Rollie Pollie?

Ever since the birth of my daughter, it's been a race between my mother-in-law and I to see who can get the Halloween costume for the kid first.

She actually won the first year, but I trumped her with the "I gave birth" card. I actually use that card every year because I like dressing up little kids in cute little outfits, but I have to admit that what she does bring to the table makes for good dress up play clothes, and so I'm not about to tell her she can't buy any Halloween costumes for her grandchildren.

Last year she bought this really cute pumpkin outfit for the baby. Which would have actually been perfect because the 4 year old was determined to be a pumpkin and so they would have matched. Except that the pumpkin outfit she got for the baby ended up being for a preemie and wouldn't even fit on my big baby boy's big baby foot. So we ended up using the preemie pumpkin costume for the 4 year old's doll and I ended up dressing big baby boy as a bouncing bumble bee.

This year, I really wanted to come up with something creative and I thought I had found it on the cover of one of my favorite catalogs. There was this little girl dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and next to her was a toddler dressed as The Big Bad Wolf. It was almost too cute to be believed and I actually squealed when I saw it and said to my husband, "Look how adorable! We have to do this!" And my husband smiled and said, "Yes, very cute", but his eyes said "not so much" or "how much is this going to set me back?" or "try again" or something.

What sealed the deal with a big fat "no!" was my daughter looking at the cover and saying, "but I don't want to be Little Red Riding Hood." I tried reasoning with her, but you can only make Little Red Riding Hood look so cool before giving in and admitting you've been trumped. So I finally said, "Well, what do you want to be?"

"I want to be Rapunzel."

"Great! We already have a Rapunzel dress. That makes it easy!"

"No. I want THAT Rapunzel dress," and she pointed to the picture she had found in the catalog of Rapunzel.

"I'm not buying you a Rapunzel dress when we already have one that you fit into. That's silly."

It's a good thing that I didn't buy the dress because since then she has announced she wants to be a cowboy, a bear, and a rollie pollie bug.

"A rollie pollie bug? How are you going to be that?"

She climbed into her plastic crawl tunnel and said, "Look! I'm a rollie pollie bug."

I thought, "Well, at least I won't have to buy a costume."

Finally I told her whether she liked it or not she was going to be Rapunzel.

With that settled, I could concentrate on the toddler.

Enter a trip to Costco. I actually entertained the idea of dressing up the toddler like "Pascal", but the idea of dressing my son up like a lizard just doesn't appeal to me.

"Look at these costumes for Ian!" I told her, pointing to the costume display.

She did indeed think they were cute as well and had pulled out a monkey costume for me to look at. I pulled out a cow for her to look at.

We looked at each other's findings and she said, "I like the monkey."

I said, "I like the cow."

And I had a flash of what shopping with her when she's a teenager is going to be like.

We ended up settling on the monkey because I figured I could always put my foot down next year. And when she's a teenager and asks me if she can get that cute what-ever-it-is that shows too much skin and I say no, and then she says "you never let me get anything." I can pull out the monkey costume card.

"That's not true. You got to dress up your brother like a monkey for Halloween. I wanted the cow."

Snack Time!

I haven't blogged for awhile. Our lives have been so incredibly busy that it feels like when I finally get a chance to sit down, I can't remember why I thought I had the time to sit down, but I can think of a thousand reasons why I should get back up and start moving again.

So when thinking about blog topics-I started to wonder why life seems so busy all of a sudden in the first place. It could be because I am working full time this year instead of part time. It could be because my 13 month olds secret identity is "Mr. Incredible" and I spend half my life catching what he drops, fixing what he breaks, and stopping him from creating an intricate step system that allows him to climb on top of anything he wants. It could be because I'm the only one in the house that thinks of the process it takes to clean clothes (everyone else thinks they magically appear clean). I think it's more subtle than any of the reasons listed above, though. I think the reason that my life is so incredibly busy is because of snack time.

Seriously. You may think that increased snack time is the result of a busy life. And for you, that could be true. But right now I am electing to blame all of my stress on snack time.

Here's the thing-

When my daughter was 2 and 3, she basically survived on Dino Chicken Nuggets and waffles. That's still mostly what she will eat, with the occasional apple slice or hamburger thrown in. Snacks were not a part of our lives. Mostly because I forgot. We would be at a play date and the other mommies would announce snack time and all the children would come gleefully to the table to receive their snack. My child would come to the table and wonder where her nuggets were and why lunch time seemed so early. I would have to sheepishly explain to the other moms that I had forgotten a snack and they would generously share whatever they had brought, because that's the kind of friends I have. They forgive me my faults and understand that because my daughter ate carpet fuzz and the inside foam of her car seat for the first 18 months of her life (I didn't feed her that, it's just what she found most delectable), snack time was somewhat of a mystery to me.

Enter pre-school. My daughter goes to preschool twice a week and there is a sign up calendar for snacks. All us mommies are required to sign up for a day or two a month and bring a snack that contains two different food groups. I started to sweat at the thought of this, but they provide a list so as not to freak the moms like me out. (or maybe they just provided the list for me...). Cheese and crackers are on the list. So are pretzels and fruit. That seems easy enough, so I signed up and now I have a date on my calendar to bring snack to preschool.

Along came soccer. Soccer in and of itself is another blog topic-but let's just say that real soccer moms (the ones that have been involved for more than one season) take snacks very seriously. Our ultra-soccer, multi-season participator team mom provided a schedule for us on the second day of practice of who would be bringing snacks to each game. In other words, we didn't get to pick the date. This would usually be okay with me, but my snack jobs were starting to pile up and I was hoping to go grocery shopping and take care of all snack tasks and once. Now I was responsible for remembering to bring snacks to something during two separate weeks.
On top of that, the rules for soccer snacks are a bit more complicated than the ones for preschool. You have to provide snacks during and after the game. You may not provide sugar snacks during the game, but you can after as long as they aren't too sugary. You have to provide from different food groups (again with the food groups). And if you need to switch snack days, please call the team mom and let her know. I'm not calling the team mom, I'm terrified of her.

After pre-school and soccer snack days were set, I started bringing my kids to church with me on Tuesday nights because I volunteer to help with the Middle School Group. I'm a small group leader for 8th graders, who wanted to set up a snack schedule for our small group right away. The adults who watch my kids on Tuesday nights at church had a sign up sheet for bringing snacks and a movie sometime during the next 8 weeks.

Luckily, the 8th grade girls want something like "brownies" for snacks. No food groups for them.

My calendar is so full of snack time reminders that I hardly have room for anything else. Everytime I go to the store now I just buy snack items thinking it will come in handy at some point during the week.


The baby eats all the time anyway. The day is one long continual snack time for him.

I know there is no end in sight to this as snack time is something that carries through until your teenagers go off to college. And then they still want to come home and raid your fridge. And you end up feeding all their friends along the way too.

And that's okay with me. Secretly, I'm a foodie. So one of these days I may just skip the string cheese and crackers and bring in pastry puffs topped with brie and carmelized onions. If I have to bring snacks, then I might as well go gourmet every once in awhile. Maybe one day my daughter will not ask for Dino nuggets but will ask for steak and a port wine reduction sauce. And I will get to remind her that at one point she ate carpet fuzz for a snack.

"dot com"

How to speak to a small child is something I still struggle with. I think my husband struggles with it too, but in his own special Einsteinian way.

For example, when asked who the funny looking guy on the outside of the Lucky Charms cereal box is, I respond with, "He's a um...umm...Leprechaun! From Ireland. He's good luck...or something."

My husband responds with reciting verbatim the legend of the Irish Leprechaun, including when and where the story originated. That may be exaggerating a bit, but just a tiny bit. You get the idea.

Both of our answers get the same response from Little Miss (a.k.a. The Four Year Old). This is a slight tilt of the head, awkward silence, and then finally an "oh" followed by a sigh. I fear when she gets older she may add, "Why do I even bother?" to this little routine.

I was really struck by how I need to work on my communication skills with Little Miss the other night.

We were over at a friend's house when my friend's youngest daughter (slightly older than The Four Year Old) stepped out on to her porch and uttered a shriek.

Little Miss immediately demanded to know what was wrong with her friend.

"She stepped on a sticker," my husband explained.

Well, I know that in Little Miss vocabulary the word "sticker" refers to something that has a cute picture on the front and sticky stuff on the back. Hardly worth a yelp.

I attempted to clarify the multiple meaning word for my child.

"Not a sticker sticker. Not like you get from Miss Jackie to put on your shirt when you do a good job. It's a pokey sticker. The kind you find on the ground and step on."

I got the typical quizzical reaction. Not being one to give up easily, I tried again.

"You know, a pokey thingy that comes from a tree or bush and can give you an ouchie."

There was silence as we loaded my kids into the car. I'm sure The Four Year Old was trying to process what I had said.

As we were driving home, a small voice came from the back seat.

Little Miss said, "Well, if I need to know more about pokey stickers, I guess I can go to pokey stickers dot com on the computer."

I didn't know if I was relieved my child already knows there are other resources out there that may have a better answer than her parents, or frightened. Either way, I better find "how to speak to a four year old dot com" quick.

Decay?

You know when you learn the definition to a new word, or you learn how to spell a word, then it seems to come up all the time?

For me, recently it's been "feral". That means wild, or wildlike. My soon to be one year old son seems to approach things in a very feral way. He is very feral.

I actually get introduced to new vocabulary words all the time because my husband is a walking dictionary and throws fancy words around in his daily speech. He's also a writer, so I guess it comes with the job. But seriously? I can't keep up.

I like it when the four year old learns new words. She will dwell on the word and try it out for several days, seeing how it fits in her world. The other thing I like about the four year old's vocabulary is that I can still keep up with it. However, by about day 3 or 4 of the new word, I'm ready to move on.

I used to be kind of an "anti-computer" teacher. Computers are good for research, but they can't "teach" anything.

I stand corrected.

I myself have gotten addicted to this website called "Time 4 Learning". I think it's a great website for teaching kids and, as a teacher, I highly recommend it as a supplemental tool.

But alas, that is not where my daughter learned her new vocabulary word, "decay."

My daughter learned this happy little vocabulary word from pbskids.org. Namely "Sid the Science Kid." After spending about a half hour playing with some Sid the Science Kid game, my daughter asked me, "What's decay mean?"

I began with my usual processing stall of, "Well..."

My daughter then answered the question for herself. "It's when things get old and slimy and icky."

"Okay. I guess that's one way to look at it."

"Like when the apple got decayed. Or when my juice gets decayed. Or when things in the fridge get old."

"Right. That's absolutely right. But even leaves can decay outside and return to soil."

That was a little too much for her. "Okay," she said as a dismissal.

Over the next several days, "decay" became the word de jour.

"I can't eat this," she said as I placed a grilled cheese sandwich in front of her. "It has decay."

"No it doesn't. Where?"

"Right there. See?" She pointed to a slightly burnt part.

"That's not decay. That's crispy."

She mumbled something about decay and began to tear the offending part of her sandwich off.

On the way to preschool, she said to me, "I'm going to leave my juice in the car. PLEASE don't let it decay, okay?"

She asked for some water later in the day. I handed her a water bottle.

"Does it have peanuts in it?" (We've trained her a little to well to ask about peanuts because of her allergy).

"No. No peanuts."

"Does it have decay?"

Sigh. "No. Just drink it."

She examined the bottle closely before taking a drink.

I'm seriously thinking of writing Sid the Science Kid a letter. I don't know what I'd say. But I feel the need to sarcastically thank him for teaching the word "decay" to my child so well. Something like, "Dear Sid, Please come live with her until she learns a new vocabulary word. I've had enough."

I am Houdini

We all have different titles that we secretly label each other with. For example, the baby is "the Climber", or "the Destructor". My four year old is "the Singer." My husband is the "Absent-Minded Professor." And I am "Houdini".

This is why.

I am the only one who can find anything (with the exception of my cell phone-the absent minded professor is very good at finding my cell phone). Better explained-I'm the only one who can see things when they are under something, behind something, or have been moved.

Example:

Husband: Where's such and such?
Me: On the table.
Husband: I don't see it.
Me: It was on the table just a minute ago.
Husband: Are you sure?
Me: (walking over to table, lifting up a book which was covering such and such) You have to move things around.
Husband: Thank you.

Another example:

Me (to four year old): Hand me that thing-a-ma-jig
Four year old: Where?
Me: On the counter.
Four year old: I don't see it, Mama.
Me: LOOK BEHIND THE SALT.
Four year old: Oh. There it is!

Notice that they are impressed and say thank you when I perform this trick. That is why I am Houdini. No one else can perform this trick. Just me.

And I was feeling pretty invincible as a Houdini until the other day when I realized I couldn't find a single pacifier in the house.

The baby was screaming and a pacifier was nowhere to be found.

Which is so dumb, because I have like, fifty of them.

It seems I have been outsmarted by the pacifiers. How can fifty pacifiers just vanish? It's not like we live in a mansion. It's not like they can walk away on their own. It's not like they can find a better mouth to suck on them somewhere else. Where did they go?

Because the baby was screaming and all I cared about was quiet, I sent my husband downstairs to find a pacifier. "Go find a pacifier."

My husband came back with the most archaic pacifier I have ever seen.

"That's it?" I sighed. "That's the 'pacifier-of-last-resort'."

My husband looked at me like I had lost my mind.

"It means if that's the only one we can find, there are no other binkies in the house! Where did they go?!?"

The next day I went out and bought two new pacifiers.

I set one aside and gave one to the baby. He was very appreciative.

By the end of the day, both of the pacifiers were in my daughter's hands and she was playing a game called "Run from the Binkies."

"Don't lose those," I told her.

"I won't."

The next day I couldn't find any pacifiers again.

"Where are the pacifiers?" I asked my daughter.

"I don't know. Maybe in the blanket?"

I shook out the blanket that was on the floor. No pacifiers. I was pretty frustrated and threw around words like "ridiculous".

I got home from my staff meeting today and there was my baby, sitting in the middle of the kitchen, sucking on one of the new pacifiers.

"Hey! There's the pacifier!"

My four year old said, "Yep. We found it."

There goes my Houdini title.

That Dish!

There is a tupperware dish of old, OLD, strawberries sitting in my sink.

Sometimes this happens.

Containers will work their way to the back of the refrigerator, hoping to find comfort among the old jars of jelly and whatever I bought when I was pregnant because it sounded good, but then I never ate it.

Not that there's a lot of this going on. But it happens.


I guess my husband was motivated to clean some things out of the refrigerator, but not motivated to wash the dish.

I'm scared to open the dish.

So no one wants to open or wash the dish.

I bet if I gave it to the baby to open, he'd open it.

But then there'd be a huge, yucky mess. Not that that's unusual either.

Maybe today. Maybe today I'll open it.

Sing A Song!

Today was a rough day.

It's really hot.

And I had to take my daughter to the dentist to get 3 cavities filled.

While waiting at the dentist, watching Toy Story 3 in an air conditioned lobby, my husband sent me a text message to tell me that blue paint got spilled all over the hallway carpet. And partly on the wall and a nearby door. And all over the changing table it was sitting on. Maybe I should come home.

It's my fault for putting the paint in the hallway on the changing table I was planning on taking to Good Will. We had finished painting my daughter's room, and it seemed like a decent place to put the paint until I could work up the stamina to carry it down to the garage.

It's his fault for running into the changing table and toppling over the paint.

We're are both to blame.

So I didn't get to watch my daughter get her cavities filled.

Here's the thing: when I told her we had to go home and reschedule, she cried. She thinks she loves going to the dentist. They play Toy Story 3.

She cried all the way home.

My husband sent me out for "shop rags" to help pick up the paint. I guess while I was gone, he had to reprimand her about something and she cried. So when I got home, she was crying.

I felt like crying too. But that was because there was blue paint all over my hallway carpet.

When I went to go make her dinner, she reached for something in a kitchen drawer that I have deemed "not a toy". She cried.

When her baby brother pulled her hair,she cried. I told her, "I cry when he pulls my hair too."

Then she went outside to play.

Cue plastic microphone.

There she was on the porch, singing her little heart out. She was totally out of tune. She made it up as she went along. But she sang with gusto and I'm sure all our neighbors could hear her. She sang about trees and plants. She sang about friends and being sorry. She sang about Rapunzel. She sang about being lost. She sang and sang and sang. And she came back into the house as if she were a whole new person.

My husband was smart enough to record some of it.

Our carpets got clean-thanks to a friend who owns a carpet cleaning business. But the day was not without it's tensions and hurt feelings.

While putting my baby to sleep tonight, I found myself holding him against my shoulder and yep, you guessed it, singing.