Wednesday, March 30, 2011

How To Tell When Your Child Is Hungry

It seems that children get hungry more frequently than adults do.  Understandable, given that they are little and actually have metabolisms that work...and an above average mom probably is psychic and can tell when the little ones want a snack.  

But I'm an Only Average Mom.

My snack-sensing superpower seems to have been lost in the mail, so I rely on my kids to tell me when they want something.  

My 8 year old is hungry when she rifles through the cupboards and fridge, and makes herself a sandwich.  Works for me.

My 19 month old is hungry when she goes to the kitchen gate and says."cookie".  Also works for me.  She is also hungry when she pretends to eat pictures of cookies in her board books...nice tactic, baby girl, and also effective.

The "sneak attack" hungry is a little harder to recognize.  Sometimes I also want a snack, and tend to gravitate towards pretzels, or popcorn.  Once I re-emerge from the kitchen, I am suddenly attacked by what seems like 1000 little hands, grabbing at my snack, until I look woefully into my now empty bowl, and return to the kitchen, in shame. 

I suck because I didn't know my kids were apparently famished, a half hour after their last meal.

"Lazy hungry" is the one that drives me crazy.  Well, ok, crazier than I already am.  Lazy hungry is when they sit on the couch, or even lay on the floor, and whine, "I'm hungry".  This is more so the case with my 8 year old than with the baby.  When you ask the one who is Lazy hungry what they want, the answer is, unanimously, "I don't care".  My snarky size tends to sneak out at this, and reply, "If you don't care, than I guess you aren't hungry."  8 year old either agrees with me, and I tell her to pick something out of the snack cupboard, or disagrees with me, and I tell her to go find something to do, or play wii with me, or dolls with me and her sister.

Then it dawns on me.  "Hungry" is occasionally code for "I'm bored".  Perhaps feeding my kids attention instead of pretzels or peanut butter sandwiches is what they really need.

Until my amazing hunger-sensing superpowers kick in, I will have to wade through the waters of uncertainty, with the help of my little loves.  

But then again, I AM an Only Average Mom.  

And I wouldn't want it any other way.


Saturday, March 26, 2011

Play Doh, Bane of My Existence

I hate Play Doh.  

I'm not even entirely sure WHY I hate the stuff, but I do.  Maybe it's the smell my hands smell after playing with it (even after you wash them), or the texture.  Maybe I hate it because it becomes neon pink super glue in the carpet, and won't come out.  Ever.  I guess it doesn't matter WHY I hate it, I don't buy it.  Not even as a gift for someone I don't like and want to annoy with obnoxious toys for their kids.  

I know it's mean to deprive my children the joys of molding stinky plastic putty, but I just hate the cleanup.  Club soda is *supposed* to get the stains out, but I don't think it works well.  But I digress.

My daughter won a barrel of Play Doh at Trunk or Treat this past Halloween at our church.  Katie was chosen because of her awesome costume and got to pick a prize.  There were tons of stuff, and she chose a barrel of Play Doh.  I think she did it just to drive me crazy.

Ok, probably not, but I still hate it just the same.  

So, she brings the barrel o' Doh home, and plays on the coffee table.  Rebecka is infatuated with it, and surprisingly enough doesn't even try to eat it.  They have fun for a while, until I declare "bedtime" and clean up commenced.

We choose to store the Play Doh barrel in Katie's room, as it is her toy, and I think nothing of it.  

Until, that is, when I go to pick up her room, and the NEW carpet in front of her book shelf is covered in neon pink, flaky, dried in Play Doh goodness.  I scrub it out, and speak with my beloved child about responsible messy toy maintenance, and how that does NOT include playing with Play Doh on the carpet, particularly NEW carpet.

Months pass.

I find, while packing for a family trip to Virginia, on her bed, under her covers, the barrel of Play Doh again.  When I ask her about it, she tells me, with a straight face, "Well, you told me not to get it on the carpet".  Apparently my discussion to her did NOT include that the stinky substance is also not appropriate for her new purple down comforter.

Well, now I think we are clear that the ONLY place to play with Doh is the dining room table...I'll let you know how that works our for us...

As we continue our vacation, I must speak briefly on the majestic quality of the mountains in this area.  ...was that brief enough? No?

It is really beautiful here, particularly the sunset and sunrise over the mountains.  If I didn't love the ocean so dearly, I would be completely tempted to pack up and live here.  

So in closing, here is a special note to the disappointed burglar that may or may not currently be staking out our quiet home: You won't find much worth your time to resell; but if you DO feel the need to break in, I didn't have time to mop the you mind helping out?  Also, feel free to take the barrel of Play Doh...

Friday, March 25, 2011

Packing Is An Art

Packing is an art form all to itself.  If we were to assess my "artistic" talents, packing would be higher on my list than drawing, but still lower than, say, crafting.  

I hate to pack.

Ok, it's not packing that I hate.  It's the cleaning that goes with it.  See, I can't go away with a messy house.  Actually, its not the leaving a messy house that drives me nuts; it's the returning to a messy house that makes me want to go all Jerry Springer. If I could leave my house messy, I would be ok, if I knew that the cleaning fairy was going to come over and magically make the messes dissappear.  But, sadly, I have yet to see evidence that the cleaning fairy exists.  Maybe if I left the house messy, and a burglar broke in (to steal what, exactly, I am not sure), they would feel sorry for me, clean up and leave empty handed.  I know, I know, pipe dreams.

So as my family is preparing to embark on a journey for the weekend, dog in tow (seriously), I have the fun job of making sure that everyone has what they need for the duration of the trip.  And cleaning the house as I go along, so I don't have a major mental meltdown when I get home.

She can pretty much fend for herself in the packing world...she only needs to be double checked.  She set her things out on the table last night, and today I looked them over.  What my lovable 8 year old seems to think she needs is 2 pairs of jeans, pajamas, and a long sleeve t shirt.  Also a hairbrush and her deodorant.  Good thing Mom is here to double check! So I go to her room and pick out some underthings, socks, and another shirt...and notice that there is a TUB OF PLAYDOH on her bed.  Not just like a little container, but a barrel of Play Doh and accessories.  I was all, WTF? I'll have to ask about that one.  

Meanwhile Rebecka is running around, screaming like a banshee, because she wants me to blow bubbles for her. Except when I blow bubbles, the dog goes insane and won't stop barking and jumping. So I blow a few and then pretend like the bubble container is empty and predictably, she throws a temper tantrum.  I move on in my packing/cleaning frenzy.

Becka is the easiest person in the house to back for, well except maybe the dog.  Becka will wear whatever I want her to, and not complain.  Unless it's pants.  She only likes dresses right now, but it's been chilly so she just has to deal.  I get all of her clean clothes put away, and pack her stuff in the suitcase with Katie's.

Mike, my fiance, is unique in many ways.  Like, this morning, instead of actually packing for himself, he made me a LIST of what he wants packed.  Srsly. It would have taken less time to actually pack his stuff than to make a list.  But that is what a man does.  I suppose.  His list is very descriptive, including items such as "razor from the little bathroom, and brush from same".  Ok, I have lived with this man for 5 1/2 years...I think I know what razor he uses, and which hairbrush.  But it's cute that he spells it out for me.  

All that is left is for me to pack for myself.  By this time in the morning, Rebecka is off her breakfast high, has torn out every. single. toy. in the house, and is ready for a nap. So ready, that she must throw another tantrum to show me exactly how tired she is, and how badly she wants to watch Sid the Science Kid and not take a nap. And silly me, trying to be a more "natural" mom, still co-sleeps and has a child that WILL NOT go to sleep without playing with my hair, so I have to take a break from packing and watch Sid with the munchkin.  A challenge, I know, but looking around at the jungle of baby toys that is my living room and dining room, I am slowly going mad.

I now sit on my love seat, watching Sid, with a baby that refuses to sleep, and writing on my new blog.  Life is fun.  Forget everything else that needs to be done.  I am in the here and now, with my sweet little girl.  This is what really counts, that I am here with her and she is having fun.

Hopefully I will get everything done AND remember to pick the girls up from school.  And remember to NOT eat meat today because it's lent and I want to be a good little Methodist.  

The kicker is that I gave up caffeine for lent, and could really really use a jolt right about now...God would understand...right?

Me? A Blogger??

Friday, March 25, 2011

Ok, so I've decided to start a blog.  Yeah, I know, it's a little late in the game to do it, but it's still cool.  Something tells me that this will be addicting, and will almost certainly get me in a lot of trouble.
My name is Jamie, and I'm just your average mom.  I stay home, raise my 2 kids (Kathryn and Rebecka), and attempt to keep the laundry mountain at bay. I am also a Girl Scout leader, run a children's program for my church, and work a little from home. I've worn Wynona Ryder's underpants, too, but that's another story.  

Ok, so maybe I'm NOT just your average mom.  But it's cool., I am supposed to be packing for a trip to Virginia, to visit my boyfriend's cousin.  Instead, I am playing Farmville, dancing around my living room in my underpants with my youngest and goofing off on blogger.  Yeah, this is going to turn out well.  I guess so long as I remember to pick up my oldest daughter and her friend (who both happen to have the same first AND middle name) from school, it's all good.

I hope you enjoy my crazy life (I swear to God, everything I write will be true), and hopefully I will make you laugh once in a while.