Nothing a few M&Ms can't fix

Every year around Mother's Day, Salary.com has been releasing a study of how much stay-at-home-moms should be paid based on the various jobs they perform. Among the duties listed in our job description are cook, nurse, daycare provider, janitor, teacher, etc. The one job missing from the list is hazardous materials specialist.

It has been another poopy week for us. It all started about 2 weeks ago when, to my best guess, Bear was a wee bit constipated, had a painful poop, and decided he was not going to be doing that again. Thus began the proclamations of "My tummy hurts, I have to poop - NO, I don't have to poop!" Despite our best efforts, we just could not coax him into pooping and after a couple of days he would not even consider sitting on the potty. 5 poopless days later we went to the doctor, who assured us that this is normal behavior for this age and sent us on our way with a suggestion of adding Miralax to his juice until the situation resolved itself. Lo and behold, an hour after finishing his laxative-laced apple juice, Bear did indeed sit down on the potty and produce approximately 5 days worth of poop. Problem solved. Or not. Bear, who has been writing new scripts for himself like crazy, had already decided that the potty is really optional. It was another 2 days before we saw any more movement, and then nothing again for nearly a week.

Funny thing about poop, you can only hold it for so long before it starts coming out on its own. At first we started to see evidence of an impending poop in his underwear, then little bits in the bathtub. Then the floodgates really opened. Skid marks turned into mudslides at a rate of 2 or 3 a day, each accident taking a half hour of clean up time and requiring a full wardrobe change. At one point Bear said "I don't feel good. There is something in my bottom." "That's poop" said I "and it needs to come out. Poop goes in the potty. If you don't sit on the potty, it will come out in your pants." "Then it's going to come out in my pants." said he. And sure enough, out it came at school an hour later. He came home with 2 plastic bags - one full of clothes, one full of poopy underwear - and a report from his teacher that she found him hiding under a pile of pillows. Bear may not care about the uncomfortable load in his underwear or smelling like skid row, but at least he has the good since to not want other people to know about it.

The fix was so simple I am ashamed that I didn't think of it earlier. M&Ms. The same bribe we used to potty train him in the first place. All it took was 2 M&Ms to get him back on track and then he seemed to get right back into the swing of things. Of course I have thought that before.

How Did I Get Here?

The boys and I are on our own again this week. NSSD is in Nashville on business. Now, it is a well-documented fact that I am a big old neurotic scaredy-cat who should never be left home alone at night. Every night, no matter how exhausted I am and how much I swear to myself that tonight I will be going to bed early, it is practically unheard of for me to hit the hay before midnight when I am alone. Oh, I will start off to bed at 10, but somehow what with all of the checking and rechecking of doors and windows, even getting back out of bed once or twice to make sure I didn't leave my house keys hanging in the front door, pretty soon 10 turns into 12 and there I am still being creeped-out by the overzealous motion detector light on our back porch and repositioning the phone on my nightstand to be within an easy arms reach.

Just before he left, NSSD, in all earnestness, asked me if I ever wondered to myself how we ended up here. (What? You mean crammed into an 1100 sq. ft. house not far from one of the scariest neighborhoods in one of the most crime-infested cities, an hour and a half commute from your office? You mean that?) It is funny that he brought it up as if he had just thought of it, when it is in fact a dialogue we have probably had 50 times in the past year. I know how we got here, and it actually made sense at the time. What I don't know, and am wondering now, is what are we still doing here?

We have been incredibly fortunate this year to have happened to be where we are, just half a mile from what has turned out to be an excellent school for Bear. But know, as we are nearing his next IEP, which will decide his fate for next year, it is looking more and more like we are about to be stuck paying for a year of private preschool in order to avoid pushing him into kindergarten before he is ready - a preschool that is a half-hour away. So once again I am asking myself "what are we still doing here?" and I guess the answer is we just don't know what else to do.

I should have put him in bed with me

It was bound to happen. The flashlight has become and issue. Bear now feels that anytime he wakes up at night, he must start over with his flashlight ritual to fall asleep again. He also feels he must involve me in the process, so in addition to Thumper waking at all hours, now Bear is calling me out of bed to come help him find his flashlight, or just to point out that he has it. I know the flashlight has to go, but it is so hard to start that struggle at 2 a.m. knowing the screaming and banging on doors that are sure to ensue. I can't even imagine what new ritual will take its place.

No Leisure Suits

No Rest for the Mommy

Bear woke up calling for me before 6 the other morning, an hour and a half before usual. I went to his room expecting to find him sick, but instead was greeted with "I can't sleep. I want to sleep with you." God, that was hard. First of all, when you have had to wait nearly 4 years to hear your child express his needs to you, it is very hard not to give him exactly what he wants. And second, I would have loved to put him in my bed and snuggle with him. When Bear was younger, I used to secretly love it when he was sick, because it gave me an excuse to bring him to our bed to sleep. It seemed like no matter how sick he was or how much his emerging teeth were bothering him, once he was snuggled up next to me he would sleep contentedly through the night. Lately, though, he is so hell-bent on writing new scenes into his "script," that I know letting him into my bed once could spell disaster for months. One night several months ago, he asked me to sing "Bear Necessities" to him before bed, which I gladly complied with. Thus began a nightly ritual of song, which evolved over time to be accompanied by increasingly complex choreography involving a lot of spinning, which quite frankly made me nauseous and became a real problem when babysitting grandparents didn't know the lyrics or dance steps. I finally was able to ease out of the "Bear Necessities" phase a few weeks ago, only to have it replaced by "Puff the Magic Dragon" and a flashlight. So we will not be instituting a predawn snuggle session anytime soon. 

Now Thumper is sick with a virus that his dad brought home. He is coughing and stuffed up and, to add insult to injury, has 2 molars coming in to boot. He is generally miserable and waking up several times a night. Putting him in bed with me is not an option either. Thumper never learned how to snuggle up and go to sleep next to his mom. He will toss and turn, roll around on top of me and pinch my neck (which he for some reason finds comforting) until it is covered in tiny blue bruises. When he finally settles down to sleep it will be on his stomach, face down, with his nostrils hovering just millimeters above the mattress, so that my only options are to spend the rest of the night awake to monitor his breathing, or turn him onto his back thus awakening him and starting the process over. No, Thumper, too, will sleep in his own bed and I will be climbing out of my warm bed into the chill of the night to answer to my boys needs for the foreseeable future. 

Walking

Thumper is walking. He has been taking steps for some time - first 2 or 3, then 3 or 4, slowly working his way up. Now that he can get himself across a room on foot unassisted I think he can officially be labeled a walker. And because I am a neurotic, crazy mom I can't help but worry about the one stiff leg and slightly turned out ankle. I know I should give it some time to work itself out, but I am calculating how long I can wait before asking for a referral for an assessment. Clearly, now is too early and too easy to be dismissed as "neurotic mom" syndrome, particulary since I have already rung the alarm bells when he wasn't babbling by his 9 month appointment (he did it a week later) and again when he wasn't saying "mama" at his 12 month appointment (again, he did it a week later.) Wait too long and I will be entering "neglectful mother" territory. Somewhere in there is the "responsible, conscientious mother" sweet spot. I'm thinking 6 weeks should be about right. 

Update: It looks like it may be the shoes that are askew and not his ankles after all. And this is why we have adopted the "neurotic mom waiting period."

Valentine's Day

I am the room mother in Bear's preschool class. I signed up at the beginning of the year, and was really the obvious choice since I am the only stay at home mom of one of the few kids returning for his second year. The primary description of room mother is as follows:

1. Help plan class parties. 

This is really right up my alley. I thought it would be an appropriate outlet for my Martha Stewart impulses. It took me only minutes to have a mental plan in place for every holiday in the school year. There would be cupcakes, cookies, decorations, craft projects.... sigh. 

In October, I badgered Bear's teacher about Halloween party plans, which she seemed to already have under control but did accept my offer to bring sugar cookies for the kids to decorate. On Halloween, I showed up at class, Thumper in tow, with a box of homemade sugar cookies in bat and jack o' lantern shapes, 3 tubs of homemade icing in garish purple, green and orange, and bags of m&ms,  candy corn, and black and orange sprinkles. To my great chagrin, I found that nearly every parent in the room had put together goody bags for the kids. Because they each needed 8 goody bags. What's more, they seemed to be in cahoots with each other. My position as room mother had clearly been usurped. 

For the Christmas party I got tired. I was busy. And I was a little resentful that my party-planning prowess was not being fully appreciated or utilized. So while all of the other families were busily providing 8 4-year olds with an international smorgasbord, one mother even making time in her busy day to arrange a visit from Santa, I was scuttling the frosty the snowman cupcakes that I had been planning since, oh, July in favor of store bought baguettes and spreads. I still feel pangs of guilt every time I open my cupboard and see the lonely bag of marshmallows that would have formed the snowmen's heads.  

A week ago, this email went out to all of the parents from Bear's teacher regarding Valentine's Day:

...For those of you who have asked, we will just be having a miniature valentine's party in our class that day. You are welcome to send any cards or treats and we will be sure to have the kids pass them out to each other.

Meaning, parents had been clamoring to plan yet another hours-long food-filled festivity. (Did I mention that I am the room mother? I am. Me.) Now they were surely focusing those efforts into Valentine's Day "treats" to pass out among the kids. I spent days pondering whether I should be directing my attentions towards home made cards (fun for the first 2 or 3, then pulling teeth for the subsequent 5, possibly resulting in me trying to put together cards that look like they could have been decorated by Bear.) or heart-shaped cookies (just how much sugar can we cram into their little bodies?) until finally running out the clock and dashing to Long's the afternoon before to pick out store-bought invitations, telling Bear in the parking lot that he could pick out whatever valentines he wanted. 

"OK, I will pick out valentines cupcakes."

God, it was hard for me to hold back. Not only was this child, who could barely speak last year, actually coming up with his own idea and asking me for something, but he had tapped into the very thing I had been longing for. To make cupcakes for the class with my boy. And yet, I could imagine this scene playing out with every other child in the class. I imagined a backpack full of treats coming home. I'm competitive, but not that competitive. 

We picked out a box of good, old-fashioned card stock valentines with dum-dums to attach. I filled in all of the names, while Bear picked out stickers to attach and made scribbles on them. The first 3 were fun, the last 3 were like pulling teeth. I resisted the urge to make my own scribbles and pass them off as his. 

As expected, he returned home with a deluge of candy, stickers, pencils and stickers. I am still feeling a little bad about it. I could have won this round with a cupcake or even a heart shaped cookie. I could have won back the title of room mother. I could have been a contender. Sadly, it is just not as much fun to be an over-the-top mom in a room full of over-the-top moms. Although, I just thought of a way to make easter cupcakes out of those marshmallows...