A Mother's Love

Mikey is the boy who greets everyone with a hug--whether they want one, or not.

Mikey is the little boy who brings dinosaurs to school to show his principal the difference between an Apatosaurus, a Tyranasaurus Rex, and a Spinosaurus. Then he'll tell her how they lived in Center America and that's where paleontologists can find their fossils.

Mikey is the little boy who knows the alphabet, can count forwards and backwards, and does simple addition and subtraction.

Mikey is also the little boy teachers are suggesting needs a third year of preschool. For all that academic heft, he's a bit of a rascal. He is, as they say, immature for his age. He doesn't sit still during reading circle time, loves to wrestle and put out imaginary fires, and if it wasn't for his ability to hear the theme song to Lazy Town in the shower while the T.V. is set to mute, I would assume he is deaf. By the way, Lazy Town? Freakiest show ever.

Every day when I drop him off at school I remind him to put on his listening ears and to sit still and listen during Reading Circle. Every morning he looks at me with those gumball-sized gray eyes and says, "Of course, Mama!"

Every afternoon I pick him up and ask his teacher how he did. And every afternoon she says, "He's working on it!" Translation: you're lucky your kid is cute and friendly.

Last year, Mikey did better as the year progressed. By the time the school year ended, his listening skills were much improved--enough so that I had high hopes for this year. Right now, they are all but dashed. I'm at a bit of a loss. He doesn't have any problems listening at home. He behaves very well, minus a few typical 4 year old transgressions, and doesn't give me half the problems I hear and see my friends experiencing with their own kids. There is just something that happens to Mikey when he gets around a group of kids that makes him, literally, devolve into some quasi-hominid.

I explained all of this to his teacher on Friday. She suggested I cut out most of his T.V. time and encourage him to play cards, board games, puzzles, etc. Sounds easy enough. She then suggested I tire him out by playing outside and going on bike rides. Again, that sounds easy enough. Then she suggested that maybe, just maybe, he needs to be around more kids his age. You know, so he can learn what is appropriate behavior (i.e., quit hugging everyone), not get so excited every time he sees someone his size, and basically chill out when among his peers. She suggested we socialize. That didn't sound easy at all.

The Mister and I, we're home people. As I have mentioned before, we don't like big parties or crowds or organized clubs. We don't even watch reality T.V.--that's how averse we are to people we don't know.

Mikey, on the other hand, loves to be around people. He greets strangers with a handshake and a smile. "Hi! My name is Mikey K. and I love dinosaurs." He will play with anyone and lights up whenever he sees other children. He really is a people person.

So, on Friday, as I watched him run around the room with Benjamin putting out imaginary fires and then later hold Brooke's hand while her mom and I walked towards our parked cars, I thought to myself that if Mikey needs to socialize and be around more kids, so be it. If he is happy, I am happy. And that's when I realized they weren't lying when they said there isn't much a mom won't do for her child.

Favorite Moment

Who says favorite moments have to be about kids and family and everything nice? Not this narcissist. Today it's all about me!

So, did you see? Those lovely Virginians, John & Sherry, from This Young House created for me a little moodboard for my Mamie pink bathroom. Not too shabby, eh?


The Mister is quite taken with it, really. Of course I love it, as it features prominently that silly rubber-maned giraffe I love so much. Some people mentioned they don't understand my enchantment with him, and to that I say some things are like acid-washed z Cavaricci jeans from the 80s: they can't be explained and you just have to work through the fad and burn all photographic evidence.

We both love how it is "little boy" because it celebrates two little guys who won't always take baths together and won't always marvel at shooting soap out of a lion's spinal column. While we have them young and squishy, we wanted a bathroom equally sweet. I think when we are done it will be fun, happy, and, dare I say, whimsical?

To read more about it go HERE. To get your own moodboard go HERE. I know doing these design boards take a lot of time and effort, especially when there is a challenge like mine. Sherry even called a few bathroom enclosure manufacturers for me regarding some issues with fixtures and extensions and all sorts of other boring things. All that hard work is much appreciated. Thanks, guys!

That's What She Said.

The Mister and I are excited for The Office to start up again next week. Last season wasn't my favorite, but I have high hopes for this year. I can't wait to watch. {That's what she said.}

The Mister, this is for you.

I Forgot the Things I Hoped to Never Forget.

So I haven't done much with my flickr group. I'm terrible about adding tags to my pictures, creating witty titles, and sharing pictures. And to be honest, I kind of forgot about it. I need to have an email announcement for it because out of inbox, out of mind. But, that needs to change, and much like I have used this blog to catalog little thoughts and memories and stories that amount to my favorite moment in the week, I will now use this blog for the same purpose, but in picture format.

I had hoped other people would start writing about they're favorite moments, but except for one person, it hasn't happened yet (that I know of). So, I'm hoping other people out there will join me in photographing and sharing those memories you think you will never forget but often do because in the end life becomes about milestones. If you're anything like me, you'll remember potty training, but you just might forget how much you love the smell of fresh wipes and diaper ointment.

You'll remember all your speeding tickets, but you just might forget he loves to sit in his carseat and watch the orange tree leaves rustle in the winter.

You'll remember when so-and-so got divorced, but you just might forget the first time you caught them playing together on their own.

You'll remember the first time you bought a house, but you just might forget how small he looked when he first starting using adult sized bowls.

And I could go on, but I won't because you are probably bored by now. I don't plan to make every picture about the boys. I hope I don't, actually, because it's a bit predictable. But, it's also realistic. Life is all about phases, and right now I am in mom phase. So, expect to see a cute mug every now and then. I won't write much, if anything, on those posts because I am hoping the pictures will speak for themselves.

I don't know how often I will post a picture about Things I Hope to Never Forget, but I am shooting for once a week. Maybe on Wednesdays? I'm still mulling the day in my head. Hopefully I won't get too caught up in worrying about perfect pictures or perfect content, like I sometimes do with my Favorite Moments. It's not about that, but it is hard to let go when you are a perfectionist. I'm trying.

OK. That's it. The topic is officially exhausted. I am curious to see if anyone joins me in the quest to capture elusive memories. Speaking of memories, I hope I don't forget to pack my camera in my purse this week.

Enough.

I am announcing a moratorium on the pigeon-toe stance. Effective immediately, photography subjects must position feet as one does normally. No more coquette posturing while you (1) look off into the distance and pretend you have no idea you are taking a side-profile picture of yourself in a mirror, (2) gaze, eyes wide and chin down, innocently into the camera like a gamine street urchin, and/or (3) pretend to be some shy, delicate petunia waiting to be plucked from the field of life. You know who you are, blogland.

I've been biting my tongue (but not my lip--that's moratorium for another day) on this issue for some time, but my eyes all but melted when I saw this picture. Point those damn toes north, Oliver Twist, or you'll not be allowed any pudding.

Photo that makes me want to jump inside the picture and kick straight some feet via The Sartorialist.

Dear The Mister,

You have been working all day and probably reading this during your client dinner tonight. Since I might be DEAD by the time you come home, I thought I might just jot down a few notes on how awesome my day is going right now, at 10:00am.

So, I'm still a little delirious from staying up the last 3 nights taking care of sick boys. Since you were taking care of them, too, I am imagine you are pretty exhausted, too. How's that coffee? Yeah. I don't drink coffee. But I do drink diet coke, and since I have to leave the house in a few minutes I might as well buy 235 gallons while I am out.

Why am I going out? Remember when we walked in on Nicholas last night with his feet stuck in the crib rails and choking on his own puke? And remember how we were all "AAAAAAHHHHHH HE'S DYING!! WHAT DO WE DO!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!" and then we cleaned him off and put him in the tub and he was all, "Hey! A bath! My favorite! . . .What's wrong with you two?" And so you were so freaked out our kid almost went down like Jimi Hendrix you had to do something so you went and put his sheets in the washing machine but didn't remove any of the *ahem* offending material? Yeah. Let's just say I need to go to Target to pick up some laundry supplement with digestive enzymes to do the job Nicholas didn't get a chance to finish. Tomato skins in my washing machine, the Mister. That's all I have to say.

So Mikey got up at around 9:00am and {BONUS} didn't pee in our bed. I was so excited I had one less load of laundry to do, I decided to make everyone breakfast, including myself! I had just finished my 3rd bite when Nicholas decided to slip out of his high-chair straps and attempt to bungee jump to freedom. Naturally, I put down my bagel after only a moment of hesitation and decided while I was letting him kick me in protest, I might as well let him kick me in protest while I put on his clothes for the day. It was awesome. Since he is sick, his kicks are totally weak. So are his lungs. I barely felt or heard anything.

I have to say I was pretty bummed to come back and discover that the dogs ATE MY BREAKFAST. Oh yes, they did. And they had the nerve to lick their chops and burp delicately. I decided not making purses out of their ears should be enough to pay forward the pharmacy-tech's kindness from yesterday.

Mikey is perfecting his football throwing against various walls in the house. This is after he decided to fill his mouth with water, stick all his fingers in his mouth, and with water pouring down his shirt and onto the floor proclaim, "I'm brushing my teeth in a new way!" What the?!

I'm hot, my hair is a mess, and I think I broke my foot.

Well, I better go. Nicholas insists on playing with my old, rusty Buenos Aires license plate and I don't have the energy to take him to get a tetanus shot if he eats it. I'll update you on my day as it continues to deteriorate progess.

Can't wait until you get home. Drive safe. :)

xoxo,
The Mrs.

Operation: NICE Rx

Most of you know I am a big fan of Melissa's new blog, Operation NICE. I think kindness is an idea who's time has come (again) and couldn't be happier to discover how many people are like me--trying to be good and kind, even when you really want to be anything but, and all around sick of the negativity that surround us. Then again, I'm also the attorney who stopped practicing to raise kids and write schmaltzy event wording, so maybe my perspective is skewed? Bah, who cares. I just want to say way to go, Melissa. I am so proud to count you as one of my online friends. And, hey! I had my own encounter with someone NICE today.

Mikey is sick. It's just a virus, but if I learned anything last year, a virus for a little boy with allergies like Mikey means high fevers, barking-seal coughs, and a whole lot of wheezing. I spent most of the night checking on him, rubbing his back, "sleeping" with him, taking his temperature, singing his favorite songs, and pretty much wondering what I could have done since school started to avoid all of this for him. The only thing greater than Catholic Guilty? Mother's Guilt.

I fell asleep around 7:oo am today, so the Mister took Mikey to the doctor's early morning sick hour. He prescribed for him one dose of steroids. The Mister took the Rx to the pharmacy after he dropped Mikey off at home. A couple of hours later, I packed up the boys and headed towards the pharmacy.

Our pharmacy has a drive-thru, and I couldn't have been happier about that as a miserable, feverish Mikey cried quietly in the back seat. As luck would have it, we were out of tissues and Motrin. So, even though I suspected they wouldn't, I asked the pharmacy-tech if there was any way I could buy Motrin and a box of tissues from her. She said no; I had to park and go into the store, which is not part of the pharmacy. {Un gran sigh.} Then she took a peek into the backseat and saw a very forlorn Mikey. She told me to hang on--she would do my shopping for me.

And she did. Five minutes later, she slid through the delivery drawer an Rx for steroids, 1 box of tissues and a large bottle of children's Motrin.

I slid back a note that read,

Thank you so much for thinking of my son.
It is greatly appreciated.
Best,
Jules

Maybe I'm just tired from a long night, but my sunglasses hid my misty eyes just fine as I pulled out of the drive-thru.

{Mikey must have borrowed my camera last week, because I found these tucked in between shots of the house and boys.}