How Does This Happen?

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm a Disney girl. Theme parks, movies, music, I love it all. Of course, I am trying to brainwash, er, pass down my love of Disney to my children. We watch the movies, we sing the songs, and last year we took our son to the theme parks for his first trip (baby went along too, but she was in the "cheap seats", aka my uterus).

My son has the cream of the crop of Disney movies at his disposal. The 60's era musicals like Mary Poppins, the animation renaissance films like The Little Mermaid and Aladdin, and of course, Disney-Pixar genius like Toy Story and Cars. So which of these incredible films are we currently watching?

The Goofy Movie.

What, you didn't know that in the 90's, Disney decided to make a feature length film about Goofy, making him more "relevant" by giving him a skater punk son named Max, who's ultimate dream is to be a (brace yourself) Tevin Campbell-esque boy-band singer? With the voice talents of Pauly Shore (God, what wasn't he in in the 90's?), and Jenna Von Oy (aka Sixx from Blossom)? Where have you been?

I kid, of course. I had no idea that this masterpiece existed either. Then I went into labor with my daughter, and Grammy and Poppy took my son to Best Buy and let him pick out any movie he wanted as a special treat. Here's a question, which is more painful, pushing a 7 pound human out your hooha, or watching the Goofy movie 4 times in a row (as we did on Tuesday when we were home sick)?

The answer is labor, but that is because now that I am no longer pregnant, copious amounts of alcohol make Goofy much funnier.

Just kidding.

50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

No, I am not getting divorced!

Paul Simon wrote that song when he was trying to teach his son how to rhyme. You know that song?

Slip out the back, Jack.
Make a new plan, Stan.
No need to be coy, Roy.
Hop on the bus, Gus.

I am not making up random facts, either. I read it in the liner notes of my Paul Simon's Greatest Hits album.

I raise the point, because my son and I were working on rhymes today, which was really fun. Of course, some of the rhymes we came up with were not necessarily words in the sense of, you know, the English language, but that's okay, we both had fun.

Unfortunately, the game made me realize the limitations of my sons name. There are no true rhymes for his name, which I realized after gaily rattling off the many rhymes for my daughter's nickname. Oops. Fortunately, at three he doesn't hold it against me.

We'll see how he feels when he turns six.

Amelia's Breakfast

To Tell the Truth

Another day, another parenting challenge.

My son has an amazing imagination. Every day, he regales us with stories about the dinosaur he played with in the park, the train he rode into the sky, and of course, snowmobiling with Barack Obama. On Sunday. This is the sort of pretending I'm used to, and it's something we encourage. Unfortunately, "pretending" has an ugly cousin called "lying", and this what's starting to creep in.

This morning, my son dropped his bottle of "yogurt to drink" on the floor. Of course, it spilled everywhere. The blast radius included the carpet, the table and the couch. When I asked him what happened, he looked at me with those big blue eyes and said "My Daddy spilled it."

"Daddy is upstairs sleeping. What really happened?"

He looked around, and saw our dog, frantically trying to lick up all the yogurt before I could wipe it away. "Toby knocked-ed me." Again, totally untrue, as Toby was sleeping peacefully under my chair.

"It's okay if you spilled it. Accidents happen. But it's not nice to tell lies about your friends."

How do people teach their kids about the nuance between lying and pretending? Seriously? I am trying to emphasize "nice" pretending instead of "not nice" pretending, but I don't think he really understands the difference. He's learning now that bad behavior has consequences, but he's also learning that it's possible to try and deflect those consequences through "pretending" that someone else was the culprit.

I know he'll get it...eventually. As they say, don't cry over spilled yogurt. The knowledge that our reaction to these situations is ultimately going to shape how he deals with and reacts to challenges as an adult is what scares me. Our coffeemaker came with a 30 page instruction guide, but I can't say the same about our kids. We won't really know if we're doing it right until it's too late to do anything else.

Pardon me while I hyperventilate into a paper bag, and pass out under the weight of my own expectations.

Questions for My Husband

1. Why would you encourage your three year old to play a game that includes hiding toys in the toaster oven?

2. When said game is over, why do you not check the toaster to make sure no toys are still hiding?

3. When putting garlic bread in the toaster oven, how do you not notice that there's a whiffle ball in there?


RIP, whiffle ball. RIP.

Happy Valentine's Day!

We had a terrific Valentine's Day visiting family in NH. While we were there, our daughter started a lifelong love of food with her first bites of rice cereal. It was not love at first sight, but like any good romance, a rocky start ended up with a happy ending!

The Carnivore

The baby has discovered a new way of communicating. No, not talking, growling. She rumbles and grumbles and growls like a zombie about to eat your face off. She smiles while growling, so I know it's happy communication, but it's a bit unsettling when she's chomping on poor Sophie the Giraffe. She's my little T-Rex, my little lion. Sorry, Uncle Matt, but these photos do prove that she is most certainly not a vegetarian.

Octo-Mom

Alright, I'm just going to come out and say it: I want to slap the "octuplet mom" right across her stupid, collagen-injected face!

Ahhhh.

Having said that, let me explain. I have tried to ignore the recent news about the octuplets. I am a parent of 2, and I fully understand what a tough job parenting is, and that you should never judge someone else's parenting choices. This was why I chose to ignore Octo-Mom. I knew I wouldn't have anything nice to say, so I didn't want to know. Unfortunately, all that ended at about 3 AM, when I saw clips of her interview with Ann Curry playing on CNN.

The first thing that struck me was her collagen-injected mouth and flawless makeup. No new mom looks like that, and certainly not the mom of 14 who is younger than me. For that matter, no new mom has the time or energy to be making TV appearances. Before I could even process the words coming out of her mouth, the smug, self-righteous smirk on her face told me more than I ever needed to know about this selfish attention whore. Then my ears caught up with my eyes, and unleashed a whole new wave of hatred.

I listened to her confirm that yes, she had all of her children via fertility treatments, so the doctor's knew exactly what her circumstances were. I heard that she lives on disability payments currently, certainly not a fortune. But the thing that put me right over the edge was when she told Ann Curry that she would be the best kind of mother because she would be able to devote all her time and energy into raising her kids, and isn't that best?

Well, Octo-Mom, my husband and I have 2 children. I would love to have more children, because the experience of being a parent has been the best and most rewarding of my life. However, I am committed to giving my children the best life my resources have to offer. This means I am not banking on lucrative offers from TV and magazines to help raise my kids. My husband and I both work to support our family. It also means that I want to have enough to do more than live paycheck to paycheck, with barely enough money for food.

I also believe that, while money makes the world go round, it's not the only resource that's important in parenting. Time, energy and patience are also critical. I find that between a preschooler and an infant, we are stretched in this area, even with a 1:1 ratio. A 1:14 ratio? Impossible. Unfair. Bordering on child abuse, certainly child neglect. Love does not grow in a vacuum. You need to be able to know and appreciate each child for the little person that they are in order to help them grow into the best adult they can possibly be. Can you really process that level of nuance with 8 at a time, with another 6 on top of that?

And why do I get the feeling that you don't give a shit anyway? Based on your blathering to Ann Curry, it sounds as though you are having kids to validate YOURSELF, to make YOURSELF feel better, to give YOURSELF the love that you were denied all your life. Did you ever ask YOURSELF what you could possibly give these children besides drama, a freakshow lifestyle that will certainly hound them until the end of time, and plenty of fodder for their inevitable therapy sessions? Which, by the way, should occur in the privacy of a drs office, and not on NATIONAL TV! I won't hold my breath for an answer.

Two more reasons why I hate you, and then I'm moving on. I hate that you manipulated science that exists to help people who struggle with infertility into a means to facilitate your attention-whorish ways. The doctors who enabled your pathetic narcissistic needs have a special place in hell. The risks that you took with that pregnancy could have had dangerous, devastating effects on your children. If this trend continues, and based on the media attention your receiving, I don't doubt it will, regulations might be put into place that might hinder those couples that truly need this science, and for that alone, you make me sick.

The final reason I abhor you: As a democrat, I defend a lot of government programs that exist to help those who are struggling, making the case that the vast majority of folks are looking for a way OUT of the system, not a way in. And then someone like you comes along, throwing that tired cliche of a welfare mom who can't get a job or feed her kids, but always has money for god damn collagen injections, right back in my face. You are the reason that a lot of good people who just need a leg up consistently get the shaft in this country. You are pathetic, ridiculous, a joke, and I honestly think you are borderline evil for bringing children into the world under these circumstances.

Now I'm going to shut up. I don't want to have any part in enabling your selfishness. I just needed to get that off my chest.

ETA: I know, I know, she says she's refused welfare. Bully for her. However, is banking on an endorsement deal any better? That is all.

Rock of Love

Each day, I take my kids to daycare (I am the designated dropper-offer, my husband the designated picker-upper), and though the route is the same, the ride is different every time.

This morning, my son decided he wanted some music for the ride. He selected "Wiggly Party", and I dialed it up on my Ipod. We rocked out to the Wiggles, and when the song ended, I heard the familiar strains of my long ago past on the speakers. Before I could skip on to the next song, my son said "No, Mommy! I want to listen to this one!"

I peeked in the rearview mirror and watched my three year old bob his head in time to the music, a huge grin plastered across his face. He held up the triceratops figure that was his travelling companion and shook it around in time to the music. He pumped his arms, and played a frantic kind of air guitar. The kid went straight out nuts. As the song finished, he said "That's my favorite song!" What was the musical masterpiece that made my son rethink everything he ever learned about music?

Talk Dirty To Me, by Poison. Eighties hair metal at it's finest.

I am so proud. And still going to hell.

Buzz Lightyear is my CoPilot

This morning I received my first Driver's Ed lesson in almost 2 decades from a very unlikely source: Buzz Lightyear.

Cruising down the back road that we take to day care, I was able to travel the posted speed limit for the first time in days. The recent warmth had melted the snowbanks, and eliminated any lingering icy patches. With no traffic in front of me, I felt confident we would make good time.

"Mommy."

It was not a question, it was a warning. My three year old's tone was quite stern, and when I peeked in the mirror, there was no smile on his face.

"Mommy, Buzz Lightyear says you're going too fast." He solemnly held up his Space Ranger action figure for me to see.

"Tell Buzz Lightyear that the speed limit is 4-5 and I am driving 4-5."

"No, it's too fast. Buzz Lightyear says it's too fast!"

"Okay, buddy." I maintained the same speed, but I could feel Buzz Lightyear's disapproving eyes boring into the back of my head.

"Mommy, it's too fast!"

Finally, I relented, slowing my speed and mentally apologizing to the line of traffic I knew would materialize behind me.

"Thanks, Mommy. Buzz Lightyear says thank you."

No problem, Buzz. No problem.

Bridget Jones Moment

If I might take us all back to the 90's for a minute, I'm going to pull a "Bridget Jones" and list all of the things I consumed this weekend.

1. Pop Tarts
2. Chili cheese dogs
3. Salmon, rice and asparagus (how did a vegetable make the list?)
4. No bake cookies
5. Pancakes and bacon
6. Grilled cheese and bacon
7. Wings
8. Pepperoni bread
9. More no bake cookies

If the Superbowl was every day, I'd be dead of a heart attack in 2 years.

Laughing Contest

Now that she's almost 5 months old, our baby is finding the world a funny place to be. She has found her laugh, a deep belly laugh that makes anyone in earshot laugh too. Since we love to hear that sound, the rest of the family is taking turns trying to elicit the laugh as often as possible. Here are the strategies we employ:

Dad: My husband generally begins with a big smile and beatboxing. He'll dance her around, while making his funny little drum noises, then finish with some big lifts in the air. He really takes advantage of his superior upper body strength to balance her on one hand, etc. Showoff :)

Mom: I also start with a big smile, but segue into one of two choices, kissy noises or cheek chomping. Kissy noises almost always get a laugh, but man, those cheeks are irresistable. The downside of the nom-nom-nom is that I always get a drool covered face, but it is so worth it! When all else fails, I bob my head back and forth like a chicken. Sounds strange, but suddenly I'm Chris Rock, because the audience is pumping their arms and legs and yucking it up.

Brother: Without question, the headliner of our comedy show is our son. Her eyes lock onto his as he jitters and shakes, dancing around like a maniacal puppet. Then, he'll grab her hands or shoulders and rock her back and forth, singing "dee dee dee" as they dance together. Something about the sound of his voice as he coos to her is enough to make her smile more broadly than any of us put together. She adores her big brother, and he seems to adore her right back.