Wanda Says…On my son’s opinion of Corn Syrup.

December 5, 2014December 6, 2014 / Wanda / 9 Comments

My kids love juice.

I don’t really serve them much juice because I know it’s the equivalent of giving them sugar water. Now that they are a little older I buy reduced-sugar apple juice, or all natural juice boxes for their lunches.

Last week, in an attempt to switch things up a bit, my husband picked up some Sunny Delight at the store. The kids love orange juice and he thought they would like it.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

As I was standing in the kitchen looking at the list of ingredients on the juice bottle, this is the conversation that went down as my son was drinking his orange juice….

Me: Dan, this juice has corn syrup in it. So we can finish the bottle, but let’s not buy this again.

Bryce: This juice is delicious! What’s corn syrup?

Me: The syrup of corn.

Bryce: I love the syrup of corn!

Me: I’m just kidding Bryce. It’s a sweetener made from corn and it’s really bad for you.

Bryce: It’s not bad for me! It’s so good for me! I love this! I love this corn syrup juice!

Me: Well, enjoy it while it lasts because we’re not buying it again.

Bryce: We are going to buy it again! Aren’t we, daddy? Right, daddy? Right, daddy? Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.

Based on Bryce’s behavior, I would say Sunny Delight is crack for kids.

Now he refers to Sunny Delight as corn syrup juice and everyday he asks for some. Everyday he says, “Can I have corn syrup juice? Corn syrup is so good for my body and you need to get me some more. It’s good. It’s soooooo good. I love corn! I will eat if for dinner if you put some syrup on it.”

Yeah, we are never buying this again. Sorry, Sunny D.

Wanda Says…On the subject of Margaret, Playboy & Spin the Bottle.

December 3, 2014 / Wanda / 5 Comments

One of my favorite books from childhood is Are You There God? It’s me, Margaret by Judy Blume.

It’s a pre-teen, coming of age book about an eleven year old girl trying to handle a series of changes in her life. Margaret is growing up, and she has a hard time talking about puberty with her friends, or her fear that she may not be like other girls her age. So Margaret confides in God. Margaret talks to God about everything from her anxiety about fitting in at a new school, to her concern that her breasts aren’t growing fast enough. It’s charming, innocent and funny.

I recently bought this book for my daughter, Bryn. She loves to read and since this was a favorite book for me when I was her age, we have been reading it together. We sit on Bryn’s bed at night and take turns reading chapters to each other.

I remember reading this book as a ten year old girl and being fascinated because the characters openly talk about puberty and periods and their budding interest in boys. As a mother of a ten year old daughter, reading this book again gave me a completely different perspective. Keep in mind that I haven’t read this book in 30 years, and aside from the main storyline, I had forgotten quite a few important details.

There were multiple pop-culture references in the book that were appropriate for the time period and seemed to be no big deal when I was a kid. But having to explain those references to Bryn was not something I was prepared for. For example, in the book, Margaret and her friends swipe a copy of her dad’s Playboy Magazine so they can see the centerfold and speculate how their own breasts and bodies may look one day. As Bryn and I are reading this chapter, and Margaret and her friends are staring with wonder at the eighteen year-old centerfold, I’m thinking, “Oh dear God, what can of worms have I just opened?” And of course, Bryn looks at me with wide, startled eyes and says, “What is Playboy Magazine, and do eighteen year-olds really take their clothes off for pictures?!” Shit.

Oh wait, there’s more…

In that same chapter, Margaret’s friend sneaks a copy of her dad’s medical anatomy book, and the girls giggle and laugh as they look up pictures of the male genitalia. There are also scenes in the book where Margaret stuffs her training bra with cotton balls, and she and her friends attend their first co-ed party, where they have to play spin the bottle and go into the bathroom with a boy for two minutes and receive their first kiss. In another scene, the girls do arm and chest exercises that they believe will help their boobs to grow. And while they do these exercises, they chant “We must, we must, we must increase our bust!”

Bryn vacillates between laughing uncontrollably and hiding under the covers with embarrassment as we read together. I vacillate between sweating, stammering out my answers to her questions, and taking deep, calming breaths so I don’t shout, “You will never play spin the bottle! Do you hear me? Never!”

At one point, I had a moment of terror when I imagined her going to school and telling her friends about the juicier details of the book. I let her know that because we were reading this book together, and I felt she was mature enough to handle it, I was willing to answer her questions and be honest with her. But I couldn’t make that decision for her friend’s parents, so she had to agree to keep these discussions between us. I said, “No going to school and telling your friends about this crazy game called Spin the Bottle.” Yeah, I know, fat chance of that happening, but I had to try.

Despite the embarrassment and discomfort we both felt, it’s still a great book, and an age-appropriate way to start some important discussions. The mom in me rebels at the idea of her growing up, but the woman in me understands that it needs to happen. I want her to learn about puberty and periods from me, not her friends. I want her to always trust that she can come to me for anything, and it’s up to me to help her develop that trust through my willingness to be honest and have these tough conversations with her.

On a lighter note, Bryce must have been listening in on our reading, because the other day he was marching around the house chanting, “We must, we must, we must increase our bust!” 🙂

Wanda Says…I’ve touched poop with my bare hands.

November 24, 2014 / Wanda / 16 Comments

I’ve done a lot of disgusting, undesirable things since becoming a mom.

For example, at various times and for various reasons I’ve caught both of my kid’s pee, poop, and vomit with my bare hands. This was usually in an attempt to redirect the flow or minimize the splash zone.

I’ve sniffed butts, armpits, underwear, diapers, and feet to determine the source of offensive odors. You know you’re a parent when you have no qualms, whatsoever, about picking up your small child and smelling their ass in public to determine if he or she has a poopy diaper.

When Bryn was three years old, she crawled into bed with me, woke me up and told me she had an upset stomach. I laid her down with me and began to rub her tummy while questioning her about her symptoms. Before I knew what was coming, she sat up and threw up all over both of us in the middle of my bed. It was everywhere. She was hysterical and we were both covered in vomit.

What? It’s just a little pee!

When my son was an infant he shot a stream of his pee into my open mouth when I was changing his diaper. With baby boys you can never let your guard down while changing diapers. You have to be focused and quick to avoid disaster. He was laying on his back on the changing table and I was talking to my husband. His timing was perfect. I was distracted while doing two things at once, and his pee shot straight up into my face as I turned my head and opened my mouth to talk. Believe me when I say that was a startling, gag-worthy experience, and one I hope never to repeat, ever.

Another time while at Disneyland with the kids, I was holding Bryce on my hip while waiting in line to meet Mickey Mouse. He was two and not yet potty trained. He peed and pooped in his pull-up at the same time, and the two substances mixed to form a watery concoction that leaked all over my clothes from my waist down to my thighs. I had extra clothes for him and was able to buy a new shirt for myself at the gift shop, but was at a loss to replace my jeans. I smelled like I had the Hershey squirts for the rest of the day, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

When my daughter was five we were in the bathroom at Midway Airport in Chicago, Illinois. Midway is a pretty nice airport, and their bathrooms are actually nicer than most, but when you have hundreds of people moving through them everyday they just can’t be that clean. Well, after using the facilities, my daughter accidentally dropped her favorite stuffed animal, a little orange cat named Spooky, into the airport bathroom toilet. We both froze. And then, without thinking, I did what any self-respecting, child loving woman with a Mom Card would do…I reached my hand into that Godforsaken pee-germ bowl of bacteria and I saved Spooky. I rinsed him in the sink of the bathroom, wrapped him in a roll of paper towels, and then asked the cleaning woman in the restroom to pour straight bleach on my hands. When we arrived at our hotel, I soaked Spooky in hot water and shampoo (it was the only soap I had). Bryn was sad that I wouldn’t allow her to snuggle Spooky after his traumatic nearly-flushed down the toilet ordeal, but she understood that he needed to be thoroughly decontaminated first. After arriving home at the end of our vacation, I put Spooky through a hot water cycle in the washing machine and high heat dryer before he found his way back into Bryn’s arms.

What I find noteworthy about these foul experiences with my children is how becoming a parent changes your reaction to them. Instead of becoming physically ill myself after being thrown up on, or grossed out by the ordeal, my first thought is of my child’s comfort, fear and how to make it better for them. Instinctually, my own needs become secondary to theirs. I will walk around Disneyland with my son’s poop on my jeans, and not make a federal case of it so he doesn’t feel shame. I will bathe and wash my daughter’s hair before I wash her vomit out of my own hair so she will know her health and comfort are more important to me than a little (a lot) of throw up. I will stick my hand in a disgusting airport bathroom toilet to save a beloved stuffed animal before I will allow my daughter to suffer that loss.

I have earned my Mom Card, and God only knows what their pre-teen and teen years will require of me.

Now I would love to know…What is the most disgusting thing you’ve ever done for your kids? 🙂

Wanda Says…I need another vacation.

November 20, 2014 / Wanda / 4 Comments

This is me, three days after coming home from vacation and trying to catch up on housework and deal with my children. For real.

Wanda Says…Silliness, Shenanigans and Air Guitar.

November 9, 2014 / Wanda / 11 Comments

I have very little sympathy for my kids when I embarrass them, especially when the embarrassment takes place in the privacy of our own home over silliness and varied shenanigans. I also feel that occasionally embarrassing my children is a necessary action of parenting. It’s a public service really, because I am preparing them to deal with the insanity of the real world.

Last night, my husband and I had a date, and I was in my room getting ready. I was listening to the Journey station on Pandora and Bryce was laying on my bed talking to me. And then it happened.

Pandora began to play one of my favorite jams…Jukebox Hero by Foreigner.

I am not physically capable of restraining myself during that song. Every Midwestern, rock star wannabe cell in my body rises to the occasion and becomes the music. I ran to the remote and cranked up the volume. I did not care that Bryce had a slightly alarmed look on his face.

I sang. Loudly. I danced. I threw my hair around. (I grew up on 70’s and 80’s rock music, so my hair banging skills are exceptional). I rocked the air guitar and I embraced the moment. My guitar solo was totally badass. Or, I imagined it was as I rocked that shit all over my bedroom.

At one point I saw that Bryce had his hands over his ears with his face scrunched up and he seemed to be shouting something to me. His eyes were wide and his face was red with the tell-tale signs of mortification and agitation over my less than mature behavior.

I kept singing to him and playing my air guitar.

Then I heard Bryce shout to me, “Mommy, what are you doing? Stop it!”

He was embarrassed of his mother. It’s more likely that he was embarrassed for me, but regardless, he was clearly not appreciative of my sweet dance moves, less than perfect rocker voice, or my expert hair thrashing.

So I turned up the music and sang louder. 🙂

Wanda Says…On my daughter’s opinion of wine and other nefarious substances.

October 31, 2014October 31, 2014 / Wanda / 11 Comments

This week is Red Ribbon Week at my daughter’s elementary school. You know, the whole ‘Just Say No to Drugs’ campaign. Yesterday was ‘Put Drugs To Sleep Pajama Day.’ Bryn wore her favorite pajamas to school and they had an assembly in the cafeteria. Great. No big deal.

I’m all for educating kids about the dangers of drugs and alcohol, until you (insert name of elementary school here) try and fuck with my wine.

My husband and I are causal drinkers. We enjoy a glass of wine or beer in the evening. We especially love wine. It’s relaxing, it tastes good, and one glass at the end of a rough day is just enough to smooth out the edges of my stay-home-mommy-madness.

Bryn came home from school yesterday and this was the conversation she initiated with me:

Bryn: Mom, we learned about drugs at school again this year, and guess what my teacher said. Did you know that alcohol is the same as drugs? Beer and wine is alcohol, and that’s the same as drugs. My teacher said so. So when you and daddy drink wine, you’re eating drugs. When daddy drinks his Blue Moon Beer, he is eating drugs! (She looks scandalized because now she thinks we’re drug addicts).

Me: No, that’s not true.

Bryn: Yes it is. My teacher said so.

Me: Bryn, alcohol is similar to drugs because if you consume too much of it, it can be harmful. It can impair your senses and make you sick. But if an adult drinks one or two glasses of beer or wine, it’s not the same as taking drugs. Alcohol is not illegal like the drugs you’ve learned about. It’s not the same. It’s important for kids to learn about the dangers of drug use when you’re young so that when you are older you can make good choices and recognize unhealthy behavior, like taking drugs or drinking to much alcohol and acting irresponsibly. Of course kids shouldn’t drink alcohol any more than they should do drugs, but an adult of legal age having a glass of wine is not the same as taking illegal drugs.

Bryn: Yes it is. My teacher said so.

Me: Bryn, it isn’t the same.

Bryn: Yes it is.

(At this point I’m trying not to raise my voice.)

Bryn: I’m telling daddy that he eats drugs when he drinks his wine.

Me: You go ahead and tell daddy that, and let me know how that works out for you.

After dinner, my husband poured himself a glass of wine. I watched as Bryn eyed the wine with a practiced stink eye. And then she said, “Daddy, guess what I learned at school today.”

I think I speak for both my husband and I, as well as many other parents of school age children when I say this…

Dear (Insert name of elementary school here), thank you for teaching my child that her parents, and most of her friends parents, are potential drug addicts. Thank you for trying to deprive parents of the liquid life-support that we need in order for us to get through a school year.

How am I, and all the other parents, supposed to endure the endless hours of homework, common core bullshit, and instrument practice you send home each day?

Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit for 15 minutes every night and listen to my child attempt to play the flute for the fifth grade band? That shit is excruciating, and I can listen and be supportive and give her a thumbs up for her attempts to blow air into that God forsaken metal tube, and tolerate the horrific noise that sounds like dying birds only because of my dear friend, Chardonnay.

Chardonnay understands that I need to stay calm and composed when I am unable to help my daughter with her fifth grade math. Pinot Grigio understands when my daughter has three to four hours of homework every night. Sauvignon Blanc is prepared to help me comfort and calm my child when she is overwhelmed and exhausted over the ridiculous responsibilities and pressures put on elementary school kids.

Additionally, let’s consider the extensive volunteer responsibilities you demand of parents. For example, the only way I am even willing to volunteer at the school Halloween carnival in the food booth line, standing on my feet for two hours asking a thousand people if they want cheese on their hamburger, is because I know I get to go home and enjoy a glass of wine after my shift! You cannot ruin wine for me, so stop trying.

So, (insert name of elementary school here), take a moment to consider the impossible position you just put two hundred parents in tonight, trying to reassure their kids that we don’t do drugs. Better yet, why don’t you just calm down, and have a glass of wine. 🙂

Wanda Says…True Confessions: My parental failure as the Tooth Fairy

October 28, 2014 / Wanda / 20 Comments

My Tooth Fairy track record was spotless…until today.

Last Friday night our family attended the annual Halloween Carnival at Bryn’s school. At some point during the carnival, Bryn was eating a candy bar and accidentally ate a loose tooth. She told me later she felt something hard while she was chewing but thought it was a peanut in the candy bar so she just swallowed it. She showed me the gap in her teeth when we got home, and she expressed her concern that the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t come because she didn’t have a tooth to leave under her pillow. I assured her it wouldn’t matter and the Tooth Fairly would come. Keep in mind, Bryn is ten years old now, so that should tell you how good I am at playing the Tooth Fairy.

But I forgot. I totally forgot. Last night, I went into Bryn’s room to say goodnight and to collect my nightly snuggles. This is what I found on her bedside table…

It was so cute and totally something Bryn would do. And of course I felt horrible that I had forgotten. So I said, “Oh, that’s really sweet Bryn. I’m sure the Tooth Fairy will come tonight.” And then Bryn says, “Well, that note has been sitting there for three days and she hasn’t come, so I doubt it.”

Do you hear that? It’s the sound of my heart breaking. It’s the sound of my failure as a mother. My daughter left a note for the Tooth Fairy in plain sight on her bedside table, and not only did I forget that she lost a tooth, but I totally failed to recognize it or pay attention. I am an asshole. It doesn’t take a lot to remember to give your kid a dollar for a lost tooth. It’s not hard. And I blew it. Later, I went to bed vowing to rectify this situation.

I woke up this morning and dressed. I walked down the hall to wake Bryn up for school and saw that damn note sitting on her bedside table. I forgot again! What the fuck is wrong with me?! So I crept back to my room, gathered enough change to equal a dollar, and snuck into her room. I put the change on her table and then collected the note and put it in my pocket.

I woke her up and started to get her clothes together for her. I casually mentioned that the Tooth Fairy finally came. Bryn looks at the money, then looks at me with the most perceptive, adult expression I’ve ever seen her wear. She then says, “I find it interesting that the Tooth Fairy finally came after I showed you the note last night. You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?” And she smiles. It was a knowing smile. It was a ‘you’re-busted-and-you-can’t-deceive-me-any-longer’ smile.

I did the only thing I could at that point. I confessed. She’s ten, and I was lucky I got away with the charade as long as I did. I looked at her and said, “You’re right. I am the Tooth Fairy. I am so sorry I forgot about your tooth, but you can’t tell your brother!”

She took it well, which was a relief. When she was in third grade I had to tell her that Leprechauns weren’t real and she lost her shit. She was so pissed at me. But her class was building Leprechaun traps for St. Patrick’s Day and she kept going on and on about how she was so sure the trap she designed would work. So her response this morning was a welcome relief. She smiled, hugged me and acted like it was no big deal. She got her money, which at this point is probably more important to her than believing in the Tooth Fairy.

Despite her forgiveness and understanding, I still feel like a bad mom. There are only so many things we can do for our kids to instill a sense of magic and wonder in the world. And I suppose the fact that she is old enough to know the truth signifies the end of some of that magic. And that makes me sad. 😦

Wanda Says…On my daughter’s opinion of French kissing.

October 15, 2014 / Wanda / 8 Comments

Last night my ten year old daughter came into my room to say good-night to me, and she initiated a conversation about some new and enlightening things she learned at school that day.

Although I ask her every day how school went and what fun things happened, she often waits until right before bed to share the juicier, more dramatic details, which pretty much guarantees I won’t be sleeping through the night, because I’ll be having nightmares about how she’s growing up too fast.

The conversation went like this:

Bryn: Oh my gosh, Mom! I forgot to tell you what I learned at school today!

Me: What was that?

Bryn: Well, during recess, my friends and I were talking, and you’re never going to believe this! My friend said that there’s this thing called French kissing, and that means that two people kiss with their tongues! Like lizards, Mom! They wrap their tongues together like lizards! And guess what?! It’s true!! People really do that!

Me: (starting to sweat)

Bryn: And guess what else! In France, there are beaches where people don’t wear their clothes! They go to the beach naked, Mom!!! Can you believe that? (she dissolves into hysterical giggles and laughter) Have you ever heard of these things?

Me: (sigh) Bryn, I promised you I would always be honest with you, so yes, I have heard of these things and they are all true. Except nude beaches aren’t limited to France. Many countries have beaches where clothing is optional. I also have to tell you that I’m not sure I’m ready for you to know about this stuff yet. I’m not ready for you to know about French kissing and nude beaches.

Bryn: I know, Mom. (she kisses me on the cheek to console me)

Me: What did you think when your friend told you about this stuff?

Bryn: I think French kissing sounds disgusting! (she makes a sour face, a gagging noise and then pretends like she is throwing up)

Me: (Laughing) That’s the right attitude, sister! (she laughs with me and leaves the room)

I realize this is just the beginning. She will continue to grow up and discover new and exciting, and sometimes gross things about life, and people and relationships. Soon, in her health education classes, she will learn about sex and reproduction and how her body works. She will also learn about boys, and it won’t matter that I want to freeze time and keep her my little girl forever.

I also realize that this means raising children is going to turn me into an alcoholic, and I need to join a wine club so I can stock the house and get a discount on that shit, because I’m going to need a lot of it.

Wanda Says…On my daughter’s opinion of chest hair.

September 26, 2014 / Wanda / 6 Comments

I took the kids to their swim lesson this afternoon, and on the way there I explained to them that they have a new swim instructor. The conversation went like this:

Bryn: Who’s the new teacher?

Me: His name is Stephen.

Bryn: A boy?! Will he be wearing a shirt in the pool?

Me: I don’t know. Why do you ask?

Bryn: Ugh, Mom! (eye roll) Chest hair! Blech!!!!!!!!!!

Me: (laughing my ass off)

Bryn: I don’t want to touch his chest hair! That is so gross!

Me: (still laughing) 🙂

Wanda Says…Happy Birthday, Bryn!

September 23, 2014 / Wanda / 4 Comments

My best girl turns ten today! My sweet, loving, hilarious, sassy little angel is ten!

Where did the last ten years go? How did she grow so fast? She’s almost as tall as I am! I still remember how small and perfect she felt in my arms when she was born. I remember staring at her beautiful face and thinking, “I never want to forget this. I never want to forget how little, and perfect, and amazing you are, right at this moment.” I said that to myself every day when I held and snuggled her, for years.

Well, now my baby girl is not so little. Thankfully, she still likes to be held and snuggled by her mommy, despite the fact that she is only a few inches shorter than me. Bryn has grown into a wonderful girl, and I can see glimpses of the young woman she is becoming, and it makes me so proud.

Bryn loves animals and is obsessed with cats. We would have a herd of them if Bryn had her way. She is compassionate and sensitive, and will become emotional if she sees others who are suffering or unhappy. She will go out of her way to mediate disagreements among her friends or classmates. She has a wickedly smart sense of humor and she makes us laugh every day. She is so smart, and more than one teacher has told us that Bryn is the kind of student every teacher wishes to have in class. She is fiercely protective of her little brother, and when he was born, she told all of her friends that they weren’t allowed to touch her baby. She loves tennis and is learning to play the flute. She hates dolls and most girly things, but she plays video games like a boss, and has hand eye-coordination so good that playing sports seems almost effortless to her. These are just a few insights into her personality and temperament, but what it all boils down to is that my girl is amazing.

As a mom, I often write down funny conversations or things that happen with my kids.You know, as ammunition for when they get older. The threat of embarrassment can be a powerful tool to wield over teenagers when the time comes, and I won’t be afraid to use it. So, in honor of Bryn’s birthday, I thought I would share some of her funny stories.

*One day we were watching an episode of the Ellen Show, and a studio guest was doing a dance that involved some elaborate pelvic thrusting. Bryn was watching and casually said, “That’s called the nuggets dance.”

*A conversation with Bryn about cats:

Bryn: Mommy, I can speak Cat now, and Oliver (our cat) told me that he loves me and trusts me.

Me: Really? What does he have to say about the time last year when you locked him in the bathroom cabinet because you thought it would be funny?

Bryn: Well I was a lot younger then, and I didn’t speak Cat!!!!!

*A couple of years ago, Bryn was standing next to me as I changed her brother’s diaper. The conversation went like this:

Bryn: I’m sure glad I don’t have a big snout like that.

Me: It’s not a snout. It’s called a penis.

Bryn: Well, I bet having a penis is a lot of fun.

Me: Why do you think it’s fun?

Bryn: Because boys can do fun things with their penis, like write their name when they pee. Girls can’t do that.

*A conversation between me and Bryn on New Year’s Eve as we were lying together on the couch:

Me: What’s that smell? Did you fart?

Bryn: Yes, I farted.

Me: Well stop it. That really stinks. Or go in the other room.

Bryn: But I want to be with you.

Me: (3 minutes later) Is that you again?

Bryn: YES! I farted, again! I can’t stop! It’s the stinkiest New Year’s Eve ever!!!

*Another conversation between me and Bryn sometime last February:

Bryn: Mom, do you want to know how lions and cheetahs mate?

Me: (starting to sweat because I’m not prepared to have this conversation with her yet, even if it’s about animals.) Ummm, I know how they mate, but I’m curious to hear your version of it.

Bryn: Well, the female lies down on the ground and the male bites the back of her neck and leaves a mark. Then they don’t see each other for awhile, and then they have cubs. I saw it on Animal Planet.

Me: (feeling relieved and trying not to laugh at the same time) Well, okay. Technically, that’s sort of accurate.

* A conversation between me and Bryn on March 21, 2014:

Bryn: Your pimples look really small right now.

Me: I don’t have any pimples! (I’m a little annoyed and offended over this comment).

Bryn: Yes you do. The black spots in your eyes look small.

Me: Those are called pupils, not pimples! There’s a big difference!

*November 17, 2013: While shopping in Target today, a woman approached Bryn and I and invited Bryn to participate in a talent scouting event being held at a nearby hotel. One of the girls from a Disney show was going to be there promoting the event, while they look for new young talent. Bryn was polite to the woman but didn’t act very interested. When I asked her if she wanted to go she says, “I want to be the person who makes the movies mom, not the person who acts in them.”

Annnnd, that’s my girl! 🙂