Keeping secrets (not very well)

Viking bite their own toenails? Surely not!

Did you know that three-year-olds keep secrets?

I did not. They are three, after all. What could possibly be going on in their life that they wouldn’t tell you about? Or that you wouldn’t know? I’m not sure about you, but Vince tells me EVERYTHING, even things I maybe didn’t want to hear…

When he has to pee, how big his poop is, whom he played with both in and outside preschool. Did you know that Vince has inside and outside friends? Or so he told me… “Abby’s my inside friend, but I play with Gabriel outside”. Who the hell is Gabriel is what I want to know?? He’s been a hot topic of conversation for the last week and a half, only as an ‘outside friend’ though.

Anyways, my point is that every second of his life is an open book that he is reading out-loud non-stop.

So how did I miss that he bites his toenails?

His TOENAILS. He bites them. With his teeth.

And the reason I know this is last weekend, Vince came whining out of his room complaining of an owie on his toe. Since he had only been up for a short time, I asked him what happened thinking he had maybe stubbed his toe of something like that.

“I just was biting my toenails and then I got an owie”.

“Oh.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Because, frankly, that was not really the answer I was expecting. And I might have made a shocked face. Ok, I DID make a shocked face. And then a gross kind of face.

“Honey, did you bite your toes?”

“Mummy, I just bite them a little.”

“Don’t bite your toenails, its yucky.”

I don’t even know when this started. I mean, I do cut his nails. Honestly!

I guess he took matters into his own hands. It makes me wonder what other things are going on behind my back. And then it makes me worry just a little at where this could be leading…

What could be next? Nail biting? Late night 2% milk sessions in the kitchen? Unhitching the safety gate at the top of the stairs and sneaking down for some elicit Mickey Mouse marathons? Ack!

And this is just the pre-school bad behavior. Once he hits elementary, I bet he’ll go big time. Collecting bellybutton lint in little jars, hoarding his fingernail clippings, shaving all his body hair and bagging it up… (this is what I equate toenail biting with).

Ugh. Am I blowing this out of proportion? Naw… I can tell you this though, I will be monitoring those nails like they’re a juvenile delinquent posse. For Reals. (And I will also stop saying ‘for reals’ right now. For reals reals.)

xoxo and sweet toenail biting dreams…

a.m.

Nasal sprays and 3 year olds or My morning plans…

I got a little bit of extra Vince time today. Now while the reason wasn’t the best, the time was pretty darn great.

We hit up the allergist today and had a combo routine follow-up along with some skin testing for pollens and molds.  Vince has had chronic sinus issues ever since he was a wee guy. And in those early days, he was allergic to wheat and peanuts too. He is always somewhere in the ‘cycle of sick’. Good times. Lots of tissue.

Well, the skin testing didn’t really reveal anything. And he is WAY too young for intradermals. It seems as though his symptoms wax and wane with the pollen season and so we are throwing in a nasal spray to see how that works.

I am quite curious as to how a three year old and nasal spray are going to work together. Hopefully, the two will skip hand-in-hand merrily down the street instead going totally ‘fight-club’ on each others asses. Or bumbums.

I will find out tomorrow morning when we use it for the first time! Oh how fun!

I’ve got all sorts of fun things in the works for Vince and I in the upcoming weeks. Edward is working too much and we do our best to get out of his hair to give him some space to he can get stuff done.

Upcoming adventures are going to include Leu Gardens and OMA (Orlando Museum of Art). I have my eyes on a few other art museums in the vicinity as well.

For my locals, did you know that OMA has a preschool art program with monthly, interactive, awesome events to sign up for.

It desperately makes me wish I could call out sick so Vince and I could hit it up, but alas… I so very much want to attend next months ‘Fall Colours of Vincent Van Gogh’.

Gah. Jealous.

So if you have Fridays off, or don’t work and want something to do with the wee ones, please go. For my sake.

Check out OMA here. We will be heading there soon, it’s never too early to get your children involved in the Arts…

xoxo a.m.

Scars, complaints and some mild drama…

So earlier this week I had my final ‘spot’ sliced off at the dermatologist.

HALLELUJAH.

I’m so tired of going there that I am not capable of adding an exclamation mark to the previous ‘exclamation’. It’s just a loud statement. Said in a bored sort of voice, because I am so over being sliced that it’s not even funny.

The nurse removed the stitches from the ‘spot’ on my chest, which has healed up quite good. The spot on my thigh looks like someone bingo-stamped with magenta ink. Oh and put a big icky scab in the middle. Real attractive. The last area is on the side of my upper right arm. Another three stitches, frankly this one looks a little rougher. And hairier. Stitch thread sticking up and a bald spot in the shape of a band-aid in the surrounding area are competing to add extra glamour to my day-to-day look.

One more week and I head back to have the stitches removed. Since it’s such a quick procedure, I’ve elected to take V with me. Hysterical, right? I think so.

All of these spots plus the fun that I am experiencing during early pregnancy have combined to make me feel just kind of gross. Despite being in my second trimester (albeit just barely), this ‘surge’ of energy so far is manifesting itself  as more of a ‘drain’. Liars!

Craving are up and running full speed though. Nausea and what I honestly describe as a ‘general malaise’ are in the running with my energy ‘surge’ for number one. And gosh do I ever like saying ‘general malaise’.

Oh and I feel like I’m 5 months pregnant. Thanks muscles for relaxing and stretching out at the slightest whisper of pregnancy.

So to sum it up: I am covered in new scars, carrying a huge spare tire, exhausted, cranky, smell like apples (must stop eating them) and am craving cheese.

Gah!!

xoxo a.m.

I’m a hormonal freak. Again. Still.

Cat in cage, not in bag. As previously explained.

So now that the cat is completely out of the bag, expect a surplus of pregnancy related posts… Mostly about how tired I am (which is a lot) and how I feel like I want to puke every morning (yay first trimester!) and how I am frighteningly hormonal.

And frankly, these hormones are a little scary. There might have been some out of control rage. I might have maybe stormed out of the house, slamming the door in my wake. Maybe.

And while trying to mentally remember my first pregnancy, I found that there are little to no memories remaining. Shock! Apparently, and for my own good, my mind has blocked out every unpleasant aspect of it. Was I this tired?? I don’t think so, but who knows? I could have been!

I do remember eating a lot of peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, uncontrollable urges for oranges and having a sore back. And then, magically I had a baby.

And most of the actual ‘giving birth’ parts are pretty vague too. Kind of like how your Mum might have glossed over that particular part when telling you as a child.

“And then you push and OUT pops the baby!”

Or kind of like I’ve had my memory wiped. I have to concentrate really hard to remember the specifics, but my mind kind of slips away from it. Deliberately distracted by anything else other than what it was aiming from.

Nature is helping me not get too freaked out about what we’ve gotten ourselves into…

And while Vince shrieks things like “I said get out of my room!!” and “Go away Mummy!”, I ponder the fun that baby #2 will bring. Vince thinks that the baby will be ready for playtime, as evident in this tasty piece of V-wisdom… “The baby’s gonna come and smash me on the head!!!” (and he sounded really excited about it).

In the mean time, I cannot wait until this awful exhaustion stops. It will stop right? Because it’s crippling me. And while we are at it, wouldn’t mind that nausea taking a hike too…

xoxo a.m.

 

Epiphany

A few days ago, I was driving  through the parking lot at Publix and I braked and waved a mum and her 2 kids across the traffic. Her hand lifted in a ‘thank you’ wave and then practically leapt down and latched on to her 4 year old’s hand. Her younger child had a pained look on her face and her little fingers twisted and turned and fought the grip her mum had on her.

I literally had an epiphany.

Oh my gosh. It’s not just me. My son is not the only child in the whole world that hates having his hand held. It is, in fact, all children everywhere in the whole entire.

Funnily enough, this was really a kind of shocking epiphany. I think as you are parenting, it is very hard to remember that what you are doing is what all parents are doing everywhere. Even though it very well may be the most frustrating thing ever, or the grossest thing ever. Or the sweetest thing ever. Whatever those things are, they are being repeated endlessly everywhere.

So two days of really awful diarrhea? Yup, that’s going on somewhere.

A 3 year old, running carelessly around the YMCA pool deck with his father shouting at him? Yup, that too.

Asking for a hug before bedtime and getting “No, maybe later Mummy” as a response. Most likely this is happening in every single home around the world simultaneously.

And just to complain for a second, I had to force a hug from my child tonight. First time. Every night I usually get joyous hugs and smooches, without  even asking for them.

Tonight, Edward picked up Vince, handed him to me and then placed his arms around my neck, mimicking a hug. Half a second later, V wiggled out of my arms and proclaimed it was Daddy’s night and essentially banished me to the living room.

Hm. It appears as if my years of overly loving on my son might be approaching their end.

Nothing like a little Angry Birds to relax...

But, at the same time, it really does help to have these epiphanies. Because honestly it is really easy to forget that you are not the only one going through all of this ridiculous, dramatic, wailing, flailing, smart-mouthed, talking back, pooping everywhere (or nowhere) life.

Everyone else is too. Don’t forget.

xoxo a.m.

Sometimes we have the oddest battles…

Annoyed with Edward's shorts in the sink again, I got ready for a night out on the town...

And I am sure that’s true for everyone, actually. Not just parents of little ones, but parents of big ones, non-parents, married couples, non-married couples. Everyone.

Years ago I can remember getting just furious with Edward because he left his shorts in the bathroom sink. Why would you leave YOUR SHORTS in the sink?! I was so mad. Yesterday, I got back from the gym, stripped and plunked my sports bra in the sink. And in my self-defense it’s because it’s bright purple, has a tendency to run and I don’t trust Edward to do laundry properly.

About 2 years ago, I remember (yes, it’s all Edward’s fault) being SO MAD at him because he would use my facecloth to wipe off his freshly shorn head. And then, not only did he not rinse it off, but he hung it back. Leaving me, unsuspectingly , to encounter it early morning while washing my face, leaving me covered in dark hair. I looked like one of the wolf people.

Tonight with Vince, it was something just plain bizarre. He was terribly wound up when I picked him up at my in-laws. And had been stuffing himself with turkey pepperoni and provolone. He chattered away happily to himself in the backseat as we drove back to our house:

“My head went boop! And then my hair was all gone. Mummy! My hair! It’s not der! It’s aaallllll gone. Uh-oh, I found one! My hairs! Der back!” etc etc

Back at our sweet pad, he dashed around like a crazed monkey. I managed to squeeze some yogurt into him and half a (don’t judge) corn-dog. He announced “I no want to eat, I wanna do a puzzle”.

So we trotted upstairs with some milk, got our pj’s on, got all ready for a puzzle session. We read a bedtime book, put on Cat Stevens and flipped off the lights. And then V flipped out.

“I want my dinnnnnnnner! I want my macaroniiiiiiiiiii! I need my dinner!”

“I want my peas and corn. Mummy, I need my peas and corn Mummy! I NEED MY PEAS AND CORN!!!”

Holy moly, where did this come from? Why on earth are peas and corn the sudden subject of a torrential downpour? And then, just like the rain in Florida, it stopped.

And it made me laugh. I waited, of course, until I’d left the room. I had to wait at least a day to laugh at Edward’s damn shorts in the sink. And maybe 20 minutes, post-wolf-face.

Sometimes the oddest battles are the best, partially because they make the greatest stories. And great stories are the cement of awesome relationships. We got some damn good cement over here….

xoxo a.m.

 

Mostly about sweaters, not at all about christening…

Too many cool people to count...

 

This morning started off terribly relaxed. I am pleased to report that Vince ran himself so ragged with his cousins yesterday, that he crashed hard. And so did his parents.

Yesterday was Vincent and Chloe’s Christening party, which was held and organized by Chloe’s parent’s, Edward’s Aunt Christine and Uncle Lee at a really pretty little park on Long Island (I’d tell you where, but honestly, I’m not really sure where we were).

Christine pretty much broke her back organizing everything and it was amazing. Centerpieces, catered delicious food, party favours, childrens crafts etc etc. How she is not dead from exhaustion, I have no idea…

We arrived and helped (sort of) set up and for a while I wondered if as many people as I were told were coming. It was pretty quiet, Vince and his two little cousins ran around and scared the Canadian Geese that were chilling out. (Hey look!! My family showed up!) and it was a pretty low key event…

And then, what started off as a slow trickle became a deluge of Italians. Not that I’m complaining, I love them all.  Oh how I LOVE them. It just seemed that there were none and then suddenly there were 70. And all of them were saying one of the two following statements:

“Vincent is the most adorable thing I have ever seen. LOOK AT THOSE CURLS!!”

And

“When are you having another?” And when I paused to answer… (while holding a Bud Light Lime) “Are you pregnant RIGHT NOW?!?!”

I think I hit 10 before I lost count. I asked Edward this morning. His response?

“Are you two going to have another baby? Is Jaime pregnant RIGHT NOW?”

Oh my lord.

Let me just clear everything up.

Yes, we are planning on having another child. No, I am currently not pregnant. I will be sure to let you all know immediately as soon as I find out, right after I pee on the stick. Maybe even before I tell Edward. Possibly before my mother-in-law knows. Maybe I’ll tell everyone via blog, that way everyone will instantaneously know. Plus, it will up my readership. To include more members of my family. Ha!

So, to conclude. I heart my family. Yes, they are all crazy and obsessed with babies. We eat a lot together. In fact, that appears to be what we do best. Yes, we are trying to have another one. No, I am not pregnant.

I really hope that has cleared up any and all questions…Don’t hesitate to ask me anything else. I’m sure you won’t.

xoxo a.m.

Words that, perhaps, you shouldn’t call your son

This afternoon as I was getting ready for my lady date, Vince came running down the hallway and threw open my bedroom door.
Leaning against it, he started shouting at me…

I was shaving my legs. You know, that one time a week when I have someone to impress? That are ladies?
So in he runs, shouting something that frankly was rather hard to understand. By the third time he shouted it, I understood and then started to inwardly laugh…

Vincent: “Sweetie! Sweetie sweetie! Sweetie! SWEETIE!!!”

Mummy: “Ah…. Yes?”

Vince: “I did a big poo.”

Who knew that this was a ‘sweetie’ worthy conversation topic?

And guess what? That is totally all my fault.

‘Sweetie’ and ‘Babe and ‘Honey’ are all things that I regularly call Vince instead of his actual name. And clearly he thinks this is just things that people call one another. Which, technically, is true if you actually, physically live in my house.

Everyone has some other name, or no name, or a name plus an additional name. Like how the dog is “Chewie McBitersonton”. Or how Edward is, well, ‘Edward’. He’s just too formal. And a huge pain in my ass. And Vince, of course, has too many names to list.

About 2 weeks ago, Vince shouted “Honey!! HONEY!! HONEY!!!!!!”

Mummy: “WHAT!!!!!!!”

Vince: “Mummy, your my best fwen. I wuve you.”

Mummy: *heart melt* “Love you too baby…”

xoxo a.m.

Lies you tell your children (and other things I regret)

Lying to your kids.  For  ladies and gentlemen of my generation? Well, it’s a new thing.

For our parents? They are seriously thinking “Oh darn, they’ve finally figured it out.” And they mean us. If you just started lying to your own kids, this means you just figured out that your own parents lied to you.

Case in point: a few months ago, Vince and Edward were playing with the light switch in V’s bedroom. Flicking in on. And off. And on. And off. Andonandoffandonandoffandonandoffandonandoffandoff.

“Guys!! Don’t do that! You’ll start a fire!” I shouted dramatically. Which is, apparently, the only way I know how to shout. Unless it’s at work. Then I shout calmly. With dramatic license. Maybe that’s the same thing…

Edward looked at me. With humour. “It’ll start a what? What will it start Jame?”

“A fire. It’ll start a… hmmm… fire. Ya.”

“And who told you that?”

“My Mummy. My Mummy told me it would start a fire,” I said, petulantly, like a 3 year old. A three year old who knew they were wrong.

“Jame. Your Mum totally LIED to you,” Edward stated fake solemnly. Bastard. Seriously for years. YEARS. I thought that was the truth. It’s the little things, right? It was just a small lie, one that you’d forget about, one that would just become ingrained… (But regardless, I’ll still blame my husband)

And so, apparently, we all carry it on.

This past Christmas when we decided to take the tree down, we did it overnight. So when V woke up in the morning, it was gone. Coming downstairs, he was rather surprised.

“Mummy!! Where’d da tree go?!”

“Santa took it, back to the North Pole baby. Next year, he’ll bring it back.”

“Mummy? Where da weeth go?? And da lights?”

“Santa took the wreath and lights, baby. To the North Pole. But he’ll bring them back in December!”

“Oh, ok Mummy!”

And that has worked for several months….

This last week or so?

Whole buildings have disappeared. Random items from the house. Dirty underwear. Garbage. Chewies toys. Etc etc…

“Mummy!! Santa took it!! He took the building! And da fire truck! And da Christmas Dog movie!”

“No baby, no he didn’t” (Although, ‘Santa Paws’ can stay with Santa. I don’t want it back. Stupid movies about dogs with magical Christmas powers…)

Etc etc.

Santa apparently has taken everything or is about to take everything. Vince doesn’t say too much about him bringing those things back. I wasn’t trying to make him out to be a bad guy, just trying to find an explanation for why these things disappeared over night.

So it has now turned into a constant re-imagining of life. Because Santa can and, apparently, will, crop up and take things. He will TAKE IT ALL.

And NOT BRING IT BACK.

I can just see years worth of either therapy or lying ahead of me. Probably lying. Lots and lots of lying. Hopefully not therapy. Could be expensive…

xoxo a.m. (the big fat liar)

Some more about poop

Look Mum! No Poop!!

As if I don’t write enough about it. Geez. I am annoyed with myself. But, you know, you draw what you can from your own experiences and this is apparently what my life is consisting of lately.

Today was a particularly special day.

It started off with poo and ended with it as well. How blessed am I! I guess I am blessed with an almost 3 year old that can pee in the potty, but hasn’t quite mastered the poo. But has mastered the ‘holding it’ part of the movement and is rather good at it.

Blah. Anyways, thats how it started today. A nonchalant statement ‘Mummy? I poo in my underwears.” It was just a flat out statement. No emotion at all. It has become de rigeur. Routine. Normal.

And then this afternoon? We got home, walked the dog and then headed out into the courtyard to pull some weeds. We have had a serious weed eruption in the last 5 days. It’s insane. V and I pulled about 3 pounds of weeds this afternoon and in the middle of all of this vigrous pulling, V announced:

“Mummy! Dere’s poo! Right der!”

“Oh?” Uninterestedly… “There is?”

“Mummy!! Right der. Da poo. It’s icky. It’s on my sock”.

Ok, now that got my attention. What? And then? There it was. In the middle of the courtyard.

A turd. Just one. But don’t worry, there was a shower of them to follow.

I had to pick them all up individually. With my bare hands.

Ha! I kid. I keed. I used a papertowel.

And just when I thought I’d got them all, we started heading upstairs and then one more appeared. Renegade poop.

Vince shouted: “It’s a stinky icky poo!! Ewwwwwwww!” Which made me laugh as it rolled out of his pant-leg and on to the floor. He created and disowned in a microsecond.

Having nothing near by to pick it up with, I used V’s dirty sock to pick up the turd, carry it upstairs and deposit it in the toilet.

And that, probably, is the perfect example of the regular life of a normal Mummy. Sock poo pick-up. Vomit slasher-film type experience. Random wet pants.

Edward got home 15 minutes later to a clean Vince, pj-clad and pleasant. Neither of us mentioned anything about poo. To Daddy or each other. Not that, I think, its something we’d have a conversation about. But it was just not mentioned.

And then, I watched Beauty and the Beast and went to bed. Clearly a win of a day…

xoxo a.m.