Growing Pains

So last week was Sophie's first official day of school. It entailed Mister Och and I attending a forty-five minute intro session with her so she can see her classroom, her teacher, and the rest of the class. The rest of the week, there were no other classes held as it was individual skills assessment time. Soph was given an appointment time, as did the other students, and was tested by the teacher on a one-on-one basis. Today was the official WHOLE day of class...the one in which mother hens were not allowed in the classroom with their chickities. Because of the weeklong prelude to this day, I had no anxiety about it, and therefore escorted my boo utterly unprepared.

I had allowed her to make her own decisions about her attire today (the only thing I insisted on was that she had a good healthy intake of food). She opted to bypass a bath, explaining to her momma that she'll probably be sweaty from the playground and so she'll need to take her bath afterwards. She then requested her hair be put up in pigtails because she didn't want to go to school with bedhead. She picked out her outfit, even going as far as stepping outside to gauge the weather. Then, she put her first school project in her backpack and was ready to go.

As she stood there in line with the other newbie students, in the practical little outift and hairstyle she selected, I watched her take a hold of Liv's hand and say, "Now, Livy, I'm going there by myself. You can't come in with me. You need to stay with mom and take a nap, okay?"
Liv had looked up at her big sis with total adoration and nodded as if she understood.

I started to feel a little flutter in my stomach right about then, and it startled me somewhat. What's the big deal, right? Then her teacher herded the line in towards the kindergarten hallway. As she neared the entrance, the tighter the knot in my throat felt. And when she spun around suddenly towards me, I half expected her to look slightly panicked. Instead, she beamed her confident sun-shiney smile and blew me a kiss. She turned right around and headed into her elementary days with a bounce in her step.

Oh, boy, did that get me. I rushed back to the parking lot, plastering this smile on my face, passing all the other mothers chattering about how relieved they are now minus one and how much easier would it be to perform errands. Liv, started whirling around in my arms then, looking for something, and near tears asked, "Where's my girl? Where's my girl? Where's my Sophie?"

I buckled her up as fast as I could and got in the driver's seat and just cried my eyes out.

It's Worse

It's just one of those days. It hasn't even hit noon yet...and boy, oh, boy. I, in my infinite arrogance, assumed today would turn out on the opposite end of the spectrum. *Sigh* So, I decided to actually get up before Mister D left for school and cook him a decent breakfast (what an upstanding mother) since he has his end-of-year exams this week. Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, chocolate milk....pretty good so far.


We sit down at the table...Liv, our very own piggy devoured her share before I got a bite in mine. Apparently, her portion did not satisfy the bottomless pit that is her tummy, and she directed her attention to my plate. She ate that all as well. It gets worse...I decided to settle for a slice of banana bread instead since we were out of eggs. I sat down with my slice and a cup of coffee only to realize Liv was eyeing my meal with interest. She immediately helped herself to a mouthful. Oh, and it gets worse...she decided she didn't want it after all and deposited her regurgitated mush on top of the remainder of my intended breakfast.


And THEN...lovely Liv demonstrated her capacity for toilet training...she sat down, did her business and enjoyed the obligatory celebration her mother performs after a successful potty episode. Two minutes later after dressing her in her big girl panties, she insisted she needed to go again! I resisted at first, although the temper tantrum won out and I assisted her onto the seat once more. She danced with her bottom dangling above the bowl, clapped, and pointed at her hooha....but no official potty business. I kicked her off, since (TMI) I felt the urge to do some of my own business on the throne. She pitched a fit while I was in her favorite seat and kept insisting she still needed to go potty. UGH! I hate when I have to excrete with such an obnoxious distraction! Awful, huh? No, no wait! It gets worse. Apparently, her pleading proved true and she simply squatted in front of me (remember she's in her panties) and runs runny stinky poop down her legs and onto the bathroom rug.

And THEN...I managed to clean her and the bathroom up after cutting myself off (don't you hate that?) without upchucking my breakfast and set the tub to fill after she was rinsed off. After a bit, I decided it safe to continue my unfinished business. So there I was again, trying to collect the bits and pieces of my sanity and shove that awful sight I had to clean up previously, when I heard Liv say, "EEEEEW." I look up and there is that loose poop again, only this time it is floating in her bath water. Oh, no, no, WAIT! It gets worse! Sophie was in the bath with her!!! Oh, that's not even the worse part! I promise it is worse!!! SHE HAD CORN last night!

I can't wait to see what the rest of the day will bring! Wooohooo! Bring it on! It can't get worse that this.......right?

Outnumbered

Three to one. The odds aren't in my favor and they most assuredly worked against me tonight. Have any of you moms out there been bombarded with "urgent" requests, complaints,questions, demands from your children all at one time? OMG!
As I rushed to get dinner defrosted and cooked, fam fed and readied before my gym date with Ms. B, the attack began. I swear it was a conspiracy cooked up between the brats, it was so perfectly executed. Liv had sounded the battle cry when she refused to surrender the koala bear embrace from around my neck once she awoke from her nap. I should have seen it coming. It seems whenever I move with a purpose, it is the resounding signal to my spawn to do whatever it takes to distract, frustrate, and infuriate. And so they did, quite successfully, in a matter of mere minutes.
Liv screamed and cried from the depths of her little soul and insisted on swinging from the oven handle while the chicken sizzled and splattered inches away from those tiny hands. Soph, with her lovely lovely whiny voice, insisted repeatedly that she is allergic to chicken and would rather have pancakes with lots of syrup for dinner instead. Dyl, always meaning well, commenced scolding and yelling at the two to the point his actions only instigated the chaos even more. Soph stuck to her guns and refused nourishment.

I, deciding on tough love to scare the little ungrateful runt, proclaimed that she either eat her dinner or go straight to bed.

What happens? She calls my bluff! She marched into her bedroom, unzipped herself from her dino costume, and promptly fell asleep!

Dinner was consumed by the remainder of the fam in tense silence. Of course, the guilt of a mother with a starving child won out and the mutineer was awoken and served mini pancakes with lots and lots of syrup. She gladly devoured the plate as her crestfallen mother observed in bewildered defeat.

I Wasn't Ready!!!

I vaguely recall that day in fifth-grade class when Ms. Simmons threatened us with extra homework if we became too rowdy during the nurse's upcoming presentation on puberty and sex education. We didn't get extra homework that day. Come to think of it, we didn't get any homework at all. In hindsight, it might have been dear ole Ms. Simmons' silent way of sympathizing with her shell-shocked students' reaction to the highly technical but still borderline inappropriate slideshows.

As momentous as that day was in the life of an innocent child, I somehow failed to associate it to my own son's current age and grade and the subsequent curiosity that comes with it. Sure, Lou and I had discussed discussing it with him, but the deadline for that talk was scheduled for way way later (or so we thought).

Sophie had been asking if she could sleep with Mom and Dad that night, and before I could deny her request yet again, Mister D answered for me, "No! Mom and Dad need private time," followed by a giggle. I glanced at him questioningly, and he said, still giggling, "I know what you guys do in private time! s-e-x!"

At this point, my inner mommy alarm was furiously ringing in my ears, urging me to keep cool. My supposed ally for this subject was still at work. I was being bombarded unprepared and alone! A wrong reaction at the moment could mean the difference between a close or distant relationship with my future teenage son! I remember informing my father about that day in fifth grade and the nurse's encouragement to discuss the topics presented with our parents. My dad stared straight ahead at some show he wasn't watching and simply said, "Sex, don't do it. Drugs, don't do it. Just say no!" And that was that. I didn't approach the subject ever again.

A part of me had crumpled in despair at the realization my first-born is no longer a baby. Somehow, I managed to adapt a look of "wise mom" and aptly answered his questions and left the door open for the official talk that would have Lou in my corner.

It seems to have been successful considering I wasn't ready. Talk about blindsided!

A Mother's Idiocy (and Fam plus Friends Night Out)

Most of you know how fiercely protective I am of my children and that I look out for their safety slash well-being slash comfort and all that jazz like a hawk, right? I get irked beyond words when I have to witness children not being looked after as they should. So I guess, in total humility, I am admitting to my own brain farts last night when Fam Och went to accompany the Hep's to view Temple Square in all its lighted (3million to be exact) splendor.

Pre-trip Situation Assessment: Cold, Exposed to Elements, Cold, and Cold.

So what did mom extraordinaire do? Stroller--check! Warm boots--check! Layered clothing--check! and that was about it. No hat, no gloves, no scarves, no thick stroller blanket, no thick weather appropriate winter coat. Nada.

For the night, Missus Och had failed as a momma.

I withered in embarassment in front of our friends as I clearly demonstrated a complete lack of parenting skills and how NOT to dress kids for a winter night out. And more importantly, I struggled with seeing my kids slowly freeze before my eyes, snot relentlessly dripping down their faces.

In short, we didn't stay long...and it was a sad thing. In the five winters Fam Och has been in UT, we had never bothered to check out the famous Temple Square, with or without lights. (Maybe it was this subconscious religiously associated intimidation thing?) And my goodness, was it ever a sight.

With the promise of returning again so we could actually witness the telling of the Christmas Story while sporting warmer attire, we headed home. On the drive back, I inundated Lou with a checklist I was furiously ingraining into my brain for the repeat outing: "We need to buy one of those stroller cocoons for Liv!"..."Oooh, how about those hand and feet warmers, too?"..."We need to go shopping for thicker coats!"...and so forth, while Lou repeatedly attempted to dismiss me with, "Hon, we'll just do better next time. It's okay!"

Anyhow, so there's the post that was an attempt to fend off any lingering guilt I can't let go off. For your viewing pleasure, here are some pics before the kids turned into ice blocks.

Before we started forming icicles from our noses.

Aren't they just dah-ling?

On the Trax to Temple Square.

Perpetual goofballs.

Busy Bad Mom

So after the craziness of the week of sickness and the following week of L's b-day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas shopping, I have to admit I have let the house go. It is absolutely amazing how a "break" in cleaning up can snowball into one gigantic disaster. Yesterday was my day to make amends to my neglected abode and finally set things gleaming clean again.
It took me all stinkin' day. Washing dishes, disinfecting countertops, sorting, washing, and drying laundry, sweeping, mopping, cooking...all stinkin' day. Liv, acutely aware of mom's tunnel-vision to house cleaning that day, fed off the hype and shouldered through nap time jumping up and down on the bed, playing, and simply refusing to tuck in. Viewing this struggle as wasted time away from the ultimate goal of a clean house, I didn't insist as I usually do. At about 4pm, while washing the third sink-full of sippy cups, I stubbornly ignored Liv's cries, saying, "Just three more cups and I'm done, honey."
After the third and final cup, I looked around in amazement...it was silent. I peeked around the island counter and found this...

Poor little Liv. At least she fell asleep on a clean floor...

Bad mommy.