March 4, 2014

“Let them be little.” Such a good quote. So true. And so not easy to do sometimes.

My 5-year old will be “Star of the Week” next week in his preschool class. One of the components of this honor is to complete a poster, in his handwriting, on which he answers all sorts of questions about himself. This is very exciting — he has been waiting to be “Star of the Week” for months, so we got to work on his poster right away when he brought it home.

Since he learned his colors as a toddler, my son has loved the color red. It was probably Elmo’s influence, and although he is long past loving Elmo, he still loves the color red. Since the poster is all about him, he insisted on writing his answers in red marker (rather than pencil, which would have meant any mistakes were erasable. But in marker, they were not).

Line 1: Name. He makes his J backwards. Type A control freak Mommy grits her teeth and winces. What do we do? We cannot erase the backwards J. Mommy actually thinks in her mind, I wonder if we have whiteout in the house… WHITEOUT. For a 5-year old preschool poster. Unfortunately for him, he has inherited a bit of Mommy’s OCD and is also bothered by mistakes. He wanted to “fix”the backwards J and his “fix” was to put a big red X on it and carry on. (There were several other big red Xs throughout the poster where other mistakes were made, each as equally as painful for Mommy to see.)

Let him be little, Mommy. Let him be 5. Let him be in preschool and be proud of his “Star of the Week” poster that isn’t perfect. But it IS perfect. Because he wrote it on his bright red marker and it is all about him, backwards J and all.
And then there is my little princess-loving fashionista. My daughter is 3. One of her favorite morning activities is to get dressed into “day clothes.” Yesterday, her “day clothes” outfit consisted of: a pink Minnie Mouse shirt, a purple glittery tutu, pink leggings, purple socks, pink shoes, a pink braid clipped into her hair, a flowered headband, 3 necklaces, and 4 bracelets. None of the shades of pink (or purple) matched or even complimented each other very well. There was so much going on in this outfit you did not know where to look. Before venturing out to the store, however, she decided that this ensemble was waaaaay too boring, and switched to a dress-up princess dress. Her new choice was an old, sad, hole-ridden hand-me-down that has clearly been loved by many other 3-year olds before her. The jewelry and headband stayed because “they match my outfit, Mommy.”

She looked absolutely ridiculous. And beautiful and hilarious and she was happy.

Let her be little, Mommy. Let her be 3.

An "Open Letter" to Costco

Dear Powers that Be at Costco,

Lately there have been lots of “open letters” in the media. I guess the idea is to write a letter and then post it to Twitter, Facebook, etc. so it is “open” to the general public. Well, here is my open letter.
To Costco.

Dear Powers That Be at Costco,

I frequent your establishment a couple of times per month. I have noticed that most of your clientele fall within one of two categories: moms and the elderly. What do moms and the elderly have in common? We are all up at 5 am. Therefore, on behalf of moms (and maybe the elderly — I don’t know their feelings on this subject) I would like to express my frustration at your 10:00 am opening time. By 10 am, I have been up for hours. One, if not two of my kids are already dropped off at school. My baby has probably already had a morning nap. 10 am is almost the middle of the day.

Kids are dropped off at school before the 9:00 hour, so by not opening until 10 am, moms are forced to wander aimlessly around town with our babies in the car or go home for 28 minutes and accomplish absolutely nothing before we can shop at your store. Since neither of these options are very appealing, moms like me have to wait until after picking the big kids up from school to enter your establishment. This is not what you want, Costco, trust me. You would rather I shop at your store with fewer kids and earlier in the morning when I am freshly caffeinated. Instead, I enter my local Costco at lunch time (school gets out at 11:30) with all 3 kids. My coffee has worn off. The kids are hungry for lunch so they insist on stopping at every single sampling station, even if it is beet jelly on pita bread. They will not like the beet jelly and will loudly state their opinions to anyone nearby.

I know your game. You are thinking, but Mommy! Stop at our cafe and treat your kids to a slice of pizza! Um, have you seen me? 3 kids. 5, 3, and 1. The 3-year old still pees and poops her pants on occasion. The 1-year old is 1. Enough said. Dining out is hazardous enough when my husband is with me. Do you really expect me to wait in line, order slices of pizza, and park it at one of your indoor picnic tables in a vain attempt at feeding all of my children without any of them dropping the entire slice of pizza on the floor, peeing on their chairs, or falling out of them?

In closing, please consider opening your doors at 9:00 am.

Sincerely,

Up-since-5-am-Mommy.

 

image credit: pixabay.com

Seriously, I cannot make this shit up. Pun intended for obvious forthcoming reasons.

So we all know Mommy cannot get sick. It one of the universal truths of life, in all cultures, in all corners of the world. I have come to realize this more and more with each illness I contract and with each new kid I birth.

My lovely kids shared their boogery cold with me, so I am congested and have almost no sense of smell. Kid #3 was about to go into bath with his older brother. I had changed his diaper a few minutes earlier and smelled no sign of poop (or really anything else all day). So I haphazardly ripped off his diaper with him draped over my arm. Crap. For real. Poop falling out of diaper… now smearing all over Mommy’s thigh and arm… dropping all over the floor… I rush him to his changing table, which is in his room, across hall from bathroom, dropping poop as I go and subsequently stepping in it in my favorite slippers, ensuring that it is truly ground into our carpet.

On changing table, poop is EVERYWHERE. Not only is it smeared all over various parts of my body, but also his. And he keeps putting his foot in more because it is all over the changing table pad. Oh, and he is screaming in anger because he was so excited to take a bath with his brother and instead was ripped from happy bathland to be de-poopified.

Where the hell do I begin? So I just started wiping and wiping and wiping and wiping and wiping. And oh, there is more. Yep, there too. Finally once he was clean, I put him in his crib to then take off my poop-covered clothes. And then on to the carpet…

20 minutes later, baby and I re-emerge in the bathroom where kid #1 has been taking a bath. My slippers are now in the trash, but my socks are suddenly soaked. There is a lake — a sea I could call it — of water on the bathroom floor. My son explains that he had created a “water machine” and did not realize the mess he had made. Are you kidding me?! So baby gets plopped into bath (now finally happy) and Mommy takes on the task of mopping up the effect of said “water machine.”

So thank you, cold, for turning my one-beer night into a two-beer night.
Silver lining, people. It is all about the silver lining.