers and exaggerately singing the words to the song for the little 2-3 year olds that were onstage performing to follow. The tech crew was swirling around all of us.

As we were waiting I said, "Show me some attitude out there!" And, Baeleigh looks up at me totally perplexed, "But Mommy, why do you want me to show you attitude? You want me to be MEAN!" OK, bad choice of words. I laughed, and said, "No, honey. Just smile and boogie your hiney off out there!" Then, one of the instructers said, "Alright, girls, show me some ENERGY!". Yeah, "energy", that's the word I was looking for! And, with that, her number was next and I touched her back to prod her to her spot behind the curtain and said "Have fun, honey! Smile! I love you!" She skipped herself out to her spot and did her thing. She did better even than the evening before. I was so proud! The lights went down and she came running back to me, I hugged her and scurried back to our backstage room. "You did great! Did you have fun?!" "YEAH!"

We went up to the balcony for the rest of the show, and she just sat on the edge of her seat watching almost the entire thing. I mean, come on, she's a five year old. Of course, there was some rough-housing and mischief!

So, do I play Room Mom again next year - 4.5 hours of action-packed responsiblity for about 3 minutes of wonderful...wow, that's a tough one! But, maybe...