The F-Word

If anything will break you of your type-A perfectionism control freak issues, it is parenthood. Because, inevitably, something will not go your way, or *gasp!* you will fail at something. For example, we are a bunch of annoying over-achievers in this household. My eldest son was reading at 2 1/2. TWO AND A HALF. My daughter is incredibly articulate and uses words like "improvise" and "sarcastic" properly in sentences. And what we aren't quite as good at, we work our tails off and we get better.

But then there is potty-training. And we SUCK at this. All of us. Me, them. Them, me. My first born took a year and a half to get there. Lots of failures all around. (And lots of drowning my tears in wine at night). I assumed that part of the problem was me starting too early with him. My daughter, however, was a completely different child: very focused, not easily distracted, mature. So I foolishly also started training her at 2 1/2. That was well over a year ago. And guess what? Mommy's a-drinkin'. My child still needs to change her underpants several times a day. She turned 3 1/2 two months ago. She is going to preschool in one month.

Mommy fail. TWICE.

Mommy DOES NOT FAIL. This has been a tremendous source of frustration, despair, and disappointment for me. We are the Johnsons! We kick ass at stuff! We do not accept failure well. We don't get sent home by the preschool in wet clothes because we "aren't quite ready." But here we are, pulling up the rear on the potty-training wagon. Again.

And trust me, I am not trying some new fangled potty-training method written by monks or something. I am using the same old, regular methods everyone else uses. I actually had a dad say to me recently (as I was lamenting my failures to his wife), "You know, we had to teach our kids how to do it. We had to put them on the potty so they learned." I almost punched him in the face. Are you kidding me?! Do you not think I tried that? A YEAR AGO??!!

And I still have kid #3 to train. However, I plan on having him skip preschool and get trained at 4 1/2 so he's ready for kindergarten.

The Empty Sink Mystery

There is a phenomenon that I have seen evident in other mommies' homes: the empty sink. This does not exist in my house. EVER. At least not for more than 3 consecutive minutes. Why is this impossible? Because the dishes in the dishwasher are always clean, waiting to be put away. Always. (Well it seems that way.)

I have attended events -- either during the day with the kids or in the evening with just us moms -- at friends' houses. And the mommy hosting has usually cooked, baked, or at least prepared some snacks. Often, her counters are clean and her sink is empty. Not one dish. How in the...? This takes great skill and timing. A mommy who is hosting an event and making food must have her dishwasher empty, or at least semi-empty to allow space for the dirty dishes used in food prep. This means... turn back the clock.. that the previous load of dishes needed to have been run and emptied in enough time to load the new dirty dishes before company arrives. This means... keep turning back clock... that the morning load of dishes (which was dirty when Mom woke up because she could not wait to plop down onto the couch last night with her glass of wine after bedtime and she forgot to run it) needed to be run and emptied in time to do the mid-day load...

Laundry is the same way in my house. Please tell me that everyone else's husband and children live out of laundry baskets of folded clothes. They are constantly asking:
"Where is my pink skirt?" (daughter)
"Where is my Ironman sweatshirt?" (son)
"Where are ANY of my underwear? " (husband)

My answer: "Clean. Folded. Basket. Not the one at the top of the stairs. The one farther down the hall. No? It wasn't in there? Okay... try the one on the couch. Downstairs."

If your family does NOT live out of folded clothes baskets and the clothes actually make their way back into closets and drawers, please tell me how this works. Also, you are probably a person with an empty dishwasher. How?

Anatomy lessons with a 1-year old boy

Our pediatrician asked if we were working on identifying body parts with our 1-year old son. Here is how it goes in bath:

"Where is... your foot? No, that's your penis."

"Where is... your nose? No, that's your penis."

"Where is...  your tummy? Nope. Also your penis."

Sigh.

"Where is your penis? Yes, that's right."



Will try again tomorrow.

Summer camps: What the bleep??!!

I am often reminded about the many luxuries 21st century moms have that make our lives easier than the lives of our mothers and grandmothers. Like, for instance, my mother did not have a baby monitor -- not even one with JUST sound. A video monitor?! Not even fathomable. Also, and this one floors me, she did not have the luxury of baby wipes! What on earth did she use to wipe our butts? (Never mind our hands, faces, arms, church clothes, spills in the car...) I sort of don't want to know what she used / how she wiped our butts though, so let's move on.

Despite the fact that mommies of today have mini-vans with back-up cameras and doors that open automatically, what's inside those vans proves my next point. Although mommies of today have it a lot easier, things are a hell of a lot more complicated for us as well. Check out our car seats! They weigh 30 lbs, require a 2 hour training course on installation, and our kids need to be in them pretty much until they are in the driver's seat themselves. Compared to the 1980s... you know the scene: rolling around in the "way back" of the station wagon. Not buckled. Certainly NOT in a car seat unless you were a baby. Or you were in the front seat, where you were allowed to fiddle with the radio. (MAYBE your car had a cassette player. Fancy!)

Lives of mommies of decades past were harder, but they were also simpler. This has never been more apparent to me than in the past week as I finally began the arduous process of deciding on summer camps. Holy crap! People! Seriously with the summer camps??!!

Growing up, we went to summer camp. It was free. It was called: Go outside and play. Come back when hungry. Full? Good. Go back outside and play. And repeat.

Now don't get me wrong, as a mom, I am a fan of the summer camp. The idea of having a place to park my kids for a few hours every day for a week... sounds marvelous. So let's do this. I start with my town's Parks and Recreation camp catalogue. I am instantly overwhelmed. There are, of course, baseball camps, soccer camps, arts and crafts camps, and even the dreaded dodgeball camp. However, did you know that there are also camps like these?

Fencing Camp (like, the sport of fencing)

Tree Climbing Camp

Jedi Stunt Training Camp

Frozen Princess Camp

Taylor Swift Music Camp

Video Game Camp

Fiesta! Camp (a.k.a. foreign language camp)

I mean, are you kidding??!! Tree climbing CAMP?! 

Also, as I quickly learned, there are camps through my town's Parks and Rec department. There are also camps available to me through the neighboring 5 towns' Parks and Rec departments. And finally, and this is the fattest catalogue of them all, our entire county has its OWN Parks and Rec camps. And those are JUST those run through all of the Parks and Rec departments! It seems there are also 2,523 privately run camps within a 30 mile radius of my house.

I spent more time than I will admit agonizing over which camp to put my children in. My 5-year old son is ready for a camp, but my 3-year old daughter -- let's be honest -- is only doing one because her brother and friends are. When my son was 3, we never considered camp because he was our oldest, only 3, and still peeing his pants pretty regularly. Well now she is 3... and is also still peeing HER pants pretty regularly.  Nevertheless, summer camp, here we come! 

As I nostalgically think of my simple, happy, carefree childhood, I like to think of what summer camps for girls would have looked like in the 80s. Here is my list:

Jem and the MisFits Camp

Rainbow Bright Camp

Punky Brewster Camp

Proper French-rolling of Pants Camp

Hair Crimping Camp

Cabbage Patch Dolls Camp

Hungry Hungry Hippos Camp

I would have kicked ass at French-rolling of Pants Camp.

Hoping to get noticed by Huffington Post...

I recently read a hilarious article from Huff Post entitled "How to Put a Toddler to Bed in 100 Easy Steps." (See link below.) Tonight I find myself inspired to rip off this piece and create my own "How to put a 3-year old little girl to bed... in as many steps as it takes before you actually carry your beer into her room with you as you meet her demands."

Step 1: Help her brush her teeth. Because she insists on bring a "friend" (stuffed animal and/or doll) with her to every room to do anything and everything, her turtle (affectionately and adorably called "Pokey") falls into the tooth-paste covered sink.

Step 2: Wash Pokey and dry tears.

Step 3: Redo child's braids. Because it is bedtime and every girl needs beautiful braids... to sleep in.

Step 4: Help her change into pajamas. She can do it herself. Nope. She needs help. Nope. She can do it herself. Nope. She needs help.

Step 5: Allow her to spend 3 full minutes choosing which skirt to wear over her pajamas. TO BED.

Step 6: Read "Belle Book" (Beauty and the Beast) for the 985th time.

Step 7: Say prayers, including praying for "Baby, Pokey, Giraffe, Brown Bear, Baby Bear, Polar Bear, Baby Polar Bear, Bunny....

Step 8: Because she realized she was missing some friends during prayers, search for specific missing friends. Tonight they include 4 puppies (she owns about 12).

Step 9: After 4 puppies are found, head back upstairs. As you reach the very top stair, you hear "And Dragon!" Turn around and go back downstairs. Find Dragon.

Step 10: Deliver 4 puppies and a dragon.

Step 11: You are now told that Dragon needs her blanket. The specific blanket you are looking for is about 2 x 3 inches. Good luck.

Step 12: After miraculously finding the tiny blanket (because "Mommy, Dragon is sooooo cold"), and bringing it to your 3-year old, she responds: "All of my other friends need blankets too. Can you find each one their own little blanket?"

Step 13: Open beer. Write this blog.











http://www.huffingtonpost.com/honest-toddler/how-to-put-a-toddler-to-bed-in-100-easy-steps_b_4968226.html

Another body part is retiring. Well, 2 actually.

I have made no secret about the fact that I am in a state of simultaneous mourning / elation this year. 2014: the first time in 6 years that I will not be pregnant or nursing -- because we have decided to retire my uterus and declare that 3 kids in 5 years is probably enough kids.

Elation: No more babies!!! No more freakishly large body that does not fit into any maternity pants properly! No more pushing out the big fat babies we tend to create (although I love how fat and healthy they are, my lady parts sure don't). No more 9+ months without beer or wine!

Mourning: No more babies. No more positive pregnancy tests, no more ultrasound appointments, no more finding out the gender, no more baby name duels. No more amazing birthing experiences (and yes, I use the word amazing. I have truly loved the experience of giving birth -- grossness and all).

And now, as of today, before either of us were ready (who knows if I would have ever been ready), no more nursing. My youngest is almost 13 months. It was time to start weaning him. He is a big boy -- drinks milk from a cup, and only really nurses for comfort. But he does still nurse for comfort every night, and I was not ready to rip that away from him just yet. Unfortunately, however, I have been fighting a bout of pneumonia. (Who knew moms were allowed to get pneumonia? I sure didn't.) And the previous nursing-safe meds did not work. And I got sicker. So back to the doctor today, and she said what I was dreading: "You need to go on stronger medication. And you CANNOT nurse on this stuff." She could probably see the sadness in my face (or the Really? Not even a little? It is probably okay... look on my face) because on the bottle, written clearly are the words: "DO NOT BREASTFEED WHILE TAKING THIS MEDICATION."

I feel robbed of that special moment when you get to know it is the last time. Turns out the last time was at 5 am this morning and I did not know. With my eldest son, I had that special time. He was 14 months old, and although sad, I felt ready and I knew he was ready. I played with his hair and looked at him and talked to him and knew it was ok. My daughter did not grant me that opportunity. At 11 1/2 months, she bit me, bit me on the other side, and then later that night, bit me again. She finally looked up at me as if to say, "Mom! I don't want this anymore. Are you not getting it?" And while this was harsh, if you know her, you are probably saying, yep, that sounds about right. She runs her own show, always has. The boys took forever to come out and she came flying out as the doctor barely made it into the room. So as I look back, her end to nursing was very fitting. But with my little guy, this just doesn't seem fair. I can try to start again after 7 days when I should be done with the medication, but at this point, with him only really nursing for comfort and being over a year, I know that isn't going to happen.

So another chapter is closing. If you see me in public and my eyes are red and I look a little forlorn, feel free to hand me a beer or a glass of wine (if it is the morning, you can put in my travel coffee mug so we are not judged), and tell me to keep my chin up! Celebration! No more nursing bras, nursing pads, no more being unaware that you leaked through your shirt so you continue to have 20 minute conversations with people. No more dreaded breast pump!

Watch out summer! I might rock a tank top for the first time since 2007!

An "Open Letter"

Lately there have been lots of "open letters" in the media. I guess the idea is to write a letter and then post it to Twitter, Facebook, etc. so it is "open" to the general public. Well, here is my open letter.
To Costco.

Dear Powers That Be at Costco,

I frequent your establishment a couple of times per month. I have noticed that most of your clientele fall within one of two categories: moms and the elderly. What do moms and the elderly have in common? We are all up at 5 am. Therefore, on behalf of moms (and maybe the elderly -- I don't know their feelings on this subject) I would like to express my frustration at your 10:00 am opening time. By 10 am, I have been up for hours. One, if not two of my kids are already dropped off at school. My baby has probably already had a morning nap. 10 am is almost the middle of the day.

Kids are dropped off at school before the 9:00 hour, so by not opening until 10 am, moms are forced to wander aimlessly around town with our babies in the car or go home for 28 minutes and accomplish absolutely nothing before we can shop at your store. Since neither of these options are very appealing, moms like me have to wait until after picking the big kids up from school to enter your establishment. This is not what you want, Costco, trust me. You would rather I shop at your store with fewer kids and earlier in the morning when I am freshly caffeinated. Instead, I enter my local Costco at lunch time (school gets out at 11:30) with all 3 kids. My coffee has worn off. The kids are hungry for lunch so they insist on stopping at every single sampling station, even if it is beet jelly on pita bread. They will not like the beet jelly and will loudly state their opinions to anyone nearby.

I know your game. You are thinking, but Mommy! Stop at our cafe and treat your kids to a slice of pizza! Um, have you seen me? 3 kids. 5, 3, and 1. The 3-year old still pees and poops her pants on occasion. The 1-year old is 1. Enough said. Dining out is hazardous enough when my husband is with me. Do you really expect me to wait in line, order slices of pizza, and park it at one of your indoor picnic tables in a vain attempt at feeding all of my children without any of them dropping the entire slice of pizza on the floor, peeing on their chairs, or falling out of them?

In closing, please consider opening your doors at 9:00 am.

Sincerely,

Up-since-5-am-Mommy.