Growing Pains

Halloween - not my favorite holiday for many different reasons.  One of these is the costumes.  I am admittedly cheap.  Costumes are not, unless you are talking about the quality.  Multiply that cost times three kids, divide by the only time they will be worn ... 
As I said, not a fan!

Imagine my delight when Diva and Little Man decided, completely on their own, that last year's costumes were perfect for this year.  Last year's ensemble cast included Mustard, Ketchup and a Hot dog.  All costumes were still presentable and fit, except Baby Boys (aka Hot dog).

After an extensive search (read: google search for  "toddler hot dog costume"), it wasn't looking good.  Then the week before Halloween, Momma scored a pretty good deal.  There would be a slight change to the line-up - Hot dog would be replaced by Hamburger for a grand total of $4.00.  Maybe this holiday isn't so bad after all ...

Fast forward to the long awaited night.  After school, we headed to Grandma's more kid-friendly neighborhood for the festivities.  My very excited Diva entered a crowded house and announced in perfect six-year-old volume:
"Mamou, Little Man and I are wearing our same costumes.  But, we had to get Baby Boy a new one 'cause he outgrew his weenie!"

That's my girl!  If you would like to contribute to Baby Boy's therapy fund, feel free to let us know.

Christopher Columbus ... The Real Story

I love hearing about my little Diva's school day on the ride back to the house.  In the approximately five minute drive, one can gain some real insight into the workings of a six-year-old mind.  From what was served in the cafeteria, who got in trouble on the playground or what she learned that day ... never a dull moment with Diva around.  In honor of the upcoming Columbus Day, Diva's class had been studying the story that has been taught for many years, that we all know so well.  Although, her version of the story was slightly different from what I learned a few years back.

Per Diva:
Christopher Columbus was trying to get to Indiana - the one where they have dots on their heads.  He ended up in Cuba instead.  The pinto boat sank, but that was okay because there were two more.

No wonder we can't pass a standardized test in this state!

How to Choose a Job

I have often said, I don't care what careers my children choose, as long as it makes them happy.  True success and happiness, after all, are rarely measured on a W-2.  At this age, the career aspirations change on a daily basis from the high-reaching (astronaut) to the nearly impossible (dragon).  Typically, we smile and encourage, waiting on the next change of plans.  A recent conversation wasn't typical ...

Diva: "I wanna be a fireman when I grow up."
Me: "Okay.  That sounds good."
Diva: "I have to wait until I am 21, cause you have to be 21 to be a fireman."
Me:  "That sounds like a good plan.  Why do you want to be a fireman?"
*the local firefighters had recently visited the school and we have a long history with them related to a problematic alarm system.   I was expecting a response related to these encounters*
Diva: "Cause they slide down poles and I like to slide down poles"

hmm ...
As a friend commented, I hope she lets go of that dream before realizing firefighters make considerably less money that some other "pole sliders"

That dragon is sounding better and better!

When I Grow Up ...

I love the "what did you do today" conversations at this age.  I firmly believe that a tornado could remove half of the building and Little Man's response would still be a run down of snack time.  I now know who brings the really good snacks, who brings the not so great ones and where my choices fall in this list.  It's the new fundamental of learning - reading, writing, arithmetic and snack time.  Snacks must be chosen carefully - they are clearly the foundation of learning!

Diva branches out a bit in her details.  Last year, it was all about who got in trouble for the day (unless it happened to be her!) and whatever the love of her life, little Mr. J, had done.  This year the stories range from science lessons to who she played with at recess to a particularly good day in the cafeteria.  It is a loaded question - no telling what the response will be.  Today's conversation did not disappoint!

Today's conversation went like this:
Diva:  "When I grow up, I think I will move to another state."
Me:  "Oh, you can't do that!  That would make mommy very sad! 
Daddy: "What state are you moving to?  The state of insanity?"
Diva:  *looking very serious and a bit confused*  "No, I think I will just keep my same family." 

That's my girl, love her!!!
Even at an early age, she has learned to embrace the crazy folks in her life.  They are what keep it interesting!

Name Recognition

As noted in previous posts, I have recently begun using coupons.  Okay, so I have always used them.  Now I am starting to use them to see some real savings in our monthly expenses.  There is no crazy stockpile of 47 tubes of toothpaste, but there is a lot more variety in the brands we use now.  On some things there will be no compromise, but on some the brand is irrelevant.  Cat litter falls into the later category.  As long as it serves the intended purpose, I don't care what the label says.  At least that's what I thought ...


After cleaning the litter pan, I got distracted.  Surprising how often that happens with three kids!  The container of litter was not put back in the closet, instead left out in the spare room and promptly forgotten about.  Fast forward a few days ...
Coming in from work I am greeted by Diva and Little Man, who seem to be in a contest as to who can talk the loudest and fastest in my direction.  Overstimulation!!!  Tuning out as exhaustion is taking over ...


Diva:  "Momma?"
Me:  "Yes, baby?"
Diva:  "Why do we have new cat litter?"
Me:  "Momma just got what was on sale."
Diva:  "But why is it called Tity Cat"


Hmm, well ... guess we will be returning to the Fresh Step.
And perhaps focusing a little more on our reading!
Lesson learned.

Hair to Dye For

Several months ago, Momma decided it was time for a change.  My hair has been blonde-ish for many years.  As for what my "natural" color is, that is anyone's guess.  Darker than blonde and sprinkled with gray, based on the roots!  So, three kids in and blonde was getting a bit old ... not to mention hard to keep up. 

I left for my appointment, keeping the plan to myself.  I returned home no longer a blonde with 2 inch roots.  In fact, the color was considerably darker than the previously noted roots.  Hubby took it in stride, Baby Boy looked a bit concerned and Diva promptly decided she wanted brown hair, too.

The best response came from Little Man
Little Man:  "Momma, what's wrong with your hair?"  *looking very puzzled*
Momma:  "Nothing baby.  Momma just got it fixed.  It's supposed to be this way."

Now, everytime I come back he greets me with:
"Momma, is that the way it's supposed to look?"

Hmm, not quite a glowing review ... but very much a Little Man response!

Extreme Couponing - K Family Style

I have always been a bargain shopper:

• Clothes are rarely purchased before they reach the clearance rack
• Even then, an additional discount is often used
• Gifts are purchased months in advance to take advantage of sales
• We drove to a neighboring state to buy our car because the price was better

It should come as no surprise that I use coupons.  Extreme couponer, I am not.  But they are a part of most shopping trips.  In fact, they are a bit of a family affair.  Scissor skills are practiced while cutting out coupons.  Lessons on saving are taught in the store.  We even manage to have a little fun in the process.

When time allows, we have a scavenger hunt of sorts with the coupons.  On a recent trip to Target, Daddy was with us.  I don't think he will be volunteering to come again anytime soon.

It went something like this:
Me:  "Okay, take your coupon and see if you can find something that looks like the picture on it"
Diva:  "Mine has bandaids.  I get bandaids!"
Little Man:  "Mine is pink.  I get pink!"
*each kid was helped in selecting the correct item, which they were excited to show off*
Diva:  "Look Daddy, I found bandaids!"
Little Man:  "And I found pinks!" *practically screaming, proudly holding a package of pantyliners*
Daddy:  "You just had to give him that one?!?!"

Well ...

Thru the Eyes of a Child

As a mom, I often struggle with maintaining a balance - preserving their innocence and sheltering them too much.  I want them to grow up with a good grasp on the world around them, but there are somethings you just shouldn't know about at such a young age.  I was raised to believe that people are people - they may be good or bad, but skin color is not a indicator of either of these.  I hope that my children are being raised with the same outlook.  A recent outing makes me think they are.

We have some friends ... they happen to have darker skin than our family.  I'm not sure that a comment has ever been made about this.  I figured that fact registered about as much as the color of my eyes.  On any given day, we are much more concerned with what new toys they have or the impending arrival of their much anticipated (after two recent boys!) baby girl.

There was to be a baby shower for said family.  Due to growing pains at work, I would be dragging three kids with me.  They were much more excited than I was. 

The conversation went something like this:
Little Man:  "Momma, who's party is it?"
Me:  "It's for Mrs. P's baby.  Remember, her name is Payton?"
Little Man:  "I don't remember Mrs. P"
Me:  "Sure you do!  She is 'Parkmer's mommy. Remember?"
Little Man:  "I don't remember her.  What does she look like?"
Diva:  "Yes you do!  She has brown skin.  Her hair is brown and so are her eyes." *sounding quite exasperated at all the questions*
Little Man:  "Why does she have brown skin?"
*at this point I am trying to come up with a four-year-old answer to the question, all the while wondering why all the big conversations must happen while driving*
Diva:  "Because that's how God made her. We have white skin and some people have brown skin 'cause that's how God wanted to make them."
Little Man:  "Okay.  Is there going to be cake at the party?"

Hmm, maybe it isn't all that hard of a question after all ...
It isn't the color of your skin that matters.  It's whether you have cake at the party.
Mrs. P is okay people ... there was cake at her party!





Iron Chefs

We own an Easy Bake Oven.  I purchased it with idealistic dreams of teaching my daughter my own love of baking.  We used it once.  That was all it took.  The size of the mess was very disproportionate to the size of cake we made.  How can it take an hour to clean up when the ingredients list consists of teaspoons of water!?!  Since that day, the beloved oven has been stored on a high shelf in the laundry room.  It has acquired an impressive layer of dust. 

All of that changed this week: 
I love my sister.  She does all those things that make her a favorite aunt and make me wish I still had a cleaning service.  The Easy Bake Oven is a perfect example ...

Dessert pizza was the decided upon dish.  Pizza dough.  If you don't cook, let me tell you what that means - flour ... lots of flour!

A little flour goes a long way.  I am reasobably certain there was less than a cup of flour used in the whole process.  My kitchen looked more like an entire bag was used.  The pizza dough might not have been edible, but it certainly wasn't going to stick to anything!  Table, chairs, floor, hair - flour was everywhere.

Little Man, smiling as he said it "I put fwour on my feet, so pizza won't stick to them"

Perfect!  I hate when dinner sticks to your feet! 
Back to that oven and the idealistic dreams ... they are now safely back on the laundry room shelf.  Maybe we will try again next year.  Without the flour ...

The Ugly Truth

Discipline can be a challenge. This isn't news to anyone that has kids, knows someone that has kids or has stood in line at the store next to someone that has kids. Different people meet the challenge in different ways. In our house, a conscious effort is made to avoid spankings. These are reserved for only the most serious offenses (i.e. removing your seatbelt in a moving car, running away from me in a parking lot, etc.). It has never made sense to me to spank a child for hitting. Aren't you saying "You can't hit, but I can." in doing so? Alright, off the soapbox and back to the story ...
In our house, time-out is a frequent punishment. We have a designated time-out area. However, rarely does someone occupy the spot willingly. On a particularly rough day, Miss Diva was fast approaching another trip to time-out. Upon being warned of this, her mouth only served to speed her arrival.

It went something like this:
Me: "Keep it up and you will go back to time-out."
Diva: "No! I'm not going!"
Me: "Did you just tell me no?"
Diva: "I'm not going to time-out. You're a mean Mommy! You're being ugly!"
Me: "I'm done. Go to time-out, now!" *heading towards her direction to hasten the process*
Diva: "No Momma! No! You're not that ugly Momma! You're not that mean! Momma, you're not that ugly!"

Do you know how hard it is to carry out a punishment when trying not to laugh? I am so relieved to learn I am not as ugly as once feared ... apparently still ugly, but not THAT ugly.

Momma Got Shot Today

I have always taken the kids with me on errands. Part necessity, part stubborness on my part - I have been determined from day one that they would be a part of everything I did, even if it required a bit more effort on my part. So, they have always been along for the ride. Sometimes one, sometimes all three, but always an adventure no matter the number. A recent trip was no exception. Since Diva was in school, it was just me and the boys.

Our to do list looked pretty typical:
*gym for Little Man
*Sam's for some essentials
*Hobby Lobby for a fabric run
*Post Office to mail bills and get stamps
*Employee Health for my annual TB skin test

As is often the case, we started at gym and then began making our way back home one errand at a time. Our trip was pretty uneventful - no big scenes, everyone was pleased with our lunch choice (floppy buns) and we made it home in time for a nap before picking Diva up from school. Success!!!

When Daddy got up (he had worked the night before), he asked Little Man about his day..

Daddy: "What all did you do today?"

Little Man: "I saw Miss Erin. We went to the fabric store with the up and down hill. I had floppy buns for lunch and played on the playground. Mommy went to the little hospital and the lady shot her"

Daddy: "Um ... where did Mommy go?" *looking a bit confused*

Little Man: "The little hospital"

I don't know why he didn't understand that one - made perfect sense to me!

Allow me to translate:Employee Health is in a smaller, separate building across from the main hospital. Before we went in, I had prewarned Little Man that Mommy had to go get a shot for work. There you go - we went to the little hospital and Mommy got shot!

A New Kind of Water Slide

My daughter has a small problem - she gets so focused on the task at hand, she completely ignores everything else. Remember having to remind the potty training toddler to make time? I still do that ... she will soon be six!

Earlier this week, I forgot.

The kids had been up and playing for awhile. I assumed, since we had already eaten breakfast and gotten dressed, that everyone had made a stop at the bathroom. What is that they say about assuming?

Little Miss Diva climbed the slide and as she went to sit down ... our little slide became a water slide. Doesn't sound so bad, right? It wouldn't have been, if the slide had been outside (or even where it was supposed to be) ... without any toys at the bottom of it. The overnight bladder capacity of a small child is quite impressive. Even more so when emptied onto one of the only three rugs in the house. It should be noted that in order for this incident to have maximum damage, she had to move the slide ONTO the rug - it lives on a perfectly good area of hardwoods.

I really shouldn't be mad. Her last offending incident involved a bacon cheese biscuit and a room size pottery barn rug when I was four months pregnant. Yes, I did briefly consider just tossing the rug at that point rather than have to clean up the mess. At that moment, cost was not the pressing issue!

So, this really pales in comparison.
It was, in fact, my fault - I assumed!

I have spent many hours trying to figure it out, have asked "why me" countless times and wondered if I did (or didn't) do something along the way to cause it.

The "it" of which I speak: my daughter ... the slob.

I am organized to a fault - a place for everything and everything in it's place. My adorable little Diva takes a slightly different approach - shove it under the bed, in the closet or anywhere else you can think of. It is like watching an episode of Hoarders in the infancy stage. As you might imagine, this leads to a challenge at times. After annoucing she has cleaned, one can still find trash, dirty clothes and assorted other items scattered on the floor or hidden under the bed. Clearly, our definitions of clean aren't quite the same. I'm not sure what is more frustrating - the disarray or the fact that she seems completely comfortable in it.

A recent conversation went something like this:
Me: "Go pick up that mess in your room!"
Diva: "I already did."
Me: "So, when I go in there and look ... (walking towards her bedroom)
"What about this towel and this dress? Do your books go on the floor? This is a mess!"
Diva: "But, I don't care!"
*I know she didn't just say that*

Fast forward a few days:
Me: "Come on it's time to go. Go get your shoes on."
Diva: "I can't find my shoes."
Me: "That's not my problem. Did you put them back where they are supposed to go?"
Diva: "But, I looked EVERYWHERE! I can't find them!"
Me: "Then you have to wear what you can find (pulling out two very mismatched shoes)."
Diva: "But, I don't want to wear those!"
Me: "But, I don't care."
*hmm, that sounds strangely familiar

And yes, that was my daughter in the store ... one brown leather sandal and one gray flip-flop with sequins. No, she doesn't normally have a limp - it's just hard to walk in a heel and a flat at the same time. And no, she still didn't put her shoes where they belong when we got back home.

A Fresh Start ... I Hope

I had great plans when I started this blog. Okay, not really. However, I did hope that writing (blogging) would be a bit more regular than it has become. No fabulous excuses -just a busy momma being pulled in 10 different directions at once. It seems the blog just doesn't pull quite as hard as everything else!

New plan:
I have a handy dandy little notebook (Why yes, we do watch Blue's Clues. How did you know?).
In this notebook, I have been scribbling down the little funnies as they happen. Nothing fancy, just a few words to help me remember. In the new plan, this notebook is a kind of framework for the blog posts. Now when I have a few minutes to sit down and write, it's all right there for me.

Sounds good on paper. We'll see what happens in real life, as that is the true test of any good plan!

An Interesting Afternoon Routine

During the school week, we have a pretty set routine. The oldest is in school, the middle one is in MDO twice a week and the baby is always attached at my hip. As part of this routine, everyone gets piled into the car twice a day for our drive thru the carpool lane. This is, perhaps, my least favorite part of the day. In the morning it is a mad rush, in the afternoon everyone is tired and grouchy. The afternoon also has another added bonus ... it's booty stretchin time!

Wait, let me explain ...

Our afternoon goes something like this:
Me: "Little Man, are you about ready to go get Diva? You need to go potty and then head to the car." *this is met with varying degrees of resistance, but Momma always gets her way in the end*
We then head out for our 3 minute drive to the school.
Maybe because she is my first baby in school, maybe because I have a bit of OCD or maybe a combination of both, we arrive shortly before 3p.m. - school gets out at 3:15.
This leaves us a few minutes sitting in the car.
It doesn't matter what else is going on - happily watching a DVD, singing at the top of his lungs to the radio or throwing a fit like only he can - it always happens just like clockwork.

At exactly 3:00, I hear it:
"MY BOOTY'S STRETCHING!"

This is Little Man speak for needing to use the bathroom. Seriously?!?! You just went to the bathroom five minutes ago!!! We do this everyday, at this exact same time!!! This isn't a new routine!!!

What ensues is a panic of sorts. It would be funny if it wasn't so loud. Of note, he was never had an accident sitting in the carpool line. Interestingly enough, there isn't even a mad dash for the bathroom when we arrive back home. So, being the good momma that I am ...

I crank up the radio and wait for the moment to pass

So, what do you do in the carpool lane?

Steve

I am not often surprised by something my kids say. Amused or even embarassed at times, but rarely surprised. We recently had an exception to the rule.

I headed out to run errands with the boys safely buckled in the backseat, Laurie Berkner playing in the background. Little Man loves to talk while we are riding, but he also wants the music playing. This presents a problem to his mother. A fair bit of hearing loss is done no favors by background noise and not being able to see the speaker face-to-face. As a result, I typically hear bits and pieces of what he says - enough to agree or disagree and get the basic idea of what is being said.

This is what I heard today:
Little Man: " What's that in the sky?"
Me: "Fog" (gotta love those warm, muggy afternoons)
Little Man: "Fog is kinda like steve."
Me: "Yeah, kinda."
Little Man: "You know, Dad likes steve in his shower?"
Me: "What?" *turning radio down*
Little Man: "Daddy likes steve in his shower."
Me: "You mean STEAM? Daddy likes STEAM?:
Little Man: "Yeah, STEVE."

Note to self: work on clear pronounciations with the three-year-old ...
and question the husband about Steve!

Why We Don't Have Guests

We rarely have guests for dinner. It isn't a conscious decision, it just doesn't seem to happen often. Today provided a bit of insight as to why this may be the case. Today we had a dinner guest. Our beloved Kiki had dinner at the K house ...
and she may never return.

Tonight's dinner was like most others. I didn't prepare spaghetti-o's, fish sticks, cheese sandwiches or some other item considered one of the major food groups by the under six crowd. What I did prepare contained meat and clearly identifiable vegetables. Not surprisingly, it was not given a warm welcome upon it's arrival to the table.

It went something like this:
Diva: "What's this?"
Me: "Dinner"
Diva: "But I don't like it!"
Me: "Do you know what it is?"
Diva: "No, but I don't like it!"
Me: "Have you tasted it?"
Diva: "No, but don't like it!"
Me: "How do you know if you don't like it? You don't know what it is and you haven't tasted it!"
Diva: "I'm not eating it!"
Me: *insert basic "Mom" lecture here - you have to at least taste it, nothing else if you don't eat your dinner, etc,*
Diva then took the smallest bite possible ... and promptly puked it back into her plate.
It should be noted that Kiki was sitting beside Diva, no doubt the best view of all the action.

So, who wants to come to dinner at the K house?

Size is Just a Number

There is an ongoing argument in our house. I think my husband is unobservant, perhaps oblivious at times. Hubby claims I am the unobservant one. I disagree, to a point. I would maintain that I notice the important things, maybe missing some of the little things along the way.
There are numerous examples to back up each side of the argument, including:

• He cut down a huge tree and waited to see how long it would take me to notice (three days, if you are interested)
• I repainted a room in our house, without telling him, leaving two very different colored walls side-by-side (I pointed it out to him after a week or so.)
• I backed one of our cars into the other one in our driveway (no excuse here ... never even looked behind me!)
• I have pointed out, more than once, that Diva's dress/shirt/skirt was on backwards (there have been repeat offenses with the same article of clothing)

Today, I will be claiming victory in this battle.
Hubby took Little Man to school and I picked him up. This is our usual routine, nothing special about it. I walked into the school and picked up a very familiar backpack and jacket in the hallway, before heading into the classroom.

I couldn't help but smile when talking with his teacher:
Me: "Please tell me he wore this jacket in this morning?"
She smiled back, looking a little puzzled.
Mrs. K: "No, he never had it on."
Me: "It's a 3-6 months. It's the baby's!"

For the record, he mistook a 3-6 month for a 3t. Need I say more?

Star Light, Star Bright

Once upon a time, about a hundred years ago, I was young and single - a typical college student working at a minimum wage retail job. There was a framing shop next door. In the window was a print that I loved. There it sat, day after day, hopelessly out of reach of the college student's budget. And then it was gone.

And then, it was mine - a house-warming gift for my first apartment, from a friend that had grown tired of hearing about it!

Fast forward a few years and that same print now hangs in our breakfast area. It has been the topic of many discussions between a three and five year old. One such conversation went something like this:

Little Man: I like that picture
Diva: Momma said a man named Bingo made it
Little Man: It's name is Tarry Night. Look there's our house, right there!

To review, we live in a church that dates to the late 1800's. You may have heard of it ... it can be seen in a world famous painting by Bingo. What an honor!