Tomorrow is Wednesday, also known as the day that Grace and I fight over whether I get to watch Sanford and Son reruns on tv. “That’s not a show for a 4-year-old,” you might think, judgmentally. And you’d think wrong.
That’s because Sanford and Son has much to teach an innocent young preschooler.
1. The dangers of ripple overindulgence
2. The fact that, once she is in the real world, she will indeed encounter some Big Dummies.
Anyway, every Wednesday I try to persuade her to watch the show and every Wednesday I am brutally rebuffed.
I didn’t want to fall for the trap.
I’m a fairly…cynical person. I’m especially cynical of things I know will entertain my children. I don’t think they’ll actually entertain me, too. Plus, I haven’t been a big fan of princesses since I was maybe 12.
So, I didn’t think I was gonna fall for the trap.
I totally fell for the trap. Meaning, that when my husband and kids went to Medieval Times at Arundel Mills Mall, I ended up being just as excited as my kids about kings, knights, princesses – alladat.
I’d totally go back for more.
The way it works is that you enter the “castle,” and are shown to your seat. Your seat corresponds with a color and that color corresponds with a knight that you are supposed to cheer for. We got the blue knight (isn’t he adorable?).
There’s a whole performance with a king and a princess and even a bad guy. Then, you get served a meal you get to eat with your hands.
Even though I went pretty much specifically to entertain my kids, there were really people of all ages there – from kids celebrating their birthdays to older couples celebrating their wedding anniversaries.
I will say this – my son was a little nervous about entering the castle at first, as I knew he would be. It takes him a while to warm up to things, so he was a little freaked out at first. By the end, he loved it. So, if you were to go I’d suggest going early (you can actually go up to an hour before the performance but we were running late) just to let younger kids get comfortable.
***Medieval Times gave me free tickets to attend the show. Learn more about them and it here
My husband has been gone for the past five days on business. This means I’ve been on constant mommy duty. You know how many questions you get while on mommy duty? A lot. How do you answer when asked why water is a liquid? Internet, I just don’t know. What I do know is that my brain is tired. So tired.
Apparently I talk too much during time outs.
I should clarify that these aren’t my time outs (though lord knows I could probably use one or two). They are Cameron’s. You see, even though Cameron is the sweetest, smartest, most affectionate boy ever – sometimes he has a nasty temper. So, he gets a time out.
Have you ever read 1,2,3 Magic? It’s a childcare manual that my mom told me about. The whole magic is that when your child is bad, you give him 3 chances to straighten up and act right. On 3, if the kid continues with the bad behavior, they get a time out. The book’s author, Dr. Thomas Phelan, says that throughout this, you should be as calm and even-tempered as you can. That means no grabbing the kid and tossing him in the time out chair, no empty threats, and very little talking while the kid is in time out. No emotions from you. You are the adult.
I’m so bad at keeping my emotions out of it.
I was raised by parents who under no circumstances would have tolerated stuff like talking back or open defiance. In fact, I wouldn’t be here writing this if I’d have tried half the stuff Cam tries with me. So I get angry when he is angry and disrespectful with me. However, i know I have to get better at these situations. I was talking to a childcare expert Monday and she re-emphasized what I already know. I need to count to three, and if it turns out that he goes to time out, it needs to happen with as little fuss or drama as possible. I need to calmly let him know that his only option is to serve his time out. There shouldn’t be any bargaining or even explaining why at that point. If he is in time out screaming and carrying on, I’ll say stuff to him like “you aren’t getting up until you calm down.” But that’s a no-no.Talking happens later, when he is calmer and more receptive.
Last week we were supposed to take the kids to see That Damned Rat (also known as Chuck E Cheese), but instead I was laid out on my parents’ couch, a feverish mess.
That’s what I get, I guess, for getting cocky about being the only family I knew who hadn’t been struck down by the flu. The kids didn’t get as sick as I was, but they did get high fevers and Grace got an ear infection.
What did i do while we were down and out? I played about 50 million games of solitaire on my phone and watched 2 million hours of Good Times and Golden Girls reruns. I also cried a few times (I don’t handle being sick very well). The kids are pretty much experts on any and all television shows aimed at entertaining preschoolers.
My parents, who took care of us, now have colds. Sorry, Pop Pop and Grandma.
Holidays come through here like a train out of control. There are always a million things to buy, the kids always get their hands on tons of candy, and I always volunteer to bring something to family dinner and then freak out about it.
It’s extra crazy around Christmas because, well, Christmas is crazy. Plus, Grace’s birthday is on New Years’ Day. This year, Cam’s birthday came the day after Easter.
The kids have been on a sugar high since last Wednesday when our play group had its Easter party. Throw in a new supply of candy plus a few new birthday gifts and it’s like Disney land around here: lots of fun and no naps.
I think we need a holiday detox. Maybe one of those green-stuff smoothies all my Facebook friends are always going on about.
One of the best things about motherhood (besides my own wonderful children, of course) is the instant connection I now have with other women.
What I mean is, I am quiet. I have never had a giant pool of friends to manage because the thought of that is honestly overwhelming to me. But everybody needs people. When you are trying to raise people, you need a whole lot of people.
I’m so happy that I have managed to connect with so many people who are the same kind of overwhelmed, goofy, disorganized, try-to-hard, full-hearted perfectionists that I am.
Poop. Poop. Poopoopoop. My life is currently centered around someone else’s poop.
Whose poop? My son’s poop. He has pretty much never, ever pooped anywhere except within the confines of his own diaper/pull-up/big boy underwear.
So, yeah. Poop.
This is all very dramatic. It has caused fights between my husband and I, even. We’ve been to the doctor. I have begged, cried, yelled and pleaded.
Still no poop. Well, not in the potty at least.
Did you know there is some special potty training guide selling for almost $100 just to download? There is a special place in hell for the person profiting off of parental misery like that.
In this life, however, I’m sure that person is living high off the hog. Because poop. Dear, God. I’m pretty much willing to do anything to make the poop talk stop.
Our best bedtime transitions happen when my husband steps in. That’s because by the time bedtime comes around, I am done. Oh, so done.
There is some kind of rule that states that kids can’t go to sleep without putting up a fuss first. Since my husband hasn’t been with them all day, he is somewhat less ragey when that happens.
Teamwork! It works. But also, shout out to me for not murdering my children on the many nights that I’ve had to go it alone /
My children changed me, and it has been absolutely for the better.
When I got home from the hospital after giving birth to my son, i cried and cried. I was so terrified. So hormonal. So bad at breastfeeding.
Everything got strange. This tiny person was unavoidably here all the time. Nothing that I’d done before worked the same way that it did after I had my babies. I was forced to change, and for a long time, changing hurt.
To make it in this strange, sleep-deprived land, i had to give up what was comfortable and familiar. I changed the way I kept house, the way I viewed my work life, and finally the way I viewed myself.
What would I be without my children? How would I know that I can learn to do almost anything? That practice can be hard and frustrating but so necessary? That i don’t owe anyone an explanation? That my words are strong enough to stand by themselves?
I am so happy that I’ve been able to go on this incredible ride. I’m so happy for the opportunity to get to know them and to get to know me.