Finding Joy in Snarkville

I love my dentist.  Well, not really my dentist that I have right this minute, he has the personality of a turnip, but traditionally through my life I have enjoyed my dental experiences.  I often have to stop a new dentist or hygentist and explain, “I have NO dental fear.  Please stop telling me everything that is happening, going to happen, has happened and such.  It doesn’t make me more comfortable and the constant chatter just annoys me.”  The reality is that I tend to have spa like relaxation in the dental chair.  I close my eyes, open my mouth (when the only time words are not coming out) and zone out.  I’ve been known to nearly fall asleep with the hum of the equipment and without the aid of a single drug.  To say that I hold no fear or dread when it comes to dentist is truly an understatement.

Sadly, Prince is not of the same ilk.  He had more issues when a small child with the dentist — something about throwing up on the dentist seems to be in the story.  Recently he had to get some work done and literally came home sheet white and went to bed to recover.  I don’t think I got the depths of his fears until he walked in from that time.  Secretly, I’ve promised myself he will never drive himself to the dentist again.

Anyway, I’m convinced that my lack of fear and his complete fear are totally rooted in our childhood experiences.  I went to a pediatric dentist with a standing rule that no child ever was to know that shots were involved in dentistry. Prince went to an adult dentist who tended to give him too much gas and causing projectile vomiting.  As anyone can see, our earliest memories are SLIGHTLY different.

So, when it came to the time to begin to take Duke to have his teeth looked at; being the woman that I am, I raised my hand and said “Don’t worry, I’ll be in charge of this, I do NOT want any of *THAT* fear from you to rub off.” Prince, wisely, saw this as two fewer times to set foot into a dental office a year and agreed quickly.  The first few visits I took Duke to my dentist in Snarkville.   First, I REALLY liked him; he was good with kids (and their moms) and he had a special hygienist for kids (Sadly, she longed for kids of her own and never had any.  She poured the love of children out on every child that walked in the door — and the kids responded.)  Duke went there a few times and it was all good.

Then we moved and I feared what the next dentist would be like.  When I searched my insurance, I found that here there is a pediatric dentist in town.  Woot!!  I made an appointment and secretly wish she’d see me.  They are super patient with all the kids (even the scared ones); but they pour on the love to those who are interested in what is going on and are sweet to them.  Duke is bright and figured this out quickly and is the model of perfection from the moment of walking in the door.

This morning, we went for our second ever appointment there.  In the process of counting his teeth, one hygienist says to the other, “Teeth O and P are a little loose.” and then we moved on and chatted about 1,000 other things for 15 to 20 minutes.  The doctor walked in and chatted with Duke and me.  Duke says about 30 minutes after the counting began, “I’m ready to loose my teeth, but just two are loose. O &P.” The dentist looked up to confirm with the hygienist that he was right, that those two teeth were in fact the SLIGHTLY loose ones.  Um, yes.  Wow.  Impressed the heck out of the whole room.  The dentist explained how they letter the teeth and where it begins and ends to Duke.  Duke is mesmerized.  We all have a moment — for a second, I’m thinking about dental school by age 10, for my apparently toothy prodigy.  Then, my bright eyed, sharp as a tack son, bats his baby blues at the dentist and asks (oh, so innocently):

“Do you think I could have TWO prizes, since I knew what letter teeth were loose?”

Dental School is out — Master Negotiator School is in!!!

Last night I was so excited because one of my new friends is a teacher and has been calming my fears giving me advice about the upcoming school year.  After a kindergarten of ups and downs, I really wanted to give first grade a good shot.  To this end, I’ve been asking questions constantly.

(Mostly about stuff I’ve never dealt with before — like school supplies. And how can I make a teacher LOVE me — because it is all about me, right?)

Anyway, my friend, who is kind, gave me her cell phone number in case I freaked out had more questions.

So, I was telling Queen Mum how much better this made me feel and Mum asks, “Why does she think you’ll freak out?”  And I respond, “She’s met me.”  (Good thing, she’s met me and still seems to like me and my neuroses.)

But I didn’t have to call.  Today, when we went to see the school — I met the principle who said all the right things.  They shared all the right information.  And the best part, at no time was there an assuption that you ought to KNOW this stuff.

Thus, I raise my glass to my friends who ‘get’ me; to a school that ‘gets’ Duke (and me); and to a highly successful year.

I have a friend whose son is in <gasp> middle school, who tells my favorite kid/mom story.  This young man was in kindergarten or first grade and he told his mom one day, “Mom, I don’t think you should kiss me good-bye in front of the kids at school — it embarrasses them when you do that.”

She told me this story probably weeks after I met her, when Duke was just 2.  I know the day will come with a hug and kiss goodbye will be the worst thing I can do to him — up there with packing liver for lunch, I am sure.  But at the time I thought that was held for middle school and not early grade school.  So, of course I instantly took her words as cause for worry for how soon I’d be shunned from my son’s hugs and kisses.

Today, I took my newly minted six year old to the doctor for (ahem, I have something in my eye) a ‘physical’ — a school phyiscal.  You know, they call these visits Well-Baby (up to about 2 years old) then Well-Child (2 to 5 years old) visits until they start school….then we jump to ‘physicals.’  I have no idea when he is going to have an ‘annual check-up’ but frankly I think I’m not allowed in the room for that one.

The good news is that he is fine and healthy and growing.  There is no bad news, except I think I might be facing paying for med school since my son could not stop asking the doctor and the nurses about all their instruments, what they do, why they measure this or that.  He blew them away with his fascination.

Anyway, he is at summer camp this week and I had to take him late because of the doctor’s office.  I’d talked to the camp before and found out where they were going to be.  They weren’t there of course and I had to find his group.  He gets there and one of the girls asks him to join her team and he runs off.  I hand over the swim bag and the lunch and go to walk off.

Duke turns and chases after me.  He jumps into my arms and says, “I didn’t get my hug and kiss.”  “Buddy, I thought you didn’t need one, since you’d run off without it when we got here.  I’m sorry.”  “I can’t do this without a hug and a kiss.” Yup, I melted.

Maybe I have another year (two?) before it embarrasses the other children when I hug and kiss him.  But for now, my son still needs the power of a hug and a kiss to get through tough days at camp.

Happy Love Thursday.

It doesn’t seem possible that my boy child is six.  I know for a fact that I have not authorized the advancing of his age, but sadly, my mommy powers don’t seem to have any effect on the growing up bits.

As with every year that has rolled past, I marvel at the boy and ultimately the man he is growing into.  I remember fondly explaining to him about age three that there were somethings that he couldn’t do anymore because that was for babies (i.e. diapers) and since he was a big boy he needed to step up his game.  Today, I’ve begun to talk to him about not about being a big boy, but about being a young man. (And for the record, young men have table manners that don’t include me seeing your knees.)

Every so often, I turn around and catch this glimpse of my young man.  The one who is helpful and kind.  The one who is sorting out his world on his own.  The one who confidently asks our neighbors to come out and play.  I see the early beginnings of a young man who reasons out why we can or can’t do things, instead of accepting them on face value (um, this is HARD on his mommy and requires the application of wine and hot baths to recover from).  I see a child who realized for the first time that he had things that others didn’t and WANTED to share.

I remember when he was a baby, and I was exhausted, how people would tell me that this time flies.  Honestly, I didn’t believe them.  A day is still 24 hours and frankly we have a lot to do.  But I look back on these six years and think about how far we’ve come.  I think how much I’ve grown up as a person and as a mom.  I see Prince swell with pride when he looks at his son.  I see the joy in both their faces as father shares some piece of geeky goodness with his son.  (The day that Duke asked to watched Star Trek went into the baby book, I think.) I watch my son as he learns something new and the pride he has once he has mastered it.  He is so like his mom and so like his dad — there are times I see each of us in him so clearly.  Yet he is totally and completely his own person — so different from both of us.

He crawled into my lap yesterday morning and he was more knees and elbows and a whole lot less squish than ever before.  I just held on tight to my growing little man and he hugged me.  Finally, he sat back and said, “Mama, tomorrow I’m going to be six.” “Yes, Buddy, you are.  Are you ready to be six?” “Oh, yes, I think six will be a good year for me.  Then I’ll be seven.”  “Can we just enjoy being six and not think about seven yet — I don’t think Mama can handle it.” “Oh, sure, Mama, when you are ready — we will talk about seven.  For right now, I’m going to be six.”

See what I mean — that boy is wise.  Wise beyond his years.

I have a few, wee minutes to share the BIG plan for the Queen Mum’s birthday and the aftermath.

As most know, the Queen Mum lives too far away from Snarkville.  So, we video chat often to keep in touch and it is wonderful, except for that part that she’s drinking wine at 2pm my time and I’m wondering if it would be ok to join her.  Anyway.

So, for her birthday, Duke asked if we could get cupcakes and have a party.  It took about 2 seconds for all parties to agree.  So, we bought cupcakes in Snarkville and cupcakes were purchased in Far, Far, Away From Snarkville.  Then we met online.  Well the joy didn’t end there — it seems that the Queen Aunt joined us too online and there was a video party full of cupcakes, candles, and songs.  I’m pretty sure it was the best long distance birthday possible.

But, I have to tell you that my son picked out the cupcakes here in Snarkville.  He picked out “2 bite cupcakes.”  They were little and cute and he wanted those.  Ok, no problem.  We had our party and I put them away and didn’t think about them again, until I came home from knitting last night.  Prince declares — “You can not call it a cupcake if it takes you longer to peel the wrapper off than it does to eat it.”

Maybe we will have to do Cross Country Cupcakes again — this time with REAL cupcakes.

In a few simple steps.

1. Do not read the directions about NOT putting the names on the Valentine’s that were to be sent in.
2. Hand=make all the Valentine’s and COVER them with glitter.
3. Keep your child out of school, forcing the volunteer to pass out the glitter covered, named Valentine’s.

Add to this that at least THREE of the other students’ parents failed the “No Name” rule.

Add in 18 SCREAMING, sugar starved children who are just too excited to be still.

Finally, stir in the slow, sad realization that the glitter covered mess will be entering my house in a few short hours.

I can just picture the mom reading the directions while holding the jar of glitter and thinking….’ohhh, something shiny.’

I’ve made no secret that my family does not DO Valentine’s Day.  (And I ought to note that the “my family” I’m referring to here is really just Prince and me — but still.)  We sit on our high horses and claim things like “It is a Hallmark Holiday.” “Seriously, we can say ‘I love you’ without overpriced flowers and candy.” “Do these chocolates make my butt look fat?”

I take great joy in the conversations Prince has with his buddies from work. “Dude, what did you get your wife for Valentine’s Day?” “Nothing.” “OOOOHHHH, You are gonna be in trouble.” “You think?  Want to bet $10 that she doesn’t even say ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ to me?”

But, we can not opt our darling from the Valentine’s Day fun.  When we were little we loved those little coversation hearts too.

Now, I do have basic rules around the day — first, we don’t do store bought cards (see above about Hallmark holiday).  Now, I’m not against store bought cards, but I prefer to do something that is more personal and fun.  Second, we believe in forcing any amount of sugar on other kids as possible — and the more the school begs us not to, the more my hard heart wants to send in chocolate covered sugar bombs.

So, today, we were home from school and prepping for Valentine’s Day.  I looked for some craft ideas — and happened upon this one. I hate to admit this, but I do love the Martha craft thing.  This was incredibly easy.  I cut out a billion hearts, punched a hole and inserted a lollipop.  Um, hello!!! This couldn’t have been easier or cuter.  Duke is working on putting his name on all of them and they are done and awesome.

Best part: Since I had the construction paper, the hole punch, and the tape to hold it all together.  This craft took us 1 hour and $1.99 to complete.  TOTAL.

The other day, Duke and I were off to school and he looks up at me and says, “Mama, I love you.”

me: “Oh, Buddy, I love you too.  Do you know how much Mama loves you?”

Duke: (Spreads his arms as wide as possible): “So Much.”

me: (heart breaking wide open from the love in the air): “Yes, that much and so much more.” then, getting cocky, “How much do you love Mama?”

Duke: (Arms still wide open): “Not so much.”

me: dies.

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Driving around before Christmas, Duke screams from the backseat.

“I see God.”

Every person in the car looks around and say collectively, “Where?”

Duke: “There” pointing to a house decorated for Christmas, with a Nativity in front.

Guessing he was talking about the Nativity scene, we U-turn and go back and ask: “Duke, which one is God?”

Duke: points at a wiseman — “There in the purple robe.”

Me: “Oh, sweetie, that’s a wiseman, not God.  However, they haven’t put the baby Jesus out yet — when he gets there that’s God.”

Duke: “Oh. ok.   I saw the Foolish Man.”

The adults all giggled just enough for Duke to call the wisemen “foolish men” for about a day or so.

This lead to many songs about the foolish man building a house upon the sand.

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In distressing news, there appears to be a rash of thefts outside of Duke’s school during the morning drop off.  This morning one mom of a girl in Duke’s class had her diaper bag stolen out of her car.  The window was smashed and they got the diaper bag.  In chatting with the mom, she was bummed over a check that had to be re-issued, but mostly over the loss of the great bag she’d gotten a deal on.  I had to giggle because apparently the thief isn’t too smart — doesn’t he know that mamas have no money and what you are going to get is awesome diaper bags and wipes?

Now, I know what diaper bag she had and it cost more than any purse I’ve ever carried — possibly all my bags put together.  Even still what a pain.  Of course, I’m told this the one day I drove to pick Duke up from school and of course had left my purse in the car.  So, when Duke got out of class, I hurried him off to confirm that there was no window breakage and my bag was still there. (They were.)

Finally, the brain child who is breaking windows for diaper bags missed the fact that two mothers also parked in the same area had unlocked doors and WALLETS on their dashboards.  Why steal cash when you could steal baby wipes, right?

Prince has this delightful expression for those in this world who do things that would get normal people killed and yet somehow those people still survive.  He will say, “they are too stupid to live.”  And yet they do, so I’m not sure if his expression still applies, but let’s not dig too deep — I’ve only had one cup of coffee.

But in light of this expression, I thought I would share a few examples of how truly bright we are and why there are days it is a wonder that we remember to breathe, eat or otherwise walk upright.

1. On Halloween night, I took Duke to Trick or Treat in another neighborhood with a good friend and her daughter.  While I was gone, Prince held down the fort here in Frankhouse and since there was a serious derth of kids begging candy, he loaded the dishwasher.  Now, what he didn’t know was that we were down to the dregs of the detergent and I’d put the box on the counter to remind me to pick up more on Saturday’s run to Costco.  Upon discovering no detergent and knowing that he faced a sinkfull of dishes, he did was anyone channeling Lucy Ricardo would — oh, yes, he put “a little” dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher.  I came home to a kitchen floor covered about 3″ deep in soap suds.  The Queen Mum’s reaction?  “Well, that’s one way to clean the floor.”
2. We took a cranky, post-Halloween excited (though he was not hopped up on candy) to Costco on the first truly rainy weekend day in months.  We did this right after lunch and during a time that he really probably needed quiet time or perhaps a nap.  We not only dragged him around the store; refused to look at (read: buy) any of the toys; and made laps trying to find a few things.
3. I decided that we had enjoyed enough chicken and needed some beef in our life.  Thus I embarked on making a few beef items — let’s call this a mini-cooking session.  I chose FOUR meals (I might mention that the day I spent 7 hours in the kitchen making more chicken than I thought possible, I made 5 meals) of beef.  I went with things I was pretty sure we’d eat and enjoy.  I tallied the ingredients, bought some at Costco, and delayed going to the grocery until Sunday — at which time I broke the cardinal rule of shopping and cooking on the same day.  But that was ok, I was just making a few dishes.  I can truly announce that I have my first failure.  I tried to make shredded beef tacos, but the way they wanted me to make the beef (basically boiling/steaming in water forever) produced a tough lump of ick.  It is now in the garbage as I plan on just browning some ground beef and moving on.  However, unlike my first day of complete plans, this one was less well thought out.  Oh, I made all the meals and stored them properly, but I wasn’t on top of cleaning as I went like before (yielding us two sinks full of dishes and one more load in the dishwasher before I’m back to normal.  But that isn’t the best part.  I’m still trying to sort out the best way to store the food in the freezer.  The Queen Mum mentioned an article she read about pour food into ziploc bags that are inside a cereal box to make bricks instead of the blobs you get when you just put unfrozen ziploc bags in the freezer.  I tried this.  Warning: Do not even bother to try this yourself.  The cereal box is NOT strong enough to hold a box like shape against the weight of your food.  You WILL spill as you pour making the box WET and thus making it not slide off the ziploc bag.  And you will really odd looks from your family as you pour soup into a box for Cheerios.  (I’m thinking mailing boxes might work better, but I need two gallon bags to try that out.
4. Do not attempt to cut your child’s hair at bedtime on Sunday night.  Even though you’ve talked about doing it all weekend long and it REALLY needed to be done — just don’t.  Step away from the clippers.  I hope Duke likes his new buzz cut.

Finally, in case you were wondering, Duke had Halloween homework this weekend that required he sort and classify all of his candy.  This is a great idea IN THEORY.  However, in reality this is the WORST plan ever.  First, this means that he has played with the candy all weekend long and that’s just annoying.  Where normally I’d let him have a few pieces and then we’d move on by throwing out much of it or feeding it to Prince, Duke now knows everything he has and how much.  URGH.  We finally let him have some last night when the project was done.  I have never been more tempted to send a note into school saying that we don’t celebrate candy and would kindly like no more project to involve the fondling of sugar products EVER.

and there’s a reason — um, because there’s nothing special about it.

Well, this might explain why Duke could not understand why I wasn’t taking photos of him today.  As we walked out of the house this morning he says, “You forgot the camera, you gotta take pictures of me on my way to school.”  “I do? Why?”  “Because you gotta.”

I’m sorry, Duke, it appears you have missed the point we must get all excited about the first day of something and totally forget there are other days to follow.  All of those days are going to pale in comparison to the hype of the first day.  Seriously, when have you ever known there to be as much hype for the closing of the Olympics as the opening?  How many people plan weddings forgetting that after that single day there is a marriage to follow (watch a few episodes of Bridezillas, if you think I’m kidding)?  What joy is there in Opening Day for Baseball season — but who remembers game 12?

So, my dear son has just realized one of life’s little cruelities — we build up the first day, there is a party and by day 2, the fun is over and the work has begun.  There were no nametags today.  No parents even walking past the door to the classroom (thank goodness, because frankly there were FAR too many parents there yesterday — it gave me the hives). There were no special anythings — today, today the work of learning begins.

Therefore, in honor of Day 2, I bring you the short list of things I feel superior about (right this minute and freely admit that I may not be on the top of my game in oh and hour — just saying):

1. We have walked to school every day since Monday.  Yes, walked.  As in on my feet.  Yes, without being able to breathe oxygen through my nose.  I feel much superior to the mom I saw DRIVE her kid one of the two blocks to school and walk the rest of the way (I’m guessing she’s pretending that she walked the whole way).
2. I have gotten dressed in REAL clothing both of the drop off days this week.  I thought surely it would be at least a week before I saw mommies in PJ pants, nope, day two.
3. I found milk boxes.  They are just like juice boxes, but they contain milk — for those kids who prefer milk to juice.  I’m proud of this because I had to check FOUR separate spots in the store before finding them.  FWIW, they are in the juice box section.  (When we found them last night, Duke was so happy he jumped up and down and wanted to give me a high five for my accomplishment.)
4. I returned my homework to the teacher on time.  Yes, in the packet we got yesterday, I had homework from the teacher — I did it and returned it this morning.  One assignment down — a ton more to go.
5. My kindergarten teacher didn’t send home a note declaring that homework was OPTIONAL.  Ahem, have I mentioned that I really like my teacher.  (And yes, I heard the other pack of parents discussing this in the hall at pick-up.)
6. My kid didn’t suck up with flowers in a plastic cup for the teacher — though his mommy is trying to figure out if she’d like a hand knit.  I was also considering some of the 4 billion apples and peaches I have in the backyard.  Who says I can’t suck up?

Now, on a complete sidenote to everything, I just have to say that I wanted to smack a few dads yesterday who mocked (yes, I said mocked) the little boy who was crying when his mommy left him in school.  I was mortified for his mom and for him.  Frankly, those parents should be ashamed and have known better — but then again, I’m pretty sure they locked kids in lockers and gave out wedgies when they were in school.  Perhaps I should not be too harsh on them, since it is apparent that their lives peaked in high school football and they’ve been reliving that glory with a few too many beers since.  Ahem — that was harsh wasn’t it.