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Archive for the ‘Because I’m the mother’ Category

I’m working on getting the Bean to sleep in her own bed… preferably all night long.  Hey, I can dream.  So tonight we did some ‘pre-planning’ where I told her that our routine would be reading picture books up in Bub’s bed, then going down in her bed for a little chapter book reading, then momma would lay in bed with her and we’d go to sleep.  She seemed to be on board.

Books in Bub’s bed went well but when we transitioned to her bed, she wasn’t really into Pippi Longstocking.  She read her own books and stayed in bed, which was acceptable.  But when it came time to go to sleep… “I lay in momma’s bed?”.  Um… that wasn’t the plan.  So I let her fuss a little while I put the fan on and helped Bub cover up.  Then we laid down.  I sang for a while which was not cutting it, she was still bellowing (if you heard me you might not blame her).

Then the Bean stopped crying and I heard a little bird song from the top bunk.  Bub had started singing.  First I thought it was his raisin song (he has an entire song he made up professing his devotion to raisins).  But then I heard… “Go to sleep my love… go to sleep my love… we’ll wake up in the morning… “.  Bub has a beautiful voice, really.  And the Bean stayed quiet.  And then the Bean was asleep.  Bub sang her to sleep.  We were both surprised… and so proud.

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when you have SO much to talk about on your crafty little artsy fartsy blog, but none of it is really artsy or crafty, or even fartsy for that matter?  And what about when your head space is filled with mostly with stuff that if you blogged about, people would get their panties all in a tither because while they *know* you, they don’t really *know* you, even though they might *know* you in real life.  What then?  And in the end, do my narcissistic ramblings even matter to anyone but me.  Moth to the flame though I guess.

So I guess I’ll talk about the kids.  I had an interesting “this is what it would be like if I homeschooled” moment the other night.  I was making dinner (salmon burgers, I should post that recipe).  Bub needed to do some math practice work.  His teacher this year expects a little more home work, but is kind of loose about it.  Bub and I are structure people.  Anyhow, Bean got this big tray of play money for her birthday so we sat down at the table.  After breaking up 14,328 fights about whose money it was, who could do what with it, and so on, I had Bub making combinations of change that equalled $1.00 and $1.50.  The boy is smart.  Wicked smart.  Then at the end I had him count up all the change that remained before we put it back where it went.  $7.83 cents, in case you were wondering.

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Tig and I split the kids 50/50 (mostly).  This means every other night the kids are here.  I’m not so keen on this schedule anymore, but Tig refuses to switch, so… yeah.  Anyway, Saturday when the kids were here until 5pm it wasn’t pretty.  Bub was off, WAY off, the lead suspect is yeast.  There was lots of yelling, tears, drama, ‘break’ taking, whining, and eventually some wrestling into the car to force him to go play at the park (silly no?).

Tonight was happily different.  I wasn’t sure what to expect considering daylight saving time and all.  There was some wrestling and squabbling while I made dinner (roasted potatoes, venison and kale – guess who at all the kale?) and after picking over their dinner, they were off to play.  Bub was hovering in the kitchen starting to whine of boredom when I shooed him into the living room to play doctor (they’d been playing it at Tig’s before they came over).  “But we have no stethoscope like at Mommy’s!”… well says Momma, find something that looks like it could be a stethoscope.

Now, usually this is met with “but I can’t find anything! there is no stethoscope!  can we go get it at mommy’s?”.  But that’s not what I heard.  I heard some quiet, then playing.  Both of them.  With each other.  Pretending.  BOTH of them.

And you know you’ve been heard by your kids when you hear them talking about ‘medicine’ and then ‘it might taste yucky, it’s flax seed oil and vitamin c’.  Such simple joys.

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Last year, Bub was ready to take the bus.  I wasn’t.  Peanuts and all that jazz, you know.  I held him off all year last year.  This year though, Tig put her foot down and refused to trek him to school every day when there is a perfectly fine giant yellow vehicle that comes right to our neighborhood to take him there.  Fine then.

A meeting was had, trainings on injecting the small child with epinephrine were done and today, Bub boarded the bus for his first trip to school.  He was a gem about it, perhaps a titch nervous.  When the 15 or so kids started piling on the bus, we nudged him along and he held back.  “Can I get on last?”… “sure Bub… are you nervous?”… “no… so you can take a picture of me.”  Ah, my sweet sweet boy.

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Ms. Baby spotted some fabric in my pile the other day and said “dess?” (“dress” for those of you that don’t speak Ms. Baby). I said sure, you like that fabric, I’ll make you a dress, just not right now (we were getting ready for bed). She was satisfied that her request had been heard and we moved on.

Fast forward to this morning about an hour before we were set to leave to deliver our Mother’s Day potted bouquettes to Auntie and Memere. While I’m getting ready to go, Madam Bebe comes hobbling up the stairs, a large piece of fabric in her hand. The conversation goes something like this (keep in mind she’s got a pretty significant speech delay):

Me: Hey ChiChi, you need something?

MB: Me, ChiChi, dess!

Me: Yeah, I know you want a dress with that fabric, I’ll make you one, just not today, we have to go to Memere’s… [I trail off into momma blah blah blah].

MB: No… Me, ChiChi, DESS!

Okay then…

She wouldn’t take it off to go to bed. Happy Mother’s Day to me!!!

ps. lobster + ghee + sea salt = happy (thanks again mom!)

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No training wheels!

I wasn’t sure I’d ever see this. His anxiety about the training wheels was HUUUUGE and that whole business about physical ventures not really being his thing. Every time he said “I can’t”, 5 minutes later, he did. (No tweaking about the helmet, as soon as he considered riding on pavement the helmet was slapped right on his little noggin’).

And ride on the pavement he did (another “I caaaaan’t, I’ll fall!!!).

Oh yes, he did that too.

Most importantly though, he got back on and kept riding.

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