New Favorite Holidays

My husband and I went out to dinner the other night. Not something we get a chance to do overly often, and something pretty rarely done sans kiddos. At dinner, I asked him what he wanted to do for Father's Day. After a brief chat, it turns out he essentially wanted to do exactly what I had wanted to do for Mother's Day...NOTHING!

And by "nothing", here's the way a perfect Mother's/Father's Day breaks down in the Schmidt household:

1. In-charge parent (me on Father's Day, him on Mother's) gets children up, dressed and ready for the day. Said parent then removes children from house for several hours so designated parent may have a quiet start to his/her day and take the every important nap. If you're the father in this scenario, somehow you manage to get in 2 naps before the family returns to the house!

2. After several hours have passed, in-charge parent returns to house with children, designated parent's favorite cup of coffee, treats of some sort and the ever important presents. Children, of course, have helped select said presents and get very excited giving presents to designated parent. Children's delight makes designated parent a little weepy (especially the mother parent) and gives the in-charge parent warm fuzzies.

3. After presents are received, designated parent most likely rises from bed and then gets to take a shower...in peace. In-charge parent occupies children so designated parent can shower for as long as desired.

4. After a leisurely morning, the whole clan most likely travels to see one or several grandparents, depending on how many were visited earlier in the weekend. On the visits, in-charge parent takes control of all children's wants/needs/squawks, while designated parent gets to visit, explain his/her blissful morning, etc.

5. After visiting for the day is complete, family returns home, children take naps, designated parent takes another nap.

6. As children awaken, in-charge parent takes children, removes them from earshot until designated parent is ready to join in the fun.

7. After dinner prepared by the in-charge parent, in-charge parent then bathes children and gets them ready for bed, while designated parent reads or watches tv or does whatever s/he chooses to do.

8. In-charge parent promptly falls asleep on the couch approximately 7 minutes after putting children in their beds.

9. At bedtime, designated parent falls comfortably to sleep, thinking lovely thoughts about the day, the children and the spouse. Looks forward to next year.

Who would have ever thought that Mother's/Father's Day would trump birthdays or Christmas?!

A Perfect 10

So, moms tend to complain, gripe, bellyache...what have you. I know I tend to do it. I know other moms who do it. In spite of it all, however, we all know our kids are pretty stinkin' cute. In homage to my utterly, ridiculously, fantastically cute almost 2-year old, I offer you the following video clip:

Craptastic

Scene One: Approximately 3:00 a.m. Bedroom. Mother sound asleep. 2-year old wide awake. 2-year old crawls into bed with mother, crawling over the top of the sleeping mother, sticking sharp elbows in places not meant to be stuck.

Toddler (tearily): Mommy, I got a runny nose!
Mother (wiping nose with tissue): All better?
Toddler: Yes.
Mother: Ok. Time for sleeping now. Close your eyes and go to sleep.
Toddler: Ok. (pause) You got long eyelashes Mama!
Mother: Mm-hm. Sleeping.
Toddler: Ok. I got the daddy pillow?
Mother: Mm-hm. Sleeping!

The toddler continues to pester the mother with questions for another 1 1/2 hours. In the meantime, toddler strips down to diaper, repeatedly clocks mother in head, chats incessantly. Finally around 4:15, toddler falls asleep.

Cue toddler #2. Starts coughing in her sleep. Continues to do so until she awakens for good at 7:30. Mother re-awakens with each couching jag.

Scene Two: Approximately 8:30 a.m. Toddlers attempting to eat breakfast (read toast and juice slowly munched and sipped while wandering around the house). Neighbor girl comes to house. Mother has yet to imbibe first inhalation of caffeine. Toddlers insist on playing outside. Mother caves in. Neighbor girl is now on porch, encouraging toddlers to come play. Mother dresses children, brushes hair and teeth, applies sunscreen, shoos cranky dog indoors so neighbor girl will not get eaten. All children play outside. Toddler #1 takes first trip down the slide, lands on bottom and bursts into tears. Mother finally quiets child. Toddler #1 proceeds to step off deck, slips a bit and again, bursts into tears. Neighbor girl decides its time to skip town. Mother thinking inappropriate thoughts about neighbor girl. Mother takes toddlers into house, attempts to appease them with My Little Pony video - the LIVE version. Toddlers proceed to burst into intermittent tears at least 3 more times in the following 20 minutes. Mother decides it's an early nap day.

Scene Three: Mother drugs children and puts them to bed. Fills cribs with a multitude of books and tissues. Children settle into beds comfortably. Mother breathes a sigh of relief, thinking she's in the clear. Mother is sorely mistaken. Mother proceeds to make approximately 80 billion trips upstairs to wipe noses, resettle children, change diapers, threaten children. Mother finally gives in and lets children out of cribs.

Scene Four: Mother calls friend to see what time is an ok time to start drinking. It's 5:00 p.m. somewhere right?

Frickin' Frackin' Pants

It was a cooler morning the other day, so I decided to wear some jeans when I took the girls to school. Unfortunately, the jeans were not compliant with my wish.

Here's a little mental picture for you:

I pull the jeans out of the drawer. Look them over. Think, "They're not the most comfortable, but the comfy ones are in the wash, so they'll have to do." Stick legs in jeans. Hike jeans over hips. Button jeans, after inhaling deeply. Attempt to zip jeans. Again, attempt to zip jeans. Think, "I just need a better grip on the zipper. These things are so small." Suck in air like it's my last breath, grip zipper for all it's worth and yank. No dice. Look at zipper marks (read grievous indentations, bordering on bloody) on fingers. Shake head. Lie on bed, flat as possible, again attempt to zip jeans. Still no dice. Stand up, take of jeans, think, "I bet the zipper's broken." Zip jeans easily. Groan loudly. Start looking for a different pair of pants, muttering obscenities.

Frickin' frackin' jeans.

Please Mommy?!

I strongly believe you need to have a good amount of humor when you're a mom. Or a dad. Or a caregiver. Between the massive amounts of poop, the projectile spit up, the picky eater, the non-sleeper, the screamer, the whiner, the hitter, the biter and all the other archetypes, if you can't laugh, chances are good you're going to lose it. Big time.

I'm big on manners. I expect my kids to have good manners, because let's face it, if your kids are rude, no one wants to be around them. And then how are you supposed to get a babysitter? So, I'm big on manners. And so far, I haven't heard anyone complain when I instruct my children to say "please" and "thank you". Go figure.

Being big on manners, I've been working on the "please" and "thank you" thing pretty much since the girls started making noise. I still have to remind them constantly, but lots of times they'll say the required words of their own accord. Still, having to remind them all the time to be polite gets a little old. So, I made up a way to make it just a little more amusing for yours truly.

When my oldest was a little younger, I started getting really sick of reminding her to say please. I'd try "What do you say?" and she'd just look at me. So I'd say, "Please Mommy?" and she would parrot me. Seeing that she just copied me, I'd say, "Please Mommy, my favorite Mommy?" And she would repeat, "Please Mommy, my favorite Mommy?" This made me smile, so I kept it up.

And now, when they really want something, they'll both say, independent of me, "PLEASE MOMMY MY FAVORITE MOMMY?!?!?" And there's a very good chance they'll get exactly what they want.

You Know You're a Mom When...

I was reading a magazine the other day and there was a Mother's Day article in it. In the article, various women were talking about when it dawned on them that they were actually mothers. Some of them were silly little anecdotes, some were women fighting to get their adopted children home or to get their sick children medical attention.

Although I have two kids, and the oldest has been around for almost three years now, a lot of days I feel like I'm still playing dress up. In my heart I know I'm a mom and I certainly care for my children all day, every day. But I still don't always feel like a mom. And I'm not even entirely sure how a mom's supposed to feel.

When I was little, I looked at my mom and all the other moms and I knew they were moms. They took care of us, made lunches, took us to school, washed our clothes, put our band aids on, filled the swimming pools, gave us our baths, took us to the playground... You name it, the moms did it. And I never questioned who the moms were or what they did.

Now that I am a mom, I look at other moms and I see the moms I saw when I was little. And I'm doing the same things the other moms do, more or less. But I don't know that other women look at me and think, "Now, there's a mom."

I do, however, have the occasional "Mom moment". I had one just the other day at Target. I had just walked into the store with my little ones tagging along behind me. A young couple had walked in just before us and they had a teeny tiny baby in a car seat. They looked like they literally had come from the hospital - that's how small the baby was.

Well, this couple was struggling with how to place their car-seated infant into the cart. Having done this about a billion times in the past couple years, I instantly went into action. I walked right over to the new mom and dad, showed them how to set the seat on the cart push bar, and told them they could just put the car seat right into the cart itself if they preferred. They looked so relieved it made me smile.

As I walked away, I thought, "Hmm...that was definitely a Mom moment. Maybe I really am one after all?!"

Two Types of People

According to Ms. Britney Spears (and I'm paraphrasing here):

There's only two types of people in this world,
The ones that entertain and the ones that observe.

Yeah, that's right, I'm quoting Britney Spears. Deal with it.

Anyways, I quote her as I look into two types of people in my world:

The ones who can fold fitted sheets and the ones who absolutely, positively cannot.

Betcha can't guess which one I am...

I know people who can fold fitted sheets. A girl I used to live with, in the pre-marriage/baby world, could fold fitted sheets like nobody's business. Not only could she fold the damn things, but somehow she knew this magical way to fold them, the other sheet and her pillow cases AND THEN managed to fit all of those articles into a single pillow case. It was an amazing feat. I watched her do it over and over. I was fascinated by this feat. I made several attempts of my own, but could never make it happen. I ended up just handing her my bedding and asking (ok, demanding) that she make the magic happen with my stuff too.

I was over at another girlfriend's house the other night, the same night as my attempted shopping nightmare. She, too, can fold a fitted sheet. Not only can she fold a fitted sheet, but she can do it while 4 kids run screaming around her playroom. Doesn't faze her a bit.

I honestly believe one's ability to fold a fitted sheet in a proper manner is akin to a real live miracle.

I cannot, for the life of me, fold a fitted sheet. I've made many valiant attempts over the years. I still make the ocassional attempt, like every 5 washings or so. I simply can't do it. I try to make the folds into a square, but the folds never stay where I want them. I try laying the sheet out on the floor. I try to line things up in straight lines. However hard I try, I simply end up rolling the sheet into a ball and shoving it into my cupboard. It's too frustrating for words.

But I wonder, what does it mean that I can't fold a fitted sheet? If it were 1950-ish, I'm sure I would be blackballed somehow. This would be my dirty little secret and heaven forbid the neighborhood gals find out about it. If it were the 60s, I could attribute my wrinkled sheets to all the "free love" going down in my boudoir. The 70s - I'd be busy making my way in the career world with no time for such trivialities as folding sheets.

But here it is, 2009 and I really have no reason other than utter lack of patience as my reason for being unable to fold a fitted sheet. I'm an intelligent person...I'm perfectly capable of following directions and paying attention to details. But the fitted sheet has beat me and beat me but good. I bow to its prowess and admit defeat.

Now, I wonder if Ms. Spears can fold a fitted sheet...

It's a Mad, Mad World

All of the sudden, it's summer in Minnesota. I think we had about 4 days of spring. Summers in Minnesota are hot. I don't deal well with hot. So, in an effort to save myself and my family from "the beast that is Maegan" when I become hot, I attempted to go shopping this morning, with the little ones in tow. I think you can guess where this is headed...

After getting the girls dressed, making sure diapers were dry, tummies were full and sunglasses were in the general vicinity of each toddler's face, we headed to the store. I had no intention of being there for long and I promised a stop to the playground after the shopping trip. I should have been golden, right?

I was so very, very wrong.

We were in the store for no longer than 20 minutes. I grabbed three sizes of two different styles of shorts. It literally took me seconds to try on each pair. And the children simply would not cooperate. They were crawling all over everything, refused to sit in the carts, chucked their shoes around and were general tiny little tornadoes. I asked nicely, I reminded about the playground, I threatened, I cajoled and finally, I left my cart where it stood, stuffed the little one's shoes in my bag, picked her up, took the other one (now crying and pleading) by the hand and got back in the car. At this point, I was both hot and pissed. Not a good combination.

On the way home, the little one was perfectly content. The older one and I cried most of the way home.

I've shopped with my kids before and it's never easy, but this was the first time it was what I considered ugly. This was the first time I was that woman...you know, the one with the screaming kids that have to be hauled out of the store...the one you look at with pity in your eyes but secret glee in your heart because you aren't her. Yep, I was that woman.

By the time we got home, all tears had ceased (although mine were still on the brink). The girls walked into the house and immediately started playing. I was still sorely irritated but also glaringly aware of the futility of these emotions. The girls are just kids...they aren't little adults. They don't understand what it means to be a raging lunatic of a mother with two kids who won't cooperate in a store any more than they understand how to do calculus. Hopefully they'll get there at some point and in the meantime, hopefully I'll get to the store so I can buy some damn shorts...

Things that make you go Hmmm...

I went to a lecture the other night, given by our local Early Childhood and Family Education chapter. The speaker was Mary Sheedy Kurcinka, author of several parenting books. At the lecture, Kurcinka spoke about power struggles and how to avoid them.

One absolutely fascinating thing I learned from this lecture was this:

When children have tantrums - the kind when they're all revved up, screaming, crying, turning blue, etc. - something physically happens to their inner ear and said children...wait for it...

LITERALLY CANNOT HEAR YOU!

Can you believe it?! I forget the actual physiology of the ear thing, but it's something to do with a muscle relaxing (or tightening) around the inner ear, and this makes the child incapable of hearing anything as the ear drum is blocked.

So, while we may think the child is ignoring us, or that talking louder (ok, yelling) will make the child pay attention to us, there's really nothing that can be done until the child calms down enough for the ear muscle to return to its normal state.

Just some food for thought the next time your little one decides to throw the big one...

Sleeping with the Enemy

I like to sleep. Anyone who knows me will tell you I am not a morning person, I'm barely an afternoon person and come nighttime, I'm ready for bed again. I love my bed, my pillows, feeling warm and comfortable, the stack of books next to my bed...I'm a sleeper.

As a sleeper, I don't so much like to share my sleeping space. My husband has his side of the bed and that's about all I'm willing to give up. No cats allowed, no dogs allowed (unless I'm the only one in the bed) and no kids allowed. Those are the rules of the bed.

When I was pregnant, I told my husband, from the get-go, the children would not sleep in our bed. It was our bed and I wanted it to stay that way. I have no issues with parents who co-sleep - more power to you if that's what you want to do. Not my cup of tea.

When the girls were just born, I figured out they would sleep longer after a feeding if they slept next to me and touched me. At that point in the game, I was tired enough to understand the benefit (largely for myself) of letting the baby sleep with me for a few hours. I was fine with that. Once they graduated to sleeping through the night, however, there was no more sleeping in the Mom Bed (that's what the girls call my bed. And I sincerely believe they think it's a proper noun. They also know I'm a sleeper.)

There have been times that I've let the girls nap with me. And that's mostly been because it was the only way to actually get them to fall asleep on a given day. Those ocassions, however, have been rare.

Why am I rambling about sleeping, you ask? Because the girls have had colds for the past week and have not been sleeping. As a result, there have been 3 nights in the past week when I resorted to allowing the children to sleep in my bed. The older one slept with us for 2 nights and the younger one for 1.

Big deal, right? So I let the munchkins sleep with me for a few nights. So what?

So...my eldest weighs less than a large bag of dog food and she takes up an entire queen-sized bed. Not only does she lie the long way across the width of the bed, but she insists on either laying on my head or burrowing into her dad and putting her feet on my head. She kicks me in the bladder, knees me in the stomach and wakes up every 30 minutes or so because she wants to PLAY! It's almost like being pregnant again except this time she's on the outside.

And the little one?! Well, she heats up to about a billion degrees, gets everything all sweaty and SNORES. You wouldn't think that sound could come out of that tiny little body, but come out it does...steadily and constantly.

That's right folks. Sleeping with my children is akin to sleeping with the enemy and there's not enough coffee in the world the following morning. After the third night, I'd completely had it. I informed my eldest this was the last night she would be sleeping with mommy and daddy and I readied myself for the fight of the century come bedtime. And you know what? She went to her own bed with no fuss and she slept straight through the night. Apparently she was as sick of sleeping with me as I was of her. Go figure.