Mama Writing So I Don't Go Crazy

Robert's Rules Do Not Apply Here

You know how really young kids tend to over generalize?

For example, when they're learning to talk, and they realize that some words are pluralized by putting an"s" on the end. The next thing you know, they're adding "s" to the end of any word.

Mooses

Mouses

Stuffs

You get the idea.

Our little guy has been doing the same thing in his classroom with the Montessori peace curriculum.

With some humorous results.

(okay, so the teacher doesn't always find this stuff funny, but hey...)

So in the classroom we have these little yellow felt circles (love lights). If Johnny is feeling particularly good today, because he learned something new, someone helped him out, or complimented him, he can wear one of these nifty little love lights to show everyone that his inner light is shining brightly.

(ours wears his love light CONSTANTLY)

If someone does something to you , causing your love light to dim, you take them the peace rose and give it to them. Next comes the "I" statement: Gus, when you ripped my paper, I felt really sad."

Evidently one day it seemed like the whole world was against the little man, because he was handing that peace rose out left and right.

Over generalizing.

Evidently, handing out the peace rose doesn't quite cut it when you're handing it to the teacher.

Another aspect of the curriculum involves the red road of peace and the black road of difficulty.

The choices you make determine which path you're walking on.

Seems it's not always evident in the classroom if our little guy is "getting" that concept.

But he is.

How do I know?

It's showing up at home. With some hysterical applications.

Take last week. Hubby is at home alone with the little guy. Time for bed. (translation: time for meltdown)

Little guy grabs some toys and tries to take off running. Hubby, who had learned of the red and black roads, decided to implement, but can't quite remember the correct wording.

So he improvises.

"Looks like you have a choice, are you going to walk the red road of peace, or the black road of bad boys?"

Child rolls eyes and says: "Daddy, it's not the black road of bad boys, it's the black road of DIFFICULTY!"

"Well, which road are you taking?"

"The red road of peace." And he puts down the toys and calmly goes into the bedroom to get jammies on.

Last night, we are driving home from dinner and a trip to get a Halloween costume. Negotiations have begun in the backseat about playing with a new Mr Potato Head, and a dress up costume when we arrive home.

Playing is not an option, since it is getting late, and a bath needs to be taken before bed.

Little guy tries to coerce playtime from Dad, who reiterates that it will be bath and bedtime.

In the backseat, the head droops down and the lower lip comes out.

Mommy is called for backup.

"Mommy, I need your help. Daddy is walking the black road of difficulty, and it's making my love light very dim."

Two adults in the front seats try, without much success, to hold back the giggles.

I wonder what Maria Montessori would say...

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day: Take Action

If you're wondering why I am posting this, then you need to read this

Far too many women are experiencing the loss of a child during pregnancy, childbirth, and infancy.

It's something we don't hear enough about.

We need more research on why it happens, and what might be done to prevent it.

I encourage you to take action this month and join me and other bloggers in getting this message out.

Thanks.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day: Take Action

October 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day in the United States. More than 25,000 children are stillborn in the United States every year leaving mothers, entire families and communities devastated. Estimates of the rate of occurrence of stillbirth make it at least as common as autism.

Stillbirth is not an intractable problem. Greater research would likely significantly reduce its incidence, but good research requires good data. H.R. 5979: Stillbirth Awareness and Research Act is under consideration by Congress. This proposed bill would standardize stillbirth investigation and diagnosis, thus providing more data for the needed research. Better research means fewer children born still.

On October 15th, remember the thousands of unfinished children lost and the families who remain to grieve them. Honor them by taking action. Let's help pass H.R. 5979.

Action Steps:

Step 1. Use Your Blog to Enlist Others
-Copy the contents of this entire post and publish it on your blog immediately.

GOAL: Enlist 10 of your readers to spread the word

Step 2. Use Your E-mail to Enlist Others
-E-mail 5 bloggers and ask them (nicely and in an unspammy way) to publish these action steps on their blog. Consider contacting celebrity bloggers, political bloggers, medical bloggers, or bloggers who are not part of your reading community.

GOAL: Enlist 3 bloggers outside of your normal blog sphere to spread the word in other online communities.

Step 3. Help Pass the Stillbirth Awareness and Research Act
-By October 15th, publish a post on your blog supporting H.R. 5979 Stillbirth Awareness and Research Act. For maximum impact, title your post: "Stillbirth Awareness and Research Act."

GOAL: 1,000,000 Google results on October 15th when that term is searched for. Currently, Google only returns 20,400 pages - most of which have nothing to do with the bill.

Things Overheard...

"Mommy, I'm so hongry, I could eat a firetruck!"

"Thanks for the kiss Daddy, I have a little space for it right here on my cheek." (What if there wasn't space on your cheek?) "Then I'd stick it in my backpack for later."

"But I GOTTA have candy for breakfast! It makes me strong and happy!"

"I know, I can marry YOU, and then when I'm done, I can marry Sinny!"

"Mommy, You're my favorite honeybunny."

(to Sinny) "Come on my darling, let me push you into my room...boy my darling, you sure are heavy!"

"Addi, she's my wife. Cause I love her."

"Mommy, how did I get out of your tummy?"
(How DID you get out of my tummy?)
"Well, the doctor took a knife and cut open your tummy and there I was! Were you scared, Mommy?"
 (A little, but your Daddy was holding my hand).
"That's good. And were you both waiting for me?"
(Yes, we were waiting for a long time for you)
"And I was waiting for boths of you too, cause I didn't have any parents before I was borned and I wanted boths of you parents."

Online Magazine Relaunch

Happy Tuesday!

I have officially become a contributor to an online magazine called Blissfully Domestic.

(I know, those who know me IRL know I am neither blissful nor overly domestic)

Whatevah.

I am going to be posting in a couple different areas.

Book reviews (as if you didn't know THAT was coming)

and Navigating Early Intervention Services for Families of Children with Special Needs.

If you haven't already heard of Blissfully Domestic, now's your chance to get up to speed. There's lots of stuff worth perusing (besides my contributions ;) )

So head on over there and take a look around. The site was just relaunched today.

Violet Beauregarde AKA The Giant Blueberry

Today we embarked on a trip that has never been taken before.

The Annual Blueberry Festival.

I attended this festival once in my life. So long ago, I do not even remember going with my mom.

But Hubby, Little Man, and I went today.

It was hot.

And humid.

There were a ton of people.

Did I mention it was hot?

And humid?

I had a steak sandwich (yum), a blueberry donut (double yum) and blueberry ice cream (brain freeze heaven).

I am going to be walking a lot tonight.

When it's not hot.

And humid.

Oh, and did I mention...

I got a tattoo while at the Blueberry Festival? Because I did.

Okay, a henna tattoo. It'll only last a few weeks.

But still. No needles. I'm just sayin'.

There's nothing that I hate MORE than hot and humid weather.

Except needles.

Have a great extended weekend!

Death Comes Knocking

My uncle died this weekend.

It was unexpected.

Tomorrow is the viewing at the funeral home.

We're not taking Little Man with us. It's no place for a 3 1/2 year old.

When we're around my cousins this week, I'm sure the topic will come up.

How do I discuss death with a toddler?

He asks a lot of questions. And some of his questions tend to be beyond what a three year old would ask.

My uncle died in his sleep. But if I say that, he'll think it could happen to him that way.

It may have been a heart attack. Again, something I don't want to have to explain at this point.

Is there a way of discussing death with a small child that isn't going to cause nightmares, sleep problems, worry of his own immediate family's demise, etc.?

I guess I will just have to wait and see what happens.

What would you do?

And I Will Call Him Squishy

Here's the episode where I am asked by a good friend of mine to be a doula when Baby Number 3 makes his entrance into the world.

I'm not an actual doula, but whatevah.

So I went to childbirth classes with her. At a real birth center.

And she was excited about having a non-medicalized birth, in a tub, in a homey environment. With her body doing what it was meant to do.

Then around thirty-eight weeks, she calls in a panic because the birth center which hasn't even been open for a year, had a freakish lightening strike that caused a fire.

And repairs were not expected to be complete until weeks after she is due.

So we're birthing in the hospital. Which is an hour away from both of us.

Again, whatevah.

So at 40 weeks, she's 2cm and 50% effaced. Some contractions, but nothing to write home about.

And at 41 weeks, she's 4 cm. And grumpy. And out of things to cook, freeze, or clean.

She's given the news that if Baby ain't here by 41w 4days, that she's coming in to be induced.

41w 1d. Some action. Enough to get me excited, but not enough to push any baby out.

41w 2d. More action, but not quite the real McCoy.

41w 3d. I don't know about you, but most women at this point would probably be holed up at home, bitching in a corner. Myself included.

NO. Where do we all go? To the 4H fair.

On the way there. SOMETHING starts to happen. About five minutes apart. And continues for the rest of the evening.

I finally get a call at 3:07 am. "Morning Sunshine, come to the hospital!"

I jump into my clothes and run down to the car (noticing my son's Lightening McQueen underwear on the stairs outside where I dropped them on our way inside) and take off.

Did I mention I live an hour from the hospital? Right.

At 3:20 am I call to let her know I'm on my way, and she informs me they are pulling out of the driveway.

I'm trucking at 70 on the bypass and pull into the parking lot of the hospital at 4:07am, making a new record of 42 minutes.

I run down the hall, take the elevator to the third floor, and hit the doors to labor and delivery and am met there by Steve. We got down to the room, I open the door and there I witness the most beautiful sight...

The birth.

Of the placenta.

Yes folks, when our heroine left the house, her contractions were three minutes apart. She hit transition sometime around the same time her husband hit the exit that took them to the hospital. When she got out of the van, the first thing out of her mouth was, "Oh God , I think I have to push!"

She managed to waddle into the building, down the hall to the elevators, followed by her bellman with the bags.

She went up to the third floor, squatting to relieve the pressure.

The doors open. Her husband rushes out, "Excuse me please, um my wife is in labor."

Sure. Let's get her checked in.

To which Christina indicated that a room was needed pronto.

She is directed to a room, where she takes off into the bathroom to strip and put on a gown. She then gets onto the bed on all fours and realizes that she can feel a head between her legs.

Three good pushes later, and he's here.

Of course, that isn't verbatim.

Cause I missed that part.

But the placenta was healthy too.

For being ten days past its expiration date.

And now, I am pound to introduce you to: (drumroll please...)

"Armstrong" (you had to be there)

Here I am with my new buddy. You can call me...

The Placenta Whisperer.

Happy Birthday Mom

Tomorrow (Monday) is my Mom's birthday.

Dare I say it? She's sixty something.

No, really, I know how old she is. She's never been one to try and hide it. Not like her sister, Vanity. (My aunt is the OLDER sister. neener neener)

Want to know my earliest memory of my mom? It was at the first house my parents bought when they were married. We lived in that house until I was four. So I know my memories go pretty far back.

Mom used to rock me in a rocking lawn chair in the evenings. In front of the T.V. That chair squeaked and I loved it. I loved it so much that I had to have a squeaky rocking lawn chair of my own when I grew up. She used to sing to me when I was little. There was one song in particular that she sang all the time. Debbie Reynolds sang it in a 1957 movie called "Tammy and the Bachelor." If she's reading this, I'm sure she's surprised that I remember this song.

                 "I hear the cottonwoods whisperin' above,
                 "Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love"
                  The ole hooty-owl hooty-hoos to the dove,
                 "Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love"

                  Does my lover feel
                  What I feel
                  When he comes near?
                  My heart beats so joyfully,
                  You'd think that he could hear

                  Wish I knew if he knew
                  What I'm dreamin' of
                  Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love

                 Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, you and I know
                 Tammy ... Tammy ... can't let him go
                 The breeze from the bayou keeps murmuring low:
                "Tammy ... Tammy ... you love him so"

                 When the night is warm,
                 Soft and warm,
                  I long for his charms
                  I'd sing like a violin
                  If I were in his arms

                 Wish I knew if he knew
                 What I'm dreaming of
                  Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love


My Mom sewed outfits and Halloween costumes for me. She was a PTA mom, a Girl Scout Mom, and a Mom who stuck her nose in my business ALL.THE.TIME. Private diary? Forget it. She read it. (I would find them in her desk).

She made lemon bars, snickerdoodles, and stuck candy bars in the freezer to keep until her kids were driving her crazy and she needed a quick fix.

She quit smoking cold turkey when I was 8. Peppermint Life Savers were what kept her on the wagon.

She didn't go to college until after I went.She took a few classes here and there, but never competed a degree. One of these days, I hope to see her go back, get a degree, and walk across the stage to get her diploma so I can scream, "That's my Mom!"

When my Dad worked third shift, I would sleep in their bed. Mom would rub my back.

There was that one time I was sleeping with her and I woke up to tell her I wasn't feeling well. She didn't wake up fast enough, and I puked in her hair.

Then there was that other time after getting a perm. She asked me to comb her hair, which I hated to do. I wound the comb round and round til it got stuck in her hair and Dad had to untangle the mess.

Sorry about that. (and I still hate combing hair)

Mom did refunding when I was younger. Tide had a big refund offer. So she'd take me out with her at night to local laundromats to dig for empty Tide boxes in their dumpsters. I never quite figured out if I was along for company, or to be the lookout. I hear dumpster diving is fashionable now. Who'da thunk?

One time, Mom got a microwave oven from her refunding.

We ate baked potatoes made in the microwave for a looong time.

Thanks Mom.

When I was seventeen, my Dad was working in North Carolina, and we were living in Indiana. My brother, Mom and I drove down for a visit.

Holy shit. That was a long trip. And she didn't even let me drive.

That same summer, she let me get on a plane for the very first time and go to Spain with some classmates.

I'm not sure which one of us was more nervous about my getting on a plane.

Mom and Dad drove me to Purdue when I was eighteen. I got settled in my dorm room. I don't think Mom wanted to leave.

She sent me care packages. One Halloween, she included a pig snout mask.

Mom and I, we both inherited something from the women in our family.

A dry wit, an arsenal of dirty jokes, the ridges in our thumbnails, and fat toes.

I got the mole on my chin from my maternal grandfather's mother. Mom got the chin whiskers from her maternal grandmother.

We sound alike on the phone.

I can forge her signature.

We are mistaken for sisters. (does that mean I look FIFTY something?)

We laugh alike.

And when I am upset with something my son is doing, I find myself using some of the same damn expressions she used with me. And then I turn around to see if she's standing behind me.

We took a Polish class when I was pregnant. Not that she needed to. She learned it growing up. I, on the other hand, wanted to learn. Mom decided to come along for moral support. We spent more time (sitting in the back) laughing and cutting up.

I learned how to say vodka and rump steak in Polish. Not exactly difficult words.

If I had to describe my Mom in five words or less...
1.Ebay
2.Thoughtful
3.Auctions
4.Loving
5. Mine

Here she is: (older photo, but a favorite)

Happy Birthday Mom!

Ahcksi-moron

 We just got back from a trip to Michigan. I had a lot of time to think during this time, and I'm sure you're dying to have me share my profound thoughts...

Why is it called a family vacation? That's more of an oxymoron, if you think about it. I mean, from a mother's perspective, the family is THERE, but vacation? Come on. Mom spends time packing to make sure everything from clean underwear to sunscreen to activities to keep a small child (or children) occupied for a long drive are packed AND easily accessible.

You can't really PLAN a bunch of fun activities, especially if the small fry are toddler age, because you know damn well the minute you even think the word *plan,* the small fry will catch wind of it and do everything in his or her power to put a stop to fun.

THE DRIVE. Oh yeah, more fun than poking your eye out with a sharp stick. Somebody in your house just potty trained? Expect to stop every 40-50 minutes for a break. Usually preceded by "Moooooom, I gotta poop!" As you've just passed the last rest stop for the next 53.1 miles.

You're doubly blessed (like I was) when the three year old sitting in the back seat figures out how to get out of the five-point harness while traveling on an Interstate going 70 MPH. Can you say blood pressure through the roof?

Hotels: Why can't they provide those side rails for a double bed to prevent a child from falling off the bed while sleeping? Ours know how to climb in and out of cribs, and can tip over a pack-n-play in 2 seconds flat. What kind of vacation is it when I have to sleep with my son in a double bed and wake in the middle of the night with toes in my nose?

Apparently I am the only one who is capable of "putting  the child to bed" in a hotel room. According to the child, that is. But as long as the sun is peeking through the darkened drapes, it's time to jump on the bed. And the chair. And the ottoman. And back to the bed. The over to the other bed.

You get the idea.

To me, vacation is trying new restaurants, maybe some new food. Not with a 3 year old. For breakfast, he wants cookies. And lollipops. And orange juice. And to jump on the chair in the restaurant.. Over and over. For lunch, he wants cookies. And lollipops. And juice.

So much for new restaurants. I feel like I had an affair with Ronald McDonald. He does have big feet...

But the make-up has to go.

We had an outbreak of the "gimmies" while on vacation. Seriously?! Have we forgotten please and thank you? He used to be complimented on his manners when we were out and about. Not so much anymore.

On the ride home, all I could think about was going back to work the next day. *sigh.*

I need a vacation to get over my "family vacation."

Any other moms out there want to join me in a secluded cabin, cooler full of wine, some good books and magazines, a deck of cards, and meals delivered to our doorstep?

Now THAT is my idea of a vacation.

Can I Have a Tissue Please?

I love spring.

The flowers are blooming.

The trees are sprouting leaves.

The air is getting warmer.

The days are getting longer.

And my allergies are in full effect. The sneezing. The watery eyes. The sinus pressure. Oh God, the sinus pressure. Bend over to pick up clothes to throw in the wash and I think my brain will explode all over the place. And nothing over the counter really helps. I am only thankful that my asthma is well-controlled with the medication I am taking for that. And my wonderful NP that I see for the asthma just gave me some awesome drops for the itchy eyes. Now if I could only replace my sinuses with that of someone who suffers not during this season.


For now, I will sit on the couch with my box of Kleenex and prepare for tonight's interpreting assignment.

Achoo!