I Came, I Jumped, and I Learned...

In honor of Women's Heart Health Week, my son's pre-school invited parents in today to join the children's weekly gross motor skills class. Heart shaped invitations went out last week, and parents were gently reminded by teacher's that today was the big day. Parents were to show up in their workout clothes ready to participate in some heart healthy fun.

I truly debated on whether to attend this event as it meant that Jack, my youngest son, was going to have a delayed nap...and, that I would be jumping with his 21 lb. frame attached at my hip. However, the decision was made for me when I pictured Cole's sad and rejected face in my head when he was the only kid with a parent that did not show up. (I know, all of you statistic people out there are a laughing at me as the odds of every child having a parent attend is unlikely. Laugh away...it gets better.)

I went to said "Jump and Learn", and here is what I learned:

1.) Cole could have cared less that I was present.
2.) He spent more time with his friend's moms than with me. I can't believe I am already the un-cool mom.
3.) Listening ears fly out the window when mommies are within site of school activities.
4.) Teachers, parents, and kids running in circles (no matter how organized) is a very bad idea.
5.) I should probably not be a room mother. (See #1 and #3 above.)
6.) Cole cries more than Tammy Faye Baker.
7.) Preschool teachers are valuable, needed, and a gift from God...but they are human.
8.) I can spend 4 hours worrying and analyzing one harmless pre-school event.
9.) Jump and Learn with parents is stupid.

Never again will I feel the pressure to attend a school event unless that said pressure comes from my child. In the words of Cole, "Mommy, you are not a kid. School is not for you." I am sure that having me at school was almost as weird as when I saw my high school teachers out at the grocery store. Collision of two worlds.

Someone continue to remind me that it should not matter what other people think of me. I should not look for their approval. And, no matter how in touch I think I am with my intuition, I cannot read people's minds.

This is just pre-school. How frickin' neurotic am I going to be when he gets to high school?

Be My Valentine! Nix the Asparagus.

My husband and I have been married almost nine years (gasp), and prior to our marriage we had been together for 7 years. You can do the math, but basically at 31 years of age, I have been with my husband in life longer than I have been without.

On the eve of Valentine's Day (a day I could do without), I decided I did not want to cook dinner as I would probably do something semi-special for dinner the next night. I opened the freezer and fished out some Mulligan Stew that I had made about a month ago. After I finished washing up Jack, my youngest son, and getting Cole ready for bed, I popped the rubbermaid into the microwave to start the elaborate re-cooking process.

Dinner at my house is sort of a joke lately as my husband is working pretty long days at the local hospital's pediatric ward. For us adults, dinner gets eaten when he gets home. Sometimes that is at a normal hour, sometimes it's at nine o'clock.

Last night he rolled in about 7 o'clock. I had the crackers and the stew ready to go. He took one look at it and scowled. The conversation that proceeded went like this:

Husband: "Is that the stew you made last month from whatever we had left in the refrigerator? What did you call it again?"
Me: "Yes, and...I called it Mulligan Stew. Why?"
Husband: "Hmm. Well, I used my meal chit to eat free at the hospital, so I'm good."
Me: "Okay, what did you have?"
Husband: "Chicken salad....why?"
Me: "You're good??" (I ask this because my husband was the original "stove top" stuffing poster boy. In high school he could score at least 2 complete dinners a night by cleverly scheduling visits to selected friends' homes.)
Husband: "Well...I mean...Yeah...well, maybe I will have a peanut butter sandwich."
Me: "Why not stew? There is plenty."
Husband: "Yeah, I remember. Does it still have those asparagus stalks that you had saved in it?"
Me: "Yes, unless they mysteriously jumped out of the stew sometime between last month and now."
Husband: "So...No, I don't want that stew. Don't be offended [clear indicator that I will] but the stalks were pretty stick-like. They kinda hurt."
Me: "Okay, I get it. Next time I will puree them before I add them in."
Husband: "I don't think that would have helped. They would just be littler sticks."

I am not cooking dinner tonight either.

There is still some stew left.

Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy a Rolls.

Yesterday was a banner day for me and my son. I am only recording this as I have a tendency to focus on the negative, so what better way to remind myself of the positive than to record it here.

Lately, my eldest son, Cole, and I have really butted heads about everything from rules of sharing to how to spell certain car makes and models. (My four year old is a bit of a car buff and can stop most adults in thier tracks with his knowledge, however I do believe that I am the better speller.) Anyway, yesterday we had a day where the stars were aligned and fun was had by all. We worked on counting skills, had a scavenger hunt, pretended to be ambulance drivers, and acted out Wheel of Fortune.

The last activity had me belly laughing as Cole has really nailed the nuances of Pat Sajak's insincere attempts at empathy for those that have lost a turn or the like. He also has perfected the reaction of most winners, which if you are at all familiar with any game show is usually a bit over the top. Cole's priorities are a bit whacked as he only thinks a winner is a winner if they happen to win a car. Any old car will do. Money, on the other hand, is no biggie.

Yesterday, I made it to the final round, and Cole had me pick my card from the wheel of prizes. (See picture above.) I picked my card and handed the card to my son, (aka the faux Pat). He cocked his head in a gesture of pity, and proceeded to tell me, "I'm sorry Ms. Mommy, you won fifty million thirty dollars." I was pretty psyched, and started to do my best crazy winner impression. Cole shook his head and corrected me, "You should be sad. You coulda won a Silver Ghost Rolls Royce." Oh, silly me...

To my ancestors, I give thanks.

Yesterday, we rounded up the whole crew and headed to church. We hadn't been since Christmas, and both my husband and I were feeling some guilt that we had let time get away from us. I ventured out in my Sunday best with my typical trepidations and usual 'church heartburn'.

You see, I have some pretty out there religious views. Maybe they are not as bizarre as I think, but let's just say I don't sit around with many other people and discuss my views on spirituality, worship, religion, and reincarnation. Yes! I said reincarnation.

My 'church heartburn' evolves from a complex web of Catholic guilt. My mother is from a strict Roman Catholic background and my father is a Southern Baptist. From the beginning, I was born into a clash of beliefs. Please don't misunderstand. My parents are huge proponents of spiritual self actualization. My father vowed to raise his children in the Catholic faith just to be allowed to wed my mother in the church, and to this he held true. My mother also deserves accolades as she introduced us into the Catholic church, but left it up to us, once we came of a certain age, to worship as our heart saw fit.

I love the Catholic religion for it's ritual and unity. My grandmother, a woman I aspire to be like, was a faithful and devoted Catholic. My husband was a dutiful altar boy and is now a potential Knight of Columbus(the only chink in his armor being he married me.)

Alas, being a social feminist, I have a hard time coping with the patriarchal approach of the Catholic church. None of this is a big deal when I am at home praying to my deceased ancestors (like my friends the Buddhists), or directly to my God (who looks a helluva lot like the Virgin Mary in my mind's eye...you know that whole Earth Mother thingy), but when I sit in church all of my heart's comforts give me a bit of heartburn. Remember, this blog is written by the world's biggest worrier, and a mother.

Anyway, my heartburn dissolved as soon as we entered the worship space. The church was incredible. The people were diverse and welcoming. The music was inspiring. The priest was thoughtful, intelligent, well spoken, and devoted to his parish. I loved it. The entire homily was about listening to the whispers of your own heart which I immediately took as a "get out of purgatory free card" to worship as I see fit. To top it all off, both of the boys were on their best behavior. It was my idea of a small slice of heaven.

So, I spent the car ride home praying to my deceased grandparents and ancestors. I thanked them for the renewal in spirit, for the gentle reminder of the importance of family worship, and I prayed once again for them to help mend the rift between their children that has grown since their passing.

Well, miracles do happen. My overly prideful uncle had called and left a message for my mother the night before, and my stubborn mother actually returned the call promptly on Sunday evening. I am not sure what will come of the phone calls, but it is a start. This humble grand-daughter bows and give thanks to her watchful ancestors.

Birthday Bashes for Babes

Today we attended a birthday party for one of my eldest son's pre-school classmates. This birthday was not just any ole' kids birthday party with some balloon animals and a store bought cake. It was a premiere social event.

The adults that attended this party outnumbered the kids by 2 to 1. Yes, some of you would say this is how all childrens birthday parties should be; adults should outnumber the kids...but, I disagree. Gone are the days when a child calls over the nieghborhood kids for some cake and ice cream. Birthdays today include coordinaters, fun time counselors, and enough rides and activities to put some of the best known theme parks to shame. I could and probably will devote an entire blog entry to the lavishness of birthday parties nowadays, but today I am focused on the antics of my four year old at the said birthday party.

First off, let me state the following: Yes, I love my child. I love him with my whole heart. I want the best for him. I understand that he is only four, and that his actions don't always speak of my love and/or my parenting skills, but, man, that child can try my patience.

The birthday party was for a boy from my son's class with whom my son has had problems with in the past. I am, of course, speaking of four year old problems like bossing each other around, purposely picking on each other, and generally making the teachers' life a living hell at preschool. Have I mentioned that my son is also a bit of a drama whiz. He can take a regular situation and make it into an Oscar worthy performance.

Anyway, this boy is fairly new to the class and immediately took to my son. From what the teachers have told me, he followed my son everywhere and was always seeking my son's attention and personal space. This apparently annoyed the piss out of my kid who is particular about his own space and does not like to be told what to do by any other kids (unless they are obviously older and then he will fold up like a cheap tent for thier approval).

I have tried everything I can think of to ease this situation. I have set up one on one playdates with this other child to see if we could help work through thier differences. I have read books to my son, until I am dry-mouthed, about the importance of being kind. I have tried to model good friendship skills as an adult.

I digress. Today upon leaving the party, my son refused to tell the child "good-bye" and "thank you". My son had the time of his life and he has pretty good manners, so I could not figure out what the heck the problem was. I quickly made my apologies and extended my own thanks and then whisked my family to the car. I proceeded to tell my son that his behavior was rude and unacceptable, that he needed to think about why he chose to behave this way, and how he could correct the problem. I was particularly proud of how I summed up the issues, and expected an epiphany from my four year old. (Even as I type, I know that I am insane.) All of this, and my son tells me with as much innocence as he can muster up, "Mommy, it's because I just don't like him".

I know now that I can't make him like this other kid, and this was probably my first mistake with the situation. I am now working on explaining to my son, that even if you do not like another child you must not be rude and unkind....especially after attending a birthday party that, I am sure, rivaled the per head cost of my own wedding. And, for that matter, why the hell did we go to this party?

I know, they are four. I expect too much. This is all normal. Nothing to get my knickers in a wad over. Right?

In the beginning

I never thought I would be a 'blogger'. Up until this point I would call myself a 'blog wannabe'. I spend an inordinate amount of time, of which I do not have much to spare, religously reading other people's blogs. In fact, I have become so personally involved with a few of my regulars that by the time I have made my daily reading rounds, I feel as if I have had coffee with my closest friends. Of course, these faux friends have no idea I am stalking them via thier blog as I am too chicken to leave any comment.

Now, here I am, the author of my own collection of personal, yet now public, musings. As a perpetual rule follower, I feel like I should state the intent and purpose of this little blog as one would when writing an essay for a college literature course. So, here goes. I am the world's biggest worrier! If I don't have anything to worry about, I create one. We are not talking about world concerns here, however those sometimes creep into my overall worry menagerie. My main focus tends to be on my children, my ability to parent my children, how others measure me up, and, in general, many things, most of which, I truly cannot change.

You would think armed with this knowledge of my weaknesses I would be able to tackle the endless worry and move on. Wrong! I suck at it. I worse than suck at it. I am pathetic. Everyone in my life knows that no matter how hard I try, I cannot stop myself from over analyzing almost every daily situation.

Ahem. So, back to the purpose and intent of this blog. I hope that this blog provides some humor and catharsis for me, and a break for my friends and family. They can only take so much.

Here's to a new beginning...