Anyone Wanna Take Over?

Seriously. I'm failing at this whole motherhood thing here, obviously. (Can you tell it's been a long two days?) You all know that we've made three trips to the ER in the past three months -- or you should if you read the blog anyway!

Yesterday morning, we went to get Mister Man evaluated by an orthopedist. The good news is that the growth plate is not displaced. Since it's clear, it isn't visible on the X-ray. However, you can see a ton of swelling and blood in the area which indicates a broken growth plate, so they treat it like a break.

In our case, that means that we return to the orthopedist in two weeks. I made the appointment for March 31 at 9:15 -- Little Miss is on the bus and on her way to school and Mister Man doesn't have to miss school. Perfect. Oh. Except that I forgot that I had agreed to watch a friend's daughter from 9:10-10:40. Apparently I'll be calling tomorrow morning to reschedule that.

Mister Man does have a full cast now. And since yesterday was St Patrick's Day, he choose to get a green cast. I thought it was pretty cool. When we go back, they'll take that cast off, do more X-rays, see how his pain level is, and evaluate from there.



After I looked at this picture, I realized that I had announced almost three weeks ago that Mister Man needed a haircut. Yep, it's even worse now.

Instead of taking Mister Man to Costco to get the waffles and bread that we were out of that he so desperately wanted for breakfast today and then to his preschool to drop off the boxes of Scholastic Books I had in my car from my trek to the warehouse on Friday, we got his hair cut. I will admit that it looks much better now.

This meant that we didn't have time to get to the preschool, so Little Miss rode the bus home, and then I drove Mister Man to school. With Little Miss. Who was in desperate need of a nap. We didn't get home until after 2, although she went straight to sleep without a peep. I had to wake her up at 4 to go to the chiro after Mister Man got home, and she was still exhausted. I think the haircut could have waited until Friday, now that I think about it.

Today was Day 2 with the cast.

While I was putting Little Miss on the bus, Mister Man spilled his chocolate milk. Onto his cast. Into the hand part of his cast. And he sat there crying until I came in and heard him. Yep, just sitting in the milk pooled into chocolatey lake in his lap and cast. And yes, this is my intelligent child.

I then spent the next twenty-five minutes using my blow dryer for the first time in weeks. I used the cool setting in an effort to dry out the padding in his cast. The triage nurse at the ortho (who I'm sure will know me by name soon at this rate) said that they didn't need to see him to check the cast unless he had done something like dunked his cast in the bathtub or something where water got down into it. I'm dubious, but I tried to get it dry. Here's hoping he still has all the skin on his arm when they take it off in T-13 days.

He did have a good day, though. He's really into having everyone sign his cast -- including total strangers who have been indulging the little imp. We're using a green marker on the green cast. The majority of his daycare class signed, and apparently everyone in his preschool class signed. There isn't much room left!



When he got home today, the broken record went back on.

Don't lift that with your right hand.

Do not pick up that greasy food with your right hand.

Don't touch that dirt with your right hand.

Please use your fork to eat your dinner and not your fingers.

Don't keep banging your cast on the wall.

You can't run with your cast. Walking only!

You can't jump on your bed with a broken arm.

You can't push yourself up with your arm. You can't bear weight on it while it's broken, Sweetie. Please try to be careful with your broken arm so it doesn't get worse!

At least I didn't have to tell him to stop hitting his sister with his cast, right?

Then there's Little Miss who was completely overstimulated by my parents and is still overtired from the weekend spent with my parents with no naps and late bedtimes, screeching in her room that she wants to get up and that she wants Mommy to sleep with her (which I never have so I'm not sure where she got that idea). Fifty minutes.

Anyone have a bottle of wine they can share with me?

I Feel Like A Heel

Today was not my best day. I didn’t intend for any of it to be bad, but sometimes you just know it’s a bad day, and you don’t do anything to ensure it turns around.

This morning, I dropped Little Miss at daycare after Mister Man’s bus came (early for ONCE instead of 10-15 minutes late, which meant instead of sitting outside reading, he was still putting his shoes on). As I see every single day when I am at the daycare, there is a car parked in the handicap spot. Well, mostly in the handicap spot anyway. He was parked somewhat sideways to ensure he took up most of two spots.

The daycare the wee ones go to has two other businesses in the complex. There’s a Christmas tree business in the building behind is and something generic on the close side of the building by the drive up to the complex. The Lexus parks in the spot closest to the drive with no handicap tags or sign every single day that I go there. Granted, it’s unlikely that the handicap spot is going to be truly needed by someone, but it’s still wrong and illegal (and obviously a pet peeve of mine). It isn’t like there aren’t other spots nearby. In fact, the non-handicap spot next to where he (and I assume it’s a man) parks is usually open.

So today, I looked up who does the police for that town, and I called them and let them know about the car. The woman I spoke to seemed irritated by the car being there and promised to send a car out to take a look. I feel somewhat conflicted about doing that, but I’m still going to look to see if the car is there when I take Little Miss to daycare on Monday.

But before I did that, I had a bad mom incident – completely accidentally, I swear. Mister Man asked for a bagel for breakfast. Since they’d both slept in somewhat this morning, and I knew that the bus driver had “promised” to be early today (as opposed to picking Mister Man up at 8:51 to get to a preschool 20 minutes away that starts at 9am after picking up two additional kids…), so we had to hurry.

I put Little Miss’s waffle in the toaster and quickly cut a bagel in half and put it in, too. Then I fixed some granola and yogurt for myself – oh, who am I kidding, everyone shares with me because it’s yummy. As they cleaned up the front playroom, I set the table with their milk cups and food, then called them in.

We were having a lovely conversation, each intend on eating our food. About halfway through his bagel, Mister Man broke it in half. It was then that I saw the outside of it for the first time. And realized that it had spots of mold growing on it. The bagels were purchased only four days ago, so I was definitely surprised to see the mold. I quickly grabbed the bagel. Then I thought about it for a minute. He only had about four minutes to finish eating, and I didn’t exactly have time to make him a new breakfast. So I ummmm improvised. I tore off the pieces of mold and gave him back the bagel to eat.

And then there was tonight…. I’ve always known that Little Miss was going to be the more difficult of the two children. She’s far more headstrong, and she seems to think the world revolves around her – no idea where she got that notion!

Tonight, as we were getting ready for bed, Little Miss decided to start acting up. As she took off her socks, she started rubbing them in my face. I politely explained that this was disgusting and that it wasn’t a nice thing to do. So she did it again, at which point she got the raised-eyebrow-you’d-better-stop-it now. So she threw the sock at me. As I was explaining that throwing things isn’t really allowed, she started kicking me (like she was swimming, not standing like kicking a soccer ball). When I asked her if she wanted to go to the naughty step, she said yep and ran to it. And proceeded to play on it and have a grand old time.

She thought it was a grand game every time I picked her up and put her back on the step. Finally, I asked her if she was going to stay on the step or lose Baby Coco. And I took had to take Baby Coco. When timeout was over, I asked her if she knew why she was on the naughty step. She insisted she had no idea and started kicking me again.

When asking her if that was an appropriate thing to do, she giggled and said yes. I asked her to stop and explained that if she didn’t start behaving, she wasn’t going to have time to listen to Timothy read a Bob book. She laughed, jumped off the naughty step and proceeded to start kicking again. No Bob book tonight for her (Mister Man, however, read one of the books to Daddy).

That’s when she turned on the siren, accompanied by the waterworks. She didn’t want to go to bed. She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t want to wear those pajamas. She didn’t want to get into bed.

Unfortunately, when she misbehaves, she doesn’t exactly get her way. She continued to scream and cry as the pjs went on, as I put her into bed, as she ran out of bed and back into the hallway, as I put her back into bed, as she opened the door and stepped across the threshold, as I put her back in her room…. It was over an hour before she finally stopped crying, but I knew that if I went in her room to comfort her or to check on her, that would only prolong it both tonight and in future nights. So I stuck it out.

Then the dilemma was whether I should go into her room and move her into her bed or leave her where she fell asleep. My husband and I discussed it for awhile. Finally we decided to go put her in her bed. But we were surprised, she’d put herself into her bed before falling asleep.

The worst part of it was that my mom called midway through the crying spell to check on the plan for tomorrow (her childcare day). She could hear Little Miss crying and wanted to know what was wrong. I explained that she simply didn’t want to go to bed, but it was well past her bedtime. My mom immediately went into the “Well, aren’t you going to check on her? What if she’s thirsty? What if she needs something?” mode, which of course is counterproductive. But now she’s all worried about my parenting of the wee ones. Hmm, coincidence that this is starting right after the return from Florida? I think not.

Here’s hoping that tomorrow is a better day all around. Of course, given that I’m headed into the office at 6:15 tomorrow, I’m not holding my breath. But I am going to bed so I’ll at the very least be well rested!

I Love Quality Time...

As I sit here typing this, Mister Man and I are enjoying a treasured ritual.

In general, both the wee ones apparently have a relatively early bedtime. I didn’t realize it when I started doing it, but whenever children’s bedtimes or sleeping habits come up, I realize how lucky I am (and how much my wee ones benefit from it). Little Miss goes down between 6 and 6:30 and wakes up around 7:30 (plus a 2-3 ½ hour nap).

Mister Man goes down and wakes up around the same time if he doesn’t have a nap. If he does sleep, I allow him to stay up until 8pm. At 4 ½, he still needs a nap – or at least quiet time – to avoid meltdowns. However, he only truly sleeps about every third or fourth day at this point. The last two days, he’s actually gone upstairs and put himself to sleep.

Apparently most children go to bed later, wake up earlier, fuss and protest about bedtime, or some or all of the above. Sometimes not knowing that there's an alternative means that you end up making things easier on yourself. Had I known that fighting bedtime was a "normal" childhood ritual, maybe I would have somehow unknowingly encouraged it. But for now, I know I'm blessed and I'm not taking it for granted!

On weekend nights, Mister Man gets a special treat if he’s taken a nap. Not only does he get to stay up until 8pm, but we get … MOVIE NIGHT WITH MOMMY!

There are very strict rules about Movie Night With Mommy. Mister Man gets to choose the movie (Dumbo, Fantasia, Robin Hood, or a Thomas episode). We do this after Little Miss goes to sleep. And we make popcorn.

Tonight, we’re again watching Robin Hood. Every time the Sheriff of Nottingham comes onscreen, he points to him and tells me that he’s a bad guy. Robin Hood or Maid Marian? “Mommy, that’s a good guy.” He laughs, he does the “Oh, no!” when something seemingly bad happens, and oh the facial expressions. If it weren’t for the fact that my camera is out of batteries, I would have tried to capture him moods. Words don’t do them justice.

And the popcorn isn’t just any popcorn. I’m a throwback. No funny tasting, overly salty popcorn for me! I go by the Alton Brown method and cook mine in a metal bowl on the stovetop with just a tiny sprinkling of salt. I’ve learned to use potholders that are the glove kind vs the squares when making it – but not before several burns, of course. Really, it’s not much more effort, but it’s a great workout for your triceps and the taste is so much better!

We’ve been quite companionably sitting here, chatting about the movie, and sharing our bowl of popcorn. Alas, the credits are starting to roll.

Mister Man: Mommy, can I watch a Thomas show now?
Me: No.
Mister Man: Pleeeeaaaassssse?
Me: Wait a minute. Do we have Movie Night with Mommy or Lots and Lots of Movies with Mommy?
Mister Man: Lots and Lots of Movies with Mommy.
Me: Are you sure?
Mister Man: No, I was just making a joke. It’s just Movie Night with Mommy. Did you know you make the best popcorn in the whole wide world?

Awwwww. He could melt your heart. Good thing I’m not a sucker. He’s a good kid though, and we went quietly and calmly upstairs, changed, brushed our teeth, read a book, and I haven’t since heard a peep. Perfect way to end a fun but busy day!