About Me
I'm a busy woman who absolutely needs to take the time to write my thoughts and feelings down so I can remember what I was like yesterday. It's getting to the point that I can't start a sentence without forgetting how it's going to end.
In a nutshell, this is my therapy. Thanks for stopping by.COUNTER
Frozen Bananas
Mother's Day
Last week the family headed up to north so that we could accompany Dan on his annual business trip to Portland. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for us to all to spend some quality time with Grandpa and Grandma. The week before, in preschool, Little H had been working hard on her Mother's Day gift. I was so excited to be getting my first official school project/gift and even conveyed that to Dan in passing. My mom would always say how much she loved the things we made for her, but I was a little cynical. In my mind, I was sure she would have preferred a new CD (or probably tape cassette if I really need to date myself) or book. But now that I'm a mother myself, I finally understand the sincerity of her words. The fact that my daughter made something for me, meant that she was thinking about me for however long she was working on it, she was thinking of me more often during the days preceding Mother's Day because she couldn't wait to surprise me, and she thinks that I deserve something that she put a lot of thought and love into.
But in the end, she did forget to bring the present with us. That was fine, though, and I told her she could still surprise me when we got back. But on Sunday morning I found out that not everyone in our family is as forgetful as my daughter when Dan and the kids brought in the best Mother's Day gift I've ever gotten.
I recognized the my scrapbook paper from home, so I know it had taken some planning and forethought on his part. Among my favorite 'Reasons We Love Mommy' were:
"Because she is nice" - written in Little H's handwriting
"Because she loves me"
and of course "Because she gave us a cool dad" (I'm sure the kids came up with that on their own)
I have to say, that most of the things written in there are also reflective of why I love my own mother. Even though we can sometimes be polar opposites in our opinions, I have never once in my life doubted that I have the most loving, self-sacrificing mother in the world. She would (and has) dropped everything in her life to be there for her kids and grandkids. In fact, I might say that her greatest weakness is that she can't say 'no'. I'm always wary of asking her to babysit because I don't want to infringe on whatever she has planned, and I know she'd reschedule a heart attack in order to watch her grandkids.
I'm so lucky to have all the moms in my life that I do, and I'm also grateful for the moms I have in the next life that I know are still looking after us.
Buster's Birthday
I can't believe this little stinker is already three years old. We love him so much. He adds quite the dynamic to our family, and I can't imagine life without him. The little goofball is fun, and silly, and a lot of the times quite moody, but I can't imagine life without him.
He's trying to hold up three fingers in this picture, but somehow it just looks like his hand is broken.
Feeling My Age
Last week when the weather was so nice we pulled out all the kids summer toys and started the annual tradition of seeing what still worked. My retired neighbor came over while I was in the middle of putting my daughter's training wheels back on (yes, I said back on), and proceeded to fix the handle bars on the wiggle car, align the wheel on the tricycle, and, once I was done, fill Little H's tires with air. As the kids were enjoying their old 'new' toys, we chatted and he noted how much the kids seemed to have grown over the winter.
"It definitely makes me feel old," I told him.
"Oh, come on, Megan you're not that old. What are you, thirty-three?"
"Something like that," I smiled.
"Well whatever you're doing, keep it up, because you don't look a day over thirty-three."
So what I am to surmise from that statement is that I look like someone in their late thirties who has taken really good care of themselves when in actuality I am a thirty-one-year-old, who apparently needs to take better care of herself.
And suddenly I find myself in the market for a good eye cream.
Happy (estimated) Birthday, Casey
Because our anniversary is on the same day, we often forget to pay much attention to the birthday of our oldest dependent. And though we don't know his actual birthday, we gave him April 14th, because that's the day we adopted him. The agency we got him from estimated him to be 1 1/2 - 2 years old when we got him, which means he just turned approximately 12 yesterday.
Dan wasn't totally on board when decided to get him, but he was guilted into it because I cried and, only one year into our marriage, he hadn't quite learned how to deal with the tears (don't worry, he's learned). That first year with Casey was sometimes trying on our marriage, i.e. the time he chewed a pen up to the point it leaked all over the new carpet, or the time he got into my purse and ate a package of gum, tinfoil and all, and threw up minty blobs all over the condo. But he's a relatively good dog, and for over four years he was the closest thing we had to a child. He used to sit in my lap and cuddle to keep me company when Dan was working and for a long time he used to sleep on our bed by our feet.
I worried how he would be when we had children because he doesn't get along well with other dogs, and it takes him a bit to warm up to strangers. But I shouldn't have been worried, because he loves the kids. And he tolerates them more than he tolerates anyone else - I can't imagine how he would react if I tried to ride his back.
Now that he's getting up in age, he sleeps for the majority of the day, but he's still up and jumping to greet the kids in the morning. And even though we no longer let him on the furniture or dress him up anymore (for some reason I've lost the urge to put clothes on squiggly resistant body masses), I still think he's a great dog.
Dancing Queen
I never thought in a million years that I would have a daughter who would embrace all things girly. On the off chance that I got a girl, I was positive that she would be a rough and tumble little soccer player. But somehow I ended up with the little girl that my mother was supposed to have. Little H convinced us to sign her up for dance this last January. She loved the class, but I think most of all she loved getting dressed up. Last week was her last dance class and the whole class put on a 20-minute show so we could see everything they've learned. Little H was super nervous that she might 'mess up' in front of Papa and Grandma and Aunt Shelly, but after a few reassurances the little diva pulled herself together and put on a fantastic show.
And she looks so pretty, too, right? It takes a lot of work for me to be such a fantastic dance mom. You should have seen my first several attempts at a ballet bun (thank goodness for YouTube). Little H wants to take a little time off from dance, which is fine with me, but I'm sitting here wondering if she remembers our agreement that if we signed her up for dance class then she would play soccer in the fall. I guess she'll find out soon enough. 
Self Hypnosis
I know it may sound awful, but I don't think it's wrong to lie to my kids. Especially when it makes life easier for me. Little H has been particularly whiny lately, and I have been at a loss at how to handle it. Paying attention would probably just reinforce the behavior, and sending her to her room has been getting old. When we've had a really bad day, she'll tell me, "I can't help it, Mom. God made me sensitive." It was cute at first, but got old quickly.
Last Friday, I was at my wit's end. In the middle of a giant, giant fit because she'd hurt the back of her foot (nothing hurts as bad as she made it sound), I just had to walk away. I got on the computer and googled 'whiny 5 year-old'. I was hoping to find a boot camp or special school to send her to, but instead found a very helpful article where some of the moms just told their kids they couldn't understand them when they used their whiny voices.
I was determined to give it a try. I was worried that Little H might be too smart for this, and the fact that I had always understood her up to this point might mean that she wouldn't believe me. So I made it a little interesting...
I went upstairs (she was still weeping and wailing) and just looked at her like I was confused. Then I said, "I just went down and watched a video that taught me how to hypnotize myself so I can't hear whining. Are you whining right now? Because I can't hear a thing."
This seemed to upset her more at first, so I just said "What was that?" a few more times and then walked away. Once she got used to the idea, she finally came and found me and spoke in a calm voice. It was so nice. And not only that, but it's been working like a charm for the last few days. Sometimes I accidentally respond when she or her brother get weepy, but she hasn't noticed my mistakes so far. All weekend she's been asking me to 'unhypnotize' myself, but I think I like this too much to change. I just wonder how long it can last.
Last Friday, I was at my wit's end. In the middle of a giant, giant fit because she'd hurt the back of her foot (nothing hurts as bad as she made it sound), I just had to walk away. I got on the computer and googled 'whiny 5 year-old'. I was hoping to find a boot camp or special school to send her to, but instead found a very helpful article where some of the moms just told their kids they couldn't understand them when they used their whiny voices.
I was determined to give it a try. I was worried that Little H might be too smart for this, and the fact that I had always understood her up to this point might mean that she wouldn't believe me. So I made it a little interesting...
I went upstairs (she was still weeping and wailing) and just looked at her like I was confused. Then I said, "I just went down and watched a video that taught me how to hypnotize myself so I can't hear whining. Are you whining right now? Because I can't hear a thing."
This seemed to upset her more at first, so I just said "What was that?" a few more times and then walked away. Once she got used to the idea, she finally came and found me and spoke in a calm voice. It was so nice. And not only that, but it's been working like a charm for the last few days. Sometimes I accidentally respond when she or her brother get weepy, but she hasn't noticed my mistakes so far. All weekend she's been asking me to 'unhypnotize' myself, but I think I like this too much to change. I just wonder how long it can last.
Discovering
We went to Discovery Gateway for Little H's field trip on Friday. We've only been once before so I'd sort of forgotten how chaotic the whole thing can be. Grandpa and Grandma were in town which greatly eased my anxiety and increased my chances of getting out of there with both kids unscathed. In spite of their help, I still managed to lose Buster once when I started following a different kid wearing the same color shirt.
Overall I think everyone had fun. I just wish I had managed to take more than one picture that was focused. Looking through them, I ended up with plenty of blurred bodies and pictures of other people's children, but it was hard to get my kids to stand still and smile. Afterwards we met Dan for lunch where we let an exhausted Buster curl up and fall asleep on a dirty, sticky food court chair.
Quarantined
Little H came down with something nasty last Sunday which confined us to the house most of the week. I usually say that I love it when my kids are sick because they are so sweet and cuddly and it seems to be the only time they really need 'mommy' and not just 'MOM!' But I have never had something that has kept my kids down for longer than two days until now. Therefore, I need to change my former statement: I love it when my kids are are sick for two days, and that's it.
By the end of the week, I'd had my fill of whining, cartoons, disinfecting, soup, and most definitely Angry Birds. Most weeks I get plenty of all those things anyway (maybe not the soup), but this week there was no escape. No preschool, no dance class, no visiting friends or relatives, not even grocery shopping. We all got pretty sick of each other, and by Thursday Little H came to me begging to go to preschool. I was tempted, but looking her over, with her runny, red nose, bloodshot eyes, phlegmy cough and overall 'someone tried to drown me but it didn't work so they dragged me behind their car on a dirt road' appearance, I had to reconsider. My sister was here throughout, which helped, and Dan got his fair share when I had to work, but overall, it was not fun, and I did not love it.
Things seem to be better now, and no one got it as bad as Little H. It seemed to skip over Buster entirely, so fingers crossed it stays away. Although, the difference between the two of them is that he would probably be completely happy laying on the couch watching television all day, which I know because he did it several times last week as he piggy-backed on Little H's illness.
Where Everything (Especially My Waistline) Really Is Bigger
We were able to go visit our Texas cousins last week for the first time since they moved there, and it was so great. It really shouldn't have taken us almost six years to make our way down south. Little H was a little afraid of the plane ride because of her new phobia in which she's scared of pretty much everything, but it turned out that the turbulence we had for a few minutes was actually her favorite part of the ride.
After we figured out the paper map that the car rental place had given us (lame, I know, but our GPS decided to sputter out and eventually die on this trip) and with a helpful phone call to Dan's brother, we made it to their house. There wewere greeted by two damp kids and a big umbrella to help us to the door so we didn't have to get wet. I don't usually like to make sweeping generalizations, but as a whole, Texans are some of the most polite people I've had the pleasure of being around. People were always holding doors, looking us in the eye, saying hello, and almost always smiling. It reminded me of the town I grew up in, except these were millions of complete strangers - I mean I didn't actually run into all of them, but I got a pretty good sampling, I'd say.
Anyway, it was so much fun to see the Stockyards in Fort Worth, see the money being printed at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and try out a few 'real' barbecue restaurants, but the best part was seeing family. It was nice for the adults to be able to catch up, but even more importantly, it was nice that the kids got to play together. I think Little H wanted to take one of her cousins home as an older sister, and Buster was just as willing to take an older brother home with him. Actually, given the choice, my kids probably would have chosen to just be adopted by their aunt and uncle because they are so much "funner" than us. The kids have grown so much, and they were all just as cool as they ever were. At one point Little H decided that we needed to buy one of the homes next door. When Dan tried to explain that we couldn't afford to because we didn't have jobs in Texas, Little H logically pointed out that the McDonald's we had stopped at earlier had a 'Now Hiring' sign in the window.
Thanks again to the great hospitality and generosity shown by our wonderful Texas family! They made this trip truly memorable!
The Comedienne
The other day I was watching a neighbor's children while she ran a few errands. My daughter, who always thinks it's her job to entertain when we have people over, was dragging the girls from room to room to help them decide what toy they wanted to play with. I was in the kitchen slicing onions for spaghetti sauce and bawling my eyes out (because of the onions). I was keeping an ear out for weeping or yelling, but otherwise wasn't too concerned with what the kids were up to. Then suddenly, I hear hysterical laughing coming from the front room. And it didn't stop after just the one time so my curiosity got the better of me and I set out to investigate.
I stayed in the corner of the room so I wouldn't interrupt. There I saw Buster and the neighbor kids lined up on the floor watching Little H's routine. Aside from some Three Stooge-esque trips and fake falls, the line that really brought down the house was when she would grab Buster by the shoulders and comically shake her own head from side-to-side repeating "What kind of kid are you? I'm going crazy," in a monster voice. It was pretty funny and sweet that she was working so hard to make everyone happy.
Proud of my daughter and satisfied the kids were all still alive, I went back to cutting onions. It wasn't until that moment that the question hit me. Where exactly was she getting her material?
