Lovely parting gifts.

I'm having surgery in a week.  Not a huge deal, and nothing I'm terribly concerned about, in fact, I'm kind of looking forward to the overnight hospital vacation.  Okay, the looking forward to the relaxation part is not entirely true, as staying in a hospital is anything but relaxing.  But they do have drugs and cable, which will likely make me nostalgic for college.

My largest concern about this whole thing is my doctor.  For one thing, he looks like a shorter, less-ginger Conan O'Brien, which is a bit disturbing.  Makes it just a touch harder to take him seriously, not to mention the horrible nightmares in which he starts the surgery, but Jay Leno finishes it.  But I think it will be okay, I'm certain he can he can yank a gallbladder in his sleep.  I believe it's something they teach the first semester of medical school, right after ingrown toenail and appendix. 

The other problem is the fact that I don't know him, I've only met him once.  I know that's the standard with a general surgeon, but it's just not something I'm used to.  I've had 3 other surgeries, all of them c-sections and all of them done by the same doctor, a doctor I've been seeing for about 13 years.  Our relationship has been much more organic, starting with a meeting in her office, which slowly progressed to the grope 'n' poke, then eventually to surgery.  With this doctor, it's just hello, slice.  It's weird, and I almost feel like I'm cheating on my OB something, I mean she's the only one who's ever cut me open before!

And here's my last concern, my other surgeries all involved getting to come home with a squishy, pink (okay, in my case, yellow), yummy smelling prize.  I have the feeling that I do not get an awesome parting gift with this surgery.  And if I do, I don't think I'm going to much care for it, let alone want to feed it or send it through college.

Different definitions of awesome

Today my children and I walked to the park.  We all hung out with some of our better friends, played in the splash pad, played on the playground and dug in the sandbox.  We then took a leisurely walk home, taking a different route than usual.  On the way we stopped and looked at new flowers, touched trees and talked to an assortment of people who were out and about.

Once we got home we had a delicious lunch of fresh fruit, vegetables, cheese and homemade bread.  Then the exterminator, Merle visited to rid us of wicked earwigs and nasty little ants.

Can you guess the highlight of my childrens' day? 


Yep, it was our bug guy.  Molly is currently singing a song that I will refer to as the Ode to Merle (the Orkin remix).

Naked Ladies

Molly had daily swimming lessons the last couple of weeks.  At 9 in the morning.  That meant that I loaded up all three kids, swimming gear, plus any additional gear/meals we would need for any play dates we had afterward.  It went a hell of a lot better than you might think.  I take a really crazy amount of pride in saying that in the two weeks she had class we were always there and we were never late.


One of these mornings we go to the locker room after Molly has showered.  The locker room is completely filled with naked old women.  Seriously.  Very naked, very old women.  I'd like to know the exact hormone cocktail I need to take when I hit menopause to avoid the desire to be tits out naked in public.  It's apparently some primal urge that begins in toddlerhood, rears its head at frat parties or around Girls Gone Wild cameras, then returns, full force at about 50, unleashing itself upon innocent locker rooms all over the country.

But anyway, Molly stands up on one of the benches in the locker room (which she's not supposed to do) and promptly tumbles off.  She immediately laughs and stands up, so I know she's not been mortally wounded.  She then proceeds to dance around and dawdle, and gawk at the naked women. At this point I turn into the annoying hurry up mommy, and prod her to move it along as we were going to be meeting friends in the park.

One of the naked women decides to tell me that I need to relax and just enjoy my kids while they're young, they won't be that way forever, etc.  I just nodded and smiled, thinking that it was a nice sentiment, that she was just being friendly.  But as I thought about the incident later I started to get a little annoyed.  I mean here I am, standing in a hot, humid locker room, two kids strapped to my body, surrounded my oddly hairless naked old women.  I think I've earned the right to be a little impatient with my dawdling, gawking daughter.  Especially since I know that within 10 minutes of Molly getting dressed and out of the locker room that we will be at the park, enjoying a gorgeous day with good friends. 

Not to mention the fact that I do enjoy my children.  That's why I kept having them, and that's why my husband and I worked so hard so that I can stay home with them.  I am keenly aware that time is fleeting and that they won't be small and cuddly forever.  Eventually they will go to school and play sports and join clubs and do all sorts of things that don't involve me.  But for now we will continue to do fun things together, like go to the park, visit the library, make cookies and explore the museum.  Not on the list of awesome?  Being cooped up in a steamy locker room, listening to naked old women bitch at us.

Conversations with Molly

Molly:  "Whenever I breathe my butt hurts."

Me:     "How does breathing make your butt hurt."

Molly:  "I don't know, I just breathe funny."

Molly:  "I can't swim in the water."

Me:     "Where can you swim then?"

Molly:  "In the swimming pool."

Me:     "Doesn't the pool have water?"

Molly:  "Yes, the kind you can swim in, not this water."

Molly:  "I can't sleep with a (stuffed) animal. They might get hungry and I don't want to use my boobies."

Molly:  "I want a bra."

Us:      "..."

Molly:  "I want a brawl."

Molly:  "Mommy, I'm really pissed off at these stories."
Me:     "Don't say pissed off, why are you pissed off?"
Molly:  "They're boring. I'm pissed off at these boring stories."
Me:     "Don't say pissed off. I'm sorry you have boring stories, pick out something not boring."
Molly:  "That can't be happening."

Hurry up!

Before I ever decided to stay home I made a decision to not be one of the "hurry up" moms.  The moms you see in the mall or at the park that are always herding their children from one place to another with all the tact and kindness of a not-so-popular drill instructor.  I always thought to myself, you stay at home, where can you possibly have to go?  Just let the kids have fun, etc.  I always told myself that if I were lucky enough to stay home, I'd never do that, I'd let my kids smell the flowers, chase the butterflies, lick the mall floor, etc. 

I was a freaking* idiot.  Okay, maybe not an idiot, just not seeing all of the picture.

Fact is there are things to do and places to be in a timely matter.  Even when you're a stay at home parent.  Doctor's appointments, exterminators and carpet installers don't magically wait for you, just because you didn't have to take time off work.  And although it may look like it, we're not hurrying our children up so that we can go home and watch The OC (or to blog), a lot of times we're doing it so that we can go do something far more awesome than what we're already doing.  Remember that the next time you see an impatient mama at the mall.


*I originally had a different f word there because I swear a lot.  Just not around my children.  Usually.  Although, I may or may not have once dropped the f-bomb at a play date.  Ask me sometime how that went might go over.

Completely non-interesting tidbit:  this blog post was interrupted by my having to go wring out soaking diaper inserts in the tub and wipe a booger off the baby's head (not her own).  This is the glamorous life.

Karma

Once you've spent some time around playgrounds and tot lots you begin to notice different types of parents.  The two most common types found out in the wild are the hoverer and the bench warmer (for lack of a better term).  The hoverer follows their child (or children--which is high-larious to watch - 1 helicopter parent + 2 toddlers = awesome entertainment for me) around the playground at all times, no matter the capability of the child.  The hoverer will help their child climb ladders, hold his/her hand down the slide, etc.

The bench warmer, on the other hand is happy to let his/her child roam free around the playground, climb ladders, climb slides, etc., all without parental intervention.  This is not to say that the bench warmer ignores their children; these parents typically know where their children are and exactly what they are doing at most times.  This type of parent is very quick to jump in when requested or needed.  You'll often find the bench warmers in friendly clusters in the middle of the playground, or somewhere on the sidelines.  Bench warmers are not to be confused with the real asshole parents, the ones who take their (often misbehaved) kids to playgrounds and tot lots and completely ignore them.  Fortunately I've run into very few of the truly oblivious parents.

I tend to fall into the bench warmer category.  To each his/her own and all, but I'd really rather not follow my children around a playground if I can avoid it.  I want them to run and jump and climb and burn off as much energy as humanly possible.  I am old and slow, I will only be holding them back.  Not to mention the fact that I see them all the time and they see me all the time.  Frankly, we're sick of each other.  The playground and the tot lot are much needed separation time.  I have nothing against those parents that like to hover, I really don't.  Some of my friends are hoverers, and my only problem with them is that I don't get to talk to them enough because they're busy hovering.

Unfortunately there are a lot of hovering mamas who don't think that we bench warmers are paying attention.  Some of them make short, snide comments to their equally harried hovering friends as they pass each other in the playground, trailing after their toddlers with the antibacterial spray.  Others choose to just give the bad mama evil eye.  Bad mama evil eye is typically given when the hovering parent is doing something to insure the complete safety of their child and the bench warmer is not.  It implies that the bench warmer is a careless, thoughtless human being who is risking his/her child's life and limb(s) in the playground by not providing proper supervision.  It's an ugly look.

I got the bad mama evil eye the other day at the tot lot.  My son decided to walk up the slide in the tiny little play structure, while a hovering mama was helping her daughter (who looked to be about 3 - she was bigger than my son) climb up the 4 teeeny, tiny little stairs.  They paused mid-climb to wait for my son and to give me the eye.  As mama stared her bad mama daggers at me, little Nevaeh* (it's heaven! spelled backwards!) ripped her hand away from mama, climbed the last two steps into the play structure and threw herself out of the toddler sized hole on the side, landing poorly.  Good, careful mama saw none of it!  Absolutely none!  But I did.  And I laughed.  But only on the inside. And only once I knew the little girl was okay, which she was, I'm not a heartless bitch or anything.  The little girl seemed to think it was pretty awesome, I think it was the first time she'd had any real, unscripted fun.  Her mother didn't.  She scolded her and they left not too long after.  It's been a couple of weeks since this happened and I've seen this mama since (still hovering) and she refuses to make eye contact with me.




* I do not know that this child's name was Nevaeh (it's heaven! spelled backwards!), I only use the name when I'm being sarcastic because I hate it**.  The child-free get Bratleigh and Snotleigh, so I'm making this one my own. 

** Yeah, I really do hate the name.  Complete and total (ir)rational hatred.  I'm sorry if it offends, but I'm not going to back down on this one.  If you have a child named this, or are choosing to name a child this, just don't tell me about it 'cause I'll think less of you, which I probably don't want to do.  I frequent a message board with a popular poster called Nevaehsmommy, or some shit like that.  I can't even bring myself to read her posts.  Her posts may be the most eloquent and useful posts on the message board, but I'm never ever going to know.

Overheard at the Tot Lot

Rec Center employee (aka hot college boy) to middle-aged mom, "Ma'am, would you like your ticket punched?"

You won't find that kind of service at Coralville's Rec Center.  =)

Snacktime Faux Pas

Between trying to get out of the house by 8:40 to get to Molly's swimming lesson on time, packing for a trip to the new splash pad and attempting to get the cup of coffee out of the carpet in the baby's room I forgot to bring a snack for the kids today.

I didn't realize that I had forgotten a snack until we were in the checkout line at K-Mart (we had gone there to buy carpet cleaner).  Because our K-Mart is incredibly slow (I have visibly aged while standing in line), I refused to leave the line (again--Molly decided she had to go potty while we were in line the first time).  So I grabbed the first thing I saw, which happened to be a package of Oreo Cakesters. I'll be honest, I love Cakesters.  They're horrible, terrible fake-tasting food that I love.  I very, very rarely give in and have these and I've certainly never given these to my children before, and never thought I would.  But today I did.

So, off we go to the splash pad, kids in their carseats happily munching on Cakesters.  Or so I thought.  It seems that Max found his Cakester far too precious for consumption.  Instead he chose to hold on to it until he found the perfect time and place to eat it.  He then proceeded to carry it around the park/splash pad for the next 30 minutes.  Activities pursued while laden with Cakester include climbing up and down playground equipment, going through a tunnel, sliding down 2 different slides, walking up at least one of them, digging in the sandbox and finally, running through the water in the splash pad.  Somehow the Cakester remained completely perfect and safe.  At this point, he sat down right next to me and consumed it in two giant bites.  Then wiped his hands all over me.

While Max's ability to multitask is impressive, there is a huge downside to his Cakester hoarding adventure.  Every. Single. SAHM at the park saw my child running around with the absolute worst snack a mother could possibly feed her child.  Seriously.  This was no mere package of "fruit" snacks, which only nets mild disapproval from the mom with the bag of organic strawberries and SIGG canteen in hand, no it was a freaking Cakester.  Taking a Cakester to a playdate is roughly equivalent to taking a whore to church.  It's just not done.  If I weren't already in a mom's group, I may well have been blacklisted.

Things I've learned since being a parent

My son Max has become a runner.  It doesn't matter where we go, or how happy he is there, he clearly feels the need to be elsewhere.  So he goes.  This means that when we're at the mall play area, he'd rather be in Maurices 200 feet away, or when we're in the "ball room" at the Children's Museum, he'd rather be in the Flight room.

Well, yesterday we were at the park and he decided that he'd rather be on the baseball field, so he went.  Well, I was nursing Maggie in the sling at the time, so off I went to join him.  Then he ran.  So I had to run.  I never thought I'd ever have to learn to run while nursing a baby.  But I have.  It's not easy, nor is it necessarily fun.  However, it did lead me to think of all the weird random things I've learned to do.  So, I've decided to keep a running list.

Spills

Spills I have cleaned up today:

1. Milk
2. Spit up
3. Shit - Max has mastered the art of unsnapping his diaper.
4. Maggie - Either Molly is lying to me or Maggie has learned to leap from her swing. In her sleep.