My Little Pop Stars

My boys have become somewhat obsessed with pop music. It started with what they call the "Say-a-nay-o" song (Dynamite by Taio Cruz), an upbeat tune with a racy youtube video. P asked to play it for him one night and proceeded to entertain me with his wicked moves. It was one of the funniest things I had seen him do and was afraid to get the camera because I feared the authenticity would be lost. For four minutes, the boy was in his zone, savoring every moment. However I could not resist the urge to at least TRY and capture it on film the next day. Here are his moves, a bit toned down from the original performance.

[VIDEO WON'T UPLOAD -AHHH!]

In an effort to expand their musical horizons, I started "Fun Friday" when home with John. We listened to reggae, zydeco, dance, and 80's (of course), and had a dance party in the kitchen. This past week Fun Friday was resurrected, but I let the boys choose the music. After the obligatory Dynamite, they picked Beautiful by One Direction. I will admit, it is a catchy tune and good for dancing. While in Cape Cod Paul discovered a copy of Teen Beat (seriously, they still have that magazine!) and was often found reading up on the comings and goings of the newest boy band. I briefly wondered to myself when he became a teenage girl. Speaking of which, their all-time favorite song for the summer of 2012? Firework by Katy Perry. Yes, it is not a "new" song, but it is one of my husband's favorites because, as he puts it, "How can you not feel good after hearing it?" A few weeks ago he took the boys to see Madagascar 3, and on the way home they requested "that song from the movie". He stuck in his Katy Perry cd (a gift from Santa Claus) and they rocked out with the windows down, entertaining many a passerby. On our trip to the Cape, we played it several times and I managed to catch some of it on video. Again, not nearly the amount of enthusiasm seen without a recording device, but you get the general idea.

Underpants

Here's a post I started on vacation and had to stop short when we went out.
Lately I have been working on letting things go. Okay, once you have stopped laughing, read on. We are on vacation with the boys this week, which to many moms is more stressful than an average day. While the family gets to relax and enjoy the beach and various tourist attractions, mom has to organize, pack, plan meals and activities, and make sure everything flows smoothly. Don't get me wrong, I get this weird pleasure out of preparing for events despite the fact that I generally appear to be completely stressed out (another trait I inherited from my mom). There is something strangely invigorating about making sure we have everything we need and I felt well-prepared for our trip to the beach. But once we got here I started to get anxious. John skipped his nap the first few days and came completely unraveled. Then we foolishly fed them ice cream before going out to dinner and witnessed the all-out madness that ensued. While dragging my boys to the bathroom as they were literally bouncing all over the place, I passed by a table with five children under 10 all of whom were sitting peacefully and enjoying their meals. Jealousy raged through me. Why couldn't my children behave like that? My husband chastised me for not being able to relax. The next day we left early for a long bike ride through the woods and I tried really hard to relax. And yes, I see the irony there. But there was something about that ride through the woods that released my anxiety. I started thinking about the fact that while my children have a tremendous amount of energy that never fully expends and often exhausts [ME], they are also incredibly smart, funny and creative and I wouldn't change that for anything. They are who they are. Later in the week I set them free with new water guns and bubbles. My husband graciously filled up a bucket with water to refuel the guns, and after about 15 minutes I noticed that the boys were completely soaked. They had quickly moved from innocent battle to all-out, dump empty bubble containers full of water on each other's head warfare. I started to get upset when hubby pointed out that it was me that sent them out there with the guns and bubbles. Oh, and they are boys. It's what they do. They get their underwear soaking wet and think it's funny. I guess I need to start seeing the humor in it too.

Surviving the June Blues

June Blues? What? Aren't you a teacher? Why, yes I am as a matter of fact. And isn't June supposed to be the month of sweet relief? Two months to bask in the sun and spend lazy afternoons curled up on a chair reading the latest young adult fiction? Traditionally, yes. But for the past four Junes I have stared down the hole of uncertainty, not knowing the status of my employment in the fall, hoping that teachers in my building keep having babies and that someone will retire so that I can take their place. This June has been particularly painful. There were several retirements and I naturally assumed that my time had come for a permanent job. However, districts all over the state continue to make drastic cutbacks and nearly every single retirement was left unfilled. Each opportunity that dangled in front of me like the proverbial carrot was snatched away, and I found myself spending a lot of time in the bathroom stall, quietly weeping. See, you need to understand something about me. I am an extremely passionate person and something that I have always been passionate about is teaching. When I was a child I wanted nothing more than to play school with anyone willing to be my pupil, and despite the various setbacks I have faced along the way I have always be drawn to the classroom. There's something about the cyclical nature of the school year, the newness that every day brings, and the souls I get to shape ever so slightly. It is a powerful thing and I honestly cannot imagine doing anything else for a living. To be fair, I am blessed that every year since we moved back I have had a job in some capacity, and I have even managed to stay in the same building for the past three. However I continue to struggle with the insecurity of it all, especially knowing that my family counts on the financial support of my employment. The worst part is the heartbreak. I want more than anything to have a desk of my own, to stare at pictures of my own children and have my own stack of post-it notes in the drawer. To face June with a sense of relaxation and joy, not worry and unease. To know I will be back in the fall, fresh and full of new ideas for my incoming students. Someday.

Money changes everything

I had hoped to have John potty trained before he turned three, and for a while it seemed like we were definitely going to make it. He was just so much more cooperative than his brother about using the potty and I figured that, coupled with the peer pressure at school and the desire to be like his older brother, would make training a breeze. HA. While he was always willing to go when prompted, he had little motivation for actually keeping himself dry in between visits to the bathroom and had zero desire to make a more significant deposit (if you catch my drift). Despite these facts, his teacher suggested we start putting him in underwear daily and she agreed to work with him at school. A few weeks in and MANY loads of laundry later, it didn't seem like we were making much progress. On Friday we were scheduled to see the doctor for John's annual check-up and I figured it would be a good place to ask if perhaps we were going about this potty training thing all wrong. When I picked him up from school, John was excited to report that he had been accident free. In my over confident state I neglected to toss a spare pair of undies in my bag and figured we'd be fine for the brief doctor's visit. John dutifully used the potty upon arrival. Hands washed, praise given, all systems go. A brief trip to the play area in the waiting room before our name is called. March to the height and weight station. Giggle. "I pooped." Sigh heard round the world. Embarrassed mom forced to wipe down child in restroom, ask for a diaper and carry dirty underwear home in a paper towel. Eww. Desperate for a solution to the stinky pile of underpants, I ask the doctor for advice. He suggests that we pay John a quarter for each successful deposit in the toilet and take one away for each accident. I am willing to try anything but don't see how money is going to work on the child that does not appear to be motivated to poop anywhere but in his pants. The next morning we give it a try. He poops. On the potty. Promptly asks for his money. Poops two more times during the day. ON THE POTTY. "Can I have my moneys?" Sure thing baby. This is WAY cheaper than pull-ups. We are currently on day two of the bribery experiment and I am pleased with the rate of success. Who knew. He turns three on Wednesday, and I while I hesitate to call him officially "trained" (we are still facing frequent accidents) he is pretty darn close. Great happiness!!!!!

Tie Fighter, Travel & the Terrible Twos

P turned six in early April, and as mom does not like to disappoint her many fans, I constructed his cake in the shape of a Star Wars tie fighter. It turned out pretty well with no frosting disasters this year (I even learned how to make black frosting) and was met with public success at our first ever out-of-the-house birthday party. Note: Easiest. Party. Ever. Of course my bubble was popped when P announced that next year he just wants cupcakes. Sigh. No worries, my youngest turns three in a few months and I can focus all my creative energy on his cake. Except for the little problem of his continuous train obsession. When I ask him what type of cake he wants, he simply goes through the list of Thomas the Train characters. Seeing as I made an Edward cake last year, I just can't bring myself to do the same design again this year. I mean, where is the challenge in that? And my friends, it really is all about the challenge. This year for P's cake, I enlisted the help of two fellow Star Wars moms (thanks ladies!) to assist in the design phase. And while I may need some practice dipping twizzlers in melted chocolate (you should have seen the mess), the overall results were pretty good. Enough about the cake; here is a photo.

Moving on. As for the adults in the family, we enjoyed an amazing trip to Greece during spring break. Without. The. Children. It was originally planned for our ten year anniversary but had to be postponed due to the arrival of our second son. After spending the first 24 hours traveling and/or stuck in the Athens airport, we enjoyed a relaxing and energizing (yes it is possible to accomplish both of those feelings simultaneously) trip to Santorini and then an educational stop back in Athens before returning home. The adventure was much needed balm for the hectic pace that our lives have been functioning in back at home.
Which brings me to the third element of this entry's title: Our toddler. God bless him, he came into our lives the sweetest baby - slept without fuss (which was a huge difference from what we had been used to), ate like a champ and had a easy-going disposition. The first few months of "two-dom" went by with little complaint; he continued to be sweet with only the occasional emotional outburst. He even cooperated with potty training. We couldn't believe our luck! Then something happened. He must have gotten the memo that two is supposed to be TERRIBLE. He suddenly decided that food was more fun spread out all over the floor and regurgitated onto the table. That it was perfectly okay to break out in bloodcurdling screams at 2am when his stuffed animal fell out of the bed. That hiding under the desk and filling his pull-up is downright hysterical. And the worst: That any voice of authority has ceased to register in his hearing range. Even when the dreaded middle name is used. I know toddler hood is about finding one's way in the world and I can deal with the chorus of "I DO IT!" and the occasional assertion of defiance. But my child has gone beyond that and it is wearing us out.  Thankfully he has been interspersing moments of laughter at his developing language, which at some point I need to document. (His most recent: Mommy will you play tic-tac-two with me?) And I keep telling myself he is simply trying to navigate the world in his own way. My mother assures me that, like everything else, this too shall pass. Let's just hope we all make it out on the other side.

Bathroom destruction

Our bathroom is pretty outdated. A little over a year ago the husband put in a new toilet and floor, but he recently set his sites on a complete overhaul. We have picked out a new vanity but want to sock away a few more bucks first. In the meantime, he decided to re-tile the shower. After sketching out an elaborate design and accumulating the materials over several months (the man likes to budget!) he set a destruction date. He wanted to do the majority of the messy work while I was away with the boys in Florida, but I did get to witness the banging down of walls before I left.
Here's what the shower looked like before:

And moments after tile removal began:

The new tile is up now and looks awesome. Here's a preliminary pic.

I will post more as the project continues!





A Tale of Woe

Day Three of solo parenting:Both boys are sick. The one thing I wished not to happen happened. Thanks a bunch universe. My oldest wakes up at 6:20. He sounds like Darth Vader. This, of course, is good news to him. My youngest has a complete meltdown when I tell him he can't wear his "CARS TWO" slippers to school. Complete. Meltdown. It started with the quivering lip and exploded from there. Don't do this to mommy, I think. We have a long day ahead of us, complete with gymnastics class and a much needed trip to the grocery store. I finally get him to calm down with the promise of cherry flavored ibuprofen and a spoonful of honey. "Can I have honey too?" Darth Vader croaks. Of course. Let them get through the next two days I silently plead. Then we can sleep all day and watch endless hours of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Star Wars. The silver lining in all of this is that we somehow manage to get everyone to their destination on time. Early even. It's a Thursday morning miracle!
The miracle does not last. The activity that is supposed to help my child burn off his endless amounts of energy only gets him more wound up. And I hear the dollars being flushed down the toilet as I watch him spend more time flirting with nearby girls and attempting to tip over the equipment than listening to his instructor and gaining valuable new skills. Sigh. After gymnastics we gather up the small one and head over to the local grocery store for a nice meal (hey, a girl's gotta have a night off from cooking!) and some shopping. I have picked this particular store for their late night child care - the heavenly play area is open until 7:00. (This is a passive-aggressive message to the OTHER grocery store whose play area closes at 6:00. A little flexibility would help us poor working moms!!) We arrive at the gates of freedom at 6:30 with the knowledge that mommy can speed shop with the reward of only one child in tow. It is dark inside. DARK. I check my watch. I check the hours posted in two separate places. They both clearly say: Mon-Sat 10-7. I look around for someone loitering about waiting for children. Perhaps they knew I was coming. This is not the first time I have taken advantage of the extra hour. But why have later hours if they don't intend to honor them? A braver mom would have complained to the management. But I am PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE, remember? So I just sulk away, with a disappointed 5 year old hanging off the edge of my cart like a garbage man. Which is fun in the produce section and then gets old. Really quickly. His constant need to jump on and off the cart is accompanied by his attempt to crawl into the lower section and ride skeleton style and his desire to push his brother into the merchandise whenever I am not looking. To add insult to injury, it seems my youngest has become temporarily hard of hearing and feels the need to LOUDLY announce every time he sees a recognizable character on a product. I silently curse the entire marketing industry as I listen to repeated shouts of "CARS TWO!!!! CARS TWO MOMMY!! LOOK  MOMMY BUZZ LIGHT YEAR!!! BUZZ LIGHT YEAR MOMMY!! LOOK LOOK MOMMY IT'S DIEGO MOMMY!!!" You get the idea. By the end of the trip, which took 15 minutes longer than it should have thanks to my need to constantly retrieve the cart and use every ounce of my strength to push its increasing weight, I am EXHAUSTED. My head hurts, my back hurts, and all I want to do is sit down. But I know that I must first perform two bedtime rituals and endure the pleasure of unloading the car and putting away all the groceries. I say a silent prayer to all of the single moms in the world and then curse the universe once again. An hour later, when I am blissfully supine in my family room, I remember: I confiscated all of the Reese's peanut butter cups from Halloween and hid them in the freezer for days like this. Ahhhhh....