You Mean You Don't Do That? Oh...

The other day, my co-workers and I somehow ended up in a conversation about talking to ourselves.  One friend mentioned how she tends to talk to herself at the grocery store saying things like, "Oh, man!  I forgot the chips!"  Another said she talks to other drivers on the road even though they can't hear her exclaiming, "A blinker would be nice, mister!"

 

That's when I piped in with, "RIGHT?!?  And when you talk about yourself in the 3rd person because you're a mom.  Like 'Mommy needs to get Diet Coke' or 'Mommy forgot the diapers' or 'Mommy needs to go potty!'" 

 

They all laughed and one friend said, "Yeah...  But that's okay because you have the baby with you."

 

And this is where my fatal error occurred.  There's that filter that most people have that sensors your words before they come out of your mouth.  Mine doesn't always work properly, and this was one of those times when it failed me miserably.

 

When my friend said, "... you have the baby with you," I should have said, "Uh... Yeah.  That's right.  The baby...  Yeah."

 

What I actually said was, "Ha! No, I don't."

 

All light-hearted banter ceased, and everyone stared at me with that "Oh...  This poor girl needs medication" look on their faces.  You could hear the crickets chirping in the silence as they stared at me with their mouths agape in disbelief.  "Oh, honey.  That's bad..." they said.

 

You mean you don't do that?!?  Oh...  Oops!

Mimi's Infant Dress Code

As I've been purging and organizing my stash of tiny human clothing while I'm on my self-imposed one-year foster care break, I've decided to be very particular about the types of outfits I will keep for future babies.  I figure I've been dressing infants for over five years now, and I can safely say what I will and will not be putting on my child.  As I started going through my foster care closet (aka. My "Monica" Hidden Closet of Doom), I realized that I have established rather clear-cut "rules" on infant clothing.  Let me introduce you to:

Mimi's Infant Dress Code

 

Rule #1 - No one piece outfits or pajamas with legs that pull over the head!  I learned this lesson the hard way at about 2:45am one morning when Monkey had a diaper blowout of massive proportions in his brand new adorable red flannel jammies.  I realized as I was cutting his clothing off of him, ER-style, in the middle of the night that all future outfits must have an easy means of escape that don't involve pulling poop-covered material over my child's head.  Yes, the outfit may be the cutest thing you ever saw, but trust me when I say it won't be quite so cute in a blowout situation.

Rule #2 - Snaps must not be "hidden."  It is hard enough snapping pajamas in the dark after a diaper change.  Those "fancy" jammies where you have to turn the seams inside out so the snaps don't show are just not right!  Whoever came up with that design clearly didn't have children or they never would have released those garments into the market.

Rule #3 - Tight-fitting thermal jammies must be at least two sizes larger than what the baby typically wears.  I played a mean trick (unintentionally, I promise) on Miss Kaitlyn at daycare one day. I sent a cute little outfit for Bug's "I Drooled Down to My Toes in my First Outfit of the Day" ensemble. I had never put him in it myself though because I took one look at it and thought, "That's gonna be a "B" to get him into!" So I sent it to let Miss Kaitlyn have go at it. She's young and in shape! Surely she was capable of wrestling the squirming octopus into submission! The look she gave me when I walked in the door to pick up my little Bugmeister that afternoon made me rethink my position on the matter in the future.   I believe she said something along the lines of "Don't you ever do that again!"  ...and I am fairly certain that chocolate made its way to daycare the next week as I grovelled for forgiveness.

Rule #4 - I am all about the zipper!  My mom has always said that she hates zippers because she worries about all of the awkward positions you have to put the baby into to get them in the outfit.  I maintain that any child who can suck on their own toes with ease will have absolutely no problem bending in half to get their leg into that one non-zippered side of the outfit.  Zippers just make life easier.  Bring on the zippers!!!

Rule #5 - Hair accessories need to be proportionate with the child's head.  I adore hair bows on baby girls!  I can't wait to get a little pink up in this house so I can accessorize to my heart's content.  But when it comes to your little one's hair accessories...  Puh-leeze!!!  Try to show a little restraint!  When your little girl's hair bow is bigger than her entire head, perhaps it's time for your loved ones to stage an intervention.  (This is a touched up photo of Monkey.  I didn't want to offend anyone by posting an actual photo of their baby with a ridiculously large bow on its head, but I think you get the idea.)

Rule #6 - This one is more a personal "rule" than one that I would impose on others, but I simply can not let my kids run around without pants.  I don't know why.  It's not like a baby in nothing but a diaper and a t-shirt is hurting anything.  Heck!  It might even be more convenient to forgo the pants altogether, but for some reason I just can't do it!  My babies wear bottoms.  Period.  The ironic thing about this rule is that I tend to sleep in a t-shirt and undies myself.  (TMI, I know.  You're welcome for that! ;-)  I can't tell you the number of times that Monkey has exclaimed when he calls me into his room in the middle of the night, "Mommy!  You no having any pants!"  So the fact that my children are always bottom-covered due to my crazy hang-up really is rather funny.

I'm sure I could list another dozen rules if I really thought about it, but these seemed to be the ones that immediately came to mind.  What about you?  Do you have an unspoken dress code for your little ones? 

Birth Order as Evidenced by Breakfast

I realized yesterday morning as I sat Bug in his highchair at daycare to give him his breakfast that you can tell the birth order of the children by what their parents have given them for their morning meal.  I'm sure this can be determined by other factors as well, but it was blatantly evident this particular morning by food alone.  :-)

Source

The little girl in the highchair next to Bug was clearly the firstborn, only child.  She was picking at what appeared to be a piece of homemade, whole grain, blueberry bread with a lovely container filled with fresh, certainly organic mixed berries and banana slices and sipping on a cup of milk that I'm sure was probably squeezed fresh from cow or goat or whatever mammal just that morning.  It reminded me of Booger Bear and what I used to feed him...  My first child...  Always fresh fruit along with a cup of whole milk and a healthy grain of some sort.

The child on the other side of Bug was most likely a second child.  He seemed happier than the little girl gagging down that grainy bread and thick milk.  He was munching on a handful of Cheerios, a banana, and yogurt and drinking what appeared to be diluted white grape juice.  This made me think of Monkey...  My second little guy...  I still wanted to do a well-balanced meal that included dairy, grains, and fruit, but I also wanted to go for convenience as well.  I had a "no colorful juice" rule that pretty much eliminated all juices other than white grape or apple juice because I didn't want to deal with stains, but gave Monkey the chance to enjoy a sweet fruity drink every once in a while. 

Then came my Bug.  I plopped him in the highchair, handed him a cup of bright red juice, and gave him his "breakfast" that consisted of a PopTart and a squeeze pouch of applesauce.  Yeah...  My little guy is clearly #7 in our family's "birth" order.  In my defense though, it was a strawberry PopTart!  And I felt a wee bit guilty for not giving him a grain of some sort, so I did reach over and snag a small handful of Cheerios from "Second Child's" tray.  I thought that action would prove to be beneficial in a number of areas - my kid gets a grain, Second Child won't overeat, and both boys will learn the joys of sharing.  Win/Win!

I have to admit, I am a little concerned about what Future Child #8's morning meals might look like if my steady decline in breakfast standards is any indication.  I think as long as I don't go the dry Lucky Charms, cookies, and a soda route, I'll consider breakfast a success. 

Doctor Office Torture

Source

Having spent what seemed like 7,000 hours in two doctors' offices with a 19-month-old last week, I think I can safely say that a root canal without anesthesia performed by a blind Tourette's patient would quite possibly be a more pleasant experience than what I endured.  I'm sure that anyone who has ever taken a toddler to the doctor can sympathize with me.

Bug's appointment on Tuesday was with his new non-Medicaid (HOLLA!!!) primary care doctor, so of course they handed me a stack of incredibly detailed paperwork to complete in the waiting room.  I tucked us into the thankfully empty children's corner and tried to contain him while I spent entirely too long filling out those forms.

With his uncanny ability to know the precise moment that Mommy is distracted, Bug took the opportunity to attempt to:

• climb every empty chair in our corner
• move furniture
• pull out every book and magazine he could find
• "straighten" all of the art on the walls

Then the little toot noticed the giant aquarium on the other end of the packed waiting room and took off running for it the second I went to sign my name on one of the 10,000 forms.  That's when Bug realized that there was so much more to offer in that room than what our little corner had provided, and I spent the next 30 minutes attempting to distract him with snacks, his sippy cup, books, anything to get him to stay close me. I would have given him a Sharpie and let him color on the walls if I'd had one available!  At one point, I had my clipboard in hand completing forms and had Bug securely locked in "leglock" of sorts just to keep him from running up to complete strangers and shouting "HI!"  

All I could think of as I called out Bug's name for the millionth time was this skit that Bill Cosby had done about 4-year-old "Jeffrey."

Kind of like "Jeffrey" -



Yes...  That was my son...  "Jeffrey."  I was shocked that I didn't hear applause when the nurse finally called us back to the exam room!

Any hopes that I had that waiting in the exam room with Bug would be easier were quickly dashed when he realized that he could open the door all by himself.  I sat on the floor with my back to that door filling out even more forms as Bug took the opportunity to explore his new surroundings.  He once again pulled out every book, magazine, and puzzle in the room.  He pushed the doctor's rolling stool around the room until he realized that it swiveled.  Then he laid on top of it on his stomach and spun around and around in circles.  He located the brand new Kleenex box as well as the trash can.  I am fully expecting a bill for tissues and a new puzzle as I am fairly certain an entire box of Kleenex and a puzzle piece or two ended up in there.  He found the crinkle paper on the exam table and tried to "mummify" himself.  I believe he spotted the computer just as the doctor arrived.  At least that was one crisis averted!

As soon as the doctor walked in, Bug sat quietly in the corner putting together a puzzle (the one without the missing pieces hidden in the trash can).  She probably took one look at me...  the out of breath, perspiration-drenched, disheveled mess with the glazed-over expression, rocking herself back and forth in the fetal position...  and thought to herself that I probably needed medical intervention more than the adorable, well-behaved toddler who smiled up at her with his big hazel eyes and adorable grin.  I apologized for his behavior earlier, and she just smiled and nodded with that "knowing" look that car mechanics get when you tell them your car is acting up and it drives perfectly for them.

Bug was an angel throughout the entire exam.  He got his 18-month shots like a trooper, and then my little terror in size 5 toddler shoes reached into the diaper bag, grabbed his sparkly pink Mr. Flamingo Bird, held my hand, and we walked out the door as he exclaimed "bye-bye!" to every person we passed along the way to our car.  Apparently the sight of a little boy with a sparkly pink flamingo in tow goes a long way towards restoring peace and tranquility where chaos once reigned.  The other patients who will forevermore remember my child's name just as Mr. Cosby will remember "Jeffrey" were all smiles and gushing all over my son as we walked towards our car.

...where he promptly fell asleep with Mr. Flamingo Bird in his arms.

Another "First"

So a couple of weeks ago, I added another item to the list of "Things I Never Thought I'd Do Before Foster Care" when I wrote a letter to Bug's birthmother in prison.  I have never met the woman who gave birth to my son, and she hasn't seen him since he was two months old so I really didn't know what to expect.  I had heard from several different sources over the past year and a half that led me to believe that despite everything that happened early in his life and the choices that she made, she loves Bug very much.  The fact that she voluntarily relinquished her parental rights and added for the record that she knew that Bug was in a good and loving home and would have the life that she wants for him with me gave me the added push to reach out to her when Bug's adoption became finalized.

I had no idea what to say or where to begin.  What exactly do you say to the woman who gave your son life, but made terrible choices that ultimately ended in her losing her child?  I decided to start by explaining who I was and letting her know that I was writing because I wanted to tell her about Bug.  I knew that she had a general idea of who Bug was with after meeting Heaven's mother in jail earlier last year and Heaven making the connection (another one of those "only in foster care" moments), but I was never allowed to contact her while Bug was a ward of the state.  Now that he's officially mine, I wanted to do what I thought was right for my son and reach out to the woman who loved him first.

I told her all about Bug's personality, his likes and dislikes, shared a couple of funny stories, and sent a few recent photos.  I acknowledged that I understood how difficult it was for her to relinquish and to be apart from him. I ended by opening the door for contact with me and told her that I understood if that would be too difficult. I didn't specifically say "thank you for giving me my son" - just acknowledged her feelings and put the ball in her court for correspondence with me.  I specifically said, "My hope is that you would like to keep in contact and that [Bug] will have the opportunity to meet you and know you when he’s older." I thought that statement would make it clear that there will be no personal contact with Bug now, but that I'm not opposed to it in the future.

Then I looked up the guidelines for mailing letters to inmates at her prison because I had no clue what I was doing, wrote what seemed like a novel to address an envelope, plopped on a couple of stamps, and dropped the letter in the outgoing mail at work (I'm sure the mailroom staff had some raised eyebrows when they came across that one!).  That was two weeks ago, and I have since sat with baited breath and wondered whether or not I had done the right thing.

Then came today...

I woke up with a gnawing feeling that I needed to go check Bug's PO box.  I set up a post office box under his birth name so his birth family could maintain contact with him and we could maintain our anonymity.  His maternal grandmother was given the address back in September, but has never used it and the box has sat unused since it was opened.

                             Until today!!!

I drove to the post office at lunch, and in our box was a lone key to one of the parcel boxes.  Inside was a package that contained this book, a CD, and a form letter from the director of the volunteer organization that helps incarcerated mothers connect with their children by giving them the opportunity to read a book to their child.  I immediately put the CD in my car's CD player and was able to hear the voice of the young woman who gave birth to my son as she read the book that she had chosen especially for him.

Several people have asked me how I can be so invested in my children's birth families.  Why does it matter so much to me that my children have some sort of connection to the people who gave them life when they failed them time and time again?  For me, the answer is simple.  I have three forever children whose birthmothers have all battled addictions and demons that they just haven't been able to overcome.  They love their children, but addiction often has such an incredible stronghold over a person that someone without a strong support system simply can't escape it.  I love my children more than words can say, and I feel like I owe it to them to extend a piece of that love to the women who gave birth to them - to show them compassion and grace.

Bug's birthmother may never be able to overcome her addictions or heal to the point where she can have an ongoing relationship with him, but as of today my son will be able to hear the voice of his first mommy telling him that he "is more loved than he will ever know."  And that, my friends, is worth the risk.

"Real"

With the finalization of Bug's adoption this past week, I have heard the comment "Oh!  Now you get to be a real mom!" more times that I can count.  I understand where people are coming from, and I try not to take offense.  But every time I hear that statement, I can't help but think of my oldest son.  My three year old little Monkey who has never known another mother except me...

I think of the little boy who stirred from a deep sleep when I leaned in to give him one last goodnight kiss last night and he gently touched my cheek and whispered, "I love you, Mom" before falling back into his dreams.

I think of the little boy who repeats praises and lessons I have taught him to his little brother, Bug.  "I love you, Baby Bug.  I so very proud of you!"  "You needs to listen to yous Mom and Dad and Nana and Papa.  They keep Monkey and Bug safe!"  "What's the matter, Baby Bug?  It's okay.  Mommy be right back!"

I think of the little boy who eagerly waits for me to get home for lunch and constantly tells my mom how much he loves me.  "I really love Mommy."  Mommy's a really good Mommy."  "Mommy teach me to have good manners."  "Mommy a very smart lady." "I really love Mommy."  "Mommy coming home real soon!"

I think of the little boy who runs to me for random hugs and to kiss his "owies."

I think of the little boy who wants to sleep in Mommy's bed when he's sick.  "Mommy sorry about your icky coughs.  It's okay.  I sleep in your bed, Mommy?"

I think of the little boy who wants to "sing some songs" before bed every night and who always requests "Jesus Loves Me" and "the red and blue and purple and green and orange and yellow song" (aka. "Jesus Loves the Little Children") because "Mommy teached me songs about Jesus."

I think of the little boy who has spent more time in my arms than in anyone else's, and I know that is exactly where he belongs.

I may never be Monkey's "legal" mother, but I challenge anyone to look at my son and tell him that I'm not his "real" mom.

I Fear I Will Never...

...have a "normal" telephone conversation ever again.

Something happens to intelligent human beings when they have kids.  Add their friends and family having children around the same ages to the mix, and they're all doomed to the following telephone conversations with each other for an as-yet-to-be-determined amount of time:

Scenario Number One:

6:35pm - My sister calls my cell phone.  I know it's her from the ringtone.  I can not answer because I have Bug in my arms feeding him his bottle with one hand, and wiping away at the spit up on my shirt with the other.  I say aloud "I'll call you back!" in the hopes that she will hear me even though I never actually answered the phone.

7:15pm - Bug is in bed, so I call Christy back.  She doesn't answer.  I assume she is putting the Mini Munchkins to bed.  I text her "Call me when you're free."

9:00pm - Text from Christy "Kids are all asleep here.  I know you're putting Monkey to bed, so call me when he's down."

9:30pm - I finally call Christy.  Within the first 30 seconds, we have used the words poopy, spitty uppy, and booger wall.  We forget who called the other first, and totally don't remember what either of us were going to tell the other or why we were calling in the first place.  We end the conversation with "Mama needs to go night-night."


Scenario Number Two:

11:30am - Mom calls me at work to tell me that Monkey is eating his lunch and has been talking about Mommy coming home the entire time.  I ask to talk to him.

Me:  "Hi Monkey!  It's Mommy!  What are you doing?"
Monkey:  (silence)
Me:  "Nana said you wanted to talk to Mama.  Are you eating lunch?"
Monkey:  (heavy breathing)
Me:  "Mama loves you, baby!  I'll be home in a little while.  Do you want to watch Thomas the Train?"
Monkey: (crickets chirping)

Mom: "Well, he was talking about you non-stop."

Monkey (in the background): "Mama on da phone!  Hewoh!!!  Hewoh, Mama!  Thomas.  Kitty Cat.  Cheese.  Bye-bye!"


Scenario Three:

Me (calling Christy):  "Hey!  You answered the phone!"
Christy (whispering):  "Yeah...  I'm hiding in my bedroom.  Hopefully they won't find me!"

We chat for a minute.  Literally one minute, then SCRRREEEAAAMMM!!!

Buddy:  "Moooom!  Pooper took Butterfly's sippy cup and now she's mad!"
Christy:  "Well take it away from him and give it back to Butterfly."

(pause...  "OWWW!!!  That's not nice, Pooper!)

Buddy:  "Moooom!  Pooper bit me when I tried to take away the sippy cup and give it back to Butterfly!"
Christy:  "I'm sorry.  He's a toddler.  He doesn't know any better."
Buddy:  "Will you tell him to stop?"
Christy:  "Is he still biting you?!?"
Buddy:  "No."
Christy:  "Well then I guess everything's okay then, huh?  I'm trying to talk to Aunt Tammy.  Go play."

(one minute later...)

Ka-Diva:  "I want to talk to Aunt Tammy!"
Buddy:  "Me too!  Can we come to your house, Aunt Tammy?!?"
Christy (now resorting to bribery):  "If you two will go keep an eye on your brother and sister so I can talk to Aunt Tammy for ten uninterrupted minutes, you can go to Aunt Tammy's this afternoon!"
Me:  "Uh, really?  Okay."
Buddy and Ka-Diva:  "OKAY!!!  YAY!!!"

Source

(three minutes later...)

Christy:  (mid-sentence):  "...oh man!  They found me!," she exclaimed as she spotted two pairs of toddler eyes staring at her over the mattress.

And that was the end of that phone conversation.  :-)


Scenario Four:

My BFF Katie calls me at work because she knows it's probably the only time she'll be able to reach me.  We talk for about twenty minutes when she says, "I guess I should probably go in."

Me:  "Go in where?"
Katie:  "Oh, I've been in my truck sitting in my driveway.  They don't know I'm home yet."


One day...  in the distant, far-off future...  in a galaxy far, far away...  My sister, mother, friends, and I will be able to have a telephone conversation that doesn't involve little people tugging on our pant legs chanting "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"  We will be able to talk for more than a minute without mention of bodily fluids.  We will be able to talk about ourselves in 1st person, rather than saying "Mommy really needs a nap."  One day, years from now when our children are grown, we will be able to call each other in peace!

Oh, who am I kidding?  Somehow I have a feeling the conversations will be eerily similar, only the "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" will be replaced with the "Mimi! Mimi! Mimi!" of our grandchildren's voices.  I fear the phone conversations of the present are my new "normal."  I suppose I should look for some good hiding places before Bug and Monkey are onto me!  :-)

Notes to Self...

 

• When making the spur-of-the-moment decision to "just throw on yesterday's jeans and run to the store," it might be wise to make certain they aren't the same jeans that the baby peed on.  Just sayin'.

• The Walmart door greeter probably isn't going to appreciate your snarky sense of humor.  When she asks, "Is he your first?!?" and you reply "Oh goodness, I've totally lost count.  He's the only one living with me full-time though," she's probably going to stare in horror or confusion as you walk away.

• Only buy infant pajamas that have a full zipper or snaps entirely up the front. Believe me when I say you do not want to have to attempt to pull pjs over your baby's head after a 3:00am diaper blow-out. I have done the whole "cut the clothing off of the baby" thing in order to avoid that, but it's kind of a bummer when you really like the outfit.

 

•  Always be aware of those times when the baby is not with you, and adjust your speech and actions accordingly. Standing up at the office and announcing, "Mama's gotta go potty. I'll be right back" will probably result in chuckles and taunts from your co-workers. Absentmindedly taking a tissue to your boss' nose after he sneezes... Probably not wise. Always be aware of those times you are childless!

 

• When the obnoxious single dad in the WIC office begins complaining, LOUDLY, about how long it is taking for the tenth time in only fifteen minutes, it would probably not be the brightest decision to start singing the "Have Patience" song just as loudly.  Others might find it amusing.  Him, probably not so much.  ;-)

Have patience, have patience

Don't be in such a hurry.

When you get impatient, you only start to worry.

Remember, remember that God is patient, too...

And think of all the times when others have to wait for you. 

 

 

Yes, these are just a few of the things that I thought I should write down.  Some things are too important to forget.  And remembering not to make jokes about not knowing what your baby's father looks like with the elderly church ladies would probably be one of them.

 







Motherhood: Outwit, Outplay, Outlast

There is something that just seems fundamentally wrong about a mother deriving a sense of sick satisfaction out of pulling one over on their 18-month-old, but I must admit...  When I outwit Monkey (or any of my other kiddos for that matter), I usually have to resist the urge to point, laugh, and taunt "Na-nee, Na-nee, Boo-BOOOO..."  Childish?  Perhaps.  But I truly believe I am not alone.

Motherhood is like the ultimate game of "Survivor."  Outwit.  Outplay.  Outlast.  And (not to toot my own horn or anything) I think I am pretty darned good.  I like to think that I am the Boston Rob of the MotherHood.  Those toddlers don't know what hit them when Mimi's in charge!  I'm always one step ahead, and can change my gameplay at the drop of a hat.  I am that good.  :-)

I have several "go-to" tactics that I don't mind sharing with my fellow sisters of the MotherHood.  We need to stick together, or those little boogers just might band together and realize that they can take us down if they try hard enough.

• Out-crazy the Crazy - I love Booger Bear to death, but I swear that 4-year-old has got to be the biggest handful of any child I have ever encountered.  He can be the sweetest, most loving little guy around, but look at him cross-eyed, and everything changes.  Temper tantrums, argumentative, whiny, and outright mean!  I dubbed him "Bipolar Baby" at 8-month-old, and his moods have only gotten worse.  Over the years, I've tried lots of techniques with him, but my personal favorite when he's pitching his screaming fits is to "out-crazy the crazy."  The first time I tried this was a year ago when Booger was carrying on like someone was killing him because I told him to put on his shoes.  I threw myself down in the middle of the floor and pitched my own screaming fit to rival his.  Booger stopped, mid-scream, looked at me like I'd lost my mind, and said in all seriousness, "Tammy, stop it.  That's annoying."  Oh, ya think?  It's annoying when you do it too!  Worked like a charm.

• Become a Magician - To me, one of the funniest sights to behold is the look on Monkey's face when an object that was present not two seconds before "disappears" in front of his very eyes.  Mama is a magician.  Out of all of my kiddos, Monkey has always been the one requires a little more "magic" when it comes to his toys.  He has a toy truck that has been his "favorite" for nearly a year, but this particular truck has also caused him fits of frustration to the point of Mama having to hide it for a few hours before he loses his mind.  Apparently Monkey wants this truck to do something that it just doesn't do, and he gets angry and hysterical over it.  I pull the "Oh my goodness, Monkey!  What is that over there?!?" move and immediately hide the thing when his back is turned.  His most recent favorite activity has been to throw his ball pit up in the air, scattering balls everywhere, and then kicking them all over the house.  The look of confusion on his face the morning after I hid the ball pit was priceless.  :-)

• Utilize "The Look" - We have an expression in our family.  An expression that was perfected by my Great Grandma and has been utilized by every woman since.  It is "The Look."  When my kids are misbehaving to the point of me wanting to strangle them, I pull out "The Look" and stare them down.  Words are unnecessary as "The Look" speaks for itself.  Works. Every. Time.  I remember the first time I used "The Look" on Angel...  She proceeded to tell everyone who would listen that she never wanted to see me get that look again.  Apparently "The Look" means business.  Although I have to admit it might be backfiring on me a bit with Monkey.  He has taken to attempting to butter me up by giving me his most adorable sweet smile when he sees that I have pulled "The Look" out of my Mama Arsenal.  He might actually have my number on this one.

• Never Underestimate Your Opponent - Oh sure...  They look all sweet and innocent...  Like they couldn't possibly ever try to pull one over on the grown-ups...  But believe me, those little boogers will try every trick in the book in an attempt to outsmart the big people, and if they can use their adorable looks in the process they'll definitely do so!  Toddlers are a whole lot smarter than they look, and they will eat you alive if you underestimate them!  I study my opponents carefully when they don't know I'm looking.  You can just see the wheels turning in their heads as they come up with their plans.  At 17-months-old, Booger Bear used to try to barter "Barney" time with me.  I would tell him "You can listen to the song one more time," to which he would reply by holding up two fingers and saying, "two."  At 18-months, Monkey is learning that age old game of playing his parents off of each other.  "If Mama says 'no,' ask Daddy!"  And all of the kids have done that "watch the grown up out of the corner of your eye while you're playing with something you're not supposed to have and then stand up and hand it to them saying "trash" when you get caught" thing.  Monkey even goes as far as adding "Good Boy!" as he hands me the "trash."  :-)

• Hone Up on Your Super-Spy Powers - Cell phone stalking, army crawling to avoid detection, alarms that sound when a person exits the home, enlisting the aid of "informants" disguised as teachers, stay-at-home neighbors, relatives, etc.  I've done it all.

But perhaps my best piece of advice when it comes to outwitting, outplaying, and outlasting the tiny people is this:  Let them think they are smarter than you.  They'll get sloppy and will sit dazed and confused every single time you get the better of them.  It's hilarious to watch!  :-)

Stay strong, sisters of the MotherHood!

Just like in "The Hunger Games," only one will survive...  May the odds be ever in your favor!

"Foster Friday" Q & A - The Name Game

With so many new adoptions in the works for many of you, the subject of changing your child's name has come up quite a bit recently on different blogs and support groups.  When I received a call a couple of days ago to submit my homestudy for an adoptive placement of a 2-month-old baby girl, I started wondering...  Would I want to change her name?  Yes.  She's so young I doubt she knows her name right now anyway.  But that made me think...  

How do you make the decision to change your child's name when they are older?  18 months, 3 years, 8 years, 17 years?  At 18 months old, would I have changed Monkey's or Booger's names if I'd been able to adopt them?  They knew their names at that age, and an 18-month-old certainly isn't going to understand why everyone is suddenly calling him something completely different.  An older child would.  They might even be excited about process and concept of helping to choose their new name.  So many thoughts running through my head on the subject!!!

I started thinking about all of my foster kiddos, their names, and how I would feel about changing them if I had been able to adopt them.  I thought about baby name books and how most people go about choosing names for their children.  I thought about how a completely different name might affect my little ones verses how a new name might be welcomed for others.  (I tend to overthink things, I think ;-)
 

Banana and Her "Mad" Face :-)

Mimi's Personal Naming Rule #1:  Avoid Terms of Endearment and Names Associated with Peace Signs and Bell Bottoms

My first foster daughter's name was one that I definitely would have changed.  I'm not quite certain what her mother was on when she named her, but I am fairly certain whatever it was wasn't exactly legal.  Munchkin had one of those super long, hippie, endearment names similar to "Honey Autumn Moonbeam Doe."  Having a term of endearment as your child's first name can really freak a mama out when random strangers call them by name.  When that child is a foster/adopted child, you definitely don't want to hear their name coming from the mouth of an unknown person.  In Munchkin's case, I probably would have kept one of her middle names and changed her first name.


Mimi's Personal Naming Rule #2:  When Bestowing a Clearly Cultural Name Upon Your Child, It Is Wise to Use a Name from THEIR Culture

When Monkey came to me, I found it rather amusing that this 100% Hispanic child had a decidedly Irish first and middle name paired with a very, very Hispanic surname.  His last name is so culturally-rooted that even my company's translator had difficulty pronouncing it!  Would I change it now?  No.  I love his name.  I might have even used it had I been able to have little Irish babies of my own.  But had I wanted to change Monkey's name to one with a cultural ring to it, I don't think I would have chosen one that leads you to expect a red-headed pasty white boy with an Irish accent.


Mimi's Personal Naming Rule #3:  PUH-LEEZE Don't Get All Creative with the Spelling!

When Booger Bear came through my door, his paperwork was a mess!  I quickly realized that was because his birthmother decided to take some creative liberties with the spelling and no one had a clue how she wanted it spelled.  I wouldn't have changed his name...  But I would have corrected the spelling so the poor kid wouldn't have to spend his entire lifetime explaining that "No, it's not a typo."  Unfortunately, Kelly didn't change it when Booger went to him, so my special boy is probably going to grow up with people thinking that he is "special" in other ways because he doesn't know how to spell his own name.  The sad thing is that it's been so long now that I really have forgotten how his name is supposed to be spelled!


Mimi's Personal Naming Rule #4:  When Enlisting the Assistance of Your Preschooler in the Re-Naming Process, Don't Take Their Suggestions TOO Seriously

When Christy found out she was having the Mini Munchkins, she wanted to include the Big Twins in as much as she could.  They spent hours going through names and bouncing ideas off of each other.  Buddy chose a name for his little sister, and kept pushing it on Christy for months leading up to the birth.

     *** Butterfly Crystal ***

Christy finally asked him why he liked that name so much, and he responded with "girls' names should be beautiful, and that's a beautiful name!"  Christy compromised by telling Buddy that he was right, and that she would save that very special name just for him so he could use it for his daughter when he became a daddy.  (Well played, Christy!  Well played!)

Ka-Diva was much more practical in her approach.  Any time I asked her what she thought, she would reply with single syllable names like "Kate" or "Bart."  When I asked her about her name choices, she told me that her name was too long and that she just thought she'd pick easy names "so they won't run out of paper."  "Run out of paper," I asked.  "Yeah.  I always run out of paper when I write my name!"  :-)

Mimi's Personal Naming Rule #5:  Put the Breaks on the Crazy

I'm all for allowing my children some freedom of expression and promoting creativity.  However, when it comes to them being solely responsible for choosing the name that they would like to have on all of their legal documents for the rest of their lives, I say "Put the breaks on the crazy."  I can totally see Miss Banana walking into the room and announcing, "You may call me 'Princess Consuela Bananahamac!'"  Um, yeah...  I'm gonna go with "no" on that one.

Sooo...  My questions to all of you are...

"How did you decide whether or not to change your adopted child's name?"

"How old was your child when you changed their name?"

"If your child was young, were they confused?  How did they adjust?"

"If your child was older, did they participate in choosing their new name?"

It's a Good Thing He's Cute

I do believe we are entering the kingdom of the Terrible Twos...  I'm not entirely certain what Monkey's daddy did with my super sweet, loving little Mama's boy over the weekend, but the child who was returned to me on Sunday is clearly not the same one who left last Thursday!  He is most definitely an imposter in Monkey's body.

It started on Sunday night when I told Monkey that it was time to get his "night night" diaper on.  My little creature of habit who normally runs straight for the changing table took off in the opposite direction yelling "NO! NO! NO!"  I was stunned.  Did he really just do that?!?  I followed him, and the little snot took off running in the opposite direction again shouting, "NO! NO! NO!"

Oh, no you didn't, Little Man!  You don't tell Mama "no."  I'm not your foster mama any more, Mister.  I can paddle your little behind if I need to!

I managed to corral him and carried him kicking and screaming to the changing table.  I have to admit, my recent Emergency Behavior Intervention and Restraint Training class came in rather handy as I tried to wrestle the Screaming Sumo Wrestling Octopus with Superhuman Strength.  I'm glad the child is no longer in CPS care so I could avoid the mandatory paperwork for necessary restraint.  Fortunately, his attitude improved and we were incident-free the rest of the night.

Monday was fairly uneventful.  I had taken the day off work, so we headed over to my sister's house for a playdate with the Mini Munchkins.  Monkey spent the majority of the morning trying to avoid Butterfly as she chased him around the house planting kisses on him.  He made the fatal error of indulging her one time, and paid the price for the next hour and a half.  For the most part, we had very few outbursts or fits from any of the toddlers, and Monkey was on his best behavior.  Then we went home...  Monkey did not want to be home.  He wanted to go "bye."  And he spent a good 20 minutes trying to get out the back door.

Tuesday rolled around, and my mom got to be the lucky recipient of Monkey's full-fledged bipolar baby meltdowns for the morning.  I walked in the door at lunch and she immediately told me "I'm calling in 'sick' tomorrow.  Your child is possessed.  I want a raise."  This coming from the mouth of the woman who has always told me that she feels guilty for taking money for watching him because he's so insanely easy!  She grabbed her purse, hightailed it out the front door, and left me to fend for myself with The Ranting One.

   Source

Man O' Mercy, Monkey was in rare form, indeed!  Smiling and playing one second...  Screaming at the top of his lungs and chunking his toys across the room the next...  He then decided that he wanted a second popsicle after lunch, and when I told him "no," WWIII began.  He stood in front of the refrigerator, banging on the door, screaming "POP-POP!!!  GRRRRRRRRR!!!  POP-POP!!!  AAAAAHHHHHH!!!"  I ended up doing The Great Staredown (the only thing that works occasionally) and even got the whole thing on video for future blackmail.

Source

By the time Monkey's daddy showed up to take him home for the afternoon, I was fully embracing the whole "co-parenting" thing.  I warned him, "Monkey is IN A MOOD!"  Although I don't think the warning was very necessary.  Monkey took one look at his dad and ran into the other room like a wild man screaming "NOOOO!!!"  Monkey's dad looked like a dear in the headlights.  I sighed, and told him "I'll be right back" and I set out to retrieve The Screaming One.

"NOOO!!!  NOOO!!  NOOO!!!"

"Don't you tell Mama 'No,' young man!  Daddy's waiting for you.  Time to go!"

I scooped him up and carried him back to the living room as he writhed and kicked and screamed.

"You have fun with that," I exclaimed as I practically threw the little snot into his daddy's arms and shoved them out the front door.  Yep.  It was definitely one of those "Co-Parenting ROCKS" days as I sat in my now silent house and giggled to myself thinking about the super-fun time that I'm sure Monkey's daddy was about to have for the rest of the afternoon.  :-)

I really do hope this Reign of Terror phase doesn't last too long.  I think God really knew what he was doing when he chose to make children go psycho around this age as opposed to later down the road.  At least toddlers can be cute.  I can guarantee this would be an entirely different post if a teenager tried to pull these stunts.  As it is, I have found myself chanting the mantra "it's a good thing he's cute" over and over again in an attempt to keep from throttling the little booger.  At least he's smart enough to know when to flash a smile my way to remind me!  :-)

The Importance of Cell Phones as a Parenting Tool

When I first decided to foster Booger's teen birthmom, I knew I was going to have to find inventive ways to keep tabs on her.  I'm a full-time working mom, and I couldn't be there 24/7.  I very quickly discovered the importance of the cell phone.  Yes, that stinkin' thing was literally in her hand 24 hours of the day and drove me to the point of near insanity, but that fact also gave me a powerful parenting tool.  A teen and her cell phone...  A precious bond...  A precious bond that I could use to my advantage...  *** Insert evil laugh ***  ;-)

Step one in "Operation Wireless Stalker Mama" was to learn the lingo.  You can't beat them at their own game if you can't understand a "word" they're saying.  I am pleased to say that I eventually successfully mastered the language of Teen Speak, and can now carry on a conversation with the best of them.  (Speaking of, I should probably update my resume while I'm thinking about it now that I am bilingual and all...)  LET THE SPY GAMES BEGIN!!!  *** Insert another evil laugh just because I can! ***

Step two - Observation.  I spent several days observing my subject (aka. Angel) in order to discover how best to use this cell phone thing to my advantage.  It was abundantly clear that my first line of attack would be threats and bribery when necessary.  Anyone who sleeps with the cell phone in hand has an obvious addiction .  One threat of loss of said device will usually result in a total 180 in negative behavior.  If not, the best method of removal is to take the SIM card and/or the battery out and hand the unusable phone back to the offender.  It's kind of humorous watching them longingly stare at the blank screen.  That's where the bribery comes in...  "Clean your room and you can have your SIM card back."  You might be surprised how quickly that bed gets made!

Step three in utilizing cell phones as a parenting tool involves making good use of your online cell phone account.  It is amazing what all you can discover when you take full advantage of all of the features that come with managing your account online!  Want to know who your kid could possibly be talking to 24/7?  Just go online and you'll know exactly who she's talking to.  I programmed all of her frequently used numbers straight onto the account for quick and easy reference.  Don't recognize a number?  Call it.  Think your teen isn't being completely honest with you when they say, "So and so wants to know if I can come over..."  Just go online and see who she's actually been talking to.

I also got really smart and activated the GPS tracker.  I knew there was no way she was going to part with that phone, and she wasn't about to turn it off or the withdrawals would set in.  I could easily go online and track her location at any time.  Stalker-ish?  Perhaps.  But I knew where my kid was, and more importantly, I knew whether or not she was where she was supposed to be.  I always knew if she was up to something when there was unusual activity on her phone ("unusual activity" as in no activity.  There was always activity on her phone, so if there was a lull, I knew to investigate. ;-).

I'll be the first to admit that I made a ton of mistakes when it came to parenting Angel.  I was in way over my head and had no clue what I was doing.  It was definitely a learning experience.  I learned a lot of lessons the hard way though, and I kind of feel bad for the next teenager who comes to live with me (if I ever get brave and actually let one move in, that is).  They'd better really like their new mom, because I have a feeling they'll be spending the vast majority of their time in my company.  ;-)  But during those times when I can't be with them, I'll know that I have my handy-dandy secret spy weapon at my disposal.  Cell phones ROCK!!!

Potty Time (or Not...)

(Drawing by "Mimi")

It has happened...  Monkey has hit that stage in his development where he likes to stick his hand under the bathroom door and call out, "Mama?"

The current development is an improvement, I suppose.  He usually beats me to the restroom and attempts to climb into my lap, sit on my feet, take all of his toys out of his bathtub caddy, or throw every last toy he can find into the bathtub while I'm indisposed.  I'll take a toddler hand under the door over a toddler on my lap while I'm on the potty any day!

I think most moms consider it a grand vacation when they get the rare opportunity to potty in peace.  I remember my sister telling me about one particular time when Buddy was about 3 years old.  The twins were learning all about "privacy" and were eager to put it into practice and show that they understood what that term meant.

Buddy (outside the closed bathroom door) -  "Mommy???  Mommy???  Are you in there?"
Christy - "Yeah, Buddy.  I'm in the restroom."
Buddy - "Whatchya doin' in there?"
Christy - "I'll be out in a minute, sweetie. Go play!"
Buddy - "Can I come in?"
Christy - "Not right now, honey."
Buddy - "Are you going potty?"
Christy - "Yeah, baby.  I'll be out in a minute."
Buddy - "Are you going #1 or #2?"
Christy - "Don't worry about it, Buddy.  That's private.  Go play!"
Buddy - "Can you see me, Mommy?" (looking under the door)
Christy - "Buddy, don't look under the door."
Buddy - "Oh, okay." (pause)  "Can you see my hand?" (sticking hand under the door)
Christy - "Yes, I can see your hand.  Go play!"
Buddy - "Do you need privacy?"
Christy - "Yes, Buddy.  I need privacy."
Buddy - "Oh, okay."
...pause...
Buddy - "I'll just wait for you right here then!"

Source

Having only fostered infants and toddlers (and one teen), I haven't really ever had to deal with the bathroom conversations before.  That should prove to be a fun new experience when I get my first preschooler.  :-)  Most of my "potty time" involves multi-tasking (when I can get free of the children), cleaning up messes that I'd rather not have to clean up, and trying to entertain toddlers and my cat who inevitably follow me in there and then get fussy when I won't play with them! 


One day, I will be able to potty in peace.  Probably not anytime soon though, so I suppose I'll just have to get used to having an audience.  :-)

... And so are the days of my life ...

The A-Z's of Motherhood to a Toddler (Part 2)

If you missed Part 1 of "The A-Z's of Motherhood to a Toddler," check it out here!

And now for the Conclusion (took me long enough, huh? ;-) of:

Sure Signs That You Are Parenting a Toddler

"No" - Since Monkey has started crawling and exploring the house, I believe I have said the word "no" about a million times. For the most part, I reserve it for when he is about to get into something that could harm himself or others (aka. Kitty Cat Tommie). "No, Monkey... Be gentle." "No, Monkey... Stop chasing Kitty Cat Tommie." "No, Monkey... Don't chew Kitty Cat Tommie's tail." "OMG! MONKEY! NO!!! STOP IT!!!" When the kids have hit the older toddlerhood stage, the roles reverse, and the word "no" comes from their mouths. When Booger was about 15 months old, I counted one morning. Booger was barely awake for 60 seconds, and the word "no" came out of his mouth 47 times. Literally. 47. Times. There was also an "elephant," a "pancake," and a "bra" mixed in there too. I'd love to know his thought process on that one!

Obstacle courses - It was one thing when the toys and baby gear were stationary.  I knew that the swing was going to be in the swing's permanent location, but the kid becomes mobile, and it's an entirely new ballgame!  Toys seem to appear in the middle of my path out of nowhere.  Hundreds of balls cover my living room floor because I had the oh-so-brilliant idea to get the boy a ball pit.  I clear a path, only to turn around and find my toddler has put new and improved obstacles in the way!  Monkey also tends to be the obstacle as he follows me everywhere and is always underfoot.

Purse contents - You know you're parenting a toddler when the total sum of your purse contents include wet wipes, a diaper, a container of puffs, a small toy, and an itty bitty little coin purse that carries everything from cash to credit cards to insurance cards to frequent shopper cards to your driver's license.

Quiet - "Quiet" is never a good thing when it comes to toddlers at play. When Buddy and Ka-Diva were a couple of years old, my sister went to take a shower and told my brother-in-law to keep an eye on the twins. When she came back to the living room 15 minutes later, the twins weren't there. "Chris, where are the kids?" "Oh, they're in Ka-Diva's room. They're being good. They've been really quiet." And that, my friends, is a phrase that no mother wants to hear. Christy walked in to find Ka-Diva "fixing Buddy's hair" (she wanted to be a "haircutter" like our cousin Ariel). Unfortunately, she was "fixing" his hair with an entire tub of Vaseline. It was Christmas Eve. And Vaseline does not come out easily, my friends.

Repetition to the point of insanity - "Mama? Mama? Mommy? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mommy? Mommy? Mama? Mama? Mama?" "OMG! WHAT?!?" "Hi." ;-) ... And then there's the whole "put toy in, take toy out... put toy in, take toy out... put toy in, take toy out..." thing. Or "push the button, push the button, push the button, push the button..." Or "spin, spin, spin, spin, spin (he is actually spinning a toy right now. The same toy that he has been spinning non-stop for the past 10 minutes.) If I wasn't already medicated, I think I would need to be.

Separation Anxiety -  Over the past few weeks, I seem to have found myself the proud recipient of a new appendage. It's quite remarkable, really... It tends to relocate itself from my leg to my shoulder to my arm to my other leg, etc. all on its very own!  Yes... Monkey has hit the "I WANT MY MAMA! Complete and Total Separation Anxiety" stage of his development that all toddlers tend to go through.  He follows me into the restroom.  He cries if I'm not in his line of sight.  Most of the time, being in the same room isn't enough and he feels the need to attach himself to my body in whatever way he can.  Fortunately, this stage hasn't lasted too long with most of my little ones, so one day soon I should be able to shower without an audience.

Thinking they're smarter than we are - I don't know what it is about this age, but it's like you can just see the little wheels turning in their heads as they try to one-up you!  Toddlers are notorious for deliberately getting things that they know they aren't supposed to have, only to walk it clear across the house to hand it to you.  Like, "Here, Mama...  I know I'm not supposed to touch this, so I'm handing it to you for safe-keeping."  When Booger was about 16-months-old, he would actually try to haggle with me on "Barney" time.  He loved the "I Love You" song, and would always ask for me to repeat it.  I would say, "Okay, one more time."  ...and the little toot would turn around, hold up his fingers, and say "Two."  I am constantly catching Monkey staring at the baby gate to the stairs and the barrier that I use to block off the kitchen just looking for chinks in the armor.  If he finds one, that kid moves at light speed to reach the unattainable room.  Little Miss had that "old soul" mentality, and I fear that kid actually was smarter than me half of the time!

Undesirable "gifts" - That whole "thinking they're smarter than we are" thing leads directly to undesirable "gifts."  When Buddy and Ka-Diva were toddlers, they would often hand my sister dead bugs or other things they wanted to pass off as "trash."  I, personally, have been the recipient of boogers, chewed up food taken out of a toddler's mouth, a worm, multiple insects (dead and alive), and several unidentifiable objects and substances which I would just as soon remain in the dark about as to their origins.

Vanishing children - There one second, gone the next.  Toddlers are fast little suckers!  It's like they do their very best to lull you into a false sense of security as infants when they struggle just to do Tummy Time or to roll over.  Suddenly, and usually without any warning whatsoever, they start to crawl and walk.  The infant that you laid down on the play mat while you stepped into the kitchen for a drink isn't there when you get back!  You find her using the back of the sofa as a balance beam.

WTF?!? moments - Tiny babies never have them, but turn your back for two seconds, and you will turn back around to find your toddler doing things you never even dreamed would happen. Let your guard down for a moment and you might very well find yourself the recipient of a handful of poop from a dirty diaper. F'real. Booger did that to his great grandfather on a home visit with his daddy, and I kept that boy in onesies until the day he left!

X-reme embrarrassment public places - I realized around 14 months old that Booger had no filter.  One shopping trip, when we were passing through a lingerie section, Booger started pointing and shouting, "RA!!!  RA!!!"  (OMG!  Is it possible to pretend like I don't know this baby?)  I tried to ignore him, thinking he would stop.  But when I failed to acknowledge his excited exclamations, he started pulling on my arm, pointing at bras, and shouting, "Mimi!!!  RA!!!  RA, Mimi!!!"  I leaned down and whispered, "Yes, baby.  You're right.  Those are bras."  I tried to ignore the stares and not-so-muffled chuckling of the other shoppers, but that's rather difficult to do when your child is engaging them in conversation by smiling, saying "hi," then pointing to the bras, and shouting, "RA!!!"  Seriously.  Shoot me now.  CPS is SOOOO going to take my license away.

Yo Gabba Gabba! (and all of those other obnoxious toddler cartoons) - I've never been a fan of letting my little ones watch a lot of TV.  That is to say, I was never a fan before I had kids.  Now I will freely admit that sometimes that TV is a lifesaver.  Just when I think I'm about to lose my mind chasing and disciplining a rambunctious toddler, I ask "Do you want to watch 'Thomas?!?'"  The hyperactive one whips his head around and stares, completely mesmerized, for a full twenty minutes while I attempt to regain my sanity.  Said sanity is usually called into question the following workday when I can't stop humming the "Cookie! Cookie!" song from "Barney."  Oh well...  Just one of the many hazards of parenting a toddler, I suppose...

Zoology lessons (aka. animal sounds) - Do you know what a llama sounds like? Neither do I! But leave it to a toddler to hound you over and over again until you at least make something up! Fortunately, Monkey is currently content with the quacking duck, the meowing kitty cat, and the barking puppy dog. I am sort of dreading the day that he wants to hear my rendition of an aardvark though. I'm not really sure what to do with that.

And those, my friends, are my sure signs that you are parenting a toddler...  Do you have any that you would add?