I love that my three year old is so "helpful". I have found that at this particular age, "helping" Mommy usually means more work for Mommy, but I'm also finding that I enjoy it because there is so much humor in the way his mind works.
This morning found me sitting (as much as is possible at 38 and 1/2 weeks pregnant) on the floor in front of the toilet cleaning. All at once, the silence was broken by Sean tearing into the bathroom behind me yelling "Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY, I DID IT! I did da bubbles!" My first thought was bubbles? What bubbles? Oh, right. BUBBLES. Got it; on his Leapster Explorer where he bathes his pet. I verbally responded with "GREAT JOB BUBBY! You did the bubbles on your game. I'm so proud of you! Why don't you go finish washing the bubbles on your game and when Mommy is done, you can show her?" Thrilled with my accolades, he danced out of the bathroom singing and chanting "Bubbles, bubbles, I did it wif the bubbles..." I smile with adoration and love... he's just so cute!
A few minutes later (or SEVERAL minutes later as that's how long it takes for an elephant to pick herself up off the floor), I waddled my way into the living room towards the sound of my happy, singing boy as he continued to make up lyrics for his "bubbles" song. The sight that met my eyes was at once hilarious and enlightening (and a bit overwhelming). "Bubbles" was not something he was playing on his game, but something he had created and was playing with in two of my four dining room chairs (which were all placed on my living room carpet while the recently mopped floors were drying). "Bubbles" was not, in fact, a recently shampooed electronic pet on the Leapster Explorer, but was a pile of Pledge four inches tall and about six inches in diameter in one chair and in the other, a pile about two inches tall and three inches in diameter. "Mommy! I did it! SEAN HELP YOU CLEAN DA CHAIR! YAAAAYYYYYYY!" I swallow a groan, and smile my biggest smile as I reach for the paper towel in his hand (saving in the process the largest pile from being "wiped clean" onto my living room carpet) and tell him "WOW! What a GREAT helper you are! Look at all these bubbles! Mommy is so happy that you decided to help her! Mommy is even more thrilled that she was able to help you help her in time! Thank you so much!" Sean beamed at me and said "Sean is a good helper, huh Mommy? I make pretty bubbles and clean da chair!" How can you not just love that? Even with an entire can of Pledge on two chairs??? "Yes honey, you are a FANTASTIC helper and Mommy loves you a whoooooooole bunch!"
The next fifteen minutes were spent with Mommy wiping down furniture after Sean sprayed (under direct supervision) a LITTLE bit of Pledge on each item of furniture needing dusting.
I think next time, I'll pay more attention to what exactly "bubbles" might be instead of making assumptions. After all, when you assume anything about what a three year old might be up to, you're merely asking for trouble...
Oh. And I'll also keep a camera handy.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Silly little boy...
It's been a little while since I have managed to find the time to keep you all updated on my life. Back to school full time, a great dane requiring a daily walk, and just trying to stay busy have caused me to neglect my desire to blog. Oh well! I can't do anything about lost time, only do something to find time in the future... anyways... moving on.
I was standing in my bathroom two days ago, talking to my husband when I noticed it was eerily quiet in the next room. I knew my son was in there because I saw and heard him not even a minute before. Like always, curiosity got the best of me, so I went to investigate. What I saw made my husband and I laugh hysterically. What was, a few minutes prior, a clean floor, was now covered in various articles of my clothing. A couple pairs of my pants, a bra, some socks, and my toothbrush were strewn all over the place; and two of my dresser drawers still open all the way. My son was standing up holding onto the bed, licking the cat (don't ask! He's in a phase where EVERYTHING needs to be taste-tested), and doing his best to look innocent. What topped it all off was the one pair of mommy's panties that he had hanging around his neck. I won't even tell you what my husband's narration of the scene was! I tried to get a video of him and the cat, but like always, I wasn't quick enough. I did however get some video of the mess in general and my happy son gallivanting about on all fours with my underwear about his head!
I can see already that with Sean not even being a year old, I should prepare for a lifetime of laughter and shenanigans!
I was standing in my bathroom two days ago, talking to my husband when I noticed it was eerily quiet in the next room. I knew my son was in there because I saw and heard him not even a minute before. Like always, curiosity got the best of me, so I went to investigate. What I saw made my husband and I laugh hysterically. What was, a few minutes prior, a clean floor, was now covered in various articles of my clothing. A couple pairs of my pants, a bra, some socks, and my toothbrush were strewn all over the place; and two of my dresser drawers still open all the way. My son was standing up holding onto the bed, licking the cat (don't ask! He's in a phase where EVERYTHING needs to be taste-tested), and doing his best to look innocent. What topped it all off was the one pair of mommy's panties that he had hanging around his neck. I won't even tell you what my husband's narration of the scene was! I tried to get a video of him and the cat, but like always, I wasn't quick enough. I did however get some video of the mess in general and my happy son gallivanting about on all fours with my underwear about his head!
I can see already that with Sean not even being a year old, I should prepare for a lifetime of laughter and shenanigans!
Monday, August 25, 2008
When will the Dictator be overthrown...?
I spent the first few months of my son's life telling him that, "this is not a democracy, it is a Dictatorship and what I say goes!" It wasn't until two days ago that I realized that I had it wrong... totally wrong.
I would like to believe that I am in control over my life and my son's life, but I believe now that I am not the one in control at all. He is. Sean spends his days doing what I THINK I want him to do, but I'm not so sure of that anymore. All this time I thought I decide when he eats. I decide when he sleeps. I decide when he gets a bath. I decide what he wears. But then two days ago, I realized I was living a dream. He doesn't sleep because I make him, he sleeps because he's tired and it's nap time. If he doesn't want to sleep then he doesn't. He screams and cries till I go back in and get him... then he smiles. He doesn't eat when I want him to. He eats at the normal time (a schedule is wonderful) and because he is hungry. If he doesn't want to eat he sure as hell lets me know by batting the spoon away, turning his head, (or my personal favorite) sticking his tongue out and letting the food fall out of his mouth all down his front. I don't sleep when I want to but sleep around his schedule. If I want a nap, it's only for as long as HE wants it to be, not vice-versa. Are you kidding me? I would never wake a sleeping baby... even if I was ready to move onto the next part of my day! He lets me dress him in whatever, but really? Does that really affect how he conducts his business? Does the way he rules my world and life really change based on whether he is wearing a bug onsie or a Putt-Putt T-shirt? Nope. He still does pretty much what he wants and I just get to help.
I love my son and don't misunderstand this to be complaining. I think it is hilarious that all this time I thought I was in control when really it's me doing whatever HE wants to do. Ha ha ha.
I love that kid more than life itself... but really...?
Can we please change to a Democracy?
I would like to believe that I am in control over my life and my son's life, but I believe now that I am not the one in control at all. He is. Sean spends his days doing what I THINK I want him to do, but I'm not so sure of that anymore. All this time I thought I decide when he eats. I decide when he sleeps. I decide when he gets a bath. I decide what he wears. But then two days ago, I realized I was living a dream. He doesn't sleep because I make him, he sleeps because he's tired and it's nap time. If he doesn't want to sleep then he doesn't. He screams and cries till I go back in and get him... then he smiles. He doesn't eat when I want him to. He eats at the normal time (a schedule is wonderful) and because he is hungry. If he doesn't want to eat he sure as hell lets me know by batting the spoon away, turning his head, (or my personal favorite) sticking his tongue out and letting the food fall out of his mouth all down his front. I don't sleep when I want to but sleep around his schedule. If I want a nap, it's only for as long as HE wants it to be, not vice-versa. Are you kidding me? I would never wake a sleeping baby... even if I was ready to move onto the next part of my day! He lets me dress him in whatever, but really? Does that really affect how he conducts his business? Does the way he rules my world and life really change based on whether he is wearing a bug onsie or a Putt-Putt T-shirt? Nope. He still does pretty much what he wants and I just get to help.
I love my son and don't misunderstand this to be complaining. I think it is hilarious that all this time I thought I was in control when really it's me doing whatever HE wants to do. Ha ha ha.
I love that kid more than life itself... but really...?
Can we please change to a Democracy?
Friday, August 15, 2008
A mixture of boy, dog, and Cheerios
Imagine this... a Great Dane (puppy), a ten month old (boy), and a mommy trying to keep her sanity. Not very likely, but fun to say the least.
My morning usually starts with breakfast (duh). Breakfast for Duke, breakfast for Sean, and God willing, breakfast for mommy. While Sean's oatmeal is cooking, I generally cover his tray with Cheerios to ease the constant scream because the microwave isn't fast enough. I've already raised the highchair to its highest point to keep Duke from eating whatever may be up there, but between the two of them, plans are hatched.
I couldn't figure out how the Cheerios kept disappearing at a speed faster than Phelps swimming the freestyle. Ah ha! Sean has discovered the method of feeding the dog via the hand. Instead of taking the Cheerios from his tray to his mouth, he now takes the Cheerios, holds them over the side, and puts them into Duke's mouth. What Sean hasn't figured out is that though feeding the dog is new, fun, and interesting; it makes the Cheerios disappear faster meaning no Cheerios for him. Great. Though he continues to feed the dog, he has started to sneak a handful to himself every so often.
I tried to get him to give me some, but he doesn't get that just yet. He holds a Cheerio out to me, gets it almost in my mouth, then quickly puts it in his and laughs. Okay. So he shares with the dog, but says no way to mommy. Alright...
just remember who the keeper of the Cheerios is!
My morning usually starts with breakfast (duh). Breakfast for Duke, breakfast for Sean, and God willing, breakfast for mommy. While Sean's oatmeal is cooking, I generally cover his tray with Cheerios to ease the constant scream because the microwave isn't fast enough. I've already raised the highchair to its highest point to keep Duke from eating whatever may be up there, but between the two of them, plans are hatched.
I couldn't figure out how the Cheerios kept disappearing at a speed faster than Phelps swimming the freestyle. Ah ha! Sean has discovered the method of feeding the dog via the hand. Instead of taking the Cheerios from his tray to his mouth, he now takes the Cheerios, holds them over the side, and puts them into Duke's mouth. What Sean hasn't figured out is that though feeding the dog is new, fun, and interesting; it makes the Cheerios disappear faster meaning no Cheerios for him. Great. Though he continues to feed the dog, he has started to sneak a handful to himself every so often.
I tried to get him to give me some, but he doesn't get that just yet. He holds a Cheerio out to me, gets it almost in my mouth, then quickly puts it in his and laughs. Okay. So he shares with the dog, but says no way to mommy. Alright...
just remember who the keeper of the Cheerios is!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Tick? What tick?!?!?!?!?
A tick? On me? Please tell me the world could not be so cruel! As a self-proclaimed "bug-a-phobe", any bug on me is never a good thing. Especially not in abundance!!
Michelle, my most wonderfulous neighbor, asked to borrow my lawnmower so that she could attempt to get the tropical jungle called her backyard under control. Her having a gazillion kids at her house and knowing how busy she's been only led me to want to help. So I did. I loaned her the lawnmower and my services. (Meaning I weed-eated....)
I was about ten minutes into the job when my left foot began to burn. I ignored it thinking that I had just gotten some grass in my shoe and went on about my business. An hour later, the jungle gone, I returned home and immediately stripped down to get into the shower. That was when I discovered them. The nasty little buggers that completely covered my left foot and toes and went up my left leg to just below the knee. Seed ticks....... ugh!
Too small to grasp with tweezers and far too many to want to, I attempted to get them off by vigorous scrubbing. Obviously it didn't work. So my husband set to scrubbing my foot and leg with a pumice stone until every last tick was gone. I then finished showering in normal fashion and upon being done, doused my legs and feet in rubbing alcohol. (As I'm sure you can imagine, what followed was a very elaborate "burn dance" and a lot of expletives.) I towel dried, got dressed, and went on about my business.
The next day, I could see where I had been bitten and I was a little uncomfortable, but all in all, it wasn't too bad. Two days afterward, however, I wanted to saw my leg off at the knee for all of the insatiable itching and burning that I was experiencing. I had a perfect little red dot in every spot I had been bitten, some of them like welts where I had more than one in a given area, and was really just utterly miserable. By the third day, they had turned to little red blisters and that was it. I went to the Doctor. He laughed, but felt my pain and seemed to be impressed at the size of the nest I had found, evident by the vast number of bites I had. (Over a hundred easy.)
I left his office having received a VERY painful shot in my ass, a hefty prescription of antibiotics and anti-itch meds, a topical anti-itch cream, and the news that I could not continue to breastfeed my ten month old while on my meds. To top it all off (or to dissuade me from not taking the meds so I could breastfeed), I was informed of the couple of deaths and case of one man being admitted to the ICU for tick fever. Hmmmmm... breastfeed? Or die from tick fever? I think I'll see how my kid likes the sippy cup!
I was upset at first at not being able to nurse, but have discovered that maybe my son is ready to move on and be weaned. He doesn't seem overly (if any at all) upset at not being able to nurse and goes on about his business as if nothing has changed. Of course I'm happy that he's not heartbroken or really struggling, but I know I'm going to miss it!
So four days after the whole incident, I'm still alive. (Though I have had moments where I thought I wouldn't be for all of the horrible discomfort I was in.) Michelle feels bad (which is absolutely ridiculous since she had no control over my finding their nest. It's not like she sent them after me to try to do me in... or... I don't think she did... Michelle?) The meds are working and everyone is happy.... except the ticks. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't believe any of them made it safely through this whole ordeal. May we bow our heads in silence at the loss of so many little lives...
Or not.
Michelle, my most wonderfulous neighbor, asked to borrow my lawnmower so that she could attempt to get the tropical jungle called her backyard under control. Her having a gazillion kids at her house and knowing how busy she's been only led me to want to help. So I did. I loaned her the lawnmower and my services. (Meaning I weed-eated....)
I was about ten minutes into the job when my left foot began to burn. I ignored it thinking that I had just gotten some grass in my shoe and went on about my business. An hour later, the jungle gone, I returned home and immediately stripped down to get into the shower. That was when I discovered them. The nasty little buggers that completely covered my left foot and toes and went up my left leg to just below the knee. Seed ticks....... ugh!
Too small to grasp with tweezers and far too many to want to, I attempted to get them off by vigorous scrubbing. Obviously it didn't work. So my husband set to scrubbing my foot and leg with a pumice stone until every last tick was gone. I then finished showering in normal fashion and upon being done, doused my legs and feet in rubbing alcohol. (As I'm sure you can imagine, what followed was a very elaborate "burn dance" and a lot of expletives.) I towel dried, got dressed, and went on about my business.
The next day, I could see where I had been bitten and I was a little uncomfortable, but all in all, it wasn't too bad. Two days afterward, however, I wanted to saw my leg off at the knee for all of the insatiable itching and burning that I was experiencing. I had a perfect little red dot in every spot I had been bitten, some of them like welts where I had more than one in a given area, and was really just utterly miserable. By the third day, they had turned to little red blisters and that was it. I went to the Doctor. He laughed, but felt my pain and seemed to be impressed at the size of the nest I had found, evident by the vast number of bites I had. (Over a hundred easy.)
I left his office having received a VERY painful shot in my ass, a hefty prescription of antibiotics and anti-itch meds, a topical anti-itch cream, and the news that I could not continue to breastfeed my ten month old while on my meds. To top it all off (or to dissuade me from not taking the meds so I could breastfeed), I was informed of the couple of deaths and case of one man being admitted to the ICU for tick fever. Hmmmmm... breastfeed? Or die from tick fever? I think I'll see how my kid likes the sippy cup!
I was upset at first at not being able to nurse, but have discovered that maybe my son is ready to move on and be weaned. He doesn't seem overly (if any at all) upset at not being able to nurse and goes on about his business as if nothing has changed. Of course I'm happy that he's not heartbroken or really struggling, but I know I'm going to miss it!
So four days after the whole incident, I'm still alive. (Though I have had moments where I thought I wouldn't be for all of the horrible discomfort I was in.) Michelle feels bad (which is absolutely ridiculous since she had no control over my finding their nest. It's not like she sent them after me to try to do me in... or... I don't think she did... Michelle?) The meds are working and everyone is happy.... except the ticks. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't believe any of them made it safely through this whole ordeal. May we bow our heads in silence at the loss of so many little lives...
Or not.
Monday, August 4, 2008
He ate a bug.....!
Imagine my curiosity at the sudden silence in the area where my chattery nine month old son, Sean, sat. Silence and children usually (in my experience) mean something is amiss. So I did what any normal mommy would do... I checked on him. What I found (as a self-proclaimed bug-a-phobe) was absolutely horrific! There sat my happy boy on the floor, enthusiastically chewing on the biggest moth I have ever seen in my life! Accompanying the drool down his chin was a fully intact leg while a wing provided its shade on his upper lip. On the floor around him were various annihilated moth body parts, scattered like any executed being would be. And still, there sat Sean as if breakfast was no different than any other day, with the body of a bug rolling around across his tongue. Now I don't know what I should have done, but what I did do was proclaim out loud (after the many gags and expletives) that I was NOT going in after that bug. Sean would just have to chew it up and eat it... after all, four teeth on bottom and none on top would be enough to do the job... wouldn't it? He answered my question by giving me the biggest, slobbery/mothy, open mouthed smile he could muster revealing the true size of his meal. On his tongue sat the body of the now dubbed "King Kong Moth" that probably took up the entire surface of his tongue. I said a couple more expletives as I realized that the body would not dissolve like the Gerber Biter Biscuit I wished it was and I had to go in after it. So I did. Gagging the whole time. One finger-sweep and that slobbery mess of a used-to-be-bug flew from his mouth and landed in a saliva-ee mess on my forearm! Great. Mommy is gagging, bug is dead and stuck to gagging mommy (ew! gross!), and Sean is screaming bloody murder at having his meal stopped prematurely. I guess looking on the bright side; Sean got a daily shot of protein, Mommy felt accomplishment at facing a fear, and there is one less bug to worry about. All in all, I guess we know who will be killing the spiders in daddy's absence. Thanks for taking care of me Sean!!
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