For the Kids

Finding a good compilation album of children’s music is
challenging, to say the least. One surprisingly
good one is “For the Kids.” Released by
Nettwerk Records in 2002, “For the Kids” features several well-known artists
singing both classic and not-so-classic children’s songs. This one is definitely one of my favorites
because it has a nostalgia factor with some classic songs for our generation as
well as some very appealing new songs. Children of the seventies can rock out to Cake singing, “Mahna
Mahna.” This song will bring back
memories of hippie puppets on “Sesame Street” that looked like they were
straight out of a commune, singing a nonsense song. My son’s favorite song is “La La La Lemon” by the Barenaked Ladies. He cracks up every time he hears it.  He also loves “Snow Day” by Bleu even though,
at three-years-old, he has no idea what a snow day is. My favorite song, by far, is “Wonderwheel”
by Dan Zanes. I make my children listen
to it over and over again. It is one of
those songs that fills you with joy every time you hear it. With a few exceptions, most of the 16 tracks
on “For the Kids” are great. I highly
recommend it.

Primetime Grattitude

I know that, in the past, I have touted myself as a social
butterfly, which I am, to some degree. That is the way that I like it. I am most content when my schedule is full. I’ve got many activities during the day with my children as well
as many in the evenings without them. I do not, however, make it to every event that I am invited to. I treasure my evenings and, aside from
clogging, keep my attendance to the other events to a minimum.

My husband leaves the house before I wake up in the morning
so the evenings are, literally, the only quality time that I get to spend with
him during the work week. Sometimes he gets a wild hair and
spends the evening working on some random home repair project that would take
most people at least 12 hours but, give my husband a roll of duct tape and some
caulking and he can fix anything in less than two hours. Most nights, though, we both need a
reprieve. He deals with a high stress
job and the general public all day long. My days are spent saving my daughter from putting foreign objects in her
mouth and dealing with the unpredictable and highly volatile behavior of a
three-year-old. The 2006 primetime
line-up creates the perfect opportunity for both of us to decompress. So, thank you “Lost” for giving my husband
and I something in common to obsess about during the week. Thank you “Grey’s Anatomy” for keeping us
entertained and for providing some major eye candy for both of us. And, most importantly, thank you Jon Stewart
for making us spit out our drinks in laughter nightly and keeping us abreast of
current events.  WIthout these shows, we might actually have to speak to each other.

Picked last for Dodge Ball

My son is a klutz.  He will trip and fall while walking on a completely flat, paved surface.  Watching him run is like riding in the passenger seat with a drunk driver, constantly waiting for an accident to happen.  My husband and I like to take walks in the evenings on a paved trail that runs through our town.  On average, my son runs into at least three people during every walk.  This is not a joke.  He walks directly into them, usually hitting them with his head first, which can be unfortunate for some unsuspecting men (my son is a little over three feet tall and has a very large head).  I’m not sure how this happens.  It isn’t as if he is looking behind him or beside him.  His eyes are forward and open.  How does he run into 150 pound, 5-6 feet tall human beings so often? 

I am usually unable to relax and enjoy the walk because I am so worried about my son’s safety and that of those around him.  I have to constantly remind him to watch where he is going.  He doesn’t enjoy this very much and gets pretty defensive.  “I am watching where I’m going.”  Usually, three to four seconds after he says this, he runs into a pole or a person.  This is just when he is walking.  Running is an even more perilous activity.

My son’s lack of grace is certainly not high on my list of concerns.  He may have to work a little harder at sports and he probably will not get chosen first when the dodge ball teams are picked in P.E., but that’s OK.  All of these fall into the, “that which does not kill us makes us stronger” category.  After all, I was usually one of the last three girls picked for dodge ball in grade school.  In high school, I wasn’t good enough for the tennis team so I became the team manager.  I even played the flute in the marching band and I turned out OK.

Obviously, I would prefer that both of my children have a positive social experience in school but do I really want them to be the most popular kid?  I think not.  Unchecked popularity and social ease only contribute to the sense of entitlement that our kids are destined to have.  I’d prefer that my kids have some obstacles to overcome.  Instead of bragging to my friends about my son’s game on Friday night, I think I’ll be quite content to say, “My son may be a klutz but he’s a computer genius.  You should see the PC he built out of a paper towel roll and some clothes hangers.”

Dirty Little Secret

I have a dirty little secret. I am a clogger. Yep,
that’s right, a clogger. Every Tuesday
night I head to the dance hall to clog my heart out with a bunch of
other women (and a couple of men) who share my obsession with bluegrass music
and fast-moving, toe-tapping fun. I
also try to play tennis once a week, have the “Hot Mamas” movie night once a
month, and two Mom’s Night Outs each month; not to mention the inevitable 2-3
home “buy me” parties that I get invited to. Suffice it to say, I am a busy woman.

My husband is, for the most part, very supportive of my
extracurricular activities. He is more
than happy to watch the kids while I go out and clog, play tennis, or hang out
with my friends. He realizes that this
time is important to me and that it actually makes me a better mom and wife to
get away occasionally. Last night,
however, was a different story. I
called him as I was leaving clogging to tell him I was going to get dinner with
my friend (this is what I do every week). There was a pause and I asked him what was wrong. He proceeded to tell me that he was hungry
and there was nothing to eat in the house. Well, this was not true. Granted, it was pretty slim pickins in our pantry but there was food. There were sandwiches, chips, apples,
macaroni and cheese, and pretzels. He
most certainly could have had a decent meal. After going over that list of choices with him, I got no response, just
silence. I waited. He finally spoke and in a morose voice said,
“OK. Have fun. I’ll see you when you get home.” He was clearly upset and this was highly
unusual. I decided to let it go and
enjoy my meal.

When I got home, I found him sitting on the couch, spooning
lima beans into his mouth directly out of the pot that they were cooked
in. As I entered the kitchen I
discovered that he had taken the pre-made Beef Stroganoff Crock Pot meal (the ones that come in the bag and all you have to do is throw them in the
Crock pot all day) out of the container and poured it into a pot. He then attempted to cook it on the
stovetop. Obviously, his attempt at
instant Beef Stroganoff gratification was not successful. The Stroganoff was tossed and he ended up
cooking a can of lima beans. What a
delicious, well-rounded meal!



It consistently amazes me what poor communicators men can
be. Last night I discovered two things
about my husband:

1. A hot meal is very important to him.



2. He can be a little passive aggressive at 8:30 PM when he's hungry and alone, with no ramen noodles to comfort him.

So, from now on, I will be purchasing some type of pre-made
entrée that he can throw in the oven for himself on Tuesday nights. I am more than willing to make sacrifices
for my family but giving up clogging is not one of them. On Tuesday nights, I gots to get my clog on!

Allergic to Babies

“If my sister gets up while I’m going potty, would you make
sure she doesn’t get my doggy? Cause
remember, she’s [doggy] allergic to babies.”

This is the first thing my son said when he woke up this
morning. Clearly my child with a
bladder the size of a chickpea, he made a B-line to the bathroom upon rousing this morning. He was not worried about
anything except his precious doggy. My
son has always needed some type of security blanket, usually in the form of a
stuffed animal. I was the same
way. I slept with the same tattered
blanket until I was 12 years old so I guess he is pretty much a carbon copy of
me.

It is moments like this morning, when he says opens his
mouth and a sentence like that comes out, that I remember how sweet, smart and
funny my son really is. Yes, he drives
me nuts with his constant badgering and seemingly never-ending stream of
requests:

“Mom, can I have some milk?”
“Can I watch a movie?”
“I’m hungry.”
“When are we going outside?”
“Will you play with me?”

But he also makes my heart melt when he sees his sister in
distress and immediately brings her the teddy bear that he made her at
Build-A-Bear for her first birthday. He
put so much thought into making it that he assumes that seeing it will bring
her joy, regardless of the situation. How sweet is that?

Ironically, the qualities that I find most annoying in him
are the ones that are proof- positive that he is my son. I flew off the handle for no apparent reason
throughout my childhood (and, if I’m being totally honest, into my
adulthood). Just ask my Mother (or my
husband). I had to have my security
blanket to sleep. I still do it just
takes a different form: an eye-mask, aptly called “my eye thing.” I was desperately afraid of storms and water
slides and was the pickiest eater ever to grace a South Carolina table. My son reminds me of myself, only
three-years-old with very little self-control and an iron will. I guess I should be grateful that there is a
little version of me running around. Isn’t that the whole reason human beings want to reproduce?

 

Mad Skills Yo

In case you haven't noticed, I just discovered how to add graphics to my blog entries.  It makes them much more appealing, don't you think?  It is a true testament to my computer skills that it took me nearly a month to notice the photo icon on the post composition screen.

FYI:  This is NOT my child, just a picture I found on the web.

Kan't Doo

Kandoo wipes are a racket. For those of you unfamiliar with this
product, Kandoo wipes are small, moist wipes that are marketed to
toilet-trained toddlers for the purpose of wiping. They are made by Pampers and come in a cute purple and green
container that fits perfectly on top of the toilet. I buy them. My son
expects to be furnished with them and if we run out of refills, I run to the
store to get some.

One refill of Kandoo (50 wipes) runs me about $3.94 at my
local Wal-Mart. That works out to be
roughly 8 cents per wipe. Wow. That’s the first time I’ve done the
math. What this boils down to is that,
essentially, every time my son drops the kids off at the pool, we flush 8,
sometimes 16 (for big jobs), cents down the toilet, literally. What a crock.

Why does my son need wet wipes? He’s not in diapers anymore. Is he too good for toilet
paper? Is his pallor skin that has
never gotten a freckle because of the massive amounts of sunscreen I douse him
with anytime we are outside so delicate that Charmin would give him welts? I think not. Deep down, I know why I buy Kandoo wipes. I see them on TV in the hands of toddlers, wiping themselves with glee and
grinning for the camera. I see boxes of
Kandoo at my friends’ houses, glaring at me, daring me NOT to buy them. How mortifying would it be if my son drug
the box out of a friend's bathroom and said, “look Mom, they do
still make Kandoo wipes! See?”

My current situation allows for the extravagance of Kandoo
wipes. I only have one child that uses
the precious commodity. He’s a boy so
he does not wipe as often. What do
parents of girls do? They must have to
buy refills every week! If I have my
way, my daughter will never know what a Kandoo wipe is. She’ll think the charming green and purple
box is just a decoration that every family has.