Big Sister, Little Brother

Strangers in Camo

2006-07-07T08:21:00.000-07:00

I've been putting off the "stranger danger" talk with big sis for awhile now. Years in fact. So I wasn't too surprised when she started giving me advice about how to avoid strangers lurking in the bushes outside our house. On one hand, I was relieved not to be the one forever associated with ruining her carefree, innocent existence. On the other hand, I got a sinking feeling that it was quite possible we had left it to a complete stranger to give our child the "stranger danger" talk. I asked her to tell me what she knew about staying safe. And here is how I know my child will be attending the next available offering of Safety Town: 1. Mean strangers wear camouflage pants (like daddy's from boot camp that are now great for playing dress-up) 2. Mean stangers carry guns 3. It hurts when kids get dead 4. It doesn't hurt as bad for adults to get dead, so adults should step in to save kids

Eternal Damnation

2006-06-27T13:41:00.000-07:00

Are you there God? It's me, Crappy Mom. Big sis lovess church. She adores the whole sunday school singalong thing and can't wait to wake up and go each week . I won't complain here about the fact that our church elders decided that the service should be moved one hour EARLIER in the SUMMER months...no, I'm afraid I'm already on a slippery slope to hell because of what happened last Sunday - I don't need to add more fule to the fire (so to speak). What happened last Sunday: Since sis is feeling nervous about kindergarten, we've been talking it up big time - telling her all the really cool things she'll get to do now that she's five. So in my infinite wisdom, I mentioned the fact that the 5 year-olds get to go up in the front of the sanctuary - on the stage! - for the children's moment and prayer. Of course, she's not supposed to transition to the Fives until the fall, but I'm too retarded to think of that before I open my big mouth, so I figure - what the heck? Who's gonna notice (or care) if my little sweet pea sneaks up there with the big kids? I insisted she wear her prettiest poofy peasant skirt and a top to match so that the congregation would be stunned by her beauty and lean their heads all into one another to remark, "Oh would you look at that, she's the cutest thing we've ever seen." Of course we were a wee bit late getting there and we popped in the back just as the kids were being called up to the front. Sis marched right up there, front and center, and turned around to give me a huge, brave, 5 year-old smile. I melted right then and there onto the late-people pew. But then I slowly got a feeling that something wasn't quite right up there. Whaaa? Every kid up there had a very specific t-shirt on. Yeah, this can't be good. A woman with a microphone started talking about how all the kids had just spent a week together at bible school and they were going to show the whole congregation how much they learned. Sis was still smiling, but that's just because she had no idea what was coming. My brain immediately began to process ways I could get her out of there. I imagined a helecopter swooping down with a long rope and me hanging out the side with no door yelling for her to just grab on! Then the music started, then the singing, then the dancing. Sis' smile vanished and she flashed me a look that said - "Dear god in heaven mother, how could you do this to me?" I shrugged and gave her a half-hearted smile. Then for some reason, I gave a little punch to the air in front of me as if to say - go get 'em tiger. Go get 'em, she did not. Instead, she was forced to stand there while all the kids proceeded with the singing and the dancing and the hugging - oh my god the hugging. Kids would turn to her, arms outstretched and then immediately assess that she might punch them in the face if they went ahead with it, thus turning away to find someone elses soul to save. This spectacle went on for what seemed like hours until finally - finally it ended with some kind of conga line. Someone grabbed sis, turned her around and she became the leader of all these children, having no idea where to go or what to do, propelled only by sheer terror and the force of 20 kids pushing from behind. When the line broke up, the children all went back to their parents and as I watched her approach me, I could only hope that she wouldn't hate me for too long. And then I remembered that my daughter is much less of a pansy than I am. All she said was, "Well, THAT was weird." Do you hear that, God? I know you're trying to punish me for dragging my spiritual feet - but we won't be having any of that today.

You'd think I was trying to saw off my own arm

2006-06-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

Why oh why is it so difficult for me to actually write or (type) a few measly words that no one is going to read anyway? It's physically painful, yet I desperately want to do it. Here's why: 1. I'm certain to develop a serious case of alzheimers no matter how many "brain cell protecting" supplement horse pills I swallow in a day. It's gonna happen, so I want to get these thoughts of mine down for easy reference. 2. I've somehow managed to convince someone to pay me real money for writing a few short articles which nearly killed me and so I'm hoping that writing something on a daily basis will make this freelance thing more natural and - dare I say, fun? No, I dare not. How about less torturous? 3. This format allows me to ramble incessantly in a very ultra-hip stream of conciousness kind of way, like my best friend and I used to do when we were ultra-hip in high school. What's that? Now it's just sad you say? Hip no more? Done to death? Who cares, dear internet - as I said, no one reads this anyway (except my super fabulous best friend who has to because she loves me).

What to Expect When You're Expecting, a Tadpole

2006-06-14T19:25:00.000-07:00

For Big Sis' birthday, one of my supposed best friends gave her a gift that keeps on giving - a mail order tadpole. Nothing says Happy Birthday like a live amphibian. She who shall not be named, sweetly said, "All you have to do is send in the card and they send you the tadpole - put it in it's habitat and watch it grow to be a frog." Oh, just put it in it's habitat? OK. Cool. You mean this plastic bucket thing with one air hole and spray-painted reeds? Oh, lucky tadpole how will you ever repay us? I dutifully mailed the postcard certifying us as the bonified owners of one live tadpole, and now we wait. Every day the kids check the mail for our little adoptee. Still no tadpole. Last week I began to actually think about what will happen when this thing arrives and it occurred to me that it will need to eat. Won't it? I doubt he will get much sustenance from the faux muck floor of his new digs. I decided to review the instructions that came with the habitat, since I hadn't gotten further than step 1 - removing the cellophane. What I discovered is that I must have done my friend wrong - horribly, disfiguringly wrong - and she has been plotting this revenge for years. The remaining instructions go something like this: Step 2: Do not fill habitat with tap water - instead have spring water from the mountains of Switzerland flown in if you do not want tadpole floating dead and bloated before your children's eyes. Step 3: Calculate imminent arrival of mail-order tadpole based on standard shipping times with appropriate deviations based on weather conditions in all states and cities through which tadpole will be traveling. Tip! Make weather.com your homepage and check regularly because tadpole will not ship if over 80 degrees, and secure services of local weather man to explain why tadpole still isn't here after 3 weeks because it's hot in Kansas. Step 4: Arrange your work schedule around that of your mail carrier's in order to be home when tadpole arrives to greet him, refresh him in his springwater bath and relieve the stresses of traveling cross country in a box with a miniture shoulder massage. Tip! Alert your boss that you will need time off at some point in the next 1 to 4 weeks - depending on the weather in Kansas. She'll appreciate your little "heads-up" and will be much more likely to rearrange your work schedule and that of your colleagues to facilitate the health of your tadpole. Step 5: Explain to your children that they may not touch, poke, stroke, pinch, lick, bite, rub or otherwise have any contact with tadpole for fear of salmonella poisoning and death. Most children understand that pets are for looking, not touching and they will have no problem with this step. Tip! If you have rotten, misbehaving children, put the habitat up high so that they will have to scale the bookshelf to reach it - that should put an end to that! Step 6: Enjoy watching your tadpole grow up to be a beautiful frog, only to set it free in the river - which your children will totally understand and accept given their exceptional maturity level and sociopathic ability to feel no connection whatsoever to family pets.

The old switcheroo

2006-05-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

Lil bro was sitting on my lap wanting his little yellow Adidas soccer ball. "Sis, did you take my ball?" "No," said Big sis without taking her eyes off of the tv. "Mama, did you take my ball?" "No buddy," I said. "Then where could it be?" he asked, lifting each of my hands and peeling my fingers back in search of his ball. "I don't know." I said, shrugging. "Hmph!" said lil bro, hanging his head in defeat. But then, something caught his eye. He slowly turned toward me with a sly smile as if to say - I caught you mommy! He pointed at my right boob and said, "What's that?" I said, "It's not your ball, I'll tell you that much." But he didn't believe me. "Let me see it." "No way," I said. "I'm gon-na grab it!" he squeeled. The disappointment was heartbreaking, yet strangely familiar. Are all boys secretly hoping for soccer balls?

5 Years

2006-05-25T18:53:00.000-07:00

I've never been so scared in my life as the day you were born. I didn't know how to feed you. I didn't know how to hold you. When they laid you on my chest you were warm and wiggly, yet solid and heavy. I didn't expect you to feel so heavy. My muscles were so achy and shaky from pushing (over 5 hours!), that I didn't trust my arms to hold you and I worried you'd fall. I'm still worried. Despite my neurosis, you've grown to be confident and smart beyond your five years. At every turn you surprise us with your thoughtfulness and humor. Your favorite joke is- "Why didn't the skeleton cross the road? -Because he HAD NO GUTS!" You take your role as Big Sis very seriously and watch over lil brother like a mama bear with her cub - often reminding me, "He's just a baby mom, go easy on him." You have your daddy's blue eyes and beautiful wild blond hair. Sometimes I watch you while you color or practice your letters and I can't believe I'm allowed to be your mom.

Little Victories

2006-05-12T10:51:00.000-07:00

Today as I was going through the Wendy's drive-thru for my hamburger kids meal and diet pepsi, I had a thought that made me very proud. Tonight we will be taking the kids to the mall for ice cream dessert and some rides on the germ infested indoor playground - our favorite routine. Usually, we don't think ahead to bring quarters and of course the change machine never works and then we spend a half hour trying to find a compassionate soul to take pity on my screaming 2 year old and give us four quarters for a dollar already. But not tonight. The bill for my lunch came to $2.53. Upon being told, I immediately started scrounging for 2 quarters and 3 pennies because I find some strange satisfaction in having the exact change for the guy in the window. But this time, I had a brain shift and ....WAIT....if I save those two quarters right now, that's one ride on the Jungle Safari jeep! Little brother can drive, and Big Sis can ride on the back with her arms around fake Simba. And then another shift....WAIT.....if I not only save those two quarters, but pay with another dollar and the three cents, then they will almost surely give me two more quarters back in change. Then I would have enough for each kid to have their very own choice of ride, thereby avoiding the inevitable no fair protest from sis who thinks the Jungle Safari jeep is Lame, mom. I'm so freakin smart.

Preschool Blues

2006-05-01T08:43:00.000-07:00

For the past week or so, Big Sis has been crying like crazy when I drop her off at preschool. She cries and begs me not to leave and breaks my heart into tiny little pieces. She's always loved school- to the point of throwing a fit if I try to pick her up two minutes early. What is up?? I can't help but go and sit in the "obeservation" room behind the two-way mirror and watch her like some kind of second-rate detective waiting for a break in the case. She's still crying, and I "left" over 5 minutes ago. Why isn't that cold hearted teacher cuddling her and gently wiping away her tears? Put down that nasty guinea pig and tend to my child woman! Hey - some kid just grabbed a book right out of big sis' hands! Didn't anybody see that? What kind of juvenile delinquents are you raising in this madhouse? She goes and sits by herself in the corner, arms folded, chin to chest, bottom lip firmly protruding outward. I can't take it. 20 minutes late for work, mascara running and feeling like the worst mom on earth, I drag myself out of observation and sneek out the front door praying little brother won't see me from his classroom down the hall. Oh yeah. It's gonna be a good day.

It's a hard knock life.

2006-04-27T14:02:00.000-07:00

I took big sis to see Annie last weekend. It was a two hour production and the dog was awesome. Seriously. Sandy stole the show. Big sis agrees. Her only comment on the rest of the show was, "I thought there would be a bit more action, mom." Yeah, me too. But it was still great to hear the music and watch her sitting there quietly for 2 hours. She was perfect. She wouldn't even eat a snack. She was mortified when I pulled out the chocolate chip cookie I had stashed in my purse. She is a stringent rule follower. She often asks if we're going to get kicked out of the store/restaurant/park/doctor's office for some minor infraction in which I've involved her. Of course this doesn't apply to my rules. My rules are merely suggestions. But I'm not bitter.

Smarty Pants vs. Master Manipulator

2006-04-26T07:41:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I outlined a clear example of the lengths my daughter will go to stick it to me. She has taught her little brother well. For example: T. has always said that he loves me because I am tone deaf and sing like a tortured bird (wait, it gets better here) but I don't let that stop me from singing. That is a complement, isn't it? Little brother feels differently. He agrees that I'm tone deaf and all that, but instead of letting me sing anyway, he puts a finger to his lips and sharply whispers, "Shhh! Baby's sleeping!" Where on earth did he learn that? He has no younger siblings - this is not something I've ingrained into his brain. It would seem logical that perhaps in fact he was not sleeping as an infant and witnessed my pleas for big sis to take it down a notch already. But no. I was never as polite as to simply say, "Shh, baby's sleeping." It would make more sense if he was saying things like "Mom! Holy crap, you're driving me nuts!" He's afraid to be too mean, but still wants me to know that I'm no Kelly Clarkson - not even a Kelly Pickler - yes I get it. (Not an American Idol fan? For shame.) He's defintitely inherited my passive-aggresive ways. For that, I'm grateful.

Master Manipulator

2006-04-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

When big sis was about 2.5, she gave us just a taste of what we have in store for the next 15.5 years or so (we are off the hook at 18, right?). I was scared at the time, and rightly so, it turns out. Visibly pregnant with little bro, she wanted nothing more to do with me. I tried everything I could think of to stay in her good graces. Nothing hurts more than being shunned by a toddler. One night I made a huge spaghetti dinner and we actually sat down at the dinner table to eat facing each other instead of the tv. I was quite proud of all the food groups present and fully expected to be loved and appreciated for my hard work. Big sis had impeccable manners already, so we were not surprised when she turned to T. and said, "Good dinner daddy!" T. said thank you honey, but mommy made dinner, you should thank her." Little sis held his gaze and said again, "Great dinner daddy!" T. pulled out his stern voice and very slowly said, "Big sister, mommy made dinner. Not me. Please tell mommy that you like your dinner." She finally looked my way and I relaxed just a little. Then the stinkpot looked over at the dog and said with the sweetest voice imaginable, "Nice dinner you made, Parker!" What? The child is surely confused. Could she possibly be capable of this kind of manipulation before learning to tie her own shoes? Oh yes. I've paid dearly for daring to bring another child into this world. Little brother gets mad love from her and daddy can do no wrong. Only now that she's 4 will she give me the time of day, and that's only because I let her win at Candyland.

Do princesses toot?

2006-04-21T18:27:00.000-07:00

Big sis has decided that princesses most certainly do not toot. I tried to tell her that everybody toots. Nope. She's not buying it. "Do you know who probably has the most disgusting, stinky, smelly toots?" she asked. I was dying to know. "The Beast!" Dang. I thought for sure she'd say daddy.

Mimaloo and Wixie Doo

2006-04-14T11:55:00.000-07:00