Grocery Shopping + Kids =

Better half is gone tonight. It seems that's when the oddities occur and I'm still struggling to figure out why that is. Is he the calm in the storm? The missing link?

We're on our way to the grocery store. Mommy has to make one stop at Big Box Retailer for one item. After we're safely in the doorway, Daughter zeros in on the overloaded bin of PillowPets. It's game over, Folks. We are not advancing into the store. We have decided to inform the entire front half of Big Box Retailer that it's our duty and obligation to purchase that cuddly and soft and overpriced stuffed animal with random patches of Velcro.



And then I say no.



Oops.



I've now somehow managed to get to the checkout with my one item and attempt to leave the store. Daughter has now run back to the bin and latched on to the purple one.

What was to be a quick stop for one $5.00 item ended up with a deal made with the Daughter: Get stickers on your entire job chart and I'll get a Pillow Pet.

"The purple unicorn?"

Yes. Can we go now?

Ten minutes later we're loading our cart of consumables at the grocery store and Daughter is singing the Pillow Pet theme song at the top of her lungs. She discussing how she can get more stickers on her chart to get the purple one sooner. She's telling the checkout cashier she's getting a purple one.

I just wanna get home. Is that so much to ask?

Concussions Are Serious Business

Just ask Justin Morneau.

The other day Mini Me fell at the playground. Ms DareDevil herself was upside down on the monkey bars and ended up landing on her head four feet below where she started. Ice, love, cuddle time, OTC meds, and definitely no napping that day, ER the next day.

Did you know the medical community takes concussions very seriously? First thing they did was slap this on her.


It's funny. This link at Mayo doesn't say anything about monkey bars. Kids having fun. Ah.

So we're in recovery mode now, keeping Mini Me away from any monkey business, no water skiing, no bike rides. She's feeling better each day, but still sore. Thank goodness she's not wearing that accessory anymore (although we did inquire as to whether they had a pink version).

Doctor's orders were to keep her from doing anything from hitting her head again. So what does she do? Falls off a stool with an armload of books.

The best part of all this is today, four days after her fall, I can't move my head. We're talking the pain in neck where all you can do is move your shoulders pain.

Sympathy pain?
Stress?
Osmosis?

Competition

Growing up my brother and I were taught the tips and tricks of competitiveness. After all, it was a major component of our genetics we should learn how to work with it instead of against it. Basically it worked. I couldn't be anywhere but on top.


As I entered my thirties I realized that competitiveness had waned quite a bit. Was it becoming a parent that changed this in me? Was it the lack of time to be as intensively physically active as I was in my high school and college years?


Well tonight things changed and frankly it startled me a little. My son, in his 8.75 years, had his first baseball scrimmage. There he was, skinny kid with my build and his daddy's fielding abilities, watching the crowd as a grounder sped past him. I think I saw three balls caught the whole scrimmage. But hey! This is kid ball, most of them are novices. Great night for a ball game.

I started hollering. At 7 and 8 year olds. Who is that woman on her feet bellering for the gray team to round third? And why is she telling the gold team his foot pulled off the base? Did she just tell that batter where to hit the ball?

I parked my rear back on the bleachers and looked at my husband to see if what I thought just happened actually did happen. I kept my mouth shut the rest of the game but it dawned on me that in the next few years I'll be sitting in the bleachers quite a bit and I better learn to bite my tongue. It's not my game anymore.

But I bet I would be a killer third-base coach...

The Bully

My son was bullied after school one day this week. He walks to a neighbor's house after school and she saw it happen. So did another parent. The kid was confronted right away, scolded, and everyone went on their merry way. Both adults who saw it happen talked to Buddy to make sure he was okay. He said he was.

When I finally got to see him, he had forgotten about the incident. But we did talk about it for a long time and in the end, I knew he did the right thing (he yelled and yelled and yelled until he got an adult's attention). I know he's not scarred by the whole affair. He had his heros that day.

But his hero wasn't me. The child bullied was my own. I couldn't protect him from one of the things I fear most for him. I wasn't in control of his innocence and compassion. If this kid had asked nicely if he could please have Buddy's lunch money, and Buddy would have had anything on him, Buddy would have given it to him. His frustration was that the kid kept yelling to hand it over and not hearing Buddy say he didn't have anything to offer.

Two things: 1) Teach your children what to do if they get bullied. It's a scary moment when a bigger kid comes at yours, but please make sure they know what to do, who to tell, and when to deal with it. 2) If you have a child who has a history of picking on other kids, please make it stop.
Please.
Make it stop.

Price Tag Adhesive

I still try to figure out why certain unimportant objects trigger something I want to blog. But here I am beginning a blog on price tag adhesive.


Per previous blog postings, you know our household is gluten free. All baking (the three times I've done it the past 12 months mind you) has been done with GF flour so naturally the shiny blue canister received as a wedding gift sat full of wheat flour unused.


Something possessed me to finally clean out that canister tonight. Enjoy the gluten, dear raccoon friends in the back yard. No guarantees on its freshness. What was peculiar to me is the price tag on the under side of that canister was still stuck to the bottom of that canister. It was a gift 12.5 years ago and still sticky!


So I pointed this out to my husband of 12.5 years. He laughs. We have a chuckle jokingly about how completely NOT surprising and how sticky our relationship is after all these years yet we haven't outdone the price tag on that flour canister.


So how is it that we can compare ourselves to price tag adhesive? Especially since we've had 12.5 [married] years of LIFE thrown at us?

• Each day ends with "I love you." No matter how hard we're fighting.
• Each morning begins with a squeeze. Cheeks optional (you pick).
• Laughter can ease virtually any moment.
• Date nights are a must!
• If life throws lemons directly into the face of reality, squeeze every last drop out.
• Discover a tv show to watch together. Snuggle.
• Allow offspring to witness kissing and hugging.
• Major decisions are done only after much thought and much discussing.

Hey there, Sweetcheeks. I'm stuck on you.

What Age is Grown Up?

Picture it. It's a rainy Saturday morning. I'm ready to pop because the living room has Legos spewed across the entire living room, the carpet in the kids' rooms is barely visible, and there is toothpaste in places in the bathroom I never thought was possible. All I want to do is get the children out the door to buy a birthday gift.

*pop* So quickly and easily I am pulled out of my approaching-crabby state because around the corner from the scattered Lego room is my husband slamming one of those balloon things on a string that are designed to do exactly what he's doing. The child is giggling uncontrollably. The adult continues to whack the balloon on his head.

There is no longer an adult in the house, but that's okay. Rainy Saturday mornings are meant to be filled with balloons on strings, giggling children, and building blocks in the living room.

Mom, You Didn't Tell Me

Dear Mom

You didn't tell me a few things about being a parent that I've had to learn as I've grown as a parent.

I could still use a little assistance on how to make first-initial shaped pancakes. Actually, while we're at it, I could use a lot of help learning how to make that first pancake on the griddle edible. I usually throw it away. Did you know kids don't have patience for a sacrificial pancake?

While we're on the topic of staple kid food, I could have used a tutorial on making rice, too. Seems I can't prepare two infinitely simple foods.

You never shared that I would be perfectly comfortable walking around at work with sludge on my shoulder. Or that vomit wouldn't bother me - including fresh vomit contained in my fully-functioning purse while standing in line at the pharmacy waiting with 23 other people who also witnessed my moment of panic.

I didn't know I would be able to easily and legally burn through medical flex dollars on Barbie and SpongeBob BandAids. I also didn't know a BandAid fixes anything. I learned that BandAids are frequently used for non-existent injuries to please a screaming, crying, overreacting toddler.

Did you know an adult at an office gets a lot of comments on Barbie BandAids on her finger?

You always fed me bananas on peanut butter sandwiches. Kids don't like banana-peanut butter sandwiches. Did you make that up?

I don't believe you ever fully extrapolated exactly what a "stool sample" entailed.

How do I answer the question of where babies come from? At what age do they ask what actually happens in the hospital? What did I believe when you told me?

When my four-year-old child informs me, "Mommy, life isn't always fair," do I laugh at the maturity of that statement coming from someone wearing a plastic tiara, a four-foot wide tutu, and puddle jumping boots or do I cry because she's right?


At what age do I step in and control the wardrobe selections? And then what age do I have to stop again?


Come to think of it, I didn't get the memo on how the smell of a freshly-bathed and lotioned infant could render me completely useless until I had sufficient cuddle time.

And Mom, there are a few things I figured out after I became a parent that have helped me figure out what it really meant that you had eyes on the back of your head. I honestly didn't figure this out until my oldest child started getting into mischief.

Reflections are everywhere. I now know I can check things out in the reflection of the pan on the stove and see which offspring is climbing on the counter for another pickle.

I figured out how to sneak a peek without a child noticing, turn back around, then discipline with my back turned. This, Mom, is how you did it. This, Mom, is how I got in trouble stuffing food in Brother's mouth when I thought you were around the corner. (I hate meatloaf!)

I have learned to recognize the specific sound my older child makes when he's sighing and can tailor my question to whether he's frustrated and needs help or I think he can work through it. And I can tell which child is walking into the room based on her footsteps.

I can now anticipate a fight, someone getting hurt, and when something as simple as an unsharpened pencil can do damage to kitchen walls, the seemingly-safe clock way up on the wall and a potted plant. I can sense without hearing the water sloshing out of tub. I know a silent child in a room without toys is dangerous and should be addressed immediately.

When I was young I could not understand how you could do all this. Now I know and I consider this valuable information going forward. And I get how a chocolate fix is needed no matter what time of day.

Should I tell my kids these revelations? Nah. I think I'll let them figure it out, too. I'll continue this evil tradition.

P.S. Mom? I love you.