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Mommy Talk
Mommy Talk by Marci
Friday November 20, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 6:28PM CST on November 20, 2009
When my nieces were 4 and 6 years old, the 6-year-old lost her first tooth. Sitting at the counter in my mother’s kitchen, she proudly showed her younger cousin what had happened. “That better not happen to me,” the younger one said. “My mom would be mad.” ...
My oldest has finally lost the top front tooth that had been sticking straight out of his mouth for at least two months. He looked like a cartoon character. I swear towards the end, that tooth was actually moving back and forth as he spoke. But as ridiculous as the tooth looked, and despite our frequent threats that the “big boy” tooth that was growing in behind it would be crooked, my 7-year-old refused to pull his tooth out. Not even the Tooth Fairy could convince him. He cried. He whined. He held an ice pack to his mouth. He used up at least three rolls of paper towel. But he refused to actually pluck the tooth out. One night, a little more than a week ago, he went to bed with the tooth practically dangling by a string. “Are you sure you don’t want Mom to just pull it?” I asked. “No!” he screamed. “It’s your fault it’s like this!” Earlier in the day I had persuaded him to let me try and get it out. I loosened it more and he was mad. I didn’t get it. Wasn’t I supposed to be loosening it for him? “But you pull too hard,” he said. Would you believe this is the fifth tooth he’s lost? Every single time it’s a big production. For days he’ll let a loose tooth dangle from his gums. When we suggest he get a paper towel and wiggle it or let us pluck it out, he throws a fit.
This last tooth actually fell out of his mouth while he was sleeping. Who knew a loose tooth could be so traumatic? My goodness.
I remember sitting in the bathroom mirror for hours the minute I felt a loose tooth. I wanted that quarter from the Tooth Fairy. Now she can’t even tempt my oldest with $5!
My 6-year-old is very matter-of-fact about the whole tooth losing situation. When he has a tooth that’s loose enough, he takes a paper towel and wiggles it until it comes out. Why on earth is it such a big deal for my oldest, I wondered? So I did what any modern day mom does when she has a burning child-rearing question: I googled it. Would you believe there are thousands of articles, blogs, tips and even books on how to deal with a child reluctant to lose their first tooth? Really? One article I read even suggested that if you don’t make losing a tooth a “good” experience for your child, they could end up dreading the dentist forever. Good gravy! Sometimes it takes seeing the absurd reaction of other parents out there to realize that you’re also reacting over-the-top to a situation. So I’m not looking forward to the next loose tooth, but I have vowed not to make just as big a stink about it as my son does. Maybe if I shrug it off as no big deal, he will too. ... My sister recently asked me what I do when the Tooth Fairy collects my children’s baby teeth. I’ve kept a few in an envelope in my dresser, but it’s not like I’m going to save them and have them bronzed someday.
“What did you do with the girls’?” I asked. She told me she has kept every single baby tooth her two now teenage daughters lost in a little jar. Yuck, right?! “What do you do with them?” I asked. “Take them out and look at them?” Friday October 30, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 4:07PM CST on October 30, 2009
I have been known to tell my children, “Put it on your Christmas list,” in July. They’re kids. They want everything. Every new toy they see advertised on TV. Every cool thing a friend, neighbor, classmate or cousin has. They want a dog, a laptop computer, a Blackberry and a Darth Vader mask with a built-in voice changer. When they’ve made their requests over Rice Krispies on a hot August morning or a chilly February afternoon, I’d always say “Put it on your Christmas list.” It was the ultimate solution. I wasn’t saying no to the $2,000 laptop or the expensive plastic Star Wars toy that would be broken within a week. I wasn’t even saying I would buy it some day. I was simply telling them that they could ask for the object of their momentary affection from Santa. And they were satisfied with that. More recently, this has become a problem. I’ve discovered that the memories and attention spans of 6 and 7-year-old boys are quite remarkable compared to 4 and 5-year-old boys. THEY REMEMBER. When the big toy store catalog came a few weeks ago, they pulled out fresh sheets of paper and a couple of markers. They RESEARCHED the toys they have been asking for for several months now online. They wrote down the name of the toy, then reported the cost and what web site they found it on to me. I swear. My boys even discussed which toys to put on their “Santa” list, because those items were expensive and they weren’t likely to receive them from Mom and Dad. Can you believe it? Don’t get me wrong, my kids love Halloween. They, again, spent weeks after the start of school looking for really good Star Wars costumes online. When they discovered that none of those outrageously cool and pricey get-ups were available in local stores, they settled for Transformer costumes - which are actually kind of awesome. We went to the pumpkin farm, drank apple cider, carved pumpkins - including one we grew in our garden this year - and have put away some of the summer toys and bikes that have littered the yard for the past few months. Earlier this week the boys helped my husband rake leaves and clean out the vegetable garden. It smells like fall (wet earth and cinnamon). It sounds like fall (crunch, crunch). It feels like fall (crisp winds and chilly nights). So why is Christmas intruding on one of my favorite seasons already!? That’s what I was thinking, in a huff, the other day when my sons presented me with their wish lists. I made a big stink about putting the lists on the kitchen desk in the spot where I keep important papers. But I really wanted to throw them away. Isn’t that awful? My kids spent so much time on those long, long, long lists, and I didn’t even want to look at them. But I did. They won’t get half the things on them, but I’m sure they won’t be disappointed come December 25. Heck, they might not even remember. Then again ... Saturday August 1, 2009
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 7:54PM CST on August 1, 2009
It’s official. On my son’s sixth birthday, the number of pets in my house became equal to the number of people. As of July 24, the Tenuta household contains a mom, a dad, two boys, a girl, a cat, three goldfish, and a gecko. The newest addition to our family is the gecko. His name is Gregory, and we adopted him for our middle child as a birthday gift. (The name was inherited.) Gregory is a new experience for us, and most specifically for my animal- reptile- fish- bird- and insect-loving 6-year-old. I grew up with dogs. My husband grew up with parents who believed animals belonged outside in the wild. When he and his brothers asked for a dog, they got a ceramic statue of a German Shepherd. It took a lot of convincing to get my husband to agree to our first pet. We were given our cat Begonia the year after we were married; two years before we had our first child. She quickly became our baby. We were at a party once, talking about our cat when a friend of my sister-in-law’s pulled her aside and said, “They named their kid Begonia?!” Seriously. Begonia wasn’t so happy when we brought our oldest home. She ignored me for three days. When the kids began to walk and talk, she decided she disliked them even more, and began hissing and swatting at them. She still does it when they run by or irritate her. So my children have never had the experience of really caring for and playing with a pet. Begonia wouldn’t let them near her with a 10-foot-pole. Last July, my animal-crazy boy received two goldfish and an aquatic frog for his birthday from an indulgent uncle. My son was absolutely over the moon. The only problem was he kept trying to hold the frog. “He wants to play with me!” my then-5-year-old would insist, stomping his foot for effect, after we’d catch him trying to scoop the frog out of the fish tank. “He’ll die. He needs the water,” we would say. Our near-constant warnings did nothing to dissuade our adamant son. One morning he took Skipper the frog out of the tank and “played” with his pet. Then he set the frog on the bathroom counter. Later that day, after we had peeled what was left of Skipper from the counter, we had a flushing funeral. Both my sons sobbed. I’m hoping Gregory has a better experience in our home. So far, having him has been mostly positive. My son takes his gecko out to play every day — which I’m told this type of lizard likes. He also helps us feed and water Gregory. He is careful with him and shuts his bedroom door when the gecko is out of its tank, so Begonia doesn’t get it. The only downsides to our new reptilian friend thus far is his choice in food is pretty gross (crickets), and his poop. I won’t go into details, but it’s kind of big and bird-poopish. But Gregory makes my son happy, so I’ll live with the eating of live crickets and ugly gecko poop. I just hope my kid doesn’t plan to advance to snakes anytime soon. That’s one aquarium I would NOT be cleaning. Friday July 10, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:55AM CST on July 10, 2009
Several months ago my oldest was trying to sneak an extra snack after school instead of doing his homework. After pulling him out of the kitchen cupboard, I tackled him and began tickling him. I had him pinned and begging to do his homework. Just before I let him up, my 2-year-old pads over with little bare feet. She looks at her brother and then at me. "Mommy!" she said, pointing her finger at me with a stern look on her face. "Be nice." My baby girl thinks she’s the mom. I must admit, I love it. I mean, this mom’s first two children were rough and tumble boys who always wanted to mimic their dad. They wanted to fix stuff in the garage with him, mow the lawn and do other yard work with him, go to work with him, have a watch and wallet like him, etc. Then along comes this funny little girl who actually likes to help me do laundry, clean up after dinner, and boss around the boys in the house. She loves when I paint her toenails pink and is forever trying to steal my lip gloss from my purse. "In time out!" she’ll say to her brothers if they are wrestling or arguing over a toy. "Sit down boys," she tells them at the dinner table. "No lelling," my baby will say in a purposely quiet voice while they are jumping around the family room, hollering out. At the babysitter, she’ll help call all the kids in from outside for lunch. She hands out bottles to the little ones. She talks to the babies in a sing-song voice, mimicking what she hears from the adults. Sometimes she tries to boss the kids there too, but we’re working on that. And just when I was getting used to this mini me — the one child that I hoped would like to read more than watch TV and would want to work in the garden with me instead of running through the spray of my watering hose — she turned 2 and started to discover her brothers are more fun. She wants to play video games. "I want a DS," she tells me, pointing to her brothers playing the Nintendo handheld devices on the couch. "No!!!!," I wanted to scream. Then Friday morning she clamored down the steps with them to the basement playroom so they could dress her up in her "superhero" costume. She came up wearing a red bandana tied around her like a cape, another tied at her waist as a utility belt, and a black sweat band around her wrist. "My costume," she said. I’m smiling and telling her how cool she looks, but all the while I’m thinking, "Oh no, not another superhero." I suppose I should have seen what was coming when one of her first words was "Batman." And then there’s the potty. She is ready to be potty trained, but we’re having a problem getting her to sit on the toilet without freaking out. Instead, she stands in front of it. All of this wouldn’t be so bad except my little girl is also beginning to mimic the more unflattering aspects of her two older brothers’ behavior. While we were on vacation recently, she began to tell my husband and I, "No!" She has started to run away when it’s time to get dressed in the morning. She’s realized that cleaning up toys is not really a game. She also now sneaks snacks out of the kitchen cupboard when I’m in the other room. What happened to my sweet little girl? Then she’ll crawl up in my lap and sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider," or "You are my Sunshine," to me. I’ll watch her pick up one of her baby dolls, pat it on the back and give it a kiss on the head. She still tells her brothers to go in time out if they smack, flick or push each other. I guess she’s still my baby girl at heart, even if she can wield a plastic sword with the best of them.
Friday June 19, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 5:33PM CST on June 19, 2009
Ahhhh, summer. The smell of fresh cut grass through the open windows. The sparkle of the spray coming from a garden hose, arched over bright flower beds. Watermelon juice dripping down your chin. Warm nights for roasting marshmallows over the fire pit. I love summer. And my kids make me love it even more. Their digging up dirt in the backyard to find worms, swinging into the cloudless sky, running back and forth with the kids next door, racing off on bikes and big wheels, and screaming as they jump through the sprinkler, is what the best summers are made of. I often catch myself reliving my own childhood summers through their warm weather adventures. Except now I’m the panicked mom standing at the bottom of the ladder as my 2-year-old gleefully climbs up herself to go down the slide. And I’m the mom hollering out the back door for the boys to come wash their hands for supper. And I’m the mom supplying the popsicles, and bandaging knees after a fall from a bike. But I remember being the girl who rode her banana seat Schwinn around the block at top speed with the group of friends from my West Racine neighborhood. I remember underwater breath-holding contests in the metal frame above ground pool at one friend’s, and digging in the backyard sandbox of another. I’ll never forget how good a snowcone tasted when I was actually able to convince my parents to give me some change to buy one from the ice cream truck. What is better than summer, especially for those of us who live in Wisconsin? I think we appreciate the season more than most, simply because it is fleeting. We might have fun building snowmen and sipping hot chocolate in the middle of Janurary, but come March, most of us are gritting our teeth and preparing to endure another two months of winter. I know I start dreaming of wearing flip flops and online swimsuit perusing towards the beginning of April. And my kids? I wrote about their cabin fever earlier this year. They’ve been impatiently waiting for weeks now for it to get warm enough for the sprinkler. Friday afternoon, when the storm clouds started to clear and the sun began to peek through, my boys celebrated the nearly 80 degree weather with a water gun fight. Even I came away with a drenched T-shirt. Last week we took our first of many trips to the Racine Zoo. While we were walking near the giraffe exhibit, something clunked me on the back of the head. “What was that?” I said turning around. My husband and kids stood there looking at me incredulously, and then began to laugh. “It was a bird,” my husband said. “A big, black bird just landed on your head!” “Did it poop on me?” I screeched, turning my head trying to see my own back. It didn’t, thank God! And so it became another hilarious summer memory to file away for a rainy or snowy or just plain dreary, cold day when the summer sun isn’t shining, and we need another reason to smile.
Friday May 29, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:27AM CST on May 29, 2009
"I don’t let her watch ‘Drake and Josh,’" my girlfriend said of her 9-year-old daughter. "They make out on that show." The rest of us parents gathered on my back deck for a Memorial Day barbecue began roaring with laughter. "Kids these days just grow up too fast," she said in response. Amen. Although I teased my friend about not letting her daughter watch the Disney channel show my 5 and 7 year old boys enjoy, I do get it. And I’ve been noticing more and more just how fast my kids are growing and just how old they want to pretend to be. My oldest wants his own laptop computer and cell phone. And not just any cell phone, but a Blackberry Storm touch screen, just like his Uncle Carmelo’s. My middle child is probably the most aggressive when it comes to wanting to be older than his years. He’s 5 going on 16. The other day while I was doing some work in the kitchen and his older brother was doing homework, my 5-year-old called a kindergarten friend on the phone. "Mom, I’m going outside to talk to Cade," he said, walking out the back door. "OK," I said, assuming he just wanted a little privacy and was headed to the deck. About 10 minutes later I went to get him to tell him dinner was ready, but there was no boy on the back deck. Or on the swings, or in the side yard. My son was not in the backyard. I called his name, then became frantic. I picked up another house phone and hit the button. "Roman?" I said. "Yeah," he answered. "Where are you? Why are you not in the backyard?" My son had taken it upon himself to get his bike out of the garage, put the telephone on speaker phone, put the phone in his pocket, and ride around by himself out in front of the house while talking to his friend. None of this is allowed. "Get off the phone and in the house, now!" I said. After dinner, Roman was back on the phone with his friend. I overheard them discussing which girls they liked and who they wanted to kiss. Gimme a break! I told my son and his friend that they were too little to talk about that stuff. Then I had them hang up so my son could take a bath and brush his teeth before bed. See, 5 going on 16. And it’s not just my boys who want to be all grown up. Even my 2-year-old wants to be a bigger girl than she is. She wants to be done with the high chair and sit at the table like her brothers, even if it means kneeling in a chair. She wants to climb the wooden ladder to the top of the backyard swing set and go down the slide herself, despite hitting the grass at full speed and landing with a thud on her bumper every time. "Outside, outside!" she yells when her brothers go out to play during her nap time. "No nap!" The other day she tried to refuse holding my hand while walking through a parking lot. And soon, another school year will come to an end. My boys will head to first and second grade. My baby will be one year closer to preschool. They want to be all grown up. They see big people as the folks with all the control, who get to do whatever they want. I remember that feeling. What they don’t realize is that most adults would give anything to go back to being a carefree kid again. No mortgage. No dinners to cook. No grass to cut. No job to get up for. No wrinkle cream to apply each morning before makeup. I laughed at my friend, but I get her. I don’t want my kids to grow up too fast. Despite the eye cream, I’m not sure I’m done being a kid yet. Friday April 24, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:02PM CST on April 24, 2009
My children are very good at surprising me with what they are able to do, especially when left to their own devices. Most parents remember their baby’s first time rolling over, first steps, first real sentence. Those are definitely some of the best awe-inspiring moments. It’s when we realize that our children are growing, learning, becoming stronger and older. But who knew the awe would continue? I’ve also learned that while I might be amazed by what my kids are able to do, it doesn’t always mean I’m happy with what they’ve done. More times than not, I discover their latest feat and think, "Whose children do this sort of thing?" Mine apparently. During the recent spring break, I woke up to find my 5 and 7-year-old boys playing in their basement playroom quietly. I was happy. The baby and my husband were still sleeping, the boys were occupied and I could head to the shower uninterrupted. About 30 minutes later my sons walked upstairs carrying the phone book and phone. The youngest proudly turned to a page in the phone book and said, "I called and tried to order a pizza from here, but the lady said they don’t make them until 10:30." HUH??!! Apparently what I thought was quiet play was the two of them making sneaky phone calls to nearly every pizzeria in Racine trying to get someone to deliver a cheese pizza at 7 a.m. They even had it planned to use the $20 their little sister had gotten in her Easter candy from her Nana to pay for it! I was mad, but in a disturbed kind of way, I was also kind of proud. Who knew they were smart enough to use the phone book properly? There was the time when my oldest was 2. I had put him up to bed for a nap. About 30 minutes later I heard him playing. I walked up the stairs and found him COMPLETELY covered in Desitin. I mean, head to toe white, creamy, almost impossible to wash off without soap, water and a washcloth, covered. Who knew he was resourceful enough to grab a little chair, climb up and open the cabinet in his room where I kept the diapers, wipes and butt cream? On a relaxing weekend a few years ago, I was sitting on the couch reading a book while the boys were quietly coloring at the nearby kitchen table. I’d peer up at them every now and then to make sure they were still there, but they seemed quite content. And truthfully, I was all too happy to become engrossed in my book. After about 45 minutes had passed, I got up. That’s when I saw exactly what they had been coloring: themselves. "Don’t I look like the Green Goblin?" my younger son asked. Both his arms, from elbow to fingertips had been colored with a bright green marker. "And I’m Spider-Man," the oldest said, lifting his shirt to reveal the spiderweb he had drawn in black marker on his chest. He had only one red and blue arm finished. Who knew they were that creative? Then there was the Saturday about a year ago when I walked into my bathroom and found my 4-year-old standing at the sink counter with a bright red bottle of nail polish open. In one hand was the brush. The other hand was dripping with red polish. "I just wanted to try your poe nolish," he said. Who knew ... OK, sometimes it’s just plain naughty behavior. There’s really no upside to red nail polish on a little boy and all over a bathroom counter. Except that it becomes a funny story after the frustration and anger of the moment is over, the mess has been cleaned up, and no one has had to be rushed to the emergency room. And every once in a while, my kids will surprise me in a way that makes me feel truly proud: Like when I catch my boys snuggling together on the couch, or when the woman in charge of their Wednesday night church club tells me how polite and well-behaved they are, or when I discovered that my daughter is the first of my children to have inherited my neat gene. "I spilled," she told me one morning as she sat in her highchair drinking some water. "Mommy, towel please?" she asked. I handed her a kitchen towel. She soaked up the few drops of water that had fallen in her lap and handed the towel back to me. "Dant do Mommy." Friday April 10, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 4:14PM CST on April 10, 2009
Five minutes. That’s all it took. My boys were at my parents’ house for five minutes before they had rented the Batman movie, “The Dark Knight,” off the video rentals list on my parents’ TV. It was a Friday and they were off school. The baby was sick and I had to work. I asked my parents if they would watch my children so I wouldn’t have to bring them to the regular babysitter where my daughter might infect the other kids. My parents happily agreed, and how did my children pay them back? After dropping the kids off and driving away, I made it maybe three blocks when my cell rang. “They rented Batman off my TV!” my mother said. “Batman, The Dark Knight?” I asked. “Yes,” she said. “Absolutely not,” I told her. “They can’t watch that show. And they know it!” “Turn that off,” I heard her tell the boys, which was, of course, followed by screams of protest. Later I told my sons they would have to pay for the movie they weren’t allowed to watch out of their piggy banks. And just about every day I’m still asked by one of them if they can watch the Batman movie, which is rated PG-13. “Can I see it when I’m 8?” my 7-year-old asks. “No.” “How about when I’m 12?” “No.” “Jacob got to watch it.” “I’m not Jacob’s mother.” My husband and I had both been told – and later watched the movie ourselves – that it’s really scary and violent. So why are there Dark Knight costumes in a boys size 5T? Why are there little Dark Knight backpacks, slippers, T-shirts, and action figures? I guess what I want to know is, why do they market this stuff to my kids, who shouldn’t watch the movie? And it’s not just this Batman movie; it was Spider-Man 3, Transformers, The Hulk, Fantastic Four and Superman Returns. Now I won’t lie, we’ve let our 5 and 7 year old boys watch some of these. We even took them to see “Spider-Man 3” in the theater. But we learned our lesson. About two weeks after they watched the movie, they started to use the “a” word. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me where they had heard it. Then, while watching Spider-Man 3 when it came out on DVD, I heard the guy who plays Harry say it - in EXACTLY the same way my boys were. Great. There’s no rewind option on real life. I once wondered out loud in the newsroom, why they even make these movies. Why make a Spider-Man movie that’s only appropriate for teens and up to see when all the elementary school age boys are going to want to see it too? A co-worker who is comic book and action figure collector said these types of movies are really made for guys like him. Right. That’s why you see sooooo many pairs of men’s Dark Knight boxer briefs and lounge pants and golf club covers when you peruse the aisles at Target. I’m not a gung-ho violent TV begets violence kind of mom. But I do believe it influences how kids play, and it’s a parent’s job to monitor what they’re watching and what they’re playing. For example, when my boys were in their “Chronicles of Narnia” stage, I caught my 7-year-old wielding a REAL kitchen knife like a sword — at his brother! It was really too bad when that movie got accidentally erased from the DVR. My big pretenders sometimes don’t know how to separate reality from pretend, so I have to limit what they watch. No you can’t watch “The Dark Knight,” I tell them. Instead we let them have a Dark Knight costume, a Dark Knight T-shirt, a Dark Knight back pack ...
Friday March 27, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 12:33PM CST on March 27, 2009
I can’t remember who first told me that "Children should be seen and not heard," but I was a kid myself and was pretty insulted. I mean, imagine, actually being told to stifle my voice, not to make noise as I played?! I was a kid for crying out loud! I was supposed to have fun! Now, 30 years and three kids later, I know EXACTLY who came up with idea that children should be seen and not heard: an exhausted mother or father whose only want in the world was 5 minutes of peace and quiet. I’ve been there — just about every day for the past 7 years. Oh, how easy it is to be overwhelmed by the beeping of robot toys, the stomping of feet during bunny hops to the bathroom, the yelling and screaming and tattling, the crying in the night for lost pacifiers and the whining over dinner. Oh, how I know the frustration of loud and never ending demands for markers and juice and shoes to be tied and new toys. From the "ROOAARRR, ROOAARRR," of my 7-year-old’s dinosaur alarm clock each morning at 6:30 a.m. to the giggling under the covers long after their 7:30 p.m. bedtime, the noise of my children is a constant drain on my patience. There are some days it has me on my knees begging for just a bit of silence, and others when I’ve locked myself in the bathroom to finish a phone call. A typical 10 minutes or less with my children goes something like this: STOMP, STOMP, STOMP My 5 and 7-year-old boys are making are pounding their feet upstairs - where their baby sister is napping. "Boys!" I holler up the steps. "Get down here!" They stand in the hallway, right next to the baby’s room and stare at me. "No! We’re doing something," they yell back. "Be quiet please," I say a little softer. "The baby is sleeping. Come down here and play." "Mom!" The 7-year-old practically screams. "We’ll be right down. We’re just getting some books." THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. I hear the books, one by one, being thrown off the bookshelf onto the floor. "Mommmmeeee," my once sleeping daughter calls. "Mommmeeee." I tromp up the steps, walk past the two stinkers standing in a pile of books and into the baby’s room. I give her her pacifier and try to calm her down. I walk out. "Mommmmmmeeee!" she wails. I give my boys the evil eye, turn around and go back to the baby’s room. I pick her up out of bed and walk down the steps. "Pick up all of those books," I say to the boys as I pass. I bring the baby downstairs and set her down. I take some chicken out of the freezer. My daughter starts sobbing and puts her arms out to me. "Uppy," she says with a face full of tears and snot and messy nap hair. "Shhhh," I tell her as I pick her up and grab a tissue to wipe her face. "It’s OK. Mommy has to make dinner." I set her down again, only to be met by more crying. The boys, who have probably not touched a single book since I walked downstairs, clamor into the kitchen and head to the patio door. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. The soles of their sneakers pound against floor. "We’re going outside," the 7-year-old says. "Great," I think. "Fine. Of course you want to go outside now, after you’ve already woken up the baby and ruined any chance I had to spend just 20 minutes in the peace and quiet of my own thoughts. Of course." Even if I had said it out loud they probably wouldn’t have heard me. They’re already screaming and riding their big wheels full force along the brick walkway in the backyard. "Batman!" one yells to his brother. "The Joker’s this way!" The baby’s still begging to be held, the microwave is dinging - signaling for me to separate the defrosting chicken, the washer and dryer are rattling and humming, and now the phone is ringing. And yet, I’ve never unplugged the baby monitor, even though my "baby girl" is almost 2 years old. When my boys go out to play, even in the dead of winter, I crack the kitchen window so that I can hear what they are doing. I remember waking up a few months ago on a Sunday morning in a completely quiet house. My kids were at my parents’ house for a sleep over and my husband had gone to work already. I was panicked. I’m a mom. I don’t know quiet anymore. And as irritating as it is sometimes, I am painfully aware that someday I’ll miss all the noise. Someday I won’t have to yell over video games to be heard. Someday I won’t hear howls in the middle of the night. Someday I won’t hear their voices calling me from the backyard swings to come see how high they are going. Someday they’ll be all grown up and my house will be still and quiet. Someday they might have children of their own, and I will be the grandma, eager for the chance to have my grandchildren come for a visit and make some racket at my house.
Friday February 20, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:59AM CST on February 20, 2009
Someday my children might read this one and be furious with me. But here goes anyway ... There are just some things my kids do that drive me absolutely crazy, because these things are gross. It’s bad enough having to clean up after a baby or toddler who doesn’t really know how to eat spaghetti without making a mess or to change some diapers. But when your children knowingly and willingly do icky stuff - it can cause a mom to pop her top. So I’m venting, to all of you, before I explode. My youngest, 21 months, has crazy, whispy hair that will not stay out of her face. That’s not her fault, but to make matters worse, she absolutely REFUSES to keep a barrette or ponytail in. And she often pulls them out while sitting in her high chair. Do you know how gross it is to try and get smashed banana and snot out of baby hair? My middle child, 5, won’t stop picking his nose and usually doesn’t use a tissue - unless I catch him and demand it. My oldest, 7, pees all over the back of the toilet and never wipes it up. It’s so gross even his younger, nose-picking brother yells at him about it. Why do children do these icky things? Why don’t they hear me when I tell them it is gross and they can get sick or make other people sick (especially not using a tissue)? Please tell me your kids do stuff like this too. Tuesday February 17, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:00AM CST on February 17, 2009
Twenty-five years ago if I had written on the wall with a permanent marker, my mother would have taken the wooden spoon to my behind. I wouldn’t have dared. A few months ago my mother gently suggested I not yell so harshly at my 5 and 7-year-olds after they marked up the playroom walls with a permanent marker. When I was in elementary school, if I didn’t eat what was put in front of me at the dinner table, I sat there. My mom makes excuses for my children when they don’t want to eat what I’ve made. “Maybe they’re just not hungry yet,” she’ll say. Yeah, right. What gives? Why is it that the one place a mom should find unwavering support for giving her children proper guidance is the one place where she’s told she’s doing it all wrong. When we’re too rigid, our mothers are right there letting us know. When they think we’re being overprotective, they’re right there to correct us. And of course, we’re right there to tell them they did it all wrong with us. At the gym last week, a woman asked me if I had ever written about the relationships between mothers and grandmothers and the difference in how they raised their children. She said she chuckles over the way her pediatrician daughter rigidly regulates what her grandchild can eat, based on age. “Of course I’ve heard you can’t feed a baby strawberries until they are over a year old,” I say. Then she said her daughter wouldn’t cut her hair while she was pregnant. That’s one I hadn’t heard, and really thought a doctor should know better than to believe something silly like that. Or am I wrong? Is there a newly discovered danger associated with cutting your hair while you’re pregnant? Thank God my children all survived. “Years ago women thought they were being good moms when they blew the smoke in the opposite direction of their kids,” a woman at that gym says. She is greeted by chuckles, including my own. See, I think the difference between moms and grandmas comes down to two things: information and experience. Us moms, we’re just gathering information. And there’s a whole lot more available to us than there was to our moms. With a few clicks of a mouse, we can find out where all the convicted sex offenders live in our neighborhood. Our moms had to trust that we listened when they told us not to talk to strangers. We can go online and find information on everything from the most common choking hazards to the dangers of deli meat while pregnant to the best rated bottle warmers. Our moms had none of that. In their eyes, this probably translates to “it isn’t necessary.” You see, they have experience. They dyed their hair and smoked cigarettes and ate whatever was in their path when they were pregnant. And we were fine. They drove to the grocery store while we bounced around the back seat of the station wagon, not in car seats and probably not even wearing our seat belts. And we were fine. Our moms let us ride our banana-seat bikes down the street without a helmet or knee and elbow pads. And we were fine. But I wouldn’t allow my kids to go unbuckled or helmetless, anymore than my mom would advocate me spanking my kids with a wooden spoon. So will we mothers and grandmothers ever agree on the best way to raise children? Probably not, but I think we can all agree that the most important requirement for the job of either mom or granny is love – for the kids and each other. A few weeks ago, my parents were nice enough to come babysit for me for a couple of hours so that I could meet some friends while my husband was at work. My mom accidentally put the baby to bed without a diaper on. Seriously. She realized her mistake and cleaned up the resulting mess before I got home. When I walked in the first thing she said to me is, “You’re going to fire me as a babysitter.” Then she fessed up. “Fire you?” I thought. “You’re the best, most reliable, most loving and my kid’s favorite babysitter.” All I said to her was, “No way. I need you.” Friday February 6, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:11PM CST on February 6, 2009
It had been another busy day at work. After finishing up and leaving the office 30 minutes after my normal quitting time, I had to run to the store to pick up a birthday present for my niece. When I arrived home, I said hello to my husband and children, wrapped the present and continued to work on a breaking news story for the next day’s paper. When I was finished, we yanked on coats and boots, rushed out the door and started piling into the van to head to the birthday party. And during this time, my boys - ages 5 and 7 - fought constantly. They picked. They punched. They shoved. They yelled. They called names. And this was before we got out the door of the house. Once in the van, baby girl was strapped into her car seat and the boys were separated and buckled into their own seats. But were they finished? Oh no. The bickering continued. About 5 minutes into the 10 minute ride to the party, I had absolutely had it. "IF YOU DO NOT STOP I AM GOING TO HAVE YOUR DAD PULL OVER AND WE WILL LEAVE YOU IN A SNOWBANK," I hollered. "I MEAN IT! NOT. ONE. MORE. WORD." Seriously, that’s what I said. I’m a rotten mom, right? Who says that kind of thing to their kids? Me, in utter desperation. But the threat worked. The boys were almost silent for the rest of the car ride. Fast forward two days. They boys come home with permission slips for me to sign so they can go to the safety center. They will hear presentations from authorities about stuff like 911, how to safely cross the street, stranger danger, gun safety, and good and bad touching. My husband and I decide to sit down and have a talk with them about these safety issues. It’s something we’ve done before, but I don’t think kids can be warned often enough about strangers and telling on anyone who tries to touch them inappropriately. So we go through the whole spiel about yelling as loud as then can if someone tries to take them, and telling mom and dad immediately if anyone makes them uncomfortable by touching them. We also warn them about tricks someone might use in these situations. For example, we say, the stranger might say he’s looking for a lost dog, or offer you candy, or tell you that mom and dad asked them to pick you up from school. I also tell them that a trick these naughty people sometimes use is to tell children that they have been bad and their parents don’t want them anymore. "I want you to know that we always love you," I said. "No matter what. Nothing naughty you could ever do would make us want someone to take you from us. If someone tells you that, it’s a lie." They look at us with wide eyes, taking in all this serious talk very seriously. Then the 7-year-old says, "What about when you were going to leave us in the snowbank?" Do our children ever forget our mistakes? Does a parent’s guilt ever end? Wednesday January 28, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 2:09PM CST on January 28, 2009
There is something extraordinary about my 5-year-old. I can’t really explain it, but people seem to be drawn to him. To know Roman is to love him. As a mom of three pretty great kids, there are things I love about all of them. I love that my 7-year-old son is focused, smart and loves to read. I love that my 20-month-old loves to laugh and how she attempts to mimic actions and words way beyond her capability. I love all my kids equally, but have realized that my middle child is quite an incredible kid. Roman is all heart. He’s a mischievous imp who gets into his share of trouble, but would never hurt someone’s feelings on purpose. He’s a happy-go-lucky kid, whose kindergarten teacher told us last week that she’s never seen him in a bad mood. He doesn’t care if he’s last in line, or last in the classroom in the morning, so long as he had time to talk with his friends in the hall, and was able to say "hi" to as many people as possible. I’ve watched him try to settle disputes between other kids, always trying to do what’s fair and right. I’ve seen him shrug it off when someone isn’t being kind to him in return. It took Roman about one week to win the heart of nearly everyone in his new school this year. Literally. The principal, the office lady, teachers and even some of the middle school kids at his school knew him by name after that first week. During the second week, a woman I had never seen before said hello to Roman as we were walking into the building one morning. "Who is that?" I asked. "The lunch lady," he said. He’s like a rock star. The woman who has taken care of my children while I’m at work since the boys were infants has always held a special place in her heart for Roman. In 5 years I think she's put him in time-out once, and then laughed about it with me. "He was standing in the bathroom going potty and singing ‘Jesus Loves Me’ really, really loud," she said. "I told him to quiet down because the younger ones were sleeping, but he didn’t listen. It kept getting louder and louder." Even his naughtiness makes you want to smile. Family members and friends always want to hear stories about him, because his antics never fail to entertain. He’s the most curious child I’ve ever met. He can make the wait time at the doctor’s office pass like nobody I know, asking 35 questions in a row about the equipment. He has to touch and test out EVERYTHING from my red nail polish to lit candles to the garage door opener to permanent markers. Oh, this little boy of mine, the one who loves all animals from pigs to penguins to sea creatures. The one who reprimands me for putting his brother in time out, after his brother smacked him. The one who opens his eyes wide and lifts his eyebrows in surprise to show you he’s paying attention to what you’re saying. I like to tell people I don’t know where this extraordinary child came from. I like to think he simply got the best parts of me and my husband. My goofiness. My husband’s even temper. My curiosity. My husband’s capacity for love. My sense of fair play... and so on. But Roman is also uniquely Roman. Every six months, sometimes more often, we have to take him to a hospital in Milwaukee to have blood drawn. He was born with a medical condition and is on long term medications. They test his blood to see if the doctor needs to adjust his medicine. Roman is only 5 and I think it’s been more than 3 years since he’s cried or even flinched when the technician has put the needle in to draw his blood. Unfortunately, one of the other things he has inherited from his mom is deep veins. Hardly anyone ever pokes Roman in the vein the first time. Most times they have to dig a bit. Gross, right? Earlier this week I took Roman to Milwaukee to have his blood drawn. The tech came in and stuck his left arm, then wiggled the needle around. No blood. The tech tried a new needle on his right arm. After he pulled that needle in and out of few times, I was going to throw up. No blood. "How does the blood get in there?" Roman asks. "Oh, is that why I see a hole in the needle?" "Where does the blood go once it is in the tube?" A second tech comes in and sticks his left hand. Again, no blood. I’m biting my lip in frustration and fury, ready to ask if anyone in the lab knows how to find a vein. The third and final technician comes in. She puts the needle in Roman’s right hand. She starts to wiggle it. She’s ready to give up and send us home. Roman gasps. Just as she was about to pull the needle out, the line that brings the blood from the needle to the tube flashes red. He wasn’t hurt. He was excited to see it work. "Wow," the tech said to me as we got up and started to put Roman’s coat on. "What a good kid. I don’t think I’ll get another one like you ever." No lady, I’m sure you won’t. Friday January 16, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 8:40PM CST on January 16, 2009
"Were you a good girl today?" I ask my daughter when I pick her up from the babysitter this week. "Yeah," she responds, nodding her little head. I love it. I absolutely love having these types of conversations with my 20-month-old. I love that I can ask her questions that she understands and responds to. But most of all I love that her little personality is starting to shine through. Most people love babies. They're fun to snuggle. They might cry sometimes, but they never talk back. Babies don't dig through the kitchen cabinets, make a huge mess with their toys or fight with their siblings. If they are fed, warm and dry, they tend to be pretty easy. I loved all my kids as babies, but as a mom, I really appreciate the time when start to show you who they are as a person. My daughter toddles across the kitchen floor in her slippers. Her ponytails bob and she swings her arms, walking belly first. She's just happy to be. She'll tell you she's "all done" when she's finished eating, that she's not ready for a nap ("no, nigh-nigh"), and ask for "mulk" when she's thirsty. In recent months I've also discovered that she's bossy. She loves to mimic me and tell her older brothers what to do. "Sit down!" she'll say at the dinner table, or "Put it back," she'll demand when they move one of her toys. This has become somewhat of a problem at the sitter's when she tries to boss around the other kids, who aren't as forgiving or as old as her brothers. But we're working on that. It's also a hoot to have her sing the ABC's. She knows the tune and how to properly say about 10 of the 26 letters. My favorite line? "la, la, la, la, P." I've loved my kids at every stage, but this one - between 16 and 24 months - is probably my favorite. It's all about discovery - for both parent and child. They learn about the world, and you get to learn about them! What is/was your favorite age? Friday January 9, 2009
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:07PM CST on January 9, 2009
I don’t know about the rest of you parents, but I’ve been driving like a grandma in all this snow — especially when my kids are in the minivan. Yes, I drive the epitome of a mom-mobile. It’s a bright white, Buick minivan complete with electric sliding doors and three car seats. And don’t ask me to speed up on a snow covered road when my babies are in those seats. I won’t. Maybe it’s the whole getting older thing, or the need to protect my kids thing, or just the I’ve-seen-too-much-on-these-roads-not-to-drive-this-carefully thing, but I take no chances. Part of my apprehension, perhaps, is due to the fact that up until last year I always had a big ole 4-wheel drive Jeep. I would bound out of the driveway, even if the snowplow had just visited, and barrel my way to work or to the store. Now I creep slowly - just like my mother might. My mom has long been defensive about the way my sisters and I laugh at her driving. She puts her blinker on at least a full block before she turns. She refuses to drive on the Interstate. She doesn’t like the radio up too loud, because she says it distracts her. She is the grandma I now drive exactly like. What it is about having kids that makes you fear so many of the things you once loved? I used to love driving in the snow. I’ll never forget coming into work one weekend about 10 years ago during a snow storm. I remember feeling almost insolated by the white fluffy roadways, as I bounded through them in my Jeep. I had a great time running around town talking to people out shoveling, kids sledding and plow drivers. In fact, I loved snow period. I was a downhill skier and a snowmobiler. I didn’t even think about the snow being an issue as I was preparing to drive my first-born up north to my parents’ cabin when he was an infant — until I got on the road to begin the six-hour drive by myself. I felt sick to my stomach. I was sweating. I couldn’t have the radio on too loud, or it would distract me. Perhaps that was the turning point, when I made the switch from unfazed to afraid. It’s happened with other stuff too. Waterskiing and tubing: I love to do it. It makes me sick to watch my kids try it. Roller coasters: I love them. I’ve never taken my boys on one. The closest they’ve gotten is an airplane carnival ride that brought them 4 feet off the ground. Crossing the street: I did it at age 4. My sons, ages 5 and 7, don’t cross without me. What is it about becoming parents that makes us so afraid - even when we used to be fearless? I don’t have any good answer except: love. We love our children more than we love ourselves, and want to protect them - even when we never thought we ourselves needed protection from the same experiences. So if you see me slowly cruising down the road during a big snowstorm, or get caught behind me as I drive 20 mph on a slick roadway, try not to get irritated with me. I’m not doing it to frustrate you. I’m doing it out of love. Friday December 12, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:57PM CST on December 12, 2008
The boys’ winter coats from last year still fit. If you haven’t guessed already, I’m counting my blessings. - Go to the Singing Christmas Tree program at Racine Assembly of God Church. If I don’t get to paint my toenails or watch Rudolph, I’m not going to cry about it. I’ve sufficiently talked myself into the Christmas spirit. And I’m not going to waste another minute not enjoying it. Friday December 5, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:35AM CST on December 5, 2008
When I was in grade school, parents around the country were getting into fist fights over Cabbage Patch Kids. They wanted them so badly to give to their children for Christmas, they started punching and pushing each other in the stores to get the dolls. I couldn’t believe it when I opened my very own blonde haired, blue eyed Cabbage Patch doll named Anna on Christmas Day. I was SO excited. It never occurred to me that my parents had gone the extra mile to get it. I asked my mom about it recently. She said she and my dad went to Zayre’s at 6 a.m. one morning and stood in line waiting for the store to open - just so they could be among the first shoppers and get me a Cabbage Patch Kid. Until a few days ago, I never understood all the hoopla over the “must have” toys of the year. Did people REALLY fight over Tickle Me Elmos? Yup. Do people REALLY think it’s worth it to get up at 4 a.m. and stand in line to make sure they get their hands on the hottest electronics? Yup. Will people REALLY pay incredible amounts of money online for toys that will be in the store at one-third of the price in four weeks? Yup. Do people REALLY scour the stores for that hard-to-find toy, calling to see when a delivery is coming in, checking online, stopping in on their lunch hours? Yup. And this year I was one of them. Well, doing the calling and scouring - NOT the fighting or getting up early part. At 5 and 6 my boys haven’t really been bit by the video game bug yet, but a few months ago they had a BALL playing with my nephew’s Wii. They absolutely fell in love with it, and it topped both of their Christmas lists this year. My husband - always the optimist - said we should wait to buy it because he had gotten a coupon to be used this weekend for Toys R Us that would give us a good percentage off the $250 Wii system. I reluctantly agreed we could wait. Then I get an email from Liz, my fellow mommy co-worker, saying she couldn’t find a Wii anywhere. Her girls also want one for Christmas. Uh-oh. Outside of a few stocking stuffers and pjs, that was going to be my boys’ one and only gift this year from Santa. What were we going to do if we couldn’t find it? I started calling stores. I started scouring online. I started to panic. We found one, more out of luck than effort. And I can not tell you the relief and joy I felt the moment I knew we had that stupid game system for our kids. Looking back, I feel a little ridiculous. The world wouldn’t have ended if we didn’t get the boys a Wii. They would have been perfectly happy with their pjs, Ben 10 Alien Force watches, crayons and whatever crazy Star Wars gifts we would have bought to replace the Wii. So really, isn’t it the parents who MUST have the Elmo’s and Buzz Lightyears and Game Boys and Cabbage Patch Kids? Then I think about how I must have looked that Christmas morning opening my Cabbage Patch. It was more than 20 years ago and I REMEMBER how excited I was. I’ve realized the extra effort parents put into getting the perfect, hard-to-get-a-hold-of present only makes the joy on their kids’ faces that much more special Christmas morning. Maybe it’s not sensible or practical or economical, but so what? It’s Christmas. Hello, my name is Marci and I am a crazed Christmas shopper ... P.S. This is NOT an endorsement for other parents to go nuts getting the hottest toys, no matter the cost. Please do not punch or push anyone at the store this shopping season. It’s not nice. It doesn’t set a good example for your kids. You probably will end up arrested instead of in the check out line with whatever it was you wanted. Friday November 21, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:30AM CST on November 21, 2008
I suppose I should consider myself a lucky woman. My husband does his own laundry. Not by choice, but that’s a story for another day and a different column. I still hold the task of washing the clothes for all three of our children and myself, which means I’m doing mounds of laundry two, three and sometimes four days a week. Where does it all come from? That’s what I want to know. My daughter’s socks are still smaller than my hand. My boys wear school uniforms five days a week. How can there be a basket not just full of dirty clothes, but spilling over onto the floor by Tuesday when I just put away clean wash on Sunday?! Back in the days of one baby, laundry was a breeze. I could wash a week’s worth of itty bitty socks, sleepers, T-shirts and overalls in one load. The worst part was folding and putting away a basket full of teeney weeney socks, sleepers, T-shirts and overalls. I remember wondering how one basket could hold sooooooo many pieces of clothing. Then came baby boy no. 2. Again, throwing the stuff in the washer and dryer wasn’t such a big deal. But folding and putting away became a bigger pain in the neck, because now I had twice as many itty bitty sweaters and onsies, AND I had to separate them first. Of course, I made this a bigger job than it needed to be because I used to like to dress my boys in matching clothes. That meant when I pulled out a green and blue striped T-shirt from the laundry basket to fold, I first had to check the tag to see if it was a 2T or a 4T, and then make sure it landed in the right drawer. And if I’m really going to be honest, I’d say I am, in part, responsible for the mounds of laundry my children create. After all, if they didn’t have so many clothes, I wouldn’t be washing, drying, folding and putting away so many things, would I? My kids do a pretty good job of making the laundry pile grow too. It’s not usual for my 5-year-old to want to change out of his school clothes into jogging pants and a T-shirt after school, wearing them just long enough to spill milk and spaghetti sauce on them at dinner and then put them in the dirty clothes basket when it’s time to change into pjs. That routine in one week’s time roughly translates into five uniform shirts, five pairs of uniform pants, a couple of school sweaters, seven T-shirts, numerous pairs of jogging pants and jeans, seven pairs of underwear, seven pairs of socks and up to five pairs of pajamas for me to wash. FOR ONE CHILD! I’ve made rules about my boys not changing their clothes after school when they are going to get ready for bed in a few hours, and wearing pjs for two nights, but I still end up with the same bubbling over, mound of dirty kids’ clothes several times a week. Last weekend, as I struggled to carry the massive heap of laundry down the stairs, I realized I should be thankful - even consider myself lucky - that I had so much wash to do. Just as many a mother before me, I am trying to teach my young children to be thankful for what they have and to take care of the things they are given - whether it be clothing or a new toy. And what better way to teach than to lead by example. Washing clothes is taking care of them. And instead of grumbling about it, I should be grateful that I’m able to dress my children in clean, warm clothes every day. So for as long as I can, or maybe just for this week only, I’m going to think of myself as the lucky lady of lots of laundry — and pray they don’t spill gravy on their new sweaters Thursday. Have a Happy Thanksgiving! Friday October 31, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:27AM CST on October 31, 2008
I had to look up the date of my 6-year-old’s baptism the other day for a school paper he was filling out. I went to the upper shelf in his closet and pulled down his baby book. Then the guilt hit me. I wouldn’t be able to look up my 5-year-old’s baptism date. I never wrote it in his baby book. The fact that he even has a baby book with any information filled out, at one time, felt like an accomplishment. And then there’s my 18-month-old daughter. She doesn’t have a baby book. My mother is constantly after me about making notes in my children’s baby books about this or that. "Did you write that down in his baby book?" she’ll ask. "Marci, make sure you put that in her baby book," she’ll say. I don’t have the nerve to tell her my daughter doesn’t have one. Although, I guess I just did. Coming in to work Friday, I had no idea what I was going to write for Mommy Talk this week. I started looking back through the archives for inspiration. That’s when it hit me. Hello — I have the most complete and amusing record of my children’s lives ever! My co-workers and I started writing Mommy Talk as an online blog in September of 2005 when my boys were 2 and 3. Most of the stuff I’ve written over the years would never make it into a typical baby book, which only makes me love the memories more. Here’s a few of my favorites: The 2-year-old throws his vegetables. The 3-year-old has to go to the bathroom - three times. They don’t like my meatloaf, or my baked chicken, or my casserole. They won’t drink their milk. They won’t sit up straight. They won’t eat over their plates. They mash their mashed potatoes in their hands. They bang their forks on my wood table and leave scratch marks. (Sept. 2005) Pushing the Lil’ Limo through a crowded store while searching racks of clothes is hard work. By the time I got to the near-capacity filled dressing room, I was sweating. I expertly maneuvered the big stroller and the two pairs of pants I wanted to try on into the tiny stall. Just as I was about to unbutton my pants, my 3 1/2-year-old looked at me and said in the loudest voice possible, "You can’t do that, everyone will see your penis!" At first I was horrified. I thought the women around me must be wondering what kind of mother this child had. Then I heard a chuckle from across the stall wall, and then a few more. In a few minutes I was laughing so hard I was snorting. The whole way to the register, my not-quite-2-year-old sat in the back of the stroller saying, "Enis, enis, enis." Thank God no one but me and his brother could understand what he was saying. (Oct. 2005) My oldest son is honest to a fault. If I ask him if he did something naughty, he not only admits it, but tells me the whole story of what happened - knowing he’s probably going to be punished. My younger son is a completely different story. He will tell the tallest tales. The other day he told my husband that I put him in time out and poured ketchup on him. If it wasn’t so funny, I’d be irritated at him. (March 2006) Not too long ago my 4-year-old "fixed" the bathroom sink with a toy wrench. We had a puddle of water on the floor, and a real repair to make. (April 2006) I thank God every day that I taught my boys the Italian word for passing gas. They must say "peedatu" 15 to 20 times a day. They sing songs about "doing peedatus," and announce it to everyone who will listen when they "do a stinky peedatu." They think it’s hilarious. (April of 2006) We spent $21 on tickets, $11.75 on popcorn, soda and candy. We went into the theater. Our boys sat nice for the first 10 minutes until the snacks ran out. Over the next 30 minutes we took the 3-year-old to the bathroom 4 times and our 4-year-old to the bathroom once. They talked loudly, wouldn’t sit, and didn’t care about watching the movie at all. We left. (July of 2006) The boys have walked in on me taking a shower or getting dressed in the morning when they couldn’t wait to ask me a burning question about Pop Tarts or Batman. One day my 3-year-old asked me why I had such big armpits. (Dec. 2006) This morning my husband and I woke up to the alarm chime on our door sounding, telling us someone was going out or coming into the house. We got out of bed and found our 3-year-old outside in his pjs and socks in the backyard. "What are you doing?" my husband yelled. "Get back in the house!" "Dad, I was seeing that bunny in the yard and I wanted to go out and get it," he said. (April 2007) I went upstairs, plucked her out of the crib and laid her on the changing table, as she continued to wail. I opened her diaper, which was fairly dry and slipped it off. That’s when I saw it roll out from her pajamas: a pea leftover from dinner. After wrapping a new diaper around her bottom and zipping up her pjs, I set my baby girl back down in bed. She grabbed her fluffy and favorite pink blanket, rolled to the side and shut her eyes, finally content. "My God," I thought, "My princess was bothered by a pea." (Feb. 2008) "We’re going out to hunt skunks," my younger son says in a pretend-grown up voice. "We might get a little stinky out there." (August 2008) I spent most of my morning re-reading all of these old blogs and caught myself laughing out loud and marveling over how much my children have changed in just three years. Then I read this: Almost every night someone spills their milk. Almost every night they have to be reminded more than once to sit down. Almost every night someone refuses to eat something on their plate. Almost every night someone has to be reminded to keep their food on their plate. (April of 2008) Wasn’t that one of my first blogs? Friday October 10, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:12AM CST on October 10, 2008
Last Friday I sat at my desk at work and thought of my kindergartner. I wondered if it was his snack time yet and if he was sitting there watching his classmates take out the nutritious snacks lovingly packed into their bags by their moms and dads that morning. I wondered if he felt sad that I had forgotten — again. It’s been four weeks this week since my 5 and 6-year-old sons started a new school. They have already adapted to their new schedules and expectations. It’s taking me a little time to catch up. There are just so many new things to remember: They both have gym on Monday and Wednesdays. The oldest has to bring his gym clothes to school on Monday and bring them home Wednesday. The youngest doesn’t change clothes, but leaves his tennis shoes at school. Monday is the day the 5-year-old’s library books are due. First graders exchange them on Tuesday. Cold or hot lunch today? It’s cold. Note to self: Remember to give them milk money. The kindergartner needs a snack every day. Is it in his bag, on the kitchen counter or still in the pantry? And all that comes on top of remembering to finish homework, wash school uniforms, go through fund-raising paperwork, clip Campbell’s soup labels, remember to sign and return important forms and ask if the oldest wants to join Cub Scouts. A few weeks ago, Liz wrote about getting organized with a central calendar system in her home, which she referred to as "the wall." I have a wall already. It’s a regular calendar on a bulletin board in my kitchen. It tells me when the kids have field trips, when there is no school, when parent/teacher conferences are, when we have a birthday party to go to, when relatives and friends’ birthdays are so I remember to call them, when my husband and I have a wedding/party to go to, and when everyone in the family is next expected at the doctor or dentist. Pheeew! It makes me tired just to think about it. But the one thing my own "wall" doesn’t tell me is the day to day stuff. Are you kidding? Just about every little daily box is already filled with my notes. If I started adding weekly reminders about hot and cold lunch, milk money and gym clothes, I wouldn’t be able to read anything. The result is that I have forgotten the 5-year-old’s daily snack a few times, milk money for both boys once and to return a class project once. On the car ride to school Monday morning, I was preparing to add: ‘Forgot the oldest’s gym clothes,’ to that list. About five minutes from home, working with a very tight drive-time schedule, I realized I had not remembered to put the gym clothes into his backpack. As my 6-year-old is a perfectionist and becomes very anxious at the thought of not having/doing what he is supposed to for school, I began to cautiously explain that we did NOT have time to turn around. "I forgot your gym clothes, but don’t worry," I said. "Dad can come to school on his way to work and hang them in your locker before gym. It’s no big deal." I checked his face in the rearview mirror. He was looking at me blankly. Then he said, "Mom. It’s OK. I packed them." "What?!" "I packed my gym clothes." "Did you get the bag with your tennis shoes off the dryer?" I asked, still not quite grasping that he had done it himself. "Um-hmmm," he said with a nod. "Where did you get the clothes?" I ask, worried that he had packed the wrong thing. "From the folded laundry on the shelf," he said, referring to the clothes I had laundered and folded, but not yet separated to put into each child’s dresser. "Great. Thanks," I said, in disbelief, wonder, pride and a big heap of astonishment. I was absolutely floored. HE remembered. Son-of-a-gun. I DON’T have to think of and remember everything. The daily stuff — the stuff about gym and library and lunch — THEY should be responsible for remembering. Who knew the solution could be so simple? Imagine, actually making children be responsible for remembering their own stuff. It’s so old school. I love it. --Marci Friday September 19, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 12:47PM CST on September 19, 2008
As I was riding into work this morning, a radio commercial sparked the strangest childhood memory. My parents were discussing a house in Waterford that my dad wanted them to go look at. He asked me how I would feel about moving to a house with a really big back yard and a barn. He may have even mentioned horses. Was he kidding? I was about 5 or 6 at the time, living in our tight-knit West Racine neighborhood with a big group of friends and a city lot patch of grass and garden outside. Waterford sounded like an exciting adventure! The reason the memory is so strange is because my parents never mentioned it again. We didn’t move to Waterford, and as far as I know, my dad never convinced my mom to go see the house. But it got me thinking about the choices we make as parents and how those choices impact our children. For example, if our family had indeed moved to Waterford, I would not have gone to the same schools. I wouldn’t have met all the girlfriends who are still my best friends today. I probably wouldn’t have gotten a part-time job at the Italian restaurant I worked at through high school and college. Which means I wouldn’t have met and married the owner’s son. And I wouldn’t have my three wonderful children. My life would be completely different if my mom had let my dad talk her into a move. My family, as I know it, might not exist. We made a big decision recently regarding our boys’ education. We made the painful decision to switch schools. While they love their new school, and only have fond memories of the old, I wonder what this move might mean for them in the future. Is this the path they are supposed to be taking? Did we jeopardize something fantastic in their future? I guess we’ll never know. I’m not one to lament about what could have been. I’m usually a pretty forward thinking and moving kind of gal. But the childhood memory I was hit with this morning made me realize just how life altering the decisions we make for our families can be. Have you had to make any major decisions for your children lately? Do you regret any choices you’ve made for them? --Marci Friday September 12, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:11AM CST on September 12, 2008
“My” These are my daughter’s favorite words. The first, as you can imagine, is said in a demanding little 16-month-old voice. The second is said in a content sing-song voice that means she received what she wanted. The third is said as she calmly brushes the leftover graham cracker, peas and bananas off her high chair tray onto the floor. The fourth is said with great desperation as she extends her arms toward whatever forbidden object has caught her eye for the moment. The last is her best word. She says “bye” like a champ. As soon as she sees me get my purse from the closet, my baby girl extends her lips for a kiss and says, “Bye.” If I’m leaving her behind, she says it over and over as I walk out the door. If I’m bringing her along, she sings it from the time I put her in her car seat all the way to the store, or church or the babysitter. I see this first perfect word as the beginning of the end of her babyhood. Soon she will know how to properly say a lot of things. And she will no longer be a baby. We moms do commit to memory our children’s funny little attempts at words while they are building their vocabularies, don’t we? I loved when my oldest son toddled around talking about Fifford the Dog and asked if I was “drinkin’ you foffee.” Now my baby girl is learning to talk. She can say the names of all the people she spends the most time with. She asks for her ball and the hone (phone). She sings baby songs with me and has the line, “All day long,” down pat. We started working on “please” and “thank you” a few weeks ago, and she picked them up quickly. I’m really enjoying watching her learn and grow. And I love that she has one perfect, ungarbled, clear-as-a-bell word. “Bye” How fitting, huh? This is the child who will be my last baby. The one I kept in her bassinet in our bedroom months after she was sleeping through the night. The one I didn’t encourage to walk. The one I still give a bottle to at night, although many will say she’s too old. How sad and perhaps fitting that her first perfect word would be the one I want to hear least. “Bye”
Thursday September 4, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:19AM CST on September 4, 2008
Does anyone make their kids Halloween costumes anymore? Do you know anyone in town that still makes costumes for their children? I know its a little early for this topic, but I'm asking because I want to write a Home and Garden story on it. What do you think is more budget friendly: making or buying costumes? Marci Friday August 29, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:28AM CST on August 29, 2008
“Did you just see that skunk in our backyard, Mommy?” my 6-year-old asked. “No!” I said running to look out the patio door. “Where? You’re kidding, right?” “Nope. Me and Roman are going to catch him,” he said. “Do we have any tomato juice?” “What!? No we don’t have any tomato juice! You are not going in the backyard if there’s a skunk out there! Are you kidding me?” “Mom, we’re playing skunk hunting,” he said. Then I take a better look at him. He’s dressed in a checkered long sleeve shirt from the costume box, his black overall snowpants and his blue alligator rain boots. He’s armed with a Western-style toy pistol and a plastic firefighter’s ax. My 5-year-old walks into the room in a similar getup. I get it. There’s no skunk. “We’re going out to hunt skunks,” my younger son says in a pretend-grown up voice. “We might get a little stinky out there.” And so goes a day in the life of a mom blessed with children who have incredible imaginations. Last week we were invited to go with a group from our church’s summer program to the Betty Brinn Children’s Museum in Milwaukee. I’ve always wanted to take the boys, but could never work out a day that my husband and I were both off and the museum was open. So I jumped at the chance to go with them. WOW! It was so cool. Our group spent two hours looking, touching, playing and laughing. In our short time at the museum, my big pretenders got to dress up and be in a play on stage, drive an ambulance, be a doctor, dig for treasure, fix a car, load packages onto a conveyor belt with a crane, be TV news reporters and cameramen and shop for groceries. They loved it, and so did I. I love that my kids love to pretend. I admit it can be challenging to deal with when the sword fights get a little to intense, or the name they want to be called changes four times in one day. But those moments of irritation are overshadowed by the joy I get listening to them play. One day they are skunk hunters. The next day they are the captains of a ship surrounded by an ocean full of sharks. (Don’t get off the couch!) Sometimes one is Spider-Man, hanging upside down from a backyard swing, while the other drives his motorcycle (big wheel) in a race. Red faced and eyes wild, they become these characters. They live out their childish dreams through play. And I get a front row seat to their production. Thursday August 21, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 2:02PM CST on August 21, 2008
I HATE taking my kids to the doctor when it’s time for them to get shots. I hate that one minute my sweet baby girl is smiling and talking to me, and the next minute I’m helping to hold her down as the doctor pokes her. Last year, when my oldest had to get his kindergarten immunizations, I felt so bad when he started to cry. He’s this itty, bitty little skinny thing and he looked so helpless and wounded sitting up on the exam table. It hurt my heart. This year, I geared up for another devastating experience with my 5-year-old son. He had an appointment to get his kindergarten immunization shots Wednesday. What really made me feel bad about it is that my middle child has pretty much been a pincushion since he was 12 months old. At that time he was diagnosed with a condition that requires us to give him a shot (similar to an insulin shot with a very tiny needle) every single night. In addition, every four to six months he has to have his blood drawn to make sure all the medications he’s on are working properly. The thing that upsets me most — outside of the fact that he has to endure this at all — is that he doesn’t even cry anymore. A few weeks ago I took him to get his blood drawn. He barely flinched when the lab tech put the needle in. And Wednesday? No tears. Not one. The kid got three shots, including one that the doctor said would sting. My son even applied the alcohol wipes to his legs himself. I told my little boy I was proud of him for being so brave, but my heart wasn't in it. Do I cry when my children cry over shots, or do I cry when they have become so used to being hurt, they don't bother getting upset over it? How do you handle the dreaded trips to the doctor that involve shots? Do your kids still cry? Friday August 15, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 5:03PM CST on August 15, 2008
I love a lot of things about my children’s school. My oldest attended kindergarten there last year and this year both my boys will be going there.
I love that it’s at our church, Christ Church United Methodist - a place my kids are very comfortable. I love that they are learning about our faith along with their ABCs and 123s. I love the kindergarten teacher, who brought my painfully shy oldest son out of his shell last year with pure kindness. I love the bright classroom with special cubbies for each child, cozy places to read, colorful art projects on the walls and the resident stuffed beaver (that’s a story for another day).
I also really, really like that the students have to wear uniforms.
In my own school days, I would have HATED wearing a uniform. Are you kidding? Looking back – specifically at my 10th grade photo in which I have a crew cut and am wearing blue mascara, multiple earrings in one ear, an oversized T-shirt and dog tags – I realize that personal expression isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
A uniform might have saved me from numerous morning fights with my mom over my ensembles, which also included pajama pants sometimes.
It’s a fight I never had with my oldest last year. He’s just six you say? Trust me, my kids will turn anything and everything into an argument. The 5-year-old already fights with me over the clothes I lay out for him to wear. On Wednesday he told me he wanted to wear jogging pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt to the babysitter because it was raining. In the summer heat no less!
With a uniform, there’s really a shortage of choices: no wiggle room on the khaki pants. And as for tops its: short sleeve shirt, long sleeve shirt or turtle neck and sweater. That’s it. Nothing to bicker about.
Not to mention, I’ve realized that the uniforms probably really saved us money on clothing.
Just before school started last year, I bought my oldest five pairs of khaki pants, five short sleeve uniform shirts, two long-sleeve uniform shirts and two navy sweaters. I’ll admit I had to buy another five pairs of pants later in the year, because he had worn the knees of the others to shreds. But other than that, the only money I spent on clothing was a Christmas outfit and a new pair of tennis shoes halfway through the year.
When a kid wears the same clothes to school five days a week for a year, what does he really need, other than a few pairs of jeans, some T-shirts, a few dress shirts and underwear? And he already had those.
Another bonus: one stop shopping. A trip to JCPenney and our school shopping is done. In one less-than-an-hour trip.
Finally, although my two oldest are still somewhat small, and boys, I can’t help but hope that as they get older, the uniforms will be somewhat of an equalizer between the students at their school. No one can wear torn jeans and band T-shirts, hip hop gear and saggy pants, name brand polos and jeans that cost more than our minivan -- or oversized T-shirts and dog tags.
I know, I know, kids form their own caste system with or without a dress code. But I can’t help but hope that school uniforms at the very least minimize distractions. I don’t want my boys to fail math because they’re too busy drooling over the girl sitting next to them in a skimpy outfit, and don’t want my daughter to someday attempt to walk out of the house in one.
I think that it's great the Racine Unified is testing out the whole strict dress code thing. What are your thoughts on school uniforms?
Friday August 8, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 2:08PM CST on August 8, 2008
A fight was brewing. My super-Spidey senses could feel it. Both the little villians wanted to transform our family minivan into the Batmobile so we could respond to the current mission. “I’m Batman,” my 5-year-old said from the seat behind me. “No, I’m Batman!” my 6-year-old replied from the seat behind him. “I’M BATMAN,” I said loudly. “No you’re not. You’re Batgirl,” my younger son said. I looked up at both of them in the rearview mirror, put on my serious Mommy-face and said, “Don’t you know my real name is Bruce Parker Kent Grayson Wayne. I am ALL superheroes.” “Moommmm,” the oldest said. (For those of you who aren’t up on superhero aliases: Bruce Wayne is Batman, Peter Parker is Spider-Man, Clark Kent is Superman and Dick Grayson is Robin.) And like that, I received two reflected smiles instead of the argumentative shouts that surely would have followed the back-and-forth on who was REALLY Batman. Because you see, by day I am a mild mannered reporter. But after 3 p.m., I turn into Mom, the most feared and celebrated superhero of modern times. Raise your Green Lantern ring if you’ve ever swooped in to the save the day! Aren’t we all just trying to bring a little peace and justice to Gotham City, aka our homes? I have the superhero strength of Wonder Woman. I have carried a 50-pound baby carrier, diaper bag, purse, birthday present, car keys and cupcakes for the party all at once. At night, I stalk the Batcave (the kitchen) waiting for a cry in the night from above (the kids’ bedrooms). If there is trouble, I race in and soothe with hugs and kisses, deliver glasses of water or retrieve dropped pacifiers. I also use my Superman-like X-ray vision to see bad deeds going on in other rooms. I have often flown in to save an innocent victim from his evil brother’s smacks, stealing of toys or smashing of cake pieces. And man-oh-man you don’t want to see my Hulk. When I reach the boiling point, I can feel my muscles bulge, my mouth forms a sneer, my eyes bug out and my fists ball up. My children watch the transformation in horror and run! But I also rescue my children from naughty bicycles that won’t stay up without training wheels, evil bathroom doors that pinch fingers and criminal sidewalks that grab their legs, push them down and skin their knees. Because for all our parental superpower, we must remember the lesson taught to Spider-Man by his Uncle Ben. “With great power, comes great responsibility.” Are you sure Uncle Ben never had any kids of his own? Friday August 1, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:29AM CST on August 1, 2008
It used to be a joke between my husband and I. I’d tell him, “We’re going to keep having children until I get to paint a bedroom in this house pink.” My husband is one of five boys, so the possibility that we would only produce male children was strong. But when I had an ultrasound during my third and last pregnancy, we were told we could expect a little girl. I was excited. My husband was ecstatic. We painted the nursery pink. Bought pink bedding and pink sleepers. We bought a neutral car seat - just in case - and brought two coming home outfits to the hospital, one that was gender-neutral and another that was covered in bright pink polka dots. I told myself I wouldn’t be disappointed if we had a third boy, but I really, really, really, wanted to bring home a sweet baby girl. I dreamed of the chance to buy dresses and bonnets instead of overalls and truck tees. I wanted to paint fingernails and put in ponytails. I hoped for the chance to play with baby dolls and Barbies instead of Batmobiles and rubber snakes. It has been my experience that little boys (or maybe it’s just mine) are WILD. They run, jump, shout, fight, like loud toys, and just plain wear this Mommy out. Little girls on the other hand (I have nine nieces), can get demanding and emotional, but are calmer overall. They don’t seem to be in 20 things at once, don’t usually get into fist fights with each other and don’t throw big heavy toys at the TV. I was looking forward to having a sweet little girl I could read books to, take to dance lessons and teach to blow kisses. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids with personality. I was hoping my baby girl - like my boys - would be silly, sweet, fun-loving, and just enough of a stinker to show me she had gumption. But I also prayed she would be a little less wild and a little less naughty than her older brothers. Since my baby girl is now almost 15-months-old, she's starting to show her little personality. She hugs her baby dolls and pats their backs, she giggles like crazy when we play peek-a-boo, and she calms down immediately when I sing to her. She showed off her toes like a pro the other day at my parents’ house, because my mom and dad had painted her tootsies for her for the first time. She’s full of sugar, but she’s also got spice. On Wednesday when I went to pick my children up from the babysitter, I walked in to find my little girl sitting on the couch in the time-out spot. She looked up at me with her little ponytails and then looked away. “She’s in time-out,” the babysitter said. “She was pinching. Hard.” I sat down on the couch by my baby. “Josie,” I said. “You have to be gentle. No pinching. That’s naughty.” My Josephine looked up at me with big brown eyes and smiled sweetly. She knew exactly what I was saying, but fully did not intend to listen. Is there really any difference between little boys and little girls? Friday July 25, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:57AM CST on July 25, 2008
Twice a year for the past four or five years I’ve had to ask the same dreaded question of my boys: “What would you like for your birthday?” “A puppy,” one of them might say. (Absolutely not. We already have a cat.) My youngest son LOVES to take pictures. He is forever stealing my husband’s cell phone and using the camera to snap shots of his dad’s feet, the kitchen floor, his brother making goofy faces, his Spider-Man action figure propped up on the counter, the back of his baby sister’s head, the kitchen floor, and every once in a while, he’ll turn the camera around on himself and take the funniest photos of himself - you know the ones that are so close it distorts the head shape. Friday July 11, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 5:26PM CST on July 11, 2008
So I was trying to get our family of five ready for our annual week-long trip to my parents' cabin in Northern Wisconsin. Do you know how hard it is to pack for all those people, especially when one of them is a baby? I had to organize and stack everything from bibs and diapers to life vests and beach towels, enough underwear for everyone and extra socks. And since the weather in that neck of the woods can range anywhere from 56 degrees and raining to 84 degrees and sweating, I also had to pack clothing for the seemingly impossible to predict range of elements. Then I had to figure out how I was going to stuff all of us, our suitcases, the big fat stroller, the cooler, the Pack N' Play and cases of soda and water into the back of the minivan. In the midst of my packing fervor, the boys alternately decided to color with markers, spray each other with the hose, fight over Battleship (sending small game pieces all over the kitchen floor for my 14-month-old to pick up), dig out their favorite T-shirts from my careful stacks, spill juice and tromp sand in the kitchen. What else could I do? I exploded. I used the word pissed. About four hours later my husband came home to find us all crabby. And the first words out of my 4-year-old's mouth were: "Daddy, what's pissed?" He looked at me. Guilty as charged. "He learned it from me," I admitted. But it's not just the words we use, I've come to see. Our kids watch us intently. They see the way we cope with frustration, the way we treat people we're supposed to love and respect, the dedication we have to our jobs and homes, even the way we take care of our stuff. As much as it irritates me when my husband leaves dirty socks in the middle of the bedroom floor, I dislike it even more when I see my sons have followed his example. In my experience, the phrase, "Do as I say and not as I do," just doesn't work. Leading by example is probably the best possible way to get your children to use good table manners, apply themselves in school and everything in between. It makes sense that kids with no parental guidance, whatever their socio-economic status might be, often wind up in trouble. They have no one to emulate, or they choose their own role models, who often don't point them in the right direction. But for many of us, it almost comes naturally as a parent, doesn't it? A lot of us stop swearing, smoking and spending money on foolish stuff once we have kids. We start going to church again, clip coupons and trade in Saturday nights at the bar for Saturday afternoons at the soccer field. I've watched myself become more careful, and I keep striving to become a more worthy role model for my three children. You should have heard my heart sing when my 6-year-old asked me the other day if a movie he wanted to watch was "appropriate" for his age. It almost made up for my teaching his younger brother the word pissed. Have you noticed your children mimicking you? Have you ever felt like they were holding a mirror up to your face when they said or did something?
Thursday May 15, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:48PM CST on May 15, 2008
OK, to say that I wasn’t happy with the photo of me and my kids in the newspaper on Mother’s Day is an incredible understatement. It was awful.
But it was the best of about 15 awful shots taken in – ahem – strained circumstances. Let me explain myself, even if it’s just to make myself feel better.
Thursday was the longest day EVER for me. I was up at 3:30 a.m. and at the police department by 4:15 a.m. to ride along during a raid. I didn’t leave work until 3 p.m. I picked up my children, met my husband at home and then headed out the door about an hour later to attend a banquet for Big Sisters of Greater Racine, who I volunteer with, and also am writing a story on for this weekend. My work day officially ended at about 9:08 p.m.
Bright and early Friday morning I got dressed to go to the farm. I escorted my 4-year-old and his preschool classmates of boundless energy on a trip to Green Meadows in Waterford. We went on a hay ride, held baby chicks, milked a cow, rode a pony, chased baby pigs, chased baby kittens, chased roosters and chickens, and chased goats and sheep.
By the time we picked up my oldest son from school Friday afternoon, we were all DONE. Tired and crabby doesn’t even begin to describe us. My 6-year-old was worn out from a long day at school and wanted a snack. I and the little guy were tired from tromping around in chicken poop all morning. The baby was due for a nap.
But we had to take that picture. My husband stopped home in the middle of his work day to do it. He had all of about 15 minutes.
My hair at the farm had been in a ponytail. I didn’t have time to flat iron my whole head, so instead I just did the front. If you could see the back side of these photos, it would reveal the curly rats’ nest that is my normal undone do.
I figured I wouldn’t fuss with the kids’ clothes, praying that the farm dust and chocolate cookie crumbs wouldn’t show. We sat down on the staircase. “Say cheese!”
The camera batteries are dead.
Plug the camera in. “Everyone look at Daddy! Smile! Cesare please don’t strain your neck like a goose! Roman please don’t lean backwards! Josie! Look at Daddy!”
The first five frames no one was looking at the camera, except mom. The second five frames someone coughed, put their hand up to scratch their nose, or closed their eyes, except mom. The third five frames no one smiled, because no one was happy about sitting on the stinkin’ steps anymore, except mom.
Here are some of the outtakes. Notice how everyone does their own thing, and there I sit, almost like a statue. Behind my frozen smile, I’m sweating. I’m irritated. I’m tired. Frankly, I’m pissed at myself for not remembering we needed the photo earlier in the week.
I was even more irritated when I opened the newspaper Sunday morning and saw Liz’s beautiful photo with her girls and Janine’s beautiful picture with Henry.
Why didn’t I plan better?! I berated myself after the fact. I know Janine’s husband is a professional photographer who takes nothing but wonderful pics of their baby. I know Liz’s husband is “perfect guy” who makes her gourmet meals, cleans the house and knows how to color coordinate their children’s clothing. Of COURSE, he would be patient enough to keep snapping photos until they took one that was gorgeous.
I think it made it worse that EVERYONE I knew at church, at brunch Sunday afternoon and at the preschool program Monday, kept coming up and telling us that they had seen our picture. I felt like I needed to explain why it was so awful.
Then, on Monday, while I was out covering a story, a friend of mine told me he saw the photo. When I started to explain myself, he turned and said, “But Marci, that’s real life. It just means you’re like the rest of us.”
Real life. Of course. Why would I want to explain that away?
Real life is giggles and uncontrollable sobbing. It’s bed head and goofy faces. It’s mismatched socks and creative costumes. It’s a face full of spaghetti and a diaper full of poop. It’s hugs and kisses, sometimes with chocolate smears. It’s love, even when the picture isn’t perfect and the whole world knows it.
Friday May 9, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 6:21PM CST on May 9, 2008
Last week we celebrated my daughter's first birthday. We had a big family party, everyone clapped as she smooshed cake from tip to toe and aawwwhhed when she hugged the baby doll my sister gave her for a present. Now that the party is over, it's time for her to walk. Or so it seems. Just about everyone I talk to wants to know if she's walking yet. Obviously the answer is no, or I wouldn't be so defensive about it. My baby walks around the furniture, even from the ottoman to the couch. But she refuses to let me hold her hands and walk. She sits down or hangs there with her legs bent if I even attempt to try it. Both my boys, now 4 and 6, started walking later than usual - around 15 months for both. But I always assumed it was because of other circumstances. My oldest had surgery on one of his feet at 6 months old and spent several months in a cast. The younger has a medical condition that impedes his growth, so his physical development all around was slow until he started medications around 12 months old. There's nothing holding my daughter back. And yet, she's showing no signs of wanting to walk. I understand that all children develop differently, and that a lot of kids don't start walking on their first birthday. But many do. It made me wonder if there was something we were doing that delayed our children's walking. We encouraged them to crawl and let them explore. We don't hold them constantly. We use a walker in an effort to get them to strengthen their legs. I'm starting to wonder if the walker is part of the issue. I've heard from some folks that walkers hinder walking. I always thought they allowed kids to get the movements of walking down pat, kind of like a test drive. Am I wrong? Could the walker my daughter uses be delaying her walking on her own? Wednesday April 23, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:40AM CST on April 23, 2008
As a child, and later a teenager, I took my mother for granted. I didn't appreciate the sandwiches she made for me. I didn't appreciate the trips to the zoo, beach and amusement park the way I should have. I didn't appreciate the laundry she did for me, or the patience she must have had. As a mom, I now realize the worth of what she did and the advice she gave me. Recently, as noted in a previous Mommy Talk post, I'd been outraged at the behavior of my boys at the dinner table. Last Friday I decided to take the night off from cooking and throw a frozen pizza in the oven. My boys gave me trouble about eating PIZZA. Have you ever? On the phone with my mom while cleaning up the kitchen and completely irritated, she suggests that maybe the boys just weren't hungry yet. She told me to leave their food on the table, and when they later asked for something to eat, I could give them their dinner. I thought "Yeah, right," but I listened to her anyway. One hour later, there sat my boys, at the table, eating their pizza and baby carrot sticks. They cleaned their plates and even put their dishes in the sink. I'm working on a Mother's Day feature story about the advice moms give us. I want to know about the times you've listened to her, the times you didn't and the times you wish you had. What's the best advice your mother ever gave you? You can post here, or e-mail me at marci.laehr@lee.net Thursday April 17, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 7:25PM CST on April 17, 2008
My dad ruled the dinner table with an iron fist. OK, that's a bit of a stretch, but he didn't put up with shinanagans - AT ALL. No burping. No slopping food around. No singing at the table. No yucky stories or jokes. Finish your milk and peas. Say please pass the potatoes. Talk, laugh, share, eat. I made the decision at about age 10 that I would allow my children to sing at the dinner table. I was going to be more relaxed. I envisioned happy meal times with no one crying over spilled milk. Now I'm the one crying. My 6 and 4-year-old boys are out of control at the table. No amount of threats, sending them to their rooms or making them sit in time out while the rest of us eat has made a difference. Almost every night someone spills their milk. Almost every night they have to be reminded more than once to sit down. Almost every night someone refuses to eat something on their plate. Almost every night someone has to be reminded to keep their food on their plate. Even the nights my husband isn't home, we sit and eat together. Almost every night the dinner table is full of more yelling than talking. The meal usually starts out with little reminders: "Please turn around in your seat and eat over your plate." or "You have to eat your corn, so please stop trying to sneak it onto your brother's plate." A few minutes later, I'm nearly at the breaking point: "I have asked you three times to sit down. If you get up again, you will go up to your bedroom while the rest of us finish dinner!" When I've finished eating, fed the baby and cleaned her high chair, my patience is usually gone: "Get in time out! You will finish everything on your plate or you will have nothing else to eat until breakfast! I AM NOT GOING TO ARGUE WITH YOU!" Manners? I thought if dinner were relaxed and happy with good food and maybe even a song or two, manners could still be taught. Am I wrong? Do all children this age act this way at dinner? How do you teach a 4-year-old to keep his napkin in his lap when he spends half of dinner standing on his chair? Saturday April 5, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:56PM CST on April 5, 2008
...I can barely even type this. Saturday late morning is clean up day around our house. I do the laundry, the dishes, vacuum, etc. My boys, 6 and 4, have the task of cleaning their basement toy room. Every Saturday it's a fight. I've gotten so frustrated in the last few weeks that I've set the timer on the microwave. If the room isn't cleaned up in 1 hour, they are grounded from the room and the majority of their toys for a week. Today I told them I wasn't going to fight with them. I was just going to set the timer, and they had better clean up. About an hour ago, I was vacuuming the living room when my 6-year-old came upstairs and sheepishly told me something was wrong with the TV in the playroom. When I asked why he was turning the TV on instead of cleaning up, he didn't answer. I went downstairs to discover that the small flat screen TV we spent $500 on for them was smashed. Literally, the screen was smashed. The TV was their joint present from Santa. My husband and I, in the weeks before Christmas, kept the boys out of the playroom by telling them the carpet had been cleaned and was wet. We painted the walls in bright colors, hung shelving, painted a blackboard and bought colorful storage baskets for all their stuff. On Christmas Day we left a note by their stockings to go downstairs to find their presents. They were so excited. They ran from one end of the room to the other, pointing out stuff to each other. (Previously the room had white walls, our old furniture and baby toys mixed on the floor with the stuff they actually played with.) I'm not just angry about the TV, I'm mostly angry because my boys don't seem to appreciate anything. I sent them to their rooms. I can't look at them right now. And I can't even begin to imagine what punishment would fit this crime. Do I bag up all their toys and donate them? Do I ground them from TV for a month? P.S. The toy room is still a mess. -- Marci
Wednesday March 19, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:13AM CST on March 19, 2008
When the thermometer hit 50 degrees last week I happily shooed my 4 and 6-year-old boys outside into the backyard after school. They cruised the backyard, digging forgotten toys out from under not-yet-melted snow, and running through the pine trees along our fence. I left the window open a little and listened for arguing or calls for help that didn’t come. Instead, I caught joyful glimpses of them swinging on the swings, tromping through the brown grass and pulling their summer toys out of the deck box. I love that they are old enough to play in the yard without constant supervision (It’s fenced in and the gate is locked). They get to explore without a hovering mom, and I get to load up the dishwasher without being interrupted by a hunger, thirsty or need-help-fixing-my-Transformer child. Did I mention that this took place while my 10-month-old daughter was napping? She has recently mastered crawling. She started scooting on her belly about a month ago, but now she’s got the up on the hands and knees movement down pat. She’s like a teenager with a brand new driver’s license. And I can’t keep her out of anything. And she’s fast. She pulls open drawers and kitchen cabinets. She snatches up forbidden Matchbox cars and Spider-Man figures when her brothers have their backs turned. I even caught her chewing on a day-old piece of corn, which she must of dug out from underneath the kitchen table. I can’t leave her alone for a second. Her other fairly new trick is pulling herself up - whether it’s on the ottoman in the family room or the rails of her crib. Soon she’ll be cruising along all the furniture, and in a few months, walking her way through the house. Yikes. As I watched my boys stomp through the wet backyard the other day, climbing the ladder to the top of their swing set, I thought about the independence our kids claim - a little bit more each day, month and year that passes. It’s a little scary, a little sad and a little exciting all at the same time. So try to remind myself as I chase my crawl-a-way daughter around the kitchen that she has to take this step to get to the next. My exhaustive hovering over her now will lead to the day that I can throw open the patio door and let her loose in the backyard with her brothers. What have been the scariest, best, most frustrating or most exciting steps your children have taken lately? Friday February 29, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:49AM CST on February 29, 2008
Two weeks ago on Saturday we ended up in the emergency room with our 9-month-old daughter. She had a cold for a few days, but on Friday when I picked her up from the sitter she had a 102 temperature. By Saturday afternoon, my daughter’s temp had spiked to 104.6. And Tylenol wasn’t working anymore. We took our sons to my mom’s and the baby to the ER. Three hours and a chest X-ray later she was diagnosed with an ear infection and upper respiratory infection. By Monday, my baby girl was fever free. Of course, Tuesday was her routine check up at the pediatrician. (It never falls on the day the kids are actually sick, does it?) We told the doctor about her illness, the antibiotic the ER doctor prescribed, etc. "What did they say was wrong with her?" he asked. We told him. He checked her out. When he looked in her ears he said, "I don’t see how they could have even diagnosed that with all the wax build up in there." Huh? So here’s the gross part. How do you remove a young child’s ear wax? Or shouldn’t you? My kids seem to grow carrots (that’s what we call them in my house) in their ears by the bucket full. I don't understand it. My children are clean. I use carrot sticks (That’s what we call Q-tips in our house) to clean the outside part of their ears after baths. Anyone else ever notice this? Do you know why kids have so much ear wax? Are you supposed to do anything about it, or not? -Marci Friday February 8, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:29AM CST on February 8, 2008
My 9-month-old is becoming quite the princess. It doesn’t matter that her vocabulary is limited to Mama, Dada, babbles and screeches, she makes her wants and needs KNOWN in no uncertain terms. All she has to do when she wants something is put up her arms, bare her two lower teeth (the only teeth in her head), and cry. And, of course, my 6 and 4-year-old sons happily oblige. They hand over toys, the remote control, stuffed animals, blankets, the telephone. They’ll do anything to make her happy. One day when I was out of the room for a minute, I came rushing back in at the sound of her crying. She was sitting on the family room floor, surrounded by toys, weeping. "What happened?" I asked my 6-year-old. "She took my glasses off my face," he said. "Did she hurt herself with them?" I say, rushing to her side. "No, I just took them back," he said, with a worried look on his face like I might actually be upset with him for taking his glasses - the ones he needs to see - away from his baby sister. May I add, before I get clobbered for being a lousy parent, that my husband and I do NOT encourage this behavior. In fact, we spend a lot of time telling our boys to keep the matchbox cars, paper books, chocolate chip cookies - and anything else that is dangerous or that our daughter could destroy - away from her. We also don’t give into her, which is probably why her rants only last about 1 minute. Then she’s back to giggles and pulling her socks off. You see, despite her rather sometimes noisy demands, my baby girl is quite good. She laughs easy. She eats EVERYTHING and usually goes to sleep without fuss. So I was a little surprised and worried a few weeks ago when she cried continuously after I put her to bed for the night. "Maybe she needs her diaper changed," I thought to myself, because there really couldn’t have been anything else wrong. I went upstairs, plucked her out of the crib and laid her on the changing table, as she continued to wail. I opened her diaper, which was fairly dry and slipped it off. That’s when I saw it roll out from her pajamas: a pea leftover from dinner. After wrapping a new diaper around her bottom and zipping up her pjs, I set my baby girl back down in bed. She grabbed her fluffy and favorite pink blanket, rolled to the side and shut her eyes, finally content. "My God," I thought, "My princess was bothered by a pea." -Marci Monday January 28, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:32AM CST on January 28, 2008
One of my two older sisters had her first child at age 24. She and her husband, who are the same age, now have two kids, a 14-year-old and an 11-year-old. I was chatting with my brother-in-law the other day when I realized he and my sister would be sending their kids off to college before they turn 50. Wow. In today’s day and age, that’s pretty young to be a couple of empty-nesters. Then I calculated my own fate. I also won’t turn 50 until after the last of my chicks has flown the coop. (Although my husband is a few years older.) On the other hand, I have a family member who is in her 40s with two children ages 4 and almost 2, who says she would like to have at least one more child. I also recently found out that another friend who is 40 is pregnant with a third child. It’s a trend of the times, I suppose. Women who carve out careers and independent lives before they settle down and begin families are bound to be older than their mothers were when they have children. A girlfriend of mine who used to be a labor and delivery RN in a busy Dallas hospital said that nearly every mother who walked through the door was under 18 or over 30. But most of my friends, myself included, had our children in our mid to late 20s. What do you think today's norm is for child bearing years? How old were you when you had children? Do you think there are pros or cons to being a younger or older parent? -Marci Monday January 14, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:05AM CST on January 14, 2008
Last week I covered the court sentencing of a man who was found guilty of shooting and killing another man. I know this isn’t the usual Mommy Talk topic, but please bear with me a moment. It was awful. Both the moms - the mom of the man who died and the mom of the man sentenced to life in prison - wept hysterically throughout the proceeding. Although I had a job to do, the mom in me had tears threatening to fall too. I was sorry for the woman who lost her child. I was sorry for the other woman who lost her child. It was painful to watch. ... (more)Monday January 7, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 1:46PM CST on January 7, 2008
I forgot how gross baby food is until a few months ago when I started feeding it to my daughter. Here's the hierarchy of baby food as far as I'm concerned: Meats - I will NEVER serve them again. They are the absolute nastiest thing, especially when they come back up. Green beans - None of my children liked them. They can wait a few months to eat them whole, which tastes better. Prunes - The absolute worst at staining bibs, shirts, faces, walls and high chair straps. Bananas - The SMELL is unlike any food I've ever tasted, and does not even closely resemble a banana. I've started to simply mash bananas on my own and feed them to my daughter. Carrots, sweet potatoes, peas and peaches - I can handle. Applesauce and pears - These are the only baby foods I actually find appealing. As I am on my third child now, I've gotten a little more relaxed about feeding her. I remember being very regimented about the type of baby food I fed my first, when I moved on to the next level, when I started feeding him table food, etc. I have no problem now making my own baby food: mashed potatoes, yams, bananas, pieces of bread, cheese, and the like. What are the worst baby foods in your opinion. Or what do you remember being disgusted by when your children were infants? -Marci Friday December 7, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:15AM CST on December 7, 2007
Over Christmas vacation my regular babysitter will be in Venezula. My oldest is off from school from Dec. 21 until Jan. 7. This means that for the first time in 10 years I'll be taking the week between Christmas and New Year's off. No problem. However, the next week the babysitter is still gone and there is still no school. My husband and I both have somewhat flexible schedules, so we'll be able to work around it for the four days. But I know we are fortunate that way. If you're not a SAHM, what do you do with school age children during Christmas, Easter and summer breaks? Does Unified have any programs during these times? -Marci Friday November 30, 2007
Posted by: bagel at 6:38PM CST on November 30, 2007
Help! The baby is sick. Work has been crazy busy the past two weeks. I was in a wedding two weeks ago, and have a family baptism next weekend. Of course, I'm also trying to work my schedule around my 4-year-old's preschool Christmas program, my extended family Christmas party and planning ahead for stories while I'll be gone from work for a few days over the holidays. Needless to say, I'm feeling very overwhelmed. And I haven't bought a single gift. Not one. How do you do it all moms and dads? How do you destress when life gets too hectic? How do you have fun with your children and carve out little bits of time for yourself? -Marci Friday November 16, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 12:10PM CST on November 16, 2007
On Thursday when I went to pick my 5-year-old up from school, his teacher handed me a worksheet she had helped him fill out that day. I read it, and laughed so hard I had tears coming out of my eyes. I hope it makes you smile or laugh as well. Here's what it said: Cesare’s Thanksgiving Turkey Recipe: Ingredients: Beef sandwiches, Mushrooms, Turkey spices Serve with: Pumpkin pie and corn Directions: Grandpa goes out hunting and gets a turkey. He chops the head off and plucks all the weeds out. Put it in the oven. Cooking time: 10 minutes Temperature: 36 degrees Friday November 9, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:01AM CST on November 9, 2007
I was thrilled with the reactions my 4 and 5-year-old sons had to their baby sister when she was born in May. For three months, while I was home on maternity leave, they displayed absolutely no signs of jealousy. They were actually quite helpful. But for the past month or so, my 4-year-old and former baby of the family, has been noticeably more difficult. He demands attention by doing things he knows are wrong. He argues with me over EVERYTHING. And, most irritatingly, he’s never quiet - EVER, literally unless he’s sleeping. He’ll talk. He’ll sing. He’ll yell. He’ll hum. He’ll make animal noises - anything to attract attention to himself. I still punish him for doing stuff wrong - that’s a time out in our house. I try not to get involved in the arguments with him. I admit, I’m at a loss as to what to do about the constant noise. I also try to give him a little extra love every day. I remind him that he’s my baby boy. I still sing to him at bedtime when he wants me to. I try to give him an equal amount of attention at the dinner table. He loves it when I call him my "pickle in the middle." But I’m starting to get the feeling he doesn’t love his placement in the family. With a big brother who can do everything and a baby sister who needs everything, I think he’s a little lost. Any suggestions on how to handle this, reassure him, help him on his way? -Marci Friday October 26, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:33AM CST on October 26, 2007
Two nights ago my almost 6-year-old coughed through the night. He woke up several times crying and gagging, and just couldn’t sleep comfortably. When I picked him up from school on Thursday, his teacher told me that he was coughing during the day too. Yesterday afternoon he seemed OK, but about an hour before bedtime, he started coughing again - terribly. I knew he would be up again all night. My husband and I made the decision to go to Walgreens and talk to the pharmacist about a pediatric cold medicine. My husband bought a cold medicine and we gave my son half the recommended dose. He slept like a baby. I didn’t hear him cough all night. I KNOW the FDA has voted to ban these products from shelves. I’ve heard the arguments that there is no proof they work, but have also heard reports that most of the deaths/illnesses associated with these medicines has been due to overdose or misuse. My son’s almost six, which appears to be the cut off for these types of medications causing harm. But I don’t know that I would be opposed to giving a lower dose to my 4 1/2-year-old if it helped him get the rest he needed either. How do you feel about this? Would you give your child any of these cold medications? If so, under what circumstances? Have you talked to your child’s pediatrician about it? -Marci Thursday October 18, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:14AM CST on October 18, 2007
The gals around the office are going to start calling me a bad mother, as I have yet to bring in photos of my 5-month-old daughter. So a few weeks ago I took the camera memory cards (yes that’s plural on purpose) to the Walgreen’s. I sat at that little digital print machine for over an hour going through approximately 367 photographs that I had left in the camera for months on end. It was literally a slide show of my family’s important events over the past year. There were funny-faced pictures of my 4 and 5-year-old boys playing in the snow that I laughed so hard over I snorted. I looked at blurry photos of my boys’ Christmas program AND preschool graduation. I sighed over pictures of my daughter, freshly born. I smiled at photos of my three children from our vacation this summer. Then I discovered the really old stuff. There were photos of my boys’ first day of preschool together from last fall. There were pictures of what I thought was my oldest son’s fifth birthday, until I counted the candles on the cake. Gulp. I’d never had prints made of his fourth birthday. In this age of digital cameras, we save photos in our cell phones and on our screensavers. We e-mail them to friends far away. We store them in desktop files. But how many of us regularly go and get prints made? Will our children have to someday track down pictures of themselves at birthday parties and summer picnics electronically? -Marci Friday October 12, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:03AM CST on October 12, 2007
"David had a pizza Lunchable today," my 5-year-old says as he climbs in the van after school one day last week. "He spread the tomato sauce and put two kinds of cheese on top." "That’s nice," I say, knowing perfectly well what’s coming next. "Mom, can we go to the grocery store and buy a pizza Lunchable?" "Maybe." On the drive home, my mind wanders a bit toward the extreme overreaction. It’s started already: peer pressure. Right now it might be something as innocent as the type of food their friends have in their lunch box, but someday it will be beer, then drugs, and even sex. I’m worried. I don’t want my son to be the one wanting to be like his friend. I want him setting the pace. I trust my kid to make the right decisions - most of the time. Perhaps I’m more concerned about having my 5-year-old be a stand-up, confident leader because he is the oldest of my children. Already his 4-year-old brother mimics the way he talks, wants the same toys, and allows my oldest to dictate what game/activity/TV show will occupy their time. And it won’t be long before their baby sister follows suit. So I don’t want him to want Lunchables, just because his friend has them. Enter in a bit of creative parenting. My husband bought a few Lunchables at the grocery store. I told my son that on the days I packed the plastic box of crackers, cheese and treat in his lunch box, he would also be getting a napkin with a heart colored on it. "Why?" he asked, looking very apprehensive at the thought of getting caught by his friends with a love letter from his mother inside his lunch. "Because when I pack your lunch with food I’ve made, whether it’s a sandwich or soup, a banana or cookies, I make it with love. I don’t make Lunchables, so on the days I send you with a Lunchable, I’ll also have to send you the love you’ll need to get through the school day in a note." "Mom, don’t do it," he says. "What if I just do it on one side of the napkin and you keep it hidden? Then, it can be our secret and not embarrass you." With a sly smile that tells me he’s happy about the plan, but doesn’t want to show it, he says, "OK." Hooray! I feel smug. I’ve not only told my son in a nice way why he should prefer the homemade lunches I pack him, I’ve also made him feel loved. "Mom?" my son says as we climb into the van after school the next day. "Yes?" "I really don’t like that pizza Lunchable. The sauce tastes kind of funny." Good grief. Just when I started to feel like Mom of the World Who Has the Answers to All Parenting Dilemmas and Should Be Giving Advice on Oprah, my son drops the most casual of bombs. He has figured out on his own that pizza Lunchables aren’t that great. -Marci Friday October 5, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 8:52AM CST on October 5, 2007
I was listening to the radio the other day when I heard the mom song played. It is absolutely hysterical. It's sung by Anita Renfroe to the tune of the William Tell Overture. Have you seen or heard it? If not, you can see it on youtube by clicking here -Marci Monday September 24, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:46AM CST on September 24, 2007
"Shake a tail feather!" I say with a smile on my face. My 5-year-old calmly adjusts his school bag, grabs his lunch box and climbs out of the van. His shoe is untied, I notice. But I grab his hand and hurry him into the building anyway. We get into the class with about one minute to spare. "Tie your shoe honey," I tell him now. Now that I can breathe again. Now that we aren’t late, or not too late anyway. We are not a good pair for getting to school on time. I am a big-time night owl. When I was in high school, I did OK in my classes. I finished my homework. But I would stay up late into the night, sometimes until 3 a.m. reading. I would bet that a week never passed that I wasn’t late to school at least once. Seriously. This was less of a problem in college, where I could schedule my own classes. And my first job here at the newspaper was second shift. I loved working from 2:30 to 11:30 p.m. I would stay up reading or watching TV until about 1 a.m., get up around 9 a.m., make coffee and relax. It was cool, but it’s not a schedule that works with children. Even after I moved on to daytime hours, I still didn’t HAVE to be here at any specific time. If I got up a little late and didn’t make it in until 9:30 a.m., that was OK. But now I HAVE to be up at 6:30 a.m. five days a week. I have to, because I have to be out the door and bringing my son to school by 7:45 a.m. If we leave any later than that, we’re cutting it too close. Unfortunately, we leave later than that most days. In addition to my dragging butt in the morning, my son isn’t all that speedy either. He takes his time making his bed and putting on his clothes. He and his brother can drag out breakfast like nobody’s business. I try to be efficient by laying out clothes at bedtime, packing his lunch before I go to bed, etc. But nearly every day, I feel like we’re racing against the clock to get to school on time. And I’ve learned that children this age don’t really get the idea of "hurry up." They seem to have no concept of time management. Then again, I can’t really point fingers can I? -Marci Friday September 21, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:07AM CST on September 21, 2007
Reality came up and slapped me in the face this week. On Sunday we learned that the 31-year-old wife of my husband’s cousin had died from a brain aneurysm. They have three children, ages 2, 4 and 6. They’re just babies. And she had to leave them without warning. The parenting lesson I learned this week is, you never know when your life will end. You never know at what stage you will have to leave your children. We all want to believe we will watch them graduate from high school, get married, have our grandchildren. But no one can count on that. It prompted me to ask myself if I have given my children what they need for futures that I might not be a part of. Have I taught them enough about inner strength and faith to endure the challenges that lie ahead in their lives? Have I given them enough freedom to be confident in future decisions? Have I taught them what it means to be loved and to love unconditionally? Have I instilled a thirst for learning that will carry them to their full potentials professionally and emotionally? Have I shown them that there is abundant beauty in the world that they should never take for granted? No. I haven’t even scratched the surface. But for as long as I live I’ll keep trying, because one day I'll have to leave them. And I don't know that I'll have a chance to say good-bye. -Marci Wednesday September 12, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 2:23PM CST on September 12, 2007
What do you do with a child who wants to do everything perfect the first time he tries? My 5-year-old is a perfectionist. He likes his shirts buttoned a certain way. He LOVES to clean his room and make his bed. (No complaints there.) His costumes have to be complete: cape, outfit, boots, gloves, mask and tools. This Batman will not take a cape and mask only. The problem is that at his age he is learning new things every day. Sometimes he struggles with not being able to do something new perfect the first time. For example, when he was learning to tie his shoes, he became very frustrated when he couldn’t do it right away. I explained to him that it takes practice to get good at almost everything. I worked with him for a few more days, and now he is an expert shoe-tier. But that was just one hurdle. And sometimes he’ll not try something for fear he won't be able to do it "right", or give up too quickly when he’s not mastering something difficult right away. Any advice? -Marci Friday September 7, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:41AM CST on September 7, 2007
I have decided to laugh at my children. Recently I’ve made a conscious decision to start finding more amusement in the naughty things my 4 and 5 year old boys do. If for no other reason than to keep myself sane. ... (more)Wednesday August 29, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:06AM CST on August 29, 2007
On Tuesday my oldest child will join the ranks of grade-schoolers as he heads off for kindergarten. And I will join the ranks of mothers across the country, blinking back tears, as the child that was a baby yesterday walks away for the first time with a backpack and lunch box. ... (more) Friday August 24, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 10:01AM CST on August 24, 2007
On Tuesday my daughter marked her 16th week. When people ask me how old she is, I usually give it to them in months. For example, right now I say 3 1/2 months or almost 4 months. Because although she is 16 weeks old, Josie won’t be 4 months until September 1. Confusing, huh? I use months because I think it is less complicated, but I often hear people give a baby’s age in weeks. I’ve actually been embarrassed before by having to stop and calculate weeks in my head when a mom says, "He’s 31 weeks." Of course, when she was younger I measured her age in weeks - as in 2 weeks or 8 weeks - but beyond 12, it’s just too much work. Which have you used? Which is less confusing to you? And if you do use weeks, when do you stop? (I just figured out that my 4-year-old is 212 weeks old.) -Marci Tuesday August 14, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 4:00PM CST on August 14, 2007
I read the recent Mommy Talk post about Liz’s daughter ordering her a sofa at Target.com with horror. Not because I fear my children might do something similar, but because they don’t know the first thing about the computers in our home. I felt the fear that many parents of our age feel - often unnecessarily: Is my child behind on this? It’s irrational, I know. My boys are only 4 and 5. Who cares if they don’t know how to use a mouse yet? They know how to tie their own shoes, write their names, read a little and sing our phone number. (This is me being defensive by the way.) And yet I was only further distressed when my sister-in-law and her daughters came to spend the afternoon yesterday. Her oldest daughter is about six months younger than my 4-year-old. And SHE showed me a get-ready-to-read program online. It was the final straw. My boys went online last night. Surprisingly, the Inky and Gus (they’re the guys from Between the Lions) activities were entertaining enough for my sons and educational enough for me. At bedtime, they made me promise to let them play again tonight. I happily agreed. Anyone have any other age-appropriate online games to suggest? -Marci Friday August 10, 2007
Posted by: Rob at 12:12PM CST on August 10, 2007
For as long as they can remember, my 4 and 5-year-old boys have been the center of attention in our house. They are so close that instead of competing for my and my husband’s attention, they often team up to get it. I was pretty nervous about how my boys would react to the new baby we brought home in May. They’ve never been what you might call patient, or good listeners. I was afraid every time I answered a request with, “I can’t right now, I’m feeding the baby,” or “Please play outside for a little while so I can get the baby down for her nap,” they would hoot and holler about it. I was wrong. My boys have been incredibly good about letting me tend to the baby’s needs. They even help me by throwing away dirty diapers and singing her songs when she’s fussy and I need to do the dishes. Of course, they still don’t listen very well when it comes to cleaning up their toys, but I refuse to give up hope. In fact, my husband and I really have had only one problem concerning the boys and their new baby sister: they can’t get enough of her. They kiss and hug her to the point that I’m afraid they’ll smother her. They are constantly asking when they will be old enough to feed her, burp her, carry her and give her a bath on their own - which makes me very nervous that they will try. (Of course, I’ve talked with them about it, but as I stated above, they aren’t very good listeners.) I don’t want to reprimand them about over-loving their sister, but when they are practically crawling into her cradle, I have to. Have other parents had this issue? Did the older child/children eventually loosen up their grip on their younger brother or sister? Marci Friday August 3, 2007
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:54AM CST on August 3, 2007
After 12 weeks of being a stay at home mom, I dreaded coming back to work. As the end of my maternity leave approached, I tried not to think about how quickly the days were slipping by. For the past 3 months I had napped with my beautiful baby girl, read to my children, watched my boys splash around in their backyard swimming pool, and enjoyed every moment of my little girl’s coos and smiles. I even got a chance to putter in my garden and to read the new Harry Potter book. A big part of me wished that I would never have to come back to work. A little part of me was excited about it. ... (more) |
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