Mommy Issue: noun. A parenting issue that parents argue over.
We've all heard those hot button topics that parents jump all over. Is it better for a mom to stay home or go to work? Vaccine on schedule, delayed, or not at all? Home birth or hospital birth?
It's tough in general to make parenting decisions when so many voices have our ear. No matter what we choose, some other parent will be against it. For instance, I'm a stay-at-home mom, because that's what's right for my family, and I recognize that it's not the solution for every person. However, I do bristle when someone says something like, "Don't you want to be a contributing member of society?" Oh, sorry. I didn't realize that I live in a cave.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Non-Rhetorical Rhetorical Question
Non-Rhetorical Rhetorical Question: noun. A question that a child asks, and expects an answer, but there either is no answer or the answer is difficult to explain.
When I was a child, I (or one of my sisters?) asked my mother about the difficult concept of love. She said she loved us, but the love she had for our dad was different. To an adult, that's pretty simple. To a child...not so much.
So the other day, Monkey Son #1 said, "I want to marry you."
"You can't," I replied. "I'm already married."
"But don't you love me?" he asked.
How do I respond to that? And yet, the strange questions do not end there. How about, "Are hot things really cold?" Well, I can grasp that something that's hot and something that's cold can both have a burning sensation. But you'd think you wouldn't have to explain hot and cold...
When I was a child, I (or one of my sisters?) asked my mother about the difficult concept of love. She said she loved us, but the love she had for our dad was different. To an adult, that's pretty simple. To a child...not so much.
So the other day, Monkey Son #1 said, "I want to marry you."
"You can't," I replied. "I'm already married."
"But don't you love me?" he asked.
How do I respond to that? And yet, the strange questions do not end there. How about, "Are hot things really cold?" Well, I can grasp that something that's hot and something that's cold can both have a burning sensation. But you'd think you wouldn't have to explain hot and cold...
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Guest Entry: Kool-Aid Kaboom
Kool-Aide Kaboom: noun. A sticky gooey mess that extends in a 5ft radius around the location a 9yo made Kool-Aid and the proceeding clueless-ness of said mess.
It's a rough time for parents. You know that you need to let your kids do things for themselves, but you also know that when you do, a huge mess will come of it. Still, you have to let your kids learn.
Today's definition was sent to me by another mom named Brenda, with the accompanying story:
My 9yo son loves kool-aid and likes to make it himself. Every time he makes it he manages to make this huge sticky mess...on the counter, the floor, the refrigerator...basically everything in about a 5ft radius of the area of preparation. So how he can manage this mess is a mystery...but to me the even bigger mystery is his that he is completely oblivious to the mess. I tell him to clean it up...and while his feet are sticking to the floor and there is fruit colored spots all over the counter he just says "Where...what mess?"
That's almost as good as when, earlier today, when I asked Monkey Son #1 to pick up his toys, he picked up a couple, then said, "You get the rest."
It's a rough time for parents. You know that you need to let your kids do things for themselves, but you also know that when you do, a huge mess will come of it. Still, you have to let your kids learn.
Today's definition was sent to me by another mom named Brenda, with the accompanying story:
My 9yo son loves kool-aid and likes to make it himself. Every time he makes it he manages to make this huge sticky mess...on the counter, the floor, the refrigerator...basically everything in about a 5ft radius of the area of preparation. So how he can manage this mess is a mystery...but to me the even bigger mystery is his that he is completely oblivious to the mess. I tell him to clean it up...and while his feet are sticking to the floor and there is fruit colored spots all over the counter he just says "Where...what mess?"
That's almost as good as when, earlier today, when I asked Monkey Son #1 to pick up his toys, he picked up a couple, then said, "You get the rest."
Friday, July 25, 2008
Waterfall Cold
Waterfall Cold: noun. A cold or other minor but annoying illness that cascades through several members of the same household.
Last night, Monkey Son #2 would just not go to bed. His nose ran and he was just miserable. Our first thought was that he's teething, and it was a few hours after his normal bedtime before he finally went to sleep, and even after that woke back up for a bit.
When I went to check on the Monkey Boys a little while later, I heard Monkey Son #1 sniffling in his sleep. As I've been known to say, oh fudge nuggets! If they're both sniffling, that means Monkey Son #2 is not teething. They're sick. Both of them. Two sick kids are never fun. Heck, one is no fun. And yet, here we are, two sick kids.
After 11pm last night, I was still finishing up things that needed to be done before bed. Taking out the trash, emptying the dishwasher, making lunch for Husband to take to work the next day. Finally, I got to bed. But then at midnight, Monkey Son #1 woke up, miserable. I got him taken care of and put back to bed, and went back to bed myself. At 1am, Monkey Son #2 woke up, also miserable. He wanted nothing more than to be cuddled, which I did, and within a few minutes he fell asleep in my lap. At 7am, Monkey Son #1 got up, crying.
By now, I'm quite tired, and feel that I'm coming down with whatever it is that the Monkeys picked up. Oh, fantastic. Here's to a raised immunity system.
Last night, Monkey Son #2 would just not go to bed. His nose ran and he was just miserable. Our first thought was that he's teething, and it was a few hours after his normal bedtime before he finally went to sleep, and even after that woke back up for a bit.
When I went to check on the Monkey Boys a little while later, I heard Monkey Son #1 sniffling in his sleep. As I've been known to say, oh fudge nuggets! If they're both sniffling, that means Monkey Son #2 is not teething. They're sick. Both of them. Two sick kids are never fun. Heck, one is no fun. And yet, here we are, two sick kids.
After 11pm last night, I was still finishing up things that needed to be done before bed. Taking out the trash, emptying the dishwasher, making lunch for Husband to take to work the next day. Finally, I got to bed. But then at midnight, Monkey Son #1 woke up, miserable. I got him taken care of and put back to bed, and went back to bed myself. At 1am, Monkey Son #2 woke up, also miserable. He wanted nothing more than to be cuddled, which I did, and within a few minutes he fell asleep in my lap. At 7am, Monkey Son #1 got up, crying.
By now, I'm quite tired, and feel that I'm coming down with whatever it is that the Monkeys picked up. Oh, fantastic. Here's to a raised immunity system.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Vanished Solitude
Vanished Solitude: noun. An activity a parent used to be able to do by themselves, without interruption, and/or not having to plan in advance, but as a parent are no longer able to.
I love my Monkey Sons and Husband. Truly, honestly, I do. I wouldn't trade them. But certain times to myself have vanished, and if they haven't vanished completely, I can't do them without getting interrupted or without advanced planning. It's one of the downsides of being a parent. I can no longer take a shower, use the bathroom, do the dishes, read a book, write a blog post (this one included), or do housework without having Husband watch the kids or planning everything so the Monkeys are occupied. However, the payoff I get from seeing Monkey Son #2's first step or hearing Monkey Son #1 read his first word (it was "pup" from Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss) makes it oh-so-worth-it. If you're not a parent, you might not understand that, but trust me. It's worth it.
I love my Monkey Sons and Husband. Truly, honestly, I do. I wouldn't trade them. But certain times to myself have vanished, and if they haven't vanished completely, I can't do them without getting interrupted or without advanced planning. It's one of the downsides of being a parent. I can no longer take a shower, use the bathroom, do the dishes, read a book, write a blog post (this one included), or do housework without having Husband watch the kids or planning everything so the Monkeys are occupied. However, the payoff I get from seeing Monkey Son #2's first step or hearing Monkey Son #1 read his first word (it was "pup" from Hop on Pop by Dr. Seuss) makes it oh-so-worth-it. If you're not a parent, you might not understand that, but trust me. It's worth it.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Maternal Exhaustion
Maternal Exhaustion: noun. That deep down completely exhausted feeling a mother gets just from being a mother.
It's 10:30pm where I am. The day started rather early, when Husband and Monkey Son #1 couldn't sleep. I got up with them a short time later, followed by Monkey Son #2.
With everyone up, the day must start, whether or not the sun has risen. Today, I tidied the kitchen (multiple times), cleaned the shower curtain, scrubbed the toilets, did laundry, changed the sheets on Monkey Sons' beds, washed diapers (we use cloth), cleaned up toys, made dinner, and mopped the kitchen, living room, and hallway. And that's not even all of what I wanted to get done, but tomorrow is another day.
That's what's part of being a mom, or any parent. Exhaustion comes with the territory. Yes, I'm tired and am looking forward to just conking out for the night, but I've been worse. And yes, tomorrow, I will get up and do it all again, except trading some chores for others. And yet, I wouldn't trade my Monkey Boys or all the work that goes with being their mommy.
It's 10:30pm where I am. The day started rather early, when Husband and Monkey Son #1 couldn't sleep. I got up with them a short time later, followed by Monkey Son #2.
With everyone up, the day must start, whether or not the sun has risen. Today, I tidied the kitchen (multiple times), cleaned the shower curtain, scrubbed the toilets, did laundry, changed the sheets on Monkey Sons' beds, washed diapers (we use cloth), cleaned up toys, made dinner, and mopped the kitchen, living room, and hallway. And that's not even all of what I wanted to get done, but tomorrow is another day.
That's what's part of being a mom, or any parent. Exhaustion comes with the territory. Yes, I'm tired and am looking forward to just conking out for the night, but I've been worse. And yes, tomorrow, I will get up and do it all again, except trading some chores for others. And yet, I wouldn't trade my Monkey Boys or all the work that goes with being their mommy.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Whole House Nocturnal Panic
Whole House Nocturnal Panic: noun. An innocent situation that sends an entire household into half-asleep panic.
Last night at about 3:15am, catastrophe happened. Monkey Son #1 wakes up and has to use the bathroom, but for some reason goes into my and my husband's room. It could be that he meant to, as you can walk through our room and get to the bathroom, or he may have just been half-asleep. Anyway, our door makes a rather loud sound when opened, and that sends off the shock wave of the next 10 minutes.
Husband, dead asleep, hears the door open, and sits bolt upright in bed, yelling something that I can best describe as "Ahumna hmna hmna!" while shaking his head slightly, followed by him yelling, "He's sleep walking!" (although I don't think Husband was even awake as he said this). His yelling makes me wake up in full panic mode and I sit up, terrified and not knowing what is going on. I see Husband sitting up and yelling, and Monkey Son #1 in the doorway crying because of the yelling, and from the Monkeys' bedroom, I hear Monkey Son #2 wake up.
Brain starts working as Monkey Son #1 is screaming, "I have to go pee pee!" and crying his eyes out in the doorway. Ok, I calm everyone down, take Monkey Son #1 to the bathroom, and put him back to bed. As I'm in there, I see that Monkey Son #2 is in fact awake, peacefully sitting up in his crib and seemingly waiting for someone to just come and tell him everything is fine, go back to bed.
Who knew that a preschooler having to use the bathroom would send everyone into such a state?
Last night at about 3:15am, catastrophe happened. Monkey Son #1 wakes up and has to use the bathroom, but for some reason goes into my and my husband's room. It could be that he meant to, as you can walk through our room and get to the bathroom, or he may have just been half-asleep. Anyway, our door makes a rather loud sound when opened, and that sends off the shock wave of the next 10 minutes.
Husband, dead asleep, hears the door open, and sits bolt upright in bed, yelling something that I can best describe as "Ahumna hmna hmna!" while shaking his head slightly, followed by him yelling, "He's sleep walking!" (although I don't think Husband was even awake as he said this). His yelling makes me wake up in full panic mode and I sit up, terrified and not knowing what is going on. I see Husband sitting up and yelling, and Monkey Son #1 in the doorway crying because of the yelling, and from the Monkeys' bedroom, I hear Monkey Son #2 wake up.
Brain starts working as Monkey Son #1 is screaming, "I have to go pee pee!" and crying his eyes out in the doorway. Ok, I calm everyone down, take Monkey Son #1 to the bathroom, and put him back to bed. As I'm in there, I see that Monkey Son #2 is in fact awake, peacefully sitting up in his crib and seemingly waiting for someone to just come and tell him everything is fine, go back to bed.
Who knew that a preschooler having to use the bathroom would send everyone into such a state?
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