Archive for the ‘milestones’ Tag
May 09 2011
My daughter was born with the most hair of any of my children. Which really isn’t saying a lot, considering. A ribbon could be strategically tied to her newborn locks, but only with the utmost care and nary a stray breath. Those fine baby strands soon fell out, however, and the hair that grew in its place has been, well, reluctant. In fact, almost 3 years later and Abby’s mane could really use a how-to course on how to grow from within.
I’ve longed to see my daughter running around with swinging pigtails, a right for little girls. Most her young age have already had cuts and stylings. They require hourly maintenance lest their strands get tied in painful knots. Some mothers curse the morning hair wars. I can’t relate. Abby has curls. She has curls to last for days. Beautiful curls for a beautiful girl. That should go without saying. But they don’t fall anywhere. I can’t help but wonder how much longer until it grows out.
Now, it’s even longer. Because the little hair Abby had has succumbed to scissors.
The boys received haircuts this past weekend. Never one to be left out, Abby wanted her’s done as well. After delicately trimming a section, we began to really look at the unevenness of her hair, as her father was there and doing the brunt of the work.
“Let’s just do it. It’ll be a starting point”, we agreed. Or he agreed while I winced.
That’s where we’re at, her first real haircut. Another starting point. Like when she lost her newborn locks. You can’t have pigtails with a starting point, you can barely tie it with a ribbon. I’m beginning to think it’ll never grow. Though at least she still has her curls.
November 18 2010
The overwhelming consensus from mothers of school-age children is that it isn’t fair to write about their kids now that they’re in school. Once they have a life of their own, it’s time to leave it to them. I agree to an extent. The fact that I try to keep their identities protected might give an inch more leeway, but the details of what happens to my son while immersed in the land of worksheets and recess are his. Which is why I had a fight with myself over whether to post this little tidbit. Except it technically isn’t what’s happening at school, but at his bus stop. Loophole!
My 7 year old Jedi has a crush on a little blonde girl at his bus stop.
“Oh, that’s Brandy!”, he remarked excitedly, the first day we saw her there. “She has a cute laugh! It’s the cutest laugh in school!”, he kind of nervously revealed. “Can I go stand next to her?”, he asked. Sure, I answered, though a tad insulted that I could so easily be replaced.
There he stood at her side until the bus came. She didn’t pay a lot of attention to him, but he continued smiling, anyway.
The next day, when we saw her again, he repeated devotedly, “Isn’t she cute? Do you think she’s cute? She has such a cute laugh!” I’ve been replaced ever since, instead planting himself next to Brandy, my son’s first apparent object of elementary affection. She still doesn’t pay him much attention, but he’s persistent and doesn’t seem to mind. I want to tell him it’s going to happen a lot, girls are funny, you might want to get used to it. But it seems we both have some things to get used to.
October 27 2010
Monday afternoon, Jedi came home from school with an invitation for us, his parents, to an all school assembly. Apparently, he would be receiving a certificate and special prize for accomplishing his first semester math goals. Seeing as how this was his first class award, I wouldn’t think of passing it up.
J even took the day off work for the festivities.
Of course, upon arriving, we noticed we were one of very few parents actually in attendance. They set up not even 20 chairs for the limited number of moms and dads who were able to make it, and most of those sat empty. I understand, there wasn’t enough notice and it was a work day. To be fair, they didn’t miss much. Still, we waited proudly and when Jedi walked into the cafeteria to see us sitting there, he was ecstatic. “That’s my mom and dad!”, he pointed and beamed to whoever would listen, practically pulling his teacher’s hand.
Until he started to cry, because he soon realized he wasn’t supposed to sit next to us.
His tears quickly disappeared, though, as they called the names of his kindergarten classmates. One after another, the short stacks were handed colorful certificates and prized pencils. When it was Jedi’s turn, we were “those” parents taking picture after picture. For a math certificate. For counting to 20.
While the goal for this semester was just to count to 20, it turns out my son was the only one of his class that can count to 100. That’s the thing with being the oldest kid in kindergarten, it makes you feel really smart. But it also makes you look really tall.
October 05 2010
Abby peed on the potty the other day.
This would be cause for celebration. I even called my mother immediately after to brag, because who better to commemorate the occasion with than the doting grandma? We whoo’d and yay’d appropriately. But then I began to contemplate the situation I was in. What did I just start?
My daughter may be ready to potty-train, but I’m not.
Now, being a house without diapers would make me ecstatic. However, there’s the matter of getting there. Of spending hours in the bathroom, again. Of keeping hands out of pee-tainted toilet water, again. Of wiping up accidents and scrubbing carpets, again. Of piles of stained, smelly laundry, again. Of potty parties, which aren’t nearly as fun as they sound, again. I’m not even 100% with Buzz, since we’ve had some major regression issues. I just… I can’t… I won’t. You can’t make me! Not again.
I hate potty-training. Nothing else in all of parenting makes me feel as inadequate. Because forget development of the kid, this whole thing, it’s all about ME.
Abby has only had that one successful potty incident so far, which was only positive because it required no direction from me in any way. All I did was pull her pants down and feign glee at the end result, she did the rest. I’m not going to force it. I’m just not ready. I’m more inclined to hide in the closet and let someone else deal with it. While they’re at it, they can help Buzz with his issues, too. Takers? Anyone? No? Shit.
August 17 2010
There’s a rule in this house: the bathroom door is always locked. It’s for Buzz’s own safety, since there’s any number of drawers he could open, q-tips to dispense, paper to unroll, toilet water to splash, cabinets with medicine to get into, bathtubs to hide in. Not that I know any of this from experience.
OK, fine, I know it ALL from experience.
Everyone is aware of this rule. In fact, Jedi even has a special “key” on hand to come and go as needed.
The problem with this plan is that Buzz is aware of the key, too, which is really nothing more than a quarter. It’s flat edge rests perfectly in the thin groove of the lock. If given the chance, he can, and will, still get inside without problem.
I was busy cooking dinner while J ran to the store for a few quick essentials. I heard Buzz making noise, playing, and thought he was keeping himself kindly occupied with his sister. I should have known better. Buzz is never just kindly occupied with his sister.
It seems he hijacked the key when I wasn’t looking. J returns home to find Buzz in the bathroom, a quadruple blade razor in hand. Attempting, and failing, to shave his legs like Mommy.
There may have been blood. And loss of skin.
My boy’s first shaving accident.
We’re going to need a better lock.
