And the Worst Book Award Goes To...

Have you seen this?!

A new rhyming picture book geared towards young children is due out in October entitled Maggie Goes on a Diet by Paul Kramer. 'It's the story of a 14-year-old girl who's "not only clumsy... [but] also quite fat" and who, after going on a diet to "reduce her stomach, as well as her big behind," becomes more popular and a soccer star.' (Excerpt from People Magazine)

The author said he wrote the book to help educate children on the benefits of a healthy lifestyle after his own struggles as a child. He said, "I'm not suggesting children go on a diet; I'm advocating for them that they know the positive implications of eating healthier and living a healthy lifestyle. I'm trying to boost their self-image.... It's an adorable book."

Can I just say, "Wow!" The cover art alone is offensive to me and just knowing that it's about a "clumsy fat girl" who loses weight and becomes a "popular soccer star" is even more offensive. Really? This is how you choose to educate my child on being healthy? By feeding into the media hype that thin is what makes us happy and fulfilled? That to be good at something and more popular, you need to be skinny? I don't think "adorable" is the best description for your book. Also, this book's reading level is aimed at four to eight year-olds, according to Amazon.

While I think that childhood obesity is a growing problem and should be addressed, this is not a healthy positive way of doing that. Kramer would have been better off writing a book about how eating an apple instead of a cookie gives little Suzie more energy to play longer outside. Or that by going to bed on time, Tommy doesn't feel sleepy in science class. Methinks Kramer needs to tune into Sesame Street who tends to be very good at showing the positive influence of a healthy lifestyle.

I'm not sure which is worse, the fact that this book even exists or that a middle-aged man is preaching to young children about living a healthy/skinny lifestyle; when he might as well call himself "pot" because all those little kettles might notice the hypocrisy.

So disappointed in Aloha Publishers for even publishing this and shame on you Paul Kramer for not finding a more constructive way to relay your message. Which, while a valid one, you've completely missed the mark. With all the kids, especially girls, being inundated with the media's ideal of beauty, a book on acceptance and loving who you are, while working towards personal goals, would have been more appropriate.

When Naptime Becomes An Endangered Species

For some mysterious reason, two is the magic number at our house.  First SweetPea and now Lil Buddy hit age two and neither want to take naps anymore.  I suppose I should back up a little and explain that both kids, barring illness or teething, have been sleeping through the night since they were about two months old.  This fact alone should probably disqualify me from being able to whine about the whole nap thing.  It should...but it won't!

Shortly after Lil Buddy was born, SweetPea began fighting naptime.  I'd put her down in her bed and she'd toss and turn, refusing to stay still long enough to fall asleep.  I'd end up spending so much time trying to get her nap that when she finally did fall asleep, it wasn't long before it was time for her to wake up again or risk her not being tired at bedtime.  I was cranky for all the effort it took to get her to bed and she was cranky that I woke her up after such a short nap.  By the end of that summer, just after we moved into our newly built house, I gave up and let her ditch naps for good.  Here we are, two years later and Lil Buddy is starting to do the same.  When it hits that time of the afternoon, I walk him to his bedroom, read him a book or two, then lay him down in his bed.  On a good day, he'll turn over and drift off to sleep.  Then there are days like yesterday where I put him down...then two minutes later he's standing in the hallway shouting, "Hi!"...I take him back to bed and we repeat the drill over and over until I'm fuming and he's crying.  If I'm super lucky, he eventually gives up and passes out.  That's what happened yesterday.  It wasn't pretty.  He was so upset that I thought he might never stay down for the count and I was so frustrated I was ready to UPS him to his grandmother in Boston.  And then we have the days where the game gets old and I say "screw it" and let him skip the nap.

Now's the part when someone says to me, "Alyssa, maybe it's a sign they don't need naps anymore."  If only I could believe that.  OK, part of me wishes either or both of them would nap for selfish reasons.  I daydream of having an hour, maybe two, of peace and quiet in the afternoon.  Honestly, though, they both act like they need naps.  Lil Buddy is a grumpy monster by the end of the days where he doesn't have a nap.  SweetPea gets overly sensitive and weepy and looks like she's ready to pass out on her feet most days.  On the half days where they both go to school in the morning, I can pretty well guaranty that Lil Buddy will be out cold on the floor napping like all of his other classmates at pick up time.  Don't get me wrong, the teachers try their best (like I've asked them) to keep him awake, but while he's waiting, he almost always falls asleep at the table.  Then, as soon as I pick him up, he is bright and shiny awake...and if, as soon as we get home, I try to get him back into bed...even if he's only slept for 5 minutes at school, I almost always fail.  Then there's SweetPea who will refuse to even try to lay down for a nap if we ask, but if we put her in the car for a five minute drive and she passes out two minutes into it.  One look and anyone can see how tired they both look by about 2:00 pm.  We've even tried wearing them out, like this past Saturday where we spent four hours walking around (we don't use strollers anymore) and playing at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.  Both kids were completely worn out by the time we left (Lil Buddy was one big, crying, cranky mess) and fell asleep in the car for a whopping 30 minutes...then didn't want to go back to sleep once we got home.  I wish I could say that all the activity and short naps at least helped keep them in bed longer the next morning, but nope!  The two of them were up and wanting to play by 6:00 am on Sunday.

The signs are pointing to naptime coming to and end at our house.  I'm seriously not digging that option, but I'm at my whits end for alternatives.  It's beginning to look like the only person willing to take naps anymore is...ME!

I Always Cry at Parties

When I was pregnant with my first child, everyone talked about how spoiled she was going to be. Not only would we the parents spoil her but her grandparents too. Obviously, they didn't know us all that well.

Yes, Peri was the first grandchild on my side and our first baby, but spoiling just didn't happen. I personally don't see the point in it. I didn't want my child growing up feeling like she's entitled to have whatever she wants when she wants it. I thought I was doing pretty good on this front. And then came the awkward reality.

On more than one occasion I've picked up a sad/upset Peri from preschool.

"Peri, what's wrong?"
"(so and so) has ______ and I don't. That makes me so sad."
"Peri, it's okay. You don't get everything that everyone else has. Be happy for (so and so)."
"But it makes me so sad because I don't have one."
"I'm sorry, it's not fair and that's okay."

I took Peri to a birthday party over the weekend. Oh fun. When she didn't win any prizes from Pin the Tiara on the Princess, she had a small meltdown. Annoyingly whiny, "But I didn't get a purse and glasses." "No, Peri, you didn't, but you can be happy for your friends that did." Then came the cake. The birthday girl had her own cupcake shaped cake and the kids had smaller cupcakes and ice cream. Peri bawled, "She doesn't want to share her cupcake with me!" "Peri, that's her special cake, here's yours. Be happy for her, it's her special day. When it was your birthday, you got special things, but it's not your birthday today." This one eventually ended with, "Do you want to go home? Then stop crying." Then came the presents. This one I was dreading, but it wasn't as bad as the cake. This whole thing made me glad I didn't just drop her off at the party. But it doesn't make me want to take her to any more birthday parties either.

Seriously, where did this entitlement come from? Just because someone else has something, why does she think she should have it too? I feel like I'm getting blue in the face trying to explain this to her; I'm trying to figure out a way that we can teach her it's not okay to react the way she is. We've thought of taking turns giving treats in the house, but I think in taking turns, she knows hers is coming so it's not a big deal. The whole thing is kind of embarrassing since no one elses' child seems to be having these breakdowns, just mine. I wonder if people think I spoil her. Has anyone else dealt with this? Help, I need ideas. Especially since birthday season is in full swing! Yikes! "No, don't worry, she always cries at birthdays."

A Sign of Punishment

Lesley Breen Withrow Illustration

A few years ago, a local mom was both blasted and hailed at the same time, for her unique punishment technique. Her teenage son refused to do his homework, so she sent him out to stand on the street corner with a sign that said something along the lines of "I didn't do my homework so I'm being punished by holding this sign." The local media interviewed her and her son and laughed about the whole scenario. Other parents thought it was too humiliating. Personally, I think it was genius.

Oh yes, I'm THAT type of mom. For us, timeouts and revoked toys generally do the trick around here, but this morning, Peri refused to get dressed for school. For a good half hour I repeatedly told her she needed to get ready and for the entire half hour she just stood around in her underwear and dawdled. Eventually I'd had enough and told her I was going to pick out her clothes if she wouldn't. She hates it when I do this and usually throws a stink when I make her wear clothing I picked out.

This is one of those moments where you can't use timeout unless you want to spend the morning with your child instead of sending them to school. And personally, I LOVE school and the couple hour break it provides. So timeout was not an option.

As usual, Peri threw a fit when I tried to dress her in the outfit I picked out. We had about five minutes before we had to leave so I ended up throwing up my hands and said, "Fine, you're wearing jammies today." So I put her pajamas back on and made her get shoes and socks. She was not happy wearing the jammies and sulked all the way to the car. And since I didn't want anyone to think her wardrobe was a personal choice, I made a sign. Oh yes, I did. Peri wore a sign to school today and when she walked in, both of her teachers just laughed. Fortunately, Peri was in better spirits by then and wanted to show everyone her new ladybug shoes, so no emotional damage done to her ego.

And hopefully, come Wednesday, we don't have to do the getting dressed tango because I could get used to these punishment signs. Don't mess with mom, she's full of "fun" ideas. :oP

Her sign says "I refused to get dressed, so I'm stuck wearing jammies."

One Thing at a Time

It just keeps getting better and better. Parenting, I mean. The older they get, the more the challenges mature. It used to be "ugh, I can't wait until you can just tell me what you want", and now its "I heard you the first time!", after a seemingly non stop description of how thirsty she is.

Remember last week, when I wrote about how we couldn't keep our 3 year old in clothes? Well, we've since found a solution. The battle was going nowhere, so we put down our weapons, and changed our rules. The solution: You can take your clothes off if you want to, but only in your bedroom, and if you take them off yourself, then you have to put them back on yourself, before you can come back out into the rest of the house. ...Problem solved.

So then the next day, a new problem swam to the surface.

Eleanore and I and some friends took a walk to the park. We played, and we played, and we played. She laughed, and her hair got messy, and the stars on her shirt seemed to twinkle past the fabric and I swore I could see the reflections of the magical shapes shimmering off of her skin.

Until we left.

This little girl. This bad little girl. She ran away from me. Not only did she run away from me, but, she ran away from me. She ran so far away from me, that when I yelled for her to come back, she probably couldn't even hear me. When I screamed for her to come back, I know she heard me, but she chose to ignore me, and kept running. I could hear her laughter, I could see her hair bouncing with every skip, and all I could do was scream after her from where I stood. Yes, I know how to run now, but I'm very visibly pregnant, and with a 1 year old sitting in the stroller in front of me, theres no way I'd be able to catch her. Luckily, we live on an Air Force Base, one of the safest places for her to run away at, so I knew that even if she ran down the path until I couldn't see her anymore, the worst that would happen is she'd trip over her own clumsy feet, get stung by a bee in the process, and go thirsty for 5 minutes until I eventually caught up.

I left the baby behind in the stroller, after my neighbor announced, "I got Charlie", and I took off on foot to rope up my herd. I didn't run, even though I could have, because like I said, its become very unpleasant to move quicker than a grandma's pace. Instead, I quickly walked along the pavement path between the park and housing, towards her, and after the final lung ripping shout of her first middle and last name, she came to a complete stop, crouched down on the ground, and started crying.

She knew she was in deep.

I made her hold my hand the entire way home, and explained to her over and over again, about how we never ever ever run away from our Mommies. Never, ever. I told her bad things could happen, and if she ever did it again, somebody might steal her from me. She said she understood, and said she was sorry. And as if the thought of being stolen away from her Mommy and favorite toys wasn't enough, I dished her the ultimate punishment next, by then taking away her cookie bar privileges. Yeah, that's right. No home baked s'mores cookie bar for her when we get home.

And then, an hour later when I wasn't thinking about anything other than how delicious my cookie bars would taste, I let her have a bite of mine, and of course, because shes way smarter than a 3 year old should be, the smart butt, you know what she said to me?

"I was good Mommy, so you gave me some cookie bar? I'm so good".

Dangit! ...NO! You're bad!

Just take it one thing at a time, Mama's. One thing at a time...

Don't Know Whatcha Got 'Til it's Gone

And now that song will be stuck in your head too. :oP

As I was puttering around in the kitchen the other day (which I shouldn't do because inevitably I gain 5 lbs) I nearly slipped in a pool of water on the floor. This pool of water was in front of my dishwasher. My dishwasher that was running at the time. Crap. Then I noticed a bulge in the linoleum in front of the dishwasher also. Double crap.

I think the dishwasher might be my favorite appliance, next to the fridge, that is. Over the weekend Jim took out the dishwasher to assess the damage. Yup, gonna need to replace the floor over there. And the dishwasher too, which had been leaking for sometime but wasn't visible. Why oh why did you have to die dear dishwasher? Don't you understand I need you!!!

We were able to purchase a new dishwasher over the weekend and it will be delivered tomorrow. Yay right? Wrong. We can't install it until we fix the floor. And we can't fix the floor until next weekend, at the very soonest. This also means that I can't use the side of the sink with the disposal because the hose connected to the dishwasher was removed and all of the water will spill down into the cabinet below.

So I'm without my best friend who has now left me to fend for myself when it comes to clean dishes. So not cool. I do not like washing dishes, let alone hand washing them. There's an odd smell that comes from hand washing dishes, and maybe it's just me, but it's a smell that makes me want to gag. And this week started out so promising. :oP

I've realized how spoiled I was by my friend and will never ever take her for granted again. Yes, the dishwasher is definitely female because there's no way a man could ever get dishes that clean. So hug your dishwasher tonight and tell her you love her. Because now, in addition to all of the other fabulous household chores, I will now be washing dishes by hand. "Please don't die washing machine, please don't die. I don't have a river or rocks to beat clothes with in the backyard." *sigh*

Put Your Clothes Back On!

This week, I was planning on doing a "Must Have For New Moms" type article, but after the past few couple of days that I've had, its just not going to happen.

My angel 3 year old *insert eye roll here*, refuses to keep her clothes on. Obviously I couldn't use a picture of her naked, so I used one of her that we took immediately after putting her pajamas on. Shortly after the picture was taken, she took her pants off. But she left her shirt on! So we're making progress...

We get her dressed in the morning, she takes her clothes off as soon as we turn our backs. We put her in her bedroom for quiet time (our attempt at giving nap time a tricky name, its not working by the way, she refuses to nap too, and shes certainly not quiet), she emerges naked. She goes into the bathroom to use the potty, she comes out naked.

Put your clothes back on!

When we ask her why she takes her clothes off, she usually replies with "because I wasn't cold". We've explained to her that we wear clothes for reasons other than being cold. "Do you see people walking around naked? When we leave the house, do you ever see naked people? We wear clothes to express ourselves, we wear clothes to cover our bare skin, we wear clothes because we wear clothes".

She still takes off her clothes.

So we made a rule. If she takes her clothes off, then we take her clothes away, usually for the rest of the day. If she doesn't have any clothes to wear, then she can't leave the house. And just because she can't leave the house, doesn't mean we can't leave the house.

So yesterday, since it was so sunny and warm, Charlie and I went outside to play with sidewalk chalk in the driveway. Eleanore stayed inside, naked, and by herself.

Start the tantrum! Its going to be a good one...

Whenever I go outside and leave Eleanore inside, I crack the window (ya know, like when you leave the puppy in the car? hee hee) so that we can still communicate, and she doesn't feel completely shut off.

Crying crying crying crying.

This isn't the first time we've gone through this. Maybe you should have learned your lesson the first time then, huh?

Well as soon as Daddy gets home, she hears his voice, and kicks the tantrum into full gear. Don't hold back girl, give us everything you've got!

As hard as she was crying, and as angry as she was, I never expected these next set of words to come out of her mouth...

"I peed on the floor!".

YOU WHAT?!

You have got to be kidding me child. When we asked her why she peed on the floor (and all over herself, and her toys), she said "because I was mad". Well, I don't know about you, but I don't care how mad she is, shes been potty trained for almost a year now, and it is in NO WAY acceptable. Her punishment for that, was to clean it up herself. Her Daddy got her a towel, and she sure did have to clean it up all by herself. She was very good about it though, and while she was crying and whining about having to step in the mess she made, she soaked it all up. Daddy followed up behind her with another towel, and cleaner, and that was the end of that. I think he handled it very well.

Now. Seriously kid. I repeat, put your clothes back on!

Calling Cards and 20 Dollar Bills

I'm a pretty organized person, unfortunately, the rest of my family, not so much. Nothing irks me more than to see the newly folded laundry dumped out all over the floor or the playroom yet again in disarray after cleaning it less than an hour ago. With two kids, usually you don't know who the culprit is, except that my youngest leaves a calling card. Next to that big mess, like a beacon, is usually a used diaper. Fortunately, it's normally just wet, but still not that fun to find. Why can't she use 20 dollar bills as calling cards? Perhaps swiped from my husbands wallet or something. That would be super fun! I might even forget about the mess.

We're in the midst of potty training right now (oh joy) and we've found that the best way to train Ryah is to keep her bottomless. So the fact that she removes her diapers is a good sign she doesn't want to be in them. She's also one of those nekkid children who sheds clothes faster than you can put them on her. So at any given time, she's likely to be bare-assed and livin' free running through my living room. Those unexpected drop in visitors usually get more than they bargained for. See, you should have called first.

On the off chance I manage to get a dress on her, to at least cover her bottom, she's more likely than not going to do a somersault or lay on her back, feet flailing, in front of company. I think that's usually more shocking than had she been naked to begin with. At least there wouldn't be any Basic Instinct surprises. "Whoa, where's her diaper?" "Probably next to the toys she just dumped out all over the floor."

I have the whole scenario in my head. Ryah looks to the left, then the right, to make sure the coast is clear. Then she smiles "the big cheese," turns into Tornado Ryah, and checks again to make sure no one is looking while she removes her diaper to mark her territory. I guess it beats her actually peeing on it.

While this time around, potty training is a bit easier, it's certainly has it's calling card downfalls. Not to mention the inevitable naptime whine, "Mommmeeeee, Ryah's poopy!!!" And when I hear that, I already know it's too late, she's no longer wearing the diaper. Ugh.

Let's just hope for her sake, and mine, that we get this potty training thing nailed sooner rather than later. Unless she starts leaving 20 dollar bills lying around. I think I might be okay with that.

I'm A Big Kid Now

In t minus 45 days Lil Buddy will be two...The Big Dos...and yesterday it hit me...my baby boy isn't a baby anymore.  Really, I should have seen it coming.  At the beginning of last summer, he refused to sit in a high chair anymore...at home anyway.  Within the last month or so, he's even refused to sit in one at a restaurant.  Nay...now that he sees his sister sitting without any prop ups when we eat out, he doesn't even want a booster.  Mid summer we moved him into a "big boy" bed and sold his crib and changing table on Craig's List...and the jogging stroller.  Just before Thanksgiving we gave away the last of his baby toys...and the Graco stroller we've had since SweetPea was born...and the Pack N Play, the Boppy pillow...and finally, a week ago...the baby gates.  With the exception of the "just in case we need it" little umbrella stroller, the final vestiges of babyhood are gone.

The funny thing is that none of that reality really sunk in...until yesterday.  I'd gone to school to pick up the kids like I always do (they go for two half days per week)...and the toddler room teacher tells me "we're not allowed to use Pull Ups in this room."  You see, the classroom he's assigned to doesn't do potty training...but we've started trying to train Lil Buddy at home and when he ran out of diapers at school recently, we dropped off a box of Pull Ups to be consistent with what he's used to wearing at home.    That conversation kicked off the discussion about the next class up, the "junior preschool" (as opposed to the junior pre-K that SweetPea is in...yeah, it's complicated) class, where they start potty training...and the fact that he was on the verge of transitioning into it.  Then it hit me like a bus.  He really isn't a baby anymore...and the thought made me feel a little mushy inside...and a little anxious about how he'd take the transition.

I don't know why this time around it hit me like it did.  For one, it's the first time since I was pregnant with SweetPea that all of the baby things are gone from the house.  Obviously, with her, we held on to everything knowing we'd eventually have another.  When it came to transitioning at daycare, I never worried much about SweetPea.  She'd always been such a "go with the flow" kid and had never looked back when they moved her up through the different classes at daycare...but then again, she'd been in daycare full time since she was three months old and had been with the same group of kids for two years.  Each time she moved from one class to another, she was reunited with kids she already knew.  For Lil Buddy, who had been at home with me and his sister since he was born, school was a little more of an adjustment.  The teachers tell me he took to being in school really well, especially for a kid who had never been in school before...and they assured me he'd have a handful of kids in the next room who he knew (they'd moved up from his room since he's been there).  Even though I'm a little nervous about how he'll take the change, I'm mostly just a little shell shocked with the realization that he's a full fledged "big guy".

Then another thing hit me...moving up at school means he'll be in a class with other kids learning to go to the potty.  That seemed to be the magic bullet for SweetPea...seeing other kids do it.  Within 3 months of starting Montessori school when she turned two, she was 100% potty trained.  Within a few months after that she was sleeping through the night, accident free.  The teachers tell me Lil Buddy already shows signs he's ready..staying dry for long spells...telling them when he's gone #2.  I have no illusions that he will be trained as fast as she was...but just thinking about a life with no more diapers...ah, the freedom!  Maybe this growing up thing won't be so bad after all!

Now...if only I can teach him to make breakfast for himself...or better yet...to bring ME breakfast in bed!

Survival of the Cutest

Adorable aren't they? Okay, so I may be a bit biased, but you know you feel the same about yours. The point is, they have to be cute so they'll live another day.

After my Hellish day last week, I started thinking about the cute factor of children, and how sometimes it's the only thing keeping them alive. I've come to realize that it's a defense mechanism that's built in from the moment they're born because even when they're all red and squishy with misshapen heads, we can't help but "Aww" and claim they're the cutest little baby we've ever seen. And so it begins.

Eventually, that little red squishy creature turns 2 and then the fun really starts. Or, if you're "lucky" it'll start sooner, like 18 months, but hopefully that also means it's over sooner (like at the age of 17 instead of 18). It's the dawning of independence and they'll take all they can get. While this does have an upside, brushing their own teeth, potty training and dressing themselves (admit it, mismatched socks are a hoot!), there is a downside and they start taking liberties elsewhere too. They also learn the word 'no' and use it often. Ah, independence AND defiance, this just keeps getting better and better.

While my oldest child has rarely had to employ her cuteness, my youngest has no problem reaching her quota, usually by noon. She's one of those children who laughs when you put them in timeout, smiling and making goofy faces at you, not understanding the whole "you're in trouble and being punished" bit. I've now started putting her on a stool in the kitchen where she has to sit with her nose in the corner. She's not too fond of that, so hey, at least that appears to be working and I don't run the risk of accidentally giggling when she flashes her big cheesy grin at me.

Yes, I have to say, my youngest is still alive because she's so gosh darn cute. And she knows it. I've started documenting all of the times she uses the cute card (I LOVE my digital camera), and while I am angry at the time, I can look back now, shake my head and think, "What a stinker but look how cute she is."

The Queens of Destruction

Do not look directly into their eyes....
Do not be fooled by their cherubic faces...
They are the stuff legends are made of.

Whoever came up with that whole "Sugar and Spice and every thing nice; That's what little girls are made of..." bit really did not know their stuff. The only sugar my girls have running through their veins is the sugar they sneak from the bowl on the kitchen counter when I'm not looking.

Seriously, my girls are far from the sweet little ladies everyone thinks girls are supposed to be. If it wasn't for Gracie's obsession with wearing princess dresses, you probably wouldn't even know I had girls at all.

They cut their hair, bedsheets, their eyelashes, whenever I have my back turned. They destroy EVERYTHING they come in contact with. They climb the walls (literally climb.the.walls)... If it can be destroyed, give them about 20 minutes and BAM! - job done.

Um... that room was clean yesterday, I swear

We're getting ready to move sometime next week, which means, not only am I packing, packing and packing some more, but I'm also looking around my apartment and realizing that we are NOT getting our deposit back...

AND we are probably going to be paying the equivalent of one month's rent in damage fees.

The blinds in Gracie's room were ripped out of the wall last winter (um... gaping holes left in their place) when Gracie decided to move her toddler mattress against the window, grab onto the top of the blinds and ... whoops, the mattress fell. I was cooking dinner when I heard the crash and made it to her room just in time to see the entire ceiling fall in (slight exaggeration on my part. Slight).

Every inch of wall surface has been 409'd with a vengeance, the paint wearing very, very thin as a result of me scrubbing the watercolor/sharpie/crayon off. The carpets (brown) are painted (green) in more spots than I'd like, after Annelie got into my acrylic paint (she can pick locks... really).

And that's just a small part of the damage to our apartment. I could write an entire novel on the damage to our apartment alone.

Then there's my stuff... they love to break stuff. Love to. I spent about 35 minutes today figuring out how to remove a Little Einsteins DVD (oh man, from the library) from the DVD player it was jammed inside. Luckily, I was able to remove the DVD without damage done to it... unlike the chunky toddler board book that I spent 2 hours painstakingly taping back together after Annelie shredded every single page.

Its funny to me... so many people say, "Oh you have it easy. I had BOYS" and I think, really? Do I really have it easy because my girls have cute little dresses on and hair bows in their hair? Because you know, the second you turn your back, that hair bow will be out of her hair, and probably shredded into a million tiny strings of grosgrain faster than your sweet little boy can wheel his Tonka truck two feet. It really bothers me when I hear that I have it easy because I have girls.

Yes, I have girls. I have the Queens of Destruction.

xoxo,

The Slowest Fork In the West

"Howdy pardners, I'm Pokey Jane! Glad y'all dropped by for a spell. Pull up a chair while I finish my supper...it'll take me a just a few seconds...make that minutes...make that an hour or so..."

Welcome to my dilemma du jour. You see, my daughter really is the Slowest Fork in the West. Never have I seen anyone take so long to finish dinner. Well, not since her grandmother (my mom). Why does it take her so long? For one, she just can't seem to sit still or stay quiet long enough to sneak in a bite. She fidgets, she sings, she talks, she plays pretend, she pushes her food around the plate, she gives you a run down of the entire day, and she speculates on the activities for the next day. We do everything we can to get her to concentrate on the meal...which works for about two bites...then she's jabbering on about something new. I know a lot of the time she's not exactly thrilled about what's on her plate. She's not exactly a picky eater, especially as three year olds go, but she's definitely gotten a little more finicky than she was when she was younger...and definitely more than say, her brother, who will inhale just about anything in under 60 seconds. Dinner is by far the most painful meal to get through, but I'll be honest, most meals...and snacks are consumed at a snail's pace. The other morning it took her 45 minutes to eat 1/2 a cup of Cheerios. No kidding...I timed it. About 20 minutes into it I asked her if she was done, but she insisted she was still hungry and wanted to finish...and she did. At snack time I can give her one of those mini boxes of raisins and it takes her half an hour to finish that.

What are we doing to motivate her to eat? About every 5 minutes we're reminding her "SweetPea, you need to eat your dinner". At one point, we were letting her walk away from the table after eating about a quarter of the meal on her plate because she said she was all done, but that backfired when she started complaining about being hungry after about 30 minutes. When we put our foot down and told her "too bad, you should have eaten your dinner", she started waking up between 2 and 3 AM complaining about being hungry. ARGH! So we tried a different angle...we found something that she likes...namely, tapioca Snack Packs. If she wants a Snack Pack for dessert, she needs to finish her meal...which got us to where we are now. She's finally eating her whole dinner...only she takes between 45 minutes to an hour to do it.

Here's my biggest struggle with the whole thing...I want her to have a positive relationship with eating and food. I want her to understand that we eat together as a family at mealtime, but that she shouldn't feel like she needs to clear her plate if she's genuinely not that hungry. I don't want her to eat just for the sake of eating. I hear kids at her age can tend to be grazers, which is fine, but I also don't want her endlessly munching all day long...or spoiling normal mealtimes. I've discussed the issue with her pediatrician, who tells me what a tricky game eating is at this age. She agrees with me about letting SweetPea eat when she's hungry, but trying to enforce set mealtimes too. She agrees that it isn't good to teach kids they have to eat past the point where they are no longer hungry. She also tells me that at her age, SweetPea will eat just to survive and will often be too distracted to stop long enough to eat. Forget that compared to the other kids on the playground and in her preschool class she looks like a waif...like if you sneeze too close to her that she'll blow away...the doctor says, when she is hungry...really hungry...she will eat.

Now that the weather is turning cooler (which here in Texas means it's in the 80's instead of the 100's), The Man has been taking Pokey Jane for walks with him in the evening. She looks forward to spending time with Daddy. To motivate her to eat her meals faster, we tell her she has only so much time to finish (yes, I realize she still doesn't really have a sense of time)...and if she doesn't finish within that time, she doesn't get to go on the walk. Has it worked? Well, she hasn't been out for a walk in two days. SIGH...yep...we still have some work ahead of us.

Because I SAID SO!

x-posted from my regular blog - fitting, as we just had a day exactly like this one:

I'm the Boss
www.thedreamygiraffe.etsy.com

Can someone please tell me - seriously, I beg you, please tell me - why my kids don't seem to think that I'm the boss?

Because I am. I am the boss. The BOSS, I say.

When we first moved to Texas from California, I was so impressed by the obedient little preschoolers in Gracie's play group. When their mamas told them what to do, the little kids replied, "Yes, ma'am" and then did it.

4-year old Gracie doesn't say "Yes, ma'am." She generally doesn't say anything, preferring to cross her arms over her chest and glare at me when I ask her to do something she doesn't want to do. Sometimes, she'll say something along the lines of "But I don't want to," but she surely never says "Yes, ma'am."

www.johnwgolden.etsy.com

Today has been a very fun (ie not fun at all) day filled with me shouting things such as, "Gracie, I'm not going to say it again - If you don't put your toys in the toy box, I'm THROWING THEM ALL AWAY!" and also, "Annelie, if you say 'duh' one more time when I talk to you, you are GOING STRAIGHT TO BED!"

Now just in case you are wondering if I'm one of those train-wreck sort of parents often found on shows such as The Super Nanny... I'm not. Really, I'm not. I know perfectly well how to handle my kids... they just seem to have other ideas about it today.

"Cleaning my room is so boring, Mom," Gracie cheerfully informed me about 20 minutes ago, when she came out of her (still messy) room dressed up in a sparkly green ballet costume and dressy plastic hot-pink high heels. And to her, that was the perfect reason why she shouldn't have to clean her room.

I'm tired. I'm weary. It seriously doesn't help that Annelie said, "Because I said so, duh" about 20 times this morning (earning herself a 3 minute time-out each time) and Gracie has already lost allowance-earning privileges for the day.

It is only the early afternoon and I'm ready to skip town on the hunt for the best mind-numbing cocktail in Texas. And by golly, Gracie's room better be spotless when I get back.

xoxo,

The Minivan Clan

Phew, okay, that was the longest two weeks ever, but I'm back, I'm alive and I'm ready to blog away. It's been over a week that I haven't had a voice (literally), but no more, dagnabit! That's what blogging is for.

Now that I'm well, next on the agenda; buying a new car. Not just any car, but one that will get killer gas mileage, seat 6 or 7 people and NOT be a minivan. Yup, all of those are requirements. I flat-out refuse to join the Minivan Clan. I know you pro-minivaners are out there, and probably reading this (or maybe you're not because you're busy chauffeuring your kids, your kids' friends and your kids' friends' friends), but I'm sorry, you can't make me one of you.

There was an episode of Oprah, (okay, don't laugh, I don't normally watch) it was about the truth behind being a mom and it was pretty funny listening to mothers from all over America talk about what it's really like and what they don't tell you. Anyway, one of the moms said that the day she went to buy a minivan, she knew exactly what her dog must have felt like when he had to get neutered. I felt a kindredness with this woman, but I will remain strong and not succumb to the lure of the minivan. I will not be neutured!

Sure it's roomy, gets great gas mileage and can seat more kids than you'd ever care to own, but it's a minivan! They're ugly and they just scream, "I'm a breeder and I need to keep them all boxed up!" I swore I'd never have enough kids to need a minivan, even if I did, they would make lovely hood and roof ornaments before I'd buy the dreaded van.

I will drive an SUV, a crossover or a sedan, so if you have any recommendations on those, I'm all ears. If you happen to drive a minivan, I'm sincerely sorry. :oP


Reposted from here

Your "Friend" Card Has Been Revoked

I'm on notice and have been informed that...SweetPea is no longer my friend. Well, for about 10 minutes the other day, anyway. I can only imagine she picked up that gem of a phrase at school. It's certainly nothing we would say here at home and there isn't a show I can think of on TV that I'd let her watch that would use it either. Regardless of where she heard it...I was on the receiving end of it. What inspired her to revoke the friend privilege? If I remember correctly, SweetPea was playing learning games on the computer and I told her that she'd had enough and that she needed to find something else to play with. Clearly that wasn't a popular decision. To be honest, it's not the first time she's told me "Mommy, you're not my friend". That honor came when I told her that I couldn't take her to China. Am I a mean mom or what?

After the first time, I tried to tell her she wasn't being very nice and that it hurt my feelings when told me that she didn't want to be my friend. I told her that I loved HER and that sometimes, even though she might do something that didn't make me happy, that I'd always be her friend. I'll admit, that first time, it did hurt my feelings, if just a little, even though I understood that she was saying it because she was angry that I told her no. Eventually she apologized and told me that I was "still her friend". I thought the lesson was learned...until the other day we had a repeat performance...and not only did she tell me that she wasn't my friend, but she rambled off a list of people who WERE her friends...but not me..."Lil Buddy's my friend...Baby Rosa (her teddy bear) is my friend...Queen Narissa (her stuffed, purple dragon) is my friend...Maw Maw is my friend...Grammy is my friend...but you aren't my friend". This time, I had to keep myself from laughing. I don't know why, but it was funny. So again...we have the talk. This time she doesn't say much, but about 5 minutes later she begs me to help her with something and I shoot back "well, you know, if I was your friend, I'd help, but since I'm not your friend, I'm not sure why you'd want me to help you." Voila...we're friends again.

At the end of the day, I know what she's trying to tell me that she's not happy about something I've told her. Obviously, saying "no" isn't always going to be popular, but it is a necessary evil. The funny thing...I think it's finally setting in. Yesterday afternoon, SweetPea was getting very frustrated that something wasn't working right for her and she asked me for help...then got mad that what I did to help was NOT what she wanted me to do...she threw mini fit and I sent her to her room...which of course made her REALLY mad. When I went to talk to her in her room she told me "Mommy, you made me very upset and I'm sad"...which in the long run, is what I think she meant all along by "you're not my friend anymore". And to think...we still have the teenage years...UGH!

The Great Sippy Standoff of '09

For some reason, I always thought that kids were supposed to drink juice. Maybe because when I grew up, water was a 4 letter word. It was always juice, or soda, or kool aid. Sugar, sugar, and more sugar. When my daughter hit juice drinking age, we had already discovered her citrus acid intolerance, denying us access to any store bought drink other than Simply Apple. We started buying juice concentrates from the health food store, and making juice from scratch. Of course we could only make apple and grape, but it was better than nothing. The concentrates were thick as tar, but mixed with water and sugar, it did the trick. Somewhere along the line, a few parenting skills must have fallen off the wagon, because here we are, at what I like to call "The Great Sippy Standoff of '09".

I hand Eleanore a cup of water. No, sorry, a sippy of water. She doesn't know how to drink from regular cups yet (another parenting fail), she takes a sip, spits it out, and hands it back to me. I explain to her that its just water, like the wet stuff she takes a bath in (maybe that's why she thinks its OK to drink bath water), and that we drink it to be healthy. She takes another sip, spits it out, and throws the sippy down full force. ...Um, no ma'am! I send her to time out for throwing, and after she calms down and comes out, attempt to feed her the tasteless wet stuff one more time. I'm sure you saw the monumental tantrum coming from a mile away? Well here it is.

The first couple of times I gave in. I was weak. I hated upsetting my baby. I hated watching her hyperventilate, knowing that there was juice in the fridge, and I could just give her that instead. That way shes happy, no tears, no stress, no mess. I... was a sucker.

One day I woke up and noticed that we didn't have any of the components required for juice making. No Simply Apple. No fresh fruit. No juice concentrate. Not even milk. It was towards the end of the paycheck (Military gets payed on the 1st and 15th of every month) and our kitchen was abandoned. I took a deep breath, quickly tried to prepare myself mentally, and walked straight into the ring. This is the moment I had been working up to. All of the previous water drinking induced tantrums were all leading up to this great battle. An epic war between Mother and Daughter. Water and juice. Taste and health.

"Eleanore, we don't have any milk this morning. And we don't have any juice. You'll have to drink this water please", I said, handing her a freshly made sippy.

My mom face was on. Mascara for war paint. I held my breath and waited for the bullet to hit me.

It didn't hurt as bad as I thought it would. I had seen it coming, I knew what to expect. Kicking. Screaming. Begging. Confusion turned anger turned hate. She hated me. But, she didn't really hate me. I was standing my ground. I had no choice.

"You cannot have anything to eat, until you finish your water", I told her in the calmest yet strictest voice I own. I repeated it 1,000 times. 5 hours later, with puffy eyes and exhausted lungs, Miss Eleanore went to bed without having breakfast, or lunch. We spent the entire day going rounds. She gave me everything she had. Hitting, throwing, breaking things... everything she had. Well too bad little girl, because I'm the mom, and you're the child, and I'm stronger.

When she woke up from her nap, I was ready for her. I may or may not have slipped some natural red (raspberry) food coloring into her water, with a pinch of sugar. I don't consider it cheating. A compromise, if anything. When she asked me for milk, using her sweetest most innocent angel baby voice, I was half tempted to give in. I was exhausted. It would have been so nice to just hand her what she wanted, and live out the rest of our day in peace. No more tears. But... this was a fight I intended on finishing. A battle that I was going to win.

Screaming. Hitting. Kicking. The mother of all meltdowns. But wait...

Miss Eleanore, the queen of stubborn, was giving up. A battle well fought, but even the greatest of warriors can be defeated.

9 hours after it began, the Great Sippy Standoff of '09, was over. And I had won.

The Potty-Training Diaries

On the pot, with a watercolor goatee.

Yes, my kid eats paint. Such is life.

Day 1

Dear Diary,

Annelie actually wants to be potty-trained. Most moms would be jumping for joy right now, but as I can practically smell all of the pee-soaked accidents in the days ahead, I'm dreading this whole potty-training thing. Let me tell you a little something about me: I hate potty-training. Diapers are so much easier to change, than pee is to remove from carpets and the couch.

Day 7

Dear Diary,

Wow, a week has gone by and Annelie is doing fabulous. About 90% potty-trained. She is highly motivated by the all-natural fruit snacks she gets after doing her... business. Especially as I call them candy so she thinks she is being spoiled, rather than blasted by Vitamin C.

Whatever works.

Day 14

Dear Diary,

What. The. Heck???

Annelie was having a tea party in her room, with her dolls today. "Hmmm... that's strange," I thought. "I didn't give her a cup of water to play with."

Yeah, that's because she's feeding her dolls a cup of warm pee.

Pee.

Looks like all that potty-training success from last week is quickly being flushed down the toilet... or soaked into the carpet.

Day 22

Dear Diary,

From 90% trained back to diapers, only this time, Annelie wants to change them herself. Whenever I have my back turned. In the shoe closet.

I hate my life, sometimes.

Neener, neener. You can't potty-train me!

Day 30

Dear Diary,

Annelie is back to being mostly potty-trained, but she has to do EVERYTHING herself, which means that one trip to the bathroom takes about 25 minutes.

If I turn on the light as she walks into the bathroom, she screams, "No, I TURN ON THE LIGHT!"

Then she has to move her step-stool over to the switch, turn the light off, then turn it back on again, then move the stool over to the potty, climb up by herself, and proceed to unravel an entire roll of toilet paper, all the while yelling, "I do it!"

Heaven forbid when I accidentally flush the toilet without letting her get to it first. Or turn the water on to wash her hands. Or absentmindedly turn off the light, or shut the door before she does.

*sigh*

Day 40

Dear Diary,

Relapse again. During nap time when I thought she was sleeping. Only this time, the relapse was of the solid kind. In her toy box. While she was sitting in it. And then she decided to play with it. Her hair, her face, her toys, the carpet and walls. Why? Why? Whyyyyyyy?

And why did we have to have a house-guest visiting from out of the country when this all went down?

I did not sign up for this and I demand a refund.

Day 45

Dear Diary,

Back to diapers. Annelie's choice. I am not arguing this one. After going through an entire pack of Pull-ups without one successful trip to the potty, I can't handle the price anymore. I think it is wholly unfair that Pull-ups are double the price of diapers. All they are, are glorified diapers without stick-tabs. And with a dancing Dora on the front.

Day 50

Dear Diary,

I think Annelie has forgotten what the potty even is. I know the saying, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again..." No thanks. I'd rather not have the smell of pee in my carpets or on the couch, thankyouverymuch.

Maybe she'll just wake up potty-trained like Gracie did a year and a half ago. As she is my difficult, strong-willed kid, I wont hold my breath.

Oh well. We'll try again next month.

xoxo,

Dora 1...Mom 0

Mark your calendars, for this is a momentous day...the day that I admit...that I've grown to like Dora the Explorer. If you listen closely, you'll hear the shocked gasps and at least one little voice sitting behind a desk in Ohio...you know who you are...laughing hysterically.

Here's why...long before my SweetPea was born, I'd made a promise to myself...that my children would never watch Dora. Not that she's a skanky Bratz doll or that the show's full of "not really meant for small children" content (can you say Spongebob?)...I've just never been able to tolerate her whiney voice or that God forsaken Map. When my nephew and niece were toddlers/preschoolers and I had no little ones, I'd be over at my sister's house...Dora would be on and I'd wonder out loud "how the hell can you listen to that???" I'm sure that's right about the time that I made my vow and I've been declaring to all of my mommy friends ever since "I refuse to let my kids watch that show."

Fast forward about four years...and Dora is still as popular as ever. When SweetPea was in daycare full time, watching Dora wasn't ever an issue...yet the force that is Viacom/Nickelodeon was still working against me. Her toddler classroom was full of Dora books and toys and her classmates wore Dora t-shirts. You get the drift. So... even without ever seeing a single show, she knew exactly who Dora was. Once I became a stay at home mom, the opportunity to see Dora cracked wide open and whenever a commercial on Noggin or Nick Jr popped up, an adorable little voice would sweetly ask, "mommy, can I see Dora?" Let me tell you, I fought it...but next thing you know, when we were online playing games together on Nick Jr.com, she'd ask to play the Dora games and I figured "oh why not, at least it's not the show itself"...which was a stupid move on my part because it fed her need to see Dora even more. Finally...I gave in...I grit my teeth and tuned in. Next thing you know, I find myself singing the annoyingly catchy Dora songs with her..."come on, vamanos...everyone let's go..."...I now know all of the character names...and my hubby says to me while we are singing at the dinner table "you LIKE Dora!" Of course I deny it, "no way...I only know it because I hear it all the time"...but I guess the truth is, I've grown to like it.

I'm convinced that whoever makes the show has laced it with subliminal messages telling you to watch Dora more...or at least that's what I keep telling myself. For the record...I still hate that freaking map...and sadly...now Lil Buddy is a Dora fan and his favorite bit...is hearing it sing "I'm the map, I'm the map, I'm the MAAAAAAP". Someone save me!

I've Been Duped!

Crying, biting, being forced awake all night, temper-tantrums, messes that never ever go away no matter how much I clean them... this wasn't what I signed up for, and I'm feeling like I've been duped.

Let me explain. You see, I took that class in high school, the one where we learn just how hard it is to take care of a baby. For one hellish week, everyone in Senior year Psychology had a baby. That's right, a baby.

A 5-lb sack of flour that went with us everywhere, just like real babies.

They needed to be swaddled in blankets, they had to go from class to class with us, they had to come home and go with us to our jobs. They had to sit up at the dinner table with us, and be tucked into bed. Right next to us. It was hell.

Do you know how tough it is to go to the grocery store with a 5-lb sack of flour baby? Do you understand just how hard it is to walk the halls at school, toting a 5-lb sack of flour baby? I did. Oh yes, I lived through it for one entire week, and let me tell you, after living through that, I was prepared for anything.

Thank you high school, for preparing me for the real world.


... and then I had kids. Real kids.

I had crying, biting, awake-all-night, temper-tantrum throwing, messes-that-never-ever-go-away-no matter-how-much-I-clean-them making kinds of kids.

I want to know... Where is my sweet little 5-lb baby? Where is the tiny little thing, swaddled in a pink blanket who goes with me everywhere and sits happily in the shopping cart without making one little peep? Where is the silent little thing that allows me to sleep through the night, completely uninterrupted? Where?

And who the heck is this screaming little 8-lb thing who eats round the clock, doesn't give me a second of peace, refuses to sleep for even a second, and who needs her diaper changed every 45 seconds?

I think I've been duped.

xoxo,