Life's a Potty

Here are enough potty stories to last a lifetime. This is my life...

• My daughter is currently potty training, so I am especially hypersensitive to the word 'potty'. A delayed reaction to that word is life or death. I was especially jumpy one weekend afternoon when my daughter kept talking about her brother being at a "birthday potty". It was like living with the Wiggles singing "it's a dinosaur birthday potty!" in their Australian accents (which truly did have my son confused when he was a toddler, until I explained what they were really singing). As fortune would have it, later that day my son created a song whose only lyrics were, "Disco party!" My daughters enthusiastic version of the song put a smile on my face (yes, I know I need to grow up).
• My daughter has just recently been introduced to "Despicable Me", and thanks to the dedicated tutorship of her uncle she has been taught to yell, "Oh yeah!"-- Vector style. This is normally cute, unless it is while I am carrying her to the bathroom after she has had an accident. 
• The other night, my son moved my daughter's step stool into the bathroom for her, a job that she was already undertaking. This resulted in my highly independent daughter crying and yelling at my son in protest and anger. My son claimed innocent intentions (which is questionable), but I advised him to just leave her alone and let her do it. My son was miffed by her ingratitude. In an effort to help him empathize with his sister I asked, "You like to do the things that you can do, right?" To which my son honestly responded, "Not always". Touche.
• And lastly, I think my daughter may be employing defense techniques of pythons when in distress. Twice now, she has had an accident while crying. Once on me.

The Lepercon

Last Friday, my son came home from school spilling with stories about the "Lepercon" that his class almost caught (I've loved imagining what a Lepercon looks like). He told me how his class created a trap to catch the Leprechaun, and while they were at recess the Leprechaun was trapped, but was able to escape. His little footprints were sure evidence of his visit, along with a taunting message that said, "HeHeHe. You'll never catch me." And then my son said, "I can't wait to try and catch him tonight!" I grinned, but inside I shook my fist at his school.
You see, a Leprechaun never visited my house when I was growing up (and I'm starting to worry that every holiday will soon have a mysterious visitor that requires unique and creative efforts to appease them: Cupid, Uncle Sam, a pilgrim...) Judging by reports I've heard from other children, I'm not sure I want to invite a Leprechaun into my home either. From what I can gather, they craftily escape from traps, leave messes, and use your toilet without flushing leaving a toilet full of green water. But, my son was so excited, and so I agreed that we would indeed have to build a trap. But, we forgot all about it and my son was long asleep before I realized that we had not built a trap.
The next morning, miraculously on our dining room table sat a black bowl filled with gold-wrapped candy ontop of a paper that read, "Happy St. Patrick's Day", that was decorated with clover stickers and footprints. My son was very excited to find this when he woke up. And it was fun to see him so happy. 
An hour later my son confronted me, "Mom? Did you set this up?" "Why would I do that?" I responded innocently. My son studied the sign, and went on to explain every inconsistency that it held in comparison to the day before. And there was no taunting message. But, the nail in the coffin was the footprints. They were all wrong. (Inside I shook my fist at his school again). And then he pressured me again. Now I was the one that was trapped. So I confessed. And my son's surprised face created immediate remorse within my heart. "Why?" he asked. "We forgot to build a trap." I responded. And somehow my son was satisfied. But a part of me mourned the death of a Leprechaun that I never wanted in the first place. Ironic, no?
Later that day I overheard my son bragging to a friend that the Leprechaun brought him candy. He mentioned the good fortune to me a couple more times that afternoon. I was a bit confused, but didn't press the issue. I assume that my son has concluded that I set up the bowl in order for the Leprechaun to leave us candy. 
A St. Patrick's Day miracle, indeed.

Time Flies

Last night, as I tucked my son into bed, this sweet conversation took place:

My Son: "Mom, in college do you have time to email?"
Me: "Yes. Sometimes you have time between classes, and also at the end of the day."
My Son: "Good. When I'm not in class, I'm going to email you."
Me: "Good."

It is cute to see my son preparing for the future, and keeping us a part of it. It seems like just yesterday he was playing T-ball and we were playing catch with him in the front yard. Wait... that was just yesterday! I can't think about this!

Reality Relief

A conversation recently held in our car...

My Son: "Mom? What does 'sooki' mean?
Me: "Sooki? Use it in a sentence."
My Son: "Hello. My name is Sooki."
Me: "Where did you hear that name?"
My Son: "In 'The Saggy Baggy Elephant' the elephant's name is Sooki."

This conversation brought me great relief as 1.) It was a question I could answer, and most of all, 2.) My son's school friends were not exposing him to tales from "Jersey Shore" (think Snookie). How much longer do I have to be fielding questions from Golden Books?

My feeling is, not long enough.

The Power of Music

A little boy named Diego was introduced into my son's class at school a few weeks after the first day of school. Diego speaks little English, and causes frequent disturbances in class. While he never personally bothered my son, my son still found Diego's outbursts unnerving. I tried to help him understand how Diego might be feeling, but Diego remained a frequent complaint in our home.
While driving in our car, I had some children's music playing in the CD player. A song came on whose lyrics included the line, "If you don't talk as most people do, some people talk and laugh at you, but I won't! I won't! I'll walk with you. I'll talk with you. That's how I'll show my love for you." After the song was over, the following conversation took place:

My Son: "That song gave me an idea."
Me: "What?"
My Son: "I'm thinking that I could be a better friend to Diego."
Us: "Why?"
My Son: "Because he doesn't talk like me."

He then went on to ask my husband to teach him a few Spanish phrases that might help him talk to Diego. Since that night, my son has become somewhat of a defender for Diego. In the length of this short song, my son had gained a new compassion for Diego that I, alone, had not been able to help him realize.
My son has always been very tuned into conversations and lyrics- even when you think he isn't. This sweet conversation again reminded me of how important it is to be careful of what messages are being sent to our children through the music we play. Music really can shape children's thoughts and attitudes. What are we teaching our children, when we aren't teaching them?

The Joke's on Me

At meals, my baby girl does not tolerate her sippy cup to rest anywhere on her tray. When she is done drinking, she tosses it on the floor. Every time. Her accompanying "Uh-oh" is starting to seem a little bit insincere.

Then, the other night this conversation took place....

My Son: "Why is mom such a good cook?"
My Husband: "Because she always makes good food?"
My Son: "No, like it's a joke. Why is mom such a good cook?"

An Innocent Question

Recently, my mom picked us up to take our family to the airport. As we were getting our last items packed, the following dialogue took place:
My Mom: [to me] "Is there anything I can do for you while you are gone?"
My Son: [without even looking up from his lunch] "Clean our house?"

Why cleaning, of all things, crossed my son's mind is a mystery, but after we laughed it off I thought, it would be nice for children to be taken seriously once in a while too.... :)

Salt in the Wound

A little bit ago, after a bitter inner struggle, I caved in and authorized the use of food storage boxes as nightstands in our bedroom and my son's bedroom. Sad, I know. As someone who appreciates great design, this was (and still is) kind of buggy.
I came to this point, because a.) we do not have any more room under beds, b.) I refuse to store our food in the garage, and c.) we do not own nightstands. I do not like them, but they serve a purpose.

And I figured I could lower my standards just a little. Maybe I'm being just a little ridiculous afterall. It's not like the rest of our house is anything great. No one will ever see them. It's better than nothing. I'd rather have food if I'm starving. Etc., etc., etc.

After all that inner turmoil to arrive at this point, you can imagine the distress the following conversation with my son caused, while organizing his room:

Me: "Get me your books off your nightstand."

My Son: "Nightstand? What nightstand?"

Me: "The nightstand next to your bed."

My Son: "Where?"

Me: "The boxes next to your bed."

My Son: "Those aren't a nightstand. Those are boxes. I call them dummy boxes."

Me: [to myself] "So do I...."

Nothing like a child's perspective to bash any delusion that I might have in fooling somebody into thinking that a stack of boxes are furniture. Talk about selective imagination. [sigh...]

A Child's Perspective

The perspective of a child is so refreshing. Here are two comments my son made within days of each other, that prove how much they adore even our simplest efforts. If only we could see ourselves more often through the eyes of a child:

"I'm going to draw a tree like my teacher. [draws a simple tree] She says she doesn't draw very good, but that's not true. She draws beautiful."

My husband took my son with him early to church one day for choir practice (I was home with a sick baby). The choir happened to be singing many of the Easter songs from the Primary Songbook, so my son joined my husband in practice. The new choir director (who also happens to be the Primary music leader) told the group that she was not a very good musician, and would be happy to take suggestions on song arrangements. My son turned to my husband and said, "She lies. She's a great musician."

Riddle Me This!

It is at certain times, that I have felt the true power and weight of my responsibility as a mother, to shape and mold the understandings of my son. How is a mother to answer such an innocent, unassuming, and naive question, as this one posed by my son the other day?

"Mom? Do girls mostly listen and boys not listen, or are girls mostly chatty and boys listen?"

Cars 101

My Son: "Why can Ramone [from Disney's "Cars"] move up and down?"
Me: "Because he has hydraulics"
My Son: "What are hydraulics?"
Me: "They are things you can put in your car to make it move."

I realized the lameness and redundancy of my response the second it left my lips, but as my son seemed satisfied (or, more likely, realized he wouldn't be getting an intelligent answer from me), I left it at that.

Children's Dictionary

Vacation /va-ka-shen/ (noun): Not being required to leave your home for school or work.
Example: "You stay home and take care of the baby, so you're always on vacation."

*The irony of this being that "always being on vacation" means I'm NEVER on vacation!

The Pendulum

Today over breakfast, my son happily informed me, "I don't want to miss the bus this morning. I love riding the bus, even more than car rider." This statement might not seem abnormal to you, if you didn't know that since the beginning of the school year, getting my son to ride the school bus has been an ugly, ongoing battle that has even been played out several times on our driveway. (And I am proud to say there have been no casualties... if you don't count my blood pressure). 
My inability to drive my son to school has been the ultimate injustice in his mind, as he just wants to spend more time with me. Cue the guilt. Lately, he has ridden the bus with no complaint, but this morning's statement was a major breakthrough. And then I realized the pendulum had swung a little too far in the other direction when in his morning prayers he prayed, "Help me to not want to come home."

All I can do is join Garth Brooks in saying, "Sometimes God's greatest gifts, are unanswered prayers."

It's Time to Home School

As a parent, I have found no problem in using 'because' as a valid response to a question. This response has gone undefeated, until this morning...

My Son: "Mom, can I have another treat?"
Me: "No."
My Son: "Why?"
Me: "Because."
My Son: "I think I learned in kindergarten that 'because' doesn't mean anything, unless it has a sentence behind it."

Good Old Fashioned Rule Days...

Here is an enlightening conversation I had with my son in the car a few weeks ago.:

My Son: "Mom, I still remember my teacher from preschool."
Me: "Yeah? What do you remember?"
My Son: "I remember she asked us which tattoo she should get."
Me: "Your teacher was getting a real tattoo?"
My Son: "Yeah. She wondered if she should get her kid's names or stars on her back."
Me: [to myself] "Awesome."

Funny. This topic had not been listed in the newsletter they sent home each month highlighting the curriculum. When I asked my son what he did/learned each day, I thought I was on top of things. Apparently, not.

FYI: The class all voted for her kid's names.

And On That Farm There Was a Mom

There are many firsts in life. Last week, my son got to meet his new sister for the first time. As you can imagine, this was a moment my husband and I looked forward to with much anticipation. When my son came into the hospital room I was just finishing feeding the baby, who was hiding discreetly under a blanket. The following dialogue ensued:

My Son: "Where's the baby?"
My Husband: "Mommy's feeding her."
My Son: "What is she feeding her?"
My Husband: "Milk."
My Son: "Like a pig!"

I knew it was only a matter of time before my son made that connection. This is not, however, the first time I've made that connection.

B.Y.Blue

My son and husband were able to attend this past weekend's BYU v. FSU football game. While I had planned and hoped to go, reality told me that tailgating plus standing in the sun for 4 hours would probably not be a good idea with a due date just around the corner. Sadly, BYU was tromped 10 to 34. But, my son had a great time at his first football game and has shared cute insights into his day. The following is one of my favorites:

My Son: "I got to have a pom-pom at the game!"
Me: "Really? That's cool! Did you shake it?"
My Son: "Yep. I shook it everytime BYU scored. I didn't get to shake it very much."

Thrown Under the School Bus

Here is a conversation I had with my mother when I was a small child balking at going to school:

Me: "I don't want to go to school"
My Mom: "Honey, it's against the law for you to not go to school. If you stayed home, the police would put me in jail."
Me: "Okay, I'll go. But I'll have tears in my eyes."

Contrast that with a conversation I had with my son this morning:

My Son:"I'm not going to school!"
Me: "Honey, it's against the law not to go to school. Do you want the police to put me in jail?"
My Son: "How long would you be?"

This kid's tough as nails! Consider me thrown under the school bus.

Mean What You Say

Here is a recent conversation my son and I had while perusing the Lego aisle of a store. I'm learning that I've got to be prepared to defend my position- even if I think it supports his.

My Son: "Mom, isn't Lego Set A better than Lego Set B?"
Me: "They're both pretty cool."
My Son: "Yea, but isn't Lego Set A better than Lego Set B?"
Me: "Yea."
My Son: "Why?"
Me: "Well.... Lego Set A has X,Y,and Z"
My Son: "Yea, but Lego Set B has this, that, and the other."
Me: [Foiled again]

It Is My Destiny. My Karma.

Last night I was preparing dinner when my son entered the kitchen desperate to share his new fort with someone. Let's just say, his tactics with negative responses are getting smarter...

My Son: "Mom, I just finished making my fort!"
Me: (stirring dinner) "Cool."
My Son: "Now I need an agent to come play with me."
Me: "Really?"
My Son: "Yea. It can either be a girl, or an adult... or both!"
Me: "Honey, I need to grate some cheese."
My Son: (excitedly) "That's the password!"
Me: "What is?"
My Son: "The password is: 'I need to grate some cheese!'"
Me: (trapped) "You've got 5 minutes."