Update. The pricetag has been found. Poopwatch 2011 has come to an end.
It better not be called into action again.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
I'm an archaeologist
While weekends may be for the mothers of school aged children to recoup from the trauma of elementary school....this does not apply to the mothers of babies.
I, unfortunately, am a member of both mother groups.
While the kindergarten antics have died down, the baby is making sure no one has a boring weekend. She's mobile now. I've become a carpet archaeologist looking out for every stray string, crumb, toy, marble, bead, or WHATEVER that the carpet seems to create overnight. I am having an affair with my vacuum - giving it more loving attention than I have been giving to my husband.
Yet last night, it happened. Not in my 5+ years of motherhood have I experienced this. I saw one of the ends of those little plastic "strings" that hold price tags on clothing on the floor. No idea where it came from. I started to go get it but before I could, she snatched it and ate it.
Then game the gagging and gasping as it went down, followed by her crying and gagging as I tried to get to it first and pull it out (I failed) and then the crying as it went down - you can't tell me that felt good.
So at 8 months old, before trying bread, milk, cookies, real meat, or anything that does not come in a prepackaged jar from the baby aisle, the baby ate plastic. And now my archaeological ambitions continue, only they've now moved to the diaper table as I tear apart every turd from this kid looking for the price tag.
And here I thought archaeology was all glamor and excitement like Indiana Jones. I'm in the Temple of Doom alright - but its much stinkier than I envisioned.
I, unfortunately, am a member of both mother groups.
While the kindergarten antics have died down, the baby is making sure no one has a boring weekend. She's mobile now. I've become a carpet archaeologist looking out for every stray string, crumb, toy, marble, bead, or WHATEVER that the carpet seems to create overnight. I am having an affair with my vacuum - giving it more loving attention than I have been giving to my husband.
Yet last night, it happened. Not in my 5+ years of motherhood have I experienced this. I saw one of the ends of those little plastic "strings" that hold price tags on clothing on the floor. No idea where it came from. I started to go get it but before I could, she snatched it and ate it.
Then game the gagging and gasping as it went down, followed by her crying and gagging as I tried to get to it first and pull it out (I failed) and then the crying as it went down - you can't tell me that felt good.
So at 8 months old, before trying bread, milk, cookies, real meat, or anything that does not come in a prepackaged jar from the baby aisle, the baby ate plastic. And now my archaeological ambitions continue, only they've now moved to the diaper table as I tear apart every turd from this kid looking for the price tag.
And here I thought archaeology was all glamor and excitement like Indiana Jones. I'm in the Temple of Doom alright - but its much stinkier than I envisioned.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Are you FREAKING SERIOUS?!
Day three.
This kindgergarten crap is starting to sound like a prison journal.
We made it to class. We were not NOT lost. However, the spiderman lunchbox was not as lucky. It made it to lunch. The dinosaur sandwich and trailmix were enjoyed thoroughly. But at the end of the day? The lunchbox is no where to be found.
At the end of day three.
I'm glad its the weekend. One more day of kindergarten this week and Momma may need to hit the bottle. Weekends aren't for the kids to recharge - its to give their mothers a break from the worrying, planning, and BUSINESS of kindergarten.
This kindgergarten crap is starting to sound like a prison journal.
We made it to class. We were not NOT lost. However, the spiderman lunchbox was not as lucky. It made it to lunch. The dinosaur sandwich and trailmix were enjoyed thoroughly. But at the end of the day? The lunchbox is no where to be found.
At the end of day three.
I'm glad its the weekend. One more day of kindergarten this week and Momma may need to hit the bottle. Weekends aren't for the kids to recharge - its to give their mothers a break from the worrying, planning, and BUSINESS of kindergarten.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
What's my name?
I thought that the first day of kindergarten would be the hardest. I was wrong. The second was worse. First, it was worst because I could not bring him. I could not hide around that corner and make sure it went ok. I had to let him be dropped off by my sister and then pray someone in the building found him before he accidentally passed himself off as the shortest third grader ever. I called after drop off time and my sister, a pro at this with a 1st grader in the same school, laughed about my neurotic worrying and assured me he made it to school just fine.
Then came the call at lunch.
"Mrs. P? Just calling to see why your son wasn't in school today."
"Not in school!? What do you mean NOT IN SCHOOL. He's there. Check all the rooms! HE IS THERE!"
"They have a sub and she took attendance and he's not there."
Now, its important to stop here and note that my son is a Junior, named after his dad. To save confusion (and in part because I wasn't 100% sold on the first name when he was born) we agreed to call him by his middle name. While all legal forms have his actual God-given name, he has never in his life been called or referred to by that. I used to joke that I wasn't sure he KNEW his real first name...turns out I was right.
"They have a sub? She's calling the wrong name. GO back and ask for him by his middle name..."
The secretary ran down, called out the middle name, and there was my sweet boy sitting at the table coloring a cat with all of his friends. Crisis averted. Again, never doubt the level of stress and concern your mother goes through on any given day without your knowledge.
She's freaking out over something possibly major often....and you're just coloring a cat.
Then came the call at lunch.
"Mrs. P? Just calling to see why your son wasn't in school today."
"Not in school!? What do you mean NOT IN SCHOOL. He's there. Check all the rooms! HE IS THERE!"
"They have a sub and she took attendance and he's not there."
Now, its important to stop here and note that my son is a Junior, named after his dad. To save confusion (and in part because I wasn't 100% sold on the first name when he was born) we agreed to call him by his middle name. While all legal forms have his actual God-given name, he has never in his life been called or referred to by that. I used to joke that I wasn't sure he KNEW his real first name...turns out I was right.
"They have a sub? She's calling the wrong name. GO back and ask for him by his middle name..."
The secretary ran down, called out the middle name, and there was my sweet boy sitting at the table coloring a cat with all of his friends. Crisis averted. Again, never doubt the level of stress and concern your mother goes through on any given day without your knowledge.
She's freaking out over something possibly major often....and you're just coloring a cat.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Kindergarten time
I did not disappear. Again. I just got busy. I'm not airing dirty laundry for the world to see but lets just say that Jimmy Carter would be proud of the fight and negotiations that went down between my ex and I to get the boy into kindergarten.
Two and a half weeks late.
In all fairness, it would have been only two weeks, but the child decided that after 6 months of stress and headaches, it would have been too cliche if he'd just, ya know, gone to school finally. Nothing like a hospital visit and case of pneumonia to slow things down. The ER doctor looked at me like I was nuts when I requested a note saying he's honestly sick...
"You want a doctor's note for missing TWO days of kindergarten?"
"Yes, yes I do. You have no idea."
Not so sure work would have believed the luck, or lack thereof, without some actual proof either. I swear I'm not a slacker employee nor a truant mother! We just apparently broke a mirror under a ladder when that damn black cat walked in front of us. But we made it. Two and a half weeks late.
We walked him up to school, showed him around, then turned him loose to play before school started. It was magical. It was going really well. Then, like any other overprotective mother that is having a hard time letting go, I hid around the corner to watch him do the locker/classroom morning routine.
I watched him awkwardly put his coat and backpack into the locker. Then stand there, completely overwhelemed and lost. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. I watched him carefully start to walk one way, then stop completely unsure and walk the other way, only to stop and just look lost. My heart sank. Then it broke. He was all alone and had no idea what to do. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. Finally, I watched him start to slowly walk completely away from his class and around the corner. I wanted to go help him and let him know I was still there and it was ok. But I did not. I caught his teacher's attention, told her he went the wrong way and needed help. She ran to go get him and then ushered him into his class.
I had to let him do it himself. Without me. Or so he thought. Even if you can't see her or don't know she's about - never doubt the ability of your mother to look out for you, kiddo ;) And when you come home bragging to me about how well you did, how easy it was, and how you were right on top of things - know that my proud smile is secretly directed at us both.
We're growing up.
Two and a half weeks late.
In all fairness, it would have been only two weeks, but the child decided that after 6 months of stress and headaches, it would have been too cliche if he'd just, ya know, gone to school finally. Nothing like a hospital visit and case of pneumonia to slow things down. The ER doctor looked at me like I was nuts when I requested a note saying he's honestly sick...
"You want a doctor's note for missing TWO days of kindergarten?"
"Yes, yes I do. You have no idea."
Not so sure work would have believed the luck, or lack thereof, without some actual proof either. I swear I'm not a slacker employee nor a truant mother! We just apparently broke a mirror under a ladder when that damn black cat walked in front of us. But we made it. Two and a half weeks late.
We walked him up to school, showed him around, then turned him loose to play before school started. It was magical. It was going really well. Then, like any other overprotective mother that is having a hard time letting go, I hid around the corner to watch him do the locker/classroom morning routine.
I watched him awkwardly put his coat and backpack into the locker. Then stand there, completely overwhelemed and lost. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. I watched him carefully start to walk one way, then stop completely unsure and walk the other way, only to stop and just look lost. My heart sank. Then it broke. He was all alone and had no idea what to do. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. Finally, I watched him start to slowly walk completely away from his class and around the corner. I wanted to go help him and let him know I was still there and it was ok. But I did not. I caught his teacher's attention, told her he went the wrong way and needed help. She ran to go get him and then ushered him into his class.
I had to let him do it himself. Without me. Or so he thought. Even if you can't see her or don't know she's about - never doubt the ability of your mother to look out for you, kiddo ;) And when you come home bragging to me about how well you did, how easy it was, and how you were right on top of things - know that my proud smile is secretly directed at us both.
We're growing up.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Happy Birthday Grandma....
I received a call from my mother today that it was my grandma's birthday. Being the fabulous daughter and granddaughter I am, I asked for Grandma's phone number to give her a ring and wish her a happy birthday. I realize, I should know this number - but lets just stay on topic, alright?
I called half expecting voicemail and was surprised when she answered - but shared the following heartwarming conversation:
"Hi Grandma! It's Danielle!"
"What?"
"It's Danielle Grandma, how are you?"
"What? Just a minute..."
She was on her cell phone with "her daughter in Colorado" - wasn't sure who was on a trip there, but I was in a hurry and wanted to get the call moving.
"Grandma, its Danielle - Mary's daughter - I wanted to call you for your birthday..."
"OH!! Thank you! It was a couple weeks ago but I'm glad you called."
We went on to talk about the weather, what she did for her birthday, and I told her I would try to stop by this weekend or soon for her to visit with my newborn daughter. All in all - a fabulous conversation.
I hung up, pleased with myself, and called my mom to ask why she told me it was grandma's birthday two weeks after the fact. After a very long pause...she sheepishly admitted that she had given me the wrong number by mistake.
I hope whoever's grandma I talked to did have a good birthday and enjoyed our talk. And after calling my own grandma, and getting the right one, I know that she did too.
My next dilemma: should I call the wrong grandma to cancel our visit?
I called half expecting voicemail and was surprised when she answered - but shared the following heartwarming conversation:
"Hi Grandma! It's Danielle!"
"What?"
"It's Danielle Grandma, how are you?"
"What? Just a minute..."
She was on her cell phone with "her daughter in Colorado" - wasn't sure who was on a trip there, but I was in a hurry and wanted to get the call moving.
"Grandma, its Danielle - Mary's daughter - I wanted to call you for your birthday..."
"OH!! Thank you! It was a couple weeks ago but I'm glad you called."
We went on to talk about the weather, what she did for her birthday, and I told her I would try to stop by this weekend or soon for her to visit with my newborn daughter. All in all - a fabulous conversation.
I hung up, pleased with myself, and called my mom to ask why she told me it was grandma's birthday two weeks after the fact. After a very long pause...she sheepishly admitted that she had given me the wrong number by mistake.
I hope whoever's grandma I talked to did have a good birthday and enjoyed our talk. And after calling my own grandma, and getting the right one, I know that she did too.
My next dilemma: should I call the wrong grandma to cancel our visit?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
"You work here? I need a salesman."
I come from a long line of strong women. Mostly because they can't stay married for long and end up with no other choice, but strong all the same. I can change the oil in my car, I can fix many things around the house, I am the breadwinner in my marriage, and I am succsesful in a mostly male industry. While I don't routinely burn my bras (although I have a few underwires I'm tempted to) I have spent the last five years hoping that my son is taking notes and learning that he better respect women because we can do whatever he can. Then my husband and I had a daughter and its come to a new level.
I have to pass these skills on as they were passed to me - minus the ability to drive a man away in 2 years or less.
The first chance to do so arrived yesterday when I took my sister to look for a car with my daughter and 2 year old niece in tow. The greatest moment did not come when we asked technical questions of the salesmen (eyebrows raised before answers were given) or when we haggled some of the prices down into our range then told them "we'd think about it". It came in a used car lot no where near ANYTHING - when my 1 month old decided to poop and completely fill her outfit!
It was magical as we wedged her into the front seat and my sister and I stripped her down nekkid in the front seat in the used car parking lot with a bunch of mechanics watching and get her changed into a new outfit. The whole time my niece is in the back seat waving a burpl cloth screaming "da baby needs dis!!!!" My sister and I are covered in bright yellow breastFed baby poo but we did not panic, we remained strong in our abilities and the mission at hand as mommies. Wiping ourselves with wipes and using hand sanitizer, we get her diaper packed away, and my sister gets out and walks up to the mechanics and says "You work here? I need a salesman."
After a very nervous, barely out of high school kid showed us the in's and out's of the vehicle in question, we climbed back into our car and left the used car lot. We may not have found the car (yet!) but we handled a mommy crisis and never broke stride in our ability to still be strong, competent women.
Lessons learned:
1. Don't go to the used car lot near nothing with a baby that hasn't pooed all day. There is no 1999 Malibu on the planet worth that nightmare.
2. Put some plastic bags in the diaper bag. A McDonald's cup will contain an overloaded diaper and half a package of used poo filled wipes - but what if you don't have older kids and therefore, there are not McDonald's cups hidden underneat the seats of your car?
3. Want to let a salesman know not to mess with you? Let him watch you soak your hands in baby poo, wipe it off, shake his hand, and ask him for the truth...that takes balls.
4. The 2 year old needs to be at daycare next time. I don't think I need to elaborate here.
5. We're all going to be ok and these girls will grow up fine with role models that can literally handle anything at any time and any place. And if they can't - they'll know they can call their mamas.
We found a few car options ,we're going back out tomorrow so I'm sure to have more fabulous tales for you.
I have to pass these skills on as they were passed to me - minus the ability to drive a man away in 2 years or less.
The first chance to do so arrived yesterday when I took my sister to look for a car with my daughter and 2 year old niece in tow. The greatest moment did not come when we asked technical questions of the salesmen (eyebrows raised before answers were given) or when we haggled some of the prices down into our range then told them "we'd think about it". It came in a used car lot no where near ANYTHING - when my 1 month old decided to poop and completely fill her outfit!
It was magical as we wedged her into the front seat and my sister and I stripped her down nekkid in the front seat in the used car parking lot with a bunch of mechanics watching and get her changed into a new outfit. The whole time my niece is in the back seat waving a burpl cloth screaming "da baby needs dis!!!!" My sister and I are covered in bright yellow breastFed baby poo but we did not panic, we remained strong in our abilities and the mission at hand as mommies. Wiping ourselves with wipes and using hand sanitizer, we get her diaper packed away, and my sister gets out and walks up to the mechanics and says "You work here? I need a salesman."
After a very nervous, barely out of high school kid showed us the in's and out's of the vehicle in question, we climbed back into our car and left the used car lot. We may not have found the car (yet!) but we handled a mommy crisis and never broke stride in our ability to still be strong, competent women.
Lessons learned:
1. Don't go to the used car lot near nothing with a baby that hasn't pooed all day. There is no 1999 Malibu on the planet worth that nightmare.
2. Put some plastic bags in the diaper bag. A McDonald's cup will contain an overloaded diaper and half a package of used poo filled wipes - but what if you don't have older kids and therefore, there are not McDonald's cups hidden underneat the seats of your car?
3. Want to let a salesman know not to mess with you? Let him watch you soak your hands in baby poo, wipe it off, shake his hand, and ask him for the truth...that takes balls.
4. The 2 year old needs to be at daycare next time. I don't think I need to elaborate here.
5. We're all going to be ok and these girls will grow up fine with role models that can literally handle anything at any time and any place. And if they can't - they'll know they can call their mamas.
We found a few car options ,we're going back out tomorrow so I'm sure to have more fabulous tales for you.
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