Kindergarten Registration - Happy Day! Happy Day!

I know I should probably be all sappy and weepy about Maddie starting kindergarten in the fall, but I don't feel that way at all!  We were some of the first to arrive at registration this morning and I think she and I were the most excited people there :) I love public schools!  They do something for me that I can't explain...I love the way they smell and I love the people in them.  There is something so special about a good public school - and Maddie's school is great!

Why wouldn't we be excited? We visited the cafeteria and saw the cafeteria ladies cooking up some delicious-smelling square pizza.  Yum! Then we met the assistant principal, the school counselor, and got to visit the administrative offices (hopefully Maddie won't have to spend much time with any of them again).  We checked out the playground area too.  Such cool equipment these days!  They gave us a goody bag that included (this was SO exciting) a "big kid pencil sharpener!"  We can't wait to start sharpening pencils this afternoon when we get home!

We also found out that we don't have to purchase school supplies; they are provided at LH Primary.  This school rocks!  We only need to pick up a nap mat and a clear backpack.  Wow!  That was awesome because school supplies can break a parent - believe me I have purchased enough supplies as a classroom teacher for kids who couldn't afford them to know! By the way, kids don't use Big Chief Tablets anymore or big fat pencils...that is kind of sad.

Most of all, I am not sad and sappy because I saw a mom's post on Facebook last week that put some things in perspective.  Her child, who is also in Maddie's district, has been fighting cancer for two years and is finally in remission.  Her daughter celebrated her birthday last week and the mom posted that she would never, ever again remark that she was sad because her baby was growing up.  Think about it.

Oh, and one more thing!  We will feel RICH this fall because we won't have to shell out $400 a month in preschool tuition!  So excited about kindergarten :)

Kindergarten is an awesome milestone for a kid and their parents and we made it!

Pottery Barn Kids

Because the teenager is moving out in a few months, we've decided to swap the girls' bedrooms.  The teenager is not happy about this and feels like she's being kicked out of the nest, but we feel that the baby needs more room.  Besides, I don't expect the teenarger to visit that much once she's acclimated.  That's my argument.

Anyway, this room-swapping business is turning into a major headache and a lot of work.  I found new bedding and curtains for the teenager's room pretty quickly and even found furniture for the baby's room (goodbye crib!).  However, finding bedding for the little one has turned into a nightmare.

Oh, I found bedding that I love, mind you, but I can't afford it.  Have you ever looked online at Pottery Barn Kids?  I swear their bedding must be gold-plated!  It is ridiculous.  I would not pay those prices for bedding in our master.  So, who are these parents who can afford $600 plus for a twin bedding set?  They aren't in education, I assure you.

Here is a picture of the set that I love.  Now you can see why I desire to replicate it for our little angel.  She would look so cute cuddled up in those pastel nautical colors!

I thought I would be able to replicate it, but I've had a terrible time finding anything similar.  I've been to the very end of the Internet and back, spent countless hours this past weekend bidding on odd pieces on eBay, been to every store (including fabric and decorator stores)....all to no avail.

I won't give up though.  I've come too far.  I've already procurred metal sand pails and commissioned an artist (Don) to "copy" the artwork Pottery Barn is using to accessorize this bed room.  Well, my quest continues.  If you happen across a bargain on any of these pieces (or something comparable), PLEASE let me know...

Being a Single Mom (Temporarily)

This has always been Don's "busy" time of year.  It would seem with the school year winding down that it would actually be slow, but nope.  He is preparing for the state technology conference (he's the coordinator), preparing for the summer courses he will teach at the university, and consulting for schools writing ERATE grants for next school year.  At this time of the year, I feel like a single mom.

This morning, the baby didn't get a bath.  I washed her down with a warm washcloth, pulled her tangled (sticky in places) hair back into a "top knot", and gave her a quick spray of her baby perfume (Degree Honeysuckle Spray - makes stinky babies smell fresh).  We skipped breakfast at home (she usually eats again at school anyway) and settled for a sippy of milk. 

Tonight, we will have the house to ourselves.  Don is working.  The teenager is working (yes, she is employed again, thank God).  It's just the two of us.  We may go out to dinner....Subway, Taco Bell, something quick and baby-friendly.  Then home to wash the baby so she will smell fresh tomorrow morning... 

Isn't this supposed to be a happy time?

If graduation (which entails the exodus of our children from our homes to spread their wings, embrace adulthood, continue their educations, seek summer employment, etc.) is supposed to be a joyous occasion, then why did we all cry like babies last night?

The teenager doesn't graduate until next Friday night, but last night we attended the graduation of our best friends' daughter, Sara.  She and Skyler started K-4 together and remained in the same district until Skyler reached the 6th grade, at which time we made the decision to move her to the school where I was currently teaching.  The "first" was a small community school district where we knew everyone, attended church together, softball practice, baptisms, etc. It was hard to move her, but we felt she would be better off in a bigger district because of the academic advantages that sometimes affords.

Anyway, back to my sad night.  We were so very proud of the accomplishments of these young men and women and we parents did a pretty good job of stiffling the tears until the class song was played during the Rose Ceremony.  By the time the song ended, I was sobbing.  Don was a little misty-eyed, too.  Keep in mind, this wasn't even our kid's graduation.

I guess what makes this occasion so bittersweet is the memory of the first day that these kiddos started school.  Some of them were happy to be there; some (Skyler for one) cried into my photograph for the first week and begged never to return.  The stories of their experiences at school, the drama, the romance, the arguments, and fist fights.  The bus rides, the ball practices, the dates, and the accidents.  There are a million memories attached to this graduating class, many of whom had been together for thirteen years. 

Bittersweet, too, because this time is ending and a new chapter is beginning.  Will it be a happy chapter?  Only time will tell.  But for now, we are proud.  Not just of them, but of us, too.  Didn't we help with homework, projects, and test preparation? 

It WAS a happy night.  I guess I just got a little sentimental.  Imagine what shape I'll be in next Friday, when my own graduate throws her cap?

Sometimes I Feel Like an ATM

Sometimes I feel like an ATM.  Almost daily, the teenager shouts down from her bedroom (pedestal/royal tower...whatever you want to call it) for me to please leave money on the kitchen counter for her.  She needs cash to fill up her fuel tank, cash for something at school, cash for this, cash for that.  Well, it all adds up!  She recently went through $53.00 in gas in ONE weekend!

I know that I am "supposed" to provide for her (although she is legally 18 now), but I can't help but wish that she was thankful or considerate in how she spends the money.  It is difficult to hand someone money who immediately grumbles about the small amount.  This morning she asked for $5.00.  I gave her a $20.00 and told her to bring back the change.  Suddenly, she needed $20.00 and the argument began! Ugh!!

Don called at noon with a run-down of expenditures on her for today alone: $350.00 to repair the bumper of a vehicle she backed into last weekend; $185.00 to replace her broken windshield (it was fine in December); $55.00 for an oil change; $60 for gas.  I will be interested to hear if she bothered to say thank you.

I found out yesterday that she's misplaced a textbook and the school said that if she wants to "walk" at graduation, she must pay the $104.00 to replace it!

Well, this ATM is about to run out of money! I will be so glad when she learns that it really doesn't grow on trees.  She has ignorantly made remarks in the past about our "wealth".  Her perception of our debt-to-income ratio is extremely skewed!  Please God, let the concept of money and its value begin to make sense to her soon!!!

Potty training assistance needed!

I am out of ideas with this one.  The teenager was easy go wean and easy to potty train.  Everything was on schedule, without a bump.  Not this new baby.  She is capable of using the potty, but has decided against it.

The current view on when to begin training a girl is 18 months.  When she reached that marker, we purchased two different chairs, one for upstairs and one for down, and got busy.  It looked like it was going to be a breeze.  We also thought it might help that she is the youngest in her class at school and everyone else was trained or training.  She played and practiced for a month, pulling her pull-up up and down, sitting, wiping, and washing her hands.

Then something happened.  She lost interest.  We still work with her, offer bribes (incentives is the politically correct term), and cheer loudly at her rare successes.  But at the end of the day, she prefers to pee and poop her pants.  We tried letting her wear them dirty for a little while, hoping the discomfort might encourage her to stop going in her pants, but this kid really doesn't care.  She doesn't even want her diaper changed.  A dirty bottom is just fine.

I know it will happen in time, her own time.  However, any ideas or suggestions from you guys would be greatly appreciated.  I'm out of ideas.

Mother's Day...For Me???

Well, Mother's Day is this Sunday (for those of you who might have forgotten).  It's our special day, the one day each year when we get to be the center of attention, doted upon, spoiled, etc.  The day when our husbands and children express their thankfulness, love, and adoration for all that we do each day to make their lives wonderful.

Hmmm.  That really never happens (for most of us anyway).  My Mother's Day usually entails a hug and "I love you" from the teenager (once she wakes up around noon and is reminded), and a homemade something (this year a glittery heart made by her teacher) from the baby.  During the afternoon, I slave over a hot stove and prepare a feast for my own mother, grandmother, and mother-in-law.  Don is usually kind enough to clean up the mess afterwards.

But not this year.  I have decided to ask for more.  For Mother's Day, I want:

• The teenager to stop smoking (she promised last night) and for her to behave herself on prom night this Saturday.
• The baby to get well for awhile.  She's been ill for twelve days straight!
• Someone to cook lunch or dinner for ME on Sunday (or better yet, take me out).

I've been thinking all week about what I need to do for the mommas in my life on Sunday, and then it occurred to me: I'm a momma, too.  This year, everyone's getting a gift certificate to the nail salon and a card.  Sorry.  This momma's tired.  Everyone is still loved and appreciated....just as much as in previous years.  I've just decided to celebrate me this year.

Bad eggs

It's unfair to blame the parents for a bad egg's behavior.  I've witnessed this in many families and among friends. A nice, respectable, responsible couple will raise a child or multiple children and something will go wrong with one of them. You know the kid. There's one in every family. He still lives at home at age 30.  She's in her sixth year of college, but still hasn't declared a major.  He's been arrested three times this year and been unemployed since this time last year.  She has three kids by different fathers and a drug problem.

Why and how does this happen?  Blame it on birth order, blame it on over-indulgence, blame it on genetics, but don't blame it on the parents.  I spent most of yesterday in the hospital ER because two "bad eggs" decided to get drunk, hop in a two-person ATV, and then flip it.  Both survived, but this was just one more story in an epic saga of car accidents, police arrests, etc.  Their parents waited outside their rooms, wringing their hands with worry and awaiting their prognoses.

I heard one of the patients (age 34) remark to his mother that his behavior was her fault because she doesn't love him enough.  He drinks because of this reason.  Never mind that he still lives at home, has little to do with his own four children by three different mothers, and is abusive toward the woman who rushed to the accident scene half-dressed and without pausing to brush her hair.  This is the same woman who never missed a parent meeting or baseball practice when she was raising him all by herself, and the person who still pays his bills and never closes her eyes at night without praying for his safety.

Even so, he blames her for all of his problems.  And he has a lot of them.  This was his second major accident in a week, just following his most recent arrest.  I guess what I find most upsetting is that these parents DO blame themselves for their children's mistakes.  No one else needs to point a finger in their direction; they already feel responsible and like general failures as parents.

It disgusts me. I pray that my girls don't turn out like these people, but I know that it is a possibility beyond my control.  It happens to good people, good parents all the time.  I just hope that if it does, I am able to withstand the manipulation and guilt that these rotten eggs seem to enjoy wielding toward the only people who still give a damn about them.          

Guilty, as charged...

I know I am beginning to sound like a broken record, but I feel overworked and pretty stressed out right now.  I have a Type-A personality, so I am always fretting about something, but this time of year (end of the semester) always gets me worked up.  I am finding it difficult to be funny, and I like being funny.

I've had all kinds of stuff going on at work this week.  We've been so busy that today was the first day that I actually got to take a lunch break (it, too, was stressful).  I had a meeting last night and didn't get home until after 8:00 p.m. and I have another one tonight.  Geez.  My poor kids.  The teenager is still in mourning (broken heart) and needs me to comfort her.  The little one just needs me to play with her.  I feel guilty.

To make matters worse, the baby has a field trip to the zoo tomorrow, but no one can accompany her so she has to stay behind at school.  I have a meeting and a class tomorrow (can't miss that - finals are around the corner!), so I'm stuck here at the office.  Maddie's stuck in the baby nursery at school.  Poor Maddie.

It's hard being a working mommy.

Don't take a baby shopping for a prom dress...

We just returned from prom dress shopping.  I have dreaded this excursion for three months because I knew that it would be riddled with drama.  I was wrong.  We started shopping at 10 a.m. and were back home by noon with a dress, shoes, and accessories. She found several that she liked at Dillard's and had to decide on one, but overall it was pretty easy.

This mother-daughter day out wasn't fun though.  Don had some things he needed to work on, so we took the baby along.  The "terrible twos" kicked in as we backed out of the drive way. Her newest thing is to lament over some pain or nonexistent booboo.  These ailments shift around on and in her little body.  Today, her nose, eyes, mouth, feet, and tummy hurt.  When she wasn't complaining about these, she just cried or screamed for any random reason. The clerk assisting us gave her a graham cracker which she rubbed into several of the gowns before we caught her.  She escaped several times, once making it all the way to housewares.  She feel once trying to climb back into her stroller, leaving s huge goose egg on her forehead.  Then, she pooped her pants.  I was as crazy as a betsy beetle (bessie bug) before we checked out.  The moral of the story is simple: Don't take a baby shopping for a prom dress.          

Back to the womb...

I have never considered sending my children back from whence they came (reference to woman who sent her adopted Russian child back to Moscow lat week because she couldn't deal with him).  However, I have wished that I could send them back to the womb for a few hours.  Mostly though, when times are trying (like right now), I think about running away.  I wouldn't go far, probably just for a drive.  Sometimes you just have to escape.

What is prompting this entry, you are probably wondering? The little one is having a bad day. Therefore, we are too.  We went to dinner across town (Taco Mama's) and she screamed from the time we left the house until her big bowl of guacamole arrived at the table.  She was quiet until she sucked the last bit of green slime from her baby thumb, and then let out a howl a that hasn't ceased in over an hour.

Don said that when he was a little boy, he once saw a woman swat her son off the front porch with a broom.  He thought then that she must be meanest woman in the world.  He stated that if he had a broom right this instant, he'd shoo Maddie off the porch too.  Funny how perspectives change.

Rule #9: Oh, Behave!

I am skipping Rule #8 for the time because the topic addressed in Rule #9 is receiving media attention (once again).  Check out this blog on the New York Times website for a heated debate on the topic (something I am not trying to insight here). 

At my house, we spank.  We aren't embarrassed about it.  We don't try to hide it from our family, friends, or colleagues because we believe that it works and sometimes its the only thing that seems to!  Don't get me wrong - we utilize other disciplinary methods as well, but sometimes find it necessary to bust out the ol' paddle (BTW, Don is a top-notch paddle-maker and has made several for our close friends!). 

"This is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you."  I have never believed this statement.  It doesn't hurt my feelings one bit to administer a swat or two to the booty if the occasion warrants such an act.  Afterwards, I sometimes feel bad about having to do it, but never regretful. 

My husband and I were both spanked as kids and we both needed and deserved them.  Neither of us received many, but when we did, our parents made them count.  Did the spankings make us violent? No.  Did the spankings make us resent our parents? No.

We do it a little differently than our folks.  We use a paddle or hand to the bottom (This works best if you catch the kid off guard and just snatch them up if the behavior persists after a warning or two).  My mom liked to use whatever household item was closest to her (hairbrush, flyswat, belt, extension cord, wooden spoon....I guess it depended on the room of the house that the misbehavior took place in).  Sound like abuse?  Na.  Mom was/is small in stature and couldn't spank very hard.  I usually made it to the next room before bursting into laughter.  Child abuse is having to cut your own switch, my grandmother's preferred tool of discipline.  Anyway, we remain calm and spanking is used only as a last resort, but again, we don't feel bad about it. 

So, there's my stance on corporal punishment.  You can agree or disagree and that's your prerogative.  I will still respect you tomorrow.

In closing, the advice for Rule #9 is as follows: "Don't bear the burden of doling out punishment alone when you can just as easily pass the buck to the man who had the luxury of avoiding the little demons all day."  In other words, if spanking makes your feel like a bad mother, make your husband do it. 

Rule #7: Accidents Will Happen

Rule #7 is all about a mother's responsibility to be prepared when her child has an accident or becomes ill.  I was surprised that the article didn't chastise mothers for not foreseeing and anticipating accidents/sicknesses before they occur.  My favorite little nugget of advice from this chapter was, "When your medicine chest doesn't provide relief, a little nip of whiskey should do the trick...for you, if not for them!"

I think most parents live in fear of DHS these days.  I don't recall going to the doctor very much as a child.  When I had a sore throat or chest cold, my mother followed the advice above and admistered a little whiskey, sometimes mixed with honey and lemon.  That seemed to do the trick.  She also used several other backcountry remedies (green walnut shell for ringworms, tobacco for a wasp sting, etc.) Today, many parents are terrified that someone will report them to DHS if they don't drag their kids back and forth to the pediatrician at least twice per month over the silliest of ailments.  We seldom give an illness time to run its course anymore (which is why many common strains are immune to antibiotics).

Aside from this fear of being reported as a bad parent, I think a lot of the parenting principles in place today are founded on guilt and peer pressure.  At daycare drop-off this morning, Lucy's mom mentioned that Lucy would be getting tubes in her ears; Jimmy's dad reported that his little man was being fitted for leg braces because his feet turn in a little; at 18 months, baby Anna is being treated for allergies.  The stories never end!  As humans, can we really be contracting more illnesses than we did 30 years ago?

Anyway, accidents WILL happen.  Children WILL get sick.  In most cases, they will survive.  The teenager suffered a broken arm the first time she put on roller shoes a few years back.  A few months later she skated down a steep hill on her razor scooter (no safety gear), destroying her face, elbow, and right knee.  We picked her up, dusted her off, waited a little while so as to better assess the seriousness of the situation, and then as parents decided about the need for a doctor/ER visit.  She is fine and dandy today.

The baby seems to catch every virus and cold that runs through her class at daycare.  We give it a few days and she doesn't begin to improve, we make an appointment with the pediatrician.  Nine times out of ten, she is better in a couple of days.  Don't misinterpret this and report me to DHS.  If she has a high fever or serious symptoms, we call immediately.  I'm just referring to coughs, colds, and tummy aches.

In the end, Mommy (or Daddy) must make the call.  It is sometimes better to err on the side of caution.

Now back to that nip of whiskey...

Rule #6: The "Buck" Stops Here

I had to take some time off from this series because I was beginning to lose interest, but Rule #6 went along with my morning scuffle with the teen so I must spew a little this afternoon.

According to the book, "Children who are never taught to save their pennies for a rainy day run the risk of growing up to be fiduciary failures content to live on the dole, or even worse, in your basement rumpus room for the rest of their adult lives."  At my house this morning, the teenager was running very late (as usual) for her 6:00 a.m. observation of a surgery at the local hospital.  Instead of checking the details for this part of her clinical experience, putting gas in her car, and washing her scrubs last night, she waiting until this morning to recall these necessities.  Somehow, I was partially to blame.

As she was leaving this morning, she yelled from the kitchen that she needed gas money.  I hate shelling out gas money because she doesn't value it.  It is expected from her.  The rule when we handed down the 4-Runner was that we would pay the insurance, but she would pay for fuel and maintenance.  Well, she's unemployed again.  I know that she needs gas to go to and from school and her clinicals, but she spends a great deal of time cruising and giving friends without cars lifts to their various destinations.  She needs gas money at least three times a week, and I am sick of it.  I gave her all that I had, $6.00.  She looked me dead in the eye and said, "Really?" Then she turned on her heal and stomped angrily to the car.

Our good friends, who have a daughter of the same age, recently experienced a similar situation.  Their daughter decided to decline a summer internship in DC (all expenses paid plus a $3,000 stipend) because she preferred instead to go to two or three hokie little camps around the U.S. (all of which cost quite a bit of money).  Her father flatly refused to fund the camps and advised her to get a job and pay for them herself.

Tough love.  Its difficult for everyone.  I know one thing for sure:  I don't want to be an enabler or a helicopter mom anymore.  I've spent 18 years providing Skyler with everything that she needed and many things that she desired because as parents, its expected.  How much you spend on your kids is part of "keeping up with the Jones".

Skyler's days of "living on the dole" will come to an end in two months.  She will graduate and start college.  Of course, we will pay for her necessities.  However, she WILL work to fund her own designer clothing, gas, etc.  And I really don't give a flip what Meghan's and Jennifer's parents will be paying for in the fall. The buck stops here.

Mommy "Me" Time Can Be Lonely

I admit it. I was looking forward to traveling out of town by myself for a few days. I am attending a conference in Louisville, KY and the prospect of sleeping alone in a king size bed was appealing to me.  We've been sleeping like the letter H at my house for the past two years, and call me selfish, but I thought it might be nice to go to dinner alone (without the interruption of having to change a diaper mid-meal), maybe sample a couple of local bourbons, visit a museum (time permitting), and finish the book I started on the cruise.

Well, due to a myriad of flight delays, eating wasn't even an option last night. I was lucky to make it to the Hyatt before registration opened this morning.  After several phone calls to ensure that all was well on the home front, I snuggled into my Garfield PJs (marital joke) and started reading. Insomnia began to creep in.  Why, why, why, couldn't my sleep-deprived body and brain shut down for a few hours and take advantage of this opportunity?  They are so few and far between these days....

After the last session ended today, I headed to the room to plan my only evening on the town.  IPad in hand, I awoke two hours later.  I know me; this nap will result in another sleepless night!  I was tempted to remain in bed until tomorrow, but I freshened up and headed out.  By that time, the Louisville Slugger Museum was closed (I peered through the windows at the factory workers still grinding away), and although I had planned to have dinner at Maker's Mark, I stumbled upon an Old Spaghetti Warehouse where I enjoyed crab raviolis with a professor from Fargo, ND.  Good times!

Now with my iPad as my only companion, I'm sitting at an Irish pub enjoying a tall Guinness and contemplating walking across the street to Howl at the Moon.  I wonder who will help me home if I decide to embark upon such an adventure?   I don't have to be responsible for anyone tonight, but who will be responsible for me? All of this "me" time is making me lonesome for my family and friends!

Don't worry followers.  I'll probably return to my room after I finish this beer and slip back into my Garfields...    

Kids are like tech gadgets...

When the iPhone first came out, several of my good friends ran out and purchased them.  We decided to wait for Apple to work out all the bugs and for our current phone contract to expire before making the transition.  This was extremely difficult because ALL that our friends wanted to talk about was the iPhone.  No matter what we were doing (dining, driving, watching a movie, using the restroom), the iPhone with all its superpowers, somehow wormed its way into the conversation.  At first I was jealous and felt out of the loop, but I soon began to hate the iPhone and everyone who owned it.  My friends stuggled to learn to use the newest apps and plagued us with discussions of their trials.  While attending a conference in Houston last year, we were forced to rely on a friend's iPhone for restaurant reviews and driving directions to Galveston.  The iPhone misadvised us about a restaurant that we had looked forward to visiting and confused the hell out of us as we tried to exit the city limits for an excursion to the beach.  My hatred grew exponentially.

Before proceeding, I must admit that I couldn't help but compare these individuals who talked incessantly about their iPhones to parents who can't shut up about their children.  Think about it.  The expression, "Check out my new iPhone app!  Isn't it cool?" is a lot like, "Look at the latest pictures of my kids.  Aren't they cute?"  There are plenty of other analogous phrases, but you get my point.  When you don't have little kids or an iPhone, you really don't care to hear about "what their poop looks like" or that "you can use it horizonatally AND vertically."  Its all the same when you can't relate.

Well, needless to say, I have turned into someone whom I despise.  I have a toddler at home now and I catch myself boring others to suicide by forcing them to look at her latest picture or listen to a funny story about her.  I still don't have an iPhone (that contract still hasn't expired), but I pre-ordered an iPad and it was delivered to the house on Saturday.  I have taken it to work and parties, forcing others to watch it do its tricks.  But today, I became someone even more horrific than the individuals I described above: I cornered several coworkers and forced them to look at all the cool things that my kid can do, all of which had been uploaded to my new iPad.  The torture was twofold.

Rule #5: Safety First!

Well, Rule #5, unlike the first four that I blogged about, is still somewhat relevant in 2010.  The author warned mothers about objects, behaviors, and actions that were potentially dangerous for children.  These included sticking fingers into electrical outlets, running with scissors, and playing in abandoned mine shafts.  For the most part, these still apply today.  I can think of some others that should have been considered in the 50s, like the use of car seats and minimizing exposure to cigarette smoke.

I don't think that I ever stuck my finger in an electrical outlet, but my little brother once made a bomb that blew his hair and eyebrows off his face.  My mother provided him with the supplies because he told her that he needed them for a science fair project.

We didn't run with scissors, but I was frequently sent to the kitchen to retrieve a butcher knife for my grandmother who waiting in the garden.  She always seemed to forget that one was needed to cut the okra from the stalks.  My brother always carried a pocketknife and was given his very own chainsaw when he was six years old.  It was real and a gift from the local saw shop owner whom my grandfather patronized throughout his career in logging.  My brother accompanied him every Saturday. 

We didn't have access to abandoned mine shafts, but played all around the concrete surround of the old well in the backyard.  We survived all of these things.

I guess my girls have never really been exposed to dangers such as these.  We warn the oldest one about sexual predators, texting while driving, and the dangers of alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, and unprotected sex.  We make sure that the baby rides in a carseat at all times and every outlet in our home has a protective cover.  The cabinets all have child safety locks and we use monitors to keep check on her at night.  My girls are city girls; the threats and dangers that they face will differ from those that concerned my mother and grandmother charged with rearing two children on a small farm in rural Arkansas.

The objects, behaviors, and actions associated with danger have changed in the past 60 years, but the need for parents to stay abreast of potential dangers has increased.  Sadly, we have alot more to worry about today.

Rule #4: What Lies Beneath

My mother always made sure that we were wearing clean underwear before we left the house and that we washed our feet before we went to bed.  She said that we could get into a car accident or need to go to the hospital at any given time, and we needed to be clean from butt to toe when (not if) it happened.  I know that this was a common concern among mothers at that time (apparently, someone's child had been in an accident and they all learned by way of the grapevine that the child was wearing dirty drawers) and apparently it dates all the way back to the 50s because this entire chapter is dedicated to the topic.

According to Rule #4, "Perfectly ironed knickers, starched shirts and spit-polished shoes won't hide a mother's shame if and when her young'un ventures out into the world sporting day-old unmentionables."   The solution, according to the chapter, is to teach Little Timmy to change his briefs on a regular basis.  In my opinion, the solution is to teach Timmy to clean his bottom a little better and to better monitor the difference between a toot and poop pain (women are SO much better at this!). I understand that "sharts" happen from time to time.  As mothers and wives, we are eyewitnesses to this on a weekly basis when we wash and fold underwear.

On my commute to work this morning, my favorite radio show was featuring a comedian who will be performing at the Looney Bin tonight.  He, along with the two male radio hosts, were discussing a list of 30 things that a person should be able to do or possess to live on their own by age 30.  One of the top 10 things was to own enough underwear to make it through one week.  The number varies by individual, apparently.  Some people need more, others less.  The comedian said that he had at least 19 pairs buried in his backyard because they were so dirty that he was ashamed to let his wife see them.  It made me wish that some of my family members were a little more embarrassed by their own skidmarks.

Rule #3: Bottoms Up!

I could also have entitled this, "My hands are just too big."  This post is a critique of the book's third chapter which provides a comical view of diaper duty and potty training.  According to the author, you can't "train an elephant to rollerskate" and its just as silly to think you can train a man to change a baby's diaper.

I beg to differ.  My husband changes diapers and he is very good at it.  He hates it, complains bitterly, gags, and sometimes gets poop on his fingers, but he changes them.  However, I think he still may be an exception to the rule.  I know several men who have never changed a diaper and never intend to. Their "babys' mommas" grumblingly accept this, but allow the behavior to persist.  This would not work in our family or in my marriage.  We go halfers all the way.  What few couples realize is that having a baby is a lot like adopting a pet.  A couple must come to a firm and clear agreement well in advance of any living addition to a household on who will be responsible for changing the diapers (or cleaning out the litter box, walking the dog, etc.).  In my opinion, if you helped make the baby then half the poop belongs to you, so man up and dive in. 

Speaking of diaper duty, I have a funny story from a couple of evenings ago.  Aunt Sha Sha was visiting and the baby pooped her diaper. While I changed the baby, Aunt Sha Sha held her doll during which time she thought it would be funny to smear the doll's bottom with peanut butter and then insert a Tootsie Roll into her little diaper.  When I finished changing Maddie, Sha Sha told her that she believed that her baby needed a changing too.  Maddie was alarmed at the diaper's contents and recoiled in disgust.  She fretted and carried on about the baby doll's poop for almost ten minutes before losing interest, much to our amusement.  When I laid the baby down that night, she looked at me and said, "Sha Sha pooped in baby's diaper."  This explained her surprise.


P.S. Don also cleans the litter box.  I am allergic to cat dander.
:)

Rule #2: No More Tears

This chapter discusses crying and tantrums (not yours, but the baby's).  Rule #2 states, "The attentive mother is one who can anticipate a child's needs at every turn."  In other words, if your baby is bawling, it is due to your motherly shortcomings...their words, not mine.


Everyone feels like crying sometimes, especially babies and new mothers.  They have a lot to cry about.  Its difficult to maintain a happy disposition when you are sleep deprived and your bottom hurts (i.e. childbirth for you, diaper rash for him). 

As far as "anticipating" your baby's needs, well, you can attempt to do that by checking the baby's diaper on a regular basis and remembering to feed him or her.  It also helps to keep them on a schedule.  But, crying and tantrums will continue to occur from time to time. 

For example, both of my children cry daily.  The teenager's crying is usually the result of an argument with her boyfriend, because she has gained weight and "hates her body", or because she is grounded and must endure riding the school bus, where the "little people touch her".  There is no way that I can anticipate any of these things because they are all the result of her own behavior or attitude.

The little one's tears are usually more justified.  She cries because she is teething (we are cutting the last two right now!) or has a booboo of some sort.  Lately though, she cries when someone else has something that she desires or someone is touching her.  Both result in huge crocodile tears and tattling.  I am not good at anticipating these latter two situations.

Some things are just beyond the control of mothers.  Kids cry.  It is our job to console them when they do, but it is not always possible to anticipate the tears or tantrums.  I have plenty of personal shortcomings without adding this to my list.  I'm sure you do too, so let's not beat ourselves up over this one.

I can't help but to be reminded of two of my own mother's expressions when I was reduced to tears or a tantrum as as child:

"Dry it up"
"Do you want me to give you something to cry about?"