I Was Not A Good Mom This Morning

I'll fully admit that I was not a good mom this morning. That said, I could have been much worse. I didn't yell. I didn't touch a child. There were no emotional or physical scars left. But I'm still angry and irritated - albeit perhaps somewhat irrationally so, as the wee ones are only 7 and 8. But... it's reality.

And this?  This was the breakfast table at 8:30 after the wee ones had boarded the bus for school.  On the plus side, I didn't have to make myself breakfast because there was plenty sitting right here.

 I didn't get a full night's sleep because I woke up from an utterly bizarre dream at 4am. That isn't an excuse, but I know myself, and I get crabby when I don't have sufficient sleep. Compounded with things that don't go as they could, my temper can flare, and getting the wee ones ready for the bus has been a struggle all week.

 At 7:10 this morning - an hour and ten minutes before their bus was scheduled to arrive to pick them up for school - I headed into Mister Man's room, where I found both the wee ones in their pjs, quietly playing. As they spotted me, the whining began that they hadn't had enough time to play. I'm used to it. I get the same whining every morning, no matter what. But, Mooooom, Mister Man whined in his best two year old voice, I was just about to start a game.  Sorry, Kiddo.  It's time for school, so I need you to get dressed.

Little Miss began picking up her Puffles and gave me a hug before heading to her room to change.  Mister Man chose to crawl under his covers to hide.  I explained that I wasn't playing that game and they needed to get dressed and come down for breakfast just like they have done for the past six years. (My emphasis now, not then.)  I got breakfast orders and headed downstairs to make breakfasts and lunches for everyone except me.

I didn't hear noises that sounded like anyone getting dressed.  In fact, the noises sounded like Star Wars Fighter Pods being connected and unconnected.  I sighed and continued on my way, deciding that maybe today was the day for natural consequences.  If they weren't down by the time I finished with breakfasts and lunches and was ready to head upstairs to get myself dressed, I would send them down and they could eat what they got to by 8am - still leaving them nearly a half hour to eat.

As I boiled water in a kettle to help keep the Thermos warm for the honey chicken Mister Man was getting in his lunch, I heard a new noise, one that included giggling.  The wee ones were not coming down to breakfast - which was now sitting on the kitchen table getting warm (for Mister Man) and cold (for Little Miss) - but instead were playing with the nightlight in the hallway, changing its colors.  My blood pressure started to rise.

By the time I finished with lunches and set the lunches and snacks for school on the steps for them to pack into backpacks, there was still nary a child in sight, although I had explained that breakfast was ready and sitting on the table.  I climbed the stairs to find the wee ones wrestling in the hallway, presumably over control of the nightlight, atop the sheets I had just washed and folded but not yet put away.  They decided to go eat breakfast.

While I was getting dressed, the wee ones called to me.  Meow - who is not allowed near the table when anyone is eating because I don't like begging, nor do I want to encourage him to think people food is his food and yes, everyone in the house knows the rule - had managed to knock Little Miss's milk over with his tail.  I closed my eyes and continued getting dressed, deciding benign neglect at this point was better than blowing my top.

By the time I finished getting dressed - note, no makeup or hair or even teeth brushed for me yet, as that happens after the wee ones are off to school - and headed downstairs, I was doing deep breathing exercises.  It was now 8am, and I had milk to clean up.  Mister Man was sitting at the table reading a magazine (another no-no) and hadn't touched his breakfast.  Neither child had socks on.  Mister Man didn't have his glasses.

I reiterated what still needed to be done: lunches and snacks into backpacks, breakfasts eaten, vitamins taken, teeth brushed, socks on, glasses on, shoes on.  Oh, and that they didn't have much time left.  Little Miss - knowing this wasn't going to end well - quickly got up and put her dishes away and headed on to her next tasks.  Mister Man gave the verbal agreement and continued with his magazine.

When the bus pulled into our driveway at 8:20am, Little Miss was ready... except for her unbrushed hair.  She managed to escape out the door before I could catch her and so now is at school looking like she has a pet rat who sleeps in her hair.  Mister Man had to be sent upstairs while the bus waited (thank goodness this isn't the regular bus that waits for no one) for his glasses.  And socks.  And I'm pretty sure his reading log never got filled out.

And they were off to school.  I'm still angry that the cat was apparently on the kitchen table and knocked over milk.  And that Mister Man chose to read a magazine at the table instead of eating his breakfast.  And that they were wrestling on my clean sheets.  And that they were playing instead of getting ready for school as they'd been asked to do and as they know they have to do every morning.  And that Mister Man was throwing attitude at me about getting ready - from the time I explained that he needed to get dressed until the time he stomped back down the stairs with his glasses and socks.

But I didn't yell.  I didn't threaten them with anything.  I didn't say anything mean to them.  And obviously I didn't physically touch them.  That feels like such a hollow victory.

I'm not sure why getting ready has been so difficult this week.  I'm not sure if it's the "extra time" we now have since the bus comes 20 minutes later than the time we used have to get out the door.  I'm not sure if they simply need more sleep.  I'm really not sure what it is.  Yesterday, I resorted to spoon feeding Mister Man his breakfast like he was a baby because he was taking so long.  He didn't like it.  Neither did I.  Today I went a different route of benign neglect that still wasn't being the good mom I want to be.

So on Monday, we're going to try something different.  This weekend, I'm going to sit down with them and explain what I was unhappy with and why today.  And we're going to talk about what needs to happen at what time.  Both the wee ones have small whiteboards, and I'm going to use them as checklists for the wee ones because I can't keep reminding them to move move move every five minutes.  I'll leave them outside their rooms at night, and they can carry them with them as they get ready in the morning.

Something has to change.  And as the parent, it has to be me.  I will raise independent and responsible children one way or the other.  How do you ensure that you get everyone out the door in the morning?

Where's Your Mommy?

The wee ones and I went to the pool today. It was the first time I've ever navigated the pool alone. With two small children who are both active and like doing different things in the pools, I'm generally just not comfortable without one adult per child as my ratio. While both wee ones know how to swim - and Mister Man has demonstrated his prowess by swimming twenty-five meters without touching the bottom - that doesn't mean that I'm comfortable with them much more out of arm's reach.

Granted, this is just me. I'm paranoid. I know this, and I'm ok with it. I read about kids who know how to swim still drowning. I know the story behind the two year old boy at Mister Man's school who is still in a coma after a Memorial Day pool accident. It's just the way I am. I have my rules, and they work for me - and fortunately the wee ones respect them. That's why we tested the only one adult theory. It worked wonderfully, I'm happy to report.

Not all parents go with this same theory, and I'm fine with that. For the most part. There are parents who watch from the edge of the pool rather than in it. There are parents who let the lifeguards monitor their six and seven year olds while they sit in their lounge chairs and read. While that's not what I'm comfortable with for my children, I don't judge. Generally.

Today was an exception. Twice.

A boy who couldn't be more than three or four was tiptoeing near where the wee ones were jumping into the pool from the edge and then climbing back out. The water was only three and a half feet, but I could see that the boy was on his tip-toes, holding his head back to avoid the water getting in his nose and eyes. There was no parent in site. As I looked on, giving him a wary eye and noting no adult in site, the lifeguard helped him to shallower water where he could safely stand and asked that he be sure to stay in the shallow area. Hello? Parent? Guardian? Nanny? Babysitter? Anyone? I was glad that it was a relatively cool day and the pool wasn't very crowded.

Less than a half hour later, I heard an announcement on the loudspeaker, "Will the mom of Tommy who is wearing the yellow SpongeBob swimsuit please report to the guard shack." I looked over, and I could see a little boy, maybe five but probably not (nope, not the same kid, fortunately) holding the hand of one of the lifeguards just looking forlornly towards the pool, doing his best to fight off tears. I looked around, curious to see whose child he was - as he'd obviously gotten lost and couldn't find his mom. Five minutes later, the message was repeated. No mom appeared.

Another five minutes later, the volume on the loudspeaker was turned up, and the message altered. "Will Kelly the mother of little Tommy wearing the yellow SpongeBob Squarepants swim trunks please report to the guard shack. Please." Interestingly, there was still nothing.

Really? You haven't seen your four or five year old son in, what, at least twenty minutes at this point - that's being generous and figuring he sought out a lifeguard to help find his missing mom ten minutes after he last saw her, and in all honesty, I figure he was probably happily playing for longer than that - and you aren't searching frantically for him? You aren't walking around the pool, worry hastening your footsteps as you begin to fear the worst, knowing it's been too long since you last saw your child? You aren't running to the lifeguard shack yourself begging them to help you find your missing child? You aren't alert enough to recognize your child's name, description and oh, I don't know, your own name to come sprinting to reassure your child that everything is ok?

The announcement for Kelly to please come claim poor Tommy was made a fourth time. A few minutes later, I saw a woman bending over him, dragging him back to the chair she must have finally vacated. I won't give you any stereotypes as to what she looked at, because in my mind, ignoring your child and relinquishing your parental responsibilities isn't subject to a single stereotype. She didn't appear worried to me, however. She looked angry with him, and she was dragging him by the arm, as though he'd done something wrong and embarrassed her. I turned away in disgust at this point because I realized that I'd begun judging her. I wasn't ok with her parenting choices. In my mind they'd gone too far from my own and could so easily have left her child in a dangerous situation.

And so the wee ones and I finished up our pool playdate. I hung out with them in the pool, helping them in their follow the leader game, cheering them on as they went down the slides, and monitoring them as they played in the waterfalls, jumping in and out of the pool. I recognized that it was my choice, and I was grateful for the lifeguards who are so astute so that parents can monitor at their own comfort level, which isn't mine.

And I began to reflect that at some point, I will need to back off. I will need to let them play in the pool without me standing over them, ready to grab them if they show any signs of distress. Someday I'll be bringing my book and reading in a chair, though glancing up at the end of every page to mark the wee ones visually in the pool. Not yet, but someday. But I promise that when I do, I will make sure the wee ones know where I am, and I will be listening to any and all announcements on the loudspeaker.

At what age did you give your children independence in the pool? Or when are you planning to?

Enter to win a strawberries cook book
You could also win Giddy Snacks for a week - 2 winners
about mornings and traffic) are my own.
Win a Lawry's seasoning pack

Please Remove Your Head From Your Nether Regions

Current Giveaways:

Strawberry Shortcake DVDs here
9Lives Prize Pack here
Scotch-Brite Greener Clean Products here

***

There are times when I am sometimes truly amazed by how inwardly focused are sometimes. That's not to say that there aren't days when I am selfish and unaware of things that are going on around me, but I sure hope that I don't fall into these categories.

Dear Mom At Gymnastics,

I know there aren't great places to view what's going on inside the gym, especially for small children. The row of small windows they provide isn't the easiest to see.

But having your child sit or stand on the very narrow ledge that they built to cover the coat hooks so that no one injures themselves accidentally bumping into them - well, really is that the smartest thing to do?

We won't get into the fact that your child standing there then blocks the view for everyone else in the area.

Or the fact that the gym has requested multiple times that you not place your children on the ledge for safety reasons. Or the fact that the gym now has a notes pasted every (literally) two feet on the windows asking you to keep your children off the ledge.

Please, make sure that your child - who was previously racing up and down the hallway with a lollipop in his mouth - can see his sister on the balance beam while no one else can see. At least you have the justification of not being able to read the sign requesting that your child stay off the ledge because he's blocking it while sitting on the ledge. Oh, wait. There's another one by your left elbow.

sigh

kthnxbai,




Dear Dad In the Carpool Line,

Generally, I feel badly when I'm dropping off the carpool. After all, there is only a ten minute window of six cars at a time dropping off children, and I have four children who have to pile out of my car. They don't always do it as quickly as I'd like, and I feel badly that we're holding up the line.

I don't feel so badly anymore.

Yesterday, I was dropping off the carpool, and after everyone piled out of the car, I noticed that your passenger door was still open. I felt for you - I always worry that the carpool kids will get out of the car and leave me with my door hanging open. It isn't easy to fix. I waited for your to reach over to close it.

And I waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, I saw movement. It was a girl climbing out of the car to go to school. Uhhhh, you held up the line for four minutes waiting for her to get out of the car? You do realize that with the narrow dropoff lane, no one can get past you until you leave, right?

At least she finally got out of the car - and closed the door behind her!

Or so I thought until I saw you waving at her, while remaining in park. She slowly walked toward the school, and you continued waving. I apologize for the lights flashing at you, but c'mon!

I'm grateful that you started moving forward at least. For the first three feet before you stopped to continue watching her progress toward the school. Again, my apologies for the slight horn honk. Really. But move already! Anyone who wasn't in our group of six now has kids who are late for school because of you.

By the time you left the line and allowed the rest of us to get along with our day, it was six minutes after the start of school. If your daughter needs that much assistance getting into school, might I suggest that you park and walk her in next time?

kthxbai,

Two Steps Forward; One Step Back

Do you need to find a way to stay (or get!) organized? Try the BusyBodyBook - giveaway here.

***

I wrote earlier this week about our excitement at being released from Vision Therapy. Mister Man hit a huge milestone and accomplished so much. That was the good news of the week - and our two steps forward.

And then there's the two steps back. Remeber when I discussed last week about how we're working on moving Little Miss away from Pull-Ups at night? Yeah, it's not going so well.

The first couple nights, my husband and I woke up Little Miss a few times to have her go p0tty at night. She stayed dry, but then we started having solid accidents during the day. Three of them, in fact. That had the washing machine cranked up enough.

After the third night, Little Miss hasn't stayed dry yet - we're hoping cutting off all liquids after dinner helps, but the jury is still out on that one. Even when she's awakened only a couple hours after falling asleep, we still discover her lying soaking wet and sound asleep. And yes, this is my light sleeper who wakes up if I so much as walk past her room too loudly.

The washing machine is now drawing overtime wages, and we're dipping into the "wow, I didn't realize we still owned these" sheets. Last night, I arrrived home from softball and could see the light in Mister Man's room as I pulled into the driveway. That is never a good sign. I could hear him sobbing as I walked into the house and quickly ran upstairs.

Yep, he'd had his own accident in bed, something he hasn't done in years and only - maybe - twice before in his life. And apparently somewhere along the way his mattress cover ripped (according to my husband) and was thrown away. (Side note: yes, we have a cleaning lady who strips our beds and remakes them, so I wasn't aware of this.) Being an IKEA mattress with a thick cover, the cover is removable and washable.

My husband's response? Well, the cover is hard to remove, so he'd left it on for the previous half hour plus of cleanup. We now need a new mattress tomorrow for Mister Man. And it had better come with a protective cover! Instead Mister Man was put back to bed with a towel cover the very wet spot and no sheets, comforter or anything. Since I could see the towel already getting wet, I made a few alterations to the arrangement, including providing Mister Man with a comforter.

Needless to say, I'm in somewhat of a crabby mood after this. Of course, part of that is remnants from the night before.

The wee ones sleep through the night. They sleep in their own beds. They always have, and they just don't know there's an alternative. Shortly after 9pm, Little Miss woke up sobbing hysterically, but couldn't tell me what was wrong. After I comforted her, I came back downstairs. Three minutes later I was back upstairs with more sobbing. And no good resolution. This time I didn't make it down the stairs before her hysteria had me running back into her room.

She didn't want me to leave. She couldn't stop crying - and even today - she couldn't tell me why. Every time she was settled to go back to sleep, she's start up again as I walked out the room. After forty-five minutes of this, she finally asked me to stay and sleep with her. Uhhh, no. She asked to sleep in my bed. Again, no (hello not-staying-dry-girl, not in my bed!).

At this point, I sighed and asked if she wanted to sleep with Mister Man (obviously I had no idea there wasn't a mattress cover on his bed). She agreed, and I placed her next to her thankfully very heavy sleeping brother.

An hour later, she was sobbing again. In his room. Once I made to the bedroom, I determined that she was done with his room. She wanted to be back in her own room (thankfully, she was still dry!). So I picked her up and gently deposited her back in her own room.

That was the last I heard of her that night, but ohhh did it mess with my own sleep. We've never had that experience before, and I have my fingers and toes crossed that we don't experience that particular regression again.

Two steps forward, and one step back. As thrilled as I am that Mister Man graduated from one therapy, I need some more news like that on a regular basis and less backsliding like we've had since then.

Anyone have a glass of wine they can spare?

I Learned My Lesson

As parents, we should be the ones teaching the lessons, especially when the children are small and impressionable. It shouldn't fall on the children to be the ones to remind us of the lessons that we're trying to teach. It doesn't always work out that way though.

Yesterday at breakfast, I got the wee ones' food ready, I gave them their vitamins, and I left my husband supervising while I ran downstairs to wrap a present for a birthday party we had later in the day.

Shortly after I got down the stairs, I heard mild cussing by my husband followed by "I knew this was going to happen. I could see it coming!" in a not so happy voice.

I trotted back upstairs, prepared to intervene and do damage control. I found him mopping up milk from Little Miss's placemat. He had placed her heavy spoon on the edge of the cereal bowl, and it had tumped over.

The issue here (for me) is that Little Miss has a dairy allergy. Therefore, she drinks rice milk instead of regular milk ($1.88 per regular gallon versus $2.99 for a quart). And since she can't have many foods with calcium, she takes a liquid calcium/magnesium supplement to ensure she absorbs her calcium (since she's too little for a pill, she gets it in liquid form). The vitamin that lasts us a little over a month is $23.95. She loves the blueberry taste and begs me to put it in her rice milk. I obliged yesterday morning, even though I was sure she wasn't going to finish all her cereal and milk, but yet I couldn't waste the vitamin.

Since the milk had spilled only on her just cleaned placemat, had I been in charge, I would have carefully returned the spilled milk to her cereal bowl. With my husband mopping it up, I had no idea how much she had or hadn't taken, making it difficult to redose her. Plus the wasting of money.

*sigh*

I asked my husband to stop sopping it up and explained - not the most patiently, mind you - the issue. He just didn't care a whit, as he doesn't get the whole vitamin thing anyway. And replacing something wasted? It's just money after all - yes, he came from a very different background from what I did.

I groaned, told him I didn't care what he did and went back into the basement to finish wrapping the present. A minute or so later, Mister Man appeared on the stairs.

Look, Mommy.

What's this, Mister Man?

It's money.

Yes, kiddo. I can see it's a twenty dollar bill. What are you doing with it?

I want to give it to you so Little Miss can get some more vitamins. (And yes , just typing this is making me tear up again.)

Oh, sweetie! That's really generous of you, but you keep your money.

But Mommy, they're expensive. You said so. Do you have twenty dollars?

I do. I have a lot more than twenty dollars. You keep your money, Mister Man. I love how generous you are, but your money is yours.

I sent him back upstairs, and then I sat down on the steps a little and cried. He can be such a sweetheart and so generous and so worried about and protective of his sister. And sometimes I can really make a big deal about things that are so minor.

I'm so glad that he reminded me of this. After I was done, I was able to go back upstairs and change the tone so that everyone understood - especially the wee ones - that Mommy doesn't like wasting things, especially expensive things, but that there are so many things in the world that are far more important.

And then we talked about the things that are more important. As my six year old son reminded me.

Beware The Small People

On Friday, Little Miss had a day off school (again, whee!), so we had a playdate. In fact, we sort of had two playdates, as we also invited a friend's son to join us since said friend broke her foot and is pretty much down for the count for awhile.

Picture me with three four year olds running amuck in my house for three hours. Two of the three were boys (because, after all, Little Miss has no interest in girls an only plays with boys now), and Little Miss plays like a boy anyway.

They were all pretty well behaved, but three children running around playing requires an active eye. One child had to go potty, so I showed him where the bathroom was and resumed monitoring the other two until he requested my help washing his hands. All was good.

A little while later, the same boy announced he had to go potty again, but this time he wanted no help. No worries. I kept playing with the other two children, and the little boy returned shortly thereafter.

At lunchtime, one boy's babysitter arrived to pick him up. We came up from the basement when we heard her, and she was in our foyer petting one of our cats. She asked if I knew that he'd been outside. In fact, he was sunning himself in our driveway when she pulled up and the car scared him.

Ummm, no. I didn't know that my indoor only cat was outside. I thought quickly and headed to the powder room, across the hall from my garage. Where the door was still standing wide open.

Of course the babysitter had found the ummm less intelligent of my two cats sitting in the middle of the driveway. After calling briefly for Roar (no grief on the names here, folks, Mister Man was only just three when he named Meow and Roar), I realized that he was outside, too.

Whee! Fortunately, he came running from the bushes to the side of my house once I called him, and he was redeposited inside, safe and sound.

Note to self: keep track of all small children and don't trust potty breaks.

After we ate lunch, I returned the little boy to my friend with the broken foot. She was in the process of trying to build and iceberg cake for said child's birthday party the next day, and she was requesting some assistance from me. She didn't believe me when I told her that I don't build or carve cakes for a reason, but between the two of us, we came up with some workable solutions.

While I was in the kitchen helping her figure this out (and racing into the basement to find a toy dinosaur I could wash and stick next to the cake before it fell over), Little Miss and her son were playing nicely in the other room. All was well.

I gathered up Little Miss when it was time for us to go, and luckily I didn't even need to ask Little Miss to put her coat on since she'd never taken it off for whatever reason. In fact, she even had put on her mittens.

We climbed into the car and began backing out of the driveway. I heard Little Miss shaking her mitten. Yep, I heard it. It jingled. In fact, it sounded rather like money. I sighed and pulled over, requesting to see the mitten.

Little Miss refused and pulled the mitten close to her chest. Fortunately, she quickly saw reason, and I began collecting the coins from Little Miss's mitten that she'd stolen from my friend. The only good news was that they were all pennies.

*sigh*

I decided against returning to the house and making my broken footed friend in the wheelchair let me in again, as we were fortunately going to see them again at the birthday party the next day. Instead, I placed the coins in my pocket with a mental note to return them.

Note to self: Little Miss doesn't get the value of money and apparently has no compunctions about taking them from other people. Have a little chat about thievery and respecting other people's property.

I'm feeling like a great trying-it-out-SAHM this week, can you tell?

I Thought I Had More Time

There is a time in childrens' lives that every parent dreads. Ok, so to be honest, there are lots of moments that parents dread. We just continue to think they'll never come.

I reached a milestone this week that I thought I had years to reach. Years. Lots of them.

I had no idea that I'd be stumped by kindergarten homework.

Yes, that's right. I was unable to help my kindergartener with his homework. I couldn't figure it out, and even my husband is struggling.

This does not bode well for his grades in high school. *sigh* But I have to give myself a little bit of a reprieve. Space has never been my best subject. There are certain things that I just don't like and therefore never learned anything about -- Mister Man's obsession of dinosaurs is my other big disinterest.

This week, the kindergarteners are charged with watching the night skies. Thank you, teacher, who decided to do the space unit in January when it's freezing (literally) outside instead of waiting until ohhh I don't know, May!

Not only do they need to watch the night sky, but they need to identify it.

Moon? Check.

Big Dipper? Check. (Whoo, go me!)

Little Dipper? Uhhhh, yeah.

Casseopeia? Oh, please.

Orion? Are you kidding me?!

I've never figured out constellations. They just don't make sense to me. They are stars in the sky, and they're pretty. That's about as far as my stargazing knowledge goes.

But this week, I'm spending my time staring at a constellation map and comparing it to the sky. Then I turn my map around and squint to see if that helps. I turn it a bit further and then sigh in frustration.

Did I also mention that we're in a new moon phase, which means there isn't much of a moon to see? At least that makes drawing the moon easy. And thankfully, we don't have to draw the other constellations, just say if we could see them or not.

Tonight I was exceedingly grateful that it was cloudy. We walked outside, saw no stars, turned around, and I know we got the answers right for once!

What was the first homework that stumped you?

Nomination: Mother Of The Year

Two giveaways going on here and here.

***

I think this one finally puts me over the top. Not only do I win Mother Of The Year with this one (and seriously, no nasty comments please, it's been a really hard day), but I'm pretty sure that we've been to our first and only birthday party for Mister Man's kindergarten class.

Yep, we're already "that family" and it's only the fourth week of school.

Today, Mister Man had a birthday party for one of the kids in his class. The invitation didn't specify drop off or stay, and when I RSVPed, no one said anything, so I assumed that it would be a drop off party like most of the other parties we've been at for the last year. Besides, if I had to stay, I could.

Then my mom decided that the wee ones had to attend her neighborhood picnic today, so she'd just drop him off after it. I should never have agreed to that.

When I showed up at 4:45 to gather him up (the party ended at 5), I saw a ton of cars parked in the street. It was obviously not a drop off party. Thank you, MOM for neither a) staying at the party nor b) calling me so I could show up.

I could hear noise in the back yard, so I headed back that way. The birthday boy was in the midst of opening all his presents. I casually scanned the group for Mister Man, trying to remember what he was wearing. I then scanned it less casually. I moved to a different vantage point and looked again. No Mister Man.

I snuck over to a mom I recognized (remember, fourth week of school here) and asked if by chance anyone was in the bathroom. Then I found a grandparent who told me there were a few children inside. Fortunately, Mister Man was one of them. He came out when I told him presents were being opened.

Then he saw the cake and asked if he could have cake because apparently he (along with a couple other children) couldn't be bothered to sing happy birthday and have cake. Nice parents got him cake and ice cream, and I tried to sink into the floor.

Shortly thereafter, I noticed he was outside only in his socks. I asked where his shoes were, and he decided they must be in the front yard by the bouncy house. He went into the front yard to put on his shoes. I started talking to a mom.

After a period of conversation, I noticed that Mister Man hadn't yet come back. I sighed and headed to the front yard to round him up. He wasn't in the front yard. Neither were his shoes. My heart started to sink.

I went through the house thinking I must have missed him. I walked back around to the front where other children were now climbing on the uninflated bouncy house. One tried to climb in it, and a parent decided it was a bad idea because "you could suffocate in there."

I stared at the lumpy bouncy house and imagined Mister Man's suffocated body inside it. I closed my eyes trying to dispel the image. A parent turned the bouncy house on, and I waited impatiently for it to blow up so I could ensure Mister Man was not inside. He wasn't.

I walked around to the back one more time before I started asking parents if they'd seen Mister Man. None had. He wasn't in the bathroom. He wasn't in the playroom. He wasn't upstairs or in the basement.

I was in full-on panic mode. I even checked my car to see if he'd decided to head that way and was waiting for me.

No Mister Man. I can feel the panic rising in my throat as I start to think about what I do next.

At that point, I hear someone say, "Is that him there?" and I look to see him coming into the yard. Oh, thank GOD.

He is not one to wander, as he had a bad experience when he was three and knows better, so I hadn't worried about telling a child who will be six in three weeks to walk to the front of a house to put on shoes by himself. I obviously need to rethink this, while still ensuring I don't turn into a helicopter parent.

I finally got the story from him, at which point I alerted the host to ensure Mister Man was the only child who had been unaccounted for. While he was looking for his shoes (which were inside the house and put on after he was found), two children asked him if he wanted to walk one of them home. He agreed. Three children left the party without telling anyone and crossed at least one street by themselves.

Mister Man told me that after they dropped the girl off at her house, he came back to the party, but the other boy in the red shirt did not. He didn't know who the other person was or where he lived, but he knew that he did not come back to the party.

After talking to the birthday mom, I discovered that both children lived in the neighborhood. The one in the red shirt was a preteen and had also most likely gone to his house. And probably should have known better than to take a strange kid with him. But this is still on Mister Man. Apparently Safety Town did not have the appropriate impact on him that it should have.

He is now very clear that he is never to leave somewhere without a) informing an adult and b) ensuring that it is appropriate for him to do so. And he also knows that he is never to cross a street in a strange neighborhood without an adult, which means the recent street crossing privileges when he's within my sight in our neighborhood have at the moment been revoked.

I think he's learned his lesson on this one, but it's one I never wanted him to have to learn. On the plus side, I think this cements my Mother Of The Year Award, and I'm pretty sure we won't be invited to any more birthday parties.

We may have to switch schools next year for this reason alone. For Mister Man's birthday, we have one classmate able to come, three unable to make it and fifteen haven't yet RSVPed. I'm hoping all fifteen don't take this opportunity to avoid us.

I'll take that in a heartbeat, however, over what could have been the alternative outcome.

Hello, My Name Is Michelle, And I'm A Bad Parent Of A School Aged Child

One more day for the giveaway. Click here to enter before it ends Friday night!

********

This is my first year really in school. Mister Man is in kindergarten, and for the first year we have more requirements than signing up at the preschool and getting him a backpack.

This year, we have several things required before school starts:
1) He has to have an eye exam. Phew, we did this a couple weeks ago. Except I forgot to take the form with me. And I haven't called them yet. And school starts Monday. What's the likelihood they can fill out the form tomorrow and then fax it to the school? Yeah... I didn't think so.

2) He needs to have a dental exam. I made the appointment for this, so this one is fortunately all on my husband. I dropped the form off with the dentist ahead of time. My husband forgot to take the completed one with him. And has yet to pick it up. Fingers crossed he has time tomorrow.

3) I need to actually sign him up for school. I dithered and dithered about where to go. The half day public school kindergarten that has the convenient bus, or the full day private school option that has differentiated education. I finally decided on the private school in the middle of July. Fortunately, there were still spaces left.

4) I have to buy school uniform for Mister Man. This should be easy, right? Navy pants and navy shorts - just not cargo. Red and white polo shirts with no logos. A pair of gym shoes (not until first grade do they have to have the brown or black shoes). Oops. I waited too long. There are apparently few manufacturers that make polos without logos on them. And fewer still that haven't sold out by the end of the third week of August. Navy pants? That's not so much the problem. But poor Mister Man is going to have to wear pants all year even when the temperatures are into the 90s. Oops. Sorry, Kiddo.

5) And there's the dreaded school supply list. Seriously, I need to save what was on the list this year and just start buying the stuff in early July last year. Have you tried looking for a pack of Crayola broad tip classic color markers lately? Or an 8 pack of non-jumbo Crayola crayons? I finally gave up and bought RoseArt markers and a 24 pack of crayons. I emailed the teacher with my dilemma. She's agreed that I can just pick out the eight colors of crayons and send them in a baggie, but she's insisting that the markers need to be Crayola. I've literally been to eight stores, and they are quite simply sold out right now. Apparently, I know what I'll be doing this weekend.

Oh, and don't get me started on trying to find a lunchbox. In fact, I think that might be its own post. One of my friends is now making fun of me in my search for the lunchbox. And I have four more days now, so time is really running out.

The sad thing is that I have a feeling that even with a year of this under my belt and with the experience of this summer, next year I'll be in the same boat. I'm just not good at getting ready for the new school year. I'm not ready for it to start myself!

Bad Idea

I thought I was being creative. You know, like mommies are when they need to get something done. Like many moms, I have children who sometimes are slower than molasses when I really need them to get moving for one reason or another.

I decided that a good motivator for them to do things would be to see who could get something done first. As in, "Ok guys, who can get up the stairs to go brush teeth first?" "Who can climb into their seats and start getting buckled in first?" "Who can put their shoes on first?"

Yeah. Apparently both the wee ones have inherited just a teensy weensy bit of my competitive gene. They both want to win. And they don't lose well (granted, over time I've learned how to lose gracefully but that's not an easy skill for any child).

They have now turned absolutely everything into a competition. And there are constant meltdowns and whining about it. Whoops.

I've been trying to counteract this now for weeks with the admonition that "this isn't a competition." It's seems to work a little bit in that the losing wee one shouts to the other "that wasn't a race" or "that wasn't a competition." That makes it slightly better, but I don't know how much the frustration level has eased.

I'm debating my next move in this one. We talk about how it's ok to be second or third or how we can't always win everything and that's fine. Suddenly losing board games have become much more frustrating for Mister Man, too. In a way, I hope it's the age and not just me messing him up, but the timing is a bit coincidental.

Mister Man has started asking me regularly if something he's doing or working on or whatever is better than Little Miss. My standard response is that I'm not comparing the two of them, which he fortunately accepts.

He's asking this question a little less often, so maybe continuing to reiterate that not everything is a competition and that it's ok to lose, coupled with playing lots of board games where sometimes he wins and sometimes he loses will help.

I can't decide if having playdates where they play board games will help or not. If he sees that friends won't want to play with him when he has a meltdown over losing -- or even falling behind sometimes -- then maybe he'll adjust his attitude and be more ok with it. On the other hand, I don't want him to lose friends or decrease his self-esteem by pushing this issue on him too early.

Yet another situation where I won't know the right approach until it's too late, but here I go forging ahead anyway. What other choice do I have?