My baby is not a baby anymore. We went to his one year check-up today.
Walking? No.
Cruising? Yes.
Introduced table food? Yes (Like six months ago. Baby food is too much work. Sorry, Jack.)
Talking? Barely. (Says 4 words, signs 5.)
Sleeping? Eh...(Between teething, ear infections, and mom becoming a total softy, I'm up more than I'd care to admit.)
You got a passing grade. The doctor said you looked good, needed a few shots, and we could be on our way.
I know these doctors see a thousand kids a day. They know all the milestones and markers, signs and symptoms. But they don't know you.
Not like mommy does. Can I take a minute to tell you about your little one-year-old self?
When I open your door in the morning you are standing and bouncing, reaching your tiny arms toward me. What a wonderful way to start the day!
You still take a "bah-bah," as you like to call it, filled with soy milk (since you are allergic to cow's milk). You love to eat and throw food. Most of your meals end up on the floor. After you've had your fill, you sign "finished" and eagerly await your release from your highchair so you can wreak havoc on the rest of the kitchen, emptying the cabinets, raiding the pantry, searching for bits of food on the floor.
You love to be tickled. You giggle uncontrollably when your brother plays peek-a-boo with you in the van. You smile when you see your sister. You call for me all day long, "Mama, Mama, MAMA!!!" You give the best hugs, wrapping your little arms tightly around my neck and laying your head on my shoulder. You are a cuddle bug.
Your nickname is Coo-coo-nu-nu. Parker gave it to you a few months ago. No one really knows why, but we all use it now. Sometimes it gets shortened to "kook" or "kookster."
You love to climb stairs, suck on rocks, and splash in the toilet. (We keep all the lids down now.) You are so happy and charming. Everyone comments on your sweet disposition. I love taking you places. You flirt with everyone, smiling, shyly looking away, only to smile at them again and giggle. Oh, you are trouble.
You have stolen my heart. Thankfully, I have more than one! Parker and Maddie were just a bit concerned before you were born about how mommy could have enough love for another baby. I explained that God gives mommies (and daddies) a brand new heart each time they have a new baby, just for that baby. I've got several in my chest these days. Perhaps that's why it's hard to breathe when I look at the three of you. My hearts swell and my chest tightens when I think of just how blessed I am to be called mom, to get to watch the story of your life unfold, and even get to mould it in my own little way.
I love you, Coo-coo-nu-nu. Happy birthday, dear boy.
7/14/12
Feet
I have a confession...I.love.feet.
Not all feet. Very specific feet. I LOVE my kids' feet. I love to tickle them, nibble them, smell them and pretend to gag. I love, love, love them.
Though my kids' feet are my favorite, my obsession with feet began years ago, with their father. Aaron has beautiful feet. "Jesus feet," I used to call them...with "lollipop toes." Allow me to explain: I was raised Catholic and have seen my fair share of crucifixes. Statues of the crucified Christ always had beautiful feet.
Similarly, Aaron has lovely feet. They are soft and slender but masculine at the same time. His toes are long (but not too long) and slightly rounded on the ends, hence the term "lollipop toes."
My feet? Not so pretty. I have always secretly hoped our children would inherit their dad's feet. Only time will tell.
I love watching the progression of the kids' growth simply by looking down.
First, there is the impossibly soft newborn foot. Oh, how I love newborn feet! Minuscule toenails, bright pink flesh. They somehow seem skinnier than they ought to be if one were to judge by the fluffy infant socks that slip off so easily. I love the way they curve inward, still mimicking their cramped position in the womb. Stroking the bottom of a newborn foot is like stroking pure silk.
Then there are baby feet. Suddenly that narrow foot has expanded and ballooned out on all sides. Even the top is puffy with baby fat. Chubby toes line up, like sausages in a row, just begging to be eaten, or at least nibbled. The best part is the tiny bubble on the bottom of the big toe that disappears not long after the first steps begin.
All too soon those baby feet become toddler feet. If it's summer, those feet are likely to be brown on the bottom from running barefoot outside. They get dirty under the still-tiny toenails. They are still fat and squishy, but now their kick packs a punch when tickled.
Then suddenly those toddler feet are wrapped in socks and shoes, bundled up for preschool and playgrounds. They escape for afternoon naps and bedtime and still require much tickling and kissing (at least in our house, because, well, I love feet).
And now, my oldest son has graduated to the smelly phase. He wears socks and shoes at home and school. He runs and plays and sweats all day. On particularly busy days, you might catch him taking a nap. He's usually so exhausted he falls asleep across his bed, still wearing his sneakers. By the end of the day, when we peel off those shoes, I don't have to pretend to gag. I still grab his ankle, and growl loudly (like a hungry giant), "Let me smell those feet!" and bury my face in his toes. Whew! He laughs and laughs. "Do it again mommy!"
Is every family this weird? (Don't answer that.)
Not all feet. Very specific feet. I LOVE my kids' feet. I love to tickle them, nibble them, smell them and pretend to gag. I love, love, love them.
Though my kids' feet are my favorite, my obsession with feet began years ago, with their father. Aaron has beautiful feet. "Jesus feet," I used to call them...with "lollipop toes." Allow me to explain: I was raised Catholic and have seen my fair share of crucifixes. Statues of the crucified Christ always had beautiful feet.
Similarly, Aaron has lovely feet. They are soft and slender but masculine at the same time. His toes are long (but not too long) and slightly rounded on the ends, hence the term "lollipop toes."
My feet? Not so pretty. I have always secretly hoped our children would inherit their dad's feet. Only time will tell.
I love watching the progression of the kids' growth simply by looking down.
First, there is the impossibly soft newborn foot. Oh, how I love newborn feet! Minuscule toenails, bright pink flesh. They somehow seem skinnier than they ought to be if one were to judge by the fluffy infant socks that slip off so easily. I love the way they curve inward, still mimicking their cramped position in the womb. Stroking the bottom of a newborn foot is like stroking pure silk.
All too soon those baby feet become toddler feet. If it's summer, those feet are likely to be brown on the bottom from running barefoot outside. They get dirty under the still-tiny toenails. They are still fat and squishy, but now their kick packs a punch when tickled.
Then suddenly those toddler feet are wrapped in socks and shoes, bundled up for preschool and playgrounds. They escape for afternoon naps and bedtime and still require much tickling and kissing (at least in our house, because, well, I love feet).
And now, my oldest son has graduated to the smelly phase. He wears socks and shoes at home and school. He runs and plays and sweats all day. On particularly busy days, you might catch him taking a nap. He's usually so exhausted he falls asleep across his bed, still wearing his sneakers. By the end of the day, when we peel off those shoes, I don't have to pretend to gag. I still grab his ankle, and growl loudly (like a hungry giant), "Let me smell those feet!" and bury my face in his toes. Whew! He laughs and laughs. "Do it again mommy!"
Is every family this weird? (Don't answer that.)
7/12/12
Thank you, Hands Free Mama
A few months ago, I was turned onto another blog by a good friend. It's called Hands Free Mama, and it's all about one mom's journey to let go (of all the unimportant things) "to grasp what really matters." I liked the blog and thought I was doing a pretty good job of what she was describing...until yesterday.
She had a post about having a "worthwhile" summer with your kids. She was challenging me to do summery things with the kids. I began to ask myself, what opportunities am I missing this summer (as I tackle cleaning the basement or organize a closet). How would the kids remember this summer? How would I remember it?
Then, of course, my mind took off. Forget summer, what other opportunities have I been missing with them? How many times have the kids asked me to play something with them only to get the same response, "Sure, honey, I'd love to...Right after I finish ________"? I realized that they had stopped asking as frequently.
What I first saw a sign of maturity (independent play), I now began to question: Did they stop asking because they never got a real "yes"? Tears stung my eyes as I read her post. I ran up the steps and released them from quiet time early.
"Want to play?" I asked nervously. What if they said no? Luckily, children are very forgiving.
Their little eyes widened. "Yes!" they shouted. And, oh, have we played since then.
We have had water Olympics in the wading pool, planted herbs, caught a caterpillar and built it a makeshift home on the porch (filled to the brim with all the leaves it could eat in a lifetime), had several water gun fights, you name it!
There is laundry wrinkling in my dryer. There are stacks of papers in my room. There is avocado stuck to Jack's highchair, but my heart is peaceful today. Today I am confident I managed my time and responsibilities well.
There was no argument as I sent the kids up to quiet time this afternoon. I think it's because they are tired (in a very good way) and realizing I am not sending them up there because I want a break from them so I can get to the important stuff. They are the important stuff. I think that's the big takeaway. All the other details of my life won't matter a bit in a hundred years. What will matter is a legacy of love.
Did my children recognize they (along with Aaron and God) matter most in my life? Will they look back at their childhood and remember me constantly on the phone or computer or cleaning something, or will they see me bending down to peer in their eyes and listen to the very important things they have to say? How often do they see me with an impatient frown on my face as I wait for them to finish what they are saying or doing? How tragic!
But today is a new day. When quiet time is over, we are building a fort in the living room. We'll eat popcorn and watch a cartoon during the rain storm. Then, per Parker's suggestion, we'll decorate the kitchen to "celebrate all the races dad's won" (though, he's never actually won a race, to my knowledge).
I am determined to celebrate the rest of the summer with these crazy kids. Thank you, Hands Free Mama, for the much-needed reminder of what summer (and motherhood) is all about!
http://www.handsfreemama.com/
She had a post about having a "worthwhile" summer with your kids. She was challenging me to do summery things with the kids. I began to ask myself, what opportunities am I missing this summer (as I tackle cleaning the basement or organize a closet). How would the kids remember this summer? How would I remember it?
Then, of course, my mind took off. Forget summer, what other opportunities have I been missing with them? How many times have the kids asked me to play something with them only to get the same response, "Sure, honey, I'd love to...Right after I finish ________"? I realized that they had stopped asking as frequently.
What I first saw a sign of maturity (independent play), I now began to question: Did they stop asking because they never got a real "yes"? Tears stung my eyes as I read her post. I ran up the steps and released them from quiet time early.
"Want to play?" I asked nervously. What if they said no? Luckily, children are very forgiving.
Their little eyes widened. "Yes!" they shouted. And, oh, have we played since then.
We have had water Olympics in the wading pool, planted herbs, caught a caterpillar and built it a makeshift home on the porch (filled to the brim with all the leaves it could eat in a lifetime), had several water gun fights, you name it!
There is laundry wrinkling in my dryer. There are stacks of papers in my room. There is avocado stuck to Jack's highchair, but my heart is peaceful today. Today I am confident I managed my time and responsibilities well.
There was no argument as I sent the kids up to quiet time this afternoon. I think it's because they are tired (in a very good way) and realizing I am not sending them up there because I want a break from them so I can get to the important stuff. They are the important stuff. I think that's the big takeaway. All the other details of my life won't matter a bit in a hundred years. What will matter is a legacy of love.
Did my children recognize they (along with Aaron and God) matter most in my life? Will they look back at their childhood and remember me constantly on the phone or computer or cleaning something, or will they see me bending down to peer in their eyes and listen to the very important things they have to say? How often do they see me with an impatient frown on my face as I wait for them to finish what they are saying or doing? How tragic!
But today is a new day. When quiet time is over, we are building a fort in the living room. We'll eat popcorn and watch a cartoon during the rain storm. Then, per Parker's suggestion, we'll decorate the kitchen to "celebrate all the races dad's won" (though, he's never actually won a race, to my knowledge).
I am determined to celebrate the rest of the summer with these crazy kids. Thank you, Hands Free Mama, for the much-needed reminder of what summer (and motherhood) is all about!
http://www.handsfreemama.com/
7/1/12
Berry picking
I seem to remember in some anthropology class long, long ago (in a galaxy far far away from my children) the professor talking about differences between men and women and the ways in which those differences assisted early man. For example, women's eyes are more attuned to fine details, making us excellent berry-pickers. Let the men go out and hunt, and leave the details to us. This little differnce can be infuriating at times. I notice the dust in the house and the small trashs can that need emptying eons before Aaron. My mom always says, "Men see outside the nest, and women see inside." She is so right! He wants to care for the yard, cars, general upkeep of the house. Meanwhile, I am gazing at the unswept floors and dirty bathrooms.
Only recently did I realize just how narrow my focus had become...
Last week the kids and I went to the zoo with several extended family members. (I have learned my limits, and taking my 3 to the zoo alone is too daunting a task at this stage of the game!)
We were sitting on the benches in the splash park area, watching the kids happily run (or crawl, as the case may be) in circles. I had my eyes on Jack, Mom watched Parker, and Grandpa watched Maddie. All bases were covered.
"I love the ice on the buildings," mom mused.
I squinted. What? It was 90+ degrees. What was she talking about? Then I followed her gaze and noticed fake ice hangning from the roofs of the nearby building facades.
"I never noticed that," I mumbled to myself. I blinked hard and looked around. The kids were playing near some sort of pretend ship. That much I knew. I had never (in any of our many, many visits) noticed the details of this area. It was an arctic ship. Jack was splashing near some creature. If someone had asked me prior to this visit, I would have said it was perhaps a seal. No, it was a giant, white polar bear! I was literally shocked at the number of adorable (and obvious) details that had previously escaped my attention.
At first I thought, What is wrong with me?? Why had I not noticed and enjoyed this wonderful place before? Why had I had such tunnel vision? I assured myself that it was because I had to look after my children closely. It was too dangerous to let my eyes wander and take it all in.
In some ways, that was true. It was important to keep a close watch on the kids. But in other ways, it was a cop out. I'm wasn't seeing the forest for the trees. I began to wonder about other things I might be missing...
When we got home that day, I prayed that God would change my perspective and open my eyes to the bigger picture. I prayed my tunnel vision would diminish and that I could soak in all the beauty and wonders I had been missing.
Then I walked down into our basement. *Sigh.* Utter chaos. Toys strewn everywhere. Why can't these kids get out one toy at time? I wondered grumpily. I began to sweep aside a pile of Lincoln Logs with my foot, when I stopped.
What was that? I looked closer. A super-hero mansion had almost been destroyed by my carelessness. Each character had his/her own room. Clearly, Parker (and possibly Maddie) had taken a great deal of time and effort to make this mini-masterpiece. I was so glad I saw it! For once, my tunnel vision paid off.
I immediately altered my prayer: Lord, please improve my vision. Help me to expand my focus when it is too narrow and to zero in on the imortant stuff [like a super-hero Lincoln Log castle]. Amen.
Only recently did I realize just how narrow my focus had become...
Last week the kids and I went to the zoo with several extended family members. (I have learned my limits, and taking my 3 to the zoo alone is too daunting a task at this stage of the game!)
We were sitting on the benches in the splash park area, watching the kids happily run (or crawl, as the case may be) in circles. I had my eyes on Jack, Mom watched Parker, and Grandpa watched Maddie. All bases were covered.
"I love the ice on the buildings," mom mused.
I squinted. What? It was 90+ degrees. What was she talking about? Then I followed her gaze and noticed fake ice hangning from the roofs of the nearby building facades.
"I never noticed that," I mumbled to myself. I blinked hard and looked around. The kids were playing near some sort of pretend ship. That much I knew. I had never (in any of our many, many visits) noticed the details of this area. It was an arctic ship. Jack was splashing near some creature. If someone had asked me prior to this visit, I would have said it was perhaps a seal. No, it was a giant, white polar bear! I was literally shocked at the number of adorable (and obvious) details that had previously escaped my attention.
At first I thought, What is wrong with me?? Why had I not noticed and enjoyed this wonderful place before? Why had I had such tunnel vision? I assured myself that it was because I had to look after my children closely. It was too dangerous to let my eyes wander and take it all in.
In some ways, that was true. It was important to keep a close watch on the kids. But in other ways, it was a cop out. I'm wasn't seeing the forest for the trees. I began to wonder about other things I might be missing...
When we got home that day, I prayed that God would change my perspective and open my eyes to the bigger picture. I prayed my tunnel vision would diminish and that I could soak in all the beauty and wonders I had been missing.
Then I walked down into our basement. *Sigh.* Utter chaos. Toys strewn everywhere. Why can't these kids get out one toy at time? I wondered grumpily. I began to sweep aside a pile of Lincoln Logs with my foot, when I stopped.
What was that? I looked closer. A super-hero mansion had almost been destroyed by my carelessness. Each character had his/her own room. Clearly, Parker (and possibly Maddie) had taken a great deal of time and effort to make this mini-masterpiece. I was so glad I saw it! For once, my tunnel vision paid off.
I immediately altered my prayer: Lord, please improve my vision. Help me to expand my focus when it is too narrow and to zero in on the imortant stuff [like a super-hero Lincoln Log castle]. Amen.
6/21/12
Sparkling floors
I'm not talking about the clean kind. I'm talking about glitter. Today, I balanced Jack on my hip and attempted to sweep the living room floor. It's fairly ineffective to try to maneuver a broom around chunky baby thighs, let me tell you. I was getting hot and tired and grumpy pretty quickly. As I swept (or at least, pushed the broom around), I noticed a pile of something on the floor near the fireplace. At first glance, I couldn't figure out what it was. Then I realized it was glitter...and I smiled.
This is a very unusual reaction for me. Especially when it comes to glitter. Typically, I feel that glitter should only be used in the presence of preschool professionals and should be banned from my home entirely. However, today, as the breeze from the fan blew bits of glitter from the mantel to the floor, I felt incredibly happy.
Up on the mantle, in a special place of honor, was a "picture" Maddie had made for me (then changed her mind and gave it to daddy). Her picture consisted of bright yellow construction paper and a pile of silver glitter. She hasn't quite grasped the concept that glitter requires glue to stay in place.
I wasn't smiling at the sparkling mess on my floor or even at the picture. I was smiling at what they represented:
A darling three year old girl who loves to create crafty masterpieces for her parents.
An independent child who frequently insists she knows exactly what she's doing and doesn't require any help, thank you.
A sense of freedom the kids feel to gather their own craft supplies and create something special, just because.
A richly blessed life. We have the resources to have an abundance of readily available activities for the kids.
Love. A love that goes both ways. From a little girl who made a gift unprompted to the parents who received it with joy, praising her efforts and kindness.
So, today as I awkwardly wielded my broom, I didn't really mind that my "sweeping" was ineffective. Perhaps a bit of glitter left on the floor is not such a bad thing...
This is a very unusual reaction for me. Especially when it comes to glitter. Typically, I feel that glitter should only be used in the presence of preschool professionals and should be banned from my home entirely. However, today, as the breeze from the fan blew bits of glitter from the mantel to the floor, I felt incredibly happy.
Up on the mantle, in a special place of honor, was a "picture" Maddie had made for me (then changed her mind and gave it to daddy). Her picture consisted of bright yellow construction paper and a pile of silver glitter. She hasn't quite grasped the concept that glitter requires glue to stay in place.
I wasn't smiling at the sparkling mess on my floor or even at the picture. I was smiling at what they represented:
A darling three year old girl who loves to create crafty masterpieces for her parents.
An independent child who frequently insists she knows exactly what she's doing and doesn't require any help, thank you.
A sense of freedom the kids feel to gather their own craft supplies and create something special, just because.
A richly blessed life. We have the resources to have an abundance of readily available activities for the kids.
Love. A love that goes both ways. From a little girl who made a gift unprompted to the parents who received it with joy, praising her efforts and kindness.
So, today as I awkwardly wielded my broom, I didn't really mind that my "sweeping" was ineffective. Perhaps a bit of glitter left on the floor is not such a bad thing...
6/2/12
She's only little
My kids love a book about a very young bear named Bartholomew. In these toddler tales, Bartholomew's caregiver, a large bear named George, inevitably repeats himself until he loses his cool and gives a directive in a "big voice." (Hmmm...sounds a lot like our house.)
In one such story, George gives Bartholomew a black kitten. After reminding Bartholomew to "be gentle" over and over, George uses his big voice. Then George says, "She's only little, Ba."
Of course, George was talking about the poor kitten, but when I think of that phrase, I immediately think of my own precious girl.
She's only little, Ba. Only, I hear George gently scolding me. She's only little, Jessie.
It's just that Maddie is not little. Yes, she's 3 1/2, but she's huge. She's very tall for her age. People mistake her for Parker's twin all the time. Parker, who is a full year and a half older. And she's not just tall. She's tall with sass. This girl has attitude oozing out her pores. She'll size you up in one glance and dismiss you in an instant if you have the wrong accessory (read: she doesn't like girls who wear bows in their hair). She'll shriek if her brother attempts to interrupt or talk over her. She'll stomp up the stairs if she doesn't like your answer. We have battles over shoes (yes, you must wear them to the store), hair brushing, drinks (no, you may not have any more chocolate milk today), toys (I'm sorry, I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to pick up that princess), you name it. Daily.
The other day I was sitting on the steps in the hallway, helping Parker tie his shoes, when I glanced into the bathroom. The door was open, and Maddie was at the sink. She was washing her hands. And I saw it. She was on her tiptoes. I was taken aback for a moment. You see, had I not been sitting, I would not have been at the angle to see her feet. I never would have noticed that she still needs to stand on tiptoes to wash her hands. She's much to independent to use a stool. (Stools are for babies, momma.)
"She's only little, Ba." Tears stung my eyes. She is only little. How easily I forget. She is only 3. She still talks with a lisp and has no sense of modesty (read: she gets naked. a lot.). She still requests stories and "seh-shull" time ("special" one-on-one playtime with mommy) daily. She still wants to be sung to sleep at night and carries her favorite, tattered "strawberry" blanket everywhere she goes. She's only little.
This has been my mantra since the tiptoe discovery. She's only little. She's only little. She's only little. Because it's true. Because there will be spills every single day for a time. Because there will be battles over barrettes. Because there will be boo-boo's with every outing, especially when concrete is involved. And that's okay.
"Be gentle, Ba. She's only little." And she won't be for long.
In one such story, George gives Bartholomew a black kitten. After reminding Bartholomew to "be gentle" over and over, George uses his big voice. Then George says, "She's only little, Ba."
Of course, George was talking about the poor kitten, but when I think of that phrase, I immediately think of my own precious girl.
She's only little, Ba. Only, I hear George gently scolding me. She's only little, Jessie.
It's just that Maddie is not little. Yes, she's 3 1/2, but she's huge. She's very tall for her age. People mistake her for Parker's twin all the time. Parker, who is a full year and a half older. And she's not just tall. She's tall with sass. This girl has attitude oozing out her pores. She'll size you up in one glance and dismiss you in an instant if you have the wrong accessory (read: she doesn't like girls who wear bows in their hair). She'll shriek if her brother attempts to interrupt or talk over her. She'll stomp up the stairs if she doesn't like your answer. We have battles over shoes (yes, you must wear them to the store), hair brushing, drinks (no, you may not have any more chocolate milk today), toys (I'm sorry, I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to pick up that princess), you name it. Daily.
The other day I was sitting on the steps in the hallway, helping Parker tie his shoes, when I glanced into the bathroom. The door was open, and Maddie was at the sink. She was washing her hands. And I saw it. She was on her tiptoes. I was taken aback for a moment. You see, had I not been sitting, I would not have been at the angle to see her feet. I never would have noticed that she still needs to stand on tiptoes to wash her hands. She's much to independent to use a stool. (Stools are for babies, momma.)
"She's only little, Ba." Tears stung my eyes. She is only little. How easily I forget. She is only 3. She still talks with a lisp and has no sense of modesty (read: she gets naked. a lot.). She still requests stories and "seh-shull" time ("special" one-on-one playtime with mommy) daily. She still wants to be sung to sleep at night and carries her favorite, tattered "strawberry" blanket everywhere she goes. She's only little.
This has been my mantra since the tiptoe discovery. She's only little. She's only little. She's only little. Because it's true. Because there will be spills every single day for a time. Because there will be battles over barrettes. Because there will be boo-boo's with every outing, especially when concrete is involved. And that's okay.
"Be gentle, Ba. She's only little." And she won't be for long.
5/24/12
Dang, my sister is hot!
Aaron likes to listen to country music. I've never been a big fan of it myself, but some of the tunes are quite catchy. The kids love it when daddy drives [the van] because it means they will get to listen to "daddy's music" and get a break from the typical kids' tunes and worship music.
There is a currently a popular country song in which the artist sings, "You're looking so d@*& hot!" Aaron and I have an agreement that the kids can listen to the music as long as he turns the sound down completely during any curse words. We thought it was working. Wrong.
The other day I was driving the van and surfing the radio stations when the kids recognized Aaron's station. "PLEASE can we listen to daddy's music?" Fine. When the popular song came on, Parker was belting it out from the 3rd row. I was giggling (because it's just plain funny to hear him sing in his twangy little country voice). I anticipated the curse word, and dutifully cut the sound, only to hear Parker sing at the top of his lungs: "You're looking so d@^& hot!"
[Cue the screeching tires.] My head whipped around. "What?!" I shrieked. Parker looked at me innocently. "What?"
I focused back on the road and took a deep breath. Surely my ears were mistaken. Maybe he sang dang. Smiling with clenched teeth I asked, "What did you just sing, sweetie?"
"You're looking so [expletive deleted] hot." [matter-of-factly]
"Honey, we don't use that word. That's a bad word, and we don't say it."
Please, for once in your five year old life, don't utilize your elephant-like super-memory and contradict me with embarrassing examples of how we have, in fact, used that very word - like when the tool shelf fell on daddy and his car in the garage.
Parker: Oh, okay. Maybe I'll just say you're looking so good hot. Would that be okay?
Me: [relieved] Sure, whatever. Let's just listen to a CD, k?
I didn't think much more about incident until a few days later. Parker and Maddie were on the back porch, getting ready for some fun in the sun (in our luxurious, plastic kiddie pool). Parker was obviously feeling benevolent and was being uncharacteristically generous and complimentary toward his sister. Sure, Maddie, you can have the water gun. Wanna hold the hose? Wow, Maddie! You're looking hot!
Whoa! Say what?! I mean, I know we live in Kentucky and all, but I felt the need to draw the line here.
I explained to Parker that while I understood he was trying to be nice and let his sister know her bathing suit was pretty, there was a better way to express his approval. At first he looked at me as if I were from another planet. Then he shook his head as if he understood completely and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Oh don't worry, mom, you're looking hot, too."
Parenting fail.
There is a currently a popular country song in which the artist sings, "You're looking so d@*& hot!" Aaron and I have an agreement that the kids can listen to the music as long as he turns the sound down completely during any curse words. We thought it was working. Wrong.
The other day I was driving the van and surfing the radio stations when the kids recognized Aaron's station. "PLEASE can we listen to daddy's music?" Fine. When the popular song came on, Parker was belting it out from the 3rd row. I was giggling (because it's just plain funny to hear him sing in his twangy little country voice). I anticipated the curse word, and dutifully cut the sound, only to hear Parker sing at the top of his lungs: "You're looking so d@^& hot!"
[Cue the screeching tires.] My head whipped around. "What?!" I shrieked. Parker looked at me innocently. "What?"
I focused back on the road and took a deep breath. Surely my ears were mistaken. Maybe he sang dang. Smiling with clenched teeth I asked, "What did you just sing, sweetie?"
"You're looking so [expletive deleted] hot." [matter-of-factly]
"Honey, we don't use that word. That's a bad word, and we don't say it."
Please, for once in your five year old life, don't utilize your elephant-like super-memory and contradict me with embarrassing examples of how we have, in fact, used that very word - like when the tool shelf fell on daddy and his car in the garage.
Parker: Oh, okay. Maybe I'll just say you're looking so good hot. Would that be okay?
Me: [relieved] Sure, whatever. Let's just listen to a CD, k?
I didn't think much more about incident until a few days later. Parker and Maddie were on the back porch, getting ready for some fun in the sun (in our luxurious, plastic kiddie pool). Parker was obviously feeling benevolent and was being uncharacteristically generous and complimentary toward his sister. Sure, Maddie, you can have the water gun. Wanna hold the hose? Wow, Maddie! You're looking hot!
Whoa! Say what?! I mean, I know we live in Kentucky and all, but I felt the need to draw the line here.
I explained to Parker that while I understood he was trying to be nice and let his sister know her bathing suit was pretty, there was a better way to express his approval. At first he looked at me as if I were from another planet. Then he shook his head as if he understood completely and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Oh don't worry, mom, you're looking hot, too."
Parenting fail.
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