Gemini

I am almost 10 minutes late for my 15-minute appointment slot. I'm not even sure why I'm late, it's not like I haven't been thinking about this meeting all day long. I only live 5 minutes away. But I've been dreading it, given the state of Logan's behavior at home lately. I rush into the classroom where I see my son's kindergarten teacher standing beside the door.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," I say, embarrassed.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I had some other parents who were late earlier," she reassures me. She ushers me in to a desk where we sit down and I see Logan's very first official report card in front of me. I look nervously up at the teacher. "I just love that kid," she bubbles. I glance down at the name on the report card to make sure she realizes whose mother I am.

...

I'm taking Logan, Claire and the little boy I keep in to the Butterfly House. The boys are both out of school today since there are parent-teacher conferences going on all day long. "Let's remember the rules," I tell everyone. "No running, no catching butterflies, and be careful where you step, right?"

"Right," the boys tell me. And sure enough, I only have to get on to them a couple of times. They are behaving pretty well for a couple of young boys, but I'm still a bit on edge trying to keep an eye on them and keeping Claire out of the waterfall at the same time. Plus, Logan's been a bit unpredictable behavior-wise lately. I'm afraid there could be a breakdown at any minute.

...

"He's come a long way since the beginning of the school year," Mrs. Downes continues. "At first I was concerned, because I had a hard time getting him to stay in his seat and focus. But after the first couple of weeks he fell right into place. He has the best attitude!"

...

We are in the movie room and that goes okay. I'm fussing at the boys to stay in their seats, but since there are only a handful of people in the room, I'm not overly concerned about it. It's really been an okay trip. We head to the gift shop where I decide on a couple of butterfly shaped suckers for the boys and a couple of 50 cent plastic butterfly necklaces for Claire.

"I want a toy!" Logan demands. Sighing, I make him put the toys back in their places. He is hovering over a bin of cheap $5.00 toys and I know how this works. The charm of the toy is worn off before the car ride home is even over, and I'm stuck with yet another piece of junk in my house.

"No way," I say. "You'll only play with that one time. It's not even as cool as a Happy Meal toy we can get for free."

"I WANT A TOY!!!" he screams out. He sticks one in his pocket and I'm shocked. He's never tried to shoplift something before. I don't even think he realizes how bad that is.

"You can't just stick it in your pocket. I would have to pay for it, and we're not getting it!" Now that I've made a stand, I can't give in. I keep waiting for this strategy to finally work, but 5 years into Logan's existence it's still not getting me anywhere.

"I WANT THAT TOY! I WANT THAT TOY!" he yells. He throws himself to the floor and screams. When I try to drag him out, he goes into limp protester-mode. By now all the little old lady gift shop volunteers have taken note and are staring. I feel like everyone is staring.

...

"I even wrote him up for being a Kid with Character!" Mrs. Downes tells me. "For always doing the right thing. He's always the first one to sit on the carpet, the first one to get in line - I never have to tell him to do something twice."

I smile at her and nod. I'm relieved to hear these things, but I'm also confused. I don't quite know what to think. After the morning we've had, I've been questioning myself all day long. What is it that I'm doing wrong? Why can't I get him to do that for me? Am I ever going to figure this kid out? I open his report card and see he's gotten top marks in more than half of the categories. The other ones he's marked as "meets expectations." There's nothing to work on? No remarks about tantrums? Ironic, isn't it? My kid is succeeding, and all I feel like is a failure.

October

Claire has an earworm. It's kind of adorable, the first song out of her baby mouth. I just wish it hadn't come from the movie The Corpse Bride. And that the only words she can say are "Die, die, die...." She still isn't speaking a whole lot, and it's a tad disconcerting to have "die" be one of the first 10 or so words out of her mouth. Nevertheless, she's had a real language explosion here in the last couple of weeks. Her first sentence was "I want down," which came as a surprise to me since I'd never heard her say any of those three words before, much less put them together in a sentence. That was followed by her second sentence, "What is that?" which she said over and over again one morning while walking Logan to the bus stop. Our conversation went like this:

Claire: [points] What is that?

Me: That's a tree.

Claire: Wow.

Claire: What is that?

Me: That's another tree.

Claire: Wow.

Claire: What is that?

Me: That? Is a lump of dirt.

Claire: Wow.

Easily impressed, that girl.

Other than that, life is cool. I'm feeling guilty for my blogging absence. Time around here is so precious, I just don't get the opportunity to hop online much anymore. But I do miss it, and I feel like I'm cheating our family of all of our fun stories and memories if I'm not documenting them. I just can't seem to find the right balance. As I type this, I'm also thinking of all the floor mopping/vaccuuming/dusting/toilet scrubbing that really should be going on.

The babysitting gig is still happening. It's fine, most days. The baby girl I watch pretty much sleeps for 4-5 hours straight, and now that both my son and the little boy I keep are in school during the mornings, it's been a lot quieter. I can't believe I've been doing this now for 6 months. Time flies when you're having......um, no. I can't really say that. How about, time flies when you're working your freaking butt off? That's a bit more accurate.

Until next time.

Sing Loud, Sing Proud

Something that Logan definitely gets from my side of the family is a love of music and singing. When my family gets together, everyone generally grabs an instrument as soon as the meal is over and we will sing and play for hours at a time. I love to see this blossoming in Logan and I get a kick out of his child-voice belting out the tunes, completely unashamed to botch up the lyrics and hit those clunker notes. The boy has a real knack for lyrics, which I can attest that he also inherited straight from my side of the family tree. Take his version of Route 66, popularized to the playground set by the Disney hit movie, Cars. The real lyrics go like this:

Well it goes through St. Louie,
Joplin, Missouri
and Oklahoma City looks oh, so pretty
You'll see...
Amarillo
Gallup, New Mexico...
Flagstaff, Arizona
Don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino...

Logan's lyrics are something like this:

Well it goes to St. Louis
Chotin, Azuri
[unintelligible] is so so pretty
Uh see
[unintelligible]
Got a new Mexico! (always sung with gusto)
Ever-a-no
uh huh huh huh
Get your kicks
on Route 66.



Every time I try to teach him the real lyrics, I am met with this face ---->

And this message: "Chotin! Chaw-tin. A-zur-ee."

And: "GOT A New Mexico!!!"

There's no reasoning with him.

He comes by it naturally, a dubious gift inherited from my mother. I distinctly recall the time I nearly got into a playground fist fight in the second grade when I insisted that my mother's version of Olivia Newton-John's Physical was correct:

"...let me be your body doll...your body doll. Let me be your body doooolllllll."

I was so insistant, it took the mother of my friend to convince me that the real lyrics were "Let me hear your body talk....your body talk..." I could hardly look my mother in the eye for a week after that humiliation.

Luckily, I had wised up by the time I was in junior high and refused to let my mother's version of INXS's Suicide Blonde stick. See, she was quite certain the song was tolling the excitement of a Super Salad Bar. I mean, I'm sure most rock bands just love them some super salad bars when they're on the road. All the takeout must get exhausting.

Just, you know, not as exhausting as listening to my mom belt out "SUPER SALAD BAR" to a driving rock beat. Have you gotten your new Mexico yet?

Posted in participation with Jen's Spin Cycle on the subject of Talent!

The Birds and the Bees and the.....Kotex Rocket Launchers?

Scene: My bathroom. Logan is watching me do my hair.

Logan: [spies box of Kotex on counter] Hey, what are these?

HeatherPride: [honesty or lie? honesty or lie? Okay, honesty.] Well...those are tampons.

Logan: [inspecting plastic wrapper] What are tampons?

HeatherPride: *crap* They're something that mommies use. Boys don't use those, so, uh, put it back.

Logan: pops tampon out of it's plastic wrapper OH! It's a gun!

HeatherPride: erm...

Logan: [fires tampon across the room, watches in awe] THAT. WAS...........AWESOME!! Did you see that? It fires bullets! Made of tissue! [grabs for another]

HeatherPride: Okay, okay. That's enough. That was very cool. Now put that ba....

Logan: [fires another tissue bullet across counter] AWESOME!!

HeatherPride: *sigh*

The Hulk, The Dresser, The Floater and The Good Neighbor: A Drama in Three Parts

Kids have an amazing "spidey sense" when it comes to how much they can get away with on any particular day. On the days when I'm feeling energetic and "with it" the kids are perfect little angels, falling into step and generally refraining from any major misdeeds. On the days when one of my very best friends comes to town and we stay up half the previous night talking and making mixed drinks and my energy level is somewhere down around "water table" level? You can bet those are the days all hell will break loose. No question.

I thought I was all clear. With only 20 minutes left on the baby-sitting clock I let the boys play in the backyard until the kids' father came to pick them up. Baby girl L. was napping and Claire was playing with her toys, so I took a moment to lay down on the couch and watch the boys out of the sliding glass door. Sure, they had taken their shirts off, but it was a nice day and they were being Incredible Hulks, so I didn't get too uptight about that. Until I turned my back to get Claire a snack and came back around to discover my son with his pants around his ankles, now completely nude in my very open-to-the-rest-of-the-neighborhood, corner lot backyard.

Criminy, kid. You are such a heathen sometimes.

I called the boys inside, got C. dressed and sent Logan up to his room. Forever. About this time the doorbell rang - pickup time!! Just as I answered the door and invited Mr. K. inside so I could go get Baby girl L. up, we heard a big *crash* coming from upstairs. I honestly assumed it was Logan jumping off the bed, since that is his favorite bedroom past time. I told Mr. K. not to worry about it, Logan was just mad about being sent up to his room. We proceeded to make small talk for a bit, until...

*crying* became the background noise of our conversation. Not the "OMG I'm hurt, I'm dying" kind of crying. Just the run of the mill, garden variety "I'm being a brat" kind of cry. That kept up. And up. And up.

"Oh, the drama," I joked with Mr. K, "Let me go get Baby L. for you." I walked upstairs and turned the opposite direction to take a swing by Logan's room just to peek in and yell at him to be quiet and quit jumping on the bed. But alas, there was no Logan to be found in his bedroom. I heard him wailing from the spare bedroom. Making my way through the door I see Logan on the floor, trapped by the huge dresser he had managed to pull over on top of himself.

"I can't get out!" Logan sputtered when he saw me. I got underneath the dresser to try to pull it up, but it was too heavy for me. I called down to Mr. K, "Can you come here for a second?"

"OH MY GOD!" he freaked as he turned the corner. We worked together at pulling the dresser off my son. He scampered off, somehow unharmed as soon as the weight was lifted. (This, of course, made me want to beat him even more.)

Miraculously, Baby L. had slept through the whole thing and we said our goodbyes, Mr. K. assuring me that their son C. had done the same thing not long ago at their house. Even so, I was pretty sure I'd be getting a call that night from the K.'s, stating they would be seeking their childcare elsewhere.

"I'm SO fired," I said to my next door neighbor later that evening. I told her what happened. "Let's be honest, would you send your child back to a home where a DRESSER fell ON TOP of a kid?"

"Yeah......that's bad. Hey, want to come over for a beer?" I have the best neighbors EVER.

"I have to give Claire a bath. I don't know if I'm up for a beer tonight," I said.

So naturally, Claire decides it would be an awesome evening to resurrect the old "poop in the bathtub" trick. Because clearly, what you need to add to a list of "exhaustion, potential job loss and your child's narrow escape of severe bodily injury" is an evening of tub scrubbing and extreme bleaching of bathtub toys.

I called my neighbor. "Is it too late to take you up on that beer?"

"I've got one waiting for you," she said. Everyone should be this lucky.

On the Short Bus to Whoville

I have always hated the baby girl topknot. I never got why mothers would even bother to string up that Dr. Seussian tuft of impossibly fine baby hair consisting of about 20 strands and then try to pass that off as an acceptable hairstyle:

Isn't my baby pretty?


Well, what can I say? After 6 months of near baldness:

Got hair?

Another 6 months of the mysterious growth of only the hairs on the very top of Claire's head, resulting in a bizarre mane-like effect rivaled only by that of Sanjaya and his faux hawk:

Maybe we could convince Donald Trump he's your real father?

Followed by 4 months of the Alfalfa-like bangs-parted-in-the-center-of-my-forehead 'do:

What? This is totally hawt.

I finally understand it. I must admit that without a doubt, one of the top 10 best days of motherhood to date happened just this week when I could at last string those 20 hairs into a topknot Cindy Lou Who could only dream about! So proud was I, I made a dash to the camera to commemorate this glorious event:


Oh no - wait! The flash didn't go off! Come back!

You had your chance, Mom. I'm outta here.

Seriously? Get outta my face with that thing! Also, your flash again. Loser.

I'm going to report you.

Heh. I've got you now, my pretty. And your little topknot, too.

.

The Short Bus Summer Scrapbook

Holy crow, ya'll. What a summer we've had! I almost forgot how to log in to my own blog, it's been so long. To catch you up, here's what's been going down over the last few months:

As you probably recall, I up and quit my job after that terrible fiasco with no real plan of action or other job to go to. So, I decided to try my hand at babysitting to help make up for the lost income, since we didn't have any time to work out a single-income budget. After some interviewing ups and downs, I managed to land a gig with a brother/sister pair which worked out well since the little boy, C., was close to Logan's age and the little girl, L., was about a year younger than Claire. I was happy to have them in my home, but I quickly learned I could not turn my back on the boys for one split second after there were a few...incidents.... You know, just the usual stuff, like say....C.'s peeing all over my son's bedroom (yes, on purpose) and that time the boys tried to dig their way through my drywall using ball point pens... There were also a few curtain casualties and possibly a destroyed houseplant or two...

Oh, and here's a tip in case any of you are planning to try your hand at babysitting in the future: If you have a parent tell you, "My son is a typical boy," what they're trying to tell you is, "My son is on medication for ADHD." Or, let's say that a mother says to you, "I'm not sure what's gotten into him lately," you should go ahead and interpret that as, "We're currently adjusting his meds."

You can trust me on this one. You're welcome.

Anywho, once I adjusted to the new energy level in my home things went (more or less) smoothly from there. I really did bond with the kids and I knew I had made a breakthrough the day that little C. said to me, "I love you, Miss Header." So sweet. The rascal.

I tried to keep the kids busy and active. I had my own ups and downs with this task. So...

We took trips to the zoo.

And to the science museum.

We went to the neighborhood fountain.

And played in the backyard pool.

I made plans to attend BlogHer.....and then my grandma had a stroke a couple of weeks before the event. I ended up sticking around to help my mom work out all the hospital-to-rehab-to-nursing home details. Here we are celebrating Grandma's 81st birthday at the rehab hospital. You can see what a party animal Claire is these days...

And last but not least - the very reason that I'm able to finally take a breath and sit here at my very own computer and have one quiet moment to myself -

SCHOOL STARTED!!! WOO HOOO!!!!!

Logan went off to Kindergarten (sniff!) last week, and little C.'s preschool bus came and picked him up TODAY! The baby girls are sleeping, and.....ahhhhhhh, Silence! I remember you! You're so....quiet....and peaceful....and....zzzzzzzzzzz.....

.

Wazzat? Oh, right. Peace and quiet! It's like a miracle!!

.

So now I'm off to check in on you guys! It's been forever so forgive me if it takes a while! I've missed you!