Midwestern Mommy

I’ll never forget that first year of Seth’s life. I envisioned us going to the St. Louis zoo, Bontanical Gardens, The Jewel Box, St. Louis Science Center, Laumeier Sculpture Park, and Art Museum so often employees would know us by our first names. I was going to fill his little bunny brain with lots of amazing sights, sounds, textures and tastes.

And then reality gave me a swift kick in the ass.  This little boy had colic. This little boy didn’t sleep. This little boy had alot of ear infections. This little boy wasn’t much of an eater. This little boy screamed. Alot. This little boy proved that he’d inherited his father’s will of steel.

So we spent alot of time in two places — in Target and at various restaurants. (Oh and the grocery story. Excuse me, THREE places. He liked carts for some reason.) Sure there were trips to Maryland, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, and New Orleans. There might have even been a trip or two to the zoo, a museum, and botanical gardens. To be honest, I don’t really remember. He would wake up  four to six times a night. (That first year is hazy.)

But all of those trips to Target worked out. By three years of age, he knew the local store so well he could navigate through the various departments. (He was a like GPS — only full of fuss and poop.)

Yeah, for us the first year was rough. It would have been wonderful to have known back then that there was a huge and amazing community of moms only a click away. Course it would also have been very helpful to know about the book, The Rookie Mom’s Handbag too. (And just so you know, we did visit all of those places and tons of parks during his second and third years. You know, when we were both sleeping better.)

The book is the brilliant idea of the busy chicks behind Rookie Moms. Plus there’s more than 250 activities that moms can do with their babies. How cool is that? Oh and if you want to get a shower gift that’s different and cool and useful, this is a great book!

The Rookie Mom bloggers in conjunction with Parent Bloggers Network would like to know how you spent your first year of motherhood. Post anytime this weekend - Friday, May 9 through Sunday, May 11. Within your post, make sure to link http://www.rookiemoms.com and http://blog.parentbloggers.com then email parentbloggers@gmail.com. with the link to your post. Feel free to get creative with your title!

According to PBN, “you could win one of two fantastic gift bags filled with more than $250 worth of goodies for moms, including the brand new BABYBJÖRN^®Baby Carrier Synergy, a child’s gardening kit from Smith & Hawken, a baby tshirt from Scout Organic Baby, and of course, a copy of The Rookie Mom’s Handbook.  Two winners will be drawn at random. Plus, Heather and Whitney will choose their three favorite posts and feature them on their website!”

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.

While at a certain camp in New Jersey, we bloggers learned of a very cool program cleverly named InfantSEE.  Many of us were amazed — we feel like a pretty in-the-know lot. But most of us had never heard of this program, let alone taken advantage. Since many readers of this little blog are moms with young kids, I wanted to pass this info along.

Most parents don’t think twice about scheduling/schlepping kids to doctor and dentist appointments.  But for some reason we usually don’t think about our kids’ vision. Many of us (me included) assume that if there was an early vision problem, the pediatrician would catch it. But that’s not always the case. And vision problems, especially undiagnosed ones, affect the way your child learns, interprets and interacts with the world.  And that’s why there’s InfantSEE.

 According to the organization’s website, “InfantSEE® is a public health program designed to ensure that eye and vision care becomes an integral part of infant wellness care to improve a child’s quality of life… Our member optometrists will provide a comprehensive infant eye assessment within the first year of life as a no cost public health service. ”

For a list of participating doctors as well as information on your baby’s eye health and program background, check out the organization’s site. K? 

P.S. Oh and if you get really heavy periods? You might want to read the piece I posted on Midwestern Mommy Reviews.

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?

(This post is dedicated to Marty, who just gave birth to a little boy as well as Julie, who’s pregnant with a little boy.) 

There are certain things about parenting a little boy that you don’t think about when you’ve got one “in the oven” and are lovingly folding little blue onesies in anticipation.

Like how little boy babies smell so sweet. But that scent wears off as they grow. And soon, you find that sweaty little boy smells alot like wet puppy.

Or how a man’s love for the remote control starts as an infant. See this pic? (Click on it to enlarge.)  That’s how we got Seth to roll over. Put the remote control JUST out of his reach. 

You probably already know that little boys LOVE their wieners. And how as toddlers, if they aren’t playing with it, they are showing it off. A bath for a toddler boy just means quality time with the wiener without impediments. Some little boys, (I won’t mention names) even like to sleep with one hand in their pants. My only guess is that they are trying to ensure their beloved body part isn’t stolen by some hapless creature with penis envy in the thick of night.

And of course there’s that time when those little boys are finally potty trained. A novice mom like me rejoiced thinking this would mean less work. But a mom who’s been down this path knows better.  (She might not tell you this but I will.) Little boys have HORRIBLE aim. Actually, alot of MEN have horrible aim. This just means that instead of changing a diaper? You are wiping down walls, the side of the vanity, natches in the trim, the toilet, underneath the bowl, the sides of the toilet, the wastebasket, and the toilet paper holder and the floor. If your child has some serious “water pressure”? You may even be wiping down the sink or mirror. In this case, hardwood floors aren’t really a good idea.  Oy.

But those little boys sure are cute. And cuddly. And loving. Be prepared for the marriage proposals your young Oedipus will make as well as the countless dandelions he will diligently pick for you on a summer day. Be prepared for the way he will rush to your defense if you’re pretending to the “the queen” and his dad is “the bad guy” trying to kidnap you. Sure, he might mention your “biiiiiigggg butt” now and again, but he’ll also say things like “You are the prettiest mommy eber” then kiss your nose. What woman can resist that?

And should your son become interested Star Wars? I’m telling you right now… There’s no such thing as “too many” light sabers.

 (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.)

A boy and his mother walk into Macy’s. The lanky lad, who looks to be about 15, walks a few paces ahead. Although they share similar facial features, their expressions are vastly different.

The look he throws about says, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Hers says, “We haven’t spent time together in awhile. This is kind of nice.”

I watch them intently. It is the winter of 2002. My little boy is 6 months old. I find myself seeking out and studying the dynamics between mothers and sons. No matter the age or life stage of the parties, their interactions fascinate me.

Within a few seconds, the skulking young man is navigating through the women’s section and moving toward the escalator. His mother silently follows. Then she sees a brightly colored sweater. She stops a second to admire the sweater, to touch the material before she calls out to him.

Upon hearing his name, the boy stops in his step, rolls his eyes, then turns around and walks back to his mom.

“What do you think of this sweater?” she asks, holding it to her shoulders. “I really like this color.”

“Whatever mom. I don’t care.” He uses an irritable tone, emphasizing the last three words. He starts to slowly walk away.

She winces at the remark. She hangs her head as she slowly puts the sweater back on the rack. She gives it a final smoothing then walks quickly to catch up with her son.

The “weary breastfeeding mother who’s neck-deep in diapers” in me is tempted to grab him by the shoulders and admonish him. I want to point out the injustice he’s done to his mother. I want to command him to respect her. I want to point out the sacrifices she’s made, the nights she’s comforted him, the meals she’s fed him and the countless little things she’s done for him to show her love.

I’ve thought of that memory alot as the years have passed. As the relationship between Seth and me slowly changes, my perspective of that incident evolves as well.  Now, I see this boy’s actions as something less personal. He is, in an incredibly awkward and painful way, trying to assert his independence. He aspires to be his own man. While he does not want to need his mother, she knows he still does.

I hope his mother, after a few minutes, realized that his indifference wasn’t really about her. I hope she realized he was in the middle of uncharted territory with limited life experience. He was dealing with this separation process the only way he knew. He didn’t stop to think about his actions or how this process affects his mother. But, to be honest, how many of us at that age have?

I may be completely wrong in my theories. I’ve never mothered a teen boy, nor have I been one so really, what do I know? I write this in case I’m right. Because I hope that in 10 years, I can remember “its not personal” myself. 

Little boys. They sure do love their mamas. This, in my opinion, is a little boy’s most endearing quality. 

Little boys are simple creatures. But they are also whirlwinds of big adventure. (Thankfully most are easily amused. You can spend an entire hour in the car keeping a little boy entertained armed with nothing but fart jokes.) 

At least once a day, while I hug my little man, it dawns on me. Someday my little boy won’t be so little. Someday he will refuse to snuggle with me. Someday his little motormouth will quiet and he’ll skulk around the house, with peach fuzz sprouting above his lip. Someday he’ll be too embarrassed to walk beside me in public.

But for now, I savor how he happily holds my hand when we cross the street. He’ll kiss me in front of his friends. For now, he wants to marry me. For now, whenever the hubby is out of town, he begs to sleep in my bed — on his daddy’s side. And I happily let him.

There is so much love in a little boy heart. How can you not find that utterly adoreable? How can you not giggle?

How can Seth’s father NOT laugh then shake his head as he jokingly refers to the boy as “young Oedipus”?

(P.S. Earlier this year, Marc’s cousin Amanda found out she had cancer. Being the dynamic rocker chick she is, she’s been trying to give this cancer a badass beatin’.  Recently she has been moved to hospice. Please keep her, her honey, her parents, sister, step-dad and step-sis in your prayers. Please join us in praying for a miracle. Or if you aren’t the praying type please send healthy, healing vibes to Amanda in Arizona. Thanks.)

Fyi — Am waiting on some info in regards to the ”Who does what at your house” post. Hope to have it up by the end of next week.

His kindergarten classroom is a buzzing, whirlwind of activity. You’ll often see some kids working in pairs on a project while others work on the floor by themselves. Yesterday when I walked into Seth’s class to volunteer, I saw him sitting at his seat, subdued and woefully eating his snack. Something wasn’t right with this usually energetic and enthusiastic boy. 

I asked  him what was wrong. “Nothing,” he mumbled while looking away.

His teacher promptly pulled me aside to tell me he had alot of trouble following directions in that first hour of class. At one point, when all of the kids got up to work on their projects (after gathering together to read a story) Seth remained on the floor by himself.  He seemed so out of it, she noted.

I helped him and the other kids with an art project. While I cleaned up the tables, he was working on a numbers project. Or he was supposed to. He tried to mistakenly work on another child’s project and the teacher gave him a stern word telling him he had to work on his own number puzzle instead. 

I watched him as he sat on the floor, hidden away in a corner, clutching pieces of puzzle, with an look of overwhelming defeat in his watery eyes.  I told his teacher that he clearly was having an off day and asked if I could go over to where he was and give him a hug. She said, “ok.” 

I knelt down by him and held his face against my chest while rubbing his back. Upon my touch, the fat tears welling up in his eyes began sliding down his face. We silently sat there watching our tears paint his shirt. When I had enough composure to speak I told him, “Seth, you’re just having a really bad day today. There are some days when it seems like everything is so hard. Everybody has those. I’ve had a few of those lately too. So has daddy. So does everyone. But just remember we love you no matter what kind of a day you have.” He looked deeply into eyes. He screwed up his courage. 

I said, “You and I will do something special tonight, Ok? Tomorrow will be a much better day. You’ll see.”

At that point his teacher told everyone to line up for PE, so we both wiped our eyes and he left the room.  

I went to the corner market and bought him a little “cheer up” present — a whoopee cushion. Because if something that makes fart noises can’t cheer up a 5-year-old boy? NOTHING can.

P.S. After the first few “fart” noises and a trip to his favoritest restaurant in the whole wide world, all of the difficulty of the day was forgotten. Seth (as well as his teacher) reported that today was a much happier day.

P.S. Dear Wordpress. If I wanted all of my copy jumbled up and made to look like I have no idea how to make paragraphs, I would have stuck with sucky ass Blogger, thank you very much. And the fact that I can fix it 500 times, save and have it look the same exact way it did prior is a HUGE reason as to why left Blogger. Must I move my stuff to another service? Is this a sign of things to come. Cause this little glitch is pissing me off!

Hola Isabel asked a great question recently. And I want to ask it of you all. When it comes to caring for children, finances, and home — who does what? What about weekends? Also, do you work full time, part time or do the stay-at-home mom gig? And last but not least, do YOU think the work is fairly divided at your house?

Ok. That’s alot to answer so if you can just answer the “who does what”? That would be great. Its fascinating to hear how chores are divided (or not) in most households.

Newsflash: Slackermommy’s birthday is today. Wish her a happy one, will ya! 

Dear Facebook,

When my mom first joined, she thought you were so cool and fun!  I was really happy for her. I was all, “Wow!”

But then I heard that you have deleted photos of moms breastfeeding because you think they are “lewd” and “indecent”. Yet you allow others to post photos of naked breasts. You also have no problem with the many, many pro-ana groups that are also on Facebook. And? I just found out you don’t ban pedophiles.

I’m not very happy about this.

Actually? No one at our house is.

So my friends and I have decided to get together.

And send you a message. We’re seriously considering kicking YOU out of our lives — if you don’t shape up soon. And if that ends up being the case….

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Sincerely,

A kid who was breastfed for the first seven months of his life — five years ago. (And his mom)

 P.S. Boob juice rules! And so does the League of Maternal Justice.

Last Monday afternoon “the boy’s” kindergarten teacher called to express some concerns about his behavior.

After only one week of school.

The teacher became greatly alarmed over the course of a few days when she tried to get Seth’s attention and couldn’t. She tried calling his name in a louder voice. She even tried clapping. While this got the other kids’ attention, Seth didn’t notice. She asked about his recent hearing test. And I had a conversation with her I’ll probably have with every teacher that crosses Seth’s path. In short? His hearing is fine. He has what I call “selective hearing” — just like his father.

If you are two inches from my hubby’s face and ask him to do something he doesn’t want to do? He chooses not to hear you. I’ve noticed Seth also possess this “amazing” (and by “amazing, I mean, “completely infuriating”) ability to block out what he considers useless information (aka bedtimes, rules, various directives, etc.). And if you try to talk to either one of them while the tv is on? Let’s just say, your time would be better spent talking to an empty fish tank or the sludge that still may be in said fish tank.

So the teacher and I discussed tactics on how to get Seth to listen. I haven’t told her how I’ve tried for years and continue each day. I also didn’t share the fact that I’m tempted to place shock collars on both of them while sleeping. (Being that Marc’s “habit” is more ingrained, I already know what voltage I want to use!**) That might freak her out. But give her a few months. After having this same conversation a fourth or fifth time? Methinks she’ll come around.  

**A modest amount of voltage, like the “funky chicken dance” setting. Ok so maybe that would be considered a TEENY bit more than “modest”.

P.S. Dear DCFS, I’d NEVER really do this to my son. My husband? Well, that’s an entirely different proposition.

P.S.S. THANK YOU to the lovely ladies who gave me their wise input regarding the “second kid conundrum” post. I’ve read your words repeatedly. A decision to have or not to have another child hasn’t been reached because it seems neither decision feels right at this time. (My husband would be happy with one child or more.) So I’ve felt sort of stuck. But thanks to you all, you’ve given me some wonderful guidance, points and counterpoints.)