Tag Archives for kids

Things I’ve Said?!?!?

After seven years in the shopping center biz working with the general public, I thought I’d seen and said it all.  Not even close.  Here’s a condensed list of things I’ve actually said since I’ve become a mom:
Don’t pick your/my/the dog’s nose.
Stop licking the window/shopping cart/railing/plants/sidewalk/that kid.
No, mama doesn’t have a weenie.
Stop painting/pretending to eat/licking the dog.
Don’t put that bead/blueberry/raisin/rolly bug in your nose/ear/mouth.
Don’t draw on the wall/window/dog/car/table/phone/stairs/me.
I don’t think the birds outside want your spaghetti/chicken/banana/chocolate brownie.
No, the dog can’t change your diaper with her paws.
Yes sweetie, I’ve put a sign on the door that says, “No Monsters Allowed”
No, we can’t have a pet rolly bug/worm/bee/moth/cow/gorilla in the house.
Please don’t put your train/panda/helicopter/face in the toilet.
More to come, but for now I’d like to just print out this list and hand it to him for reference.  I guess I’ll have to wait until he can actually read, but by then this list will most likely be 100 pages long…

Being Overprotective. Or Not.

So is it bad that I have SB convinced that if he ever rides on a motorcycle all his hair will blow off?
Being raised by a professional Jewish mother, I tend to lean towards the overprotective side and this really bugs me sometimes.  I’m sure it bugs SB a lot of the time.  I’ve resisted the urge to make him wear a bike helmet 24/7, and so far I haven’t wrapped him in bubble wrap, but it’s a fine line I walk…
As a kid, I always hated having the earliest curfew and having my mom hover at the pool every time my friends and I went swimming, well into my teens.  My grandma, with her charming Viennese accent, always said, “you’ve got to vatch”.  Doors were locked all the time and every terrible news story was discussed at length with a dire warning to us to be careful.  It’s a miracle we survived without cell phones, helmets, knee pads and GPS. 
So now I hear myself telling SB to be careful, stop putting stuff in his mouth, and the hardest – don’t pet dogs you don’t know.  I was bitten three times as a kid, despite my mom’s hovering, so I suppose there’s lessons we just learn on our own.  But not on my watch.  No way, Jose.
So how do you draw the line and not be too overprotective?  What if he grows up to be one of those freaky testosterone laden Outside Magazine kind of guys?  “Sure son, go ahead and juggle those flaming chainsaws while you’re tightrope walking across Niagra Falls.  Big wave surfing?  Why the heck not?  You want to hike across Afghanistan?  Go for it!”  See what I mean?  Boys like to do stuff like that.

I guess for now I’ll work on keeping Mr. Potato Heads eyes out of SB’s nose and try to stop him from eating rolly bugs.  Baby steps.  But I’m not going to give up on the motorcycle/baldness lie, at least not until he calls me on it…

Please Where Are Your Balls?

Last week I took SB (small boy) to the Pediatrician for his 2.5 year check up.  Now I need to preface this by saying that his doctor is a God among men, he juggles, plays with SB, he surfs, recommends sushi bars – oh, and he’s incredibly kind and competent.  All kinds of good stuff that you want in a doctor. 

So on the way to his office, SB was all excited about the juggling balls, and I, being a good if rather naggy mom, reminded him to say please if he wanted the doctor to juggle.  We finally got there, and when the God of all Pediatricians walked in, SB blurted out, “please where are your balls?”  I realized then and there that first of all, the ground NEVER swallows you up when you want it to, and that I was doomed to a lifetime of embarrassing little moments like this one. 

Another gem he likes to pull is when we get in elevators – he tells people to get out, or says, “I no like that man/lady/whatever”.  Then, depending on the person’s child tolerance level (or CTL), we either share a hearty chuckle, or ride in stony silence with SB glaring at the person the entire ride.  My theory is that people who have kids are a bit more tolerant since they’ve lived through these hellish memorable moments.

Which brings us to the delightful woman at Costco we encountered a few weeks ago.  As most parents know, you have to pick your battles and there’s nothing SB hates more than riding in a shopping cart (unless it has one of those damned cars attached to the front, then I’m stuck schlepping a motor home around the store).  So for fun at Costco, we run into the freezing produce section (on a side note, why is it kept at Arctic tundra temps?) and he screams and laughs, I grab the raspberries and we make a quick getaway.  Anything for a thrill.  So we did our usual shenanigans, and when SB screamed, a rather evil, witchy looking older woman said, (and I swear this is true) “what an argument for birth control!” 

I give myself bonus points for not murdering her and hiding her behind the produce (it’s cold enough to hide a body for a while, I’d guess). I did lay into her with a rather scathing retort (without using bad words, of course), and then followed her around the store when SB started melting down and screaming about being in the cart.

Parenthood has so many moments for enlightenment and growth.  I try to avoid them at all costs.