I will admit that thanks to her grandparents, my kindergartner does have her own alarm clock.  By the time I roll my butt out of bed and stumble blindly to the coffee pot, she is dressed, her teeth are brushed and she has made her own breakfast.  However, that is not the point here.

The point is that I have “arrived” at adulthood.  The days of existing as a screw-up kid cleverly disguised as a 28 year old responsible mother of 2 are over.  I am finally a bonafide grown up.

I joined the PTO. 

For the cool kids out there that have no idea what the PTO is, let me bring you up to speed.  PTO stands for Parent/Teacher Organization. In a nutshell, I – the mom who taught her preschoolers the art of headbanging – will be hosting bake sales, chaperoning field trips, and cutting out Christmas snowflake decorations this school year. 

And if you make fun of me, I promise to punch you in the mouth, knit you a doily, and sop up your blood with it.

Coming to a bumper near you…

My mind drifts back to when I started kindergarten.  I remember that day very well.  I wore blue shorts and a blue and white striped shirt with new white Keds.  I had a brand new Barbie backpack.  My hair was in the same cut that my daughter’s is in.  I was determined to ride the school bus so Mom met me at the school and I bought cafeteria food for lunch.  To say that I was excited was a drastic understatement.  One would’ve thought that my elementary school was actually located inside Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyworld and not across from a cow pasture in Nowhereville, NC.  Life was just beginning and I was eager to jump on the education train and take off!

Enter Kindergarten teacher FROM HELL.

I won’t call names here, even though I REALLY want to, but my kindergarten teacher was 3 shades of evil.  Rather than studying at a university, I’m convinced that this woman received her degree from an Al-Queda torture center.  She hated me.  I do not exaggerate.  From the first day of school she HATED me.  Granted, I was a colorful child.  I liked to talk, giggle and oddly enough, I even quacked like a duck for the first three months of school… but that is no reason to receive the treatment I did that year. 

Every day I was in trouble for something, whether I was guilty or not.  I never received special treats like the other kids and frequently sat in time-out during recess.  I always had to sleep in the dreaded spot by her desk at naptime and I NEVER got to be the Wake-Up Fairy.  She would scream at me until her face turned red and I started to cry.  My mother, who worked at the school, was continually in my classroom defending me from the horrid teacher.  My whole family remembers that year.

I believe that things that happen to us as children directly mold and shape the adults that we become.  While I do not blame any of the bad choices I made on anyone, I can’t help but wonder how my life might have been altered had I not had her as a teacher.  If I hadn’t been mislabeled as such a “bad kid” at such a formative age, would I have had more respect for myself and made better decisions when I got older?  Maybe.  We’ll never know. 

Two weeks ago, while at out with friends in my hometown, we saw this woman.  After telling the details over dinner, they all agreed that she even looked evil.  Of course, the teacher didn’t regard my presence and wouldn’t remember me if her life depended on it.  All the while, my blood boiled over at the simple sight of her.  She still teaches kindergarten.

Canaan’s first day of school is next week.  She is wearing blue shorts and a blue and white striped shirt.  She picked out a brand new Barbie backpack.  The similarities are coincidental and CREEPY.  I won’t allow her kindergarten resemblance to go any further than that – I will be driving her to school and packing her lunch.  Also… do you know a good bouncer for hire?

Photo courtesy of Vickie Riley Photography

For the past few months Will’s left eye has been wandering and turning inward.  The doctors assure me there is nothing to worry about, that it will most likely be corrected by patching one eye to strengthen the other.  However, a mama can’t help but freak out just a little.

Say a prayer for my kid if you think of it.

In the meantime, Will has medical worries of his own.  Lately, he has become overly obsessed with his penis, clutching it like a security blanket at home, at the grocery store, at church…

Like all boys, Will is particularly fond of his manhood.  I remember well the day he first discovered it.  He marched down the hallway into the living room wearing nothing but a pair of green frog rain boots and his Davy Crocket coon-skin hat.  He thrust his pelvis forward, pointing downward and announced, “Hey Mom!  Check out my pee-pee!”  It was a proud moment.

Since that day, he has developed some type of pee-pee paranoia.  As a result, I am developing a case of pee-pee humiliation.

Last week, Canaan was “helping” me prepare supper and Will was marching in the kitchen.  As usual, his hand was firmly clasped over his crotch. 

“Will, do you need to go potty?” I asked looking up from the casserole before me.

He froze with his free hand out in front of him, glancing suspiciously around the room like some sort of spy.  “No,” he answered is raspy whisper.

“Then stop holding your pee-pee,” I said.

“I have to protect it,” he said still in spy-stance.  “There’s a bee in the house.”

Tonight at the gym my Cirque Du Soliel-wannabe three year old decided to hide in a locker from his sister. He wanted to hide in the TOP locker about four feet off the ground. The conversation went something like this:

“Will, stop climbing on the lockers.” … “Will, get down right now.” … “WILL! How many times is Mommy supposed to ask you to do something?” … “Will, what happens when you disobey Mommy?”

He paused and looked back at me. “I get a spanking.” Like lightening, he was out of the locker and back on the floor.

A child in the dressing stall behind me gasped. Yeah, his mom was part of the 62% of Southerners too. That kid knew what a mommy-spanking meant.

Here’s my spanking disclaimer before someone gets their panties in a wad: Spankings and abuse should clearly be two different things. If that line ever gets fuzzy between an adult and a child then someone should intervene. Spankings should be rare and reserved for serious BEHAVIORAL offenses and never for accidents.

*************************************

On a lighter note… what about those moments when your children make it impossible to parent them? Here are a few real-life-of-eL. examples for your enjoyment.

I have the hardest time getting my son to eat at dinnertime. Bribery, threats, hours at the dinner table… nothing works. A few weeks ago I fixed spaghetti – a kid staple, right? The conversation with my son was the same. “Will, you may not get up from the table until you finish your dinner. If you don’t finish your dinner then you will have to go to bed.”

Forty five minutes later, I was folding laundry in the bedroom when my son entered the room. (Remember… HE’S THREE.) “Mom, I would rather go to bed AND have a spanking than have to eat my dinner.” I was dumbfounded. It was all I could do to not fall on the floor and laugh.

“Son, it’s spaghetti!”

He clamped his hand over his mouth. “I not wanna eat it.”

I dropped my head and pointed down the hall. “Go to bed.” By the time I caught up with him, he was in his bed with the light off and his blanket pulled over his head. Maybe I should take a cooking class?

*************************************

At our gym is a 50 gallon fish tank that my children are both fascinated with. Will can’t sit still to watch the fireworks show over the Magic Kingdom, but at that fish tank he will sit and stare for hours if I let him! Yesterday, while waiting for my Yoga class to begin, I let Will visit with the fish. He kept slapping his hands against the tank and yelling at the fish. “Will, stop doing that,” I told him.

“Why Mom?” he asked.

“Because you’ll scare the fish. Do you want to scare the fish?” I asked.

Do you believe in spanking?

I always used to think I’d go crazy being bored at home as a full time mom.  I realize now what a vacation my JOB really was!  I take my fictitious hat off to all you stay at home parents out there.  You certainly don’t get enough credit.

I have enjoyed the constant company of my kids far more than I could’ve ever imagined.  You really should just be jealous because I simply have the funniest, cutest and smartest children ever conceived.  They teach me so much about life and about the person I want to be.  The lessons learned through the experience of children are absolutely priceless.  There is no university that compares with parenthood.

Patience is a CHOICE.  It is far easier to laugh and get over it, than it is to get upset.

No one snuggles better than a three year old.

If you want to know honestly how you are doing life, ask a preschooler their opinion of you.

You know to pass up your Food Network dream when your kid opts for a spanking and early bedtime rather than eat.

You should always keep your toenails short, even if it means biting them.  You might trip over them if you don’t. 

I’m sure there will be many more lessons to come… stay tuned.  This could get interesting.

Well, last Saturday, I slept until 10am and my five year old fixed breakfast for herself and her brother. Just a short time ago, I had no plans of being a parent and today I downloaded kindergarten registration forms for my daughter and recited the alphabet three times with my son. I’m learning with each milestone of their childhoods that these precious days are slipping quickly away from me.

My three year old, Will, can’t grow up fast enough. For your enjoyment…

GROWING UP ACCORDING TO WILL

After hours of hacking away code on my laptop this evening, I laid the computer down on the coffee table to relax for a few minutes with my kids before their bedtime. Will curled up beside of me, resting his head on my lap. “Whas wong Mom?” he asked. (His tongue is a little too big for his mouth.)

I rubbed his soft blonde head. “Mommy’s tired, Bud.”

“Cuz you’re woking?”

“Yep.”

He slid off the sofa and started clicking keys on the computer. “Mom, can you get me a job?”

I was caught completely off-guard. “What?”

“Can you get me a job, wite now on your ‘puter?”

“Why do you need a job, Will?”

“So I can make some moneys and buy toys,” he explained. “So, can you get me a job?”

“Not tonight, Bud,” I answered as he stared sideways at the screen.

“When Mom?”

“Too soon, Son. Too soon.”

************************************

Last week we had beautiful weather in Tennessee. I was enjoying the last few rays of sunshine from the front porch as the kids picked daffodils in the front garden. Will brought me a flower and plopped down next to me on the step. “Mom, I haveta talk to you about somesing berry sewious.”

“Sewious, huh?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

He motioned with his hands as if he were directing an orchestra. “I haveta go to school, Mom. And I haveta take some science.”

“You do? Well, what’s the problem?” I asked smiling.

He looked up at me with worried eyes. “De pwoblem is because I can’t wead. I haveta wead to go to school. Can you teach me how to wead, Mom?”

“Someday, Will.”

“Today?”

“Not today, it’s almost bedtime.”

“De kids will make fun of me if I can’t wead,” he reasoned, sadly shaking his head.

“You have two years to learn how to read, Will,” I assured him.

“Das a long time.”

I pinched his nose. “It’s shorter than you think.”

************************************

On another adventurous car ride home, Canaan asked from the backseat. “Mom, when will I be an adult?”

“When you turn eighteen,” I answered.

“Whas an adult?” Will asked.

Canaan decided to tackle this question. “It’s when you get to do stuff you can’t do when you’re a kid.”

Will pondered this for a moment from his (securely fastened) car seat. “Like say cwap and shut up?” he finally asked.

I almost dropped my head on the steering wheel just picturing the look of bewilderment on my mother’s face. I’m such a good mom.

************************************

This week, I posted a blog inquiring of my friends, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

My friend, Izzy had the best answer. “A kid again!”

Isn’t that the truth? Compared to being a parent, an employee, a business owner, and a socially active grown-up, the long-gone days of cartoons, coloring, and naps sound like heaven! (And also a little bit like the 3^rd floor of the psyche ward, come to think of it.)

When did the “switch” happen for you? When did you go from wanting to be “all grown up” to wanting to go back to being an irresponsible kid?

The doctor excused herself to give me a moment to recollect my sanity and my mother’s wide eyes turned on me in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

I was still sobbing. “I can’t do pigtails! I can’t do tea parties! I want a boy who will play in dirt and try to set the woods on fire!”

What I was trying to convey (very incoherently) was the thought of being a mother to a little girl struck a similar fear in me to that of watching airplanes circling above my building trying to land on the morning of 9-11. A tomboy to the core, I was very ill-prepared in the ways of princess parties, EZ Bake Ovens and ballet recitals. Being a single mom was going to be difficult enough. Surely God could cut me a little slack and grant my small request of letting the baby be a boy. And yet, the three little dots on the screen sealed my fate.

Fast forward five years. Yesterday, my little princess brought me a handful of worms out of the back yard. She was decked out in her Sleeping Beauty dress (which she promptly changes into whenever we walk in the door). Rather than holding a magic wand, she had a magic shovel. Instead of glass slippers she stomped around in rain boots. Through the dirt and mud on her face, she was smiling.

You can’t tell me that God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Life doesn’t always turn out how we think it should… on occasion it turns out even better. J

If you are my “real world” friend you will know that I use my cell phone for everything, including managing my shopping lists.  Let me copy and paste for you my shopping list for today:

Bread
Milk
Cheese
Sausage
Tomato Sauce
Peanut Butter
Vodka… lots of Vodka
Ground Beef
Chicken
Yogurt

Now let me tell you about my day.  It’s Saturday and it’s very cold and rainy.  The weather man is calling for sleet tonight.  Oh joy…. That means I have to let the dogs indoors.  Great. 

Before I begin, let me explain.  I love my children.  They are what makes my sun rise and set each day and I cannot imagine life without them.  HOWEVER, today I almost slapped a “Free To A Good Home” sign on them and sent them to the curb.

It all began with, “Mom, I peed all over da bafroom.”  That is never a good statement to wake up to early on a Saturday morning.  These are moments that make me REALLY miss my husband.  Due to obvious anatomical differences, I cannot properly teach my son how to correctly stand, point and go.  Therefore I was up waaay before I wanted to be cleaning the kids’ bathroom floor, wall and bathtub.  I’m still not sure how much of the mess was an accident rather than artistic expression.

I washed my hands and trudged back to bed.

I can see my kids playing in the living room from the comfort of my amazingly cozy bed and they were behaving, coloring on construction paper and watching cartoons.  Then I hear my daughter.  “Will, you’re in trouble… Mom!”

We have a brand new micro suede couch that I love.  Or at least I loved it yesterday.  Today it is covered in red Crayola marker.  Will spent the next long while in timeout in his bed and I frantically Googled how to remove marker from suede.  Forty five minutes later, I gave up on the bed and took a shower. 

While in the shower, my five year old came in three different times asking me to spell my name, Will and Our Home.  She was making a sign so everyone would know who lived in our house.  When I got out of the shower a bright orange construction paper sign was GLUED to our living room wall.  Isn’t that just adorable?  L

The construction paper covered walls of my house began caving in and after I had made the aforementioned list, we headed off to Target with my sister.  She laughed at my list and said, “I don’t think they sell vodka at Target.”  Next, we made a stop at Kohl’s to coat shop.  As I gave my sister my opinion on a coat that I will later go back and buy, my son disappeared.  I had purposefully dressed him in a Tennessee orange jacket so he would be easy to keep track of.  No orange jacket anywhere.  Five full minutes of searching under every coat rack in the area ticked by with no sign of my kid.  Frantic, I headed to the Service desk to put everyone on alert for a three foot pirate (he’s still wearing the hat) unsupervised in the enormous store.  My sister continued the search and found him at the Hot Wheels aisle in the toy section in the back of the store.  (Ernie, I blame you for this.)

After a fierce spanking and then hugging and tears, we headed home.  My nerves were on edge and I put my son down for a nap and seriously eyed my bottle of Xanax by the sink. 

Since naptime the kids have been watching some Scooby Pirate movie and five minutes ago Will decided to sword fight with the pirates on our new 42 inch LCD flat panel.  L

I’m getting my tubes tied.  Who wants to take me out for vodka to celebrate because of course I forgot to stop at the liquor store!?!

A coworker once told me when I was pregnant with my daughter, “Enjoy it while you can. She’ll be grown before you know it.” I must have heard this cliché a hundred times in my short while as a young mother but during two a.m. feedings and diaper changes it felt like I was going to have an infant for all of eternity. Canaan just turned five. I’m still in denial over it because there is no way that I am mother to a kindergartener. It seems like just days ago I was cleaning up poop finger paintings in her nursery. Yeah, gross I know. She’s turned into this small person with thoughts and feelings and (freak out) opinions. I’m waiting for her any day to give me insight in who to vote for this election.

In her five years on the planet Earth Canaan has lived a lot of life. Much like her mother, she’s already experienced joys and losses of people eight times her age. This year has been a confusing nightmare for both of my kids and for Canaan especially. I remember, with painful clarity, the morning I went into her bedroom, scooped her up in my arms and told her that Daddy wasn’t going to be able to take her swimming after lunch. It was the worst day of all of our lives.

So about six weeks ago I decided to plan Canaan’s birthday party. I looked at all of the possibilities: the bouncy place, the park, the tiny piece of hell-on-earth Chuck E Cheese. None of the options in Nashville seemed suitable for such a big event in her life during such a hard year, so I knew I had to dream a little bigger.

A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you’re fast asleep. In dreams you lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true.

We packed our bags and headed to Disney World.

The trip was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It was a COMPLETE surprise to the kids. I literally told them just hours before putting them on the plane. This year has just been so terrible that I decided it was worth giving my kids the surprise of a lifetime. Sure, it’s not my paradise, but Disney is like the Bora Bora for kids. My friend Brenda, knowing me ever so well, said of our trip, “Normally I think being in the “Happiest Place on Earth” would get on your very last nerve, however right now it may be just what you need to level yourself out.” She was right.

Our first day there we went to SeaWorld and got to listen to Will sing his own theme song all day, “Who we gonna see? Shampu! Shampu!” And we did! I seriously considered quitting my job and learning to train killer whales for a living. It was amazing.

Day two was at the Magic Kingdom. When Canaan’s eyes landed on Cinderella’s castle for the first time the look on her face was priceless. I thought she was going to cry she was so excited. We went off on a trek across the park for a prearranged meeting with Peter Pan. Peter presented her with a very special “Happy Birthday” button and autographs from Tinkerbelle, Wendy and all the Lost Boys. Then I made the mistake of taking her on the Pirates of Caribbean and scaring the bejezus out of her. Good one Mom. Apparently Canaan doesn’t share my same enthusiasm for a hot, robotic, Cap’n Jack singing “Yo ho, yo ho a Pirate’s life for me!” Thankfully, soon after, all was put right with the world when she got to meet all of her favorite princess and Mommy got to shoot a lot of video of Prince Charming. J

Day three we were at Epcot and we stood in line for about twenty minutes to meet Mickey Mouse and all of his friends. My son was so excited when he saw Mickey that he took off in a dead run and nearly fell on his face trying to stop when we called him back. He got to dance with Donald Duck and show off his acrobatic moves, got a kiss that turned him red from Alice in Wonderland and huge hug from Dopey the Dwarf. At that moment, my sister and I both almost quit our jobs and signed up to play characters at Disney. I mean, what better job could there be than this:

 Canaan’s birthday lasted for seven days. All seven days she proudly wore her Happy Birthday button and was sung to and presented with cake for dinner every night. It was a week of memories that will last for eternity. And guess what folks? When October 2^nd rolls around next year…. I’m screwed.