Tag Archives: parenting

When do I get to have my tantrum?

Posted on September 26, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

He was 16 months when he stood with me in the kitchen, asking for an “Ookie.”

“No cookies now. After dinner. Okay?” I said and away he toddled.

A moment later I found him on the floor in the hall, writhing and screaming. Immediately, I was alarmed. What was happening? Should I call a doctor? What was he doing?

I bent down. “Baby? What’s the matter? Are you okay? Baby?”

Still squirming like Linda Blair from the Exorcist, he wailed, “Wan ookie!!”

Huh? Was this a tantrum? It was my first. My older son had never had one. I watched with fascination.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was the same child who when I tried sleep training, absolutely trained me. I didn’t think a seven month old could cry that long and continuously. Ultimately, I spent the next two years sitting at the base of his crib every night until he fell asleep. Well trained, but not exactly what I was going for.

When we potty trained, it was the same business. Forget the stickers or M&M’s. No bribery, reason or compromise could make him go. Finally, I threw my hands in the air and gave up. The next day, he decided he was ready and went on his own.

Now eight years-old, he is my most charming, social and independent child. Yet he is still a spit fire, who has spent the last seven years mastering his button pushing technique. He no longer writhes on the floor, now his tantrums are much more manipulative and exhausting.

Yesterday, when we were about to leave, he decided that he didn’t want to go to his brother’s baseball game. While I understood, frankly, he had no choice.

I took a deep breath. “We are going. Please don’t make this difficult.”

Hands over the ears. “Lalalalala! I can’t hear you!”

I hate when he does that.

“Your friends will be there.” I said nicely, through gritted teeth.

“I’M NOT GOING!”

“I’m going to have to take away your iTouch.”

“Good! Take it! I don’t want it anyway!”

“Come on!” I practically begged.

He went to hide behind a chair. “NO! You can’t make me!”

That was it. I could make him and sadly, I showed him how, by dragging him by the arm into the car.

His little body felt even lighter than the fifty pounds it was. He screamed the whole time and embarrassingly, I screamed back.

Once in the car, I took deep breaths. I was so angry, I couldn’t speak. I was mad at him and at myself. He was making me a bad parent, I thought spitefully.

Why not blame the eight year-old?

“Baby,” I said calmly. “None of that was okay. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

He just shrugged. “Okay, me too.” Now that he was in the car, the drama was over. “When do you think I can get my iTouch back?” he asked sweetly.

He can turn off as quick as he turns it on. I’ll give him that.

He has always been unbreakable, but every so often it would nice if he could just give me a break.

I know it’s hard to believe.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged bad mommy moment, frustrated mommy, give me a break, parenting, tantrums, willful children. Bookmark the permalink.

My children are perfect, and always will be.

Posted on September 17, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

My children are perfect.

Right now, one is stomping up the stairs in a fit of temper. I asked him to go to his room to cool off, but mid-way, he has decided not to give me that satisfaction.

“You want me to go to my room?” He huffs. “Then I think I’ll stay right here!”

So now he’s back, fuming. His big, green eyes bright with insult.

“So, stay right here.” I say agreeably, refusing to be drawn into his tantrum.

“Oh, you want me to stay here? Then I’m going to my room!” He yells and stomps back up the stairs.

I keep my smile on the inside, but little bits of it come out in the upturn of my mouth.

The minute he is gone from the room, my little one, five now, not really so little, jumps in front of me, pulling on my arm, dancing around me annoyingly. “Mama! I want you to play legos with me. Now! Can we play now?”

He’s biting the neckline of his shirt, exactly like I’ve asked him not to do a thousand times. I don’t want to play legos, but his little face is insistent. He is desperate to play, clenching the shirt tightly between his teeth, squinting his eyes real hard, hoping his wish will be answered, that I will not say, “wait” for the third time, that I will just play, which I do, but not without a heavy sigh. Did I mention I really don’t want to play?

My oldest son bounds in like a puppy. “Mommy? Can you get me a snack?” I should tell him to get it himself.

He’s eleven, but I’m all too happy to be released from lego prison. Besides, he may be my oldest but he’s my least responsible; more likely than my five year-old to spill his cup of water or rip open a bag of pretzels to drop right to the floor like pick-up sticks. Right now, I’m trying not to notice that his tee shirt is both inside out and backwards.

I come back to find him happily engaged with my youngest. They are soaring their creations around each other, complete with battle sound effects. I place the pretzels and drink down, and hear my middle son storming down the stairs. He pauses when we make eye contact, just long enough to growl at me.

These three boys, so different, physically, emotionally, developmentally; each with their strengths and weakness, yet, there are moments I am blown away by their absolute perfection; their eyes full of hope, their growing psyches, their innocence and their honesty, their flawless youth.

They are not tainted by the world, have not suffered crushing rejections and disappointment. They have not been stripped of their pride, had to learn real life lessons, had their dreams shattered around them. Their lives are open, their paths, a journey and an adventure. They are beautiful in their possibility and their promise.

They are as children should be. Perfect. Untainted. And I try not to get emotional, when I realize the inevitable; that they will grow, and become people. People with baggage. It breaks my heart a little, but then I remember, they will always be perfect, because they will always be my babies.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
Poo. Poo. Poo.

48 Comments

Posted in Boys!, Every Day Scoops and tagged always be my babies, growing older, growing up, parenting, perfect children. Bookmark the permalink.

It’s the first day of school. Wish me luck!

Posted on September 9, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

It’s Monday morning.

The first day of school. My two oldest kids have beaten me downstairs and went straight to the Wii for their last hurrah at Power-Pros. I’m making the lunches, and while I work on auto-pilot from the years of packing lunches and snacks, the task still seems somewhat unfamiliar after a long summer.

Did I give enough snack? Did I give too much?

I err on the side of overboard and pack away. Sitting here at 6:40am, I’m tired. Throughout the summer I’ve generally gotten up at 7:30am or so, sometimes earlier to write, but now I feel weary and anxious, with a strange emptiness in my stomach like we’re catching a 5:30am flight. I worry. Do we have everything? Am I prepared? Are they prepared?

First days are always stressful I guess, so I’m happy to hear the happy shouts coming from the basement of the boys engaged in something other than worry.

It’s the first day of middle school for my oldest; a huge school with 1,200 kids, different ‘houses’ and switching classes. The middle school could eat the elementary school. In fact, it has. Its combines five elementary schools in its belly.

It’s the first day of Kindergarten for my youngest, a transition which terrifies me; the new school, the bus, the long day away, all things not only unfamiliar to my child, but unacceptable. Please, please, let him adjust easily.

And it’s the first day of third grade for my middle one, with a teacher I’m just not so sure about.

Worry. Worry. Worry.

And here’s my oldest, up from the basement, head on my lap, saying, “I don’t wanna go to middle school.”

“But it’s going to be so good, honey.” I coo. “You get to do so many new things, meet so many new people. It’s an adventure. You’re going to love it.”

My youngest just walked down from sleep, naked, but for his underwear, ran right into my lap like a warm muffin and broke down crying.

My middle one is now playing music on his iTouch, oblivious to the nerves around him.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You can do this. You can do this.

First days are tough, but it’s an adventure. We’re going to do it. It’s going to be okay.

I’m telling them over and over. I’m telling myself.

Yet, I feel like I’m going to throw up. Probably, just like they do.

Except for my middle one, he just asked me to make him macaroni and cheese.

Too cool for school

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged anxiety, first day of school, nerves, parenting. Bookmark the permalink.

Oh my God! Where is the school bus?!!

Posted on September 6, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

I’m standing at the goal, yellow wiffle bat in hand, waiting for the kickball to come my way. We are engaged in a down and dirty game of Frank Ball, think soccer using wiffle bats. It’s a game my oldest made up two years ago, and no his name is not Frank.

It’s a fun game, generally. At least it is when my three boys aren’t playing it. Lately, it seems that we can’t do anything, and I mean, anything without them bickering and fighting, and one of them storming off in tears. Shout out to the middle child.

For the first time, ever, I am ready for them to go back to school. Summer has been a wild ride of baseball and baseball and uh, baseball, but the long days and buggy nights have just gone over my expiration date and like that carton of milk, now I’m sour.

We were good right up till last week, but now there’s a restlessness in the air that settled down like fog on my children. They can’t stop torturing each other. It’s like they feel the change and know summer has come to a close, and there’s nothing left to do but tease each other mercilessly and drive their mother insane.

I never felt a real desire to shove them off. It’s a new experience for me to look forward to the peace that comes with a return to structure, normal bedtimes and a less flexible schedule. They’re changing and growing in amazing and sometimes, annoying ways. And I guess, I’m changing and growing too; learning to let go a little more, and enjoying both the quality time with and without them.

People have asked me how I will spend my days now that I will soon have three children in full time school. It makes me laugh. 8:30am to 3pm is pretty easy to fill. So don’t worry about me, I think I can manage that time to myself without resorting to bonbons and daytime TV.

I smack the ball preventing a goal, but the ball hits the side of the frame resulting in bats being immediately thrown to the ground and my children screaming about whether that constitutes a goal or not.

“Touching counts! It’s a goal!”

“You’re such a cheater!”

It goes on and on, back and forth, until finally I put my own bat down and just walk in the house.

“Mommy!” They scream and run after me. “He cheated!” “Did not!” “He did!” They’re following me, pleading their cases on my wishfully deaf ears. I can’t get away from them.

Only three days, one hours and 23 minutes to go. Not that I’m counting.

Please don't make me take 3 boys to the supermarket ever again!

Why does going to the supermarket alone, sound as blissful as a massage?

11 Comments

Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged back to school, parenting, summer vacation, summer's over. Bookmark the permalink.

Tug of War – Mommy vs Mommy

Posted on August 21, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

It’s 8:30pm. I’m lying with my five year-old at bedtime. After a few minutes of snuggling, I try to leave, but he begs, “One more minute!” So I stay a minute more, growing restless. Again, I kiss him goodnight, and he pleads for more time. I leave, but five minutes later, I return for one more minute.

It’s 9:15pm. My 8 year-old wants tickle back, which I do, but then he wants longer, which I do, but when he whines for more, I kiss his head, and say, “That’s it babe, time for bed.” Immediately he squeals his offense and huddles under his blanket to ward off any of my gentle advances for a good night. I sigh, pat his blanketed back and leave. Five minutes later I return for one last minute of tickles.

It’s 9:45pm. My 11 year-old in bed declares he’s starving.

“Mommy has closed up shop for the night.” I say firmly.

“But I’m hungry,” he whines.

“Baby, I asked you an hour ago.” I whine.

He looks down at his belly and gives me a cock-eyed grin. “It’s rumbling, mommy.”

I go down and cut him an apple.

Finally, I get to the couch where my husband rests comfortably, baseball on the TV, laptop on the lap. I sit my tired ass down and begin to speak, probably for the first time of the day to my husband, but we’re interrupted by a small voice from upstairs.

“Mama.” We hear, and both roll our eyes.

“Mommy’s busy!” My husband calls up. “Go to sleep.”

It’s quiet for a minute, but then we hear it again. “Mama.”

“Go on,” my husband says, as annoyed by their constant need of me as my babying, “You know you have to.”

I take a deep breath. He’s right. There’s no way I can ignore him, even though I really want to. I race upstairs and into the room calling Mama. Tonight it’s my 11 year-old but it could have easily been any of them.

“One more hug.” He says, sleepily, and I melt into his warm body for a sweet moment.

I leave and head back downstairs, exhausted from the constant push and pull, both physically and emotionally. I wonder why I can’t stick to my guns without shooting myself in the foot? Why I must always soften any tough talk with a batch of fresh cookies? I am a jumble of contradictions and the biggest one is that I often complain that I’m not everyone’s bitch, when clearly I willingly am.

“I could really use some pretzels.” My husband hints, not at all subtly.

Seriously?

He lifts his brows to give me a pleading, goofy look, not so unlike his son’s.

“Arrgh! Get it yourself!” I yell as I make my way to the kitchen, grab the bag from the closet, stomp back into the living room and toss them at his chest.

“Thank you.” I hear as I head upstairs, hoping not to feel another tug at my heart to do anything for anyone. This rope is going to bed, before it strangles someone.

Linking up with YW, then taking a couple of weeks off.

Can you tell I need them? 😉

See youuuuu in Septemberrrrr…. xo

43 Comments

Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged doing too much for your kids, mommy guilt, parenting, tired mommy, tug of war. Bookmark the permalink.

Follow the Bouncing Balls

Posted on August 13, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

“Mommy! Get that ball!” My five-year old calls out as I’m walking out the door, holding a coffee in one hand, a water bottle under my arm, my 40 pound pocketbook over my shoulder, two camp knapsacks over the other arm, and a bag of dirty clothes for the dry cleaner.

A wrapped granola bar for my oldest dangles from my mouth. “Oh yeah,” I mutter, through gritted teeth. “Let me get that for you.”

“What?” He jumps in front of me. “What?”

“Get the ball, mommy!” My 11 year-old calls out, leaning on his wiffle bat.

I’m struggling with the keys, trying to press the button that automatically opens my mini-van door and not drop my coffee, or I’d freak on them.

“Mommy? Can you get the ball?” He asks again. Seriously, does he not have eyes? Or legs?

Only my 8 year-old has the ability to see outside of himself.

“Can I help you? He asks. “I can take my bag.”

I try to smile with my eyes, the only unencumbered part of my body, but I keep moving. Any disruption would cause everything to drop faster than a pair of old boobs on new twins.

I make it to the car and dump everything onto the seat, except my coffee, which I gently place in its holder.

Whew. 8am and I’m already done, but of course, it’s just beginning. I need to drive the oldest to baseball camp, the middle to day camp and the youngest… Damn, the youngest has no camp.

“Mommy! You didn’t get the ball!” My 5 year-old accuses, which I ignore.

“Get in the car, please.”

They pile in and once settled, I run to retrieve the wiffle ball and toss it on the lawn. We’re ready.

First stop! Camp for Boy 1 in next town.

Second stop! Camp for Boy 2 in town next to next town.

Then me and Boy 3 drop the dry cleaning, stop at the supermarket and head home to play legos,haveacatch,drawpictures,watchshowwhileidoelliptical&eatlunch.

Pick-up time!

First stop! Boy 1.

Second stop! Boy 2.

Third stop. Train station in totally different town to pick up daddy.

We get there in about 20 minutes, but have almost an hour before the train. My middle has a game tonight so he changes into his uniform in the back while they eat the snacks I packed and watch episodes of the Brady Bunch on the minivan TV. All hail the minivan TV.

This is our down time. Hope you’re enjoying it. Want a cheese stick?

Once husband/coach is in the car, we head straight for the field.

Throw. Catch. Pitch. Strike. Run. We win. Yay! Or, we lose. Boo!

Either way, we head home.

Once inside, I collect their dirty clothes and send their dirty bodies to the shower.

“Look, Mama,” My 5 year-old says over and over, and every time I do, he’s in a different naked position displaying himself.

Balls. Balls. Balls.

I hear my husband click on the TV, and the room fills with baseball.

No way he’s going to score tonight.

Catching Z’s

65 Comments

Posted in baseball, Every Day Scoops and tagged balls, baseballs, carpooling, follow the bouncing balls, i'm a baseball sacrifice, parenting, summer schlepping, wiffle ball. Bookmark the permalink.

This the best sucky summer ever!

Posted on August 8, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

These are the three most frequent complaints coming out of my mouth this summer.

I can’t believe 5 year-old is not in camp.

Are you kidding me, another game tonight??

5 year-old is annoying me.

It’s true, this summer has not gone according to plan. Not that I had a plan, but I wasn’t prepared for baseball averaging five nights a week, and my five year-old putting the kabash on camp for even a few hours each day. On top of that, 8 year-old had some bus issues, so now I’m driving him every morning and either picking him at camp or at a friend’s each afternoon.

There’s a whole lot of schlepping back and forth, a whole lot of laundry and a whole lot of run, run, run! At times, I feel frustrated, stressed and a little overwhelmed. For some reason, I expected summer to be more relaxing, but reality has crushed my expectations.

The truth is my crushed reality is actually a very satisfying, full summer. Yes, I pretty much have seen no friends. Yes, I’ve had very little down time. And, even though, my 5 year-old and I are spending so much quality time together that the word quality is questionable, I can see a day in the not so near future when I am no longer his favorite person. He will not cling to me like this forever. I don’t know if we’ll even make it another year, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to appreciate this beautiful, bouncy boy constantly tugging annoyingly at my shirt.

I love you. Now go away.

Even as my feisty 8 year-old spits fire in my direction, I marvel at his desperate and aggressive need for independence. Plus, the minute he runs out of steam, he happily holds my hand.

Almost out of steam… Allllmooost.

While my 11 year-old may ignore me while meditating to a computer game, I live for the goofy grin I get once he recognizes I’ve been trying to reach him from the outside world.

Wait for it…

Ahhh!

And baseball? Well, despite it being my least favorite major league sport, there’s nothing like watching your kid play. Even if you’re watching with your hands covering your eyes, while gritting your teeth and holding your breath.

So on many summer nights, okay most, I am lounging in my Tommy Bahama chair, an iced coffee in the side drink pocket, surrounded by friendly parents, cheering our kids while our other kids become part of the scenery; having a catch or kicking a ball, or even sometimes, when the slushies are really blue and the pretzels are salty and soft, leaning up against the fence watching their brother play.

I’ve got nothing to complain about.

I know why the caged bird sings…

13 Comments

Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged appreciate life, enjoy yourself. it's later than you think, enjoying the summer schlepp, God laughs, i thought summer would be better, parenting, you plan. Bookmark the permalink.

I’ll be right here waiting

Posted on July 17, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

“Tyler. Come on, it’s time to get up.”

I gently shake my ten year-old. His strong, tan body is twisted in blankets, little stuffed animals cradled around his head.

“Wait,” comes his sleepy, muffled response, and I may or may not drop shorts and a tee-shirt on his head before giving up and walking, in a weird side step around his massive maze of cars, army men and dragons, from his room.

“Tyler,” I yell from downstairs. “Breakfast is on the table.”

“Wait.” He calls back. “I’m finishing my set-up.”

“Camp doesn’t care if you’re finishing a set-up. We’ve got to go.”

A small, distant, “wait” floats down to me. It is almost lost in the morning noise; a 5 year-old bouncing at my legs begging me to color for him, a Facetime conversation that my 8 year-old is having with a girl friend he’s had since he was two, the ding of the toaster, the beloved pour and sputter of the Keurig.

At the table, spooning in some, uh, organic Reese’s Puffs, I again encourage him to hurry, but he is busy with the comics and ignores me. “Read this!” He says, pointing to Zits. “It’s funny.”

Then he points to The Lockhorns. “I don’t get it.”

Amusing. He’s already identifying with the teenager comic and totally doesn’t get Loretta thinking her husband is more of a meatball than her meatball.

“Tyler, get your sneakers on. I told you twice already.”

“Wait.” He says off-handedly, heading toward his laptop. “I just need two minutes on this game.”

“Tyler…” I warn thru gritted teeth.

“Wait.” He says again, almost pleadingly. His eyes dart from me to the screen. “One more minute.”

Seconds from me slamming the screen shut, he triumphantly does a last tick on the keyboard and closes it down. “Done!” He beams.

It’s hard not to beam back at that face, but somehow I manage a small growl.

Finally, everyone has what they need, and has done what they have to. “Okay, ready.” I shout to the air, because no way anyone is listening. Miraculously, my two younger boys head for the door and walk directly into the screen that they are asked not to run into, every day.

My oldest has disappeared. I find him back at the computer.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything I beat him to it. “If you tell me to wait, I might lose it.”

He smiles, nods mischievously, and says in his playful, patronizing voice, “Oh don’t worry, little mommy. I won’t say that bad word. It’s all good. See?” With exaggerated slowness, he shuts the laptop screen. “All ready.”

“Uh, baby, your sneakers aren’t on.”

Again, that sweet, goofy smile.

In a few days, my beautiful 10 year-old will be 11. Soon, he will be running out of the house, instead of me pushing him.

Suddenly, I’m not in such a rush.

“Wait!” I want to cry. “Wait.”

Hey mama, what’s taking you so long?

62 Comments

Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged always waiting, growing up, growing up too fast, mom of boys, no rush to grow up, parenting, trying to get out of the house, waiting for my kids. Bookmark the permalink.

Parenting Moments I now Miss that Totally Annoyed Me at the Time

Posted on April 18, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

Every morning, so early my eyes couldn’t focus, I would stand downstairs in the kitchen, preparing very specific lunch and snack requests for my kids for the day. On auto-pilot I would put up the water for fresh pasta (Parmesan in a Ziplock bag on the side) or Annie’s Macaroni and cheese shells. Yellow only. Don’t even think about elbows. There were other annoying necessities, such as slicing grapes, not only so that they wouldn’t be choking hazards, but also because the bruised ends which attached to the vine, offended them. The crusts on any sandwich must be banished, and hard boiled eggs must be void of any remnants of yellow. Any.

As mommy, there were so many particulars that needed tending to simply get through a day responsibly and with the least amount of tantrums. “Not the blue bowl!!! The red!” But now that we’re a bit older, a lot of these peculiarities or young needs have faded away. And now, believe it or not, I kind of miss them. Well, some of them…

The 3am Wanderer – It wasn’t a routine thing. I was always pretty strong about keeping my bed, uh, I mean mine and my husband’s bed, off limits, but there were times, of course, when I would wake to find a child’s foot kicking me in the back, or an arm over my face. So annoying. So warm and sweet and delicious. And annoying.

The Tickle Back – For years, I couldn’t leave my middle child’s room without going through an elaborate ritual. “Tickle back, Mommy! Do it harder… softer… No, this way… You forgot arms… Sorry, you didn’t do that well. Try again! It was an arduous test to pass every night before I was released to my own rewards of ice cream and Housewives. These days, I am literally dismissed. “You can go now, Mommy.”

The Bus Stop – The bus stop is on my corner and I am the corner house, so it’s not exactly a schlepp. Still, many a day, I stood there, sometimes freezing, sometimes corralling a younger sib or worrying because I left someone in front of the TV. I’d wait impatiently to hear those screechy breaks on the corner before ours. But now, my 5^th and 2^nd graders are perfectly capable and happy to walk the 10 feet to the curb themselves. I watch from the doorway, but they rarely look back.

Play! – “Mommy, let’s play Pokemon/lego/dinosaur battle!” Really? Do we have to? Apparently, we always did. So we’d sit on the floor and set up 100 figures and then “pshew pshew” shoot and fly them across the floor at each other. “What are you gonna do?!” My kid would ask desperately, as I tried to sneak a peek at the open newspaper next to us. “Uh, I’m gonna thunder punch?” I’d say, without enthusiasm. My bad attitude was never noted, as long as I came up with something. “Revolving kick!” He’d boom back energetically, clearly to make me look bad in front of my ‘men’. Not that it mattered. His figures would always spin round and round, throwing mine across the room.
These days the only thing the boys want to battle with me over is their playing time on iTouch, Computer or Wii.

The Butt Wipe – Yeah, I know. Who’d miss that, right? And while I might not actually miss the physical wiping, I definitely do miss the build-up. “Mom! I need to poop!” Followed by, “Done! Done! DONE!!” And then there are all those fascinating positions for optimal wiping. Okay, TMI, but, now my little boys just go on their own. Done. At least they still regularly forget to lift the seat and I wind up sitting on pee. Sigh. It’s the little things.

Mommy Don’t Go! – Oh the drama! Oh the tears! But boys, mommy is only going out for a little. Mommy needs wine and therapy, I mean friends. Cue clinging and snotting and hanging on legs. On occasion, a child could be physically ripped wailing from my body as I ran out the door, only to be seen as a desperate little face banging on the window. They couldn’t bear to part with me. Now they stare at the TV as I yell loudly, “BYE!” and they (sometimes) look up and bless me with a smile. Oh where have all the good times gone!!??!

All the older moms always say, you’ll miss these days when they’re gone. I look around. There are toys and crap everywhere, laundry piled high. I bitch about it constantly. Will I miss this mess? I consider my house, devoid of the clutter, neat and perfect (come on, it’s a hypothetical fantasy!), and immediately, I know I will. Because when it’s gone, they’re gone.

I’m going to try to remember that the next time I’m dragging my kid out of bed to wake up.

*My youngest just forced me into having a Battle of the Skylander Figures. Taking #4 off the list immediately. Bleh!

The dreaded battlefield. It kills me every time.

48 Comments

Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged annoying things kids do, humor, missing childhood moments, parenting, parenting moments, picky eaters, playing army men, potty training. Bookmark the permalink.

One…Two… Three! Get Out Of The Pool!

Posted on April 3, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

I was taking my time, shuffling through my suitcase, trying to figure out my strategy. Two of my three boys and my husband were already at the hotel pool for some night swimming. My middle son, Michael, and I were milking it. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to have a stomach ache, and I hadn’t figured out how to get out of going to the pool.

I usually never even bring a suit, since I have a general dislike of all things water – pools, beaches, my body in a bathing suit. But, for some reason, on the same mini-vacation where I had forgotten to get a pedicure or bring a razor, I had shoved a suit in my bag last minute. Once Michael declared himself fit to swim, I had to make a choice – to wear or not to wear. After some mental tennis, I decided against the suit, instead throwing on a cover-up dress to give the illusion of pool ready, without showing any reality.

Once there, I immediately remembered why I hate indoor pools; the chemical smell, the contrived heat, my children playing in a tank of wet doom. I could never find any true comfort, just an agitated impatience. I sat next to my husband and checked my phone. It was already after 8pm. That was the gift of night swimming. It didn’t last too long.

We rotated our eyes from boy to boy to boy; one a good swimmer, one decent and one new. It was monkey in the middle. One. Two. Three. One – My oldest, playing with a blue ball in the middle of the pool; pushing it under water, then watching it shoot up out of the water and retrieving it. Two – Just a bobbing blonde head and orange goggles, doggie paddling toward the far edge. Three – Right in front of us by the stairs, practicing his swimming.

“Mommy, watch this!” he squealed, his dark curls matted against his head, his dark eyes alight with excitement. Dramatically, he climbed up two of the steps, readying himself, and with one mischievous look back at me, jumped.

That’s when the lights went out. Complete and utter darkness engulfed the pool area.

I stood, both immediately and in slow motion, surrounded by blackness and the unreal echo of water and people freaking out. Mute and drowning in fear, I reached for my husband. My worst nightmare was this second. My children were in that pool. We needed to jump in. Now.

But before we could, the lights flicked back on.

My heart pounded wildly, and my head whipped around. One – Still in the center of the pool. Two – Hanging on to the edge. Three – On the steps.

The whole thing lasted maybe five seconds. Probably less. I took a deep breath, relief filling my lungs. Then, finding my voice, screamed for my kids to get out of the water.

I knew going to the pool was a mistake.

When I'm on duty, there's only daytime swimming

Yup, you’re cute. Nope, not coming in.

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