Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Yesterday was my husband’s birthday. The birthday celebration, however, was really more for the three year old than the 33 yr old.

I took Sam to pick out a gift for his daddy, then to pick up balloons, (which were more for Sam’s enjoyment than daddy’s), and then to pick up the chocolate cake with chocolate icing (which was a little more for my enjoyment than for my husband’s).

Unfortunately, this was not the first birthday that my husband was not the center of attention on his special day. My poor husband has a history of not-so-happy birthdays…

13th – He was hit by a MACK truck. Yes, you read that right. A semi ran him over, he was caught up in the wheels, and he was nearly road kill. On his birthday. Miraculously, he’s fine now. Other than the scars on his legs, you would never know it happened. Praise the Lord.

20th – This was the first birthday I celebrated with him as my new boyfriend. I went to my BFF’s sister’s wedding and showed up late to his party, super drunk and with a cheesecake that gave everyone diarrhea.

25th – Like this year’s b-day, his 25th was actually more for the kids than for him. Not our kids. Hubby and I helped out with our church’s Youth Group and the kids adored him. So, thanks to me, his celebration was a gathering of 13 year olds, and he was the main attraction. They were thoroughly amused to adorn him in “Over the Hill” garb and point out his fresh strands of grey hair. They also thought he was 30.

26th– He spent this birthday delivering the eulogy at his grandmother’s funeral.

27th-28th – We both went back to school, and his birthday was right before/during finals week. Did we even celebrate?

29th – I had been spending the past month, days and nights, in the hospital at my mom‘s bedside. I got him a few silly gifts from the hospital gift shop. Then in an attempt to give him something he would appreciate, I took myself, pregnant belly and all, to the beer distributor to get him a case of Guiness. Maybe it would help him forget that he would miss another month of watching his baby grow inside me.

31st – He gave me a gift instead:

32nd- I invited his parents over to celebrate. I spent an outrageous amount of money on a cake that was supposed to be fantastically de-lish. Instead, it was so disgusting I doubt the dog would have eaten it. We ended up throwing it out.

33rd – This year, his birthday was not entirely his own, true. But instead of the focus being taken away from him, it was enhanced by a three year old’s enthusiasm to celebrate. And I think he had a nice day…

In addition to his new ipod touch,

hubby got a card with a hand drawn picture of a “jelwee fish” in it, a thoughtfully chosen box of candy, an eagerly sung rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and help blowing out candles. Plus, the chance to share the thoughtfully selected gift.

Once you are a parent, birthdays are celebrated more for the children than for yourself. But maybe that’s okay…maybe it’s even better. As long as you still get a new ipod, that is.

Happy Birthday Daddy!

I am SO not ready

He sat in a circle of preschoolers on a brightly colored number “7” carpet square. He looked so cute and so content as he listened intently to a woman dressed as Mother Goose tell stories and nursery rhymes. It was preschool open house week and we were sitting in, observing for the day.

I was in rare obsessive-compulsive mom form. I was determined to walk away equipped with a list of skills that he should have mastered before school starts in the fall. He still doesn’t use a proper pencil hold…will that be an issue? What about the names of coins, he still thinks everything is called a penny. What about…

I wanted to find out how I’ll know that he will be ready for preschool. When in reality, I should have been concerning myself with how I’ll know that I will be ready for preschool.

There he was, my three year old looking so at home in that classroom. A classroom full of four year olds. Four. I remember being four myself! And this time next year he will be four and a half!

Ugh, I’m SO not ready.

He made a little friend immediately. Sitting to his left was a little boy who also had a little baby brother. That was all it took for them to strike up a conversation and for each of them to find a new friend.

To his right was “B,” a little girl who has been one of his favorite friends since last year. He loves his playdates with B so much that he imagines playing with her even when she‘s not around. When we hear him “talking to himself“ in his room, we know the answer to “What are you doing Sam?”… will usually be “Oh, just playing with B.”

He was equally happy to sit next to his new friend and his old friend, his male friend and his female friend. Because at three, he only sees friends. He was asked to choose a picture from the story board, and he picked the big, pink castle with the princess. Because at three, he doesn’t see one picture as more gender appropriate than another, he only sees the biggest picture on the story board.

A one year age difference means nothing in the adult world. But in preschool world, a whole new social perspective emerges between age three and age four.

A few months ago, Sam had to have one of his two front teeth pulled due to an A-typical growth pattern. Of course it had to be one of the front teeth, right? So far, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Truth be told, it bothers me much more. And so far, none of the kids in his three year old circle of friends seem to notice, or care.

A little four year old boy at the preschool noticed Sam’s missing tooth though. He didn’t say anything directly to Sam, and Sam didn’t hear (or just didn’t care) when the little boy started talking about how HE had more teeth.

I realized at that moment that at age four, kids think on a different level than they do at age three, in more than just the academic sense. I realized at that moment that it doesn’t matter as much if Sam has a proper pencil hold or some other arbitrary preschool readiness skill. (I never got my list anyway).

I realized that it might be starting sooner than I thought it would. Soon, insensitive words will chip away at my son’s self esteem, and I will really have to step up as a parent. I will have to help him work through anger and hurt feelings. I will have to get over my own hurt and anger felt on his behalf. I will have to find the right words to teach him the importance of inward beauty and the value of character.

I realized that I need to be prepared for preschool.

And I am SO not ready.

Could Be Worse

As the day started out, I made the grocery list, got the boys dressed, and slapped on a bit of makeup (lest I be asked at the grocery store checkout again if it’s a WIC order.)

Could be worse.

I had my 8 feet of overpriced stretchy cotton…aka my Moby wrap…bandaged around me, ready to wear my living accessory while shopping. I packed snacks and cell phone, coupons and diapers and we were close to making our way out when baby had the audacity to touch Sam’s fire truck. Long story short, Sam ended up in a time out…that he seemed to enjoy… for his unwillingness to share. I spot baby on the floor eating my grocery list.

Could be worse.

Max had an unexpected poop, Sam needed to use the potty before we left, and I was getting hungry. Wow, almost lunchtime already? Baby was tired, hungry and fussy. So, off with the Moby, up with my shirt, and introduce hope that a quick snack would suffice…and perhaps lull baby into a milk coma that would last until we got home. No such luck.

But, could be worse.

Get coats and shoes on ….Sam rambles, “Can doggie come with us? No. okay. Just baby then.”… Sam hops in his seat …I click baby’s carrier in the base ….Crap, I forgot to rewrite the list (or bring the chewed pieces of the old one) ….Turn the key in the ignition, and just before driving off I hear, “Mommy, can you buckle me in?”

Could I be a worse mom?

We got to the store and I asked Sam if he would rather ride in a car-shaped cart or go to the Eagle’s Nest (childcare room). I hoped he’d choose Eagle’s Nest, so he chose car cart. After testing three carts, he decides on one and we’re ready for some shopping. Max was drowsy, so I left him in his carrier and hoped he would nap while I shopped. No such luck.

But could be worse, I know.

Max was fine as long as I kept moving, but would cry at every stop. Sam was whiney. I was hot, hungry, and annoyed. My bag kept falling off my shoulder and their was no room in the stupid undersized car cart for the bag, baby and groceries.

Could be worse though.

Sam’s whining prompted me to offer him his snack.
“Here Sam, do you want some Goldfish?” …I handed him the bag ‘o fish and reached in the bag for hand-sanitizing wipes. “Here. Wipe your hands firsss….Nevermind.”

Could be….you know.

So, we finally get to the check out line and Sam spots the “Cars” movie playing in the Eagle’s Nest.

Not much could be worse.

He eventually agreed to go home after a popsicle bribe, and Max finally fell asleep (now that it’s time to go).

Things could always be worse.

We pull up in front of the house and Sam has a breakdown because we’re home. “I want to go back to the grocery store and watch Cars. I don’t want to be home!”

Oh, well.

I leave both kids strapped in while I bring the groceries in. After he’s released, Sam gets out of the car to greet the dog who is sniffing out another good place to pee. Before I had a chance to carry the baby up the steps, Sam took off down the neighbor’s driveway and into their yard. I set the baby down on the sidewalk and chased after him ..when merely shouting for him to come back didn’t yield desired results.

Could be worse…

After I chased him far enough into the neighboring yard that the baby was out of my sight, I went back to pick up the carrier. I got half way toward baby in front of the house when I saw Sam run toward the road in the back of the house. He turned the corner and ran to the end of the block. I had to abandon the baby in his carrier in front of the house…on the sidewalk. I ran as fast as I could, screaming Sam’s name at the full capacity of my lungs. My bellowing caught the attention of the driver of an oncoming car, who stopped in case the boy stepped off the curb. Sam froze at the sight of the car and I was able to get him.

Could definately be worse.

I grabbed his hand and we ran together back to the baby who was thankfully safe and sound on the sidewalk in front of the house.

It could definitely be worse.

“I’m sorry I runned away mommy. I’m sorry I runned away.”

ME: **silent**

“Mommy, I’m sorry I runned away. I’m sorry I runned away momma.”

ME: **silent**

I took his coat off without saying a word, carried him upstairs without a sound. I knew a time out wouldn’t phase him today. I had to spank him. He has to learn that running away is beyond unacceptable. I tried to explain to him as he wailed why he had to get that swat. Then I told him he had to stay in his room for a while. (i.e. until I calmed down). For the next hour I periodically stood at the bottom of the steps to listen to him. He cried for a while, then recovered. Eventually he started to play, then was silent. I went up to the top of the steps to see if he fell asleep. He was sitting on the floor beside his bed. When he saw me, he ran up to the doorway with an immediate, sincere apology. “I’m sorry I runned away,” his humble voice poured out in remorse.

We sat on the steps and had a talk about why it is such a huge no-no to run away like that. I told him that a car could give him a boo-boo that a band-aid couldn’t fix and it would be very scary. He looked at me with a wide-eyed fear and understanding. I told him that I forgave him and he dove into me with a huge loving hug and a heartfelt “I wuv you, momma!”

Yeah, life could be worse….

Convenience

I recently had the opportunity to sit in on a panel discussion on schooling options…Public vs. Private Christian vs. Home schooling. Each mother had incredibly convicting reasons why she chose the option she represented. Of the three, the most striking was the Public School representative.

Her narrative was so touching I almost shed a tear.

She passionately spoke about how their family believed that the public school system was a mission field and that they wanted to be involved in the school system as Christians as well as parents. She told stories about how they met with teachers and prayed with them. How the teachers would call them with prayer requests and tell them about students who could use a “positive influence.” Then she told the stories about the kids whose lives were affected through their decision to get involved. She spoke about the many letters they received over the years penned by these students as they approached their graduation day, outlining the family’s impact on their lives.

I wish I could say that’s why I’m leaning toward the public school option. But it’s not. I’m leaning toward public school because the schools are within walking distance from my house, there’s no tuition (unlike private), and it will give me a little kid-free time through the week (unlike home schooling).

Similarly, I wish I could say that my 8 month old still sleeps in our bed because co-sleeping is our family philosophy and we do it primarily to promote bonding and intimacy. Not that I disagree with that philosophy in any way, but it just wasn’t our “plan” before having children.

I had lots of “plans” about the type of parent I would be:

…I would never allow more than an hour of TV per day (if that)….studies showed that excessive TV viewing under age 3 increased the likelihood of ADD in adolescents.

… I would never give him candy to keep him quiet….well, that’s just bad parenting, and of course, all the popular literature disproved of it.

… I would never let my baby sleep in bed with me…too dangerous, almost everything I read warned against it.

All the popular literature had me freaking out over the potential risks of co-sleeping so much, I was a nervous wreck anytime my first son was in bed with us. I couldn’t get the hang of nursing lying down and he started sleeping through the night at 6 months, so it never was an issue. We were lucky to have such an easy baby.

By the time baby number two came along, I knew the TV and the candy had a stronghold on my parenting techniques, but co-sleeping still scared the crap out of me.

Things change.

When I was pregnant with my first, I saw his face in a dream and it was like I “knew” him. I don’t know how else to explain it, I just knew there was something special about that dream. I had a similar dream with my second. I could see his eyes sparkling with vivacity. I just knew he would be a happy baby.

And he is. Now. He’s the happiest baby ever…strangers nickname him “smiles.”

But he didn’t start out that way. I was so distressed when I thought I really didn’t “know” him from my dream the way I thought I would. He never seemed happy. He cried A LOT. It turned out that he had some reflux issues that resolved after a couple of months.

But he loved to cuddle, and always wanted to be held, just to be touching someone (mainly me). He would also wake up every two hours all night long. For MONTHS. So, as a sanity saver, I learned to nurse lying down.

At first, I attempted to put him back in his bassinet every time he finished nursing. But he was…(and still is)…a very light sleeper and almost always woke up the minute his head hit the bassinet mattress. Ironically, he would fall fast asleep the very second his head hit our mattress.

So, I eventually grew comfortable enough to fall asleep while feeding him in a side-lying position. And I didn’t move him when I woke up and realized he was still there. He slept so much better (and much longer) in our bed, so we did what worked.

Now I love having him sleep next to us. I love that he is such a cuddler and I love that my presence comforts him to a peaceful sleep.

Like I said, I wish I could say that he’s still there because it‘s our family philosophy to co-sleep. I wish we held to any parenting philosophy. I’m not totally sold on the Baby Wise thing nor am I completely sold on Dr Sears attachment style of parenting. Instead, it turns out that the Spilled milk family philosophy is CONVENIENCE.

The problem is, the selfish brand of “Convenience” parenting doesn’t come with any books.

But selfish and unselfish alike, my wavering thoughts these days are:

On one hand, I think he needs to learn independence and learn how to soothe himself to sleep. On the other hand, I know he’s not going to want to sleep with us forever and we want to cherish this time while it lasts.

On one hand, it’s dangerous for him to be in bed alone, so it ties me to the bed even when I don’t want to be there
On the other hand, I caught him a couple times lying on his stomach with his face down. I tried to wait as long as I could to see if it would startle him awake. I waited to (a slow) count of 10, and he didn’t move. So now I would worry as much about him sleeping in a crib outside my view as I did when he was born about the dangers of him sleeping in our bed.

My husband is as conflicted as I am. The sweetheart that he is, he enjoys snuggling with the baby as much as I do, and doesn’t mind him being there. On the other hand, he wouldn’t object to the baby moving out either since he misses the former “marital use” of the bed.

So, what to do? Either decision goes against the “Convenience” family philosophy. Allowing him to remain in our bed keeps our delightful codependent relationship blissfully in tact and allows me to monitor his sleeping positions, but hinders my husband’s sex life and my personal freedom to physically detach myself from my little snuggle junkie. But moving him means I’ll have to endure lots of crying and getting out of bed in the middle of the night, and I’ve grown quite fond of staying in bed through the night.

So, I’ll most likely wait another month, and if I don’t catch him kissing the mattress anymore, we’ll let the sleep training begin. It will be physically and emotionally stressful on all of us, but in the long run, it will promote the “Convenience” style of parenting it seems we have adopted. I hope.