Sitting at Home Mom

Recently, I bumped into a former student's mom and she asked me if I was "sitting at home" now and I think my eyes started to twitch a little when I nodded my yes. Yes, I'm staying at home. No I'm not sitting. I'm sitting now writing this blog, but no not sitting, not most of the time anyway.

Staying at home is a whole different survival story than my working with kid days. Both equally hard and exhausting.

I survive the week thanks to Mother's Day Out. Oh, how I could kiss those MDO teachers' feet.

But getting to and from MDO is like a marathon in itself.

Like this morning for example. I'll tell you as I drink my three hour old, cold coffee. Yes, that cup I couldn't locate in the morning mayhem. The one that took me twenty minutes to locate tucked behind a picture frame on the bookshelf.

Rewind to this morning -
My eyes pop open at 7:50 am. I feel like a sardine. Why can't I move? Oh yes. I am the white stuff of an oreo smashed together by Hattie and Ham. I remember when she woke up, but where did he come from?

Ham rolls over and says the first of thirty "It's time to get up." He is my personal alarm clock. He's really the boss of me in general. Or at least it seems that way anyway.

I roll out of bed and leave Hattie. She could use some sleep ....someone should enjoy a sleep in.

And then I make and enjoy my coffee, and then I get everything that Ham needs so I can enjoy my coffee in peace. Like waffles, syrup, milk and his favorite tv show.

8:10 am -  Then I take three sips of my coffee while kind of sitting down briefly and then I realize I didn't wash Ham's school shirt and I throw my coffee down, run to the washer, realize I did wash it and throw it in dryer. Is there time for it to dry?

8:15 am - Then I sit down for one more sip of the coffee and I realize Hattie is up. Do I have time to feed her or should I wait until after I drop him off? After it is. I start to change her clothes and diaper.  I hear a voice from the kitchen.

"I need a wittle more syrup" Ham says. I have every intention of getting that for him but I am lost in trying to figure out where I put the diapers I just bought while worrying that Hattie will pee all over her bed during my rush to find them.

And I pass Ham in the kitchen and gasp. "I got the syrup" he says. Oh, and did he. He is covered in syrup from head  to toe. Literally, the plate is overflowing with syrup that he is drinking. Two thoughts cross my mind - juvenile diabetes and we can't reuse his socks from yesterday because they have syrup all over them.

8:30 am - I'm back to the baby and I'm throwing clothes on her. I put her on her play mat and start wiping Ham down. Dryer school shirt is thrown on him and I tell him he doesn't have to wear socks today.

I see a meltdown forming on his face. Is this the kid that refused to wear socks, and is now refusing to go WITHOUT socks? I can't keep up.

I find some socks and he starts complaining about them. But that's okay because I throw his shoes on in record speed and I begin the conga dance. Yep, that's what I did to distract him from the idea that he HATES those socks. I invent a conga dance to make him forget all about it and head to the door. Because now it's 8:45 am and we are so close to being really late. The conga dance is going great till he face plants in the living room.

8:50 am - There is no time for tears in this morning rush, so I scoop him up. I locate Hattie who has rolled under the coffee table. Put her in the carrier and head out the door. Surprisingly, Ham insists on helping me carry the baby carrier. And what mom of the year refuses her three year old's kind offer. I didn't. So I'm half wobbling like a troll while I allow Ham to help me carry the carrier down the steps and to the car.

8:55 am - I speed around the corner pull up at MDO looking like I haven't had time to run a brush through my hair, put my contacts in or change my clothes from yesterday and I hand over my child. They've seen me in a worse state I know. Like the time, I forgot to re-button my shirt after nursing Hattie minutes before I picked Ham up from school. I'm thankful that all the teachers, including the entire carpool line ignored what I didn't realize I was showing.

So yes, I'm a sitting at home mom now. But trust me it's never a dull moment.

Pumpkins and Wasp Friends

The weather is finally cooling down and it was time for us to carve our Halloween pumpkin. I think it's been twenty + years since I've down this and in my mind I thought it would be way more complicated then it actually was.

Hattie dozed off in her seat while Ham and I set to work on cleaning out the pumpkin.

I carefully carved around the top and let Ham do the honors of taking the top off.

He was amazed and disgusted.

I gave him a spoon and showed him how to scoop out the yuck from the inside of the pumpkin.

It lasted for all of five minutes before Ham decided he had enough. "You do it." He said, "That's gross."

 

So I scooped it all out and started to carve out the face. In no time the pumpkin looked like this:

 

I told Ham we needed to put a candle inside to light it up. "It's a birthday cake? We're going to eat it?" he asked.

 

 

 

"No, we need to light it up so everyone can see him smile tonight. You'll see." I said.

So that's what we did. We ate dinner got ready for bed and Hattie passed out before bedtime stories could even start.

"Let's go check out the pumpkin." I said.

We leapt up and ran out the door in our pjs and bare feet.

I snapped a picture and we headed back to bed.

 

And as we crawled into bed we realized that Ham had stepped on a wasp.

 

I know, I know....how do we realize that so long after coming inside? I have no idea. What I do know is that it quickly escalated into the one of the most epic meltdowns in Ham's history.

 

When all had calmed down and before he drifted off to sleep, I told Ham I would go outside, find that wasp and spank his behind.

 

"No, don't he said." "He's my friend."

 

"He's your friend!? He bit you. What kind of friend does that?" I asked.

 

But he insisted they were friends all the same and he made me promise not to go out looking for his friend, wasp.

 

I promised.

 

 



 

 

 

Coloring

 Last night, Ham and I were getting ready for bed and I realized he hadn't done his homework.

Apparently 3 year old Mother's Day Out programs have homework.

I can already tell that we are going to be those last minute, doing our  homework on the way to school people.

Oh well.

I grabbed some crayons and pencil and walked him through it.

I tell him to color the pictures that start with the same sound the letter A makes. He looks at me like I have four heads.

"The letter A makes the "Ahh" sound," I tell him. "Does baseball start with the "Ahh" sound?"

He shakes his head yes. I narrow my eyes on him and his nod turns into a no.

"What about alligator?"

He searches my eyes for the right answer. He nods yes.

This all feels a little much for a three year old.

"Well, let's color the alligator." He grabs a crayon and colors the alligator and the two inch space surrounding it.

And as he is coloring, I zone out for a minute and I blurt out that I don't like coloring. I mean really when I was a kid I couldn't stand it. But, I don't know why I'm telling him that.

"You don't like coloring?" He's shocked.

"No, not really," I admit.

"Why? Did your teacher scream at you?"

Memories come flooding back of my coloring days when the best  colorers were singled out in class. The teacher would marvel over their gloriously neat work and I would look at my scribble scratch coloring job that took me two seconds wondering who has time for all of that.

"No." (They just loaded us with guilt.)

"Did she tell you take your box out and you wouldn't listen?" he asks.

"No I just had a hard time coloring in the lines." (That's an understatement)
  
"Oh. You didn't like coloring and they told you to color?"

"Yes."

He thinks for a minute.

"You go to school and you listen." He tells me. He's pretty irritated that he has a mom that might not be doing what she is supposed to in school.

"You are right. I should have listened."

"Did they scream at you?" he asks again. Ham thinks that any kind of correction is "screaming".

"I guess they got mad when I didn't want to color."

"I'll talk to them for you." He says. "I'll tell them to be nice to my mommy."

"Thanks, Hammy."

Home Depot

Yesterday, the weather seemed a little cooler and by cooler I mean 89 degrees. So I decided to take the kids to Home Depot. We were just coming out of a 5 day incubation period after a nasty virus and we were all a little stir crazy.

 

 I wish I could say the virus was all smiles like this.

 

 

But instead it was more like this.

 

 

 

By the time it was over, we were all wiped out.

 

And I couldn't think of anything that would make us all feel better than planting more flowers.

 

So Home Depot, here we go.

 

It had been almost a week since I had taken both kids anywhere so I was real proud of myself when I managed to get the baby settled in the Baby Bjorn and Ham's hand nestled in mine.

 

I can really do this, I thought as we headed into the garden center.

 

Five minutes into walking down the aisles, I realized how much it didn't feel like 89 degrees and how it really felt like 99 degrees.

 

I grabbed a cart and asked Ham if he wanted to get inside. He threw "Fox" in and said he would ride on the side and climbed up on the side of the cart. I reminded him that he can't do that and Home Depot doesn't like it, but he wouldn't listen.

 

 

Maybe because we allowed him to do it in the past like in this picture, for example.

 

While I contemplated whether to cause a scene by insisting he get down, it started to feel like 109 degrees outside. Hattie's little face glistened with sweat and so I knew it was time to call it quits anyway.

 

I grabbed two herbs because they were close to the register and I wasn't about to leave empty handed. I just need thyme and parsley....for something.

 

I step over to the register to pay for the plants and as I'm doing this Ham is methodically pulling out each and every garden glove off of the display. I rush over and start throwing them back on and the Baby Bjorn is bouncing all over the place.  I return to the counter and hand the woman my card.

 

"You didn't see the size glove you needed?" She asked.

 

Did she miss the part where my kid removed every glove from the display?

 

"No." I said, as an older woman tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me, mam. Your son..." she points to Ham who has somehow wedged his entire body in the bottom part of the grocery cart. You know where you put your big bag of soil.

 

Have you ever tried to extract a small child from under a cart while your infant is strapped to your body. It's not easy.

 

But thankfully the kind Samaritan came to my rescue and dislodged my child from under the cart.

 

Sweating and breathless, I turn back to start the nine thousand questions they ask you after you swipe your card.

 

Do you want cash back.   No.

 

Do you want to put it all on one card. Yes.

 

Do you want to donate to the Red Cross?   Not today.

 

Do you want this receipt emailed to you or printed?    Seriously?

 

Is your kid about to pull the shopping cart on top of him? Wait a minute.

 

And just like that Ham had done exactly what I told him not to do. Climbed up on the side of the cart and since I wasn't there to stabilize it, the entire cart lurched forward and began to topple over right on top of my Ham.

 

It was all very slow motion like.

 

I gasped.

 

Ham's eyes grew as big as dinner plates.

 

The grocery cart flipping to its side.

 

And like a complete ninja, the elderly good Samaritan women catapulted her body over from across the flower aisles she had returned to and in one graceful swoop grabbed a hold of the cart moments before it smashed my child.

 

It was like something out of the Matrix.

 

Of course, I thanked her profusely and I glared at my three year old with my best "you are in TIME OUT buddy when you get home".

 

So maybe our little outing wasn't such a grand idea after all, but now I have parsley and thyme to show for it.

 

Taking Orders

Every night before bed, I read three books to Ham. I'm always thankful if he doesn't insist on reading the "food" book or the truck book. There's only so many times we can pretend to eat every food that shows up on the page or talk about what an exhaust does.

But no matter what book we end up reading that night, we bust out the magnet writing board to draw shapes.

I was a little surprised when Ham said this, "Can I take your order?"

Huh?

"Do you want chicken or fruit?" Chicken in Ham's world is another word for meat. He doesn't differentiate his meat.

"I'll have the chicken." I say wondering where this is going.

"Okay." Ham replies and scribbles down a few marks on the board. "What else?"

I tell him that I want milk and berries too. He writes it all down and tells me it will be 3 dollars.

I pretend to pay up, eat my food, and then we switch roles.

I take his order and tell him it will be ten dollars. My restaurant is more expensive. Sorry.

"I don't have any money." I find that really strange since I just paid in pretend cash, but whatever.

"You shouldn't have left your house without your money," I tell him.

He thinks about this for a minute.

"I'll be right back!" he exclaims. He jumps off the bed, throws open the door to (I'm guessing) his pretend car, closes it behind him and drives across the room. He throws open his door, runs into his house, grabs his "cash", gets back in the car and drives back.

"Sorry," he says. "Here it is." He hands me his pretend money.

"Okay." I said and took it. But, next time I'll make him wash the dishes.

Mother's Day Out

Last week, Ham started a Mother's Day Out program which is conveniently located within walking distance from us.

Mr. Yardbird and I decided it was still cool enough outside to walk Ham for his first day of "school".

As we walked him, we talked about all of the things he would be doing there and the new friends he would make just to make it less nerve wracking for him.

We walked up to the door and Ham caught a glimpse of some of the kids sitting in a row down the hallway.

"Friends!" He exclaimed, pointing at the kids. "I got some of them!"

We took him to his classroom and tried to casually slip out so he didn't noticed, but it was impossible.

The look of how can you abandon me was suddenly all over his face.

Then I turned to Mr. Yardbird who had a similar how can we abandon him, let's get him out of here look on his face.

Acting fast, I grabbed Mr.Yardbird and we made a beeline for the door.

"I could have carried him out of there when he looked at me like that." Mr Yardbird later said at lunch.

In my mind I could picture him throwing Ham over his back and running out of there like it was the apocalypse.

Then I realize we're those crazy parents we never thought we would be.

The next day, Ham ran through the Mother's Day Out door and never looked back to wave goodbye 

And us? Well, we adjusted too.

Family Portrait

A few days ago we attempted to take a family picture. I just knew it was a better idea for me to do it, rather than hire someone.

I was wrong.

First, there was the matching outfits. You know how everyone attempts to coordinate the colors. As an artist I should know how to do this. However, I spent most of my time circling Target with multiple shirts and outfits in my hands, scratching my head and wondering what the heck I was doing. 

There was also the small problem of we didn't have anyone to take the picture. But problem solved, I would buy a camera tripod to take the picture for us. Problem created, I accidentally bought a monopod instead. If someone could explain the purpose of a monopod, I would appreciate it. You sure can't stake it in the yard to take a family picture. I can tell you that.

Finally, there was the small issue of getting our family of four ready for the picture.

Timing - Do you do it before or after naptime? 

Before naptime and you risk a 3 year old "I'm tired" meltdown 

After naptime and you risk a 3 year old "I woke up on the wrong side of the nap" meltdown

After naptime it is. 

I dress our baby in a bright blue flapper onesie and then search the house for a our groggy just woken 3 year old. 

I try not to bend around too much in my clothes because I bought a shirt that wrinkles easily, not to mention makes me look more pregnant than I did when I was pregnant, but I'm not going back to the store so that settles it. 

When I find him, he's putting together the lego tractor with Mr. Yardbird that I bought as bribery when I returned the monopod for the tripod. 

"You know he can choke on these pieces," Mr. Yardbird tells me. 

I'm sure he could, but when he was on the edge of a meltdown I grabbed the first thing I could think to distract him at the store. I'll have to remind myself to hide it later.

I begin coaxing our 3 year old to change his clothes, but nothing works except for the promise of a bag of cookies. I sound like mom of year.

Then I herd our family out the door in the blazing heat to take our picture. 

But wait, Ham has no shoes on. 

"Don't worry about your shoes, you don't need them." I could care less about the shoes, lets get this over with.

Then sobs erupt from Ham about how he needs his Batman shoes and bunch of other things I can't understand because he's wailing.

I look at Mr. Yardbird and we shake our heads. This is a kid who we chase around the house and beg to put shoes on, now suddenly can not live without his Batman shoes.

Fine here's your shoes. 

Beads of sweat are forming on our heads and the camera's  not fitting on the tripod, because I accidentally bought a "travel" tripod. 

Camera switched out. More beads of sweat. 

Which button make the self-timer work and......

Viola.

Which felt more like this picture.