I'm Mother of the Year

I am exhausted today. Why, you ask?

Because nearly HOURLY last night, there was just HYSTERICAL crying coming over the baby monitor. It wasn’t the kind of cry you can just ignore. But somehow, every time I got downstairs to L’s room to calm her down, she had calmed herself and was sleeping soundly. But like clockwork, an hour or so later the crying would be back and I’d go back down, and she’d be calm by the time I got there. I barely slept.

I got her up this morning and she wanted to sit on the potty. While we’re in the bathroom sitting about two inches apart, we hear hysterical baby crying over the monitor again! L and I just looked at each other fully wide eyed and she finally spoke up “Momma! That’s a BABY!” Uh yeah…it is. What’s it doing IN YOUR ROOM!?

Then we hear people talking in whispers. I’m seriously creeped out and trying to think of the best plan of action to get me and the naked two year old out of that bathroom without being detected. I was about to call the police but I realized: our baby monitor is picking up the neighbor’s newborn baby! We must have the same monitor!

So I am exhausted today not from taking care of my kids all night but because I was up attempting to care for the neighbor’s baby all night.

I’m THAT dedicated to the institution of motherhood.

The THIRD Day of our Christmas

On the THIRD day of our Christmas the gift we gave our kids was: Rest.

The boy has the flu. The girl hand,foot,mouth disease (love our daycare, could do without that).
So on the third day of our Christmas I gave them the gift of one of my precious vacation days.  That's big. If I could find a way to unveil that in a manner similar to those Lexus Christmas ads with the giant red bows on them, I would. Its up there. No joke.
I also gave them: a bland diet for the boy, some lotion for the girl, and early bedtimes for both!
Dad can give them the gift of his vacations days tomorrow. :)

"Melmo Geen!" trauma on Sesame Street

Parenting 101 factoid: Consistency is important for kids.

I’m not just talking about the daily routines or similar caregivers – this apparently goes much deeper than I ever realized or experienced with my oldest child.

I was laid up on Monday with a case of the Mondays paired with a massive allergy attack, it was far from a pretty day at our house. My oldest is visiting his dad this week and the youngest headed off to daycare so I could attempt to rest (she’s teething and I feel like I have newborn again at night on top of all this).

When she arrived home, she wanted to read some books. Normally I love it, but Monday all I wanted to do was continue laying on the couch with my eyes closed. Everyone sit down for a minute and get your judging hats on: so I offered to the 18 month old that she could pick out a movie to watch instead.

This is rare. She’s actually never watched a movie before. She knows where they are and she’s seen her big brother pop one on as she’s heading down to bed in the evenings before but its never been her chance before. She ran like a crazed lady down the hall and picked out a Sesame Street DVD she’d been eyeballing titled “Being Green”.

Let me fill you in on the premise in case you’re not familiar with this blockbuster film. Elmo and Abby are hosting a telethon with the usual cast of characters manning the phone bank. They’re raising money and awareness for “Being Green” and taking care of the earth by reusing, reducing, and recycling. Now you’re up to speed.

I was impressed when she sat with me on the couch and was paying attention. She pointed out all her favorites “Melmo!” (Elmo), “Abby!”, “Coo-ee!” (Cookie Monster), “Eh-nee!” (Ernie) and was really enjoying her big girl movie time. That is, until Elmo asked Abby to cast a spell to allow him to be Green and take care of the Earth all the time.

If you’ve seen Sesame Street you know two things. First, Abby is not very good with a wand. Second, her parents should demand a tuition refund from that Fairy School – it’s not helping. Needless to say, the furry red monster was suddenly completely green from head to toe. My daughter took one look at me, her face filled with concern, and clasped her hands at her chest as she watched Elmo running across the screen yelling “ELMO IS GREEN!!!” in a panicked fashion.

She screamed at the top of her lungs “Melmo geeeen!” and looked near tears. She hopped off the couch and ran to my husband – screaming and panicking that Melmo was geen. We started to console her and tried to “explain” he was ok and he’d be all better in just a few minutes – but before we could fully console her Cookie Monster snapped, and ate his phone at the phone bank since no one was answering his requests for cookies.

This lead to a tearful child begging him to stop “No Cooo-eee…No!!”. Again, hands clasped at her chest and a concerned look on her face.

At this point, I shut the movie off. I don’t need years of therapy bills for her down the road thanks to “Being Green”. She was concerned for Melmo and Cooo-eee as I put it away and walked her back into the movies and told her to find something else. She chose “Elmo in Grouchland”, and when Elmo and Cookie Monster appeared in normal fashion, she smiled broadly and seemed relieved as she informed us “Melmo better.”

My recommendation to parents? In addition to a consistent daily routine, keep their Muppets the right color. You’ll thank me later.

Olan Mills is my Hell

Let’s get the kids pictures taken together!

Clearly, it’s been about 25 years since my mother wrangled two children into an Olan Mills to get pictures taken. Judging by the tone of eagerness and excitement in her voice, portrait studio visits must be comparable to labor in the grand scheme of motherhood: over time you forget the pain and enjoy the end result.

In 25 years I’ll be glad we went. Right now, I think it’ll be 25 years before we try again.

The six year old was a dream getting ready at home. It’s nice when they know how to dress themselves and can follow directions (when they choose to). The 18 month old somehow turned this into 20 minutes of cardio that would leave Jillian Michaels sweating and panting on the living room floor. And that was just getting her dress on, we didn’t get to hair yet.

I’d like to mention, Grandma hadn’t arrived yet either. She wisely showed up about 5 minutes before we had to leave the house – so no prep work for her. I’m writing that move down in my book of “Things to do to my children as revenge when I’m a Grandma”, its right underneath “pay for them to use that TV cart through the grocery store”.

I grabbed the comb and an easy hair clip for the girl and got the kids in the car the minute Grandma showed up.

When we got to the studio, the boy started practicing his smiles. They the most plastic looking faked things of all time. And he couldn’t do them without closing his eyes. Great. As soon as the girl saw the photographer, she erupted into tears. I’m not sure what she thought the lady was going to do to her, but she was petrified.

We get into the room where she screamed and cried and would not get within 10 feet of the photographer. And I had to remain within 1 foot of her at all times. We spent a lot of time cropping my legs out of pictures later that day.

The rest of the day resembled what I think gets edited out of The Biggest Loser day one work outs. Two grown women jumping up and down in outrageous manners, sweat pouring down them, making crazy faces, while someone sits in the corner and screams and cries (I’m referring to the girl, not myself). Finally, we told the photographer to just keep snapping and we’ll do what we can.

Half our pictures feature a screaming baby and a boy with the fakest forced smile ever plastered on his faces as he nervously glances at his partner in crime out of the corner of his eye. Another 49 percent of the pictures feature that same fake smile, but this time a very mad little girl clearly giving us all a stern talking to for this torturous afternoon.

But there, in the remaining 1 percent, was one perfect picture of a happy, sincere little boy and his sweetly smiling, calm, happy little sister. Looking precious and perfect and angelic. It’s the kind of picture that comes in picture frames when you buy them. I snagged that sucker up, secretly happy that mother had decided this would be fun.

I also dropped the cash for one of the fake smile screaming fit ones. Someday, 25 years from now, someone’s going to tell my why they don’t want to take my grandkids for pictures. And I’m going to show them why they owe it to me to get it done.