Monday, April 30, 2012

And So It Begins...

I'm talking about the fundraising era.

When I picked Boo up from daycare on Friday, there was a big white envelope in his cubby. This white envelope contained none other than a Otis Spunkmeyer cookie pamphlet and an order sheet for the $16 cookie dough tubs. Also included was a letter about prizes and such


My competitive nature says GAME FACE ON. And I'm totally for the fundraising thing. In fact, I'm quite good at it.

Here's the thing.

Is this technically my fundraiser? Or Isaac's? Because let's face it, he's three and unable to ask people to buy the overpriced cookie dough (sorry Spunkmeyer, but you know it's true). It's basically me asking people to buy them. Which, meh. I'm just not seeing the point.

I pay his tuition. I provide food for parties. I buy school pictures. Why do we need a fundraiser for daycare, anyway?

15 more years of this...that's alot of cookie dough and wrapping paper.

Sunday, April 22, 2012


I try really hard to leave school at school so that when I am at home, I can be AT HOME. It doesn't work. Somehow, I end up bringing something home. Especially now, this close to the end of the semester. I understand it, and so does Ben. The person that doesn't is Isaac Boo.

About this time last semester, Isaac wanted to watch Cars. I put in on for him, and then he told me that he wanted to watch  "Mater and the Ghostlight" which is a 7 minute Pixar short that is included on the disc. I was tired and had a bunch of work to do. I told him no because I didn't want to have to wait for it to finish so I could start the actual movie. He cried and asked again. I told him no again.

And then Ben came in and asked what the problem was. I told him and he said he would lay with him while he watched it and start the movie after. I went downstairs to start the dishes.

And to start crying.

I had just flipped out and told my son that I didn't have time to watch a 7 minute movie with him. 7 minutes. What kind of mother doesn't have 7 minutes for her son?

When we lived in California, it was Isaac and me a lot of the time. I took him to the park to feed the ducks all the time. I took him to swing. I took him to see the big trucks. We played ball-in-tree. I miss those times. We got used to it, both of us.

We made big sacrifices moving back here, that we were fully aware of. We knew what we would be giving up and what we stood to gain. The person that was not aware of those sacrifices was Isaac Boo. We were prepared but he wasn't.

There comes a time that enough becomes enough, that sacrifices become to great. What was more important to me, a clean sink or 7 minutes with my son? A letter grade or a walk to the park? I had to start drawing lines and rebalancing. Something wasn't working.

This degree, my studies, my research are all so very very important to me. But not more so than my beautiful baby boo.

I decided that no matter what my schedule, no matter was due, no matter what the day or how late we got home, Isaac was going to get one hour of solid, undistracted, mommy time.

It works for both of us.

We do puzzles. We read books. We color. We take Luna to the park. We make blanket forts and watch Bambi.

It's perfect. And although I might have to give up some sleep or some cleanliness. I don't care if my house is clean. I don't care if I have dark circles under my eyes. I don't care if I get a B instead of an A (ok, I kinda do because I am total type A, but I can deal, or at least I am learning to). My baby is only my baby once. He's only 3 once. And while I won't remember what I got on the GIS test in a decade or so, I will however, remember this time with Isaac when he sings the Bumblebee song to me.

This commitment to him is the easiest one I have ever had to make. It's a commitment that is hard to keep sometimes, but is the easiest to try for.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

A Three Year-Old Is the Best Birth Control EVER

At least mine is.


However, he's driving me insane. His second year, the "terrible two's" were relatively uneventful. We skated through that year. There were occasional fits and tantrums. And then he turned three. Still not a big fuss.

Last month someone flipped a switch and replaced my little boy with a POSSESSED CHILD.

It's hard. And trying. There's alot of crying by him and me.. He's pushing buttons and limits. He's throwing fits. It's like walking on eggshells. Sometimes when I do give him exactly what he wants, I don't give it to him HOW he wants it. Like milk with one ice cube in the orange cup with no lid. God help me if I don't get a portion of the request correct. Sometimes it's just easier to give him what he wants. Others I fight him on. I mean, that what parenting is, right? Making your kids hate you and feeling guilty about it?

The other night I asked Isaac what he wanted for dinner. He said he wanted a hot dog. "Two ones" to be exact. I said that he could eat one and then have another if he finished it all. He came back a few seconds later to ask for the second one. I asked where the hot dog went. "I gave it to Luna." Sigh.

This proceeded to happen with the subsequent grilled cheese. And green beans.

Finally, he seemed really excited to eat taquitos. I let him put them on the tray and put them in the oven. He watched them heat up through the oven door.

And then he bit into one, decided it was too hot, inedible and gave it to Luna. (Note: at this point Luna has had a lovely dinner of hot dogs, grilled cheese, green beans, and a taquito. Isaac has eaten NOTHING.) I told him if he didn't eat the taquitos he would get a time out. He fed Luna another one. To the time out chair we went. He started crying. And saying he wanted his taquitos. So I brought him one, which he proceeded to throw at me. Score another one for Luna. I knelt down to give him a stern lecture, and HE KICKED ME IN THE FACE. He got spanked. Put in the bathtub, into pjs, and sent to bed with no dinner.

By the time he got sent to bed, he was no longer upset. He called out to me about 20 minutes after I had tucked him in. "Mama! I'm hungry!"

This is where my heart started to break. I was torn between my motherly instinct to feed my hungry, crying baby and sticking to my guns to prove a point. A point that I wasn't even sure he was old enough to understand. He came downstairs, crying and I held strong. He went back up to his room and I could hear him crying and saying he was hungry. By the time Ben got home, he was quiet and I was the one crying.

What was I supposed to do? Ben talked to him. Told him what he did was bad and he couldn't behave that way. We eventually caved and gave him goldfish pretzels and cheese.

This scenario, along with others and the overall attitude of my child these days, has made me understand why people either space their children out by more than 3 years or have more before the first hits 3. It's mentally, emotionally, and physically EXHAUSTING. I am so drained, I have absolutely no desire to even think about having another child until Isaac is well past this age.