Band-aids

A very long time ago (I realize I'm not really old enough to say that. But it was many major life transitions ago, so the phrase feels appropriate.) I had a campus security job.  I worked on a campus where students were accustomed to compliance, and my assignment was in the library.  One of the reasons I enjoyed the job was because it was significantly less stressful than my previous employment.  Our biggest emergencies usually happened during finals week.  They would usually involve students who would spend all day in the library studying, forget to eat, and then pass out when they stood up to use the bathroom.  The crisis could generally be resolved with some apple juice and a graham cracker.  Now that I think about it, many a crisis in raising three young children is averted in exactly the same manner.

Occasionally a backpack or wallet would be stolen from a computer lab.  Other than that, the job was extremely low key.  The University did have extensive and expensive special collections which is why library security was even a job.  And it was a very fun very relaxed job.  The most intense regular assignment was walking through the library at closing time to wake the sleeping studiers and tell them it was time to leave.  My secret fear was always that I would find a dead person tucked away in a study carol somewhere.  People would fall asleep in the library all the time.  It didn't seem all that far-fetched that someone might have a heart attack and die.  Everyone who walked by all day would just assume the person was napping and leave them alone.  Then I would be left to wake them up only to discover they were dead.  In my mind this always happened in the farthest corner of the lowest basement and always after the main lights had been turned off.  

When I wasn't working the closing shift, my job was basically care free.  However, I did have a coworker who seemed to have a difficult time differentiating between library security and the Secret Service.  To him everything was ultra high intensity.  Someone forgot to stop by circulation and check out their books on the way out?  He would chase them down, and interrogate them like it was part of some deep assassination plot.  Someone tried to bring Jamba Juice into the library?  He would be sure to use his whistle, authoritatively declare the library's no food policy, and issue a written reprimand.  Sometimes I secretly wished he would encounter a dead person during the closing sweep.  It might be entertaining to see how he would handle it.  

One day I was working in the control room (our fancy, self important name for the place where we would eat our lunches and watch security cameras to monitor the elderly librarians in the special collections vaults.  And occasionally reset the fire alarms.)  Mr. Secret Service was just outside the door at the front desk actively scouring the crowd of harried students searching for potential threats.  In the periphery of my awareness I heard someone come up to the desk and talk to him.  He turned around and ran the three steps into the control room and breathlessly declared, "We have an emergency!"  I briefly considered the possibility that my shift that day might be eventful.  The he shouted, "Get me a Band-aid. STAT!"  I burst out laughing.  He looked confused and slightly irritated.  He didn't agree with my assessment when I told him, as I handed him our first aid kit, "any problem a Band-aid can solve is not an emergency."

When it comes to Band-aids I am still pretty cold and heartless.  And super cheap.  Normally I totally embrace the placebo effect in parenting and harness it to my benefit.  But I simply refuse to give my kids unessesary bandages.  They ask frequently, and I always say no.  I've explained repeatedly that Band-aids are only useful when blood is involved. If they want a Band-aid, I have to see blood.  They are starting to get it.  Now requests for Band-aids are quickly followed by, "Look.  I have blood."

A few days ago my oldest little redhead had a bloody nose.  It wasn't a big deal, and we got it stopped fairly quickly.  He had friends over, so he wanted to go back to playing immediately.  I didn't notice that he had gotten some blood on the back of his hands.  About an hour later he came to me.  "Mama, I just need a Band-aid for my hand.  Look there is blood."  

Kindness: Part 6 - In Which My Groceries are Once Again Saved by Someone Else

I think it is likely that my little girl will grow up to be a world traveler.  Or at least want to go to college out of state.  Every morning she wakes up (often before the sun), finds her way into my bed, pries my eyelids open, and says, "Mama, I want to go somewhere."  Every time she hears a door open she drops what she is doing, comes running, and says, "I want to go with you."  Even if I'm just going outside to throw away a smelly diaper.  

Sometimes, when she wakes me up, I want to tell her that recent science indicates that the biggest threat to her safety and well being is the driving of her sleep deprived mother.  But, since she is only two, I figure she doesn't care much about the similarities between fatigued and intoxicated driving.  Instead I get up, nurse the baby, find some breakfast for the older kids, get clothes and shoes on everyone, and a few short hours later we are ready to go somewhere.

She used to ask to go to the museum.  That made my little nerdy heart swell with pride.  We went through a phase shortly after her surgery and our new baby when she would ask to go to the hospital.  That would make me a little bit sad for her.  Now she usually asks to go to Costco.  I am apathetic about this request.  It usually seems reasonable and practical, so often I agree.  I like shopping with my kids at Costco.  The carts have two seats, so, with my youngest in a baby carrier, everyone has a place.  And there are samples on every isle, so I don't even have to bring my own fruit snacks to keep everyone happy.  

Last time we went to Costco it was a chilly day.  After we finished our trip through the maze of industrial sized laundry detergent I bundled everyone up and we headed outside.  About halfway between the door and my car I commented about how the weather had warmed up considerably since we had first arrived at the store.  Just as I was removing the hat from my overheating infant, the rain started.  And it didn't start gradually.  We were all soaked completely through before I could finish saying "darn."  Since I was already in the middle of the parking lot, I decided there was nothing to do but keep going.  I piled my kids in the car and loaded the groceries as quickly as I could.  

When we got home it was still pouring.  Everyone was already wet, so I tried to hurry them inside and started bringing our soggy boxes of goldfish inside.  My baby was no longer too warm and was starting to fuss.  As my three year old ran inside he slipped on the wet tile and hit his head on the corner of the bottom stair.  And my little girl stood inside the door insisting that she wanted to go somewhere again.  With three upset children and a 10 pound bag of chicken nuggets that needed to go in the freezer I stared at the pouring rain and decided that my 3 gallons of milk would just have to wait.  

And then my neighbor drove by.  She and two of her boys rushed over and started unloading my car for me.  They brought in everything.  And the checker at Costco did not give me a box, so every single unreasonably large item had to be carried individually.  They made at least a dozen trips, and the boys even politely wiped the water off their feet every time they came into my house.  (Their mom did too, but I felt like such thoughtful behavior from children was especially noteworthy.)

With the groceries taken care of I was left to attend to my cranky kids.  Within a few minutes everyone was dry and cheerful (and ready to go somewhere else.)

Kindness: Parts Previous

Merry Christmas

It's December.  Christmas Eve is a week away, and I feel like I should write something eloquent about The True Meaning of Christmas.  I've got nothing.  I believe that, through the miracle in Gethsemane, a tiny baby in Bethlehem changed the world.  Other than that, I've no poignant or memorable comments to make.  Being the long winded redhead that I am, I won't let that stop me from writing a Christmas post.

We are doing our best to have a Christ centered Christmas around here.  We've got the nativities up (my kids call them activities).  I'm even doing a halfway decent job of not getting upset when the kids decide the breakable ones ought to be relocated.  

Although I enjoy writing, I feel like I find Christ in Christmas best through music.  We've had a lot of that around here.  We've even added an instrument.  

We took our kids to see A Christmas Carol, because what preschooler doesn't love a good stage adaptation of a Charles Dickens classic?  I know it doesn't mention Christ, but I think it fits with the True Meaning of Christmas.  The Texan tried to explain it to them first.  We thought that would help them enjoy it a little bit more.  As we were taking our seats my oldest little redhead told me we would see three ghosts.  "The ghost of Christmas Yesterday, Christmas Today, and Christmas Tomorrow."  We forgot to tell them about Jacob Marley.  And they can count.  Well, the baby can't count yet, but the other two can.  They were ready to leave after the ghost of Christmas Present because that was three ghosts.  I'm glad they are smart.  I'm glad they were paying attention.  I'm kind of tired of being corrected by a three year old.  In a few short months I'll have the pleasure of being corrected by a four year old.  

I don't feel like Christmas is a dichotomy of either Christian or heathen, so we are also having a great time with secular Christmas.  We decorated the tree, hung stockings, made Christmas cookies, and are reading lots of books about Santa. 

On an unrelated note, everyone around here seems to love a good parenting gone awry story.  Today I was in the mood for a new facebook status, and I was starting to smell like spit-up.  I decided to take a shower even though the kids were awake and see what kind of entertaining havoc they could wreak in a few minutes of unsupervised time.

The little rascals didn't do ANYTHING.  No climbing to reach forbidden objects, no adventures in the pantry, no trying to put lotion on the baby.  As far as I can tell, they quietly behaved themselves the entire time.  The baby even fell asleep.

And once again I have been bested by a toddler and a preschooler.

Foiled Again

I tend to overthink parenting.  I don't really impose excessive mom guilt or stress on myself, but I do often make thoroughly thoughtful decisions about decidedly trivial things.  For example: I never sing the end of Five Little Ducks with my kids because I don't want to send the message that it is completely acceptable or expected that they ignore me but obey their dad.  Deep down I know this is ludicrous.  I grew up singing the song in its entirety, and it had absolutely no impact on me.  I was equally defiant and disobedient to both of my parents.  Nevertheless, on the rare occasion that I take a shower without a child banging on the door, I use the quiet moments to contemplate my parenting.

I know that the extent of my deliberations are mostly unreasonable.  And, quite honestly, I don't expect any normal person to actually care about whatever subject is occupying my mind at the moment.  Despite the amount of mental energy I expend, I realize that most of these decisions are really quite insignificant.  If I hear other people sing Five Little Ducks, I don't sit and think to myself that they are inadvertently undermining their authority with their children.  If people sing it to my kids, I will lose absolutely no sleep over it. Unless I already don't like them.  Then I am likely to assume that their song choice is a subtle ploy to ruin my life and sabotage all future generations of my posterity.  I have no use for such subterfuge, and will respond by plotting their destruction.  However, I am a redhead and a former high school teacher.  My destruction plotting skills are well honed and quite efficient.  My sleep hours will remain unaffected.

If any aspect of parenting lends itself to overthinking it is potty training.  And since I made no attempt at potty training until well after my first little redhead turned three, I had a few years to thoroughly analyze how every part of my potty training strategy might influence my children's future earning potential, social well being, and ultimate life satisfaction.

After much reflection, I decided that, for a myriad of reasons, I would not emphasize or reward using the toilet.  Instead, what I focused on and praised was dry and clean underwear.  It semmed to work.  The whole potty training experience was relatively short and stress free.  He got the hang of it pretty quickly and has had only a few accidents in the last several months.  So I counted it a parenting win.

Then, the other day I asked my oldest little redhead to get dressed.  I reminded him to put on clean underwear.  "But Mama, I don't need to. I just kept my underwear dry and clean all night like I am supposed to."  And once again, hours of my best intellectual concentration was completely dismantled in fourteen seconds by a preschooler.

September

You know those "friends" you have.  The ones who haven't talked to you in years, and suddenly they invite you over for dinner.  You think to yourself how nice it will be to see how they are doing and what they have been up to.  Then you get there and realize that by "Why don't you come over for dinner?" what they meant was, "I have a sales pitch I'd like you to listen to."

Some don't even go through the pretense of offering a meal.  These are the friends you've hidden from your Facebook news feed because every post is about MaryKay.  Often these friends even ask you to throw the party and host them.

And then there are the people that add you on Facebook a week before they ask you how many Girl Scout cookies you are going to buy.  They ignore you for the rest of the year.  They probably know nothing about you.  But when it's Girl Scout cookie season suddenly they get all chummy.

It's tacky and it's annoying.  A very smart man once told me (really told someone else while I was listening) when you sell only to your friends, what you are actually doing is begging.

Today, I am that friend.  September happens to be National Sewing month and Shameless Promotion month.  It's true.  I looked it up on a highly credible website that specializes in obscure observances.  So I decided to celebrate by announcing my new Etsy shop.  I much prefer to use this space for trivial drivel, so this is the one and only time I will mention it.

My shop is thebestbibs.etsy.com. I make awesome full coverage bibs.  If you know someone who has a child in the early stages of self feeding, this is the bib for them.  Actually, it's a great bib for all stages of self feeding.  Rather than just keeping a shirt clean, it will protect an entire adorable ensemble from collar to socks.  I would like to get some reviews posted on my page, so I'm having a little promotion.  A "grand opening sale" of sorts.  September is also National Coupon month (for real.  It's National Piano month too, but I can't really find a way to make that relevant) The coupon code Wearefriends will get you a bib plus shipping for a total of $8.

And, in true grand opening promotional type fashion, this code will only work for my next three sales.  So, you know, don't wait, hurry in, buy now, blah blah blah...

If you buy one now you can have it in time to celebrate National Messy Eating month (which I don't think is a real thing, but I want make it one.)

Kindness: Part 5

I realize that most of my posts about kindness involve grocery shopping.  Perhaps something about the brightly lighted displays and fresh flowers of a grocery store puts people in a cheerful, cooperative, and helpful mood.  Or maybe it's just that most of my interaction with the outside world happens at grocery stores.  Also, it is likely that a grocery shopping trip is the time when a very pregnant mother of two young children appears to need the most help.  But, whatever the reason, I find people to be very kind when I am grocery shopping.

This week I had a very short shopping list, so we made it through the store pretty quickly.  The store wasn't very busy, but there was only one cashier, so the line was quite long.  When it was our turn to check out, my three year old decided to help load the groceries onto the conveyor belt.  He grabbed a gallon of milk and dropped it.  The carton broke and milk exploded everywhere.  Everyone had to move out of line so that the mess could be cleaned up.  After the milk had been mopped the cashier rang up my groceries.  Just as she announced my total someone pushed his way to the front of the line and said, "Wait, I got you another gallon of milk."  He had been behind me in line, and when he saw the mess he ran to the back of the store to replace the exploded gallon.

On an unrelated note, we have survived our first potty training experience at our house.  Survive is too dramatic a word.  The whole process was remarkably uneventful.  It did prompt some rather hilarious conversations about anatomy.  But I try to remember that someday my children will grow up and be old enough to be embarrassed.  So, while they are fabulous stories that would make you laugh, I have decided that they probably ought not be broadcast in an online venue.  Just know that life has been pretty funny around here lately.

Kindness: Parts Previous

Treasure Hunt

My kids love watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates.  The show isn't exactly a pinnacle of achievement in children's television, but their are worse options.  Actually, despite my goal to turn my children into nerds, I've decided that I'm opposed to educational TV programming.  But that is a topic for another day.  We stumbled across Jake on Netflix, and a few weeks ago when I had the flu I let him and his "merry crew of Neverland pirates" babysit my kids.  It is almost disturbing how much of the show they can quote.  They really don't get to watch it that often, but my little boy can pretty much quote verbatim every episode he has seen.  His little sister can't recreate the episodes, but she knows all of the tag lines.  She likes to say "Aw coconuts," and tries to count gold doubloons.  I'm pretty sure that the other day she was saying "Jolly Roger," but her speech isn't always completely clear, so I could be wrong.

This weekend we made an awesome hot wheels track in the kitchen.  It started on the refrigerator, went over the counters, and crossed a few chairs.  Due to my lack of foresight, the track ended on the floor right in front of the stove.  It took a while to set up, and the kids were so excited.  I even tried to heighten the suspense by making them pick the perfect car for the inaugural run and count backwards from 10 before letting it go.  They were delighted and thrilled for about 30 seconds.  Then the car reached the end of the track and kept rolling right under the stove.  I think they both wondered why I had made them work so hard to lose their favorite car.

It was a disaster until I remembered that they love the Neverland pirates.  I told them we were going on a treasure hunt to find their car.  We tried several methods of extraction, but finally I gave up and just moved the stove.  My little girl exclaimed "treasure!" and picked up an entirely different car.  The kids also found a purple spoon, a yellow magnet, tons of cereal, and the car we were originally looking for.  Now they want to know if they can go on a treasure hunt under the dishwasher.