proud mama

You know those really proud moments you have as a parent that make you just want to jump around and dance? No, not the time your son repeated profanity while shopping with you because he heard you say it not so long ago in a moment of anger. And I'm not talking about on the first day of spring when he screams, "Hey Old Man River! Smoking is bad for your heart you old fart!" across the street to the grumpy neighbor who happens to be enjoying his cigarette and pacing in the front yard. (Thank God for a poor sense of hearing and wind!)

I'm talking about those moments when your child rolls over for the first time and peeks up to lock eyes with you because he knows you are proud, or when he starts dancing in his high chair to the beat of a really good song because he's seen you do it a time or two while doing the dishes. The moment when you toddler rides his bike throughout the neighborhood, stopping at the corners to make sure a car isn't coming. How about those moments when he insists on opening the door and says, "Ladies first."

Today was one of those days.

As we sat eating our quick and convenient lunch at Sam's club today, we started talking about this man who was checking out nearly 10,000 pieces of bubble gum. I stated that I wondered what he was going to do with all that gum trying to see what story Henry would fabricate.

He said, "I'm not sure, but what do you think?"

I said, "I don't know, but I hope he brushes his teeth from all the sugar."

After a brief pause he says very matter-of-fact and with confidence, "My hypothesis is..."

"WHHHAAAT!?" I shriek without letting him finish his thought, which I later regretted because it probably was going to be as equally as good as using the word hypothesis. "Where did you learn that word?"

"Buddy says it."

For those of you who don't know, Buddy is a dinosaur on a PBS show. I was so amazed that he could use the word correctly that I laughed and beamed with pride all at once. I guess a bit (or sometimes a lot, come on it's been a long, long, long winter) of tv isn't all that bad.

We've been working with the baby putting himself to sleep lately. At some points it feels like a struggle and easier just to rock him to sleep (besides, I get a bit of snuggle time with him). Today at nap, he was doing everything in his power to make putting him to sleep difficult. It was when I finally just decided to lay him because I was annoyed that I realized that's what he was trying to tell me all along--"I want to do it myself." He quickly rolled to his side and drifted off.

Those moments that make me want to jump around and dance somedays feel far and in between. But when they do happen, I feel elated, proud, blessed and overwhelmed with the love I have for being a parent.

Thank you boys. I love you.

empowered

The warmer weather has finally arrived in our neighborhood and it has been drawing people out of their homes and into their garages, yards and the streets. It's fun to reacquaint with people whom we have not seen in months, see how big last year's summer babies have gotten and just to be outside and get fresh air.

However, there is one part of spring that I dislike. The part where I have to sit next to my 3 year old son as he watches a slew of 6 to 9 year old boys chase around our stretch of the neighborhood with plastic guns, saying inappropriate things. Last year, Hen was easy to convince that he was too young to play with these boys. This year, it's a different story. He stood and observed for a total of 20 seconds before running to the garage and getting his own plastic squirt gun. He quickly ran to the corner of our home with the hope that he would be invited to play.

Last spring Henry didn't own any toy guns and it was then that we had to decide as parents how we felt about playing with weapons. After much thought, it was decided that it was okay to play with those types of toys; however, our dilemma was really about the language and behavior that the neighbor boys were using. Well, if we thought last year's choices were bad, this year it's only gotten worse. Is the f-bomb appropriate language for a 9 year old? Ahhh, no.

I think the difference between Henry and the majority of these kids is that parents are present. It's not that I hover over Henry, but he's only three!! I don't trust him to run free, so he's supervised. I really wish this group of boys was better supervised by parents (one dad can't do it all) because I know these boys would make better choices.

And that's what it boils down to--making better choices. I don't believe Henry is too young to learn how to surround himself with people who make good choices. So we went searching for someone to play with and we didn't need to look too far. On our short hunt and later over dinner, we talked with Henry about how important it is to surround yourself with people who make good choices. One day he will want to hunt with his dad and Papa, and when that time comes, he will be properly trained how to safely use artillery. As for right now, I can't help but believe that allowing him to play with older kids, exposing him to bad language and inappropriate behavior would do him any good. He has plenty of time to find out all about that on his own without the presence of his mother. And it's at that point, that I hope he will have been empowered enough to make the right choices.

You Don't Know Jacque

If you could smell my breath right now, you would smell Diet Coke and dark chocolate. I imagine at-home moms in the 70's and 80's would roughly compare my combo pack to their coffee and cigarettes. We've all got our favorite combo and depending on the day, our own mood and mood of the house, it may change. Nevertheless, I am not judging.

Eating dark chocolate is a little habit I picked up while working at St. Wence. People were always pushing the "it's healthy" concept, assuring me that it was better to eat the dark chocolate than to pass it by. But the quantity that I eat, I think I surpasses the recommended serving size, and I'm not so sure it's healthy at that point. Chocolate, dark, semi-sweet, milk, whatever your pleasure, was always a sure way to smooth things over on a tough day with the team, or if I needed a little favor done by the office gals. Diet Coke...hum...think I picked that up this summer with all the 3:00 snacks dates I had with Sherry. By the end of the summer, we were making guac and sipping Diet Coke--after our power naps, of course.

Judging. I'm not sure it's entirely possible not to judge ourselves or others. I'd like to use the word "we" as my subjects in the following sentences, but since I can only speak for myself, I will choose the word "I"--assuming that perhaps, you might feel somewhat the same as I do. I'm my worst critic. I judge how I look, speak to my children, husband and friends, how eloquently I can convey my inner thoughts to you, my behavior, how I discipline, my ability to plan, organize, clean, parent...and the list continues. I believe I inhibit my own capabilities because of my lack of positive thinking that I am capable to do great things. If I could just believe at all times that I am good enough. I had a former supervisor tell me on more than one occasion, "You are harder on yourself than anyone else is." I believe it's hindsight that actually allows me to feel good about choices I've made or things I've done.

So, yes, judging exists. I'm okay with that; however it's how judgements are shared that pose problems...

My blogging today stems from not needing you to pat me on the back to tell me that I am good enough, but really from a couple of incidents that my friends have encountered recently that have provoked conversations of why people--other mothers and fathers in my friends' situations, share the judgements with others when it's really none of their business. We never reached the bottom of this issue, but it does make me think. I have drawn a conclusion of my own that I'll share with you in a bit--after a quick story.

I was in a beauty supply store last week picking up some nail polish, ironically named You Don't Know Jacque (OPI, love it, you've got to try it before this craptastic winter is finished. You'll feel better every time you look at your lovely nails.) Anyhow, I was the only customer in the store--besides my entourage in tote, and I was extremely disturbed by the supervisor's inability to reprimand her employee professionally, or what I perceived to be professional. The supervisor was scolding and I mean heavily scolding this employee in front of me, my entourage and a second employee in regards to how unwelcoming and uninformative she was to a customer earlier in the day. Little did she notice that she nor the others had welcomed me into the store, asked me if I could be helped or that she was embarrassing this employee. I completely believe in teaching and counseling people in their line of work, but I was humiliated for this poor girl and disappointed in the supervisor.

When I approached the counter, I wanted so badly to say something to the poor girl--to relieve her of her embarrassment. But most of all, I wanted to let her know that her supervisor's supervisor should be informed about the unprofessional behavior. I have no tolerance for unprofessionalism--it Bugs me--and that's Bugs with a capital B people. But, I didn't say anything. I couldn't muster the words that I so badly wanted to express. I even went home that night and shared my frustration with my husband and later with my parents on Skype (Henry's new fixation.)

Today, I find clarity in this situation. It was never my place to say anything because too often, people get involved in situations that they never had a place in to begin with. We are hard enough on ourselves that we don't need other people sharing their judgements of how we do things, how we say things etc. As mothers, shouldn't we be more tolerant of other mothers who cannot get their kid to cooperate as they trudge through the grocery store? As avid bloggers and blog lovers, shouldn't we be accepting of the format in which people's inner thoughts are shared--If you don't like it, move on buddy, there are millions of blogs out there!

In closing, I know I've made some poor choices in the past with judgement that I wish I didn't make. God didn't make me to be perfect, but to be a person who is constantly learning. Instead of sharing judgements, walk away with an open mind. Being mindful of my own actions, carefully not making the same choices as ones I've seen others make that I dislike. Because most of the time you might think you know, but the reality is that You Don't Know Jacque.

Menace

Henry has taken a liking to the movie character, Dennis the Menace. He likes the devil-like, sneaky, pesky behavior of Dennis--not to mention his sling shot, which is super cool in Henry's eyes. So to idolize Dennis in full capacity, Henry insisted on dressing like him too. He was asking for bib overalls for a while, to which I kept replying, "No, you don't have any." Until I finally figured out that he wanted overalls to look like Dennis. I dug out a pair of overalls that Scott wore as a young boy, which are about two sizes too small. They literally are a couple inches below Henry's knees. He pairs his overalls with his cowboy boots, which were also Scott's as a young boy. He found a hat that is also too small, and now we have a life-like Dennis the Menace in our house. Last week, Hen begged for Harrison to dress like Dennis too. So now I have Harrison in overalls that are a bit too big. Regardless, they looked cute as Dennis look-alikes.

Speaking of menace, I am so ready for the season of winter to end. The last few days have been gloomy & damp, but a bit on the warmer side. It's the kind of weather that can make a person a bit depressed. We've spent the last few days watching movies in the afternoon with the shades drawn just because it's that kind of weather. It's the kind of weather that makes you want to bake. I made banana bread on Monday morning (I didn't have any eggs, so I made my friend, TT's recipe which she made for Henry all the time when he had an egg allergy. She just omitted the eggs and the bread turned out great! I also really like her recipe because if you don't feel like banana bread or simply don't have rotten bananas, there are options to turn it into pumpkin or zucchini bread. YUM!) Tomorrow, I want to make sugar cookie dough so we can make shamrock sugar cookies. No, we don't have a drop of Irish in us, but St. Patty's Day is enough of a reason to make sugar cookies.

I have had to be creative with what I am baking these days because my supplies are low and going to the grocery store is a daunting task. I actually don't mind grocery shopping if I can go on a weekday morning. I load up the boys and head to Super Target, which happens to be the only local grocery store that can accommodate my 3 year old and infant car seat--I don't know what they other stores are thinking when they put carts that won't work for mothers in their stores. I like the weekday mornings because it's just me and other mothers who understand, or at least should understand--kids. The store isn't usually too busy and if our list is short enough, we are in and out in a reasonable amount of time.

We were gone over the weekend, and I cleaned the house really well before we left. There is just something about coming home to a clean house that is way better than coming home to a dusty house. But it seems that no matter how well I try to clean the house, there is this fine layer of winter salt and sand that just won't go away. I washed our entry way rugs, but it is just still there. Oh well, soon enough I can put the rugs away. At least the rugs got washed.

In short, it appears that in the ebb and flow of life, we can find shiny spots in moments that appear dull and dreary.