Kids Archives | Page 3 of 3 |

26May 2014

False Sense of Security

I like to consider myself a smart cookie. I’m college educated and still pretty quick-witted. I’m also in “okay” shape. I can run pretty fast if I’m being chased, or if a cold beer is waiting for me at the end of the run. But sometimes you can’t prepare for things… sometimes adrenaline takes over and all the knowledge you thought you possessed has fallen by the wayside. Sometimes fear glues you to the ground as lightning is hitting you from the heavens and you are immobilized. I’ve never experienced this before this morning, and I hope I never have to experience it again.

Today is Memorial Day. A somber national holiday with beautiful weather where you can smell summer in the air. Shit, I live in FL we’ve smelled summer in the air since February… you can smell the end of school in the air today, and the humidity dripping down your cleavage (in the shade). It’s HOT.

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Our house has a pool. It’s a beautiful pool but the heater has been broken. But now it’s crazy hot, and although my oldest isn’t fond of a cold pool the 3-year-old wants into that water… he’s been waiting for Memorial Day. And now it’s here.

We’ve been planing a family BBQ today. And since we had a soccer tournament this weekend we ended up inviting some of those friends too. It was going to be a lot of people and we spent the morning tidying up (which is so much easier and more enjoyable with my Hubby to help, but that’s a different blog).

So the middle monkey begged to get into the pool at 10 AM. My Mother has given me this children’s life-preserver/flotation device that he uses at her house (where he often swims) and he loves. I HATE letting a kid swim in a flotation device. especially a kid as big as my 3-year-old. He and I went for swim lessons twice a week for all of last summer. He CAN swim but he’s not confident. So, I geared him up in his life vest and continued working on cleaning the patio… within 5 feet of him.

The 3-year-old swam for over an hour…

“Mommy, watch this!”

{Jump, Splash}

“Daddy, watch what I can do….”

{Swims to ball, throws ball, jump, splash}

Buddy, make sure you jump away from the wall!

Honey, make sure you jump away from the stairs!

He’s having a ball and I’m having a hundred million little panic attacks in my brain. Water and kids scare the shit outta me. I didn’t get him this far to have something stupid happen. So, when he’s been in the pool for almost 2 hours and says he’s cold, and wants a towel, I’m thrilled.

We take off his floaty, towel him dry, grab him a drink and hubby and I start talking about the game plan for cooking and guests, and “will so-and-so show up” and “Oh, I hope they can make it”.

That’s when I heard the SPLASH!

I look to the pool and see that my 3-year-old has jumped into the middle of the water.

Without the floaty.

Alone.

The definition of bravery is the quality that allows someone to do things that are dangerous or frightening. This sight was both things. But I just screamed to my husband while I was frozen to the floor.

He acted swiftly and without hesitation. Jumping in the pool with all his clothes and shoes and phone (Lifeproof case) and quickly grabbed our boy from the pool. He was fine and in one piece barely spending a nano-second under water.

He was more scared by my scream then anything else and I, I was more scared by my immobilizing fear.

He really thought he had that life vest on, and maybe, just maybe, he really would have been able to swim without it.

But I wasn’t going to chance that.

He starts swimming lessons at camp in 2 weeks. No more false sense of security. We’ll have the normal mommy safety net out then

Next time I’ll be right there. No fear. Just there.

23May 2014

The Parenting Paradox

by outnumberedmother

The one cool thing about getting older is you give less fucks. I really could care less about what someone thinks about me. Unless it’s someone I actually like, then, of course, I’d prefer that person like me back. All of a sudden I’m in middle school again… I’m the girl in the Gap overalls my Mom got on sale at the outlet stores. See me? Right there… Yup. I vividly remember how hard it was to make friends, form relationships, and feel like I fit in. We lived in a completely different world then. All of my friends lived near me. I rode my bike everywhere, I walked to school.

Now, fast forward what seems like a hundred years and here we are.

Adults.

Adults with little joiners of our own. And we are watching them forge relationships. Ones that, sometimes unfortunately, we need to be a huge part of. Our children’s childhood friendships come with extra “built in” friends for us. The friend’s parents, sometimes even their siblings befriend our other children. And then you’re not only dealing with you own family dynamic, but you’re forced to blend and mold that to accommodate other families and their dynamics. It’s a balancing act that can sometimes seem like a never-ending siege of power struggles and alpha dogs.

So here is the paradox. What happens when you dislike your kid’s friend? Or worse, the friend’s parents?

Now you’re thrown into social situations with people you would normally distance yourself from. Crazy, right-wing bigot? No thanks, I’m good. Religious, preachy zealot? I gave at the office.

But your kid likes their kid. So now you have to maintain a personal relationship with someone you would normally cross the street to avoid.

I’m just starting to feel the pressure with my oldest child. He has school friends, religious school friends, soccer team friends, and we live in an area that requires plans be made, and followed up with, that’s right, you guessed it, the parents.

I can’t remember the last text message or phone conversation I had that didn’t involve me making plans with an adult I met through my child, so he could play with their child. Ultimately, it is my son’s decision when choosing friends. I only hope that his father and I have given him the proper tools to choose wisely.

I must say, lately, I’ve been pretty lucky. My son seems to be able to sense crazy pretty quickly so he’s figured out the parents and/or children he doesn’t want to be around on his own. Which is AWESOME. Thanks buddy. But this same cycle is already starting with the middle guy, and soon the baby will have friends too. And although I enjoy having a diverse tapestry of relationships in my life I would like to have some personal responsibility about the people I want to weave in.

So although, I really don’t give a fuck about people’s perception of me anymore, I care deeply about how people perceive my children based on my actions. I don’t want to be “that parent”.

The one that people cross the street to avoid.

21May 2014

The New Neighbor’s Dog

by outnumberedmother

I got a boatload of stuff accomplished this morning. 3 month check-up for the baby, visit with my Brother and Sister-in-law, grocery shopping. It would almost seem like I’m a productive person, which is a bold-faced lie. Better fix that before the word gets out. Productive people are class mom, Productive people head up committees… I, am not yet there.

So, after my exhausting morning, I’m pulling into my driveway to discover the new neighbor and her little dog on my lawn. No problem, I like neighbors, I like dogs. And as I look closer I see her dog is taking a shit. On my lawn. No biggie, dogs poop. And if anyone knows anything about living organisms and bowel movements it’s me.

But then she did something surprising.

As the dog finished it’s business… my new neighbor started to just… walk away. I know in big cities lots of people don’t clean up after their dogs, maybe it’s acceptable where you are reading this right now, and yes, it happens here too but it usually doesn’t happen right in front of the owner, of the property that is getting shit on. Hell, maybe she even forgot a poop bag at the house and needed to run back and get one, but that was not the case here.

After I got over the initial “Oh, no she didn’t” moment I called after her…

How’s it going?

“Oh good, and you?”

Really great… so, are you gonna pick that up?

“Wasn’t planning on it, it’s natural….”

{Natural??? What??}

Yeah, it might be natural for you to have dog shit all over your lawn but I don’t have a dog. I have lots of kids. So maybe next time I’ll send one of them over to your house when they need to go #2.

“I’ll go get a bag.”

There I go again.

Making fast friends.

Welcome to the neighborhood.

13May 2014

Dumpster Diving Preschooler

by outnumberedmother

“This isn’t garbage. This is totally awesome stuff that I need right now or I might die.”

Now that the new baby finally seems to have an actual “schedule” I’ve been trying to get this house back into a semi-clean state. I say semi-clean because lets freaking face it… I didn’t have a clean house BEFORE I had kids, so I’m not trying to shoot beyond reality here.

The biggest part of cleaning around here is decluttering. When you have a kid, you have just accumulated a fucktillion pounds of stuff. Some of which you need, most of which will never be with you when you need it and all of which costs a lot of money. As kids get older, they still produce more stuff. And now I have three kids. Fucktillion, cubed.

“Mommy I made you a picture.”

“Mommy I made you a painting”

“Mommy I made you a craft”

“No, Mommy I want to keep that, it’s my paper collection”

IT’S JUST A BIG PILE OF GARBAGE, A LITERAL PILE OF TRASH!!! PAPER COLLECTION?

NO, YOU’RE A HOARDER IN TRAINING.

And don’t get me started on the goody bag toys, the stocking stuffers, the Easter basket trinkets, the sports medals and trophies, each of which has distinct sentimental value to a child. I get it, kid, I really do…. but something has to go, and since you are mine, it’s gonna have to be all this extra crap.

Which brings us to today. I just cleaned out the playroom and found some plastic, useless crap that needed to go…. Goodbye plastic crap, hope to never see you, or your brothers again. And I was rid of it. *happy sigh* until the 3-year-old came home from school.

Of course, I was on the phone. If you want your child’s attention, pretend to be on the phone… because it seems that is the only time they ever want to talk to you. After eating his banana and throwing away the peel, I guess he saw some of his junk in the trash…

“Mom, but this not garbage….”

{He’s walking toward me wearing 500 silly bands of assorted colors, a plastic Fireman’s Hat, a macaroni necklace made by his 8-year-old brother (7 FREAKING YEARS AGO), while holding a hot pink plastic egg in one hand and a handful of green plastic grass (with a tampon wrapper in it) in the other}

Ummmm, yeah it is…

“But this my stuff, I not done with it yet”

He is currently at the coffee table playing with the pile of “his” stuff.

Nap-time starts in 15 minutes.

I’ve learned my lesson.

No more kitchen trash for decluttering, because I have given birth to a dumpster diving preschooler.

Garage garbage can from now on.

If he scales that bitch I’m in serious trouble.

13May 2014

There Can Only Be One Superman

by outnumberedmother

I asked the 3 year old about his day at school on the drive home today… His response,

“Joe didn’t wanna play Superheros with me.”

Really? Why?

“I wanted to be Superman.”

Why couldn’t you both be Superman?

“Mom, {very serious} there is only one Superman. ”

{Tell that to Christopher Reeve and Henry Cavill}

Oh, sorry my bad. So who did Joe play with?

“No one, he played alone.”

And who did you play with?

“I played alone too.”

I see, what did you play?

“Superheros”

How ’bout that. And Joe?

“He played Superheros too.”