Listen up

'Cause we know sometimes words have two meanings.

Sometimes, you need to make sure you are hearing the right words.

After enough of my daughter's music this afternoon, I gratefully flipped back and forth through a few XM channels, confident that I'd find music that my 4-year-old son could sing (repeat) without any concerns.  While I rarely land on the 80's station, not much else was on my standard stations and I thought Bananarama was safe.  I drove home, oblivious to the familiar lyrics while I ran through the rest of my evening schedule in my head.  My son was happy--he liked the song and bopped along.  I thought all was well until he kept singing after I'd turned the car off.  As it turns out, other words rhyme with "Venus."

As I was composing this blog post, my older son came over to tell me about a conversation at school today.  If you read this blog often, you know my kids attend Catholic school and today was a day when Father visited the classroom.  My son wanted to let me know that Father instructed them to avoid "sidekicks" and mediums (as they practice black magic).

Run for your life!

I am standing in my kitchen, telling myself it is time to exercise.  It is time for all of us to exercise.  (Not you--everyone in my kitchen.)  I need to go for a run with the dog and the 4-year-old needs to run outside.

We should have gone earlier but my son requested pancakes and I made them.  Far too many of them.  I am hungry and if I do not go run soon, I will eat them.  But instead, I am standing at my computer, reading this true, real, fascinating article.  Before I can finish the article, I see the grin on my 4-year-old's face.  The grin with an index finger in the middle of it.  The grinning child with the finger in his mouth is standing in the kitchen, trying to block my view of the tub of margarine with a 4-year-old-finger-sized canal running through it.

He's sneaky but he's honest.  "I ate butter.  I like to eat butter."

Sigh.  It's time for a run.

Brotherly Love

Overheard:

3yr-old:  "C?  Can I tell you a secret?"
10yr-old: "Sure."
3yr-old:"I love you."
10yr old: "I know."

Stalked by some bad battery karma

Every parent who has seen the Toy Story movies knows where the writers got the idea.  There is some toy, somewhere in your house, with a dying battery.  Batteries do not die quietly.  Toys do not come equipped with a "low battery" light or a status bar, telling you just how much time is left.  Toys...turn psycho.

I am not talking about the toys on your child's floor, nor the ones lying on the top of the toy box.  Those toys have been played with recently.  Those toys have received attention.  Those toys are good.

It is the toy you haven't seen for a while.  Maybe it isn't at the bottom of the full toy box but it is wedged in the middle, somewhere.  In the middle of the night, while your family is sleeping, that toy will beep for no reason.  When the children are in school, the dog is napping and the house is quiet, that toy will talk.  And if you should dig for that toy, find that toy and hold that toy it will stop.  (Think Rex in Toy Story 3: "He held me!  He actually held me!)

But my latest silence-stopper?  The potty. 

Yes, for the THIRD child, I bought a potty that sings when you, well, you know.  Except this one doesn't.  It can--it simply won't--because no one uses it.  Little guy uses it as a stool to step up to the sink.  He uses it to hold his books while he uses The Big Potty but he does not sit upon it.  So it has no reason to sing.

What to do if you are a potty with no reason to sing?  Well, sing for no reason at all!  It is 11pm.  Everyone, including the dog, is asleep except for me--and the potty.  So it sings.

Perspective

We are driving past the frozen lake, on our way to pick up the "big kids."

"Oh, no!" my three-year-old yells. "There is snow on top of the water! The birds can't swim!"

"That's OK," I say, "they can just walk on it until the ice melts."

"Oh. I didn't know. I never been a bird, before."

Childhood wisdom

The voices rise from the backseat, Sunday night, after a long drive and a longer day.
"Mom! She keeps hitting me!"
"I am not hitting. I am just violently touching him."


Today, after I told the three-year-old not to touch anything. (He had just finished a few Cheetos and had very orange fingers). I found an open drawer and reminded him that I'd asked him not to touch anything.
"I made a fist," he tells me, "like this." He shows me the fist.
"Then I used the side of my fist to pull the handle. Like this. I didn't touch it."
I try not to laugh but smile. "Actually, that was pretty smart," I say. "But I still don't want you opening that drawer." I shake my head. "You are a smart kid."

He nods. "Sometimes."

The voices are getting louder

I mentioned characters and, perhaps, an actual person from the past speaking to me.

Yesterday, I was upstairs and heard my son calling me from the backyard. He was out there with the dog, so I came running down to see what was wrong. When I made it to the backyard, I found them running in the grass. Both were FINE. So I asked why he'd yelled.
He shrugged. "I didn't."
Oh.

Last night, I was in my bedroom when I heard my daughter call me. (I thought it was her. I am always getting in trouble for going to the wrong room when the other has actually called me.) But this time, they both frowned at me for coming into the wrong room. Neither of them called me. I was sure my youngest was asleep so I gave up.

At 4am, I nearly jumped out of bed when I heard a door slam. I looked at my husband--he'd heard it, too. We looked at each other, then heard the gate at the bottom of the stairs slam shut. We both got out of bed but after I second, I told my husband I was sure it was our older son. (He offered to sneak down and scare the snot out of him but wisely refrained.) When I did not hear any refrigerators opening or water running, I went to check. He was in bed. I checked my daughter's room, and she was in bed. Our youngest never gets out of bed in the middle of the night. Ever. (If he wakes--he cries, calls or just sits there but he does not even get out of his bed in the morning until someone comes to open his door).

But it had to be him. His door was still shut but that would explain the slammed door we'd heard. Sure enough, I went in and found his bed empty.

I went downstairs and found him standing in the dark living room. "I heard Daddy calling me so I came down here," he said, "but now I can't find him."

(I got him back upstairs and we assured him it was a dream. He wasn't completely convinced. He asked his Dad twice more why he'd called him.)

While I was putting him back in bed, I remembered the Bible story where the son woke his father three times, asking why he'd been called. The father finally realized it was God calling his son. My son was, apparently, only called once. And he is three. I don't think God has a message for a three-year-old that can't wait until morning.

Clearly then, there are only two possibilities:
I've invited spirits into the house that want to mess with us (now I know I'm not the only one hearing them) or, the dog has taken up ventriloquism.

Mama Bear is Angry

It is not nice to call people names. (Tell me when I get something wrong.)

Took all three kids to an indoor bounce-house to play today. It is full of many inflatable bounce houses and obstacle courses. Kids climb, bounce and fall. Soft, inflatable, bouncy fun but when you have several kids in an enclosed space, kids will bounce into each other. I get it. I can't help it. I take my kids there, anyway.

The older two were in the same Spongebob bounce house today until my son came out, ran to me and began sobbing. I figured he'd bounced into someone else but asked him to calm down and tell me what happened.

"Someone called me an idiot!"

Oh. We have been through this any number of times and you have to ignore kids that say mean things.

"Did you bounce into someone?"

"Yes," he sobs. "I didn't mean to! We were bouncing and I accidentally kicked someone."

"Okay. Did you..." (I don't even get to finish asking if he apologized.)

"I said SORRY! I told him I was sorry and he said he was okay but his mom came in and called me an idiot. I want to go home."

What?
"What mom?"
"I don't know. I just want to go home."

Keeps sobbing. An employee comes over to see if my son is hurt and if he can help. I explain that only his feelings are hurt but many people are looking. Which makes him more embarrassed. "I just want to go home."

I tell him to go splash his face with cold water and as he turns, another kid looks at us, looks down and says, "I'm sorry."

I ask if this is the boy he kicked and my son nods. I ask the boy if he is okay (clearly, he is--he just sprinted by us) and he says yes and that he is sorry, again.

My son just keeps sobbing so I send him off to go splash his face with cold water.
My daughter comes running up and asks where he is. I tell her and she says, "yeah, some lady just came in and called him an idiot!"

"Did your brother kick the boy?"
"Yes, but it was an accident, Mom. We were all bouncing and well, he did not mean to."

Now I have confirmation. While she is his sister, she is his sister. She is THE FIRST ONE to give me every detail when he does something wrong. Occasionally, he does kick and she would tell me so. But she is also thrown by an adult calling him a name. And now I am angry. But I take a deep breath. We had storms ALL night last night, maybe she did not get any sleep. Maybe her son is recovering from something and she thinks he is fragile. But then, why bring him to a BOUNCE house?

I ask my daughter if she can point out the mom but she can't. I ask her to take her other brother on one more slide and then get their shoes. My son comes back from the bathroom and as we go to collect shoes, my daughter touches my arm. "I found her! I wasn't sure but then she called her son over. It's that lady--the one in the recliner, with the blanket."

My son grabs my other arm. "DON'T say anything, Mom! I just want to go home."
"I just want to talk to her for a second, honey."
"NO! Mom, PLEASE, can we just GO?"
He is distraught enough so I don't say anything but look back at mom, who has her feet up, blanket up, smiling and laughing with her husband and I realize that from where she is sitting, she has just watched our whole minor episode. She has seen how upset my son is, she has seen her son apologize, she has seen other people check on my son and she has sat there, snuggled up in her blanket and is having a grand time. I still don't say anything but as another employee cuts our bracelets off, I glare. Her husband looks up for a second but nothing from either one of them.
I am sure they've forgotten but my son was still whimpering the whole ride home. I explain that even grown-ups make mistakes but that the mother should have known better. I explain though that sometimes parents get upset quickly if they beleive their child is hurt. I offer any number of excuses but my son was still whimpering when we made it into the house. "I am not an idiot."

No. He isn't. But I have my doubts about this lady.

Count your blessings

Kids, let's GO!

Mom, my shirt is missing a button.

That's OK.  Just wear a different shirt and I'll fix it today.

I can't!  It's FRIDAY.  We have to wear the shirts with the logos on them to Mass and I only have this one.

Do you know where the button is?

Nope.

I have some in my sewing kit. *sigh*  I need a cup of coffee.

(Hubbie is walking by, on his way out the door.) There are extra buttons on the bottom of my dress shirts.  Use one of those.

Thanks.  (Kiss)  I'll find the sewing kit.  I just need a sip of coffee.

MOM!  Can I just pull the button off of Dad's shirt?

*LOUD SIGH* I will be right there!  Do not pull anything off of Dad's shirt!  I'm getting a cup of coffee.

Hey, Mom?  Have you seen my belt?

I'm sure it's on the floor of your closet but I'll help you look.  Just let me pour that coffee.

MOM?  I'm getting that button, OK?

*Storm upstairs*  I will get it.  Go eat your breakfast.

(Look in laundry room for scissors and sewing kit.  Find neither.  Grab another pair of scissors and gently remove button from dress shirt.)

MOM!  Is the baby up yet?

No but he will be if you keep yelling.

WHAT?!?!

*sigh* I bring the button downstairs.  The sewing kit must be in the mud room.

Hi, Mom!  Did you get my belt when you were upstairs?

*Blink and sigh*  No.  I need to find my sewing kit and get a cup of coffee.

You have a sewing kit?

*Blink and nod*  Hard to believe, I know.

Wait, Mom!  I've got it!  You don't have to fix my shirt!    I'll just wear a t-shirt under it!  Then people will see more white--they won't know!

 I'll fix it.  Have you seen my sewing kit?

Nope.  Is breakfast ready?  When B comes over after school, can you take us to the park?  What are we going to have for lunch?  Did you remember it's a half-day, today?

Yes, maybe, we'll see and yes.  Let me get a cup of coffee and then I'll find that sewing kit.

 (Where IS that thing?)  I say a prayer out loud and another to St. Anthony to help me find the sewing kit.  (I'm trying to teach the kids to ask for divine help when mom isn't quick enough!)  I repeat the prayer as I look through every room and still can't find it.  I need a cup of coffee.

I get my coffee mug, pour a splash of milk in.  Aha!  It's on top of the fridge--found the sewing kit!  

OK, let's fix that shirt!

That's your sewing kit?

Yep.

It looks like a shoe box.

I nod and realize I never poured the coffee.  I grab the mug and almost step on the toes of my shadow, behind me.

What does your mug say?  Can I read it?

Yes. (I finish sewing the button while he turns and reads the words on the mug.)

 "Count your blessings, not your problems."

That's cool.

Yes, it is.

I hand daughter her shirt, pat son on the head and smile.  I reach over son's head for mug and take my first, long sip of coffee.

Life in the fast lane

I told my daughter that she really need to work on having more patience.
The words were barely out of my mouth before she answered, "I already did."