mothermayi

Winter Olympics

My uncle Bob gave Lucy her first ski lesson today.  He gave me my first ski lesson a million years ago.  I don't remember much about my first lesson, but I imagine it probably went alot like Lucy's. 

We drove up Mount Hood, which was beautiful and tree filled.  We arrived at Timberline at 10:30.  We bought Lucy a pair of goggles as I had forgotten how blindingly white that much snow is.  We took some pictures of her posing in her giant silly pink hat.  Messed with ski boots, then messed with them some more.  Goggled, mittened, layered with clothing large and small, Lucy and uncle Bob set off.  Kenneth and I went to find cups of coffee, as Lucy is much braver when we are not looking. 

By 11:30 we were on our way back down the hill in search of burgers.  Lucy got "sooooo freeezing" that her lesson ended after a short set of turns down the hill, and a ride back up on Bob's shoulders.  I think getting a kid to like skiing is one of those things that takes a few tries. She seems pretty excited to go back.  Maybe the next time I will give my rusty ski skills a run.  Or maybe I will quietly sip coffee...

Mani Pedi

Tennessee and I did a little yoga this morning, well I did yoga and he showed me all of the poses he could make up.  Such as his "jumping" pose and "truck" pose.  I promised that if he didn't crawl under me and try to stand up while I was in bridge pose that I would help him make a LEGO house.  I finished my half assed work-out and followed him upstairs to erect a lovely barn style manse on the green, green grass colored particle board of his train table.  After we had moved into the decorating faze of the project, I told him to play while I went to take a shower. 

I barely got clean I showered so fast.  I usually use the electric babysitter for showers as my kids are such slaves to The Tube that they don't move an inch from the sofa while Sponge Bob is doing his magic.  He seemed pretty content to play on his own, and I really needed a shower.  Five minutes later, I ran upstairs to check on the little guy.  He was setting all of his little plastic animals and dinosaurs up around the house in what appeared to be some sort of mob violence a la fauna at first glance.  He was in one piece and had stayed out of his sister room.  (That is my new Waterloo, Tennessee and his sister's tiny special things of which she keeps remarkable track.) 

We chatted about reptiles, whether or not snakes fart, and pickled beets for a minute, then I headed back down to make some lunch.  Pb&j on the table, I called him down.  He replied with a hearty "Five more minutes!  I playin'!"  I figured, what the heck and sat down to read the paper.  A remarkable amount of the paper.  More paper than I ever have time to read.  It was too quiet.  The most cliched kind of quiet. 

I smelled nail polish before I got all the way upstairs.  He had painted all the nails and toes and arches on both feet and was working on his left hand.  A beautiful sparkly purple covered his fingers, his belly, the side of his nose and his cheek.  Dry in 60 seconds!  Drat and double damn!  A rookie mistake on my part.  I called poison control, which was good and bad.  Good in that I now know that vegetable oil will take finger nail polish off skin (but not shirts or hardwood floors).  Bad in that they asked for our names and zip code.  I now have a bad parenting record.  I hope it doesn't affect my credit.

The Lie

I am on a mission to find a place outside my home to write.  Writing time often turns into bathroom cleaning time.  Today I auditioned a coffee shop close to my home.  It was just right.  I zipped along, free from scrubbing temptations.  A woman came in pushing a stroller, with a fresh baby strapped to her chest.  She ordered then sat nursing her baby while her toddler, toddled.  The little girl chewed bites of scone, took off her shoes, and pulled all of the posters for upcoming events off of the window.  A girls work is never done. 

A well dressed woman with her laptop came in carting what looked to be 8 months worth of fetus on the front of her.  She immediately asked the mother of two about her baby.  The nursing mother told her the infants age, disconnected her boob and covered up.  Her older child came up with a snotty nose to be wiped clutching a handful of crumpled napkins from another table.  Her mama silently cleaned her nose and confiscated the grubby treasure.  The pregnant lady wanted to know "how it was going?"  The veteran mother smiled sweetly, the giant bags of exhaustion under her eyes stretched to accommodate the expression, and said "Great." 

I wanted to jump up and yell "Liar liar pants on fire!"  But I didn't.  One, calling a stranger a liar at the top of your lungs in public is rude at best.  Two because it isn't a complete lie.  There are parts of living with the freshly born that are "great".  But more like "been through a worm hole life altering" or "beyond the stretch of my pre-child imagination" or "mind bogglingly difficult".   

After some thought, I think the tired mama did the right thing.  Telling someone that close to the precipice of parenting that they are about to have their ass handed to them, would just be mean. 

Over the Weekend

I caught one of those hang-overs you hear so much about over the weekend.  Yeesh.  Who knew severe dehydration made for a day of kids watching too much TV and eating whatever they wanted where ever they wanted?  My sofa, which has suffered some real indignities over the last five years, now looks alot like a picnic bench in Oaks Park at high season.  In my weakened state, I allowed a crack in the dam that is my Eating at the Table policy.  A raging torrent of cheddar bunnies and cheerios is headed for town!  All joking and over the top metaphors aside, my sofa is verging on too gross. I have some re-establishing of food rules to do. 

This weekend wasn't all limp hands on foreheads. Tennessee met a major developmental benchmark. I was in the kitchen, or command center as I have taken to calling it, and Tennessee trotted in with a big announcement.  He pulled the ol' "mommommymommommommommymomommomomommymom" thing until I finally put down the raw chicken and the butcher knife and turned around with kid pinching on my mind.  Then he put his little hands up next to his head.  He gave me his best twenty dollar smile and said "wanna see me tap dance?"  Before I answered his fingers got all jazzy and he started flopping and stomping his little feet all over the place.  The little wup, wup, wup sound of his slippered feet did not do his moves justice.  Babies first physical comedy.  

Care Bears

Friday is official No Bath Watch a Movie Night.  The only title available and rated G On Demand was a Care Bears movie.  I haven't experienced the fright that is Care Bears since my younger sister was a kid, and I don't think I was properly horrified at the time.  I am not sure what it is about the little do-gooders that gives me the creeps.  I am going to go sit between the kids so I don't get scared.

Gold Star

Today Lucy and I went to kindergarten together.  I volunteer in her classroom a couple of hours a month and today was the day.  I like hanging out there.  I find out all sorts of important information.  Today I learned the song to sing when you are counting by fives.  It has quite a hook, I see a Grammy in Mrs. Noonan's future for sure.  First I sorted some baskets of books, then the teacher sent me out into the hall to hang up some art. 

I personally attended no less than five different elementary schools and they all smell of food, glue, construction paper and kid.  A little goaty, but comforting over-all. I set out to affix all of the kid's "I have a dream"  drawings to the wall surrounded by school smell and the sounds of kids hard at work.  Mrs. Noonan gave me that blue modeling clay type stuff to tack up the art that I haven't seen since I quit using Pink Floyd posters to decorate.  In honor of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, the kids had drawn pictures depicting the altruistic stuff of their dreams.  Some of them were good ideas, homeless people do need blankets, but I am not completely sure that they got the gist of the day in question.  I guess it is hard to thoroughly explain racial inequality to a gang of five year olds. 

It was nice, there in the hall.  Tacking up the art, trying my best to get it straight on the wall.  The other kindergarten class came out in the hall for a bathroom break.  The teacher stood waiting for kids to come out.  She noticed my project and came over to inspect my work.  Then she said, in her kindergarten teacher voice, "You did such a wonderful job hanging those.  You have a real talent for balance."  It was the most perfectly voice compliment I have ever received.  All of it, her tone, her wording.  That Mrs. Dollar is a compliment master if there ever was one. 

I am pretty sure I beamed.  It was like she reached into my crabby old coffee deprived chest and gave my little crusty heart a soft comforting pat on the head.  I did hang those pictures up straight, I did!  I was skippy and cheerful for the rest of the day.  I felt competent in a way I haven't in a long time.  There was no "you did a good job, but..."  I am just plain old good, no clauses, no recommendations for improvement.  I am going to practice my complimenting. 

Sick Day

Lucy woke up with a snuffly head.  She said she wasn't feeling well, and recommended that she stay home from school.  I was on the fence as to the severity of her illness, but in these days of The Pig Death, you never know.....so I kept her home to prevent potential pestilence spreading.  In an attempt to keep her from jumping around the house while simultaneously sneaking in some number practice, I came up with a plan to make glittery flashcards.  In spite of my strong feelings about glitter, it worked out pretty well.  She told me which numbers to write, then she applied glue and glitter.  We really had a good time.  We got in some chatting too.  I now understand her obsession with the Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo doll that Santa failed to bring.  She has been talking about it and saving up her chore money for almost a month now.  Each basket of folded clean laundry she puts away in the wrong drawers gets her 50 cents closer to her dream toy. 

According to the description on the Hasbro Toys website; 'Playing mommy is more fun than ever with this Baby Alive doll that "eats" and "poops" just like a real baby!'  Well, having had a real baby that eats and poops, I do not get it.  But then adult people dress up in the style of the Renaissance with the desire to go back to a time before indoor plumbing, refrigeration, and drive through coffee.  Apparently, romanticizing of the icky goes on into adulthood for some.  Lucy is really excited about the pooping part. 

I asked her what kinds of activities she had planned for my future plastic grandchild.  Oh the plans!  She will be taking Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo for walks in her stroller, she will be taking Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo to her friend Rowan's house, she even described a trip to the beach with the little tyke.  I asked her if she would be taking Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo to school, or would she have to arrange for childcare.  I was kidding, but Lucy had already thought that one out.  I will be in charge of Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo while Lucy is at school.  Lucy is certain that her baby would poop while being stored in her locker.  This might interfere with her study of the days of the week.  Poor dear, she is already having to wrestle with the family/career conundrum.  I hope she knows that I will be expecting 10 bucks an hour and health insurance.  What?  Granny's gotta get her bingo money somewhere.

Rock Bottom

Tennessee was on an early bird streak.  There where things going on at 4:00 am that he just had to attend too.  It doesn't seem to matter how early I go to bed, before 6:00 am is just too early for me.  I went along with things for a couple of weeks.  Until I started getting kind of paranoid from lack of sleep.  This how I know things have gone to far.  I start thinking my friends are all out to get me.  I woke up one morning this weekend knowing that I was alllll done waking up at before the paper is delivered.  I think kids know when you are serious/homicidal.  They can feel it.

Over the weekend, Sunday to be exact, (after suffering two weeks of the two sizes too small scalp headache I get without enough sleep) I woke at 4:30 to the sounds of my little hero singing Old MacDonald into the baby monitor.  I waited for a while to see if he would, by some miracle, go back to sleep.  He did not.  He got louder.  His sister sleeps in the room next to him.  I am crabby if I don't get enough sleep.  Lucy is bionic crabby if she doesn't get her 9-10 hours.  To save myself a day of crabby kindergartner, I crept upstairs.  I was so mad at him.  So mad and so tired.  After my coffee, and his breakfast (two bowls of cereal, half a bagel with cream cheese and two hard boiled eggs) I explained that he had to start being quiet in the morning. 

Maybe it was my morning breath that convinced him.  Or it could have been the dead look in my sleep deprived eyes, but he spent the rest of the day talking about being "quiet like a mouse in the morning".  Sure enough, the next morning I heard him rustle around for a while, then whisper a few bars of Row Row Your Boat, then snoring.  Success!  For now... 

Nap

Tennessee's noon time naps are the only free time I have most days.  Free time that I use to prep things for dinner, clean up the morning's ick and goo, dust, pay bills, wash toilets, read big girl books...you get the idea.  Naps are a precious nugget of time that I cherish.  On occasion though, I take advantage of one of the benefits of being a stay around the house kind of mom.  I take a nap too.

Today is a classic Portland rainy winter day.  The kind of day in which the sun never really rises. It just peeks up around the edges of this side of the earth, sees the rain and stays home in his sweat pants eating Cheeto's and burning holes in the couch.  I would be a little slow moving at best on any day like today, but I have also been subjected to Tennessee's new early morning cereal reconnaissance missions.  I didn't receive a flier for the (apparently month long) event, but it starts at 5:00 am every day and requires adult supervision.  Needless to say, I was tired by noon. 

When my sleepy eyed little dude asked if he could take his nap in "momndaddy's" bed, I agreed.  Let me tell you what, that nap really hit the spot.  A sweet little guy snuggled up against my chest with his cute head right in sniffing range.  The kids heads don't smell as sweet as when they where infants, but there is still something special about nuzzling my kids noggins.  He counted all his little fingers a couple of times, then sang his little go to sleep song (I have never been able to make out the words and the melody changes at his whimsy) that he sings until he starts his tiny snuffly snore.  I fell asleep quick as can be and we woke up just in time to eat a quick snack, find some rain boots and pick up Lucy from kindergarten.  I think I might be able to stay awake for a whole movie after the kids are in bed tonight.  If it is a short one.  And I drink some coffee.  And we start it right at 7:30.  Man, I need a nap.

To Heck with Glitter

And which ever jerk invented that sparkling dandruff of the devil!  My neighbor and dear friend is an avid crafter.  She is forever setting our daughters up with glorious glue and glitter projects.  I really appreciate her love of crafting as she shares this trait with my sweet Lucy.  Lucy loves making stuff out of stuff.  Me, I don't make anything I can't eat.  Well, there are some spates of knitting that go on around here, but if hard pressed, I will eat a mitten.  Anyhooooo, a while ago Lucy was telling me how well she liked going to Rowan's house as her mother lets them "do the best stuff". 

"We do fun stuff."  I whined.

"We never do glitter."  Then she gave me the stink eye.  I do hope glaring becomes an Olympic sport before Lucy reaches adulthood.  I would love to be able to claim that I raised a champion.  I bought glitter, like a sucker from the Land of Stupid. 

Things went well for the first couple of weeks.  I kept it in a drawer next to the glue and scissors, just out of Tennessee's reach.  Well guess who grew?  Guess who decided to show me how much he had grown after waking up at 5 AM.  Yes ladies and gentlemen, 5 o'clock in the Mother F&*%$#@^ morning.  I was doing an admittedly poor job of supervising him.  It is hard to do anything but a poor job of supervising when you are horizontal on the sofa under a blankie, trying to sip coffee without lifting your head.  When I had finally consumed enough coffee to stand up and and fetch a second cup, I was greeted by two large piles made of the contents of six little jars of glitter.  There was cussing and sweeping.  After the sweeping, there was vacuuming.  There are not enough glaring five year old's in the world to make me make that mistake again.  The glitter will remain under lock and key until that little guy is old enough to do his own early morning vacuuming.