It's a popular saying that's supposed to imply something so ridiculously easy it's hardly worth the effort. It's "like taking candy from a baby." If no other mother has beaten me to the punch on this one, let me be the first to say this:
This phrase is disastrously WRONG!
Have any of you actually tried taking candy from a baby? It's unbelievable how strong they suddenly become. My youngest daughter is 10 months old, and because she's the third child and an adorable little impling, she sometimes gets to do things I didn't let my older two do until they were older. Like taste lollipops. After the first taste, that baby clamped around that sucker like a tick. It took everything but a crowbar to pry her off again, and when I finally got the candy away from the baby, she started wailing louder than a fire engine's siren.
Certainly not the easiest thing I've ever done.
So I tried thinking of replacements. Because I like to be balanced like that. But I'm having trouble thinking of anything I do in my life that's easy. As easy as falling asleep? I don't know how many nights I've laid awake in my life trying to do just that. As easy as falling down a flight of stairs? Well yes, that's "easy", I guess, but it's not very pleasant and you usually don't just do that of your own will. As easy as 1-2-3? Not if you've heard a two year old try to count.
I guess I'll give the phrase-makers a break for now. Because trying to come up with a good simile is like taking candy from a baby.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Antibiotics for everyone!
Warning: This post is mildly disgusting. But that's parenthood, so you may as well read anyway.
When you have three children under the age of five, you deal with a LOT of poop. Setting aside personal needs for a moment, that's three bottoms I wipe on a daily basis. For those without children in their lives, allow me to inform you how absolutely fascinating poop is to kids. As my own mother has said, "Of course they like it. It's like play-doh they make themselves." Our son especially seems to have poop issues, and there has been more than one instance we have found it smeared on some surface of the house.
Poop is not the only fascinating thing in the house. Apparently, my face warrants repeated exploring. My infant daughter's current "puzzle of the week" is my nose. She loves grabbing it, biting it, what have you. My older two often mush my cheeks together, pinch my lips, and push my eyes around into funny new shapes to amuse themselves. (Yeah. It's a lot of fun. And let me take a moment here to say how desperately someone needs to invent a sarcasm font.)
For those of you who do have children in your lives, you will know that poop fascination + face touching = pink eye. So when I woke up yesterday morning with my left eye caked closed, I rolled my good eye and immediately called my doctor. I got a prescription for antibiotic eye drops and went back to my life. When I came home from work that evening, I found my highly agitated mother looking for a repairman to come fix the apparently broken AC, an overheated husband, and three sweaty children. At my mom's suggestion, we packed up the kids and took them to the blessedly cool McDonald's down the road, intending to feed them and let them play in the cool air until the AC at home could be fixed. While we were eating, though, I noticed green goo in the corner of my son's eye. Then I noticed that both of my middle daughter's eyes were red, and gunk was starting to build in them too. The baby looked clear, but of course we couldn't trust that. (My husband, it should be noted, is the only one who makes it out of this uninfected, even though, as a stay-at-home dad, he deals with WAY more poop than I do. I hold his glasses responsible for that victory.)
So we bribed them with a milkshake to skip playing, and bundled them off to urgent care. I will skip over the gory details involved in trying to get three children that young simultaneously checked at urgent care while also keeping six hands away from five faces. Sufficed to say all three, the baby included, were prescribed oral antibiotics, and we were sent on our merry, goo-oozing way to the pharmacy. Where, five minutes after urgent care had closed, we found that only two of the prescriptions had actually been sent.
So what's the point, you may ask? Well, I'd like to offer to sell this story to Purell in exchange for a lifetime supply of hand sanitizer. Although I'm sure my kids will find a way around that, and I'll still, inevitably, end up with pink eye. Still, it would make a convincing commercial, wouldn't it?
When you have three children under the age of five, you deal with a LOT of poop. Setting aside personal needs for a moment, that's three bottoms I wipe on a daily basis. For those without children in their lives, allow me to inform you how absolutely fascinating poop is to kids. As my own mother has said, "Of course they like it. It's like play-doh they make themselves." Our son especially seems to have poop issues, and there has been more than one instance we have found it smeared on some surface of the house.
Poop is not the only fascinating thing in the house. Apparently, my face warrants repeated exploring. My infant daughter's current "puzzle of the week" is my nose. She loves grabbing it, biting it, what have you. My older two often mush my cheeks together, pinch my lips, and push my eyes around into funny new shapes to amuse themselves. (Yeah. It's a lot of fun. And let me take a moment here to say how desperately someone needs to invent a sarcasm font.)
For those of you who do have children in your lives, you will know that poop fascination + face touching = pink eye. So when I woke up yesterday morning with my left eye caked closed, I rolled my good eye and immediately called my doctor. I got a prescription for antibiotic eye drops and went back to my life. When I came home from work that evening, I found my highly agitated mother looking for a repairman to come fix the apparently broken AC, an overheated husband, and three sweaty children. At my mom's suggestion, we packed up the kids and took them to the blessedly cool McDonald's down the road, intending to feed them and let them play in the cool air until the AC at home could be fixed. While we were eating, though, I noticed green goo in the corner of my son's eye. Then I noticed that both of my middle daughter's eyes were red, and gunk was starting to build in them too. The baby looked clear, but of course we couldn't trust that. (My husband, it should be noted, is the only one who makes it out of this uninfected, even though, as a stay-at-home dad, he deals with WAY more poop than I do. I hold his glasses responsible for that victory.)
So we bribed them with a milkshake to skip playing, and bundled them off to urgent care. I will skip over the gory details involved in trying to get three children that young simultaneously checked at urgent care while also keeping six hands away from five faces. Sufficed to say all three, the baby included, were prescribed oral antibiotics, and we were sent on our merry, goo-oozing way to the pharmacy. Where, five minutes after urgent care had closed, we found that only two of the prescriptions had actually been sent.
So what's the point, you may ask? Well, I'd like to offer to sell this story to Purell in exchange for a lifetime supply of hand sanitizer. Although I'm sure my kids will find a way around that, and I'll still, inevitably, end up with pink eye. Still, it would make a convincing commercial, wouldn't it?
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Generation Gap sighting!
When I was in middle school I was assigned a group project that involved going to visit an elderly woman in a nursing home. The point of the assignment was to learn about how much life had changed in the span of one lifetime.
I didn't appreciate it at the time, of course. As I get older, though, I often think back to that assignment, and all that woman had seen over her life. Which, in turn, makes me think of everything I've seen in my life. For the sake of brevity, I will gloss over the huge events like the death of Princess Diana, 9/11, Katrina, etc. I will focus, instead, on the development of technology.
While all of the things I tend to think of as "new technology" that came out in my life were actually around at least a decade before I was born (things like cell phones, or the internet), it is amazing how much these things have developed over my lifetime, and I imagine telling my children about things like dial-up and pagers. I actually looked forward to exploring the generation gap, and bragging about the things I "endured" growing up. (It took up to a half hour to get on the internet, I tell you, and you couldn't get a phone call during that time!)
I just didn't understand how it would make me feel when the generation gap finally reared its head. And, oddly enough, I didn't expect it to happen until at least one of them was in high school. Silly, naive mommy. Yesterday, I was reading a book to my son when he decided he had to go potty. He hopped off my lap, then looked at me frantically, and said, "Mommy, please pause the book."
I was bewildered. I was sitting there, holding the book in my hand, looking from my son's anxious face, to the book, and back again, trying to figure out what he expected me to do. I ended up laughing and stuttering out some vague explanation that a book does not need to be paused. As he walked into the bathroom, though, I realized that it's entirely possible you may have to pause a book someday. With the popularity of e-readers, I fully expect books, magazines, and other forms of the written word to take on a completely different format by the end of my life. I flash forward to my Golden Years and see myself a befuddled YouTube star a la the Huffmans just trying to figure out how to read a simple book.
I feel old.
I didn't appreciate it at the time, of course. As I get older, though, I often think back to that assignment, and all that woman had seen over her life. Which, in turn, makes me think of everything I've seen in my life. For the sake of brevity, I will gloss over the huge events like the death of Princess Diana, 9/11, Katrina, etc. I will focus, instead, on the development of technology.
While all of the things I tend to think of as "new technology" that came out in my life were actually around at least a decade before I was born (things like cell phones, or the internet), it is amazing how much these things have developed over my lifetime, and I imagine telling my children about things like dial-up and pagers. I actually looked forward to exploring the generation gap, and bragging about the things I "endured" growing up. (It took up to a half hour to get on the internet, I tell you, and you couldn't get a phone call during that time!)
I just didn't understand how it would make me feel when the generation gap finally reared its head. And, oddly enough, I didn't expect it to happen until at least one of them was in high school. Silly, naive mommy. Yesterday, I was reading a book to my son when he decided he had to go potty. He hopped off my lap, then looked at me frantically, and said, "Mommy, please pause the book."
I was bewildered. I was sitting there, holding the book in my hand, looking from my son's anxious face, to the book, and back again, trying to figure out what he expected me to do. I ended up laughing and stuttering out some vague explanation that a book does not need to be paused. As he walked into the bathroom, though, I realized that it's entirely possible you may have to pause a book someday. With the popularity of e-readers, I fully expect books, magazines, and other forms of the written word to take on a completely different format by the end of my life. I flash forward to my Golden Years and see myself a befuddled YouTube star a la the Huffmans just trying to figure out how to read a simple book.
I feel old.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Like Weeds, I Tell You!
Almost a decade ago, when I was first looking into college (and, silly me, imagining being out again in four years), I tried out for a series of theater scholarships. For my auditions, I performed monologues. One was from the movie, "The Story of Us" in which Michelle Pfeiffer's character is trying to explain to her husband why she does not want a divorce. A few of the lines are her talking about their two children: "Think about it! There were no people there and then there were people. And then they grew!"
As I was memorizing this piece, it was easy to pretend the awe in her voice. The high level of emotion in the monologue made it a cinch to perform. But I think I could do it better now. Because I truly understand that awe now. It's something I was considering the other day.
When you stop and think about the development of children, from conception through puberty to adulthood, they are miraculous! Two cells from different human bodies, each containing half the genetic material of any other cell in a body, touch and then make a person. It's incredible! And then they grow.
All three of my children are in different stages of development, and they are simply fascinating. Every time they put together a new sentence, or use a phrase they have never used before, it leaves me bewildered. Watching the infant discover she has hands! is more entertaining than HBO. Hearing my two-year-old girl tell her father, "that's inappropriate" in hilarious. Listening to my four-year-old tell me a joke I didn't tell him first makes me swell with pride. They are seriously the coolest thing ever.
Single, or childless friends of mine may think I'm a little coo-coo and in need of more "grown-up time." Other parents reading this know what I mean, though.There is nothing more awe-inspiring than watching your child learn. When I think of how much they have changed since they were born...there are simply no words.
I mean think about it! There were no people there. And then there were people. With little hands, opinions, and personalities of their own! So cool.
As I was memorizing this piece, it was easy to pretend the awe in her voice. The high level of emotion in the monologue made it a cinch to perform. But I think I could do it better now. Because I truly understand that awe now. It's something I was considering the other day.
When you stop and think about the development of children, from conception through puberty to adulthood, they are miraculous! Two cells from different human bodies, each containing half the genetic material of any other cell in a body, touch and then make a person. It's incredible! And then they grow.
All three of my children are in different stages of development, and they are simply fascinating. Every time they put together a new sentence, or use a phrase they have never used before, it leaves me bewildered. Watching the infant discover she has hands! is more entertaining than HBO. Hearing my two-year-old girl tell her father, "that's inappropriate" in hilarious. Listening to my four-year-old tell me a joke I didn't tell him first makes me swell with pride. They are seriously the coolest thing ever.
Single, or childless friends of mine may think I'm a little coo-coo and in need of more "grown-up time." Other parents reading this know what I mean, though.There is nothing more awe-inspiring than watching your child learn. When I think of how much they have changed since they were born...there are simply no words.
I mean think about it! There were no people there. And then there were people. With little hands, opinions, and personalities of their own! So cool.
Monday, December 5, 2011
The Boo-Boo Pack
(Stick with me through this, because it's really heart-meltingly sweet.)
Last night, my four-year-old son tested the limits of my patience to their outermost extremes. During pick-up time, as my husband tended to our infant daughter, I sat with my son, my hands over his, picking toys up because he refused to help on his own. After a little while of doing this, I released his hands and he began picking toys up on his own, for the most part. As he carelessly chucked one toy at the bin and missed, I picked that toy up, put it back in his hand, and instructed him to try again. After a few more "tries" (which were more of a game to him than anything else), I decided his last smart-ass attempt, which was intentionally careless but at least got the toy in the bin, was good enough and put the bin away.
I sent my two-year-old daughter off with grandma for stories and songs, and asked my son to pick up just a few remaining toys. On the very last one, a plastic loaf of bread which needed to go back in the play kitchen, he again tossed it across the room. It bounced off the kitchen and onto the floor, so I once more had him try again. He giggled, picked the bread up, and threw it over the banister and down the stairs. I told him to go get it, and bring it to me. He went down the stairs, taking his sweet time, brought the toy up, and threw it at me. I picked it up, walked over to him, and he dashed away from me. After I wrangled him, I put the toy in his hand and told him to bring it to me nicely. He walked over to me, then threw the toy down the stairs again.
Things continued like this for a good 15-20 minutes. Then my mom stepped in, and put him in the "Think Space" (google it if you have kids) until he was ready to cooperate. This resulted in a giant fit, which we all waited out. Finally, we gained his cooperation, he put the toy away very nicely, and I took him downstairs to bed. Where he promptly began to cry that he wanted a drink of water.
All in all, it was a tremendously frustrating evening.
This morning after I got showered and dressed, I walked out to the dining area where my mom was sitting with both older children, all of them eating breakfast. I grabbed my own bowl of cereal and joined them. As we ate, my mom told me that my daughter had accidentally burned her hand on a space heater earlier in the morning. As she continued talking about the incident, my son put down his spoon, got up, and walked to the fridge. As he opened the freezer door, my mom asked him what he was doing.
"I'm getting my pink-and-green thing," he replied. Mom and I looked at each other, confused, until I saw he now had the Boo-Boo pack in his hand. (A boo-boo pack is, in our case, a small, soft pack filled with beads that can either be frozen or warmed to help treat injuries.) He walked over to his sister and told her to put her spoon down. She did, and he asked, "Show me where it hurts." She held out her hand and pointed to the small area she had hurt on the heater. He gently put the boo-boo pack on her hand and held it there. "Does that feel better?" He asked. "Yeah," she replied.
My mom and I stared in wonder at my son, tears in our eyes. Even now, as I type this, I can't help but tear up. Watching him tend to his sister with such gentle concern was the boo-boo pack we all needed.
"He's forgiven for last night, right?" My mom asked me.
"What happened last night?" I replied.
Last night, my four-year-old son tested the limits of my patience to their outermost extremes. During pick-up time, as my husband tended to our infant daughter, I sat with my son, my hands over his, picking toys up because he refused to help on his own. After a little while of doing this, I released his hands and he began picking toys up on his own, for the most part. As he carelessly chucked one toy at the bin and missed, I picked that toy up, put it back in his hand, and instructed him to try again. After a few more "tries" (which were more of a game to him than anything else), I decided his last smart-ass attempt, which was intentionally careless but at least got the toy in the bin, was good enough and put the bin away.
I sent my two-year-old daughter off with grandma for stories and songs, and asked my son to pick up just a few remaining toys. On the very last one, a plastic loaf of bread which needed to go back in the play kitchen, he again tossed it across the room. It bounced off the kitchen and onto the floor, so I once more had him try again. He giggled, picked the bread up, and threw it over the banister and down the stairs. I told him to go get it, and bring it to me. He went down the stairs, taking his sweet time, brought the toy up, and threw it at me. I picked it up, walked over to him, and he dashed away from me. After I wrangled him, I put the toy in his hand and told him to bring it to me nicely. He walked over to me, then threw the toy down the stairs again.
Things continued like this for a good 15-20 minutes. Then my mom stepped in, and put him in the "Think Space" (google it if you have kids) until he was ready to cooperate. This resulted in a giant fit, which we all waited out. Finally, we gained his cooperation, he put the toy away very nicely, and I took him downstairs to bed. Where he promptly began to cry that he wanted a drink of water.
All in all, it was a tremendously frustrating evening.
This morning after I got showered and dressed, I walked out to the dining area where my mom was sitting with both older children, all of them eating breakfast. I grabbed my own bowl of cereal and joined them. As we ate, my mom told me that my daughter had accidentally burned her hand on a space heater earlier in the morning. As she continued talking about the incident, my son put down his spoon, got up, and walked to the fridge. As he opened the freezer door, my mom asked him what he was doing.
"I'm getting my pink-and-green thing," he replied. Mom and I looked at each other, confused, until I saw he now had the Boo-Boo pack in his hand. (A boo-boo pack is, in our case, a small, soft pack filled with beads that can either be frozen or warmed to help treat injuries.) He walked over to his sister and told her to put her spoon down. She did, and he asked, "Show me where it hurts." She held out her hand and pointed to the small area she had hurt on the heater. He gently put the boo-boo pack on her hand and held it there. "Does that feel better?" He asked. "Yeah," she replied.
My mom and I stared in wonder at my son, tears in our eyes. Even now, as I type this, I can't help but tear up. Watching him tend to his sister with such gentle concern was the boo-boo pack we all needed.
"He's forgiven for last night, right?" My mom asked me.
"What happened last night?" I replied.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Study Hall
I am so jealous of students who live on campus. I expect many of them take the convenience and resources available to them for granted. When I went to Pitt State many moons ago, I know I took things such as a quiet library environment and easy access to student events for granted. Not so, now.
You see, I have an exam tomorrow. A mere week and a day before the final exam in the same class. To say this causes me some stress is a bit of an understatement. So why am I blogging instead of studying madly for this exam? Because I can't hear my own thoughts over the dulcet tones of Will Ferrell as Megamind. And the could-be-hungry, reedy wails of my infant. And the indignant cries of one of my old children from whom a toy was taken by the other one.
So why don't I head to a public library for some quiet, concentrated study time? Well, I tried that yesterday. I retreated from my child-infested home to the safe sanctuary of what turned out to be a child-infested library. As I sat there attempting to wrestle with statistical equations that are apparently way beyond my grasp, two young boys walked past me arguing heatedly about some hypothetical quandary a fictional character could be in. (And that's deliberately vague because I don't really remember exactly what the argument was about, but I do remember it was loud.) They stopped about 10 feet away to continue their argument.At which point I seriously considered cranial-desk impact as a good stress relieving technique. (Forgive me for my overly-embellished language. I've been attempting to bring my brain to a higher level recently.)
Anyway, I've gotten a bit off topic here.
The point is, I wish I could just take a quick jaunt over to one of KU's libraries where, oh delight of delights, they have designated Quiet Zones. Although I can't promise that I wouldn't still attempt to procrastinate by hopping on to ramble about loud children and hypothetical quandaries.
You see, I have an exam tomorrow. A mere week and a day before the final exam in the same class. To say this causes me some stress is a bit of an understatement. So why am I blogging instead of studying madly for this exam? Because I can't hear my own thoughts over the dulcet tones of Will Ferrell as Megamind. And the could-be-hungry, reedy wails of my infant. And the indignant cries of one of my old children from whom a toy was taken by the other one.
So why don't I head to a public library for some quiet, concentrated study time? Well, I tried that yesterday. I retreated from my child-infested home to the safe sanctuary of what turned out to be a child-infested library. As I sat there attempting to wrestle with statistical equations that are apparently way beyond my grasp, two young boys walked past me arguing heatedly about some hypothetical quandary a fictional character could be in. (And that's deliberately vague because I don't really remember exactly what the argument was about, but I do remember it was loud.) They stopped about 10 feet away to continue their argument.At which point I seriously considered cranial-desk impact as a good stress relieving technique. (Forgive me for my overly-embellished language. I've been attempting to bring my brain to a higher level recently.)
Anyway, I've gotten a bit off topic here.
The point is, I wish I could just take a quick jaunt over to one of KU's libraries where, oh delight of delights, they have designated Quiet Zones. Although I can't promise that I wouldn't still attempt to procrastinate by hopping on to ramble about loud children and hypothetical quandaries.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Opening Statement
When people hear about my life, or rather, my current set of responsibilities, they always say one of three things:
1) "You're very brave/admirable."
2) "You sure have a lot on your plate!"
3) "Are you crazy?"
I like the third one. I really do. Because I often think I must be crazy. Not in a clinical way, of course, but more of a know-you-may-die-but-you-try-to-climb-Everest-anyway kind of crazy. The "why would anyone choose to put herself through that?" way. The ramble in incoherent sentences kind of way, apparently. Oh, wait. That is clinical, isn't it?
...Anyway...
Here is why they say those things: I am currently a nontraditional, full-time student at KU. I am married, I have a part-time job, I'm the "Communications and Outreach" officer...whatever that means...for Jayhawk Writers on Campus, and I'm planning on adding an internship next semester. And I just had my third child about three months ago in the middle of the semester. (That could really be a blog all on its own, let me tell you.) My cousin once jokingly asked me what I do with my free time, and I replied that I like to sleep both hours. You know, if the baby lets me.
Really, though, I don't feel like the Supermom I am often called. Truthfully, I often feel about ten steps behind, ten minutes late, and really under-dressed. Especially on campus. So I thought it may be interesting to blog about it. I know for a fact I'm not the only student-mom on campus. Not by a long shot. But there are days I feel so isolated, so apart from the "regular" students or "regular" moms that I can only sit back and shake my head about it. I guess you should just consider this blog the head shaking.
If you stayed with me past my "crazy" rant, that is.
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