Parenting

Good morning!

/ Wanda / 2 Comments

That moment, in the early hours of the morning, when it’s still dark outside, and your kid, who managed to wiggle their way into your bed in the middle of the night, suddenly sits up and declares with panic in his voice, “My tummy hurts.”

Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

You bolt awake, adrenaline filling your system as you grab your child, and run as fast as you can to the bathroom before Mount Vesuvius erupts in the middle of your bed.  You just changed the sheets and a bed full of vomit is not something you want to deal with at 5am.

An hour later, after cuddling him through the stomach cramps, wiping his tears of fear, rubbing his back, administering Sprite, Tums, and a few Saltine crackers to get something in his stomach to absorb the acid, he looks at you and says, “I guess I just had to fart a couple of times, mommy.  I’m ok.”

So, yeah.  Good morning.

Wanda Says…Settle down tiger, it’s just camp.

/ Wanda / 10 Comments

kids campI sent my daughter off to camp today.

Her entire fifth grade class left this morning for science camp.  They get to spend five days in the San Bernardino Mountains, doing science experiments, learning about nature and doing a ton of other cool stuff, like archery and zip-lining.

Five days.

And no contact with parents is allowed.

No contact.  For five, whole days.

I’m a fucking mess.

1375266_183307995188929_1395468096_n[1]

She was pretty nervous about going, and the last few days have been hard for both of us.  Hard for her because she was suffering from anxiety and nerves.  She’s never been away from us for that long.  Hell, she only started feeling comfortable doing sleep-overs this year, and she’s ten years old.  Outwardly, I’ve been supportive and encouraging.  I know this is important.  I know she needs to spread her wings and begin to learn to be more independent.  She needs to see how capable she really is, and that can only be achieved by working through tough stuff.  In this case, it’s working through her separation anxiety and realizing that she will be ok and can have fun, even when she’s missing her family.  In this sense I’ve done nothing but tell her how much fun she’ll have and what amazing memories she’ll make.

Angry VolcanoInwardly, I want to shout and scream and demand that the school bring my baby home now!  I can’t believe I paid for this shit!  I can’t believe I agreed to let my daughter go two hours away into the mountains and be supervised by people I’ve never met.  Doomsday images keep floating through my head.  What if there’s an earthquake?  THE earthquake?  The big one that will supposedly redefine the west coast?  How would I get to her?  What if there’s a bus crash?  What if she meets up with a bear?  What if some asshole ten year old from her class shoots her with a goddamn archery arrow?  What if one hair on her beautiful head is damaged in any way?  I will go ape shit and rip that camp apart looking for retribution, that’s what!

(I’m taking some deep breaths right now.)

This was probably the wrong week for me to give up wine and coffee, but that’s a post for another day.

The truth is that my heart feels like it has a giant hole in it.  The house feels empty.  The hallways sound hollow.  She’s only been gone for twelve hours and her absence has left its mark on all of us.  This morning her little brother cried.  He loves her so much, and he couldn’t understand why his Bryn was leaving for so many days.  I held it together until the bus pulled away from the school.  Then I couldn’t stop the tears.  Other parents saw me quietly crying, despite my giant sunglasses covering my face.  They offered me sympathetic looks and as a few of them tried to talk to me all I could do was put up my hand to ward them off and march home, crying the entire way.  My husband held me and offered to take the day off work so we could spend the day together and take my mind off of Bryn’s absence.  While I adore his gesture and love him more than words can say, I decided to just keep busy and get on with my day.

A few of the other parents have been thoughtful and kind enough to text and email me today, checking in to see how I was doing.  While I truly appreciate their consideration and thoughtfulness, it makes me feel like a giant candy-ass.  For fuck’s sake, it’s just camp!  My head knows this, so why does my heart feel like it will be ten thousand years before I see her again?

We’re a close family, and we don’t like to be separated.  I’m so thankful for that.  I’m so thankful that our family unit is so connected that when one of us is missing, we are all affected.  I grew up in a household where that wasn’t the case, so I am doubly appreciative of the bond my husband and I share with our children and with each other.  It’s priceless.

And learns how to do her ponytail!

And learns how to do her own ponytail!

So, I am now trying to banish the ugly, apocalyptic thoughts racing through my head and find the silver lining.  I’m trying to focus on the good things that will come from her week at camp.  She will learn how to manage a bit without me.  She will learn to be more independent and self-assured.  She will learn how to keep track of her own stuff.  She will learn how to pack her own damn suitcase when it’s time to come home.  And, for the love of God, if one of her friends actually manages to teach her how to do her own hair, then it will be worth every tear shed and every expensive dollar that it cost to send her there.

So, if you feel like contributing, I would love to hear your best camp story.  🙂

Wanda Says…Random Thoughts, Fancy Cars, Play-Doh and TMI.

/ Wanda / 2 Comments

cleaning ladyMy house is a bit of a mess and I keep waiting for someone else in this family to take some initiative and clean it.  Then I remind myself that everyone else is waiting for me to do it because as a stay home mom, that’s my job.  I’m looking at the floors and thinking I need a raise.  Or a glass of wine while I contemplate when I may feel like getting around to some housework.

I’m tired all the time.  I thought once I started working out a lot that I would have all this boundless energy.  All I have is sore muscles, some new muscles,  and constant cravings for caffeine and meat.

10154307_596887757062232_1116757788_n[1]

Every Tuesday and Thursday when I go to the gym, there’s a black, Rolls Royce Wraith in the parking lot.  Seriously.  A freaking Rolls Royce!  Every week I see this car and I think…Really?  Because that’s your casual car?

Would you drive this to the gym?

Bryce has been begging me all day to play with his play-doh.  I hate play-doh.  It took forever to clean up the mess he made yesterday with his play-doh, and I just want it to disappear.  He likes to take several different colors, squish them all together and then shape it into a puddle.  Then he brings it to me and says, “Here’s another pool of vomit, mommy!”  He makes these “pools of vomit” and then expects me to save it and display it on the fireplace mantel.  He gets upset when I try to secretly throw them away.  He notices when they disappear from the mantel.  He doesn’t believe me anymore when I tell him I’m saving them in a special, secret location.  Did I mention that I hate play-doh?

My husband had to fly to Oakland today for a meeting with one of his clients.  He’s in the e-commerce business and he works with a variety of online retailers.   This particular client happens to be a company that makes products exclusively for adults.  *Ahem*  To be more specific, they sell sex toys.  Apparently, during the meeting, the company gave out goodie bags to all the executives.  He texted me a picture of the bag and said, “I can’t wait to go through TSA at the airport.”  He won’t tell me what’s in the bag.  He says it’s a surprise.  I don’t actually care about what’s in the gift bag, but I would give almost anything to watch him go through airport security with that bag.  It was a day trip so he didn’t take luggage with him.  It should make him feel better that everyone from his company got a gift bag, so they all have to go through airport security together, with sex toys in their possession.  (I’m crying laughing just thinking about it!)

10806242_1572206826353329_5670738414475305045_n[1]

Because I won’t put up a picture of a sex toy, its funny, and topically, it’s somewhat relevant.

Have a great weekend!  😉

Wanda Says…On the Subject of Toddler Memory and Childbirth.

/ Wanda / 7 Comments

mother and childMy son Bryce gets physical therapy for a slight gross-motor delay.  During one of our sessions with his PT, she asked if my kids ever talked about their early childhood memories.  My daughter has a really good memory and she can recall things from her toddler years that surprise me.  I’ve never really thought about it with Bryce, but once I did, I was surprised to realize that Bryce can also recall various events from as much as two years ago, and he’s only four.

Anyway, our PT went on to explain that she has a colleague who’s interested in early childhood memory, and had recently read about a study that showed evidence that some toddlers, if questioned before the age of three, could recall events from their birth experience.  (Keep in mind we weren’t having a scientific discussion here.  It was more sharing this cool story about kids who can accurately recall memories from their birth, which I thought was pretty amazing).

So, PT told me that one night she decided to ask her own two year old daughter, just to see what she would say.  As she was putting her to bed, she asked the child if she remembered anything about being born.  She said that her daughter got very quiet, and then responded by saying that her arm hurt, and she cradled her arm to her chest.  PT then told me that when her daughter was born, her arm had been in a difficult position, which made the birth a bit complicated.  Her baby’s arm was wedged up and pinned, and the result was a rather large and colorful bruise on her arm for over a week after the birth.

Holy shit!  For a two year old to recall her arm hurting and gesture that seems pretty amazing to me.

I guess the idea behind the theory is that toddlers are like free-thinking sponges, and their brains aren’t bogged down by preconceptions of what they’re supposed to know and not know.  They don’t know how to second-guess themselves, so their reactions and recollections are genuine and open.  There are many studies that prove that learning begins in the womb, and what prevents babies and toddlers from expressing these memories is a simple lack of developed communication skills.  I did an internet search for toddler memory studies and there were all kinds of cool things that popped up, but I was unable to locate the specific study on toddler memory of childbirth.

But I decided to ask my son Bryce and see what he had to say.  Bryce is four, so I knew it might be too late for him to remember anything, but I asked him anyway.

We were snuggling together, just the two of us.  It was quiet and I had his full attention. He was sitting on my lap and playing with my hair.

Me:  Bryce, do you remember when you were born?

Bryce:  Yep.  (There was no hesitation in his answer).

Me:  What do you remember?

Bryce:  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten!

(OMG!  Does he remember the counting through the contractions?  For those of you who are unfamiliar with this process, the nurses will usually count to ten while you are pushing through a contraction).

Me:  Wow.  Do you remember anything else?

Bryce:  Yep.  I remember shapes………..and power.

(Could the “power” be the contractions?).

Me:  What kind of shapes?

Bryce:  Circles and ovals.

(Does he mean the overhead lights in the birthing suite or bassinet?  There were warming lights over the newborn bassinet and over the bed).

Me:  That’s pretty cool, buddy.

Bryce.  Yep.  It was cool.

So, I have no idea if these were true memories or just something he decided to say, but I think the concept of toddlers remembering their birth experience is pretty awesome.

What do you think?

Wanda Says…On My Son’s Opinion of Green Poop.

/ Wanda / 5 Comments

shamrockParenting children is so glamorous. If I’m not pulling teeth, wiping bums, or determining the source of crusty residue left on various surfaces, then I’m a scientist/medical doctor in training attempting to help my children decipher their bodily functions and the source of any problems that arise.

I apologize for the gross topic of this post, but I had this conversation with my four year old son this morning, and for a lack of anything more interesting to write about, decided to share the poop story love with all of you.

You’re welcome, world.

This morning I heard Bryce muttering to himself in the bathroom.

Bryce:  Why is my poop green?  What makes green poop?

Me:  Is something wrong?  Do you need help?

Bryce:  Yes.  My poop is green mommy.

(I joined him in the bathroom, and yes, his poop was a shamrock green color.  WTH?)

Bryce:  Why?

Me:  I don’t know, buddy.  Maybe it has something to do with the blue icing you ate last night on the cake.  But it will be ok.  Poop changes color sometimes based on what you eat.

Bryce:  So the blue icing and the chocolate cake made green poop?!

Me:  I’m not sure.

red velvet cupakeBryce:  What does red and green make?

Me:  Probably a brownish-gray color.  Why?

Bryce:  Well, then to turn my poop brown again, I need to eat some Red Velvet cake!  Can you get some of that for me, because we need to fix this!

LOL!  Little boy problems are so fun.  I heard him talking to himself a while later saying, “I never should have eaten that chocolate cake!”   😉

 

Update:  About two hours after I posted this, my family and I were shopping at the local mall, picking up some clothes for the kids.  In the middle of the girls department at Macy’s, I look over and Bryce has his pants down around his ankles, his underwear around his knees, bare-ass, inspecting the inside of his underwear!  He was so worried about the green poop, he said, with big fat tears in his eyes and a sad look on his face, “I had to make sure the green poop didn’t get into my underwear.”   We left the store and got him a Red Velvet cupcake just to ease his worries.  🙂

Wanda Says…Ummmm, I did not order this.

/ Wanda / 15 Comments

Hello, world.

I’ve been out of the social media/WordPress mix for a little while for a variety of reasons.  I’ve been volunteering to help with a fundraiser at my daughter’s school and between that and the time I’ve been spending recovering from my sessions with my personal trainer, I haven’t had the time or energy to think about anything interesting to share with all of you.

Until today….

Yesterday a package arrived for my daughter.  That’s not necessarily surprising as she sometimes gets small packages from grandparents without warning.  I asked my husband if he ordered anything for her, or if his mother did, and he said he wasn’t expecting anything and hadn’t ordered anything himself.  What was interesting was that the package came from Walmart, and we rarely shop at Walmart.

So I opened it to see what was in the box and if there was a gift message on the packing slip.

Keep in mind this box came addressed to my ten year old daughter.

Here is a picture of the packing slip…

walmart packing slip

WTF?

What a random assortment of items.  Pop tarts, K-Cups, toothpaste and feminine hygiene products.  Really?

I realize this must be a shipping mistake.  How Bryn’s name and address ended up in the Walmart database is curious because we never order anything from them. I went to Walmart’s website and tried to track the order number so I could see who purchased the items, but because my email address didn’t match the order number the website wouldn’t let me in to see anything, which is a good thing as it protects the information of the person who actually did order these products.

Bryn thought it was funny and wanted to examine the contents of the box, and as she was looking through the box she said, “What are Pop Tarts?”

Did you hear that?  Do you know what that means?

In this moment, right now, I feel like a good parent.  I feel like I might have done something right.

Who knew in this moment of random, shipping mistake, box full of assorted grocery store items, that I would find validation of my parenting choices?  My chest swelled a little and I smiled.

My daughter is ten years old and she doesn’t know about Pop Tarts!  As crazy ass Charlie Sheen would say, “I am WINNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Image result for images of charlie sheen

I’m a winner too, Charlie!

 

I grew up on the most processed, non-food imaginable.  Nutrition in the 80’s and 90’s at my house was all about Hamburger Helper, Tuna Helper, Pop Tarts, Cheez-Whiz, Bagel Dogs, Twinkies, and sugar cereals.  The most fruit we ever had in our house was when my mother was making a batch of her famous Sangria.

Now that I’m the parent, I don’t feed my kids that stuff.  My kids have never tasted Cheez-Whiz and they have never had pasta out of a can.  Now, that doesn’t mean that I’m a super-freak about everything they eat.  After all, pizza is their favorite food and they act like the apocalypse is looming if we run out of Eggo pancakes.  But my kids eat real food, and I try to buy organic, whole food as much as possible.

But that is not the point of this post.  The point, my dear friends, is that Walmart has inadvertently made me feel like I might be able, at some point, to claim that ever-elusive Mother of Year award.  I am one step closer thanks to their misprinted shipping labels!

Thank you Walmart!  Thank you, and please understand that I never shop in your store due to the lack of enforceable dress code and tendency to run into ‘The People Of Walmart.’  😉

 

Wanda Says…No Bandits!

/ Wanda / 6 Comments

kid walking to schoolMy daughter Bryn is ten years old and in the fifth grade.  We live one block from her school.  At the beginning of the school year she begged me to let her walk to school by herself.  She had a convincing argument.  She said, “It’s only a block, mom, and I’m old enough to walk a block by myself.” (To be read with the required level of pre-teen sarcasm and eye rolling).

She’s right, of course.  When I was her age we played outside every day after school, running around the neighborhood, riding our bikes everywhere.  As long as we were home by the time the street lights came on, our mom wouldn’t stand in the yard shouting our names until we came running.  She is old enough to walk a block, and farther, by herself.

But life today isn’t the same as when I was her age.  The dangers are real, and I do not trust the general population with the safety of my children. I think most people are genuinely caring and look out for kids in their neighborhoods, but it’s the person late for work that accelerates too quickly down their driveway without watching for school age kids on the sidewalk, and the child predators who look like nice people just wanting to stop and chat for a few seconds that scare the shit out of me.  I feel bad that she isn’t allowed to run the neighborhood like I did at her age, but none of her friends are allowed to do that either.  All of her friend’s parents are just as cautious as I am.

But she’s ten, and she is responsible and knows how to cross a street, watch for traffic, and not talk to strangers.  I can’t choose to hold her back from something that is developmentally appropriate and allows her to grow because it scares me.  So the least I can do to allow her some measure of independence is to let her walk to school by herself.  She loves it.  She feels like such a big girl, and I love seeing that look of satisfaction on her face when she walks in the door after school.

But I hate it.  I hate not being there to watch over and protect her for the four minutes it takes her to walk one block.

I silently stress out every morning when we say good-bye at the front door.  I watch her walk down the driveway, and I don’t stop watching until she rounds the corner and is out of my line of sight.  And then I surreptitiously keep my eye on the clock.  I know that as long as the school doesn’t call here by 9am that she made it safely.  I start watching the clock again at 2:30pm. She’s usually home by 2:40pm, and then I take a deep breath and relax.

This is what I look like when I'm protecting my kids. For real.

This is what I look like when I’m protecting my kids. For real.

I know this sounds obsessive and crazy.  Especially to a younger person who has never had kids.  But having children changes you.  Having children brings out your protective instincts in a way nothing else can.  I became the mother bear.  I am that dangerous female Grizzly that will rip your throat out if you even think about physically harming one of my children.  And I’m not alone.  Thankfully, I’m in good company with all the other Grizzly mothers at Bryn’s school.  We all agree that allowing our children to walk to school at a certain age is a necessary risk to help them mature, grow and learn to be responsible for themselves and recognize potentially dangerous situations and how to handle them.   They need to know how to apply and use all the advice we’ve given them. “Look both ways before you cross the street, don’t talk to strangers, be aware of who’s around you and if someone approaches you and tries to get you to go with them, you drop your backpack, scream for help and run like hell is chasing you.”  Well, I didn’t give her that last bit of advice in exactly those words, but she got the message.

No Bandits!

So, I let her walk to school.  The first few weeks were the hardest for me.  About three weeks in I was sort of grilling her at the dinner table, trying to be nonchalant and casual about it.  I didn’t want to be up in her face with overly detailed questions, but I wanted to know how it was going.  I was obsessing, and I guess I wasn’t as subtle as I’d hoped because she looked at me and said, “It’s good, mom.  There’s no bandits!”  As she said this, she winked at me in a jaunty way and made finger guns.  LOL!

In that moment she made me laugh out loud with her cheeky sense of humor, eased my fears and reassured me that she truly is a big girl, which broke my heart a little too.  Now every morning when she leaves for school and kisses all of us good-bye, we all say, “No Bandits!”   🙂

Wanda Says…Merry Christmas!

/ Wanda / 4 Comments

Merry Christmas world!!!!!!

This is the letter my kids left for Santa last night, along with his cookies and carrots for the reindeer.

I love how she waited until 8pm on Christmas Eve to write a letter to Santa with requests for specific items.  (Insert eye roll here).

And this was the conversation between my husband and me after the kids went to bed….

GrinchMe: Dan, eat those cookies the kids left for Santa. You have to eat all of them. I will eat the carrots for the reindeer.
Dan: Why do you get the carrots?
Me: Because I’ve had enough sweets today. I feel like the Grinch, except instead of my heart, my ass has grown three sizes today.

Anyway, our family is enjoying a wonderful Christmas so far.  Everyone slept in this morning so I got to enjoy my coffee in peace and quiet while listening to Christmas music with the dog.  It was heaven.  The kids woke up and loved opening their gifts.  They were pretty excited despite not receiving the items detailed on the letter above.

Now that the morning flurry of activity is over, I’m thinking of my loved ones.  I am thankful for the wonderful, and sometimes challenging people that I call family and friends.  Something happened yesterday that really effected me in an emotional way, and that got me thinking about the meaning of Christmas and what this holiday means to me.

I love Christmas….not for the presents, parties or any of the commercial hype.  I love Christmas because it represents a season of love, hope and kindness.  It makes me sad that we need a designated time of year to remind us that that’s what life is really about.  It’s about coming together as a community, a family, or even just as friends to be a part of something that is bigger than ourselves.  It’s about giving to others, simply for the joy of it, without expectations of reciprocity.  And in this day and age where selfies make up the bulk of a person’s personal photos, people spend more time with their smart phones than they do with other people, and attitudes of self-entitlement rule the world, I think that’s important to remember.  Life is bigger than just you or me.  Life is about all of us, and we all have to contribute something and interact with each other to make it wonderful and fulfilling.

I don’t talk about this a lot because I feel my spiritual relationship with God is private.  But I am willing to share this because it’s Christmas, and maybe it will help someone else the way it has helped me.  A couple of years ago I was praying.  I was experiencing a lot of depression at the time and I just needed some help, some guidance.  So I was praying to God and I asked him, “What is my purpose?  What am I supposed to be doing with my life?”

And very clearly, a voice responded to me and said, “Be the light.  You need to be the light.”

Be the light…for my husband, my children, my family and friends.  Maybe even for someone I don’t know or have never met.

Merry Christmas, and I hope each and every one of you finds a way to be the light for another person.

Wanda Says…Why my husband’s gaming privileges are about to be revoked.

/ Wanda / 2 Comments

boy playing video gameA couple of days after my last post, On the subject of video games and prison lingo, this conversation took place with Bryce about another video game.

Bryce:  Mommy, will you watch me play this game?  It’s pretty cool.

Me:  Sure, I can watch for a few minutes.

Bryce:  Let me show you the characters first.

He starts flipping through these pages of characters on the game.  The graphics of this game are also cartoons, but I realized right away that it’s more of an adult cartoon style.  At least the detailed pictures were.  When the game is in play the characters all compress down into innocuous looking little people and they appear child-like.  But when you peruse the actual game roster the characters are all sexy fantasy creatures…who are well endowed and wearing very little clothing.  I saw picture after picture of female characters with their breasts hanging out and wearing small bikini style costumes to match their persona.  I was shocked, but Bryce didn’t seem to notice how exposed these characters were and the conversation continued…

Me:  I’m surprised daddy let you pick this game.

Bryce:  Why?  It’s fun.

He then shows me a picture of an exceptionally racy looking character and I almost choked on my tongue.

Me:  Who is that character?

Bryce:  She’s a Succubus.

Me:  For fuck’s sake!  (said quietly to myself so Bryce wouldn’t hear)

When I mentioned this little conversation to my husband, he had the decency to look embarrassed before he started laughing his ass off.  And when I mentioned writing this post to him he said, “What’s the big deal?  It’s a mythological creature……that could be painted on the hood of a Camaro.”

I rest my case.

On the subject of video games and prison lingo.

/ Wanda / 8 Comments

werewolfLast week Dan downloaded a new game to the ipad for Bryce.  The graphics of the game are cartoons, but the game is still a bit scary because all the enemies are monsters, like vampire bats and werewolves.

This was the conversation I had with Dan about the game last week.  Keep in mind that Bryce is only four years old, but because he has an older sister who loves video games, he’s more adept than most four year olds at playing them.

Dan:  I got this new game for Bryce.  At first you only had to shoot enemies with a bow and arrow, which didn’t strike me as being overly violent.  But now you have to defeat your enemies with a dagger, and that just seems too violent.

Me:  You think?  He’s four, and he has to defeat enemies with a dagger?  Is that the same game he asked me for help with the other day?  He told me he was in a “creepy situation” with a game and needed help getting out of the level.  I saw the vampire bats and told him to shut it off.”

(I want Dan and Bryce to have their own activities, you know, father/son stuff, so I don’t want to interfere.  Although I am a bit concerned, I’m trying to trust Dan’s judgment).

Dan:  Yeah, I’m not sure we’ll be keeping this game.

Two days later….

Dan:  Bryce, tell mommy what you did to the werewolf.

Bryce:  I shanked him with a shiv.

Me:  (epic sigh)