Tag Archives: children

On a Conversation with a 9 Year Old About Where Babies Come From

I’m not sure how to approach the subject of where babies come from.  After all, Q is only three; he’s a long way from asking me about the  birds and the bees.  *Gulp*  I hope.

Nonetheless, I did end up having a pseudo conversation about just that subject with nine year old neighbor boy.  I doubt I did it correctly, but then again, how do you have that conversation with a kid who isn’t your own.  I didn’t want to step on his parents’ toes.

As we were outside playing, the neighbor boy, Q, and I, Neighbor Boy asks me, “Are you divorced?”

“No, I have never been married.”

“Well, where did Quinten come from?”

Uuuuuh…..  “What do you mean?”  

“Well where did he come from if you were never married?”

Oh boy.  How do you explain that??  So I asked, “Well, how much do you know about where babies come from?”

Wild, boy giggles of embarrassment ensue.  “Well…I know,” he says and then lowers his voice to a whisper, “…but I don’t want to tell you.”

So I explained that Q’s dad and I used to be boyfriend and girlfriend and we loved each other and we lived together and eventually I got pregnant.

He looks at me shyly, and whispers so quietly  I almost didn’t hear, “…because you had sex.”

Seems like someone’s already had this talk with him.  All I said was that Q’s dad and I were together for a long time and then had a baby together and now we’re apart.

He dropped the conversation after Q started pretend shooting him a Nerf gun and ran off in the other direction.

WHEW!  I can’t WAIT to tackle that same conversation with Q – yikes!!

On How the Vacation Gods Can Go Suck It

I was supposed to be on an amazing mini-vacation this week.  I took three days off from work.  It was supposed to be five nights away from home NOT worrying about my kid, about anything but having a good time.

That. Did.  Not.  Happen.

First, my five night trip got shortened to three thanks to my ex being a d-bag and not communicating like I asked him.  Next, torrential rains in Canada prevented travelling.  Then, relative in hospital – not mine, thank goodness, but still, sucky.

Now, I salvaged the weekend part by going to visit my cousin in Morris, MN, whom I haven’t seen in about ten years.  It was awesome to catch up and get to know each other, and I would daresay I have a friend as well as relative, so that is great.  🙂

Then, back in K-town, it all fell to shit again.  Monday Q and I were going to go to the pool and spend a lovely sunny day swimming and splashing.  JUST KIDDING!, said the weather.  It was windy and kinda crappy.  Sure, we played outside for part of the day, but that only resulted what I suspect was a bit of a cold that seriously aggravated his asthma “reactive airway disease”, because [enter deity to ‘take in vain’ here] forbid we label children too early with something that can actually be relatively-easily diagnosed, and is by no means over-diagnosed or medicated.  [I’m poking fingers at you: all doctors who throw ADD and ADHD out as a blanket for hyperactive children.]  Anyway, after a night of waking up, literally, every two hours to use the nebulizer, we finally get in to see the doctor around 3-ish.  She proceeds to scold me for giving him too much albuterol, even though that’s how much he’d get in the hospital anyway, and for not bringing him in to the doctor.  Except I BROUGHT HIM IN TO THE DOCTOR!!! UUUUGGGHHH!

I kind of just want to go back tomorrow, except that I ALSO have to prep my apartment for some dudes to come in and replace windows sometime in the next week OR SO, but I don’t know when exactly.  Because [and again, enter deity to ‘take in vain’ here] forbid they give us some sort of timeline.  As if I am going to move EVERYTHING in my apartment away from all the windows and leave it that way for an unknown period of time that could last up to two weeks, just to wait for them to get around to replacing my windows that don’t even have anything wrong with them.  Ugh.

Dear Vacation Gods,

You’re a bunch of ass hats.  You suck.  You are terrible.  If I had I had any hope that this “vacation” could be salvaged, it’s over now since I go back to work Thursday morning.

You sicken me.  I am disgusted.

On How You KNOW You Are the Mom of a Toddler

1) You get told that you’re using your “mom” voice.

2) You find food in your tank top from when your child threw it at you earlier in the day.

3) Bargaining becomes second nature.

4) You’re only “alone” time is in the ten minute shower you squeeze into the day.

5) You know you’re really brave to take TEN minutes in the shower when your child is creating a vortex of chaos in your absence.

6) You start to enjoy the taste of fruit snacks.

7) The  only foods in your fridge/freezer are fries, chicken nuggets, hot dogs,  and other foods specific to your kid’s tastes.

8) 7:30 a.m. is sleeping in.

9) It’s normal to carry mutliple toys, an extra diaper/pair of underwear, wipes, and mayhap a spare shirt or pair of shoes in your purse at all times.

10) You know all the words to the song “Come on. Vamenos.” and what shows it’s from.

 

On What a Ham My Kiddo Is

My son came home from his dad’s house today.  Everytime he returns from his dad’s, I swear he is smarter and more articulate then when he left.  This is no small feat since, like most parents I am sure, I like to think that my kid is smarter than the average.  Many people I know and/or meet agree, so hopefully this is not coming off as me just being a crazy, brags-too-much mother.  He is quite precocious.

When he play with his cars they speak to each other and help each other out when they get stuck.

Wrapped up in the adorable package of smarts that I call my son is a hilarious little comedian as well.  He is completely unaware, of course, that he is being funny, but as the saying goes, “Kids say the darndest things.”

For instance, today we had popcorn for a snack while watching a movie.  I let it mircowave too long, and I ended up burning it a little.  He first told me he did not want to eat the black ones.  Okay, but it is good, I said.  So he agreed and proceeded to eat it.  About five minutes later, his bowl still almost full, he told me that his popcorn was “kinda crazy”  and did not want it anymore.

While watching the Cars 2 movie, there is a part where the oil rigs are all lit up on fire.  He proceeded to explain to me what those fires were.

“DADDY FIRES”

“I’m sorry, what?!  Daddy fires?  Like your daddy sets fires?  You are setting daddy on fire?”

“Nooooo.  Daddy not a fire!”

He also busted out a “those f*uckers”, which initially made me laugh, then I repeated it back to him and asked if that was what he said, which it was, and then I had to maintain a straight face while attempting to explain he cannot say that.  It was hard!  I really need to watch my language around this kid because that was not the first time he busted out a mega-swear.  He dropped the f-bomb one night when my friend R was visiting, as well.  “For f*cking goodness sake” is what he was attempting to say, but what it sounded like was “those f*cking goldfish”.  Having never heard him swear before, and the self-satisfied grin on his face made us both burst out in laughter for a solid five minutes as we tried to puzzle out what he was saying.

I don’t care who you are, it is freaking hilarious when kids swear.

[Photo from this website.]

On Why My Son Is Not Potty-Trained (A Tale of Poo)

I have not potty-trained my son, as of yet;  he is two-and-a-half.  Truth be told, I have no idea how to do it, and no inclination to try.

I know that diapers are expensive, and bad for the environment, and that simply part of growing up is learning how to be independent – using the toilet included.  But honestly, this is one hurdle I just do not think we are ready to tackle.  We, meaning mostly myself, and only a little bit Q.

For one, it is winter, and it seems like it would be easier to potty-train outside in the summer.  But I can just see that turning out horribly – with Q freely peeing on everything inside, as well.

“Look Mom!  I potty!”

“Greeeeat!  It’s on Cat, and the floor, and on the coffee table.”

I am pretty sure that is how that would go.

And for two, while I do not enjoy changing diapers, I find it a LOT easier than cleaning up poo and pee from other surfaces.

Nothing has made this more clear to me than the incident in the bathtub the other day.

I have said before that bath time is amazing, because when my child begins to annoy me, I can just put him in the bath.  When he is taking a bath, he is happy, and I am a good mom for making sure my child is clean.  It is a win-win situation.

Clearly, a happy camper!

When I get my son ready for bath time, we spend five or ten minutes running the water, getting the temperature and amount of bubbles just right, and filling the bath tub with however many cars Q thinks it takes to have a proper bubble demolition derby.  We also work together to take off one article of Q’s clothes at a time in between car drop-offs.  When Q is finally down to his diaper, in my one in-vain attempt to acclimate him to the toilet, I ask him if he has to go potty before getting in the bath.  “No.  I play cars.  I play bubbles.”  And in he hops.  But, once in a great while, he will hop up onto to his Bob the Builder seat, which sits on top of the normal seat, and “go potty”.

If this were MY potty seat, I think I would go potty all day!  

(Probably not.)

What really happens is that Q sits on the seat for five to ten seconds, gets off, and says he is “all done potty”.  Not a single drop goes into that toilet.

He then climbs into the bath one leg at a time, stands with his legs spread, and lets the stream out.  I can count on this 8 out of 10 times, although I think it is getting better.  Still, as annoying as it is, I would prefer he pee in the tub rather than on the floor.

And I would rather he pee anywhere, than poo in the tub.  Which is what he did a couple of weeks ago.  He was innocently playing and the next thing I knew, he was yelling “Mom!  Mom!  An icky!  An icky!”  And there WAS an icky; a floating, brown icky.

I realize that potty training would help with this.  I know it would.  He would be able to recognize his own bodily urges and handle them appropriately.

But until that day, I would rather deal with a dirty diaper over cleaning poo out of the bath water and off of any unfortunate toy cars left behind.

Car graveyard.  May they rest in peace.

On How I DislikeTornadoes

I live in the upper mid-west.  Those that live in the mid-west are quite familiar with tornadoes.  Every first Wednesday of the month, in every season, towns across the mid-west test their sirens to ensure they are working in the event a tornado is spotted, and the townspeople need warning.  As you can imagine, living in the mid-west has made me somewhat of a tornado expert because of all the ones I have already experienced in my life time.

Oh wait….I am confusing mother-nature with the last two years of motherhood.

My cousin recently hostessed a Norwex cleaning party.  The sales-woman asked each of us to introduce ourselves and share what we most disliked about cleaning.  I seriously struggled with naming just one thing; I am sure ANY parent would.  I think I said something about stain removal from the carpet, but really I wanted to shout out, “Everything!”  And really, who likes cleaning?  But my other cousin, who was attending as well, said the constant cleaning-up after the kids.  And that was heartily seconded, thirded, etc., by all moms in the room.

It is a vicious cycle.  Mom picks up the room, turns away, turns back, and BAM!  It’s all back to how it was BEFORE Mom cleaned it up.  The only time the room stays clean is after 9 p.m., IF I clean it back up, or when my child is not home, again, IF I clean it back up.

Run away! Children present!

I spent all day vacuuming in spurts because I would clean one spot, move everything, go to clean another spot, and there is my son, taking up residence in the freshly cleaned spot with toy cars, spilled milk, popcorn, a bag of foam stickers he dumped out, yogurt, juice, every single children’s DVD we have, all of his books, his entire toy box – this list goes on.  Every food item he had today ended up on the floor.  Every toy left its proper place.  And there I was constantly picking up the same FORTY things all day long.  It was exhausting.

There needs to be a siren for this situation.  Actually, you know what?  That is a bad idea.  It would be more annoying to listen to that than to deal with a child tornado – because the siren would NEVER TURN OFF!

Days like today are why I cheat on my gluten-free diet and eat twelve Oreo’s even though there’s a serving size of three.  Suck it, Gluten.  I will deal with you later.  Or rather, I am sure you will deal with me later.