Archive for the ‘The Kids’ Category
September 14 2011
With 3 kids in this house, you would think I would own a step stool.
I do not.
It is now at the top of my need-to-get list.
Abby is 3 years old and showing interest in using the bathroom like a big girl. I’m sure she would be completely trained in that area by now if we gave it a couple days of just lounging about in her underwear. It’s I who is holding her back. Because didn’t I just do this with another kid?
So she’s taken the task upon herself.
The other night, a mere hour after she was scrubbed clean in a bath, she made mention of her need to relieve herself. Up until then, her bathroom use has been only for urinating. This time, however, called for the other. While we have a training potty, she’s never taken to it. So she climbed on top of the big girl commode, her feet dangling in mid-air, still too small to reach the floor. I faced the other direction to give her privacy until it sounded as though the deed was done, when I turned back to my daughter’s beaming smile.
I praised, like any proud mother. Until the situation turned dire. “You did awesome! Give me 5! That’s such a good gir…. What’s that? On the seat? What is that brown… Oh, Abby! Gross!”
Poo. Smeared. Everywhere. On the toilet. On her. Because her feet can’t reach the floor, she can’t lift herself up. And so she has to slide on and off. And did she ever slide. Like a slip ‘n slide. In poo.
Clearly, the time has come to buy a step stool. And sanitizer. Lots of sanitizer.
September 13 2011
I took the kids to school early since there was a Problem-Solving Meeting scheduled to discuss Buzz. It was a formal discussion with a table full of different teachers, their laptops open, ready to explain the many evaluations that were soon to take place as we forge ahead to the next stage of an IEP. All in an effort to obtain the additional help my son needs, since his speech delay can now safely be classified as a communication disorder.
It was difficult to get to the group, however, as my son had a grip around my leg and wouldn’t let go.
The time came for the meeting to begin, and as I peeked in on the room where it was to take place, I saw Buzz’s kindergarten teacher waving me in. I must have shot her a look, because she stepped out to evaluate the situation at hand.
Taking notice of what I was dealing with, the teacher instructed me to lead him into his classroom where one of her assistants were waiting. Which would have been a wonderful idea, he’s been there for 3 weeks now and it’s familiar with toys!, save for the fact that my child had removed himself from me and was now hunkered down under a cafeteria table, in tears.
Nope. Nothing to see here. Not at all.
“I see they marked ‘separation from parent’ as another problem”, the Life Skills Superintendent read when I finally made it in after literally dragging my son to his classroom by the hand, then turning my back without a second look while he cried for me to come back.
“Yeah”, I agreed. “I think we still need to work on that, too.”
September 09 2011
No, Paper
It seems simple enough. My 3 year old daughter wants paper. There’s a stack of lined sheets that I put on the table, along with the blue marker she had previously opened. Except, it’s not right. She doesn’t want this paper, but I don’t know what she does want. I leave the paper on the table anyway, where my daughter then proceeds to throw a full-blown, 20 minute, queen of all tantrum.
“No paper! No paper! No! No! No paper!”, she screams repeatedly, crying from her steadfast position in the corner of the room.
Ear-piercing. She was adamant.
Yes, Paper
After so long, with not a break to be seen in the tantrum, I gathered the paper as she railed to put away. Except that was no longer right, either. No sooner did I have it together in my hands than her mind changed. Oh, for heaven’s sake.
“Paper! Paper! Paper! Give me that paper! PAPER!” she screamed and cried, still refusing to budge from the corner of the room.
Ear-piercing. She was adamant.
Who the hell knows anymore about the paper?
What I do know? 3 year olds are utterly mind-boggling and confusing. I sometimes feel so lost with her, at this age. But it seems like a lot of time and aggravation and eardrums we could have saved ourselves, here.
September 07 2011
He bounded off the bus and grabbed my hand, heading straight for home. I could feel his grip tighten and his face grimace with a concerned concentration. Even though he was finished with school for the day, a super crime fighter’s work is never done. The real job was only about to begin.
His eyes began to narrow. There must have been trouble brewing, somewhere.
Upon opening our front door, he immediately vanished to his room, closing the door behind him. Like Superman in a telephone booth, transforming from his every day normal disguise. I trailed after, urging him along the way to remove and put up his shoes, but it was too late. There was already a shirt marking the path. Then I saw his shorts.
My son was no longer just my son. He was Super Buzz!
Ready to battle the world’s evil and take down all the bad guys. Or his bossy sister. Same thing.
In nothing but his Spiderman underwear and Batman ankle socks.
But there was still one thing missing, one item to help him glide through the air like a plane.
A cape!
It’s like he couldn’t stand to be trapped in his regular kid at school alter ego for one second longer. There was a mighty superhero anxious to emerge. I don’t know about you, but I feel so much safer with Super Buzz on the case.
September 05 2011
Selecting Abby’s outfit for the day can be a teeth-gnashing ordeal. There shouldn’t be much bickering, since she only wants to wear the same ensemble every day. Surprisingly, however, take issue with this. Especially when her cherished garments are out of season. Or dirty. Clean clothes, let alone a change now and then, they’re your friend.
As per usual on this day, she went for her normal attire. Black leggings and a striped long-sleeved shirt to layer upon. Though it was supposed to be a record high temperature of 103 that day and this would be like wearing a sauna. She needed to be presented with other options. I opened her dresser drawer and bravely suggested, complete with explanation, “It’s supposed to be really hot today, so why don’t we put on some shorts, or a dress?”.
Abby’s face turned into a pout as she formed a reply that sounded a lot like, “You’f a bonny”.
“Did you just call me a bunny?”, I asked her.
“No. You…”, she continued pointing her finger in my direction, articulating each word as clearly as she could with emphasis. “You full a baoni.”
Catching on, I offered, “I’m full of bologna? Did you learn that from Grandma?”.
“Yep. You full a baoni, Mommy”, she repeated.
In the end, we compromised, she sweated, and I’m still full of bologna. I can thank her grandma for that.
