The Birds & The Bees ... Kinda

When Little Man was born, Diva was three days shy of two-years-old. We never had a "Big Sister" conversation with her. When the day arrived, she was brought to the hospital and presented with the new baby ... end of story.

This time around has been slightly different. The kiddos will be almost five and three when baby #3 makes his grand entrance. Clearly, some sort of announcement had to be made. Considering our complex pregnancy history, I was in no hurry to share the news in case things didn't go according to plan. As time went on, there just never seemed to be a "perfect" time to tell them. I was constantly asked "You really haven't told them?" and "They haven't noticed your belly?" or some variation. The answer: no. They seemed quite oblivious and we were content to go along with it.

Finally, at 29 weeks we took the kids to an ultrasound and presented their new baby brother ... on a big screen. If you know Daddy, you understand just how fitting that is! Little Man was less than impressed, but Diva was absolutely mesmerized. She watched the screen for awhile, taking it all in and letting that little mind process it all. Then came THE QUESTION.

Diva: "How do we get him out of your tummy?"
Me: "We just do."
Diva: "But how?"
Me: "We go to the hospital and get him out?"
Diva: "How does the hospital get him out?"
Daddy: "They say abracadabra and get him out."

Okay, sure that is one approach - personally, I prefer complete avoidance. But, confusing them can be a good route too.

So, if she has an aversion to magicians later in life or decides to forgo an epidural in favor of "abracadabra" ... blame her daddy!

There has been a real problem around here lately with spitting and talking back. While I appreciate a good smart a** as much as the next person, it really isn't as well-received in a four-year-old and I have no patience for spitting. Time out and loss of privileges has made little difference in the problem - time to go old school.

With fond memories of my childhood encounters with a bar of Ivory soap, I decided it was time to mix up a batch of "Sassy Spray" - aka vinegar and water in a spray bottle. I was certain this would be the cure for the current problem. Have I mentioned over-confidence is also occasionally a problem in our house?

It wasn't long before we had the opportunity to test out the spray.
The encounter went something like this:
Me: "Little Man, go to time out!"
LM: "NO!" (followed by spitting)
*Little Man placed in time out*
Me: "We don't spit! Do you want Sassy Spray?"
LM: "Yeah" (opens his mouth and smiles)
*Sassy Spray used, small amount of foaming noted as he smiles and swallows it*
LM: "I like Sassy Spray." (spits and opens mouth) "I want Sassy Spray!"

Okay ... this isn't how it's supposed to work! Guess I should have stuck with the Ivory ... but, even after all these years, I still can't bring myself to buy it!

Fine Dining

I have never been the fancy restaurant kinda girl. After becoming a mother, the concept of "fine dining" is practically nonexistent. My idea of dinner out ... actually going into McDonald's instead of hitting the drive-thru. Meals fixed at home also tend to be quick and easy. This is not to say that I don't cook ... it just tends to be in a crock pot or casserole dish.

A few nights ago was no exception. After running errands with the kids all afternoon, five o'clock came much sooner than I had anticipated. Reaching for something quick and easy, tuna salad sandwiches became dinner for the night. Kids plates were prepared, although there was no real hope of them actually consuming said food. However, the promise of a Little Debbie "heart cake" after dinner was on my side. Little Man refused to touch his sandwich, but surprisingly Diva actually ate a few bites from around the edges. That heart cake was sitting on the counter taunting her ... she really had no choice but to eat the tuna.

As we were finishing dinner, I hear:
"Momma, I like my sandwich ... next time can you put less skunk in it."
Huh? Surely I misunderstood that one?
"What baby?"
"Can you put less skunk in it? I don't like skunk."

I will admit to some "creative" cooking, especially early in my marriage. We have eaten dry chicken, crunchy rice and mushy pasta as I learned how to cook. There was an unfortunate incident when a can of jalapenos was mistaken for green chiles. However, I have never served skunk ... ill-prepared or otherwise!

Boogie Monster - Circa 2010

My children watch too much television. I admit this, am not particularly happy about it, and have thus far done nothing to change it. In light of a recent conversation, I just might have to change my stance. It was not about the brain cells lost by watching television, the lack of creativity because of it or the link to an increased risk of obesity and ADHD. It was about ... booger people.

Wanting to fit in with their peers, my kids have been sporting snotty noses for the past several weeks. I am fighting a loosing battle against snot in inappropriate places - sleeves, couches, my clothes, etc. After observing the offending material being placed on the furniture, I pulled Miss E aside for a discussion.

Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "Don't wipe boogers on the couch. Go get a tissue."
E: "Why?" (with finger firmly planted in nare)
Me: "Get your finger out of your nose! That's just gross!"
E: "But Momma, I have booger people in my nose. They are having a party."
Me: "What?"
E: "I have booger people. I trying to get them out."

Anyone else familiar with the Mucinex commericals? Clearly my four-year-old has a decent grasp of the concept.

Time Out ... Mommy Style

Help, I have a Diva ... and she's out of control!

Time out is a regular occurance in our home. Some days we stop there before making it to breakfast in the morning. If we can get through the morning without a visit, there is cause for celebration ... or the feeling that something must be horribly wrong with my Diva.

The rules are really quite simple:

• You must actually sit up in time out and remain in one spot.
• Your time begins when you are sitting quietly.
• If you begin screaming, your time will start over.
• After the timer goes off, you must go to the person that put you there and talk about why you ended up in time out.

Recently, Diva was on her way to that all to familiar place. As is usually the case, she felt the need to throw a fit and take off her clothes (not sure why those always seem to go together) before settling into time out. I reminded her of the rules and laid down on the couch to wait out the screaming.

Fastforward about an hour ...
I realize, looking at the clock, apparently I had fallen asleep. The house is remarkably intact, there is no screaming and I can hear both kids playing ... all good signs after an unintentional nap!

At this point, Diva (still sans clothes) comes up to me and says:
"Mommy I got out of time out when you were asleep."

Yeah, I got nothing!!! If Mommy falls asleep before you can make it to rule #2, it is kind of hard to continue on to #3 and #4.

Learning Your Place

In an effort to avoid two kids in diapers, I have begun an all-out campaign to potty train Little Man before our new arrival comes this spring. This has been done with much hesitation, as Diva took the better part of a year to master this task (no doubt, due in part to a particularly strong stubborn streak).

Hoping to shorten the time required this trip, there have been some changes to the process. We picked a day to start and began the countdown several days before. When the big day finally arrived, all diapers were removed from view and Little Man was told "Big boys don't wear diapers, they put pee-pee in the potty." Taking a cue from what worked with Diva, I then stripped him down and said pull-ups were only to be used outside of the house and at bedtime. That first day was a dream: no accidents, taking himself to the potty and a dry pull-up after a four hour outing.

That was the first day ... not to be confused with the second day.
Early the second morning, we were snuggled up on the couch watching cartoons. Pajamas for me and Little Man in his birthday suit. As a side note, this is the newest couch in the house that sits on a room-sized pottery barn rug ... you know that can't possibly end well!
Cozy on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket ... then the realization of something warm and wet on me. It takes a moment for it all to sink in. The still peeing child is tossed off of me and onto the rug (because it would be way too easy to just let him finish and then change my clothes!)

While cleaning up the mess (him, me, couch and rug), he discovers that the beloved geen bainket had been hit. Hysteria ensues. Big tears. "I pee-pee geen bainket." "Geen bainket nasty." Anger gives way to feeling sorry for my little guy. After being assured that geen bainket can be fixed, he begins to calm down.

I take this moment to do a bit of potty training reinforcement:
Me: "Where to big boys pee-pee?"
Little Man: "In da potty"
Me: "Where did you pee-pee?"
Little Man: "On Mommy"
Me: "Why did you pee-pee on Mommy?"
Little Man: "Because" with no hint of remorse
Me: "Do you think Mommy likes for you the pee-pee on her?"
Little Man: "Yeah" with a great big smile

It now occurs to me, he was absolutely crushed at the thought of peeing on his blanket, yet doing the same thing to Mommy made him smile.

No longer feeling sorry for him!!!!

Self Esteem Boost

Recently, there were several errands to be done. As is usually the case, I headed out with kids in tow. Tops on my list was heading to a local maternity store ... seems that the "normal" undergarments are a bit snug these days. You know it's time to upsize when the victoria's secret cotton undies serve the same function as a pair of spanx! I explained to an inquisitive Diva that we had to go the the "Mommy Store," which seemed to suffice.

As we entered the store, Diva asked if this was the "Mommy Store." I distractedly said yes and headed towards the back of the store. Several items were chosen and we made our way back to the register. While waiting in line, Diva noticed the dressing rooms across from the register and questioned their purpose and then why I was not trying anything on. Attempting to explain such things to a four-year-old is a waste of time, but the effort was put forth.

My beautiful baby girl's response:
She held up the undies, looked at them for a moment and proclaimed "These will fit you because they are big mommy panties?"

Nice baby, very nice.