I Am Mom, Hear Me Roar

Something inside me changed the day we drove Max home from the hospital after giving birth.  Yes, I felt that amazing warm fuzzy genuine unconditional love that comes with having a child.  But I also felt a deep gutteral "Don't F with my baby or I will rip you limb from limb" instinct that can be only be attributed to our animalistic nature.  Which brings us to today's subject: messing with my kid

I have NO tolerance for bullying.  Today I heard a sad story about one of Moose's friends getting picked on at recess.  And a sense of sadness and anger came over me simultaneously. It seems that second graders have dropped that "everyone is your friend" mantra we have been drilling into them since they could walk over and bite their friends at daycare.  Max is not the only one to mention kids this year being a little feistier than last year (I think feistier is a better word than the one I'd really like to use).  Moose has been upset more than once by a particular kid calling out all of Max's faults, whether it was a bad kick in soccer or a bad pass in football.  Now, please don't think I'm one of those parents who only praises.  I'm not.  When Max told me that someone shouted "bad pass" to him at football the other day, I said in my best mom moment "Well, yeah.  It was a bad pass.  When the other team catches it, that's not a good pass."  But I'm his mom and feel as though these moments of truth come best from me than some kid that will remind Max of his mistake everytime he throws a crappy pass.  And for the record, it wasn't a good pass...

And here is my moment of true inner struggle.  It's when you feel kind of happy about something bad.  I'm not alone here - Pete admits to feeling the same way.  So we are just bad parents together and if you don't want my kid to playdate with your kid anymore, please know that we feel just as protective of Max's friends as we do our own kid so maybe we aren't really all that awful.  But this boy that likes to point out Moose's mistakes was playing football against Moose yesterday.  And Pete said Max totally plowed him over during a play.  It could be chalked up to good defense on Max's part.  But we kind of wonder if Max was a little more aggressive than usual because of his pent up resentment against this kid.  And we kind of feel a little bad that we are glad Max was able to get back just a little bit for the harassment, even though we don't advocate extreme roughness during kids' sports - it was noted between Pete and I that Max did say he was sorry for knocking the kid down.  But maybe if you run your mouth off to my kid and he outweighs you by 20 pounds, perhaps sometimes you might find yourself on your butt during a football play.  And as a parent, I know I shouldn't, but I feel a little better knowing Max got his due.  I'm blaming my reaction to those animalistic instincts.  Just call me Mama Bear. 

If I Only Had a Brain....

I guess I should be honored that my son Maximus thinks I know everything.  He comes to me with every question he can think of and is always surprised if I don't know the answer.  I'm sure this trend will reverse and he will eventually get to the point where he is positive I don't know anything and am perhaps the dumbest person around.  Sadly, his little brother Rocky already gives me that look that screams "you are so dumb!" but for now, Max still thinks I am a genius.

Which brings us to a little problem.  I am not a boy.  Now, never before has this been an issue for me.  I've not met many limitations of being a woman other than long lines at restrooms, which is stupid because we are also the same gender that gets stuck with public bathroom duty when it comes to the kids too and we all know that kids can't wait to use the bathroom like we can.  But I digress...

No, the issue is that I don't have a penis.  Or testicles.  Again, I was fine with this, but it has become a problem lately because I am also supposed to know everything, according to Max.  I am so glad that Max still feels open to ask us everything and this is something we encourage him to do.  Unfortunately though, instead of choosing who to ask based on subject, he always comes to me first with his questions.  And lately, I've been stumped because they are about penises (peni? - what's plural here?).  I don't want to get into too many details here, but let's just say I have had my lack of penis knowledge pointed out to me on more than one occasion.  Here is a brief list of things I don't know:
1.  Why it tingles on a roller coaster.
2. Why testicles hurt sometimes.
3. What the insides of testicles look like.
4. Why they are called nuts or balls (I try to stress using just anatomical language...unsuccessfully.)

I've had to refer Max to the "expert" in our house, Peter.  This designation is based purely on anatomy.  Turns out Pete doesn't know all the answers either.  At least I'm not alone.  Just unqualified.

Oh Yeah? Well My Kid Is So Smart, He's Dumb!

I know we all think that WE have the smartest kids.  But my kids really are really smart.  Moose is a wiz at math and he's mature beyond his 7 years.  Rocky is not quite two, but showing signs of being scary smart.  And thus the topic of the night.  My kids are so smart, they are dumb.

That doesn't sound good.  Of course my kids aren't dumb.  I just said they are smart.  But they are so smart that they are dumb in their own special ways, sometimes edging towards the level of stupid.  Before you think I'm a bad mom (maybe you are already there), hear me out.

Max is now at the age where sarcasm, active ignoring (as opposed to active listening), and sass have entered our lives and invaded at a rapid speed.  Max is smart enough to know what it means to do just the request at hand, and not a step further.  For example, tonight we asked him to find his pjs.  He KNOWS this is followed by taking a shower.  Yet, I found him downstairs milling around. 
"What are you doing?" I asked. 
"Nothing," says Moose.  
"Aren't you supposed to be taking a shower?"
"Dad just told me to find my pjs.  So I did."
Max knows that I can't really argue with this.  We did just ask him to find his pjs.  But he's smart enough to know that he should be jumping in the shower too, but since we didn't specifically tell him to, he could get away with wandering aimlessly through the house.  This is purposeful stupidity.  He's not stupid, quite the contrary.  But he's acting stupid on purpose to prove a point.  I don't know if you can understand what I'm trying to explain here, but I think if you have had a 7 year old living in your house, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about.  It makes me crazy.  I swear by the time he's 18, he will be thinking independently, as well as wanting to take a shower without being asked. 

Now Rocco is a different matter.  Rocco is scary smart.  It actually frightens me.  But he's so smart that he does really dumb things because he's figured out ways to be super dangerous.  Like turning on the fireplace by standing on the toy bus with wheels.  Or prying off the outlet covers so he can plug in the vacuum.  Or standing on the chair that is already put up on top of the table so he can jump higher.  You get the point.  He's brilliant but like any scientist, has to test every theory before he stumbles on the right one.  Unfortunately, his experiments are on himself and lead to really dumb consequences. 

So while my children are very smart, this leads them to dumb behavior.  One acts dumb on purpose while the other takes my breath away with his stupid "tricks."  Harvard, here we come!

A Sober Disappointment or Everyone Knows a Good Mom Drinks More

Tonight I managed to disappoint my oldest son without even trying.  I'm used to being a let down because I don't let him play his DSi until he develops a tic or because I question the 27th piece of candy he's eating or because I make him go to bed before I do.  But tonight I seemed to have sunk to a new low.  The problem?  I don't drink more.  Not water, milk, or juice.  Wine.  Maximus thinks I don't drink enough wine. 

How did I come to this conclusion?  Pete came upstairs while I was putting the Rockstar to bed and said Moose was upset and only wanted to talk to me.  Apparently Moose was in tears and Pete was grinning so I knew I was going to be hit with a doozy.   Thankfully Pete gave me warning because I would have laughed out loud at Max if I hadn't been prepared.  About a month ago Max brought me home a wine opener from his vacation with my folks.  This wine opener has sat, mostly unused, in my kitchen drawer, out of sight.  Somehow, completely out of the blue, Max remembered it and was beside himself that I hadn't used it much yet. 

What a funny situation.  When we were younger, we disappointed our parents with our poor judgment with drinking - heck, I've even disappointed myself sometimes!  But this was the first time I've disappointed my son because I don't drink enough.  So the next time I pop open a bottle of wine, I will be doing it so my son can be pleased with me.  Because everyone knows a glass of wine makes Mom a little happier, and I guess it makes her son happier too.  That's what I call taking one for the team.

She's Not Homeless, She's Just a Mom

I don't think I've worn clean clothes in 7 years.  I always start the day wearing something fresh mind you, but somehow by the end of the day, one of my kids has managed to "mark his territory" on my pants or shirt.  It all started with Maximus.  For awhile on maternity leave, I wouldn't even second glance when he would pee on my shirt during a diaper change (can we say post-postpartum???).  When I went back to work, I would go dressed to work unscathed, but when I would visit him at the daycare, I would walk away with a big blob of spit up running down my leg.  Usually I didn't see this until I had greeted about 7 people first. 

Tonight I narrowly missed getting caught by the flying purple Kool-Aid right before dinner (note to self, no more purple Kool Aid).   

And I don't know how, but I seem to have drawn the short straw when it comes to sitting next to the youngest kid at the dinner table.  Right now I sit next to Rocco.  I thought I was in the clear as we finished up dinner.  But then I looked down and noticed I had salsa down the front of my shirt and on my sleeve.  That was just before he grabbed my pants (black of course) and left something all over my leg.  I'm not even sure what it is but it shows up on black.

What's the most sad is that the state of my clothes doesn't even phase me anymore when I run over to the neighbor's or to the grocery story.  So folks, next time you see a woman walking around with unrecognizable stains on her shirt and a glob of fruit snack in her hair (hard to get out by the way), know that she doesn't lack the basics in hygiene, she's just a mom.

Toddlers Are Sponges or Why 7 Year Olds Aren't Teachers

Toddlers are amazing little beings.  They learn so much in the first few years and I've always had my suspicions that they are way smarter than they initially let on (this is a smart thing to do in and of itself.)  Rocco is closing in on the 2-year mark and his vocabulary has really taken off.  He repeats everything he hears, which, as Peter has found out, means that we really have to start watching what we say (or Peter really needs to start watching what he says).  I try teaching Rocco words like "watermelon," and "tractor."  Peter tries to avoid making him sound like a sailor.
Yesterday I took the kids for a trip to Target.  First, it's important to note that since Max is a 7-year old boy, all he thinks about is Pokemon.  I suppose I will fondly wish to get back to this stage when he is 17 and is thinking about something quite different, but for right now, the Pokemon thing is a bit annoying. Anyway, I use this little car trip as a learning opportunity for Rocco, pointing out and naming things along the route.  He seems mostly uninterested.  Then Max starts to "help" by trying to get Rocco to repeat Pokemon names.  And sure enough, in seconds Rocco is saying "Oshawott" which if you don't have a 7-year old boy, is a Pokemon.  Really?  This is what we are soaking into Rocco's moldable sponge-like little brain?  Pokemon names?  What if we reach Rocco's brain capacity and all he has in it is Pokemon names and swear words?  I am instantly flashing ahead to 7 more years of Pokemon as Rocco goes through the phase.  Freaking Pokemon!