A while ago I stopped by to see Matt at school during his lunchbreak. I found him in a computer lab finishing his apple and we were both surprised when Peter decided to help himself too.
buck·eye - noun, \ˈbək-ˌī\ 1: any of various shrubs or trees (genus Aesculus) of the horse-chestnut family; also : the large nutlike seed of such a shrub or tree 2: capitalized : a native or resident of Ohio — used as a nickname
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Wants versus Needs
Let me just begin by stating, for public record, that I do not sit around every day stewing about all the injustices of my childhood. I have forgiven my mother and father for everything and honestly do wish them well... so long as their version of well is kept very, very far away from me and my family.
That being said, as my own son is growing up so quickly before my very eyes, I find myself considering my own childhood experiences often. And to be perfectly honest, most of the time my thoughts revolve around how I'm going to try my damndest to avoid making many of the mistakes my parents did.
A few weeks ago at church some girls and I were discussing our "battle plans" for how to raise our children loving God first. This particular topic resonates strongly with me because I certainly was not raised that way at all. Yet when I think about the people or parents I most admire and strive to be like, they ALL have very strong belief in God first, and above all else.
And it's not even that my family, at one point, was not religious. At one point, they, or even we, were. But far more important in our lives then God ever was, was the pursuit of STUFF.
Ah, the American dream... to accumulate more and better stuff than everybody else.
Ugh!
I was looking over some of the few pictures I have from my childhood and something occurred to me. In nearly all of the photos STUFF has almost as prominent a role as the people do. At Christmas we are posed in front of the tree with our pile of gifts around us. At Easter we are in front of the house, proudly displaying our house and its gardens. At birthdays we are perched behind our cake, showing off whatever new outfit we just received.
And there are NO pictures of just us, you know, happily living our lives. (Stuff excluded.)
Now, I take pictures of my son nearly every single day (gotta love digital cameras!!!) And sure, I take pictures of him with STUFF sometimes, but I can assure you that the memories I am trying to capture have very little to do with the toys he's playing with, or even the adorable clothes he's wearing.
Don't get me wrong. I want to give my child the VERY BEST of everything. And, to a certain extent, mortgage in San Diego not withstanding, we are able to afford to give him quite a bit. And that's great. My husband works very hard for his paycheck. BUT... I'm really starting to worry about all the STUFF we get for him.
I don't want my child (or future children) to grow up thinking STUFF will make him (them) happy.
Because it doesn't.
A lesson I certainly learned from my mother.
When I was pretty young I had all the STUFF I could have ever wanted. We had a pretty nice little house full of name brand furniture (although really, are you kidding me, who cares about name brands on furniture? Isn't it supposed to be the quality and craftsmanship that counts?) We had lots of toys. We had pretty nice clothes. And life was pretty good.
But I also have many memories of being forced into STUFF. Call me ungrateful if you want, but I have an early memory of a Christmas... I was probably 6 or 7. I wanted this My Little Pony Stable:
It was cute, it was a stable... ponies live in stables... it could hold 2 or 3 ponies and came with some cool accessories. However, that Christmas what did I receive? Not the stable.
No, instead, I got a My Little Pony Castle:
It was pink. It was fabulous and enormous... and it was amazing. And although I played with it and loved it over the years... It was not. what. I. wanted. (Ponies do NOT live in castles!)
And thinking about it now, the thing that gets me is NOT the fact that I didn't get what I wanted. That's fine. Life isn't about always getting what you want. No, the part that bugs me, is that my parents choose to give me SO MUCH MORE than I wanted. Something that had to have cost so much more.
Why did they insist on spending so much more money than they needed to?
Why did they insist on spending so much more money than they needed to?
I get it, believe me, parents like to spoil their children. I certainly like to spoil mine.
But what happens when things fall apart and you can't spoil them anymore?
That's not something I ever want to face. And I need to start preparing for that NOW.
By the time I got to middle school things in my family were a mess. At some point we were put on the reduced lunch plan at school. But the part that frustrates me STILL is that my mother could never manage to come up with the 40 stupid cents I needed for a lunch!
Where the HELL is a 12 year old supposed to get 40 cents each day if not from her parents?
(And okay, to be fair there were two of us so really it was 80 cents a day and come on people how on Earth was she going to get $4.00 a week to feed her children lunch?!?!?!?)
Was I starving? No. There was always food at home. Stupid food usually, that was way too expensive. Why we had romaine lettuce, Caesar salad dressing and Munster cheese in our house and NO LUNCH money is still a thought that literally makes my head hurt. Because there isn't any place for a kid to go during school lunch time if they haven't got anything to eat. No, they just have to sit there and stare at their friends as they chow down on Lunchables and Doritos and Twinkies and try very hard to ignore the fact they have nothing in front of them. So do their friends.
And I was hungry.
Sure... my friends would take pity. They might share their Doritos. They might even search their backpacks until they discovered a stray quarter, dime and nickel and offer to buy me my lunch for me.
(How humiliating was THAT?)
So this is where I start thinking about WANTS versus NEEDS.
My parents taught me to want stuff. Stuff can make you happy!
But when they couldn't provide the stuff any more... I understood mostly. They were the ones who were sad about that. I just wanted my needs met. I wanted lunch.
Is lunch a need?
I don't know.
When I was in 9th grade I literally grew 8 inches and gained about 20 pounds. Seriously, I did all my growing that year. And I grew right out of all of my shoes and clothes.
Mom didn't buy me new shoes and clothes. I guess she didn't notice or she didn't have the money. She was always good at not noticing stuff because she didn't have the money. (Just like she never noticed our lack of lunches.) I raided her closet and found some old shorts and shirts and shoes to wear.
Mom didn't buy me new shoes and clothes. I guess she didn't notice or she didn't have the money. She was always good at not noticing stuff because she didn't have the money. (Just like she never noticed our lack of lunches.) I raided her closet and found some old shorts and shirts and shoes to wear.
Except one day the old tennis shoes were dirty so I washed them and the dryer sort of ate the sole right off of one of them.
So I had no shoes.
My mom had no solution to offer.
I called a family member (who I shall not name here,) explained what had happened and asked them to borrow 15 dollars for a new pair of shoes.
And I swear to all that is good and Holy in this world that they turned me down.
(And people wonder why I still harbor bitterness deep down inside me towards some of my extended family members. They were, apparently, so busy living their own lives that they either didn't notice or chose to ignore the fact that my brother and I NEEDED help. Either way, they didn't help, and as I just mentioned, on a few occasions, flat out refused us. It doesn't matter. We weren't, and aren't their problem... but just so everyone knows, I'm not just a total bitch about my family for the heck of it. I have reasons for all of it, and even though I forgive everyone and wish them all well, those relationships were all horribly broken long ago and the wounds, although now healed, left deep, ugly scars.)
Did I need shoes? YES. Yes I did.
Last time I checked it was definitely against the rules to go to school bare foot.
But nobody was willing to help.
I wore the shoes with the torn off sole for many more months.
Finally the generosity of a complete stranger helped me. I had a good friend who worked part time in a retirement home. One of the older gentlemen she knew there had no family to speak of and he was always quietly slipping her and the other workers tips and small gifts because he wanted to spend his money in kindness before he died. I guess she told him about me and one day he gave her an envelope for me. Inside I found $100.
I received that envelope in June of 1993. I bought new shoes and some clothes and made that money last until September that year, when I started 10th grade and got my first job.
That was the summer that I learned, once and for all that if I needed something I would have to get it or do it for myself.
I couldn't rely on my family and I certainly couldn't keep hoping for the generosity of random strangers.
The only "person" who I can consistently rely on to help is God.
(Not that my husband isn't amazing. I can rely on him... most of the time. Just, sometimes the military has different opinions.)
This is, actually, a lesson I want Peter to learn. He needs to to learn, some day, to rely on himself (and God) alone.
Is it waaaay to early for me to be thinking about this? Probably.
But as I am giving him things, things I want him to have, I'm teaching him to want STUFF.
Stuff he doesn't always need.
I will always, come Hell or high water, find a way to give that boy the things he NEEDS. He will ALWAYS have a lunch to eat. And I don't care if the dryer eats 50 pairs of his shoes, I will ALWAYS find him a new pair if he needs them.
I will always, come Hell or high water, find a way to give that boy the things he NEEDS. He will ALWAYS have a lunch to eat. And I don't care if the dryer eats 50 pairs of his shoes, I will ALWAYS find him a new pair if he needs them.
The wants though.. those are different. I want him to desire God first. And love. And family. And kindness. And honesty. And generosity towards others.
After all those, then he can want stuff.
And when he's 6 and tells me for Christmas he'd like some matchbox cars I am certainly NOT going to run out and buy him a remote control monster truck.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Climb
Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana is certainly not one of my favorite musicians in the world, but there is a nice message to this particular song, and in combination with video of my baby climbing the stairs, it absolutely makes me cry.
Also this song happened to be topping the charts when Peter was born. This meant that aproximately every tenth minute during the ninth month of my pregnancy this song would come on the radio and I would belt it out as loudly and badly as I could (in my very worst impression of a southern accent) in order to annoy my loving husband.
Ah, memories.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sickness
Peter has bronchitis.
This means that he has a lot of snot dripping out of his nose at all times, a sad little "smoker's cough" and a baby version of laryngitis which means when he babbles, whines or cries he sounds raspy and horribly pathetic .
The plus side to all this is that sometimes when he sneezes he gets rather cool snot bubbles. I have to focus on this small plus side because he's been such a poor pathetic mess of fussy, whining, sick baby boy and PUKE these past few days that if I don't focus on the positive I very well might just loose my mind.
Also, the poor pathetic crying because he's apparently just achy is about enough to break my heart.
Anyway... the pediatrician prescribed some disgusting pink medicine to help kill the infection.
Unfortunately, this disgusting pink medicine entered into our lives only a few days after my son discovered that he has a sensitive enough gag reflex that when he dislikes the texture or taste of something new in his mouth he can make himself throw up with very little effort at all.
This started with mashed potatoes and has developed into an all out Vomit-Fest as baby food versions of meat entered into our lives last week.
In my own child's defense baby food meats are DISGUSTING.
Also I have a really sensitive gag reflex and have nearly vomited all over the dentist on more than one occasion. I bring this up, only to say that maybe Peter comes by his own overly sensitive gag reflex honestly.
And, so, naturally, when I try to give Peter the disgusting pink medicine to cure his bronchitis, he throws up.
A-W-E-S-O-M-E!!!!!
The first time he took the dose like a champ, then drank a whole bottle and was fine until his father tried to feed him a bite of baby food meat. (I think it was ham and green beans or something like that.) Peter let it sit on his tongue for a minute, looked thoroughly HORRIFIED and then gave back the entire contents of his stomach.
My handsome groom merely leaned back so that the projectile Exorcist-style puke didn't hit him.
I got to clean up the mess.
We called our friend who's a nurse and she suggested that we try to give him the meds again, since he probably hadn't digested them.
Matt shoveled a few spoonfuls of rice and carrots into him while I readied another dose...
As the dropper full of medicine approached his mouth, my son took one look at it and threw up all over again.
So much for that.
Skip ahead to this morning, I mixed half a dose in with his oatmeal and bananas hoping to hide the taste. He ate a few bites, then vomited that up at me too.
After a few phone calls, the nurse at my pediatricians office suggested that I mix another half dose in with some formula, which he finally drank all of after only about an hour and half of protests, hissy fits and near-barfs.
It even stayed down.
Until he had a particularly rough coughing spell this evening, immediately following his dinnertime bottle....
...at which point he coughed so hard that he threw up everything he's eaten for probably the last two weeks.
Or maybe even ever.
All. Over. Me.
So the moral of the story:
It's not about how hard it is to deal with a sick child. (Hard.)
It's not even about how how hard it is to get a sick child to take his medicine. (Even harder.)
No, the moral of THIS evening's story is that JUST when you think you've overcome the very worst of something disgusting, things will inevitably find a way to get far, far worse.
And with that, I'm off to take a very very very hot shower and scrub until the smell of puke goes away.
This means that he has a lot of snot dripping out of his nose at all times, a sad little "smoker's cough" and a baby version of laryngitis which means when he babbles, whines or cries he sounds raspy and horribly pathetic .
The plus side to all this is that sometimes when he sneezes he gets rather cool snot bubbles. I have to focus on this small plus side because he's been such a poor pathetic mess of fussy, whining, sick baby boy and PUKE these past few days that if I don't focus on the positive I very well might just loose my mind.
Also, the poor pathetic crying because he's apparently just achy is about enough to break my heart.
Anyway... the pediatrician prescribed some disgusting pink medicine to help kill the infection.
Unfortunately, this disgusting pink medicine entered into our lives only a few days after my son discovered that he has a sensitive enough gag reflex that when he dislikes the texture or taste of something new in his mouth he can make himself throw up with very little effort at all.
This started with mashed potatoes and has developed into an all out Vomit-Fest as baby food versions of meat entered into our lives last week.
In my own child's defense baby food meats are DISGUSTING.
Also I have a really sensitive gag reflex and have nearly vomited all over the dentist on more than one occasion. I bring this up, only to say that maybe Peter comes by his own overly sensitive gag reflex honestly.
And, so, naturally, when I try to give Peter the disgusting pink medicine to cure his bronchitis, he throws up.
A-W-E-S-O-M-E!!!!!
The first time he took the dose like a champ, then drank a whole bottle and was fine until his father tried to feed him a bite of baby food meat. (I think it was ham and green beans or something like that.) Peter let it sit on his tongue for a minute, looked thoroughly HORRIFIED and then gave back the entire contents of his stomach.
My handsome groom merely leaned back so that the projectile Exorcist-style puke didn't hit him.
I got to clean up the mess.
We called our friend who's a nurse and she suggested that we try to give him the meds again, since he probably hadn't digested them.
Matt shoveled a few spoonfuls of rice and carrots into him while I readied another dose...
As the dropper full of medicine approached his mouth, my son took one look at it and threw up all over again.
So much for that.
Skip ahead to this morning, I mixed half a dose in with his oatmeal and bananas hoping to hide the taste. He ate a few bites, then vomited that up at me too.
After a few phone calls, the nurse at my pediatricians office suggested that I mix another half dose in with some formula, which he finally drank all of after only about an hour and half of protests, hissy fits and near-barfs.
It even stayed down.
Until he had a particularly rough coughing spell this evening, immediately following his dinnertime bottle....
...at which point he coughed so hard that he threw up everything he's eaten for probably the last two weeks.
Or maybe even ever.
All. Over. Me.
So the moral of the story:
It's not about how hard it is to deal with a sick child. (Hard.)
It's not even about how how hard it is to get a sick child to take his medicine. (Even harder.)
No, the moral of THIS evening's story is that JUST when you think you've overcome the very worst of something disgusting, things will inevitably find a way to get far, far worse.
And with that, I'm off to take a very very very hot shower and scrub until the smell of puke goes away.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
That Darn Dog
Well!
So at like 9:30 this morning I put the baby down for a nap because he was being a big mess.
About 5 minutes later the doorbell rang and a little maintenance man from housing was here about our drippy kitchen sink.
Yesterday the microwave quit working and this morning the kitchen sink started dripping and naturally the sink was the one they were here to fix even though I really CAN'T live with out my microwave. Except now I have to for a few days. But don't worry because they were here to fix the sink after only an hour!!
Like always I took a minute to try to find a Brutus before opening the front door... as it turned out Brutus had decided he was going to have a nap in the rocking chair with his baby and was now locked in Peter's room. By the time I went up and let him out of the baby's room (lest he wake Peter with all his barking) the little maintenance man was already at the back door, which is the way Matt suggested the maintenance people come and go if we're not here. That way, if our dog runs out, he's only going to get into the back yard.
Do you see where this story is going yet?
I let the maintenance man right in, and Brutus went right out.
I didn't worry about that, because I assumed the fence gate was closed and the maintenance man probably didn't need to have my dog's nose in his business while he was working.
(By the way, one should never ever make assumptions.)
So the little maintenance man puttered around with the sink for awhile until he said he thought it was fine now and then offered to check our smoke alarms and our filters since he was here anyway. I said okay and he went out the front to get some stuff from his truck.
I wandered into the kitchen and in the process glanced at the backyard. Then I noticed there was no Brutus out there.
CRAP.
I stuck my head out, to check better and saw that the little maintenance man must have left the gate open.
And I start to panic.
CRAP. CRAP. CRAP.
I ran out front to tell the maintenance man to forget about the alarms and the filter and go away because my dog is gone (and its ALL HIS FAULT, although I didn't expressly say that) and I'm going to have to wake up my baby from his nap now so that I can go looking for my dog.
And by the way has he ever had to wake a sleeping baby because it is NOT generally a fun thing to do!?!
(I didn't say that. I just thought it REALLY loudly. )
He asked if there is anything he could do. I mentioned that if he happened to see a little red foxy dog running wild and he could coax him back into our yard that would be great.
Then I ran upstairs, woke Peter from a dead sleep, grabbed my phone, the dog's leash and and my keys. I called my friend Christie to see if she could take Peter while I went searching, but the call went to voice mail.
I hesitated for about 30 seconds considering whether I should head out on foot with the baby in the stroller or in the car. I opted for the car, practically throwing my first born into his car seat. The baby at this point was looking at me like maybe I was INSANE and wondering what on Earth was wrong with his Mommy and why he wasn't asleep comfortabally in his crib any longer.
I drove a loop down through the older housing part of our neighborhood where he ran last time... past the little dog park and then eventually back up the hill in front of our house.
Nothing.
At our house I stopped and got out to re-open our fence gate just in case he decided to come back on his own.
Christie called me back as I was starting to get hysterical. She was not at home, she was at Costco but she promised to try to hurry and if I didn't find him before she was home she would dispatch her own little troops to help.
But Brutus had been gone at least 10 minutes before I'd even noticed.
He could be anywhere by now.
Matt and I have often wondered what would happen if he got out and one of us wasn't chasing him. Would he just run and run and run until he was hopelessely lost or got hit by a car or something? Or would he eventually go back home on his own?
The little maintenance man in his truck passed me as I was getting back in the car. He told me he had driven around some looking, but hadn't see him.
I mentioned (probably a little too meanly) that my dog's a runner and might be half way to Salinas before he decided to slow down. (Salinas, by the way is a crappy little town about 25 miles from here.) The little man, who already looked guilty, started to look a fairly green. He apologized again. I sort of ignored him and got back in my car.
I drove up our street slowly, planning to do our normal daily walk loop and trying to figure out a game plan. I looking nervously at the houses that border the big hill and back up to wooded areas and then eventually the freeway. I was just hoping he hadn't left our neighborhood.
Then, amazingly, right about the moment that I let my brain start to imagine that I'd never see him again....there he was! My crazy little escapee was standing in the grass eating something (probably a big pile of some other dog's poo.) My heart jumped right out of my chest.
I pulled over about 10 yards away from him and tried in vain to quietly turn the car off. Instead I managed to stall it out LOUDLY because my brain wasn't working clearly and the whole concept of leaving my feet on the clutch and the break while putting the car in neutral and pulling the emergency break before turning off the ignition was just far too complex for me.
I checked the baby mirror and saw that Peter was sitting sort of dazed looking in his seat. I also noticed that's his seat's straps were all twisted and probably not securing him properly.
Then I noticed the big red NO PARKING sign immediately next to the place I'd just decided to leave the car. With my baby inside. I wondered if Brutus was going to run again and if he did, what I would do.
(All of that last bit happened in about 3 seconds mind you.)
I got out of the car and called Brutus' name.
He looked up and came trotting over towards me.
I sort of hunched down and prepared to try to block should he bolt,like he's done in the past, making catching him a big game.
He didn't bolt.
He walked right up to me and sat down just as I grabbed him, probably a lot harder than was necessary.
I got him by his collar and a sizable chunk of his neck fur, but I wasn't risking him pulling out of his collar and loosing him again.
He was soaking wet and happy as could be as I tried to wrestle him into his harness. I don't know why I didn't just pick him up and put him in the car. When I got the harness on him at last it was backwards and twisted and I'd missed one of his front legs so I had to take it off and start all over. He looked at me like maybe I was crazy and eventually I got it right.
I walked him to the car and found that the passenger door was locked.
Of course I'd left the keys inside. With my baby. And my phone.
Naturally then I started to panic that the drivers side would be locked too and I wouldn't be able to get in and everything would go from bad to, well, worse.
But it wasn't.
I opened the door and Brutus hopped right in.
If you ignore the crazy, and can live with the bred in desire to run away all the time, he's a very good dog actually.
We drove home.
I left both the baby and the dog in the car for a minute while I got out and firmly closed the fence gate before letting Brutus run free in the yard again.
Then I gave him about 25 treats to munch on while I put the baby back to sleep.
I called Christie again and told her everything was okay and thanked her for her help. She laughed at that, because really she hadn't done anything, but she had OFFERED to and that had helped me out so very much.
Then I called the housing office and talked for about 20 minutes trying to explain the whole thing and telling the lady what had happened and asking if she could let the little maintenance man know that I'd found my dog and everything was alright and that if he wanted he could come back and finish with the alarms and the filters, or not, if he was too busy, that was fine too.
She laughed at me as well, but said she was glad I'd got my dog back and that she'd call the little maintenance man and let him know. Except she didn't call him the little maintenance man, she called him by his name which, amongst all the drama, I can't seem to remember.
So anyway, that's been my morning.
He's back here now finishing everything up and apologizing at me every time he walks by.
Whew!
All's well that ends well.
So at like 9:30 this morning I put the baby down for a nap because he was being a big mess.
About 5 minutes later the doorbell rang and a little maintenance man from housing was here about our drippy kitchen sink.
Yesterday the microwave quit working and this morning the kitchen sink started dripping and naturally the sink was the one they were here to fix even though I really CAN'T live with out my microwave. Except now I have to for a few days. But don't worry because they were here to fix the sink after only an hour!!
Like always I took a minute to try to find a Brutus before opening the front door... as it turned out Brutus had decided he was going to have a nap in the rocking chair with his baby and was now locked in Peter's room. By the time I went up and let him out of the baby's room (lest he wake Peter with all his barking) the little maintenance man was already at the back door, which is the way Matt suggested the maintenance people come and go if we're not here. That way, if our dog runs out, he's only going to get into the back yard.
Do you see where this story is going yet?
I let the maintenance man right in, and Brutus went right out.
I didn't worry about that, because I assumed the fence gate was closed and the maintenance man probably didn't need to have my dog's nose in his business while he was working.
(By the way, one should never ever make assumptions.)
So the little maintenance man puttered around with the sink for awhile until he said he thought it was fine now and then offered to check our smoke alarms and our filters since he was here anyway. I said okay and he went out the front to get some stuff from his truck.
I wandered into the kitchen and in the process glanced at the backyard. Then I noticed there was no Brutus out there.
CRAP.
I stuck my head out, to check better and saw that the little maintenance man must have left the gate open.
And I start to panic.
CRAP. CRAP. CRAP.
I ran out front to tell the maintenance man to forget about the alarms and the filter and go away because my dog is gone (and its ALL HIS FAULT, although I didn't expressly say that) and I'm going to have to wake up my baby from his nap now so that I can go looking for my dog.
And by the way has he ever had to wake a sleeping baby because it is NOT generally a fun thing to do!?!
(I didn't say that. I just thought it REALLY loudly. )
He asked if there is anything he could do. I mentioned that if he happened to see a little red foxy dog running wild and he could coax him back into our yard that would be great.
Then I ran upstairs, woke Peter from a dead sleep, grabbed my phone, the dog's leash and and my keys. I called my friend Christie to see if she could take Peter while I went searching, but the call went to voice mail.
I hesitated for about 30 seconds considering whether I should head out on foot with the baby in the stroller or in the car. I opted for the car, practically throwing my first born into his car seat. The baby at this point was looking at me like maybe I was INSANE and wondering what on Earth was wrong with his Mommy and why he wasn't asleep comfortabally in his crib any longer.
I drove a loop down through the older housing part of our neighborhood where he ran last time... past the little dog park and then eventually back up the hill in front of our house.
Nothing.
At our house I stopped and got out to re-open our fence gate just in case he decided to come back on his own.
Christie called me back as I was starting to get hysterical. She was not at home, she was at Costco but she promised to try to hurry and if I didn't find him before she was home she would dispatch her own little troops to help.
But Brutus had been gone at least 10 minutes before I'd even noticed.
He could be anywhere by now.
Matt and I have often wondered what would happen if he got out and one of us wasn't chasing him. Would he just run and run and run until he was hopelessely lost or got hit by a car or something? Or would he eventually go back home on his own?
The little maintenance man in his truck passed me as I was getting back in the car. He told me he had driven around some looking, but hadn't see him.
I mentioned (probably a little too meanly) that my dog's a runner and might be half way to Salinas before he decided to slow down. (Salinas, by the way is a crappy little town about 25 miles from here.) The little man, who already looked guilty, started to look a fairly green. He apologized again. I sort of ignored him and got back in my car.
I drove up our street slowly, planning to do our normal daily walk loop and trying to figure out a game plan. I looking nervously at the houses that border the big hill and back up to wooded areas and then eventually the freeway. I was just hoping he hadn't left our neighborhood.
Then, amazingly, right about the moment that I let my brain start to imagine that I'd never see him again....there he was! My crazy little escapee was standing in the grass eating something (probably a big pile of some other dog's poo.) My heart jumped right out of my chest.
I pulled over about 10 yards away from him and tried in vain to quietly turn the car off. Instead I managed to stall it out LOUDLY because my brain wasn't working clearly and the whole concept of leaving my feet on the clutch and the break while putting the car in neutral and pulling the emergency break before turning off the ignition was just far too complex for me.
I checked the baby mirror and saw that Peter was sitting sort of dazed looking in his seat. I also noticed that's his seat's straps were all twisted and probably not securing him properly.
Then I noticed the big red NO PARKING sign immediately next to the place I'd just decided to leave the car. With my baby inside. I wondered if Brutus was going to run again and if he did, what I would do.
(All of that last bit happened in about 3 seconds mind you.)
I got out of the car and called Brutus' name.
He looked up and came trotting over towards me.
I sort of hunched down and prepared to try to block should he bolt,like he's done in the past, making catching him a big game.
He didn't bolt.
He walked right up to me and sat down just as I grabbed him, probably a lot harder than was necessary.
I got him by his collar and a sizable chunk of his neck fur, but I wasn't risking him pulling out of his collar and loosing him again.
He was soaking wet and happy as could be as I tried to wrestle him into his harness. I don't know why I didn't just pick him up and put him in the car. When I got the harness on him at last it was backwards and twisted and I'd missed one of his front legs so I had to take it off and start all over. He looked at me like maybe I was crazy and eventually I got it right.
I walked him to the car and found that the passenger door was locked.
Of course I'd left the keys inside. With my baby. And my phone.
Naturally then I started to panic that the drivers side would be locked too and I wouldn't be able to get in and everything would go from bad to, well, worse.
But it wasn't.
I opened the door and Brutus hopped right in.
If you ignore the crazy, and can live with the bred in desire to run away all the time, he's a very good dog actually.
We drove home.
I left both the baby and the dog in the car for a minute while I got out and firmly closed the fence gate before letting Brutus run free in the yard again.
Then I gave him about 25 treats to munch on while I put the baby back to sleep.
I called Christie again and told her everything was okay and thanked her for her help. She laughed at that, because really she hadn't done anything, but she had OFFERED to and that had helped me out so very much.
Then I called the housing office and talked for about 20 minutes trying to explain the whole thing and telling the lady what had happened and asking if she could let the little maintenance man know that I'd found my dog and everything was alright and that if he wanted he could come back and finish with the alarms and the filters, or not, if he was too busy, that was fine too.
She laughed at me as well, but said she was glad I'd got my dog back and that she'd call the little maintenance man and let him know. Except she didn't call him the little maintenance man, she called him by his name which, amongst all the drama, I can't seem to remember.
So anyway, that's been my morning.
He's back here now finishing everything up and apologizing at me every time he walks by.
Whew!
All's well that ends well.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
February 14th
Dear Everyone....
To celebrate this day of love, Peter and I had this card made for Daddy.
For my gift, Matt bought me (and Peter) this:
Now Peter has some place safe to sit and play when I need to be doing something else and can't give him my 100% supervision. I was never too sure about Exer-saucers, but he LOVED the one at my friends house last week and hers kept him entertained and squealing with delight for almost 30 entire minutes.
Needless to say I was pretty much sold on getting one ASAP and was happy to tell Matt that he could get this one gift and please both his Valentines a great deal.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Baking Love
I spent a large part of my afternoon today baking and icing sugar cookie cutout hearts to share with our friends up the street and at church for valentines day. The trouble is that I still have so many left... and I can't seem to stop eating them.Between the Beef Ernest Borgnine and the sugar cookies there seems to be an excellant chance I'm going to look like a BIG FAT COW at the Supply Corps Birthday ball next month.
Good Morning Pout
Last Thursday morning Matt came rushing in to get me earlier then I would have expected.
Here's why:
It was the first time he's stood up in there (that we know of.)
I really love the expression on his face. It's almost saying "Geez Daddy, you came in here, saw me standing and left, next Mommy came in and started taking my picture! Why doesn't somebody just pick me up and maybe change my stinking diaper?"
Here's why:
It was the first time he's stood up in there (that we know of.)
I really love the expression on his face. It's almost saying "Geez Daddy, you came in here, saw me standing and left, next Mommy came in and started taking my picture! Why doesn't somebody just pick me up and maybe change my stinking diaper?"
Friday, February 12, 2010
Beef Ernest Borgnine
When I saw the previews for Julie and Julia this past summer, I wanted to see the movie. It looked cute. Like the type of story I'd rather enjoy. But the thing was, as I was watching those previews at the beginning of this past summer, I was enormously pregnant and nervously awaiting the arrival of my first born, which meant that seeing a movie with a premier date almost exactly one month after my due date just wasn't really a priority.
So I sort of forgot about it.
And then back in September I read this post on one of the "Mommy Blogs" I follow and was reminded about the film.
I put it on my Netflix and forgot about it again.
My life went on.
Peter continued to amaze me and exhaust me on a nearly daily basis and I continued to be ever-thankful for the fact that my WONDERFUL husband does the cooking around here. And as I've mentioned in the past, it isn't that I can't cook, I can, very well actually... but I really don't enjoy doing it.
Cooking from a recipe bores me to death. My mother, who taught me to cook, never followed recipes unless they were in her head. That's how I cook.
Except I also like to experiment with adding different flavors and ingredients. And because of that, my husband nearly always hates what I make.
The few times I've gone to the trouble of finding interesting recipes to try to follow and then going out and obtaining all the proper ingredients, well, he still hated what I made.
So I stopped cooking.
What's the point in slaving away at a task I don't enjoy when all my efforts will be rewarded with is complaints?
And, happily, as it turns out, Matt really likes to cook.
Or else, he just likes using it as an excuse to procrastinate from doing his homework.
He likes trying new recipes. It's like a little challenge to him. I mentioned awhile ago that I was jonesing for some French Onion soup and what a shame it is that being on a tight budget we can't afford to go out to eat some place where I could get some. A few nights later, having found a recipe, he made some. Including the bread that goes in it. YUM!
Last week I mentioned a random hankering for a meatball sub and before I knew it he was rolling out loaves of bread into submarine shapes and scooping out meatballs. DOUBLE YUM!
So I sort of forgot about it.
And then back in September I read this post on one of the "Mommy Blogs" I follow and was reminded about the film.
I put it on my Netflix and forgot about it again.
My life went on.
Peter continued to amaze me and exhaust me on a nearly daily basis and I continued to be ever-thankful for the fact that my WONDERFUL husband does the cooking around here. And as I've mentioned in the past, it isn't that I can't cook, I can, very well actually... but I really don't enjoy doing it.
Cooking from a recipe bores me to death. My mother, who taught me to cook, never followed recipes unless they were in her head. That's how I cook.
Except I also like to experiment with adding different flavors and ingredients. And because of that, my husband nearly always hates what I make.
The few times I've gone to the trouble of finding interesting recipes to try to follow and then going out and obtaining all the proper ingredients, well, he still hated what I made.
So I stopped cooking.
What's the point in slaving away at a task I don't enjoy when all my efforts will be rewarded with is complaints?
And, happily, as it turns out, Matt really likes to cook.
Or else, he just likes using it as an excuse to procrastinate from doing his homework.
He likes trying new recipes. It's like a little challenge to him. I mentioned awhile ago that I was jonesing for some French Onion soup and what a shame it is that being on a tight budget we can't afford to go out to eat some place where I could get some. A few nights later, having found a recipe, he made some. Including the bread that goes in it. YUM!
Last week I mentioned a random hankering for a meatball sub and before I knew it he was rolling out loaves of bread into submarine shapes and scooping out meatballs. DOUBLE YUM!
So naturally, when this post came along I started to really wonder about those recipes in Julia Child's cookbook, especially since when I'm left to my own devices hot dogs, campbell's soup and macaroni and cheese rein supreme.
My mother (the one who NEVER used a recipe) actually owned a copy of that book. I recognized it instantly in the movie previews because it sat, gathering dust, on the bookshelf under our television during my entire childhood. For all I know, it's still there. Oh, but if I could get my hands on it....
I mentioned the Boeuf Borguignon recipe to Matt and of course he looked at me like maybe I had just shaved my head or something. I explained that it was a Julie Child recipe that is supposed to be kind of a pain in the ass but really, really delicious and moved the recently released DVD to the top of our Netflix list for further investigation.
And, oh my goodness, the Boeuf Borguignon in the movie just looked SO GOOD.
The challenge was set.
And luckily, nowadays you don't even need a cookbook. That's why there is the Internet.
A quick google search brought up several variations of the recipe, including a whole page dedicated to interpreting and mastering Julie Child's famous meal.
I won't say that Matt was particularly looking forward to making a dish that is supposed to take over 4 hours total to cook (although to be fair, 3 hours of that is just bake time,) but he doesn't like to back away from a challenge.
Tonight was the night. Our friend Melissa was coming over for dinner.
He set to work shortly after lunch. I did my part by taking the baby with me and heading out to run some errands and shopping and stay as far away from his kitchen as possible.
The challenge was set.
And luckily, nowadays you don't even need a cookbook. That's why there is the Internet.
A quick google search brought up several variations of the recipe, including a whole page dedicated to interpreting and mastering Julie Child's famous meal.
I won't say that Matt was particularly looking forward to making a dish that is supposed to take over 4 hours total to cook (although to be fair, 3 hours of that is just bake time,) but he doesn't like to back away from a challenge.
Tonight was the night. Our friend Melissa was coming over for dinner.
He set to work shortly after lunch. I did my part by taking the baby with me and heading out to run some errands and shopping and stay as far away from his kitchen as possible.
When it was all said and done... well, let's just say that I had to loosen my belt a notch. YUMMO!!!
Melissa and I stuffed ourselves silly. Peter ate his little oat snacks and looked sorry that he wasn't allowed any.
And the Chef? He sort of chewed slowly and pushed his meat around with his fork. Apparently he was unimpressed.
So I guess he won't be making it again. He does that sometimes. He'll literally slave over a hot stove ALL day and then turn his nose up at his own (usually) delicious creation. He's weird like that.
But, ohmygoodness... he made it!!! Just this once. And I am happy.
Melissa and I stuffed ourselves silly. Peter ate his little oat snacks and looked sorry that he wasn't allowed any.
And the Chef? He sort of chewed slowly and pushed his meat around with his fork. Apparently he was unimpressed.
So I guess he won't be making it again. He does that sometimes. He'll literally slave over a hot stove ALL day and then turn his nose up at his own (usually) delicious creation. He's weird like that.
But, ohmygoodness... he made it!!! Just this once. And I am happy.
Also, I am seriously considering going back in for another helping right now.
It should be noted, that I LOATHE mushroom and onions, which this recipe is loaded with, and yet I happily devoured all of it, mushrooms and onions and all because it really was THAT good.
On a separate note, the entire day was sort of funny and ridiculous as neither of us can properly pronounce boeuf bourguignon. I mean, we both watched the movie, and they certainly pronounce it plenty in there. I took many years of French in high school and college, but was never really much good at pronunciation. So "Booof Bor-jig-nogne" (which is the closest approximation I can come up with as to how its supposed to be pronounced) quickly dissolved into Booof Bor-ga-gee-gee and Boooorgnononono and then eventually, somehow, Beef Borgnine. But see, Beef Borgnine was a few syllables too short so then it became Beef Ernest Borgnine, which I know is just completely disrespectful (to the actor) and ridiculous, but, honest we didn't mean to be rude, and, well, that's just what we were calling it.
It should be noted, that I LOATHE mushroom and onions, which this recipe is loaded with, and yet I happily devoured all of it, mushrooms and onions and all because it really was THAT good.
On a separate note, the entire day was sort of funny and ridiculous as neither of us can properly pronounce boeuf bourguignon. I mean, we both watched the movie, and they certainly pronounce it plenty in there. I took many years of French in high school and college, but was never really much good at pronunciation. So "Booof Bor-jig-nogne" (which is the closest approximation I can come up with as to how its supposed to be pronounced) quickly dissolved into Booof Bor-ga-gee-gee and Boooorgnononono and then eventually, somehow, Beef Borgnine. But see, Beef Borgnine was a few syllables too short so then it became Beef Ernest Borgnine, which I know is just completely disrespectful (to the actor) and ridiculous, but, honest we didn't mean to be rude, and, well, that's just what we were calling it.
Also. I have a really large peice of Ernest stuck in my teeth and it's sort of driving me crazy.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Two Things
1. While on a walk this afternoon where I had the dog on his leash and Matt had Peter in his wagon I was shocked and worried to hear my husband suddenly gasp and yell our son's name while we were crossing a street. Peter, you see, had been seated on the floor of the wagon, between the seats, as that seemed more secure for the time being then having him up on the actually little benches already even though this meant that he wasn't strapped in. So, in the middle of that street Peter decided it was time for him to stand himself up and them attempt to fling himself over the side and right out of his little vehicle.
Luckily Matt got to him fast enough and saved us a trip to the emergency room.
I don't know why I'm surprised, I took a flying leap out of my Dad's truck when I was a baby and knocked my front tooth out in the process. And as much as my son LOOKS like his father, I am convinced more every day that he got my personality. We are all doomed.
2. After reading up a bit last night on the proper diets of 7 month olds I decided we should try to expand Peter's repertoire of solid foods. Since Matt made mashed potatoes for our supper tonight it seemed like a great chance to introduce him to those. The baby did better, initially, then he usually does with something new. He let them sit on his tongue for a moment, looked thoroughly horrified and eventually swallowed them. However, he did NOT then make the horrid little gagging/choking noise which usually follows his first swallow of something new. He kept opening his mouth for more, eating several more bites and seeming to enjoy them.
Then he frowned very deeply, looked me right in the eyes and proceeded to vomit back up every bit of those potatoes.
Yuck.
Needless to say, we'll be waiting awhile before trying them again.
Luckily Matt got to him fast enough and saved us a trip to the emergency room.
I don't know why I'm surprised, I took a flying leap out of my Dad's truck when I was a baby and knocked my front tooth out in the process. And as much as my son LOOKS like his father, I am convinced more every day that he got my personality. We are all doomed.
2. After reading up a bit last night on the proper diets of 7 month olds I decided we should try to expand Peter's repertoire of solid foods. Since Matt made mashed potatoes for our supper tonight it seemed like a great chance to introduce him to those. The baby did better, initially, then he usually does with something new. He let them sit on his tongue for a moment, looked thoroughly horrified and eventually swallowed them. However, he did NOT then make the horrid little gagging/choking noise which usually follows his first swallow of something new. He kept opening his mouth for more, eating several more bites and seeming to enjoy them.
Then he frowned very deeply, looked me right in the eyes and proceeded to vomit back up every bit of those potatoes.
Yuck.
Needless to say, we'll be waiting awhile before trying them again.
Just Wondering
When a baby has no Mommy raising them...
like if they are being raised by a single Father...
or if the Mommy has to go away on deployment or something...
or even if a gay couple of men adopts a child....
...who wakes up in the middle of the night when the baby cries?
I only ask because all the men I've ever meant can sleep through even the very worst of baby's midnight temper tantrums.
Seriously.
Last night while Peter was crying I turned the monitor volume up as high as it will go and then put the monitor directly on my Hubby's chest so that it was almost like our child was screaming directly into his face and STILL that man slept on.
*sigh*
like if they are being raised by a single Father...
or if the Mommy has to go away on deployment or something...
or even if a gay couple of men adopts a child....
...who wakes up in the middle of the night when the baby cries?
I only ask because all the men I've ever meant can sleep through even the very worst of baby's midnight temper tantrums.
Seriously.
Last night while Peter was crying I turned the monitor volume up as high as it will go and then put the monitor directly on my Hubby's chest so that it was almost like our child was screaming directly into his face and STILL that man slept on.
*sigh*
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Well, Lookie There....
So, this evening, after dinner, Peter was playing on the floor of the dining room. Matt was pretending to do his homework. Brutus was pacing around uncomfortably, possibly because Peter was continually making his annoying "EHHHH!" noise for no discernible reason whatsoever. I was in the kitchen cleaning up.
Every few moments I'd look up and see Peter doing something worrisome (like happily munching on a new found baby snack that he had just "found" someplace which I am choosing to believe was a fold on his shirt and that the snack he'd just swallowed was just left over from dinner and hadn't been floating around on the floor for several days) and I'd ask Matt to better supervise his son. He'd then remind me that I had told him to do his homework and that the dishes could wait until after Peter was in bed.
But I needed to break. Lately, Peter seems to thinks his Mama is a jungle gym and he had been crawling all over me ALL DAY. Frankly I couldn't take it anymore. So I was doing the dishes.
Then I looked up again and I saw my son diving head first into the laundry basket of his freshly washed and folded clothes.
This is eventually how he landed:
There was one of his toy gears in there underneath him that I am assuming he'd chucked in himself and was trying to retrieve. I'd say this is a pretty safe assumption because that child is constantly putting his random little toys in any of the drawers he can reach, assuming of course those objects fit in the small opening allowed by the baby-proof safety latches.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Adorable Neaurotic Dog Things
This is not actually my dog, but it is absolutely something he would do.
I love Shibas!!!
(I love Cute Overload too!)
I love Shibas!!!
(I love Cute Overload too!)
New Things
Things here in Mommy-ville are moving at a faster speed then ever before. Every time I turn around, practically, Peter is learning to do (get into) something new. I can hardly keep up with him, let alone capture it all with the camera and blog about it.
I think maybe I offended the boy by talking about how he rarely crawled properly (with his tummy up off the ground) in my post on his seven month birthday because practically the next day he started doing it the "right" way almost exclusively. It took me a few million tries to get a good video of it, but the best is at night when Matt puts him down on the floor next to the changing table in his room and tells him to go get a bath. The kid takes off towards to bathroom at top speed... except of course, the dog and his toys provide ample distractions along the way:
Also, in January I started taking Peter to weekly Kindermusik classes. The benefits of music classes for babies are many but I think the main thing is Peter gets to interact with other children his age. He watches them and then tries to imitate the things they can already do. This is how he finally figured out clapping (and also might explain his finally figuring out crawling.)
His Daddy has been clapping for and with him (the boy LOVES that) for some time now but could never seem to help him open up his hands enough to actually produce any sound... until now. And I just love the way he knows you are supposed to clap along to music.
Of course, along with the discovery of how to make noise by banging his hands together, came the discovery that other objects make noise when they are banged together. Let's just say it is a little loud around here these days. (Don't worry, I'm still the loudest one of all, most of the time.)
I'm choosing to post this particular video of him banging some blocks together at Matt's request. He shot it, which will explain my "phantom" arm in the corner of the screen as I'm laying next to Peter who was entertaining himself by smacking some plastic blocks together like cymbals. To drive the point home, he also kept flinging his arms wildly up into the air as if he was flipping them, just like I used to do with my real cymbals in my old OSUMB days. Go Bucks!
If you think that this comparison is a crock, well, blame Matt because he's the one who brought it up.
In other news...
I mentioned at the beginning of the month that Peter was hard at work learning to push/pull himself up into a standing position. Standing still seems to be his main mission, and if he really had his way he's forgo the assists altogether and go it alone:
I'm bubbling over with pride and yet...so help me, can he please just keep holding on to those gates for a little while. Mama needs a chance to let her heart catch up to her brain before he starts going it alone.
I think maybe I offended the boy by talking about how he rarely crawled properly (with his tummy up off the ground) in my post on his seven month birthday because practically the next day he started doing it the "right" way almost exclusively. It took me a few million tries to get a good video of it, but the best is at night when Matt puts him down on the floor next to the changing table in his room and tells him to go get a bath. The kid takes off towards to bathroom at top speed... except of course, the dog and his toys provide ample distractions along the way:
Also, in January I started taking Peter to weekly Kindermusik classes. The benefits of music classes for babies are many but I think the main thing is Peter gets to interact with other children his age. He watches them and then tries to imitate the things they can already do. This is how he finally figured out clapping (and also might explain his finally figuring out crawling.)
His Daddy has been clapping for and with him (the boy LOVES that) for some time now but could never seem to help him open up his hands enough to actually produce any sound... until now. And I just love the way he knows you are supposed to clap along to music.
Of course, along with the discovery of how to make noise by banging his hands together, came the discovery that other objects make noise when they are banged together. Let's just say it is a little loud around here these days. (Don't worry, I'm still the loudest one of all, most of the time.)
I'm choosing to post this particular video of him banging some blocks together at Matt's request. He shot it, which will explain my "phantom" arm in the corner of the screen as I'm laying next to Peter who was entertaining himself by smacking some plastic blocks together like cymbals. To drive the point home, he also kept flinging his arms wildly up into the air as if he was flipping them, just like I used to do with my real cymbals in my old OSUMB days. Go Bucks!
If you think that this comparison is a crock, well, blame Matt because he's the one who brought it up.
In other news...
I mentioned at the beginning of the month that Peter was hard at work learning to push/pull himself up into a standing position. Standing still seems to be his main mission, and if he really had his way he's forgo the assists altogether and go it alone:
So, between the crawling and the attempts at standing diaper changing is a nightmare these days. He's always escaping my grasp to practice his new skills half naked.
Just when I think that maybe there isn't any NEW way for him to get into trouble, well, he proves me wrong.
"Look Mama! A springy door stopper!!!"
"Ooooh and what is this strap hanging off my eating chair?"
And so, okay, maybe if you've been following the blog at all you might have picked up on a certain theme over, say, the last seven months and eight days. That being that I really wish my baby wasn't growing up so fast!
Needless to say, I try to live in denial. I pretend sometimes, like when he's sleepy and snugly, that he's still my little teeny bundle of joy. I can rationalize away all the time's I've found him standing because so far he's gotten there more by pushing up on stuff than by pulling up per say. So see, in my mind, him standing alone and then eventually walking was still very very far away. Very far. A loooong time from now. Yeah.
And then I ran upstairs yesterday to get something and when I came back not 45 second later this was smiling and waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs:
I wish I had a picture of it from the other side of the gate, looking down the steps as I'd originally found him, but as it was I had to jump over the gate (and my child) to fetch the camera and I didn't feel that making the second trip back over was really very safe.
Also, those footie pj's are a little too long so, contrary to what it might look like in the photo, Peter does NOT have two very misaligned ankles and was, actually, standing properly on his own two feet.
But still I lied to myself. Surely he just pushed up on the bottom stair to get most of the way up.It still doesn't really count.
And then last night. While Matt was in the kitchen making dinner and I was on the computer checking Facebook or something, he went and did it for real, with nothing to "cheat" and push up on, possibly just to spite me for ignoring him for a moment.
So, it's official... he's a (pulling up to) standing boy!
I'm bubbling over with pride and yet...so help me, can he please just keep holding on to those gates for a little while. Mama needs a chance to let her heart catch up to her brain before he starts going it alone.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Getting Preachy
Sometimes I wonder what gets into people. I mean, I am the FIRST person to admit that I am not perfect. Maybe I even admit that a little too much. But, on the other hand, some people just INSIST that they know best. I'm so glad for them.
Not.
The other day at Bible study we were discussing parenting and the dreaded topic came up...
Television. (Dun dun duh!!!!!)
Now, I am a FIRM believer that, almost, anything is okay in moderation. (Including moderation.) There are loads of awesome, educational options available to parents today who, in some cases just need some peace. Unfortunately, I think a great deal of programming today does not do a very good job of portraying family values and this means that parents must pay close attention to what we watch, particularly before our kids go to bed.
Case and point. I am horribly addicted to General Hospital and have been since I was about 14. However, what with all the sleeping around and mobsters on that program, this particular show is only to be viewed at my house via DVR when my son is sleeping.
As the conversation went on, each of the Mommies made their "confessions' about how much they let their children watch TV and what they let them watch. Mostly, I just sat there and listened. I will readily admit to dragging the pack and play in front of the television this morning so that Peter could watch PBS while I ran the vacuum and unloaded the dishwasher, because, seriously, how much harm could 30 minutes of Dinosaur Train do to the boy? I will also readily admit that when my child is straight up losing his mind, often times, there is nothing that can calm him down better than Elmo or Ernie on Sesame Street.
But he's only 7 months old... GASP! Surely, I'm scarring him for life!!!
Whatever. I figured out pretty early on in this parenting adventure that my own sanity has to be a priority. I can't be a good Mommy if I'm overly tired, CRAVING a shower, the house is a disaster area or I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. In the case of this morning, it just did NOT seem healthy for the boy to be crawling around on a floor that dirty (ew!) and I needed clean bottles.
But, where was I? Right... the other Mommies were discussing the ways they handle television. At one point one Mommy was pretty adamant that she only let's her girls watch Disney movies. Another Mommy admitted that she has fallen into a dangerous trap (her words, not mine) of letting her boys watch TV at night until they fall asleep. Finally, our class leader mentioned how they'd recently been to see the latest Disney film (The Princess and the Frog?) because that's what her son had asked to do for his birthday and the whole time she felt she needed to remind her kids that the magic and the sorcery in the story was not real....
Awesome for them. I have my opinions about Disney, and children watching TV at bedtime, but I did, and I will now, keep them to myself. As far as the magic, well...
When it was my chance to talk I mentioned something about teaching children the value of recognizing the difference between REAL and MAKE BELIEVE. This to say that there is nothing wrong with watching the Princess and the Frog or whatever it was, or any other movie with magic or sorcery in it, because these are just STORIES.
And, usually, there is a lot to be learned from them.
I mentioned Harry Potter.
Oh dread.
What was I thinking?
Immediately, the Disney-Loving and the Bedtime-TV Mommies were ALL over me:
Magic is EVIL!!! Magic is the work of the Devil!!! Harry Potter is evil because he does MAGIC and, (as we just learned,) MAGIC IS EVIL!!! Didn't I understand, that in a Disney movie, Snow White (the good girl) doesn't use the magic... only the BAD step mother does, and that's okay because she is bad and therefore, evil.
Um... pardon me... but... WHAT THE HECK?!?!
Harry Potter is JUST A STORY!!!!!!
Yes, in this make believe story he uses magic, but he uses MAGIC for GOOD... to conquer EVIL.
and did I mention, ITS MAKE BELIEVE!
The other Mommies continued....
Don't you see that by showing a child a story like Harry Potter, he will start to see something evil (in this case magic) as being okay. And then you're just letting Satan into your life. By dabbling in the gray areas, Satan is slowly going to win you over.
OH MY GOD!
Seriously... MY God.
Do I believe evil (Satan) is out there, trying to screw with me and lead me away from Jesus? YES. Yes I do. But a story about wizards trying to eliminate another BAD, murdering wizard just isn't that. Evil is doubt and sin and wars and sickness and earthquakes and crime. My God saves me from those things. My God allows me to make good choices, to repent when I screw it all up and to love the finer things in this life.
Like stories.
Also, if that Snow White argument is going to hold up... if an appropriate Christian movie can only show bad guys using magic... well then Star Wars must just be the worst thing ever made.
Then again maybe those Mothers don't let their children watch Star Wars either. I don't know.
(Though I CAN pretty much guarantee that the entire time I was growing up loving the Star Wars movies I never needed anyone to explain to me that the Force wasn't real. It never occured to me to wonder whether Luke Skywalker had accepted Christ as his personal savior because, basically, it's a high-tech futuristic FAIRY TALE!)
Certainly, I support those mom's right to choose what their kids do and don't watch. I just sort of wish they would have supported mine.
I got stuck on their bit about the gray areas. Their argument of course being that God is good and pure white. Satan is bad and dark black. Gray areas, like movies about magic are very gray and a very bad idea because they lead to evil.
Now, I'm not going to argue with some of that. Evil IS evil and God IS good. God is pure, pristine, perfect white. He is all GOOD!
Duh, obviously.
But...
Living your life with Him, for Him is just NOT. It can't be.
There is going to be gray. Life is gray. God's word is HARD to understand. Gray, if you will, not because it contains evil, but (to switch the metaphor) because the words aren't as simple as what's written in black and white, The Bible is full of metaphor and allegory and, I'm sorry, just not as simple to understand as maybe it could be.
Because life isn't as simple as maybe it could have been.
He gave us freewill. We are all doomed to be sinners but we are given the option of redemption through Jesus. Because we have freewill, we must choose that redemption. Choosing Jesus, though, does not, CAN NOT, mean a person will no longer have gray in their life. The gray is there. It's just what you make of it. I'd argue that maybe even its kind of the point. Choosing Jesus DESPITE all the other stuff is a lot more significant when the path is a tough one to follow.
But we are all going to sin. Some of the WORST people I know call themselves Christians. And that doesn't mean they're kidding themselves. It just means they maybe have a bit more to be forgiven for.
And, to get back to my original, and seemingly, long lost point....
Attacking or even judging someone else because they choose to watch or read Harry Potter is just as much a sin as any other!!!! God did not put us here to judge and attack. The truly righteous lead by example, just like our Savior did.
If nothing else, I truly hope that one sin I won't ever need to be forgiven for is attacking another person with my own, assumed, righteousness.
It seems to me, through this whole encounter, that even above and beyond religious beliefs there are really just two types of people in this world: those who try to lift you up (by listening, helping and encouraging) and those who will tear you down (by telling you all the ways you're wrong and they're right.)
Which are you?
Not.
The other day at Bible study we were discussing parenting and the dreaded topic came up...
Television. (Dun dun duh!!!!!)
Now, I am a FIRM believer that, almost, anything is okay in moderation. (Including moderation.) There are loads of awesome, educational options available to parents today who, in some cases just need some peace. Unfortunately, I think a great deal of programming today does not do a very good job of portraying family values and this means that parents must pay close attention to what we watch, particularly before our kids go to bed.
Case and point. I am horribly addicted to General Hospital and have been since I was about 14. However, what with all the sleeping around and mobsters on that program, this particular show is only to be viewed at my house via DVR when my son is sleeping.
As the conversation went on, each of the Mommies made their "confessions' about how much they let their children watch TV and what they let them watch. Mostly, I just sat there and listened. I will readily admit to dragging the pack and play in front of the television this morning so that Peter could watch PBS while I ran the vacuum and unloaded the dishwasher, because, seriously, how much harm could 30 minutes of Dinosaur Train do to the boy? I will also readily admit that when my child is straight up losing his mind, often times, there is nothing that can calm him down better than Elmo or Ernie on Sesame Street.
But he's only 7 months old... GASP! Surely, I'm scarring him for life!!!
Whatever. I figured out pretty early on in this parenting adventure that my own sanity has to be a priority. I can't be a good Mommy if I'm overly tired, CRAVING a shower, the house is a disaster area or I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. In the case of this morning, it just did NOT seem healthy for the boy to be crawling around on a floor that dirty (ew!) and I needed clean bottles.
But, where was I? Right... the other Mommies were discussing the ways they handle television. At one point one Mommy was pretty adamant that she only let's her girls watch Disney movies. Another Mommy admitted that she has fallen into a dangerous trap (her words, not mine) of letting her boys watch TV at night until they fall asleep. Finally, our class leader mentioned how they'd recently been to see the latest Disney film (The Princess and the Frog?) because that's what her son had asked to do for his birthday and the whole time she felt she needed to remind her kids that the magic and the sorcery in the story was not real....
Awesome for them. I have my opinions about Disney, and children watching TV at bedtime, but I did, and I will now, keep them to myself. As far as the magic, well...
When it was my chance to talk I mentioned something about teaching children the value of recognizing the difference between REAL and MAKE BELIEVE. This to say that there is nothing wrong with watching the Princess and the Frog or whatever it was, or any other movie with magic or sorcery in it, because these are just STORIES.
And, usually, there is a lot to be learned from them.
I mentioned Harry Potter.
Oh dread.
What was I thinking?
Immediately, the Disney-Loving and the Bedtime-TV Mommies were ALL over me:
Magic is EVIL!!! Magic is the work of the Devil!!! Harry Potter is evil because he does MAGIC and, (as we just learned,) MAGIC IS EVIL!!! Didn't I understand, that in a Disney movie, Snow White (the good girl) doesn't use the magic... only the BAD step mother does, and that's okay because she is bad and therefore, evil.
Um... pardon me... but... WHAT THE HECK?!?!
Harry Potter is JUST A STORY!!!!!!
Yes, in this make believe story he uses magic, but he uses MAGIC for GOOD... to conquer EVIL.
and did I mention, ITS MAKE BELIEVE!
The other Mommies continued....
Don't you see that by showing a child a story like Harry Potter, he will start to see something evil (in this case magic) as being okay. And then you're just letting Satan into your life. By dabbling in the gray areas, Satan is slowly going to win you over.
OH MY GOD!
Seriously... MY God.
Do I believe evil (Satan) is out there, trying to screw with me and lead me away from Jesus? YES. Yes I do. But a story about wizards trying to eliminate another BAD, murdering wizard just isn't that. Evil is doubt and sin and wars and sickness and earthquakes and crime. My God saves me from those things. My God allows me to make good choices, to repent when I screw it all up and to love the finer things in this life.
Like stories.
Also, if that Snow White argument is going to hold up... if an appropriate Christian movie can only show bad guys using magic... well then Star Wars must just be the worst thing ever made.
Then again maybe those Mothers don't let their children watch Star Wars either. I don't know.
(Though I CAN pretty much guarantee that the entire time I was growing up loving the Star Wars movies I never needed anyone to explain to me that the Force wasn't real. It never occured to me to wonder whether Luke Skywalker had accepted Christ as his personal savior because, basically, it's a high-tech futuristic FAIRY TALE!)
Certainly, I support those mom's right to choose what their kids do and don't watch. I just sort of wish they would have supported mine.
I got stuck on their bit about the gray areas. Their argument of course being that God is good and pure white. Satan is bad and dark black. Gray areas, like movies about magic are very gray and a very bad idea because they lead to evil.
Now, I'm not going to argue with some of that. Evil IS evil and God IS good. God is pure, pristine, perfect white. He is all GOOD!
Duh, obviously.
But...
Living your life with Him, for Him is just NOT. It can't be.
There is going to be gray. Life is gray. God's word is HARD to understand. Gray, if you will, not because it contains evil, but (to switch the metaphor) because the words aren't as simple as what's written in black and white, The Bible is full of metaphor and allegory and, I'm sorry, just not as simple to understand as maybe it could be.
Because life isn't as simple as maybe it could have been.
He gave us freewill. We are all doomed to be sinners but we are given the option of redemption through Jesus. Because we have freewill, we must choose that redemption. Choosing Jesus, though, does not, CAN NOT, mean a person will no longer have gray in their life. The gray is there. It's just what you make of it. I'd argue that maybe even its kind of the point. Choosing Jesus DESPITE all the other stuff is a lot more significant when the path is a tough one to follow.
But we are all going to sin. Some of the WORST people I know call themselves Christians. And that doesn't mean they're kidding themselves. It just means they maybe have a bit more to be forgiven for.
And, to get back to my original, and seemingly, long lost point....
Attacking or even judging someone else because they choose to watch or read Harry Potter is just as much a sin as any other!!!! God did not put us here to judge and attack. The truly righteous lead by example, just like our Savior did.
If nothing else, I truly hope that one sin I won't ever need to be forgiven for is attacking another person with my own, assumed, righteousness.
It seems to me, through this whole encounter, that even above and beyond religious beliefs there are really just two types of people in this world: those who try to lift you up (by listening, helping and encouraging) and those who will tear you down (by telling you all the ways you're wrong and they're right.)
Which are you?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Sorry Professor, but my baby destroyed my homework...
It's awesome to me how little it takes to amuse the boy.
And, yes, that peice of paper really did begin as part of Matt's homework assignment.
And, yes, that peice of paper really did begin as part of Matt's homework assignment.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Seven
Oh Peter!
Today you are seven months old, and, if I'm perfectly honest, I'm not very happy about it.
Proud? Sure! Happy? Not so much!
You're growing up... WAY. TOO. FAST.
My little pity party started yesterday when the Pottery Barn Kids spring catalog came in the mail. In there they have all the Easter stuff. And as I looked at it I suddenly had a flashback to this time, roughly, last year. Last February, we were crib shopping and when we went to Pottery Barn I picked up their spring catalog and flipped through the pages for HOURS wondering if I'd be wanting all the flowery girl stuff or the trucks and trains for a boy. We were counting down until the day when we could have our ultrasound and find out whether you were going to be our son or our daughter. And, also whether or not you were going to have horns or a tail. Okay, not really, but I was terrified that the ultrasound was going to show us that something was wrong with you. So terrified, in fact, that I couldn't even say it out loud. So instead I kept insisting I was afraid you'd have a tail. Or horns. Because, as horrible as that might have been, it still seemed a lot less scary than some of the alternatives.
But of course, they didn't find anything wrong with you. Except that you are a boy and will therefore probably be emotionally stunted and communicationally challenged like your Father. Haha! No, I'm kidding. Could you even imagine if your Daddy was as overly emotional and chatty as your Mama? (What a nightmare!!)
You were perfect. YOU ARE PERFECT. Perfect enough that I still can't really believe you're mine. But I guess, really, you're not. God gave you to me to raise... but really you're His. And I can take comfort in knowing that... because with Him in control of your life, I can't really mess you up that bad, can I? (Let's hope!)
And here we are. A year later. You are seven months old. Seven months going on seven years, maybe.
You are so BUSY!
You started this month by learning to sit yourself up. Now you spend your days crawling around chasing after the dog and the cats... or their food, or in the very least their toys. Lucky for you, most of the time, your puppy doesn't seem to mind.
You still don't crawl properly. No, you insist on leaving your tummy on the ground and using your elbows instead of your hands. I know you can do it the other way. I've SEEN you do it, but only for short trips... I guess you'd much rather do it the way you've already mastered so you can get where you want to go, instead of slowing down to perfect your ability to do it the other way.
When there aren't any dogs or cats, their food or their toys around, you make it your mission to get into everything else. Seriously kiddo, Mama can't baby proof fast enough! You have plenty of toys, but would MUCH prefer to play with the my coffee cup or my water bottle or my computer or my camera or whatever it is I have, instead.
One time, I even caught you playing with your shadow...
And you REFUSE to be ignored. This probably explains why you've started pulling yourself up to a standing position on stuff.
Like me, you seem Hell bent on getting your own way, no matter what the odds are against it. I can't decide if this is a trait that I'm happy you've inherited, or not.
If I'm on the floor, you want to be in my lap. And you're not willing to wait for me to pick you up and put you there. Instead you climb in on your own.
If I'm in a chair, you crawl over to me and start trying to climb up my legs. If I leave you in the dining room and run upstairs for a minute, when I come back you will be there, at the bottom of the steps trying to figure out just how to defy the baby gate so that you can climb up after me. If there is a toy you want up high, well, you just pull on whatever you can find to get to it. You spend long moments trying to break the laws of physics to squeeze the dogs toys through the bars in the baby gate so that you can have them even though they are much wider than then spaces between the bars.
In the bath, you're no longer willing to just sit there. Instead you sit forward every few moments to grab the edge of the tub and stand yourself up. Then you sit back down and splash like a little maniac. I swear you are almost fearless. If I'm not careful you might just go right ahead and dive face first into the water to drown yourself, just so you can find out what it's like. Maybe you've gained too much confidence around the water by going swimming each week. Or maybe you are just too intent on exploring the world around you. Don't worry though my baby, I'll ALWAYS be there to pull you out. And then when you scream at me for letting you do it (as if I could have stopped you in the first place,) and for letting you get scared, or even for stopping you from properly hurting yourself, I'll hold you close to me until you're done screaming and everything is all better again.
I think maybe that those moments, when you forget that you want SO DESPERATELY to be a big boy and you just need me to rock you, to hug you, to snuggle you and to kiss you... those are the best part of my life these days. Even though you're pulling away from me faster than I can handle, you still grant me those small quiet minutes of love.
Please never stop.
But, if possible, can you slow down, just a tad, and wait for me to catch my breath?
No?
Well, I didn't really expect you to anyway.
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