When we wanted to move out of our house in Athens 5 years ago, we ended up buying the last house we saw on the first day searching in Charlotte. The wife was asleep in the realtor's van when the bump of the driveway woke her up. She looked at the house and said, "This is the one we're going to buy." Just to make sure, we checked the inside and it was pretty awesome. Sure, the kitchen is too small and cheap for my tastes. The laundry is in the basement so you carry clothes up and down two flights. But it had everything else we wanted.
There were some other things we learned about the house in the years we've lived in it. Some good, some bad, but the best feature I discovered since having a son is the proximity to a creek. Our neighborhood is separated from a local park by a few hundred yards of woods and there are tons of trails back through there, including a wood bridge over a small creek. It takes us 10 minutes to walk back there and Owen LOVES the woods and the creek. We've been going down to the creek during Lily's nap time for an hour or so about 2 or 3 times a week recently.
The creek is perfect for him. It's only a few inches deep and fairly open with a couple of perfectly sized obstacles in it. None of the fallen logs are too high to climb over. The brush isn't too thick to get through, but it's a challenge he can handle. The sand isn't too rough and very few rocks. There are tons of bugs, we've seen frogs and minnows, and the water is nice and cool in the hot weather. I've always been worried about him falling over or not listening, but it really is some of the best time we spend together since it's one on one and we're doing boy stuff. I finally trusted him enough to bring our chocolate lab Bella with us down to the creek today. He was so funny. Calling her, telling her to come back, basically parroting me any time I said anything to her. I taught him the joy of picking up a random stick, holding it out to get the dog excited, then throwing it.
Sure, he can't throw it very far. And he seems to want to throw it directly at the dog, but the dog and the boy are both really happy to be there. I was sitting on the bridge this afternoon watching this and just happy as could be. I know, this is a rather sappy post.
But, I will tell you something I learned today. When a boy baby pees with his diaper off, you're likely to get hit in the face. I thought it was much safer when a girl baby pees with her diaper off. Until I found out the pee forms a puddle around her feet, then she giggles and takes off running. Yes, our upstairs now sports a few baby footprint-shaped pee stains.
CK
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Playground Stereotypes
We have spent a lot of time at various playgrounds around the house. I definitely have a couple of clear favorites. I hate the one closest to our house for excessive lack of shade and their giant sandbox that both my kids want to spend all the time in getting dirty and not using much energy. The next closest is pretty awesome with a big mulched area and lots of big oak trees for shade, no sandbox. I'm also pretty fond of the newest one, though it's a little further from us. It's built like a big tree and has a bunch of slides, ladders, and rope ladders to play on. He loves it and Lily does pretty well there too, even though she's not big enough to climb anything yet. Well, Owen loves running around the outside wall of that particular playground, but that's close enough.
One of the things I have noticed is that there are some regulars I see almost every time I go to the playground. Not necessarily the same people, but I see the same types of people and I will attempt to describe them here.
The Texter
This person is really EVERYWHERE, but the texter is usually sitting in the most prime spot for keeping an eye on the whole playground. But they aren't watching their kids, they are on their smart phone the whole time. They'll look up in the event of screaming, but it's probably 98% staring at the phone. Men are usually texters as a whole (especially on weekends), but there are some women who fall into this group. I have fallen into this category occasionally. Speaking of fallen, I once received an important call about a project being closed out and my son attempted to fall 5 feet from the monkey bars. Luckily, I know my son well enough to understand he is clumsy and had my arm around him while chatting with the state regulator when he fell. Now, he falls from the monkey bars quite regularly and I let him. He at least knows to fall on his ample bottom. Just when I was trusting my son enough to become the texter, my little girl wants to stand 5 feet up on the equipment and I have to pay close attention.
The Gossiper
This is almost exclusively the domain of the ladies. I'm not talking about idle conversation while kids chase each other in circles, I'm talking about the ones who corner you or hijack a conversation to discuss medical issues, what's wrong with your child, or to pontificate on parenting. I made the mistake of engaging a gossiper and found out she was pregnant with another kid, suffering from gestational diabetes, and was constantly constipated. Thanks. Why did Owen pick this moment to play quietly in front of me instead of running like crazy and making me chase him, thereby providing an escape?
Another instance was a Mom that cornered another lady and we went over to the swings specifically to avoid overhearing more about the difficulties conceiving. Eventually, her unsupervised 4 year old came over to the swing area and was walking in front of kids. After about the third time I had to grab Lily to stop my child's foot from concussing this little angel, I told her to watch out for the kids swinging so she wouldn't get whacked. She replied with, "You're not my Mommy." Okay, no more warnings. It was about 2 minutes before a big kid caught her on the backswing. There was screaming, gossip Mom came over mad and yelled at the big kid, and I chuckled on the inside. I almost told the gossipy Mom what happened, but I didn't want to get stuck listening to her.
I recognize that I am often guilty of excessive parenting talk in the presence of male friends. I will try not to talk about parenting and will endeavor to convey more stories in which Owen does hilarious things.
The Hoverer
I would categorize myself in this category most of the time. We follow the kids around at a safe distance to make sure they aren't face planting or walking into the midst of the swings. I try to let Owen play while keeping eyes on him. It doesn't always stop him from falling 5 feet and whacking his head on mulch, but I can at least contain him to the playground area and prevent him from escaping into traffic or the woods. I don't want to get too much in his face or prevent opportunities to play with kids his own age. I suppose I could also call this guy 'The Stalker' because I probably look creepy following small children around the playground. Most of the time I am following an exact copy of myself at 1/3 scale so it's not too bad.
The Big Kid
I'm a little bit in this category when the playground is empty. Owen needs someone to play with and I am that guy. I try to back off when it's crowded because I don't want to get in the way of a bunch of kids. I'm also slightly larger than the person most playgrounds are designed for and I would definitely have to take off my shoes to count the number of times I have whacked my head on a hard piece of equipment. Most of the other adults there don't appreciate my yelling "$%#!" in front of the kids.
The Terrible Parent
Exceptionally rare, this creature make me scratch my head and wonder how many times their children will need to be locked up. I can think of two examples.
1. We pulled up to a playground and I unloaded the kids. About the same time a mini-van pulled up and 3 kids, roughly ages 4 to 7 piled out. This particular playground is about 200 feet from the parking area and it's really difficult to see what's going on at the playground at that distance. The parent never got out of the ACed van. After about 20 minutes at the playground, we left because the kids were holy terrors. They were bossy, shoving other kids out of the way, and generally unpleasant. The parent never left the car. Come on.
2. We were at a playground shortly after lunchtime and there were two Moms there. One of the Mom's had stopped at Chick fil-A and the other had gone to Taco Bell. Granted, neither are great healthy options and my son ate McDonalds as recently as this past Monday so not really a big deal. But there was a 2 year old that was huge. I watched her eat a full chicken sandwich, waffle fries, a taco, cinnamon twirls, potato chips, popcorn, at least two juice boxes, and they were going to go get ice cream after the playground. I was able to watch her eat all this because she wouldn't go up any stairs or ladders. This girl was shorter than Owen and at least his weight. Come on.
Really, as long as you're not the terrible parent, your kid isn't beating up others, and there's no screaming, you're fine.
CK
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Discipline
We have a 3 and a half year old living in our home. Or a hardened felon with a rap sheet a mile long. Sometimes I'm not really sure. When he was 18 months old, he would get upset about everything, but we kind of figured that would be the case. Everything revolved around him, he wanted what he wanted immediately, and he didn't have a grasp on the English language. Which is pretty much what happens now, because he gets so upset, he forgets to annunciate during his whining. It definitely helped that we taught Owen some basic sign language, so he could tell us he wanted milk, that he wanted to go to sleep, etc. His terrible twos weren't really that bad. It was just the 6 months or so right before he turned 2.
But when he turned 3...WOW. Where did my adorable little chubby toddler go? Now I have a surly, non-sharing, walking time bomb. See my post entitled So THIS Is Age 3? and you get a good idea of the bad days. We'll often go a couple of days without needing a timeout, then knock out about 3 timeouts in an hour. This is totally my fault. Not due to bad parent, it's my fault genetically. I was the little boy getting into trouble for peeing in the neighbors yard. I was the little boy getting into trouble for walking out the front door and riding my big wheel around the neighborhood. When I was in kindergarten or first grade, I vaguely remember being told not to use a knife to cut some sort of fruit, so I got a knife and promptly sliced my finger requiring a trip to the doctor. But I would NEVER have hit my sister like Owen does. My parents (and my sister) might tell you differently. Ask the wife's Mom about her behavior and a child and you would be hard pressed to find a more perfect little angel. The wife once told her Mom to warn her if Mom was about to yell so she could behave and avoid getting yelled at. Owen clearly takes after Daddy.
We're using the timeout system for discipline. It's pretty straightforward and has been somewhat effective. You put the kid in timeout using the special timeout chair in a boring area of the house. You get down on the child's level, explain what they did wrong, and tell them they'll be in timeout for x minutes. X being the age of the child. If the kid leaves timeout, you put them back in timeout and restart the clock. After the timeout ends, you get down on their level again to reiterate why they were in timeout and tell them to say sorry to any offended parties. Last, tell them how much you love them and give a big hug. Owen is a world champion timeout sitter. He is usually patient, and very rarely leaves timeout in the middle. Now that he knows the process, he gives you an appropriate sad look, utters a contrite sorry, and then gives the world's biggest hug. Maybe he gets himself in timeout just for the hug.
In the last couple of months, his acting out has gotten worse. A few times he's even looked right at me and done what I just told him not to do. We do a lot of timeouts for bad listening. A LOT. I took a stand at my parent's neighborhood pool a few weeks ago for a string of really bad listening decisions over about 4 minutes. Including the first time he gave me a look I wanted to wipe off his face. Finally, we just left the pool 10 minutes after he got there. Tons of screaming, but I will not have bad listening at the pool or on the lake where he can drown for bad listening. I'm sure he'll listen to me next time, or we'll leave again.
We've also done several timeouts for hitting his sister. This has been the biggest discipline issue we've faced. It's just not okay to hit his sister, or really anyone else for that matter. I was yelling at him, he knows it's automatic timeout, but he just can't help himself when his sister goes to play with his train table. No one, not no one, destroys Owen's train tables except Owen.
In addition to hitting his sister, he randomly hit a little boy at Bounce U one morning. I snapped him out of the bounce house by one arm and got into his face. He had to apologize to the other little boy, the little boy's mommy, and me. I was putting his shoes on him and told him we were going home because he hit someone. There was screaming, crying, a timeout, and I relented, warning him that another hit and we would never come back to Bounce U. He was good, but I kind of regret backing out on the consequence.
That didn't end the hitting problem., there have been a few more problems, mostly with his sister. I've seen other little kids hit him, but he's been good about not hitting back. With the exception of one overwhelmed Mommy with newborn twins, all the other parents of hitting kids have acted to stop their hitters in their tracks. We haven't had a hitting incident in a few weeks, maybe because the last time Owen hit his sister, I got in his face and we had a come to Jesus moment. Basically, I used a voice that can only be achieved by a father. It's basically the calmest, angriest, I mean business tone you can possibly use. To put it in writing is hard, but here goes: "HITTING YOUR SISTER IS NEVER OKAY AND IT NEEDS TO STOP RIGHT NOW." Didn't know I could achieve that voice and I like to think he will never hit his sister again. Ha!
I never thought I would be a proponent of spanking, but understand its use. I had a couple of times I needed to be spanked, and it definitely made me a better person. The wife NEVER even came close to earning a spanking, the goody two shoes. She is definitely against it. I'm torn, it seems like a watershed moment that would stop a bad behavior, but as the wife will say, "It's never okay to hit, now I'm going to hit you as punishment." I tend to agree with her there, but I think we're going to have to discuss this again soon for something else.
It led me to ask my parents for advice. They're the perfect parents for this question. They have a son that's about 2 and a half years older than their daughter, like me. They spanked a few times, but never abusive. So, I asked them, "How did you get me to stop hitting my sister, even if she deserved it?" My Dad's answer was classic. "Once your sister learned to hit back, you stopped." Perfect, Lily starts karate tomorrow.
CK
But when he turned 3...WOW. Where did my adorable little chubby toddler go? Now I have a surly, non-sharing, walking time bomb. See my post entitled So THIS Is Age 3? and you get a good idea of the bad days. We'll often go a couple of days without needing a timeout, then knock out about 3 timeouts in an hour. This is totally my fault. Not due to bad parent, it's my fault genetically. I was the little boy getting into trouble for peeing in the neighbors yard. I was the little boy getting into trouble for walking out the front door and riding my big wheel around the neighborhood. When I was in kindergarten or first grade, I vaguely remember being told not to use a knife to cut some sort of fruit, so I got a knife and promptly sliced my finger requiring a trip to the doctor. But I would NEVER have hit my sister like Owen does. My parents (and my sister) might tell you differently. Ask the wife's Mom about her behavior and a child and you would be hard pressed to find a more perfect little angel. The wife once told her Mom to warn her if Mom was about to yell so she could behave and avoid getting yelled at. Owen clearly takes after Daddy.
We're using the timeout system for discipline. It's pretty straightforward and has been somewhat effective. You put the kid in timeout using the special timeout chair in a boring area of the house. You get down on the child's level, explain what they did wrong, and tell them they'll be in timeout for x minutes. X being the age of the child. If the kid leaves timeout, you put them back in timeout and restart the clock. After the timeout ends, you get down on their level again to reiterate why they were in timeout and tell them to say sorry to any offended parties. Last, tell them how much you love them and give a big hug. Owen is a world champion timeout sitter. He is usually patient, and very rarely leaves timeout in the middle. Now that he knows the process, he gives you an appropriate sad look, utters a contrite sorry, and then gives the world's biggest hug. Maybe he gets himself in timeout just for the hug.
In the last couple of months, his acting out has gotten worse. A few times he's even looked right at me and done what I just told him not to do. We do a lot of timeouts for bad listening. A LOT. I took a stand at my parent's neighborhood pool a few weeks ago for a string of really bad listening decisions over about 4 minutes. Including the first time he gave me a look I wanted to wipe off his face. Finally, we just left the pool 10 minutes after he got there. Tons of screaming, but I will not have bad listening at the pool or on the lake where he can drown for bad listening. I'm sure he'll listen to me next time, or we'll leave again.
We've also done several timeouts for hitting his sister. This has been the biggest discipline issue we've faced. It's just not okay to hit his sister, or really anyone else for that matter. I was yelling at him, he knows it's automatic timeout, but he just can't help himself when his sister goes to play with his train table. No one, not no one, destroys Owen's train tables except Owen.
In addition to hitting his sister, he randomly hit a little boy at Bounce U one morning. I snapped him out of the bounce house by one arm and got into his face. He had to apologize to the other little boy, the little boy's mommy, and me. I was putting his shoes on him and told him we were going home because he hit someone. There was screaming, crying, a timeout, and I relented, warning him that another hit and we would never come back to Bounce U. He was good, but I kind of regret backing out on the consequence.
That didn't end the hitting problem., there have been a few more problems, mostly with his sister. I've seen other little kids hit him, but he's been good about not hitting back. With the exception of one overwhelmed Mommy with newborn twins, all the other parents of hitting kids have acted to stop their hitters in their tracks. We haven't had a hitting incident in a few weeks, maybe because the last time Owen hit his sister, I got in his face and we had a come to Jesus moment. Basically, I used a voice that can only be achieved by a father. It's basically the calmest, angriest, I mean business tone you can possibly use. To put it in writing is hard, but here goes: "HITTING YOUR SISTER IS NEVER OKAY AND IT NEEDS TO STOP RIGHT NOW." Didn't know I could achieve that voice and I like to think he will never hit his sister again. Ha!
I never thought I would be a proponent of spanking, but understand its use. I had a couple of times I needed to be spanked, and it definitely made me a better person. The wife NEVER even came close to earning a spanking, the goody two shoes. She is definitely against it. I'm torn, it seems like a watershed moment that would stop a bad behavior, but as the wife will say, "It's never okay to hit, now I'm going to hit you as punishment." I tend to agree with her there, but I think we're going to have to discuss this again soon for something else.
It led me to ask my parents for advice. They're the perfect parents for this question. They have a son that's about 2 and a half years older than their daughter, like me. They spanked a few times, but never abusive. So, I asked them, "How did you get me to stop hitting my sister, even if she deserved it?" My Dad's answer was classic. "Once your sister learned to hit back, you stopped." Perfect, Lily starts karate tomorrow.
CK
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Guest Post from Andrea H.
Some friends of ours, Jason and Andrea, recently moved to Greenville, SC when Jason landed a sexy new job. I thought Andrea's situation was interesting and asked her to write a post for my blog. The rest of this post is her writing.
After being approached by a friend to document the last few months of being a working parent that transitioned to being a SAHM and then back to the work place, I am finding that as I look back I think I was more overwhelmed as a SAHM than working. First let me explain how I got here…
SAHM Era
So here we are...in Greenville. Not Charleston. I was officially in my very own restaurant in my head waiting for a table. “Bitter, party of one, your table is now ready…”
So began my journey from a well organized, working mom that had a million balls in the air to…nothing. No umpteen places to run errands to, no daycares to drop kids off, no friends to hang out with, no kids….OMG no kids to entertain MY KID! Here I was in our temporary apartment until we found a house and there are no kids. No families to play in the cul de sac with. I was officially in panic mode.
I immediately reassessed and thought, “Ok, no biggie. Let’s go to where kids congregate!” We went to parks, the zoo, the playground at the apartment complex, to different stores…and nada. I couldn’t find ANY kids. Of course it was February, but it was mild. It was in the 60’s. WHERE are the kids!?! This mommy was going to go a little nutty if she had to listen to any more Dora, My Little Pony, or Princesses singing. Not to mention if I had to play any more of these games that went no where….She would say, “Mommy, play with your pony!” I would excitedly pick one up thinking, “Where are we going today? Shall we save a pony from the evil queen? Shall we have pony races? How about sending them on a scavenger hunt for a treasure like on Dora?” Instead I would get, “Hi. What’s your name? Shutterfly? That’s pretty……Hi, What’s your name?” There was no getting her off of this. Round and round we would go. I NEEDED KIDS. And another mommy would have been awesome too. Only talking to a preschooler and a husband that didn’t understand that I only had him for adult time was just plain getting hard.
And then it happened. I took her to the Children’s Museum. Guaranteed kids. Unless it’s field trip day for all the older kids and they run amok and scare away all the kids under 5. Only I have this kind of timing. Well, I was not going down without a fight. I took her to the under 5 area. It’s really cute. It’s set up like a farm with a child size farmhouse to play in and even a fake cow you can milk. Perfect! I locked us in (it came complete with a picket fence and a gate), kicked out anyone over the age of 5, sat down in a rocking chair and waited. They were going to come to ME, darn it.
I feel sorry for the first mom I ran into. I don’t even remember her name, but her number is somewhere in my phone. I nearly tackled her I was so excited to see her and her two kids. Not quite Natalie’s age, but that was OK by me! She was very kind. I know I would have been a bit overwhelmed by me if I was on the receiving end, but she took me and all my excitement well. I got a full hour with her. Our kids didn’t really take to one another, but we all got an outlet.
After that we slowly started figuring out where to go, which mom’s I wouldn’t scare away, and built a routine/life. I was suddenly a prepared mom again. I had snacks on demand, planned dinners that I actually cooked (turns out I’m a pretty good chef! Who knew??) and a kid that I was able to entertain in most instances. We even spent a total of four hours at the DMV and it was a pleasant experience if you can imagine that! I was still looking for jobs, and I had even found a recruiter! He was searching for positions for me and I am certain I drove him crazy. It could be why he stopped returning my calls. It’s ok. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found the job I have now.
Two months into being a SAHM mom I finally got the interview for my current position. Mind you I was about 4 months pregnant. Not quite showing, but suspiciously big in the belly. I did my darndest to not look down, and worked to impress the pants off the hiring manager. It worked. I got the offer. OH CRAP. I GOT THE OFFER. I had JUST settled into the life of making sure my darling daughter was stimulated but not too stimulated, had one or two friends with other SAHM’s, and I had gotten past the dreaded first trimester and was on the very comfortable road of my second. Now what do I do??
Back to Work
Getting organized and finding clothes that fit was priority numero uno. So I went shopping, got my hair done (who needs that when you aren’t working??), and started prepping the wee one about going back to preschool (it’s called preschool here…well the good ones are). By the way, there is no prepping a 3 year old about preschool. Or another baby for that matter.
Case in point included one morning where my husband was dropping her off and they had this little chat:
Child: **Yawn** Where do these yawns come from, Daddy?”
Dad: They come from Mommy, you’re just as good at mornings as she is.”
Child: Oh good, I’ll say ‘thank you’ to her. “
Daddy: “Don’t worry, I already did.”
Once a good preschool was selected (the hubs still asserts that I just Google searched 'most expensive daycare in Greenville County'), I comfortably went back to the world of work. I had adult time…lots of it. About 8 (or more!) hours a day of it. Down time in the car between drop off and going in to the office, and oh yeah. Work. I tested systems and applications to make sure I had access, got a badge to get in the building, and even got the opportunity peruse what needed to be done (aka…look at the work I got hired to do). So far it’s been a pretty pleasant experience. I feel back in my element. I like being challenged, organized (here and at home), places to run to, the steady stream of birthday party invites that come with a group of kids that are my kids age at these marvelous places called preschools, and of course having that sense of normalcy I had before we left Charlotte. We are almost there. We are building an even nicer home, in a great neighborhood with super nice neighbors and TONS of kids. The new kid should be here just about the time the house is ready. Fingers crossed that doesn’t start a whole new year of craziness…eh. Who am I kidding? A newborn and a three year old? Expect another blog entry in t-minus 12 months. Provided I can find the laptop under all the baby stuff.
Andrea
After being approached by a friend to document the last few months of being a working parent that transitioned to being a SAHM and then back to the work place, I am finding that as I look back I think I was more overwhelmed as a SAHM than working. First let me explain how I got here…
Before
My husband and I were both working full time at the same bank in Charlotte, NC and we had a pretty good routine worked out. I picked up and dropped off our little jelly bean on my way to work, and usually my husband got home before me which means he got dinner started. We had fantastic neighbors that we worked into great friendships, and their kids got along with ours. We had fun play dates set up with all of the friends I had made in the last 15 years of living in one area that had also started families. Our daughter was thriving – learning a ton at daycare, have loving, doting parents, an awesome house, and lots of friends. Basically, it was all we could ask for…probably more.
Then life changed drastically. It all changed because we went to Charleston on our family vacation and fell in love. We thought, “Hey! Let’s move here! We can easily make a life here if we find jobs.” Once back home, my husband jumped online and started looking for a job. He found one at the first place he looked and applied. Amazingly the recruiter called that afternoon and said, “Are ya married to Charleston? If not, I think you would be an even better fit in Greenville, SC.” After a round of interviews and three weeks later, he had a new job. In Greenville. That isn’t in Charleston, or anywhere close for that matter; just in case you aren’t from around these parts.
My job wouldn’t work with me so I had to say goodbye to that, but before I left I was in charge of being a full time single working mommy during the week while my husband lived in Greenville. I was also in charge of taking care of the house (which rented quickly!), moving in with family until the official move, and smiling while doing it pregnant. Oh yeah, did I mention I got pregnant during all of this?? If you know of anyone that has ever been pregnant, or been pregnant yourself, just think of that first trimester of madness. Morning sickness that doesn’t just happen in the morning, exhaustion, bloating, and food aversions are only some of what I went through. I couldn’t wait to just get to Greenville so I could have some help from the hubs and we could have one leg of our journey behind us.
My husband and I were both working full time at the same bank in Charlotte, NC and we had a pretty good routine worked out. I picked up and dropped off our little jelly bean on my way to work, and usually my husband got home before me which means he got dinner started. We had fantastic neighbors that we worked into great friendships, and their kids got along with ours. We had fun play dates set up with all of the friends I had made in the last 15 years of living in one area that had also started families. Our daughter was thriving – learning a ton at daycare, have loving, doting parents, an awesome house, and lots of friends. Basically, it was all we could ask for…probably more.
Then life changed drastically. It all changed because we went to Charleston on our family vacation and fell in love. We thought, “Hey! Let’s move here! We can easily make a life here if we find jobs.” Once back home, my husband jumped online and started looking for a job. He found one at the first place he looked and applied. Amazingly the recruiter called that afternoon and said, “Are ya married to Charleston? If not, I think you would be an even better fit in Greenville, SC.” After a round of interviews and three weeks later, he had a new job. In Greenville. That isn’t in Charleston, or anywhere close for that matter; just in case you aren’t from around these parts.
My job wouldn’t work with me so I had to say goodbye to that, but before I left I was in charge of being a full time single working mommy during the week while my husband lived in Greenville. I was also in charge of taking care of the house (which rented quickly!), moving in with family until the official move, and smiling while doing it pregnant. Oh yeah, did I mention I got pregnant during all of this?? If you know of anyone that has ever been pregnant, or been pregnant yourself, just think of that first trimester of madness. Morning sickness that doesn’t just happen in the morning, exhaustion, bloating, and food aversions are only some of what I went through. I couldn’t wait to just get to Greenville so I could have some help from the hubs and we could have one leg of our journey behind us.
SAHM Era
So here we are...in Greenville. Not Charleston. I was officially in my very own restaurant in my head waiting for a table. “Bitter, party of one, your table is now ready…”
So began my journey from a well organized, working mom that had a million balls in the air to…nothing. No umpteen places to run errands to, no daycares to drop kids off, no friends to hang out with, no kids….OMG no kids to entertain MY KID! Here I was in our temporary apartment until we found a house and there are no kids. No families to play in the cul de sac with. I was officially in panic mode.
I immediately reassessed and thought, “Ok, no biggie. Let’s go to where kids congregate!” We went to parks, the zoo, the playground at the apartment complex, to different stores…and nada. I couldn’t find ANY kids. Of course it was February, but it was mild. It was in the 60’s. WHERE are the kids!?! This mommy was going to go a little nutty if she had to listen to any more Dora, My Little Pony, or Princesses singing. Not to mention if I had to play any more of these games that went no where….She would say, “Mommy, play with your pony!” I would excitedly pick one up thinking, “Where are we going today? Shall we save a pony from the evil queen? Shall we have pony races? How about sending them on a scavenger hunt for a treasure like on Dora?” Instead I would get, “Hi. What’s your name? Shutterfly? That’s pretty……Hi, What’s your name?” There was no getting her off of this. Round and round we would go. I NEEDED KIDS. And another mommy would have been awesome too. Only talking to a preschooler and a husband that didn’t understand that I only had him for adult time was just plain getting hard.
And then it happened. I took her to the Children’s Museum. Guaranteed kids. Unless it’s field trip day for all the older kids and they run amok and scare away all the kids under 5. Only I have this kind of timing. Well, I was not going down without a fight. I took her to the under 5 area. It’s really cute. It’s set up like a farm with a child size farmhouse to play in and even a fake cow you can milk. Perfect! I locked us in (it came complete with a picket fence and a gate), kicked out anyone over the age of 5, sat down in a rocking chair and waited. They were going to come to ME, darn it.
I feel sorry for the first mom I ran into. I don’t even remember her name, but her number is somewhere in my phone. I nearly tackled her I was so excited to see her and her two kids. Not quite Natalie’s age, but that was OK by me! She was very kind. I know I would have been a bit overwhelmed by me if I was on the receiving end, but she took me and all my excitement well. I got a full hour with her. Our kids didn’t really take to one another, but we all got an outlet.
After that we slowly started figuring out where to go, which mom’s I wouldn’t scare away, and built a routine/life. I was suddenly a prepared mom again. I had snacks on demand, planned dinners that I actually cooked (turns out I’m a pretty good chef! Who knew??) and a kid that I was able to entertain in most instances. We even spent a total of four hours at the DMV and it was a pleasant experience if you can imagine that! I was still looking for jobs, and I had even found a recruiter! He was searching for positions for me and I am certain I drove him crazy. It could be why he stopped returning my calls. It’s ok. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found the job I have now.
Two months into being a SAHM mom I finally got the interview for my current position. Mind you I was about 4 months pregnant. Not quite showing, but suspiciously big in the belly. I did my darndest to not look down, and worked to impress the pants off the hiring manager. It worked. I got the offer. OH CRAP. I GOT THE OFFER. I had JUST settled into the life of making sure my darling daughter was stimulated but not too stimulated, had one or two friends with other SAHM’s, and I had gotten past the dreaded first trimester and was on the very comfortable road of my second. Now what do I do??
Back to Work
Getting organized and finding clothes that fit was priority numero uno. So I went shopping, got my hair done (who needs that when you aren’t working??), and started prepping the wee one about going back to preschool (it’s called preschool here…well the good ones are). By the way, there is no prepping a 3 year old about preschool. Or another baby for that matter.
Case in point included one morning where my husband was dropping her off and they had this little chat:
Child: **Yawn** Where do these yawns come from, Daddy?”
Dad: They come from Mommy, you’re just as good at mornings as she is.”
Child: Oh good, I’ll say ‘thank you’ to her. “
Daddy: “Don’t worry, I already did.”
Once a good preschool was selected (the hubs still asserts that I just Google searched 'most expensive daycare in Greenville County'), I comfortably went back to the world of work. I had adult time…lots of it. About 8 (or more!) hours a day of it. Down time in the car between drop off and going in to the office, and oh yeah. Work. I tested systems and applications to make sure I had access, got a badge to get in the building, and even got the opportunity peruse what needed to be done (aka…look at the work I got hired to do). So far it’s been a pretty pleasant experience. I feel back in my element. I like being challenged, organized (here and at home), places to run to, the steady stream of birthday party invites that come with a group of kids that are my kids age at these marvelous places called preschools, and of course having that sense of normalcy I had before we left Charlotte. We are almost there. We are building an even nicer home, in a great neighborhood with super nice neighbors and TONS of kids. The new kid should be here just about the time the house is ready. Fingers crossed that doesn’t start a whole new year of craziness…eh. Who am I kidding? A newborn and a three year old? Expect another blog entry in t-minus 12 months. Provided I can find the laptop under all the baby stuff.
Andrea
Monday, July 2, 2012
Dudity
Yes, I know. It's been a while but I have two small children. So neener neener neener.
Several years ago, I coined a word. Well two words, really. The first was steacon. A cross between steak and bacon, something the world's genetic scientists should drop everything they're currently working on and figure out how to mix a pig and a cow. The second word is the title of this post: dudity. To correctly pronounce dudity, think nudity. Wait, don't think about too much nudity...
The reason dudity rhymes with nudity is because it is nudity of a male persuasion. My initial usage was for movies and television to warn you. When you start a movie, it gets a rating like PG13 or R and it contains reasons for the rating. My favorite is comic mischief, but the rating often contains drug use, graphic violence, and, of course, nudity. But a movie should warn you if that nudity is a starlet/Brad Pitt (for the ladies) or if that nudity is Zach Galafanakis or that one horrific scene in Borat. You remember it if you watched Borat. *shiver* That's why I coined dudity with a D. Just a little D at the beginning let's me know to prepare myself for something really unpleasant. So I can look up a movie that my children want to watch and say, "No, you can't go see that, it's got Dudity in it! Go see Toy Story 13." If Land Before Time made it to 13, Toy Story deserves 13 flicks.
So, in fair warning to the general public, I am rating my son PG for Dudity and Comic Mischief. He is constantly pulling his pants off in random places for random reasons. My immediate family and closest friends are aware of this tendency, usually as he's wandering out of the bathroom after making tinkles. But the instances of public displays have seemed to be increasing recently. Just today, we were at the public fountains at Birkdale Village with maybe 15-20 kids running around and about a dozen parents keeping an eye on them. Owen was already in his swim trunks and I told him to take his sandals off. I turned around to help Lily out of her stylish cover up and put the new water shoes on her when I heard dozens of gasps in horror. Okay, it was just me gasping in horror when I turned back to see Owen with sandals on his feet and swim trunks at his ankles. I quickly yanked them back up and sent him off to play.
In the past, he has pulled his pants down in the middle of Lowes Home Improvement, our neighbor's yard (in front of the neighbors), and in the woods at Latta Plantation in front of two of my friends. The ladies at the gym's child watch learned his name quickly by referring to him as "the kid who pulls his pants down to his ankles, THEN shuffles over to the bathroom." Most of the dudity he commits is needing to go to the bathroom related, but I have no clue how to get across that it's really not acceptable to pull your pants off randomly. More acceptable when you need to go potty, but most folks wait until they're in the bathroom. Not to mention he's clumsy enough walking around the planet without having to worry about limited ankle mobility when pants are around them.
Until further notice, Earth, my son should not be viewed by the naked eye. Wait, I mean you shouldn't have to be exposed to...oops, bare with me... Aw, never mind. I'll just get a bunch of shirts that have Ds on the front and back to warn everyone of the dudity coming at 'em.
CK
Several years ago, I coined a word. Well two words, really. The first was steacon. A cross between steak and bacon, something the world's genetic scientists should drop everything they're currently working on and figure out how to mix a pig and a cow. The second word is the title of this post: dudity. To correctly pronounce dudity, think nudity. Wait, don't think about too much nudity...
The reason dudity rhymes with nudity is because it is nudity of a male persuasion. My initial usage was for movies and television to warn you. When you start a movie, it gets a rating like PG13 or R and it contains reasons for the rating. My favorite is comic mischief, but the rating often contains drug use, graphic violence, and, of course, nudity. But a movie should warn you if that nudity is a starlet/Brad Pitt (for the ladies) or if that nudity is Zach Galafanakis or that one horrific scene in Borat. You remember it if you watched Borat. *shiver* That's why I coined dudity with a D. Just a little D at the beginning let's me know to prepare myself for something really unpleasant. So I can look up a movie that my children want to watch and say, "No, you can't go see that, it's got Dudity in it! Go see Toy Story 13." If Land Before Time made it to 13, Toy Story deserves 13 flicks.
So, in fair warning to the general public, I am rating my son PG for Dudity and Comic Mischief. He is constantly pulling his pants off in random places for random reasons. My immediate family and closest friends are aware of this tendency, usually as he's wandering out of the bathroom after making tinkles. But the instances of public displays have seemed to be increasing recently. Just today, we were at the public fountains at Birkdale Village with maybe 15-20 kids running around and about a dozen parents keeping an eye on them. Owen was already in his swim trunks and I told him to take his sandals off. I turned around to help Lily out of her stylish cover up and put the new water shoes on her when I heard dozens of gasps in horror. Okay, it was just me gasping in horror when I turned back to see Owen with sandals on his feet and swim trunks at his ankles. I quickly yanked them back up and sent him off to play.
In the past, he has pulled his pants down in the middle of Lowes Home Improvement, our neighbor's yard (in front of the neighbors), and in the woods at Latta Plantation in front of two of my friends. The ladies at the gym's child watch learned his name quickly by referring to him as "the kid who pulls his pants down to his ankles, THEN shuffles over to the bathroom." Most of the dudity he commits is needing to go to the bathroom related, but I have no clue how to get across that it's really not acceptable to pull your pants off randomly. More acceptable when you need to go potty, but most folks wait until they're in the bathroom. Not to mention he's clumsy enough walking around the planet without having to worry about limited ankle mobility when pants are around them.
Until further notice, Earth, my son should not be viewed by the naked eye. Wait, I mean you shouldn't have to be exposed to...oops, bare with me... Aw, never mind. I'll just get a bunch of shirts that have Ds on the front and back to warn everyone of the dudity coming at 'em.
CK
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Rob Hyde - 2 Months
The second guest post, from a very good longtime friend, Rob Hyde. I haven't met his daughter Olivia yet, but I can't wait to. I was also honored when Rob and his lovely bride asked me to become Olivia's Godfather. We'll be traveling to New Jersey in June for the christening/baptism. I was going to start cracking jokes about Catholics, but then they might not let me be Godfather so I'll keep my mouth shut and put Rob's post below.
When I was asked by my 2 month old
daughter’s Godfather to write a post about being a first time Dad, I really
didn’t know where to begin. We attempted
to prepare ourselves for parenthood in the nine plus months leading up to
D-Day. We prepared Olivia’s room,
purchased diapers and clothes, and went about our days as soon to be parents
with all of the hoopla that comes with it. Now that she’s here, the world has become a very different place. I have been able to summon energy from areas
that I didn’t know energy existed. I
have become excited about poop! And
burps! And Boogers! Everyday is a new experience with
Olivia. She has become fascinated by
ceiling fans. My wife and I can lay her
down on our bed and she will kick and coo to the ceiling fan. She gets really going when we spin the
blades. When the light is on and the
blades are spinning on their own…We have an American Idol winner/soccer star! I’m hoping that this is a sign that she will
be a successful aerospace engineer who designs new jet engines. It amazes me every day how she changes. She is starting to communicate better,
advising when she’s hungry, gassy, or just in need of attention. Her smiles melt my heart, especially when
she’s asleep and dreaming. This
adventure I call parenthood is just getting started and from what I have heard,
it only gets better and better.
 |
| Daddy, let's discuss that sports car stroller. |
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Matt Wiggins - The Before
I thought it would be a good idea to ask some of my friends to write a few guest posts for my blog to get some different points of view. I started with my friend Matt Wiggins because he is about to become a first time father, literally any second. He wrote the following as the 'Before' post and he'll be writing an 'After' once the after happens. One of my best friends on the planet also became a first time Dad a few short weeks ago and he has written a post for me that I will be putting up tomorrow night. I've asked some other folks, and have a few more in mind. I hope you enjoy, the rest of this post is Matt's writing.
As a relocated Ohioan living in the South, I’m still unnerved by people I don’t know smiling at me. Granted, it doesn’t happen all that often (Charlotte is really an annex of Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York), so I was doubly unprepared for all the smiling that started happening when I was out in public with my wife when she was about 6 months into pregnancy. (It only took me a few weeks to realize that they were smiling at her, not me.) There were knowing smiles from veteran moms and dads and sympathetic smiles from other pregnant moms and it was generally a pleasant experience.
Until a week ago. At this point we are only a few days from her due date and the smiles she now gets are nervous, apologetic smiles. For instance, last Saturday we were in the ice cream aisle of the grocery store (where else?) and a young woman and her friend entered the aisle talking to each other and did not notice Lisa’s belly until they were nearly even with us. But when she did, I felt the breeze from her head whipping around. Her raised eyebrows and wide eyes could be easily be translated as saying, “WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE, SHE IS ABOUT TO HAVE THAT BABY RIGHT NOW!” When the baby didn’t pop out a second later, she caught herself and shared that aforementioned nervous, apologetic smile. If we had been thinking ahead, we could probably have gotten parents of teenagers to pay us to visit their house and scare their children into abstinence.
However, that’s not the only change I’ve noticed. Chris and I know each other through the WWII reenacting community and two weekends ago we attended a living history event. Most of the guys there know that Lisa and I are expecting and generally conversation steered towards the topic of our imminent bundle of joy throughout the weekend. This was dramatically different from the reenactment I attended a month before our wedding where the highlight of marital conversation was: “Get out before seven years, after that alimony’s a bitch.” Nope, this time around guys who I have known for years, guys I have spent many hours, if not days, conversing with about guns, tanks, battles, helmets, bayonets, beer, and other manly stuff, suddenly got all googly-eyed and sentimental, whisked away to the birthdays of their own children.
But that’s not the strange part. The strange part is the consistency of their message, especially since it’s not just guys I know from reenacting. I’ve been hearing since our first announcement how “everything’s going to change” and, “It’s the best and hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” In the last few weeks I can add to that: “There’s no way to describe the experience of birth,” and “Sleep as much as you can now.” And I’m not just talking a few guys here and there, I’m talking about dozens. All saying the same things. With the same goofy smiles.
Now when that many different people who don’t know each other keep saying the same things, there are two possibilities. First, it’s a conspiracy to trick unsuspecting expectant fathers into pleasant expectation as some sort of twisted revenge for what other fathers did to them. Or second, there is something incredibly unique and transcendent about fatherhood that goes beyond differences and unites all men into one sacred brotherhood. Actually, that solves it. Just typing that out convinced me it has to be a conspiracy. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
As a relocated Ohioan living in the South, I’m still unnerved by people I don’t know smiling at me. Granted, it doesn’t happen all that often (Charlotte is really an annex of Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York), so I was doubly unprepared for all the smiling that started happening when I was out in public with my wife when she was about 6 months into pregnancy. (It only took me a few weeks to realize that they were smiling at her, not me.) There were knowing smiles from veteran moms and dads and sympathetic smiles from other pregnant moms and it was generally a pleasant experience.
Until a week ago. At this point we are only a few days from her due date and the smiles she now gets are nervous, apologetic smiles. For instance, last Saturday we were in the ice cream aisle of the grocery store (where else?) and a young woman and her friend entered the aisle talking to each other and did not notice Lisa’s belly until they were nearly even with us. But when she did, I felt the breeze from her head whipping around. Her raised eyebrows and wide eyes could be easily be translated as saying, “WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE, SHE IS ABOUT TO HAVE THAT BABY RIGHT NOW!” When the baby didn’t pop out a second later, she caught herself and shared that aforementioned nervous, apologetic smile. If we had been thinking ahead, we could probably have gotten parents of teenagers to pay us to visit their house and scare their children into abstinence.
However, that’s not the only change I’ve noticed. Chris and I know each other through the WWII reenacting community and two weekends ago we attended a living history event. Most of the guys there know that Lisa and I are expecting and generally conversation steered towards the topic of our imminent bundle of joy throughout the weekend. This was dramatically different from the reenactment I attended a month before our wedding where the highlight of marital conversation was: “Get out before seven years, after that alimony’s a bitch.” Nope, this time around guys who I have known for years, guys I have spent many hours, if not days, conversing with about guns, tanks, battles, helmets, bayonets, beer, and other manly stuff, suddenly got all googly-eyed and sentimental, whisked away to the birthdays of their own children.
But that’s not the strange part. The strange part is the consistency of their message, especially since it’s not just guys I know from reenacting. I’ve been hearing since our first announcement how “everything’s going to change” and, “It’s the best and hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” In the last few weeks I can add to that: “There’s no way to describe the experience of birth,” and “Sleep as much as you can now.” And I’m not just talking a few guys here and there, I’m talking about dozens. All saying the same things. With the same goofy smiles.
Now when that many different people who don’t know each other keep saying the same things, there are two possibilities. First, it’s a conspiracy to trick unsuspecting expectant fathers into pleasant expectation as some sort of twisted revenge for what other fathers did to them. Or second, there is something incredibly unique and transcendent about fatherhood that goes beyond differences and unites all men into one sacred brotherhood. Actually, that solves it. Just typing that out convinced me it has to be a conspiracy. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
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