Saturday, May 23, 2009
Kids Say the Darndest Things
Bill Cosby had it quite right. The things that come out of my son's mouth are sometimes so funny I have to immediately call someone and share. He's a smart little guy and has his own definitions for things. Someday we'll publish the Owen English Dictionary. But here's the latest. Lying in bed cuddling him during bedtime one night, Owen coughed and passed gas at the same time. I stifled my laugh and asked if he'd passed gas. "No, that wasn't a pass gas. A pass gas goes pfffffff. That was a poot! And if you poot very hard and very loud, then it's a fart." There was no more containing my laughter at that point. I was so happy to have been schooled in the language of Owen.
Friday, May 15, 2009
More Confessions
As I've said before, we currently have two kids: our surprise three-year-old son and our "planned" one-year-old daughter. Two weeks ago, we had the surprise of our lives all over again: we are pregnant with baby #3! Yep, that's right. We were done. One boy, one girl, two parents to two kids. Things were good. And then, while still breastfeeding and using birth control, BAM! pregnant again. So, it would seem that the nickname Fertile Myrtle was and is quite appropriate. My husband, of course, likes to strut around like a rooster in a henhouse. This is all a big ego boost for him. Why not let him enjoy it, right? So there you are, our newest confession. I feel like I need to add that although we were caught completely off-guard by all this, we couldn't be more excited. We're already discussing baby names and trying to figure out how the sleeping arrangements will be in a few months.
Oh, and a side note. Our son is apparently psychic. Or a prophet, or whatever you want to call it. A month ago (well before we had any clue about the pregnancy) he sat down in the "celebration chair" during circle time at school and said, "God hasn't given me a baby brother yet, but God is going to give me a baby brother soon." And then, voila, we're pregnant. Interesting, no? He also knew all along that our daughter was a girl and, in fact, told us when I was about 5 months pregnant that her name was Ella and stuck with this the whole time. How could we argue? So for the gamblers out there, the safe money is on the baby being a boy. Stay tuned. We'll know in another couple of trimesters!
Oh, and a side note. Our son is apparently psychic. Or a prophet, or whatever you want to call it. A month ago (well before we had any clue about the pregnancy) he sat down in the "celebration chair" during circle time at school and said, "God hasn't given me a baby brother yet, but God is going to give me a baby brother soon." And then, voila, we're pregnant. Interesting, no? He also knew all along that our daughter was a girl and, in fact, told us when I was about 5 months pregnant that her name was Ella and stuck with this the whole time. How could we argue? So for the gamblers out there, the safe money is on the baby being a boy. Stay tuned. We'll know in another couple of trimesters!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Kids Make It Interesting
Kids make what interesting? you may ask. Anything. Seriously. Take a quick bite to eat at Chili's (this is hypothetical, of course. We no longer eat meals in restaurants. Sigh.). Without kids, you sit in the booth, order drinks and food, have a quiet conversation while you wait for your meal, and then commence eating. When you finish, you pay the bill and leave. With kids, it might go more like this:
You sit in the booth but soon realize that the high-traffic location is no good as your toddler in the high chair keeps reaching for the servers as they pass with trays of food and has nearly knocked one over. So you move. Now you're in a comfortable booth in the very back of the restaurant that is likely very near the restroom. When the server comes to take your order, he must wait through four possible choices for each child and hear about your 3-year-old's best friend at school. The wait for your food is spent kid-juggling. The high chair is no longer a happy place for baby to sit, the older child wants to sit with daddy, no mommy, wait daddy... you get the idea. Once food finally arrives, you must take turns because someone must always be shoveling food into the baby's mouth and where, oh where, did those crayons go? After food has been devoured and the bill paid, it's not quite time to leave. If you're a conscientious diner (and I'm sure you are) you know that the servers at your favorite local eatery do not get paid enough to vacuum crushed cheerios off the floor and wipe ketchup off the ceiling. And with cleanup done, it's time to leave.
Now that was hypothetical, though based on actual experience. This is actual experience. Today my husband and I had the great pleasure of car shopping. We are in the very early stages and simply wanted to see in person how various vehicles would house our assortment of car seats and the sundry items such as strollers, diaper bags, etc. But Tom was persistent. He wanted to show us around, drive us in his fanciest auto, and woo our children. Outside, it wasn't so bad. Tom's mistake was taking us into his cubicle to take our information. First, my daughter found his beanie baby collection very exciting. Then she wanted a business card to eat. Upon seeing this, her brother wanted one as well. So we're discussing our preferences with Tom, both kids are happily playing with business cards, when the elder child announces his need to potty. No problem. Mommy's on it. I take him to the bathroom assuming he needs to "number 1." Before we can even get his pants down, he has dropped Tom's business card into the toilet. I'm already laughing at the symbolism. After assuring him that he does NOT need to retrieve it, I am informed that he needs to "poop. Bad!" Wonderful. I then had to position a seat cover on the toilet and place the 3-year-old atop it. After he'd kicked off his shoes, shorts, and underwear (this is what he does), there was little left of the cover. I found myself in a tiny bathroom stall (remember, I had anticipated a quick number 1), holding sandals, Lightning McQueen underwear, and gym shorts, listening to my son sing while he went to the bathroom. At that point, I had to laugh because this trip would not have been nearly as interesting if we hadn't had kids with us! Aren't kids great?
You sit in the booth but soon realize that the high-traffic location is no good as your toddler in the high chair keeps reaching for the servers as they pass with trays of food and has nearly knocked one over. So you move. Now you're in a comfortable booth in the very back of the restaurant that is likely very near the restroom. When the server comes to take your order, he must wait through four possible choices for each child and hear about your 3-year-old's best friend at school. The wait for your food is spent kid-juggling. The high chair is no longer a happy place for baby to sit, the older child wants to sit with daddy, no mommy, wait daddy... you get the idea. Once food finally arrives, you must take turns because someone must always be shoveling food into the baby's mouth and where, oh where, did those crayons go? After food has been devoured and the bill paid, it's not quite time to leave. If you're a conscientious diner (and I'm sure you are) you know that the servers at your favorite local eatery do not get paid enough to vacuum crushed cheerios off the floor and wipe ketchup off the ceiling. And with cleanup done, it's time to leave.
Now that was hypothetical, though based on actual experience. This is actual experience. Today my husband and I had the great pleasure of car shopping. We are in the very early stages and simply wanted to see in person how various vehicles would house our assortment of car seats and the sundry items such as strollers, diaper bags, etc. But Tom was persistent. He wanted to show us around, drive us in his fanciest auto, and woo our children. Outside, it wasn't so bad. Tom's mistake was taking us into his cubicle to take our information. First, my daughter found his beanie baby collection very exciting. Then she wanted a business card to eat. Upon seeing this, her brother wanted one as well. So we're discussing our preferences with Tom, both kids are happily playing with business cards, when the elder child announces his need to potty. No problem. Mommy's on it. I take him to the bathroom assuming he needs to "number 1." Before we can even get his pants down, he has dropped Tom's business card into the toilet. I'm already laughing at the symbolism. After assuring him that he does NOT need to retrieve it, I am informed that he needs to "poop. Bad!" Wonderful. I then had to position a seat cover on the toilet and place the 3-year-old atop it. After he'd kicked off his shoes, shorts, and underwear (this is what he does), there was little left of the cover. I found myself in a tiny bathroom stall (remember, I had anticipated a quick number 1), holding sandals, Lightning McQueen underwear, and gym shorts, listening to my son sing while he went to the bathroom. At that point, I had to laugh because this trip would not have been nearly as interesting if we hadn't had kids with us! Aren't kids great?
Friday, May 8, 2009
Muffins with Mommy
So it's almost the most special day of the year for us mommies. Yes, for any last-minute dads out there, you have 2 days to do your Mother's Day shopping. Hurry up. Items left at Walmart at 11 p.m. Saturday will probably not cut it. Just guessing.
Anyhow, my son's school hosted "Muffins with Mommy" this morning. So sweet. I got to sit in a spare classroom at a brightly covered and decorated table with my favorite little man sitting on my lap, cuddling and sprinkling muffin crumbs all over my lap. It doesn't get a whole lot better than that. There's something to be said for some one-on-one time with your child, am I right? So I ask other mommies of multiple children, how do you do it? When do you find time to devote to one child at a time and make sure they know just how special they are to you? With two children, it doesn't seem to be too difficult for my husband and I... man to man defense, you know. My dad once told me that it was smooth sailing until my youngest brother was born (making three for my parents) when they had to go to the zone defense. Apparently this is a lot tougher. But wow, do I digress. So I'm chowing on muffins and OJ with my main man when he turns around and looks up at me and says through blueberry muffin-filled teeth, "You're my favorite mommy, and I love you the best." He then turned back around and went on with devouring that muffin. I had to choke back tears. Don't you love those unexpectedly sweet moments with your children?
So here's to all the mommies. I hope you get one of those beautiful statements of love in whatever form your child is capable. Sometimes spitting up on the burp rag instead of your shirt is enough, don't you think? And here's to the husbands that remember Mother's Day and don't make us cook Sunday! (I hope mine is reading this!) And here's to my mom, the most wonderful example of a mother I could have hoped to learn from, and also my best friend. I love you, Mom!
Anyhow, my son's school hosted "Muffins with Mommy" this morning. So sweet. I got to sit in a spare classroom at a brightly covered and decorated table with my favorite little man sitting on my lap, cuddling and sprinkling muffin crumbs all over my lap. It doesn't get a whole lot better than that. There's something to be said for some one-on-one time with your child, am I right? So I ask other mommies of multiple children, how do you do it? When do you find time to devote to one child at a time and make sure they know just how special they are to you? With two children, it doesn't seem to be too difficult for my husband and I... man to man defense, you know. My dad once told me that it was smooth sailing until my youngest brother was born (making three for my parents) when they had to go to the zone defense. Apparently this is a lot tougher. But wow, do I digress. So I'm chowing on muffins and OJ with my main man when he turns around and looks up at me and says through blueberry muffin-filled teeth, "You're my favorite mommy, and I love you the best." He then turned back around and went on with devouring that muffin. I had to choke back tears. Don't you love those unexpectedly sweet moments with your children?
So here's to all the mommies. I hope you get one of those beautiful statements of love in whatever form your child is capable. Sometimes spitting up on the burp rag instead of your shirt is enough, don't you think? And here's to the husbands that remember Mother's Day and don't make us cook Sunday! (I hope mine is reading this!) And here's to my mom, the most wonderful example of a mother I could have hoped to learn from, and also my best friend. I love you, Mom!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Lice?!
I awoke from a dream this morning in which my entire family had become infested with lice. As I'd been volunteering in my son's classroom the day before, this was not an impossibility. Naturally, I spent the morning imagining an itchy scalp. A few hours later, my husband dropped my son off at school and learned that there was indeed a lice "outbreak" at his school. I know what you're thinking-- I'm psychic. And I just may be. And yes, I will someday play the lottery and win millions. But today, I'm more concerned about the lice issue. Now, they checked my son at school, and he's clean. Thank goodness for boys and their short hair! And I've since washed all of our sheets and compulsively checked my daughter. Considering I can count all of the hairs on her 11-month-old head, I don't think it's going to be a problem, but you can never be too sure. I've also had everyone that I've seen today check my head. My husband was none too thrilled about this; apparently, it's no aphrodisiac, the checking of heads for lice. I guess it's a good thing I didn't need to run any errands today. Not sure how the checkout girl at Walmart would've reacted to my request for her to check my scalp. So anyway, today's message is short but simple: check your kid's scalp. Don't get liced!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
3 1/2-year-olds!
I got a GREAT night's sleep last night. Seriously, more than eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Yes, I do realize how lucky I am. And so, I woke up in a great mood, plenty of energy, ready to start my day. But isn't it crazy how quickly a 3 1/2-year-old can suck all that great energy right out of you?
I love my son. He's smart. He's funny. And he's so sweet. Most of the time. But he's also sooooooo slooooooooow. Why does everything take an hour? Ok, maybe not literally, but still. First, we spend roughly ten minutes deciding what we want for breakfast (a pickle and oatmeal. Ew. I know.). Then we have to wait for the oatmeal to cool. Then it takes another ten minutes to eat said oatmeal. Now it's time to pick out what we're going to wear to school. Oh boy. Why does he even care? He's so particular about what he's wearing but he still never matches. Side note: There is even one shirt that he says makes him look fat. Where on earth did he get that? I don't make comments like that when he's around! Oh well... So once he's dressed in gym shorts and a muscle tee and his "skater shoes" we're almost ready to go. But first we have to tackle every parent's favorite battle: teeth brushing! I'm sure I don't need to elaborate here, but suffice it to say that two people were crying, one had fresh breath, and five more minutes had been wasted. So now, finally, it's out the door! No, wait, now he announces that he has to poop. Ughhh. I don't know the average length of a bathroom visit for other little boys, but my son takes no less than fifteen minutes in there. In fact, I have actually had him ask me if I have a book he can read while he's on the potty. Once I came into our bathroom to find him on the toilet leafing through Reader's Digest! Anyhow, short story long, we were finally able to leave the house one hour and 25 minutes after he'd woken up. Ughhh again!
Now he is safely at school, Mommy is enjoying the baby's nap time, and we will all happily reunite in four short hours. We'll forget all about this morning, hug and kiss hello, enjoy a wonderful afternoon and evening together, and start all over again tomorrow. Yay!
So I have to know. Do everyone's children take forever to get out of the house? Or is it just my little foot-dragger?
I love my son. He's smart. He's funny. And he's so sweet. Most of the time. But he's also sooooooo slooooooooow. Why does everything take an hour? Ok, maybe not literally, but still. First, we spend roughly ten minutes deciding what we want for breakfast (a pickle and oatmeal. Ew. I know.). Then we have to wait for the oatmeal to cool. Then it takes another ten minutes to eat said oatmeal. Now it's time to pick out what we're going to wear to school. Oh boy. Why does he even care? He's so particular about what he's wearing but he still never matches. Side note: There is even one shirt that he says makes him look fat. Where on earth did he get that? I don't make comments like that when he's around! Oh well... So once he's dressed in gym shorts and a muscle tee and his "skater shoes" we're almost ready to go. But first we have to tackle every parent's favorite battle: teeth brushing! I'm sure I don't need to elaborate here, but suffice it to say that two people were crying, one had fresh breath, and five more minutes had been wasted. So now, finally, it's out the door! No, wait, now he announces that he has to poop. Ughhh. I don't know the average length of a bathroom visit for other little boys, but my son takes no less than fifteen minutes in there. In fact, I have actually had him ask me if I have a book he can read while he's on the potty. Once I came into our bathroom to find him on the toilet leafing through Reader's Digest! Anyhow, short story long, we were finally able to leave the house one hour and 25 minutes after he'd woken up. Ughhh again!
Now he is safely at school, Mommy is enjoying the baby's nap time, and we will all happily reunite in four short hours. We'll forget all about this morning, hug and kiss hello, enjoy a wonderful afternoon and evening together, and start all over again tomorrow. Yay!
So I have to know. Do everyone's children take forever to get out of the house? Or is it just my little foot-dragger?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Welcome
I decided to start a blog to keep track of the day-to-day craziness that is life as a mommy. My hope is that I'll be able to connect with other moms out there that have similar experiences. After all, who can understand us better than women who have been through the same thing, am I right? Certainly not a husband, no matter how incredible he may be.
Anyhow, confession number one will be the explanation of how this blog got it's name. "Confessions of a Fertile Myrtle?" I think I have to give my good friend Brittany credit for coining that phrase as it applies to me (I'm well aware that she did not actually coin the phrase itself). Four and a half years ago, my now-husband (then-boyfriend) and I had the surprise of our lives when I missed my period, took a pregnancy test (more to put my mind at ease; never expecting the outcome we got), and found out we were going to be the first of our friends to become parents. I have to confess something here, too. I was not all glowing and joyful immediately. I remember sitting on the toilet, crying, first because I hadn't planned to be pregnant and second because I was so sad that this future child of mine would somehow know that my first reaction to his/her pregnancy had been devastation. Yikes. I could see the counseling bills piling up. Sorry for the side note. Now, back to Brittany. So as I began to settle down, I did what all women in their twenties (and I'm assuming in their 30s, 40s, 50s, etc) do with big news-- I called my girlfriends on conference call. Announced my big news. Waited through the shocked silence. Began to cry (again). And then talked it out. Got to the point where we were joking about it all. And then the questions... "Weren't you using protection?" "What about your birth control?" My answers... "Yes." and "Yes." About that time was when my dear friend decided that I'd had no say in it at all. "Looks like you were going to get pregnant no matter what. You must be a damn fertile Myrtle." And hence my least favorite nickname and the title of this blog.
Now, I realize there are women out there (possibly even some reading this) who measure far more fertile than myself. Isn't there a popular show about a family with 18 children? I'm certainly not claiming to be the most fertile woman on the planet. It's just a catchy name, so calm down. I need to address something else here as well. Possibly a more sensitive issue. I personally know many incredible women who have struggled with or are struggling with infertility issues. I have heard their stories and cried with them. I realize that to a couple who has trouble conceiving, "fertile Myrtle" seems pretty insensitive. But what they may not realize is that, although I consider all of my children God's greatest blessings, this was not my plan. Much as some people struggle with the fact that they want to be pregnant and can't be, my husband and I have struggled with the fact that our plans were derailed drastically when that little stick revealed two lines. We certainly aren't complaining about the outcome now. We have one of the smartest, funniest, and sweetest little boys that I can imagine. And I would not trade that under any circumstances. I'm just saying, there are people out there that may be facing an unplanned pregnancy. And maybe my story could help them. Or maybe my daily confessions will help other moms realize how normal they are. Or maybe you can just stop by for a good laugh once in a while. Whatever your reason for visiting, I'm glad you did, and I hope you'll come back. I'll be posting another confession soon.
Anyhow, confession number one will be the explanation of how this blog got it's name. "Confessions of a Fertile Myrtle?" I think I have to give my good friend Brittany credit for coining that phrase as it applies to me (I'm well aware that she did not actually coin the phrase itself). Four and a half years ago, my now-husband (then-boyfriend) and I had the surprise of our lives when I missed my period, took a pregnancy test (more to put my mind at ease; never expecting the outcome we got), and found out we were going to be the first of our friends to become parents. I have to confess something here, too. I was not all glowing and joyful immediately. I remember sitting on the toilet, crying, first because I hadn't planned to be pregnant and second because I was so sad that this future child of mine would somehow know that my first reaction to his/her pregnancy had been devastation. Yikes. I could see the counseling bills piling up. Sorry for the side note. Now, back to Brittany. So as I began to settle down, I did what all women in their twenties (and I'm assuming in their 30s, 40s, 50s, etc) do with big news-- I called my girlfriends on conference call. Announced my big news. Waited through the shocked silence. Began to cry (again). And then talked it out. Got to the point where we were joking about it all. And then the questions... "Weren't you using protection?" "What about your birth control?" My answers... "Yes." and "Yes." About that time was when my dear friend decided that I'd had no say in it at all. "Looks like you were going to get pregnant no matter what. You must be a damn fertile Myrtle." And hence my least favorite nickname and the title of this blog.
Now, I realize there are women out there (possibly even some reading this) who measure far more fertile than myself. Isn't there a popular show about a family with 18 children? I'm certainly not claiming to be the most fertile woman on the planet. It's just a catchy name, so calm down. I need to address something else here as well. Possibly a more sensitive issue. I personally know many incredible women who have struggled with or are struggling with infertility issues. I have heard their stories and cried with them. I realize that to a couple who has trouble conceiving, "fertile Myrtle" seems pretty insensitive. But what they may not realize is that, although I consider all of my children God's greatest blessings, this was not my plan. Much as some people struggle with the fact that they want to be pregnant and can't be, my husband and I have struggled with the fact that our plans were derailed drastically when that little stick revealed two lines. We certainly aren't complaining about the outcome now. We have one of the smartest, funniest, and sweetest little boys that I can imagine. And I would not trade that under any circumstances. I'm just saying, there are people out there that may be facing an unplanned pregnancy. And maybe my story could help them. Or maybe my daily confessions will help other moms realize how normal they are. Or maybe you can just stop by for a good laugh once in a while. Whatever your reason for visiting, I'm glad you did, and I hope you'll come back. I'll be posting another confession soon.
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