mothers day out

StuffThe StoryToddlers

She’s Fearless And I Love It

by Jill
written by Jill

This girl went with me to drop big brother off at school…

But, instead of coming back home with me, she got to stay.

Not a tear was shed, by her or me. Her reaction seemed to scream to me, “Finally! I get to stay and play at the place with all the kids!”

“And all the TOYS!”

“Don’t worry, mom. I’m good. See you at 2!”

So, without any hesitation at all, I left my baby in the competent care of two amazingly sweet teachers, stopped by the grocery store on my way home for more coffee creamer, and came home to a silent house with many grand ideas of what I will accomplish today.

Confident children are such a blessing. I followed her cues and trusted her joy. It’s not hard to leave your baby somewhere when she embraces it and sets out to conquer it the second she gets through the door. Now… we’ll just see how she acts when I pick her up. I wonder if it will be at all like her brother’s first day? 

Leyna is just about 15 months old and I’m now looking for a MDO program for my freaking DOGS who do not understand that I only have 5 hours of peace that I must cherish, and they are ruining it with their incessant dog demands. 

 

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ParenthoodStuffThe Story

Just file me under “THAT sappy mom”

by Jill
written by Jill

I audibly gasped when I opened his miniature back pack upon returning home from a day at Mother’s Day Out, “Awww! Look at how cute that is!” A smile spread across my face from ear to ear. I held it up and turned it around, took in all it’s crafty glory. The poem on the back read,

“This isn’t just a turkey,
As anyone can see.
This very special turkey
was made by hand by me!
Happy Thanksgiving! Love, Kendall”

The sap was oozing out of me like a maple tree. I bounded into the office and shoved the handprint turkey in Scott’s face. “Look at THIS! Isn’t it the cutest thing ever?! Can you believe Kendall’s coming home with little crafts already?!”

“Oh…hmmm.. yeah, that’s nice…. Cool,” he replied in a tone that meant he was merely appeasing me and only barely trying to match my level of excitement by raising his eyebrows for extra emphasis.

I took it back and headed to a wall with a random nail head sticking out of it, a leftover from the previous year’s Christmas decorations. Kendall tugged at my pants, “Goggle, goggle!” he said, pointing to the craft.

“Yes! That’s a turkey, and it’s says gobble, gobble,” I said as I started to hand him the handprint turkey for him to admire his crafty work. He snatched it from my hands and began ripping the yarn from the top.

“*GASP* Oh NO! Let me see that… no… you gave the turkey an owie… let me have it,” I huffed as I pried it from his chubby white knuckles.  I re-tied the yarn and carefully hung it on the nail.

It. was. perfect. You’d have thought I just put a new Pottery Barn sconce on the wall the way I was admiring it.

I showed it off to everyone who stopped by. “Did you see what Kendall made?!” I’d exclaim. I even shared it on my Facebook wall. Judging by everyone’s response, or lack thereof, it became pretty obvious that this is one of those things that only a mom would be so over the moon in love with.

And it’s not that he really “made” it. I’m under no illusion that he had anything to do with this other than allowing them to paint his chubby hand and smoosh it to a paper plate. That, right there, is the reason I pay other people to watch my son once a week. They will do things like craft and paint with him, things that I wouldn’t even dream of doing because it’s such a friggin mess. I’m still questioning how they got him to be still long enough to paint and smoosh his hand, and I haven’t ruled out that they may have done it during naptime.

We put Christmas decorations up on Friday and Saturday, and that random nail head needed to be cleared to hold the card box. I took the handprint turkey down and carefully sat it on the bar. It stayed there until today when I finally had the heart to put it up. I placed it in a box that holds several other small mementos of Kendall’s existence up to this point. Before putting it away, I made sure to write the date, Kendall’s age, and exactly where he made it on the back (could just imagine years from now giving myself credit for being such an amazing, crafty mom, forgetting that this was made at “school” while I was home watching a reality show or trolling TMZ.com).

It is one of my most treasured gifts ever. I tear up just thinking about pulling it out year after year and hanging it on the wall as Thanksgiving approaches. (This is really playing out like an awful Hallmark commercial, I know.) I guess it’s just such a mommy right of passage to get that first little handprint turkey. It’s like a fanciful little parenthood talisman.  Now I feel such incredible pressure to keep it safe and in one piece. We’ve been meaning to get a fireproof safe for a long time for things like, I don’t know, birth certificates and junk. Maybe this will be the extra motivation we need to finally purchase one.

Kendall is almost 19 months old, like just days shy, and that means he’s closer to his 2nd birthday than his 1st. I’m just amazed.

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BabiesThe Story

Giving in to growing up

by Jill
written by Jill

There came a point where I had to just give up on the ringlets that I kept waiting to sprout all over the top of his head, where I had to give up hope that the mullet he was sporting was going to magically transform into a soft halo of curls. I had to admit to myself that my kid looked like a vagabond, and his unkempt hair was beginning to reflect poorly on my grooming abilities. I had to give in to the first haircut.

So off we went yesterday to the nearby low rent version of Hooters, minus the hot wings and beer. We headed to Sports Clips because I had a coupon for a free haircut for all new clients.  And while I was slightly turned off by the bikini clad, leathery skinned, excessively tanned woman standing by the highway with a promotional sign for $10 haircuts as we pulled into the strip mall, I was relieved to see that the actual women inside using razors and scissors were appropriately dressed.

The haircut itself was pretty unexciting. He sucked on his lollipop and she trimmed it up. I would not allow any sort of “blending”. I merely wanted the mullet gone and the hair around his ears trimmed up. Scott thought it was a terrible waste of a free coupon. Guess he figured we should have gone really big and had it all shaved off, or perhaps some fancy designs cut into the sides like Vanilla Ice.  I, however, was not ready for my “not a baby, not yet a big boy” to look like an 8 year old… or a has-been rapper.

^^^^ The final result.  Just a little cleaned up, a little less mullet, a little less sideburns, looking a little too much like an honest to goodness little boy.

No, I didn’t cry, but, yes, it did make me a tad sad.

One reason I decided to go ahead and bite the bullet was Kendall going back to “school” today. He was off from Mother’s Day Out for a couple weeks and started back this morning for the fall semester. It’s not necessarily his first day, but it is his first day in the Toddler class, the one where he will sit in a tiny chair at a tiny table for lunch, the one where he will (maybe?) nap on a mat and not in a crib (when the teacher told me this I laughed and thought, “better you than me, lady”).  This summer he truly left babyhood behind. There is not an ounce of it left.

Here’s a picture I snapped of him this morning just before we left to prove my point.

Kendall is almost 16 months old

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ParenthoodStuffThe Story

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

by Jill
written by Jill

Scott is working from home two days a week now, and I am blown away by his work ethic. He’s really *working*, like, the whole 8 hours. I keep telling him nobody would know if he took an extra long lunch break or a few extra coffee breaks, but he’s all honest and shit… for now. And while I don’t get much from him during the day in the form of help, except the two times that Kendall crapped a muddy river and I screamed and insisted he help me clean up, I am getting a healthy and refreshing dose of respect (not that he really lacked in that department, let’s just say it’s been an eye-opener for him).

This morning, for the first and probably only time, he took on the duty of watching Kendall while trying to work so I could head out to the chiropractor (OOOOOMMMMGGGG amazing, all moms should see chiropractors) so he could continue working on this nerve damage in my shoulder, undoubtedly amplified, if not actually caused by Kendall. I was gone about two hours and called to check in on my way home.

“He’s crazy,” Scott says.

::background noise:: ahhh, babababab,baaaww!! EEEEEEE!!

“What do you mean?” I reply sheepishly.

“He’s crazy, Jill. He …I… I can’t get anything done. He’s just”

“Yeah, I understand. I will be home soon.”

“I don’t think he’s feeling well. He won’t stop whining and crying,” he says in an official tone.

“Uhhhhh… well, that sounds pretty normal,” I say, stifling a laugh.

I get home and am greeted at the door by a pantsless little boy, still in his jammy top, covered in banana slime and snot, beaming from ear to ear. “Momma, mommommoma, momA!” he says. It almost sounds like a genuine, “I’ve missed you, where have you been? I love you!” I scoop him up and think, “Ahhh, so this is what it feels like to be missed, to come home to a little guy who is excited to see you.” I never really experience that since I am around him all. the. time.

I am quickly corrected when I realize what he is really trying to say is, “Oh my God, what the hell? You leave me with dad and he doesn’t even read me any stories or put Sesame Street on for me. He’s just sitting there, trying to WORK, and he won’t give me any more snacks! I want SNACKS! Naaaaaack! Naaaaack!”

I head to the kitchen and reach for a box of cereal, set him up at the table and fill a little bowl for him. Scott wanders in and I ask him how it went. He says …… pause for dramatic effect….. get this…

“You have no idea.”

::blink, raise eyebrows, blink, cold stare::

“Oh, wait… yeah, sorry. Yes you do. Sorry,” he blurts out quickly, bracing himself for the knives I might throw at him.

He follows up with several mentions of how he doesn’t know how I get anything done, to which I remind him that I usually don’t. He says he understands why I had to stop working from home and thank God for that one day a week when Kendall goes to Mother’s Day Out, right?

I think he’s beginning to question the whole work at home thing. Clearly this is not remotely as peaceful as the office and no amount of casual clothes and zero commute is going to change that. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he changed his mind.

Kendall is 15 months and nearly three weeks old

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BabiesThe StoryToddlers

The second cutting of the umbilical cord

by Jill
written by Jill

The past two weeks have been pretty big around here.  It seems once Kendall’s mind and body mastered the art of walking it freed up a hell of a lot of brain space to learn things like words and body parts, and he even started spitting back some of those freaking baby signs I’ve been persistent in showing him over the last six months.  Granted, they aren’t the signs that would actually make life easier like “eat”, “more”, “sleep”, or “I’m about to poop on the floor”, but he can make a sign for just about every animal in his touch and feel book.

All this growing and learning is a tad bittersweet, but I have to admit that I wasn’t one of those moms who cried after her baby turned one. Yes, I was a little sad, but this age kicks ass!  He is ten million times more fun than he was a year ago, and I am ten million times better rested.  We’ve spent every day for the last… well, since conception really, together.  The longest we have been apart was for no more than 8 hours, and that was pretty recently.  I’m sure you can imagine how anxious I was over leaving him for an entire weekend with his dad for the very first time.

I took off to float down the Comal in New Braunfels a couple weekends ago for the infamous bachelorette party, the one that officially put an end date for breastfeeding on my calendar.  Luckily, Kendall had long since been weaned and managed to master the sippy cup, so I didn’t have to worry about how my husband would have to produce milk and/or a breast for him.  And, I have to admit, even though there were moments when I would think about him and get a little sad, it wasn’t that awful.  Does that make me awful? I mean,  I think I was more sad about missing my old perky, firm, full boobs that once filled out bathing suits so nicely a little more than him.  It’s not that I DIDN’T miss him.  I did, but I knew he was in safe hands, I got a nightly recap of his day, and I knew I would see him again soon.  I can not say the same, however, for my old boobs.  R.I.P old boobs.

Today we went even a step farther.  Today Kendall started a Mother’s Day Out program where he will attend a preschool/daycare kinda thingy at a local church every Tuesday for 5 hours. This is so I may have 5 hours a week to clean, write, run without a stroller, stare into the refrigerator uninterrupted and do dishes without any regard for where or when the steak knives go in.  Of course, I was a little nervous last night, but he has handled everything so well lately that I really wasn’t concerned.  I was a little sneaky in leaving him, only because I didn’t want to make a big deal about it and get him upset, so I don’t think he even knew I left.  The whole afternoon was nothing but productive.  It. was. beautiful.

I arrived promptly to pick him up, pretty sure he would be wiped out and ready to nap, but not at all expecting the welcome I received. As I poked my head around the corner, there was my big guy, rocking on the lap of his teacher.  The minute his eyes locked with mine he busted out the biggest SAD FACE ever, began crying big tears and ran toward me. I scooped him up and he looked at me as if to say, “What the hell? You freaking FORGOT me! I am SO mad at you! I am mad at you and I am tired because YOU forgot to take me home to my crib so I could take a nap.  I have been looking for you all day.” And then he continued to cry until we left the building where he saw something that must have resembled a duck, made the sign for duck over and over, then passed out in his carseat only seconds into the drive home.

That pretty much was the saddest thing I have ever seen.  This mom didn’t cry when her baby turned one, or when she left him for the weekend, but she sure did driving home from his first day of “school”.

Kendall is 13 and a half months old and I owe him, big time

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