Anatomy and Geography

Alright, I'm beginning a post here without really knowing how I am going to say what it is that I have to say. I do know that the nice thing to do, here at the beginning, is to provide full disclosure that matters usually considered 'Too much Information' are discussed below. It doesn't bother me; I've decided to plow ahead with the writing, but now plowing on with the reading is up to you... and I think we both know you've just stepped way too far to even THINK of turning back now. Well, for what it's worth, I do assure you, any discomfort you feel will be well worth it in the end.

Back data.... the TMI part: I just recently came off of my monthly period. Having two small children (read: zero privacy whatsoever), they often inquire about feminine hygiene practices. It's mostly old hat for the girl now that she is 7, and has seen a lot of this. The boy, however, specifically as he himself is potty training, is investigating potty rituals, and is now perceptive when practices are outside of the norm. Tampons- previously a fun, colorful wrapper yanked from a box, surrounding a chewy, fibrous lollipop- are now seen in action, and the questions swirl. I think lessons of anatomy, and safety are important at this age, so I have started telling the boy that, no, I am not putting something in my bottom (and he should not put things in his bottom)... I have specific girl parts that he does not have, and he has boy parts that I do not have. We talk about those parts, and talk about the fact that the girl parts are for having babies, and we talk about the fact that when women are old enough to have babies, but don't have babies, bleeding happens. I have always thought that I drench (pardon the pun) the conversation with more facts and detail than is actually digested, but I give them what I can, and usually at least some information is... (sorry) absorbed.

Forward leap: lunch today. Boy and I went to Whole Foods. It's usually a special treat for Mommy. No different today. We gathered yummy lunchings... a slice of pizza, items from the salad bar, a cup of soup, a roll. We sat side by side on the patio and ate heartily. He is often quite a conversationalist, and not a whispered one at that. So we communicated openly about many things... what we were eating, if we liked it, if we didn't, if we wanted to share, if one of us would finish something, what we were going to shop for next in the store, in what order, and how we weren't going to fuss when it was time to leave the fun parts.

We were there at the height of lunchtime, so the patio was far from empty. As we were close to being finished, the boy started picking up on other conversations around us. A man sitting behind him was on a cellphone discussing some fund raising for a cancer center. Beside him, a couple of working gentlemen at a table discussed their interests and global travels. I suppose one of the men started talking about China, because the boy excitedly proclaimed, "China! He said China! Mommy, you have a China! Girls have a china, and boys have penises..."

I choked a chuckle as I realized I was sitting in the middle of my real life. My real life, surrounded by curious people who were eating their lunches on a patio at Whole Foods, listening to an almost three year old little boy review his latest lesson. At lightning speed, my mind considered options of 1) correcting his phonetic misunderstanding of female anatomy or 2) applauding his attention to details learned at potty moments. I figured the best course of action would probably be to exploit his age appropriate attention span and quickly change the subject!

"Yes, Braeden. That's right... so, which gummy bunnies do you want to get, the green box or the orange box?" He fell for it. Public humiliation minimized.

Alright, so I have some work to do on clarifications.
At least the little guy will understand why we call our planet Mother Earth... what with her having a China.

Why Dragons Should Eat Children

We spent a bit of time at the zoo this week. While there, we visited the smelly Hippo house that also houses the Penguins, an Albino Python, and a Komodo Dragon. Or, so I thought.

We walked into the building, and I bee-lined for the Dragon. I can skip the dumb penguins, but I always get excited to show my kids a real life Dragon. We looked high and low in the exhibit for the beastie before seeing the sign on the glass (yes, right in front of our noses) bearing a long, two paragraph tale about the Komodo Dragon. I stood there, and began reading the sign- highlighting the important parts vocally to my two year old (who can't read, by the way).

... Hektor (the Dragon), seemed to be limping. The keepers watched her (yes, Hektor was apparently a girl), then decided she needed to be examined. The vets looked at her and determined she had a spinal neck injury...

It was at this point that I noticed a boy, maybe 8 or 9 years old, standing next to me, staring at me as I read. I looked, inquisitively, at him standing there.

"It's dead," he said to me, dryly.

"It's...?... The dragon died?!?" I said. "Man, you just gave away the ending of the story I was reading. What's up with that?"

Undaunted, he said, "Well, that is the funnest part of the story thing," and dashed away.

Funnest?! The Dragon was slain!
It's terrible news.
And still no excuse for such a pointed spoiler!

Freaky kid.

Hush Little Baby

The school calendar is giving us a break this week in honor of the season, and it's been fun having Abi more in our days. True, we need to strike the right daily balance of activity versus down time to appease all of us (which seems easier with Braeden alone), but it's been an adventurous balancing act. Monday there was too much out and about. Tuesday there was too little. Today was spot on, and I could tell it by the way they got along.

They have reached their disagreeable sibling phase. Until recently, Braeden was the sweet little one who often followed Abi's instructions. Lately he has discovered the joy that is found in frustrating and irritating his big sister. She also has developed a very short fuse in dealing with him, which really just fuels his fires. Though this is a new phase, I do want to say that I am impressed they have done so well for so long, and I feel they still do well by each other quite frequently by any normal sibling standards.

Back to today, for example. We spent the morning terrorizing the Stride Rite outlet so the kids could actually have clean sneakers that fit them. Once through, we had a quick lunch, then set off for home. The kids wanted to go to a playground, and in fact started shouting at me about it at lunch. Well, I certainly wasn't going to tell them we would play straight away after they humiliated me so harshly at such a fancy restaurant as McDonald's, so I made them a deal that we would not go anywhere until after Braeden had taken his nap. In the car, however, I did tell Abi that if he slept on the way home, we might go someplace for when he wakes up to take advantage of the warmth of the day. Braeden knew that he needed to nap before anything fun happened, so he relaxed in the car. Abi asked me to turn off the radio and immediately began singing Hush Little Baby, Don't Say A Word to him. Over and over again for 10 minutes she sang until he fell asleep. She was so proud of herself. "It always works for him!" she whispered to me when he had dozed off.

Well, I thought it was such a sweet thing for her to do. Granted though, it was a bit self-serving. She knew his sleep was the key to her playtime... go on and temper the credit you give her for this kindness, she'll earn it back as I tell you more.

We went to the playground for an hour as Brae woke up. The kids had a great time and really didn't even fuss when it was time to leave. On the drive home, Braeden looked over to Abi and said, "Abi? Can you sing to me the song that put me to sleep?" She was only too happy to oblige, and when Hush Little Baby was over, she sang other songs she had made up for him all the way home.

I couldn't help but smile as she sang. Despite the more frequent tears and tense voices, when the stars are aligned it is nice to see they still have these moments of leaning on each other.

Darn you, TLC.

So, the nature of a guilty pleasure is being positively ashamed about the personal satisfaction said pleasure provides. Therefore, it goes without saying how horrific it is for me to reveal to you that my latest guilty pleasure is watching What Not To Wear on TLC. I can truly hear all of you that really know me laughing hysterically. Rather makes you wonder how I can learn so much and apply so little, eh? I know, I know. But look, I'm not here to defend my lack of grace and style. I want to discuss a far more important issue.

I'm staring down the barrel of 35. A matter of minutes here in the mountain zone, and my birthday will throw me into the back half of my thirties. I've scoffed at friends who have had trouble accepting their thirty-fifth birthdays. "What's the big deal?" I thought. "It's just a number, and it beats the alternative!" Though I recognize these to be true when it's my time bomb that's going off, my aforementioned guilty pleasure has given me a whole new framework around which to walk the tightrope of my insecurities.

If you've sacrificed an hour of your life to laugh at, sympathize with, or relate to one of WNTW's makeover stars, you'll know that when Stacy and Clinton transition us to or from their commercial sponsors, we are often flashed a fashion guideline on a bright street sign. It's as though we should follow these instructions as we would instructions to YIELD or to use CAUTION in a SCHOOL ZONE. At first I thought they were silly... ignorable... until recently... when I realized that one of the signs read, "No miniskirts over 35!"

Well, okay nevermind the fact that the only time I wore a miniskirt BEFORE 35 was at an 80's theme party and I donned a pair of opaque black leggings for modesty's (and Cindy Lauper's honor's) sake. The fact is, I became starkly aware that this one step- aging to this one particular number- is taking something away from me! I bet it's just the first in a long line of things. Next I'll be too old to wear my hair long, know all the lyrics to the latest rap hits, or watch the next Twilight movie. Then I'll be too old to roller skate with my kids, wear spandex, or put on a bathing suit that isn't skirted. Then I'll be too old to wear V-neck sweaters, drive a Jeep Wrangler, or wear a skirt without support hose... and it all starts just because Stacy and Clinton tell me I can't do something I never did anyway.

35. I never thought it was all that old until now.

Crap. I only have 5 minutes left to wear a miniskirt...

Nightmares can come true.

The family went out for dinner Friday night in more or less a celebration of hubby getting a new job. He had been looking for a while, and is so looking forward to his new position. This led to a pleasant dining excursion... until Abi dropped the bomb.

"Mommy, my friend at school was talking at school about doing cheer. It's something they do at basketball games and soccer games, and it looks like fun. They are doing something at (a local high school), and I want to go!"

"Abi. Are you telling me you want to be a cheer leader?" I asked.

"Ya!!"

I stopped myself just short of bursting into tears and screaming. This dinner was, after all, to be a happy occasion.

I asked her if she wouldn't prefer to be the one ON the basketball court playing basketball, or ON the soccer field playing soccer. Do you know what she told me?!?! She said, "no, because only boys do those things." I swear, she's trying to kill me.

I told her that there were many athletic things that she could do, and if she needed me to show her women playing basketball or soccer or softball or volleyball or other sports, then I would make sure she sees that. She was excited about the prospect... but was sure to point out the cheer leading clinic registration form she brought home from school.

Now, in my heart, I know that my daughter has the upbeat spirit of a cheer leader, and I know what I really should be doing is allowing her every opportunity to at least try the healthy things that interest her. But I ask you this... is cheer leading healthy?

I'm thinking kind of no. That's not to say it isn't a strenuous athletic activity that requires a strong bit of talent and fitness. I'm not talking physical health here. I'm talking about the psychology of being a cheer leader. Yes, I'm calling on the stereotypes, but I went through high school. I knew the cheerleaders were not friends for girls like me. I was the flannel shirt wearing, flat hair donning semi-grunge orchestra nerd girl who, mostly ineptly, threw elbows around playing street basketball with the boys. I mean, didn't I at least need a manicure just to talk to a cheer leader? Isn't there an undertone of being 'popular' as a cheer leader? I don't want that pressure on my kid.

Alright, okay, you can say that I'm a grown up now and I should be above basic things like high school-ish stereotypes, but the truth of it is, I AM NOT!!! Now my daughter wants to be a cheer leader!... and I want her to be anything she wants to be! Just... not a cheer leader.

Sometimes parenting can be a bummer... and I'm only at the beginning. :/

A Sunday Moment from the Two Year Old

Daddy watched Braeden play with the train today before it was put away with the Christmas decor.


Daddy: Braeden, when I was a little boy, I played with that train. That was my Polar Express.

Braeden: Oh! Was it smaller?

Hamster or Heister?

I don't believe I shared news on a relatively recent addition to our family earlier in the winter. After some thought and consideration, it was determined we would acquire a teddy bear hamster from a local pet shop. Thus, Natasha was welcomed into our home.

Well, mostly welcomed. I mean... I was rooting for the bearded dragon. The girly girl wanted something cute and fuzzy, so she enlisted her father as a lobbyist. After mild negotiation, she was able to make the pet selection of her choice, and the lobbyist received primary responsibility for supervision of cage cleaning duties. Hey, all is fair in love and pet acquisitions.

Natasha, however, does not seem willing to accept her appointed role of dim witted house rodent.

One night, before her noisiness had her relocated to our downstairs level, she escaped through a poorly aligned Habitrail ball. After the better part of an hour, we tracked her to a cluttered corner of my bedroom. More recently, she found a poorly latched hatch in her little plastic penthouse. I watched her push it up again and again until she nearly popped out of it. I then solidly clicked the hatch, thinking myself the intellectual superior- for the moment. A few days later, in our family room, I happened to catch a light thumping sound, and I looked up to see her flopped on the floor by her cage, looking rather startled. I grabbed her before her getaway gathered much momentum, and back into the cage she went. I double checked that the hatch was secure, but later that same night, we heard rattling sounds behind our component system. Her cage was empty, and sure enough, she sat perched on a bunch of cables. Her blue plastic penthouse view was thereafter obscured by a layer of packing tape.

Well, we were starting to think this plastic cage idea was very cutesy, but very ineffective. Did the tape solve our issue? Predictions?

Yesterday morning, Todd was readying for work as the kids and I lazed around in bed. As he exited the bathroom in the hall, he exclaimed in a reprimanding tone, "ABIGAIL ROSE!" Well, I was shocked as to what in the world my daughter had done already when she had barely been out of bed yet. I immediately became defensive of her, yet listened to his next words...

"NATASHA JUST RAN INTO YOUR BROTHER'S ROOM!" It seemed he was about to accuse her of being careless with her pet.

Abigail looked confused.

"Wait a minute," I said. I had distinctly checked the cage, and Natasha was in it when I went to bed the night before, and I really hadn't thought Abi had left the upstairs since waking. "Abigail, have you even been downstairs this morning, to take Natasha out of her cage?"

Abigail said, "no!"

The hamster was wrangled from Braeden's room as we considered this mystery. Abigail ran downstairs, and the metal barred door to the cage laid plainly open. We put Natasha back in the cage. We agreed at some point within 24 hours, a glass aquarium would be her new home. Todd affixed a butterfly clip to the cage door as a temporary solution and went to work.

By this time, it was clear we had an escape artist on our hands. Little did we know her more disgusting crimes were yet unidentified!

Todd and the children went out for the glass aquarium when he returned from work (notice, I still avert primary responsibility for housing the little beast). They decorated her glass enclosed space with its new amenities until dinner was on the table. After we ate, Abi was excited to relocate Natasha. She was excused to go look at Natasha while we finished eating.

"Mommy!" she said. "There is a CHAIN in Natasha's cage." I asked her what color it was, and she said it was gold. Huh?

Now I was confused. I don't often have moments when I think, kids are so weird, and just ignore my daughter, but I admit this was one of those distracted moments. MISTAKE! I didn't really take her seriously until she came at me holding a sticky, balled up cluster of tarnished silver, intermingled with a few moist pine chips and other... clumpy unidentifiable deposits.

Eeww! I recognized the chain as one of my silver necklaces as I rinsed it loose from congealed hamster saliva and... other things. Not only had that little critter escaped, scrambled all over the house and somehow climbed the stairs up to our bedroom level, but she had swindled my silver necklace (I know not from where), tucked her treasure into her sneaky little pouches, and kept it there safe until she could deposit the booty to her inept prison! One can only speculate as to what her next steps would have been. Was she going to use my lovely necklace to bum a few extra smokes from her cell block mates, the goldfish?!

We will never know.

My necklace has been soaked in hot soap. The mini-swindler now resides in her transparent home. Time will tell if her plots of mischief are now thwarted. I admit, I give her a good bit of credit for being a clever little beast. Now as long as she stays within bounds I won't have to bring in a boa constrictor as her new warden.