Midwestern Mommy

The hubby and I were one of those couples who couldn’t wait to find out the sex of our baby. I remember the moment we laid eyes on our little boy — and his privates. There he was in black and white, grainy glory — giving us the finger.

My first thought was “What in the WORLD am I going to do with a boy?” Its not that I didn’t like boys. They just sort of scared me because I didn’t understand the them. 

Now that I have a little boy, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Its been an educational and entertaining journey to say the least. But then again, I still don’t understand the boys that are older than Seth — especially the ones that range from 8 to 12-ish.  I call that ”the meat head stage”. Why is it fun to beat the crap out of each other? Why is it hysterically funny to fart in someone’s face? Just. don’t. get.

A few days ago, three neighbor boys (in this age range) were hurling aluminum bats at each other. They weren’t running away from the bats, they were trying to CATCH them. For fun! (These are sweet kids with great parents, by the way.)

Last week Seth’s play date Nick was telling us about his big brother’s best friend “Scooter”. And how Scooter once knocked Nick down and peed in his face. At the time I assumed Scooter was a dog. But nope. Scooter is a person. (Don’t know anything about Scooter. But my guess as to Scooter’s future? Involves at least two trips to jail and if he’s lucky, a stint in some ”g0lden sh0wer” type porn. )

I know my sweet, albeit squirrelly, little boy will have us visiting urgent care facilities in a few years due to his own meat head antics. It seems to be some rite of passage. But thinking about it makes my palms sweat. Who knew the temptation to wrap a kid in 32 layers of bubble wrap could be so strong? 

P.S. Just reviewed a cool new kids toy thanks to Parent Bloggers Network. For my review, click here.

I’m so sorry I haven’t been reading too many (if any) blogs lately. The last few weeks have been crazy. (Like the time I had five writing deadlines, made three trips to the doctor and one trip to the vet in the course of 5 days.) As I look at my day planner, I see things aren’t going to quiet down much for awhile. (Paying gigs take precedence.) I miss you all. I miss your stories and hearing what’s going on. Please don’t “write me off” yet. I haven’t forgotten about you all!  I’m trying the best I can!

The last few days our house has smelled funky. And I don’t mean that in a good, fun way. This foul odor filled our main floor and seemed to radiate within the kitchen/breakfast nook area. So I did what any other slackin’ yet harried mom does.

At first, I blamed the dog, ocassionally muttering swear words under my breath while shooting her dirty looks. (I would have blamed the hubby but he had been out of town.)

The dog had recently been to the vet. Steroids were prescribed. I had assumed the meds were upsetting her digestive track. Sassy dog turned into gassy dog. And she has no shame! She’ll sit on the couch, let them rip and not even give you a sheepish glance. Didn’t she get the memo that we women don’t do things like that?

So yesterday when the stink reached epic proportions, I took out the trash and opened tons of windows. Within a few hours, the smell had vanished. Victory!  That is, until I closed the windows again for the evening and realized the stink had come back.

Late last night (ok, early this morning) as I sat at the kitchen table typing away, engulfed in the smell, I looked over at the bamboo plant that’s kept in a big vase with pretty rocks and lots of water.  Well, duh. Several of the rocks were covered in mold. Ick! Being that mold is one of those 25 things I’m allergic to? That would explain the last two weeks of headaches that wouldn’t go away. Once I put the plant outside, the smell magically disappeared.

I’m feeling really guilty for assuming Abbeydog had that sort of pooting power. So I threw her a piece of deli ham and we agreed to call it “even.”

So the moral of the story is… If there’s a stink in the house you might want to check the bamboo plant before you blame the dog — or any other critters within your home.   

I know there are people that say laptops are not hazardous to one’s health but I beg to differ.

 Like when you are using your laptop at your snackbar in your kitchen. And you get off the stool, take a step and trip over the battery cord. And hit your head on the counter.

 OUCH!

%$#$^&@&^%$!!!!!

 &^%$@$^&*&^^$$$!!!!

(Hold on, I’m not done swearing yet.)

**%$$^^#@%!!!!

Anyone have an icepack?

Lovely friend Dana at Mamalogues lost about four years of her writings recently due to server issues. If you know of any way or know of anyone who can help her, PLEASE let her know (or send me a comment and I can forward your info on to her.) Can you imagine? Four years of posts - even birthday letters to her sons! 

Btw, Dana is one of the amazing bloggers behind the St. Louis Bloggers Guild.  Other totally solar bloggers include: A Bun’s Life, WOBL in Training, The Broad Brush, SuperFun Patrol, The State of Discontent, Slackermom’s R Us, Prologos, News Bitch, Patrick Says, and Little Bald Doctors.

Caution: Bitchy rant that will probably make you think less of me ahead. 

Most mornings, you can find my son and I in the breakfast nook. His brow is furrowed. My temper is tested. There is alot teeth grinding on both our parts. I’m talking homework.

We sit together for almost an hour each morning. Since his kindergarten session starts in the afternoon, we started doing homework in the mornings, when his brain is fresh. (Next year will be a whole different schedule.) But it doesn’t seem to matter - it is still a constant struggle.

Its not that he’s got an hour of homework — he usually only gets homework a few times a week. These worksheets should only take the child 10-20 minutes. But yet… With all of the lollygagging, singing about poopy butts and weenies, screeching, calling the dog, asking for a drink, going to the bathroom, whining, playing with the eraser, arguing, and fussing, these worksheets take more like 30-40 minutes.

And that’s only IF I’m standing right next to him to say, “Seth. Now you need to write a lowercase ‘r’. No, that’s uppercase. You need to erase that. Write a lowercase ‘r’. Seth! You just wrote another capital ‘r’. You need to write a small ‘r’. (He finally writes the ‘r’.) Ok great. Do you see you’re trying to write the word ‘rat’, what comes after the ‘r’. Yes! Its the ‘at’ sound. How do you think that’s spelled? Yes! ‘a’ and ’t’. Very good. Now write the ‘a’ and ‘t’. No, not on this other line. You need to write the ‘a’ and ‘t’ right next to the ‘r’. We’re writing the word ‘rat’ remember? Ok. Dude, what is that? That doesn’t look like an ‘a’. Remember? An ‘a’ is a circle and a stick, Bunny. No that stick is on the wrong side of the circle.

After 20 minutes of this. (I’m losing patience faster as the school year wears on.) I get frustrated and start talking to him in a very irritated tone. And I wonder… Why can’t the child just write out the freaking ‘r’ and the ‘at’ on the same line? Why can’t he just do it without me standing over him? When I volunteer in his classroom, I see kids doing their work by themselves. Why can’t Seth do that? Is this normal? Is there something wrong with me and my approach? Is there something wrong with him? I see other kids follow directions, why can’t he? (We spend alot of time correcting work he did at school - not that he didn’t know the material - he just didn’t follow directions or finish the project.)

And since his skills aren’t up to par in certain areas we do extra little projects. He brings them in to his teacher — mainly so she can see he’s trying. (And also, because I don’t think she’d believe me otherwise.) He’s come a long way with his fine motor skills since the beginning of the year but… There’s alot more that needs to be done. (The bright-side is that his handwriting is more legible than hubby’s chicken scratch.)

I can tell the homework has taken a toll on our relationship. We aren’t as close as we used to be. What doesn’t help is that I’m the one who has to make sure he does all of those things he hates to do - like shower, brush teeth, enforce bedtimes, eat veggies, do homework and so forth. Hubby takes him ice skating for two hours then out for an cream dinner and HE’s the hero. I’m the big, bad bitch.

When I think of the upcoming years of homework help, I start to wonder if I can talk my doctor into giving me a script for a lifetime supply of Valium. Clearly ONE of us needs some sort of medicine to keep from going crazy and strangling the other.

But I have to wonder… Is all of this “normal”?

P.S. I know that the kitchen isn’t usually the best environment for kids to do homework. But we have no other kids. The breakfast nook is one of the quietest places in the house. With all of the construction and remodeling of neighbor homes as well as trash and delivery trucks driving by, the rooms facing  the street are far more distracting than a little room that faces a quiet back yard.

S: “Mom, I’ve been thinking alot lately.”

Me: “What about?”

S: “Well, I just don’t know how anyone could not like me.”

Me: “Well, I don’t know how anyone could not like you either.”

S: “I know! Its like….Its IMPOSSIBLE to not like me!”

Me: “You’re right. You’re cute, cuddly, fun and you’re very kind to other people. You’re also very good at sharing and you’re a good friend. What’s not to like about that?”

S: “I know! And I’m good looking and I have LOTS of cool super powers!”

Me: (trying not to giggle.) “Oh and you’re very humble too.”

S: “Yeah. I sure am.”

Uh-huh.

P. S. Speaking of kids… There’s a review (on behalf of Parent Bloggers Network) of Hip Hop Harry’s “Move Those Feet” on Midwestern Mommy Reviews today. If you take care of tiny dancers, you might want to think about this dvd.

P.S.S.Did you know that your uterus can fall out? Yup. And when it does, it apparently looks like a scrotum. Oy! But you know what can go a long way in preventing that? Kegels. (You’ve just freaked out a little after reading that and you’re TOTALLY doing Kegels right now, aren’t ya? Me too! But that’s one of the nuggets we learned during that little campy-camp thingee in New Jersey. Plan to give you the lowdown very, very soon.)

Hi Ya’ll!

How are ya? I haven’t visited too many blogs last week (if any actually). Life is happening at an even MORE insane pace than usual. The winds of change keep swirling around. Some of the change is good. Some of the change is sad. And some of the change can’t really be talked about just yet. (In fact, I’m not even in St. Louis right now. I’m in Texas.) I’ve had the stressed/insomnia induced headaches to prove it that yup, all of this change is feeling a mite overwhelming right now.

I hope to get a chance later this week to visit you guys. Gosh, I MISS visiting ya’ll and reading up on what everyone has been doing. (Withdrawals? Definitely.) Hope to catch up later on this week.

Oh and if you’ve got an itty-bitty Barney fan and no clue as to what to give him or her for Easter (or any upcoming occasion) think about this new dvd, Animal ABC’s I reviewed on behalf of Parent Bloggers Network, k? You can find it at www.MidwesternMommyReviews.blogspot.com .

Disclaimer: This is a gross story. And frankly, it is in terrible taste. But this is what comes with raising a boy — or at least one with the genetics of Seth’s kind – so proceed with caution.

Five days ago, I cleaned all three bathrooms, scrubbing sinks, toilets, tubs and floors. Two days later, while passing by “the boy’s” bathroom, I smelled a strong unpleasant odor. I moved the wastebasket next to the toilet and found a BIG puddle of pee.

Did you know that as urine begins to dry, the outsides of the puddle crystalize, yet the inside portion takes on a whole other property? (Most moms with boys know this.) It is nasty, nasty, nasty! Yeah, I didn’t know that until I had a little boy with really BAD aim.

There was also a puddle behind the tank of the toilet and a small amount in front of the bowl. I was PISSED. (Pun intended.)

The lack of trying within the “aiming department” is nothing new. I’ve kvetched, cajoled, and have gotten incredibly cranky before. He’s even had to clean up some of the mess a few times but that didn’t seem to bother him. Once I even told him I was going to start charging him a $1 to clean up the really nasty spills. (He gets an allowance now for certain chores.). Forking over a buck didn’t bother him in the least.

So this time?

“Peeing while standing up is a privilege. And you just lost it for a week,” I said. “From now on, if you’ve got to go, you SIT on the toilet – LIKE A GIRL!”  

A look of horror and dread filled his face. I watched the notion sink in. The idea tortured his manly little soul.

“NNNNNooooooooooooooo,” he screamed desperately. “I’ll do better next time! I promise!”

 ”Pfft. I’ve heard that before,” I retorted. “I’m tired of cleaning up your messes. Its disgusting. You’ve got to pay more attention to your aim. If you can’t do that, you’ve got to sit down.”

Its been three days. Each day he asks, several times, when his “privilege” will be restored. While he IS sitting down, he still ends up “spraying” some odd places. That’s not helping his cause. I think I might tack on some extra days to his “sentence.” I hope with all my heart that someday he fathers four boys who can’t aim worth a damn and HE’s the one with bathroom duty.

Just wait child. Karma! That’s all I’ve got say.

On another note, how do the rest of you moms nip this behavior in the bud?

There’s a petite cake in the freezer. A chocolate one with butter-creme icing. Every now and again I’ll buy one of these cakes, hide it in the freezer then cut off a chunk of it for lunch each day. (If I do stuff like this, I feel compelled to exercise, so one could make the argument that sweets HELP make certain people healthy and fit. Right?)

The cake couldn’t be hidden this time, so there’s a sign on it. The husband knows better than the mess with my cake. But I like to give certain men in this household a “reminder” here and again.

It all comes down to this: I will share my life, my body, and my sleep space. I will even sacrifice my boobs, sleep, and sanity. But I will NOT share my sweets. (Ok. I would share them with YOU dear friends. And that’s because you understand the love that I feel for sugary goodness.)

Just so I don’t feel like such a horrible person for not sharing… Why don’t you lovelies tell me what YOU refuse to share with the rest of the people who inhabit your household? Pretty please? With chocolate on top?

(Heidi’s SO lucky. She’s been eating Norweign chocolate.)

(Carrie I promise to do your meme on Friday, K?)

Saturday morning began unlike most. I’d gone to bed hazy, tired and emotionally drained the night before. I awoke intensely angry, tired and on edge. I snapped at my son and simmered in anger. My head pounded, so I fetched a fountain soda. (It seems to work sometimes.) When I got back home, my son was upstairs talking to his father. He stood out in the hallway when he heard me open the door.

“Daddy says you’re really selfish for only getting yourself something and nothing for us,” he said.

It was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. At that point, I felt so angry I’m surprise my head didn’t explode. Although that would have been quite messy, it definitely would have spared both men of the house the tirade I unleashed.

I stomped up the stairs. “Do you WANT to talk about SELFISHNESS?” I screamed at my husband. “DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GO THERE?”

Suffice to say, I unleashed a very strongly worded monologue in a very sharp tone about how I felt and why. Ideas were exchanged in a nonconstructive, hurtful way. Our perspectives on a number of instances were vastly different. 

You know what they say. There’s three sides to every story. There’s my side, your side, and the truth.

After a bit of time, we calmed down and really talked. We worked through the hurt and frustration. The bottom line is I need more from him — more support, more kind gestures and for him to be more emotionally involved. He’s a good man. He works hard to provide for our family. We have a comfortable home and life. Seth has some amazing opportunities. This is all because of HIS efforts, brain, ambition and talent. But most women will agree — financial support isn’t the be all and end all. We need more from our partners.

We ended our fight with concessions. We made sure to let Seth know we weren’t upset with him. We still love each other and we worked things out.

I went about the rest of the day cleaning, paying bills, running errands and feeling even more emotionally haggered than I had felt Friday night.

Then Seth’s BFF came over to spend the night. We’d promised them a trip to Seth’s most favorite place in the world - the City Museum.

“I can tell you’re tired and don’t feel good. You’ve had a rough week. Why don’t you stay home and watch chick flicks while I take these boys to the City Museum,” he offered.

I took him up on his offer. “I don’t know if I’ll even be awake long enough to watch anything,” I said. “But thanks. I need some quiet time.”

He hugged me and whispered sweet words – a healing balm for my battered soul.

I watched them leave. Relief washed over me.

We live. We learn. We love. We hurt. When we forgive, we grow. And then we do it all over again, tomorrow.

 (Click on the pic to enlarge)

While I celebrated Seth’s first day back at school by putting away Christmas decorations and reading blogs the boy’s brain was hard at work. Apparently his brain got NO “exercise” while on Christmas vacation and that first day back was a rough one. The little man fell asleep in a shopping cart at the grocery store. (He used my purse as a pillow.)

 I would have gladly forgone the trip but we were out of a whole slew of stuff. So I just got the essentials and tried to stack them around him. Hey, at least I tried to keep any corners away from his face.

(Note: This is what your grocery cart looks like when you have a husband who travels alot and only one child. Frozen din-dins for everyone! Oh and eggs and brownie mix too.)

(Now I can’t get that Aerosmith song out of my head. I’m BACK! I’m BACK! I’m BACK in the saddle agggaaaaiinnn.)

The holidays were great. We kept busy with playdates, family get-togethers and even a trip to Miami for new year’s. But that child has energy. Let’s put it this way — picture six monkeys on meth. Pour that energy into one child.

 Is it so wrong that I can not wait for this child to go back to school? Is it so wrong that I’m fantasizing about making a few pitchers of margaritas and throwing a “the kids are back at school” party with the other moms in the ‘hood? I’m pretty sure at least a few are up for it.

How did you lovelies cope? When do you expect to regain your sanity?

Pssst! Want to “boost your metabolism, shrink your appetite and kick-start remarkable weight loss”? Click HERE to find out if the promises The Ultimate Tea Diet makes can deliver. (The review was written for Parent Bloggers Network.)

(And yes, I really did keep track this week.)

“I don’t care what kind of a bad guy you are. My underwear does NOT belong on your head.”

“Abbeydog is not interested in wearing your underwear. Stop trying to put it on her head too.”

“Stop chasing the dog with your light saber.”

“Stop trying to touch the dog’s butt with the light saber.”

(While watching Star Wars) “That’s not Darth Vader — that’s his twin brother Garth Vader. Garth is the nice guy. He rides a unicorn and is friends with all of the flower people on the planet “Sissy Pants” (It really makes him angry when I say this, but I do it anyway… Just to mess with him.)

“Yes, really. Would I lie to you?” (The unspoken answer to that would be, “Yes. I would lie to you. I’m your mom. I can do that.”)

“Of course Wookies exist.”

“I see you left your homework folder AND your listening ears at school.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t in good conscious call you “Speed” when it takes you five whole minutes to put on your seat belt.”

“Its not Ollie Whine Cannoli - Its Obe Wan Cannelloni” (Yeah, I know its wrong.)

“If you use a scissor to put one more hole in any of your shirts, I’m going to start sending you to school naked.”

“No, its not funny when you pee in the trashcan, on the wall or on the trim behind the toilet.”

So what are some of the things YOU have found yourself saying this past week?

P.S. My lovely sis-in-law, Nic sent me a link to this blog. Highly amusing. Check it out.