Scene: Dinner (lasagna and garlic bread). G and I on opposite sides of the table; Pumpkin in-between. G and I discussing his latest trial.
Me: When things aren't going your way, just say "You can't handle the truth!" It'll probably buy you some time to think of something better.
G (banging his fist on the table): You can't handle the truth!
Pumpkin: You handle trut! (bangs fist)
G: Your honor, I object! (pointing at me)
Pumpkin: Honor, I ject! (pointing at me)
G: Sustained! (waving arms in the air)
Pumpkin: Susained! (waving arms in the air)
Seriously, it was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Not Adapting Well to Change
Scene: This morning. My bathroom. Drying my hair. Pumpkin comes in.
Pumpkin: Mommy has new feet. (pointing to my beautiful little pink toes, carefully painted last night in what's probably my first pedicure in two years.)
Me: New feet?
Pumpkin: Yes, daddy bought mommy new feet.
Me: Do you like mommy's new feet?
Pumpkin: Nope. Like old feet.
This kid, he does not deal with change well. If we move a Kleenex box to the nightstand because we have a runny nose - Pumpkin promptly puts it back in the bathroom, shaking his head back and forth, saying "no, no, no." (Now that I think about it, the inflection in his "no, no, no" sounds an awfully like Amy Winehouse's Rehab. Intersting...) If G leaves a pen on the coffee table, Pumpkin returns it to the junk drawer in the kitchen, head shake and tsk-tsking the entire way. If a dirty sock is on the floor, into the laundry basket it goes.
In some ways, I should be thankful that he likes order in his life. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how well he will cope with moving to a new house. It's going to be an experience, that's for sure.
----------------------------
On the house front, we had a showing last night. A real live showing. Of course, the showing was scheduled during dinner time, so G and I figured we'd pick up Pumpkin from school and go out to eat. Unfortunately, Pumpkin chose yesterday to not take a nap. He's usually a two to three hour napper, so the lack of zzzz's, not a good thing. Still, it was nice to come home and see a signature - other than our realtor's or Pumpkin's scribbles - in our showing book. I'm waiting to hear from our realtor if there's any feedback. Fingers crossed.
Pumpkin: Mommy has new feet. (pointing to my beautiful little pink toes, carefully painted last night in what's probably my first pedicure in two years.)
Me: New feet?
Pumpkin: Yes, daddy bought mommy new feet.
Me: Do you like mommy's new feet?
Pumpkin: Nope. Like old feet.
This kid, he does not deal with change well. If we move a Kleenex box to the nightstand because we have a runny nose - Pumpkin promptly puts it back in the bathroom, shaking his head back and forth, saying "no, no, no." (Now that I think about it, the inflection in his "no, no, no" sounds an awfully like Amy Winehouse's Rehab. Intersting...) If G leaves a pen on the coffee table, Pumpkin returns it to the junk drawer in the kitchen, head shake and tsk-tsking the entire way. If a dirty sock is on the floor, into the laundry basket it goes.
In some ways, I should be thankful that he likes order in his life. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how well he will cope with moving to a new house. It's going to be an experience, that's for sure.
----------------------------
On the house front, we had a showing last night. A real live showing. Of course, the showing was scheduled during dinner time, so G and I figured we'd pick up Pumpkin from school and go out to eat. Unfortunately, Pumpkin chose yesterday to not take a nap. He's usually a two to three hour napper, so the lack of zzzz's, not a good thing. Still, it was nice to come home and see a signature - other than our realtor's or Pumpkin's scribbles - in our showing book. I'm waiting to hear from our realtor if there's any feedback. Fingers crossed.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Danger in the Crib
Last night, we went through Pumpkin's normal nightime routine - bath, stories, kisses, bed. But he was sill in a crazy (WIDE AWAKE) mood.
When I put him in his crib, he was wound up. He ran from one end of his bed to the other, near where I was standing. Then, he somersaulted over the crib rail. I caught him before he hit the ground, but he was pretty shook up. I held him and gave him kisses, and I put him back in his crib. He lifted his right leg and threw it over the rail, like he was trying to get out.
At this point, G came into the room. He kissed Pumpkin, told him to settle down and lay down. Pumpkin laid down on his blankie; he fell asleep within minutes. I checked on him probably 30 times last night to make sure he was sleeping and I kept the monitor turned up to hear every snore, every cough, every movement from Pumpkin's room.
Obviously, we need to get Pumpkin out of the crib before he falls out and hurts himself. (The crib mattress is as low as possible.) The plan was to wait until we moved into a new house, but who knows when that will be...six weeks on the market, price reduction, and still only one showing.
Pumpkin's room is small - one of the reasons we're moving is for bigger rooms - so I don't know how a big bed will fit. On the other hand, he's a big boy - I don't know how much use we'll get out of a toddler bed since he takes up a good length of his crib mattress now.
When I put him in his crib, he was wound up. He ran from one end of his bed to the other, near where I was standing. Then, he somersaulted over the crib rail. I caught him before he hit the ground, but he was pretty shook up. I held him and gave him kisses, and I put him back in his crib. He lifted his right leg and threw it over the rail, like he was trying to get out.
At this point, G came into the room. He kissed Pumpkin, told him to settle down and lay down. Pumpkin laid down on his blankie; he fell asleep within minutes. I checked on him probably 30 times last night to make sure he was sleeping and I kept the monitor turned up to hear every snore, every cough, every movement from Pumpkin's room.
Obviously, we need to get Pumpkin out of the crib before he falls out and hurts himself. (The crib mattress is as low as possible.) The plan was to wait until we moved into a new house, but who knows when that will be...six weeks on the market, price reduction, and still only one showing.
Pumpkin's room is small - one of the reasons we're moving is for bigger rooms - so I don't know how a big bed will fit. On the other hand, he's a big boy - I don't know how much use we'll get out of a toddler bed since he takes up a good length of his crib mattress now.
This is Pumpkin's room. The crib is currently on the same wall as the door. You can see part of the crib on the left side of the photo....
The dilemma: do I put his crib mattress on the floor for his bed? Do we get a toddler bed? Do we get a twin "big boy" bed? And if we put him in a toddler or twin bed, how do I keep him in the bed, and not reading his books all night?Thursday, September 13, 2007
While I Was Out...
I reserve Sunday afternoons for shopping at Target and Dierberg's (groceries). It's my time - no husband, no kiddo, no work, just me and my debit card.
On Sunday, this is what I came home to:
On Sunday, this is what I came home to:
Me: Uh, G, what's going on?
G: Rams are losing. I owe your dad 10 bucks.
Me: Whatever. What's going on with Pumpkin?
G: What? Oh, he's playing in the kitchen.
Me: Really? You seen him lately?
G: He's been good. Really quiet.
Me: Do you know what he's wearing?
G: Whaaaa?
Me: A diaper and stickers.
G: (without ever taking his eyes off the TV screen) What kind of stickers?
Pumpkin wore his "sticker shirt" until the next morning. He was quite proud of himself.
It is Fashion Week. Kid's a trendsetter, you know.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
High School Sucked or Lessons I Hope I Can Teach My Child
“Mommy, no play with Zachy. He stinky.”
This is the greeting I received when I picked up Pumpkin from school today.
“Pumpkin! We don’t say our friends are stinky! It’s not nice!”
I want to raise him right. I want him to be nice to people, to respect others, to be a good and genuine person. He doesn’t have to like everyone (who does?) but I want him to be kind to others, to embrace others, to appreciate others.
It also struck home when I read Isabel’s post today.
When I was in high school, I couldn’t have been more awkward. Coke bottle glasses? Check. Chunky silver braces? Check. Smart? Check. Love for pleated plaid skirts and ruffled blouses? Yes. Socially inept and shy? Yep and yep. Afraid of boys? Terrified of them.
When I was a junior, one of the few boys I talked to (and wasn’t afraid of) asked me to prom. Eric was even more awkward and nerdy than me, so I thought he was sincere – and my best bet for a date. Turns out, he asked me as a joke, on a dare from his friends. They knew I’d freak out.
It was one of my friends who overheard the boys’ conversation afterward. “Dude, I never expected her to say yes – now what?”
When my friend told me, I cried. Then I got pissed. I called Eric, confronted him. I demanded that he apologize. He confessed everything, and asked what he could do to make it up to me. I told him he was taking me to the dance – and finding dates for my two girlfriends who were dateless – and taking me to dinner – and he’d pay for the whole thing. I told him that he was going to have the best damned time of his life and he’d realize what a jerk he was.
Prom night came. Eric picked me up; we picked up my friends; we went to dinner at Olive Garden. Then after dinner, he got his middle finger slammed in the car door. We ended up going to the emergency room. (Lesson: karma’s a bitch.)
Imagine, six high school kids sitting in the emergency room, all dressed up and no place to go. Eventually, my friends and their dates went onto the dance. But I stayed. I sat with Eric, held his “good” hand, told him everything would be okay. I went with him to the exam room and waited with him until his parents showed up.
His finger was fine. We caught the last 10 minutes of the dance, then he took me home. He walked me up to the front door and thanked me for being such a great date that night. “Most girls would’ve gone onto the dance and not waited at the hospital, especially after the way I treated you” Eric told me.
He asked me to go out with him again and he leaned in for a kiss.
I asked to remember this moment. I wanted him to know how horrible he made me feel when he asked me out as a joke. I told him about crying for days because I was a joke. Then I thanked him for making me feel as bad as I’ve ever felt – I knew that nothing, no one could ever make me feel as bad as I did when I heard that I was the butt of a cruel, awful joke. Before I went into the house, I told him to fuck off.
I have no idea what happened to Eric. I really don’t care, haven’t seen him since high school graduation. But this story occasionally rolls around in my head, as it did again today.
I don’t want Pumpkin to experience what I did in high school. And, I don’t want him to hurt anyone the way Eric hurt me. I know can’t shelter him from being hurt or make people like him, but I hope he’s empathetic to others. Kids can be cruel and name calling is part of growing up, but taking cheap, deep shots at someone, stabbing them in the heart, is off limits.
If I can accomplish that, I'll know I’m a good mom.
This is the greeting I received when I picked up Pumpkin from school today.
“Pumpkin! We don’t say our friends are stinky! It’s not nice!”
I want to raise him right. I want him to be nice to people, to respect others, to be a good and genuine person. He doesn’t have to like everyone (who does?) but I want him to be kind to others, to embrace others, to appreciate others.
It also struck home when I read Isabel’s post today.
When I was in high school, I couldn’t have been more awkward. Coke bottle glasses? Check. Chunky silver braces? Check. Smart? Check. Love for pleated plaid skirts and ruffled blouses? Yes. Socially inept and shy? Yep and yep. Afraid of boys? Terrified of them.
When I was a junior, one of the few boys I talked to (and wasn’t afraid of) asked me to prom. Eric was even more awkward and nerdy than me, so I thought he was sincere – and my best bet for a date. Turns out, he asked me as a joke, on a dare from his friends. They knew I’d freak out.
It was one of my friends who overheard the boys’ conversation afterward. “Dude, I never expected her to say yes – now what?”
When my friend told me, I cried. Then I got pissed. I called Eric, confronted him. I demanded that he apologize. He confessed everything, and asked what he could do to make it up to me. I told him he was taking me to the dance – and finding dates for my two girlfriends who were dateless – and taking me to dinner – and he’d pay for the whole thing. I told him that he was going to have the best damned time of his life and he’d realize what a jerk he was.
Prom night came. Eric picked me up; we picked up my friends; we went to dinner at Olive Garden. Then after dinner, he got his middle finger slammed in the car door. We ended up going to the emergency room. (Lesson: karma’s a bitch.)
Imagine, six high school kids sitting in the emergency room, all dressed up and no place to go. Eventually, my friends and their dates went onto the dance. But I stayed. I sat with Eric, held his “good” hand, told him everything would be okay. I went with him to the exam room and waited with him until his parents showed up.
His finger was fine. We caught the last 10 minutes of the dance, then he took me home. He walked me up to the front door and thanked me for being such a great date that night. “Most girls would’ve gone onto the dance and not waited at the hospital, especially after the way I treated you” Eric told me.
He asked me to go out with him again and he leaned in for a kiss.
I asked to remember this moment. I wanted him to know how horrible he made me feel when he asked me out as a joke. I told him about crying for days because I was a joke. Then I thanked him for making me feel as bad as I’ve ever felt – I knew that nothing, no one could ever make me feel as bad as I did when I heard that I was the butt of a cruel, awful joke. Before I went into the house, I told him to fuck off.
I have no idea what happened to Eric. I really don’t care, haven’t seen him since high school graduation. But this story occasionally rolls around in my head, as it did again today.
I don’t want Pumpkin to experience what I did in high school. And, I don’t want him to hurt anyone the way Eric hurt me. I know can’t shelter him from being hurt or make people like him, but I hope he’s empathetic to others. Kids can be cruel and name calling is part of growing up, but taking cheap, deep shots at someone, stabbing them in the heart, is off limits.
If I can accomplish that, I'll know I’m a good mom.
Monday, September 10, 2007
How to Get Your Way...Pumpkin Style
Report from daycare today:
Pumpkin decided that he wanted his shirt changed around 11 a.m. this morning. So he told his teacher, "New shirt."
Teacher replies, "Pumpkin, there's nothing wrong with the shirt you're wearing."
Pumpkin walks over to the sink, turns on the water, and splashes water on his shirt until he's soaked. Then he walks over to his cubby, grabs a new shirt, and walks back over to the teacher.
"New shirt," he tells her as he hands over the new one. "This one wet."
Pumpkin: 1, Teacher: 0
Pumpkin decided that he wanted his shirt changed around 11 a.m. this morning. So he told his teacher, "New shirt."
Teacher replies, "Pumpkin, there's nothing wrong with the shirt you're wearing."
Pumpkin walks over to the sink, turns on the water, and splashes water on his shirt until he's soaked. Then he walks over to his cubby, grabs a new shirt, and walks back over to the teacher.
"New shirt," he tells her as he hands over the new one. "This one wet."
Pumpkin: 1, Teacher: 0
Friday, September 7, 2007
The I-Love-You Debate
Before today, I didn't even know this was a topic of discussion.
My background is one of I-love-yous. My childhood was filled with giving and receiving those three words - to parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, sister, cousins, friends. To this day, I end every phone conversation with my parents with "I love you" and a kissing sound. Every. Phone. Conversation. And, I talk to them at least twice a day - that's a lot of I-love-yous.
I say "I love you" to Pumpkin several times a day. It's not because he wouldn't know it otherwise. It's not because we don't "show" him that we love him through our actions. It's just because...well, because I love him.
I remember what I said to him the first time I held him (all 9 lbs., 23 inches of him), "Hi. I'm your mom. I don't know what I'm suppose to say to a baby, but, oh my God, I love you so much." Then I sang the alphabet song to him because I didn't know what else to do. (To this day, the A-B-C Song is "our" song.)
I-love-you just goes with hugs and kisses. I want those three words to be the first thing Pumpkin hears every morning, and the last thing he hears before falling asleep. I want him to hear "I love you" for no reason at all, and for every reason in the world. I want him to hear those words from others, too - from his dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. I want him to be comfortable saying "I love you" to his children someday.
Families are different; I know that. (Whew, the subject of the differences between my parents and my in-laws could fill a year's worth of blog posts.) I just didn't realize that this was a topic on which I was being - or could be - judged as a mom.
That woman who's saying "love you" to her kid at the grocery store for no reason? That's me. The woman who's cuddling her son saying "I love you" after he falls at the playground? Yep, me. The woman who covers her toddler's head with kisses and says "love you, baby" before putting him in his carseat? Guilty.
My background is one of I-love-yous. My childhood was filled with giving and receiving those three words - to parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, sister, cousins, friends. To this day, I end every phone conversation with my parents with "I love you" and a kissing sound. Every. Phone. Conversation. And, I talk to them at least twice a day - that's a lot of I-love-yous.
I say "I love you" to Pumpkin several times a day. It's not because he wouldn't know it otherwise. It's not because we don't "show" him that we love him through our actions. It's just because...well, because I love him.
I remember what I said to him the first time I held him (all 9 lbs., 23 inches of him), "Hi. I'm your mom. I don't know what I'm suppose to say to a baby, but, oh my God, I love you so much." Then I sang the alphabet song to him because I didn't know what else to do. (To this day, the A-B-C Song is "our" song.)
I-love-you just goes with hugs and kisses. I want those three words to be the first thing Pumpkin hears every morning, and the last thing he hears before falling asleep. I want him to hear "I love you" for no reason at all, and for every reason in the world. I want him to hear those words from others, too - from his dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. I want him to be comfortable saying "I love you" to his children someday.
Families are different; I know that. (Whew, the subject of the differences between my parents and my in-laws could fill a year's worth of blog posts.) I just didn't realize that this was a topic on which I was being - or could be - judged as a mom.
That woman who's saying "love you" to her kid at the grocery store for no reason? That's me. The woman who's cuddling her son saying "I love you" after he falls at the playground? Yep, me. The woman who covers her toddler's head with kisses and says "love you, baby" before putting him in his carseat? Guilty.
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