Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Letter

Dear Mean Mom on the Playground,

Apparently while I was walking around the festival looking at overpriced art with Angie, you had an encounter with my son. It was brought to my attention that you confronted my 3 year-old and your big grown-up self told him not to be mean. When he responded to your accusations and informed you that he wasn't being mean, you continued to assure him, and yourself, that he was indeed mean and you saw him. Very big of you.

I think what you didn't see was perhaps the entire string of events. I was told by my not mean 3 year-old that your child pushed him and that he was pushing back. I am not saying that it was okay for my son to push back, and perhaps he pushed first, but he is 3, he is learning the limits, he is figuring out his voice and how to protect himself from getting pushed around on the playground.

What I do know, without a doubt, is what you didn't see. You didn't see the real tears that were cried for hours because a grown-up, actually a grown-up who knows nothing about him, told him he was mean. You didn't see the little boy that told his mom ALL night long that he wasn't trying to be mean. You didn't see the little boy that woke up the next morning and reminded his mom again he wasn't trying to be mean. You didn't see the little boy that woke up two days later and wanted to talk about how sad he was when the grown-up yelled at him.

My little boy has a kind heart, he isn't mean. He takes care of his mom, he loves his baby sister who isn't even here yet, he adores his friends, and he never leaves his owl home because he doesn't want him to be alone and scared. What you said hurt him because he truly isn't mean and he wasn't trying to be mean to your child, he simply didn't want to be pushed.

Maybe next time, you should pay more attention to your own child and his actions. Or perhaps you should sit back and simply say nothing. Or, since that appears impossible, you could have used some different words. At least my little boy learned a lot from what happened, as I saw to it that he would. I took this as a great opportunity to teach him something. You on the other hand, fought with a little boy on the playground, and taught your little boy he can push someone and as long as his mom doesn't see, she will run to his rescue and tell a THREE-YEAR old that he is mean.

I hope we don't run into either of you at the playground again.

From,

The Mom Who is Glad She Was Looking at Art, Because She Would Have Wanted to Kick Your Ass.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

They Start So Young

Greg is a huge CUBS fan and of course he has attempted to impose his love of the team onto Owen. I am here to say, it is working.

Owen chooses the same outfit everytime he gets himself dressed. One of two pairs of pants, the lounging sweat pants type, and his CUBS shirt. Today he ran downstairs to get his clothes and came up singing, "Go Cubs Go, Go Cubs Go, Hey Chicago What do you Say, Cubs Are Going to Win Today." He continued singing the song until he was dressed.

So not only does he dress himself in Cubs attire, but he has a song to go along with the process of getting dressed.

Greg is in heaven tonight after realizing he has converted his child to a CUBS fan right along with him.

(I have 13 days to prepare a plan to protect baby sister from the same fate.)

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

On the Bright Side

Being pregnant with Owen and with Baby Sister (who has no name) have been relatively the same. I was sick both times, I complained about not feeling like myself both times, I feel like I have gained about the same amount of weight both times (I don't know the actual numbers because I turn around), and I have enjoyed the same foods both times (FRUIT).

Now, granted, this time around I have gestational diabetes and I didn't last time, BUT on the BRIGHT SIDE... my feet are not as dry as the desert.

When I was pregnant with Owen, my feet were so dry. I spent many many nights walking around the house with my feet in socks. Not weird, I know. It was what was UNDER the socks that proves the point of my story. I constantly had my feet lathered in vaseline and then wrapped in plastic wrap and then protected by socks. It was the only choice.

So, although this time around has come with its struggles of its own, the skin on my feet is staying put and with two weeks left, it appears it will stay that way.

I am happy.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

I Hate it When...

I really hate those days when I am a bad mom. Today is one of those days.

We spent the day yesterday with friends. 8 hours of sun, laughing, beach, ferries, playground, sunblock, ice cream, seashells, farmer's market and FUN.

And then today wasn't so fun. Following our day of fun, which I wouldn't trade, I was left with some deadlines to meet today. The only answer - HANDY MANNY. Thank you to Rusty, Dusty, Pat, Turner, Felipe, Stretch, Squeeze, and Manny for watching my child today. As I turn on each recorded episode and swear to him and me that this is the last one, each episode ends with a little voice proclaiming, "One More!" In an effort to get one more deadline met, I decide it is best.

6 or so episodes later, the tv goes off. Too many. Feeling like a bad mom - #1.

We eat lunch together and he decides to go outside to play. Thank you to the dogs, Abbi and Porter, and the trees he loves to play in for watching my child during the second part of the day. A few more things can be done. Feeling like a bad mom - #2.

Felix is home from school, outside they go to see Kiki and what she is up to. Thank you to Felix, Robee, Kiki, the goats and the outdoors for watching my child. Back to work. Feeling like a bad mom - #3.

Time to leave and teach yoga. Feeling like a bad mom - #4.

I am home from yoga, time for dinner. A baby pigeon has been rescued from the bottom of the coop. I am making MY dinner, not his, and he asks for me to come see the baby bird and ends the sentence with the sweet sound of Pwease Mommy. My ever too common reply, "in a minute". Why is it that I expect him to do things now when all he ever hears is "in a minute". He goes to see the bird alone. Feeling like a bad mom - #5, #6, #7.

It is time for bed, something made him mad and he smacked the table. When he realized he was hurt instead of the table, he pushed the kitchen chair over. Bedtime. He runs away. After bringing him downstairs, putting on his his jammies not so nice, I demand that he lie down in bed. With tears running down his cheeks, he asks if I am going to lay with him. I told him I wasn't sure and I would be right back to decide. I start to walk away, but I have a moment of sanity. My baby is sad. I went back to the bed, kissed his head and I told him I loved him and he was my little chick (we have a book with a chick that makes the mommy mad, she tells him that sometimes he makes her mad, and sometimes he makes her sad but she always loves him because he is her little chick). We gave each other a big hug. And then I left, telling him I would be right back. Feeling like a bad mom - #8, #9 (then back down to 8 for not leaving mad, but then then back to 9 again for leaving at all).

I went upstairs for 2 minutes, came back down and he is asleep. I look at him sleeping and it is what I want, asleep at 9:00. But as I look at his sleeping face and remember the tears down his cheeks, I want to crawl into bed with him, hold him and wake him up and erase what just happened.

I wish I could do things differently, the day didn't go how I wanted and it certainly wasn't how I meant for the day to end.

The deadlines are done. The tears are now mine.

Tomorrow is a new start, a new day, a chance to do it differently than I did today.

A day to remember that what I need to do can be done "in a minute".

Friday, June 5, 2009

Lower Expectations

I worry sometimes that I am not "entertaining" Owen enough. Perhaps I am ok......

After waking up and getting ready for the day, it was out the door for some fun with friends. We spent the day feeding animals, playing on swings, eating snacks and hanging out in the nice warm sun.










After leaving the farm, it was off to the doctor. Owen and Greg bought a chocolate snack and hung out in the car opening and closing windows and climbing on the seats.

With the doctor's visit behind us, Owen and I headed home only to decide we should go to Costco and buy some grapes and bunny crackers (this was a shopping trip for Owen).

After leaving Costco, Owen and I decided Red Robin sounded better for dinner than making something ourselves.

While at Red Robin I said to Owen, "We sure did a lot of things today, did you have a fun day?"

He replied, "Yes".

To which I responded, "What was your favorite part of the day?"

Without hesitation he said, "Carrying around my owl, that is always my favorite part."

I guess I can stop worrying about what the day holds and make sure I just bring the owl.