Diary of a Wimpery Kid

Goofball loves his TV...a little too much....but since he is up with the roosters and I want to keep him quiet for the sake of our downstairs neighbors, I let him watch a bit too much in the morning. 

Well twice last week when it was time to get out and about, he had an all out fit when it came time to turn off his show.  Both times he ended up making us late for our appointments, and as a result he lost his TV privileges. 

This morning I had an appointment 40 minutes away and I was bringing both kids.  From there we would be out to lunch and then to a bounce house, so I had to pack for the day. I allowed myself plenty of time to get ready, gather baby bottles, water bottles, and snacks for the car.  Knowing that neither of us had eaten a substantial breakfast, I packed Goofball a bag of cheerios and myself a bag of crackers. 

I gave Goofball a warning that when his show ends, it will be time to turn off the TV and get dressed. 

Ten minutes later, at the close of his show, I hit the button on the remote and the TV goes off.

Tears.  Not just tears.  Buckets.

Dammit!  I don't have time for this!

I can't yell at this kid.  Yelling doesn't work for him.  Time outs don't work either.  Luckily his speech teacher has been working with him on verbalizing his feelings.

"Why are you crying, sweetie?"

"I am crying because I want to see another show.  I am crying because I don't want to get dressed."

Not today.  I can't handle dealing with this right now. 

I get Daddy on the phone and he calms him down and convinces him to get dressed.  I lay his clothes out and leave to get dressed myself.  When I return he is wearing his pants, but his underwear is still on the floor. 

"Silly goose - you forgot to put on your underwear."

Buckets.

Oh, for Pete's Sake.

"Why are you crying now?"

"I am crying because I forgot to put on my underwear!"

I talk him down and he pulls his pants off, which are now inside out.

Buckets.

"I am crying because my pants are broken!"

I fix the pants, lay them back down, and walk out again to finish getting myself ready.  I come back out a minute later and he's holding his shirt.  He takes one look at me.   Buckets!

"I am crying because I wanted to get dressed first!"

Holy Hell!  We are supposed to be getting in the car now!

I finish getting him dressed and convince him that he finished first because I haven't put my socks on yet.

More buckets.

"I am crying because the baby is looking at me."

Now he is sobbing....loudly.  This startles the baby who now joins in.

"I am crying because the baby is crying."

Oh, my God.  I can't handle this.  I scheduled this appointment 3 weeks ago.  We are going to be late.

"I am crying because I want some grapes."

"Okay, sweetie."  I grind my teeth and get him a bowl of grapes. 

Buckets.

"Not THOSE grapes!"

I am trying desperately not to lose my shit.  I sit him down and start putting on his sneakers.

"I am crying because I miss Daddy.  I miss him so much.  I missed him when we were in California."

Seriously?

"Our trip to California was a year ago. We just spent the whole weekend with Daddy for Father's Day."

More buckets.

"I didn't get a present for Father's Day!!!!"

Are you fucking kidding me?

Somehow I manage to get out of the house, only 26 minutes later than planned.  I call the doctor's office to tell them I'll be late and I put on some music and try to enjoy the ride.

Buckets.

"I don't like your music!"

At this point I am trying to ignore him and without even conversing with him I hand him the cheerios in an effort to shut him up.  I start munching on my crackers.

"What are you eating?"

"Crackers."

"I wish I had a cracker."

I reach back and hand him a cracker.

Silence.

And then....buckets.

"I am crying because I wish I had my own crackers!"

Oh, for fuck's sake!

I reach back and swipe the bag of cheerios out of his hand and replace it with the bag of crackers...the crackers that just last week he tasted and declared were "stinky."  It takes every ounce of energy to not pull the car over and beat him.  Instead I curse him out in my brain and eat his cheerios. 

Five minutes later he hands me the empty cracker bag. 

"Can I have my cheerios?"

"Sorry I ate your cheerios."

Buckets.

At this point I can't help but crack up.  What else can I do?

Buckets.

"I am crying because I am not a good listener." 

He knows that he blew it and he won't get a star on his star chart at bedtime and it will take him longer to earn the spaceship toy that he picked out. 

"I would be very happy if you can pull yourself together and start being a good listener now so Mommy can talk to the doctor."

Somehow during the duration of the car ride he managed to calm himself down and made it through my appointment with minimal tears. 

As we leave my appointment, I say a prayer that I can have some peace and quiet on the way home.

Ten minutes in, I look in my rear view mirror and that little angelic face is fast asleep.  I turn into the Starbucks drive through and get myself a frappucino and pull into a shady spot and pull out a book.

Heaven. 

I open up to my bookmarked page and start to read.  Just then the baby wakes up and starts screaming from the back seat.   In an instant my zen is taken away from me.  I get out, take him out of the carseat and bring him into the front seat.  I lift my shirt and latch him on and he happily nurses away.  My stiff back starts to slowly loosen up and I look down at my little Mush who reaches up his hand and touches my face.  From the back seat, I hear Goofball shift in his carseat.  I look in the rear view mirror and for a brief moment, he opens his eyes, catches my gaze, lets out a little "I love you," and closes his eyes again.  And I continue to sit in that shady spot nursing my baby, reflecting on our chaotic morning and thinking about how it all goes away in and instant...and I wipe away a tear.  I am so blessed.  And before I know it....I am crying...buckets.

I owe you an answer

Ten years ago today, you asked me to be your wife.  I remember that evening perfectly.  I came home and there was a red ribbon tied to the door.  I opened the door and there were flowers, candles and balloons all over the house, and the red ribbon led me on a path around the main floor, down the stairs and into my room where you were waiting for me.  You got down on one knee, held out a box with a stunning ring, and you asked me to spend eternity with you.  I was in awe, and I started to cry, and of course I responded, "Everything looks so pretty!  Wait here while I get my camera!"  I'm sorry that I never answered you.


If you asked me today, I'd have to say, "hmmm....well, maybe."  


Do I feel like marrying someone who has a hatred of tomatoes?  I'll pick them out of your salad if you pick the blue m&m's out of my candy bowl.


Do I feel like marrying someone who loves video games?  I'll let you play World of Warcraft, as long as I can get my turn at Dr. Mario!


Do I feel like marrying someone who wears slippers shaped like pint glasses?  I suppose they would go with my pigtails and frog socks.  


Maybe I didn't answer you because you already knew the answer.  If you asked me to marry you today, of course my answer would be, "Hells yeah!"

Make War, Not Love: Breastfeeding in Uniform

The war against breastfeeding continues:

Don't breastfeed in public.
Okay, you can breastfeed in public, just don't breastfeed your toddler.
And today's hot topic in breastfeeding: Don't breastfeed in a military uniform.

Today's topic was inspired by this picture:

This picture has been roaming around the Internet.  I saw it on facebook (because that is where I get all my news from these days) and it instantly caught my eye.  When I see this picture, my first thought is "God Bless America!"  Here we have two moms who proudly serve our country, smiling lovingly at their babies and giving them the best nourishment that one can give.

My aggravation with today's current debate is not about breastfeeding in public - it's about your baby's right to eat in public.  Just as you have a right to eat a cheeseburger, an apple or an eggroll in public, a baby has a right to eat in public too.  If you want to breastfeed in public, I support you.  If you want to give your baby formula in public, go for it.  If you want to give your baby diet coke in public, why not?  I give my baby breastmilk, formula...heck - last week he was crying so much I gave him a shot of tequila (mixed in kool aid of course!)

Why is this picture stirring up such passionate controversy?  According to an article on Yahoo, the military thinks it is disrespectful to nurse while wearing your uniform.  To me it is a complete contradiction.  We encourage our soldiers to be emotionally, mentally and physically strong, yet giving your baby the best possible food to make him big and strong is frowned upon when in uniform.

This argument that nursing in uniform is a disgrace to our country is well...disgraceful.  Just because a woman is in uniform does not mean that she does not take her job seriously...it means that she takes her profession as a military officer very seriously, and well as her position as a mother.  Nurse in a uniform.  Nurse in pajamas.  Nurse in a toga for all I care.

Today the military came back to state that their issue is not with the act of breastfeeding itself, but with the women who posed for the photos.  According to the  National Guard, it's a violation of regulations to use the uniform to promote a cause.  


So when in uniform, we can support war, but not breastfeeding?  Shame on your, military! I do not support this ideology!