Who's the boss?

I came downstairs this morning to find my four and a half year old drinking a cup of apple juice that had been left on the table overnight. He told me that it tasted good, and, after all, Dad had said it was okay. I told him that in fact it was not okay (in the process chiding my husband for allowing such a thing) and proceeded to take it away and spill it out. Mom knows best, after all. End of story.

But apparently not. According to my husband, after I left the room, my son commented, "When Mom sees someone doing something she doesn't like, she gets really bossy." Bossy indeed...

And the connection is...part 2

( I suspect all of us with preschoolers could add to this thread...)

As we're gobbling freshly popped popcorn together:

Son: Mama, you're a real handful.
Me: Really? What does that mean?
Son: It means you look like popcorn!

Do Unto Others

My two girls and I were traveling on an air plane recently. Amidst the crazy dealings, the 5 year old proceeded to put her bare foot into the 2 year old's face. I (as any good mother would) said, "Remember, do unto others as you would have them do to you." There, that should do it. Now there will be peace...Yeah right. She quickly responded, "Okay, I'll put my foot in my face and then I can put it in hers." So where do I go from there?

Slip Slidin' Away

A friend and I (okay, one of our fellow bloggers, who will remain Nameless, for reasons you'll understand if you read on) were discussing the other night the somewhat panicky--alright, downright frightening--feeling of losing our minds. At thirty, with two kids, I find myself at a strange crossroads: I'm not so far gone that I don't remember being smart, but I've lost too much to ever hope of returning to my former state of smart-ness.

For example, the other night, my husband and I were playing Pente, a very simple board game. Deceptively simple, really. As in anyone can play, but it takes a sharp mind to play well...and, most importantly, of course, to win. My husband's mind, having not endured pregnancy, childbirth, nursing, sleep deprivation, teaching his own children--all exercises in brain-sapping, if you ask me, as they get more and I retain less--is still quite sharp. Not only is mine not-so-sharp anymore, but the scary thing is that I can remember what it used to feel like when it was...I know what I've lost. Ouch. I used to be so good at that game.

Anyhow, Nameless and I were sympathizing. She still seems quite sharp to me, though, so I was secretly thinking that somehow her three children must not be sapping her brain as much as my two. Or it must be that she had more to work with from the start? She has it so together...

But then we had lunch together. Or was it dinner? The kids were at their little table, and we grown-ups were at our own table. Engaged in lovely discussion. Happy children grubbing. And as we talked, Nameless got up to get something from the kitchen. Next thing I knew, I'd been served a sippy cup of milk. Nameless continued to converse as she walked to the kids' table, empty-handed.

At least I'm not alone.

(Only now I think the lunch/dinner/whatever incident was before the losing-our-minds conversation...whatever. Slip slidin' away. "You know the nearer your destination, the more you're slip slidin' away." Sing it, boys.) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hp6Zx_fzpq8

Thanks...I think!

I'm on my way out the door this evening, having exchanged my grubby shorts and tee for a red sundress. Hair hastily thrown back, a little concealer dabbed on...it's time for good-byes and good night kisses and I'll see you in the morning.

Davis: "Mommy, you look beautiful. You are the most beautiful Mommy ever."

Me: "Davis, you are so sweet. Thank you."

Davis: "You don't look like my Mommy. But I know you're my Mommy."

Mommy milestones

I think I just had another important mommy-making moment (see earlier bead-up-the-nose post): I watched my first sporting event in the pouring rain. No, I was not prepared for this moment with an umbrella or raincoat (I guess an experienced mom would have been; I, for one, have learned that a beach towel doesn't do much for keeping dry). Thankfully, it was only a half-hour swimming lesson. Yes, I could have hidden away in the clubhouse while my son shivered on the side of the pool, but I knew he needed me, needed to be able to see me in order to be brave enough to blow bubbles...kick and paddle...jump in...go down the waterslide (okay, that last one maybe next time)...all with a stranger, no less. Milestones.

Let's compile a list of necessary mommy milestones, fellow bloggers and readers. Add yours to this post. That means all you moms, from the first-time pregnant ones to the ones whose grandkids have endured many swimming lessons. What makes a mom? I look forward to having a checklist to work through (love a beautiful, organized checklist--a love we all share, I assume. Topic for another post...). I'm starting the list.

Looking Forward

Evan and I went to visit my very pregnant sister in law this morning. It was a nice visit and we all enjoyed ourselves. But Evan was so overstimulated by his little cousin and by our restaurant outing for lunch that he was unable to go down for his afternoon nap upon our return home.

I felt badly for him, since he was so obviously exhausted and decided that perhaps a walk on our nearby trail might put him to sleep and keep him that way for a while (see previous post about the bunny!)

Typically we walk in the mornings, when the trail is quiet and things are cooler. It is a very different place in the afternoons. While still serene, it is busy with joggers, bikers and the occasional equestrian. The river is crowded too. Tubing is a very popular pasttime, especially on these sticky Maryland afternoons. Since the trail runs alongside the river, it's sort of like a double expressway of traffic. The most serious tubers are the teenagers, who flock to the river in droves for this old fashioned fun.

Today was no exception and only a few minutes into our walk, I saw a large group of teens up ahead, all in bathing suits and all carrying tubes. (Groups often hike the trail north for a mile or two and then ride the river south back to their starting point.) The group was strung out along the trail, loud, obviously disorganized and perfectly teenagerish. A boy toward the front of this straggling line yelled back at his friends, "Come on you guys, hurry up!" And then he yelled what I would consider to be a very bad word.

Immediately, five or six of the crowd hushed him. I realized that they simultaneously looked at me, since I had come up almost next to them. Each of them had a humble, sheepish look on their faces and several smiled and said hello to me. The boy who had yelled also said hello and seemed very embarassed. I smiled back at each of them and continued walking.

This whole interaction struck me for several reasons. First, it made me realize that I am now officially part of the mom police. I was not the mother of any one of these lanky fifteen somethings. But they saw the stroller and the baby and instantly knew that I was attuned to their rule-breaking. Since Evan is only eight months old, this realization came as a sort of surprise to me.

Second, while you might think that I would be horrified by what this teenage boy was yelling, I was instead touched at the instant reaction of his friends, and at what appeared to be his sincere humility. Thankfully, Evan is still blissfully unaware of "bad" words, so I had no worry for what he had overheard.

As I continued to walk, I flashed forward fifteen years. Undoubtedly, Evan will walk this same trail with his friends in flip flops and swim trunks, with a tire tube around his shoulder. And, while I would like to hope that I will raise a perfect son, I suspect that there will be times that he will cross certain boundary lines and perhaps use bad language. Just like God knows that we will sin, I know that my baby boy will not always be so pure of heart.

And yet, the best I can hope for is that when he crosses such lines he recognizes his mistakes, like the group of kids I saw today did. I hope that despite the self-consciousness and the need to find and define boundaries that he will inevitably face, that he has a conscience. I hope he will be one of the boys who will shush his friend or hang his head in humility if he went too far.

I hope he will grow up to be a strong kid. I hope he will grow up to be a good man.

We walked on...and Evan never did fall asleep.

hold my hand

We were sitting at the dinner table the other night (my husband and I had both finished eating, and we were talking while Benjamin finished up his dinner). Suddenly, a little hand reached out to mine and a small voice said "Hold my hand," his little fingers grasped mine, and he pulled my hand close to him.

I was unable to find the words to respond, but I held on.

And the connection is...

At the dinner table tonight, from my 4 year old: "Well, speaking of telephones, that baby is about to pull the tablecloth off the table."

Morning Walk

This morning, like most mornings, I took Evan, seven months, on a walk. We walk on a trail near our house that was once an old railroad track. The trail winds alongside a river and is largely shaded. On these early summer mornings, it's cool and quiet. We hear the falls in the river and the squirrels rustling in the underbrush. Occasionally, we pass a jogger, or a biker. (Bikers are of particular interest to my little boy, who leans all the way around the side of his jogger to see them go by.)

Evan loves these walks. Or, to rephrase, I love these walks and assume he does too.

This morning, I could see a small animal sitting in the middle of the trail. From a distance I couldn't tell what it was. A chipmunk? A groundhog? As we closed in, I realized it was a baby bunny. I quietly slowed the jogger down and whispered down to Evan, "Look, Evan, it's a baby bunny. He's hopped out to see us." We inched along in our approach and the little creature didn't move -- just twitched its tiny nose and bent its little ears forward. I continued to whisper to Evan, not wanting him to miss any of this, "What a cute little guy he is. Look how little..."

We rolled up to within a foot of the little rabbit, who didn't know to be afraid of us. When we got that close, I suppose he decided that we were threatening after all and hop-hopped into the brush along the side of the trail.

The top of my son's little blue hat had remained perfectly still through this whole interaction, while he stared with curious delight at the bunny and listened to my narration. Once our little friend had hopped away, I leaned down to see Evan's expression...and found him sound asleep.

The magical moment that I thought we had shared was in fact shared only by me and the bunny.

I love these morning walks.

puh (?)

My two-year-old loves to talk - but sometimes his words all sound the same (for example, airplane and orange both sound like "arr-ane").

The other day we were reading a story before his nap, and when we finished he clapped his hands together and said "Puh!" Since I had just taught him "patty cake," I assumed that was what he wanted to sing. I started the song and he shook his head no, clapped his hands together again and repeated his request: "PUH!"

It dawned on me: Oh, PRAY. It was all I could do to keep the tears in my eyes from falling at this sweet request to talk to God. And how it was more important than anything else at that moment.