Not for the Squeamish: September 2009

Oh mamas!

For the most part, whether you work outside the home or stay in with the wee ones, the mothers do more - if not most - of the job when it comes to raising children. This isn't a slight to the dads who do a lot, and there are many of you out there (G-man's own included). Simply how the majority of our culture rolls.

So it's no surprise that just like the ladies rockin' the kid-free lifestyle, moms need a little fun on their own, without the kids in tow. This could be to the grocery store at night, a coffee shop on a weekend or just sitting on the front stoop during naptime. But to truly be free of it all, you gotta' groove it with the other mamas.

I've recently had the pleasure of two such outings. One was a playgroup mamas night at a bar where we enjoyed yummy cocktails and treated ourselves to a manicure. As all our kids are around the same age, it was great to talk about them but not have to actually watch them at the same time. Most of our lovelies were home asleep in their fortresses guarded by daddy so it's not like we were scoring extra "no toddlers allowed" time, but we were enjoying it out of the house. We put on makeup! We wore jewelry! We looked hot.

The second such sans G-man adventure was this weekend. A group of my friends decided that we needed to go camping. Just adults. Just girls. For those of you that I haven't met, camping is not something you associate with me. In fact, you may think that my fear of bugs, fire and a little chill in the air makes me the antithesis of camping. And you'd be right. But I sucked it up and went anyway.

Now despite my earlier statement of how time away is necessary, I very rarely do it. I'm a bit of homebody. I don't think I really went out to enjoy myself much at all during G-man's first year. Even the monthly book club meetings that are always enjoyable are something I dread when it comes time to leave the house. I feel like I should stay home with my boys. I want to stay home with my boys.

Ladycamp required a night away. Not to mention some serious day time away, too. Did I need my girl gab so much that I would agree to that, and the added pressure of camping? Yikes. What do you do when you camp? What would I do?

Turns out, we did whatever we wanted! Between the four of us, we had seven children, ranging from 20 months to 8 years old. That meant some serious pent up energy coupled with outrageous exhaustion. We drank, ate, lounged and talked. Boy, did we talk! Topics covered included in-laws, child safety, dunkin' donuts, shaving, nostalgic toys, birth control, ideal family size, childhood stories and way more. Some we probably shouldn't repeat.

We stayed up so past our bedtimes, looked at stars, laughed our asses off. The whole time, we never forgot our kids; they were a great subject of conversation. We were still someone's mommy but we were our own person, too. There were spiders, coyotes (very far off), chilly weather and food on sticks. It was great.

So here's to you, the brave, pioneering members of Ladycamp '09, who survived 21 hours without our sweet children and with nothing but a french press and specialty coffee; a yurt equipped with A/C, heat, floors, beds, windows, combination-lock door, deck, ceiling fan and skylight; camp chairs with cupholders; clean, heated restrooms; mobile phone service; and s'mores as far as the eye could see. Can't wait 'til 2010!

A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H1N1

When dropping G-man off at Parent's Day Out this week, there was a notice on the door that a child in the Monday session had been diagnosed with strep throat. The message contained what to watch for in your own child and when to call the doctor.

Ooh, germs.

A friend of mine is pregnant with #2. Her child plays in our groups all the time but doesn't go to any formal facility (school daycare, gym child care, PDO, etc.). She's scheduled to start a little 2-hour-a-week church daycare but now may not because of what she could pick up and bring home.

Sneaky germs.

Our Gymboree location has a lengthy handout on 2009's Contagion of the Year, the H1N1 flu virus. (Congrats, by the way, to ol' Swiney for this distinction. The media thanks you for something to fill the airwaves while we parents always enjoy new things to worry about.) The information details signs, symptoms and prevention tips.

Mean germs.

I get it. There is a ton of stuff out there just waiting to get into G-man and wreak some havoc. It's not like I'm throwing used needles at him, but I do find it hard to control the situation, short of keeping him home and in a bubble all day.

Let's face it, most of the prevention techniques are common sense: cover your nose and mouth when coughing or sneezing, wash your hands, don't share drinks or utensils. But have you ever tried to do that with an early toddler?

G-man and his friends specialize in finding filthy things and swapping whatever they've got. They pick up things from the ground and put them in their mouths. They stick their fingers in god knows what and then immediately grab another kid's hand/head/lunch. All sippy cups are community sippy cups. I pack snacks based on what other kids like because I know that's who will eat them, while the G-man mooches something else (possibly from the floor under a chair or shoe). Any play date is a study in fluids - bodily and otherwise - mingling in perfect harmony. But at this age, what do we do?

Oh sure, at any given moment one of us mommies is helpfully telling her child, "No, that's not your drink. Where's your drink? Put that one down." Meanwhile, the child in question has already sneezed on this cup, dropped it on the dirt, seen another toddler (still not the original owner) pick it up and take a drink and moved on to yet another beverage that doesn't belong to them.

They simply don't get it. And why should they? We are all in the Let's Share! phase of parental encouragement. G-man is told to share a toy, wait his turn, play nicely with others all the time. We're teaching them to give freely and not fuss when something they want is out of their grasp for while. They are just now starting to understand this and then we want to throw a wrinkle in the plan? An exclusion? That's tough to digest.

And let's not forget that we under-2 parents have a roadblock to our prevention and care as well: we don't have complete communication yet. Until we get some more skills how am I supposed to know if G-man's throat hurts? Or if he has a headache? Or if his runny nose is the start of something big? Without being able to read all of the signs, we have only a limited idea of when to keep them home and when to turn them loose. Some err on the side of caution, some practically choose to send their kiddos out hoping we don't notice the chicken pox. There is a happy medium, but it's a moving target and we have really bad aim. Being able to ask, "Does your tummy hurt?" and get a real answer is something I'm totally excited about. Guessing is exhausting.

Until then, we'll all amble about rather cluelessly, hoping the community food, drink and grime is building strong immune systems for when the big one really does happen.

Parent's Day In

Dear G-man,

First off, let me tell you how proud I am of how easily you have adapted back into the weekly routine of going to Parent's Day Out. Your utter indifference on the fact I am leaving you for a few hours simply means I'm raising an independent boy. As you wriggle from my arms, your race to explore the toys stacked so neatly on the shelves for later shows your inquisitive mind. And your disdain for the offerings of security items, like your sippy cup and lawnmower card, proves how confident you are with yourself while the dismissive wave good-bye means that you trust I'm coming back.

Bravo.

I really am thrilled that you are so happy there and I trust the fine teachers to provide a safe, fun environment.

But guess what? While I miss you, I may love Parent's Day Out even more than you do!

Ever wonder what I do for those six fleeting hours?

8:40 am - leave parking lot and drive home with the windows down and the radio up

8:50 am - arrive home, check my email, recklessly leaving the door open to the non-babyproofed office

8:55 am - retrieve the hidden animal crackers, tuck in to handfuls and surf the web

9:05 am - take a shower, a loooooong shower, complete with leg shaving and full rinse and towel off

9:20 am - turn tv on while getting dressed, do not learn anything about sign language or farm animals

10:00 am - 12:00 pm - attend meeting for work in clean clothes, do not wipe anyone else's nose

12:15 pm - arrive home, do not lock screen door behind me, keep baby gate open

12:30 pm - more animal crackers

12:40 pm - start making tonight's dinner, leave cabinets wide open for my convenience

12:50 pm - eat brownie batter out of the bowl, leave oven unlocked

12:52 pm - open fridge without having to shield the juice inside

1:00 pm - finally clean the breakfast dishes and tidy up the kitchen without anyone attached to my leg

1:05 pm - walk by open basement door, don't close it

1:30 pm - clean my bathroom, including replacing the toilet paper someone unrolled yesterday

1:50 pm - embark on a search for my comb after you so nicely put it away somewhere it a few weeks ago

2:00 pm - abandon search for comb, put hair in pony tail again

2:02 pm - settle down for some quick reading

2:12 pm - close the gate, check the cabinets, shut the basement door, lock the stove, pick up small items

2:15 pm - leave to pick you up, can't wait to see your smiling face!

Looking forward to next Wednesday.

Love, mommy

Time out

To what I'm sure has been a tremendous tribulation to my 2 or so regular readers, I've been a blogging slacker for a little bit. It's not that I haven't had time or access to my computer. It's simply that I've had nothing to say.

What?! It's the apocalypse! Never am I at a loss for words. Ask anyone that has ever tried to have a two-way conversation with me only to discover I'm doing both parts.

Lately though, I've just been enjoying the G-man. I realized that sometimes I'm so caught up in documenting every moment of his life that maybe I'm missing some of the insider info that goes along with it. Instead of getting an idea for a post and developing that in the running commentary that's in my head (where I've also been interviewed by Jon Stewart on The Daily Show to rave reviews, although sadly I now forget the topic...), I'm just continuing to watch him do his thing. G-man, not Jon Stewart.

I saw a tip for mamapedia bloggers that need a jump start on new post ideas - go to the site, see what people are saying and asking and write about that. Great idea if you really just like to blog and need a launching point. Really great you're paid by the post or have some sort of OCD complex about not having one every few days. But the point of this blog is to write about my life with the G-man and what we go through together. And right now, we're going through some calm. No snarky comments about the library moms. No deep thoughts on why he has to sprinkle his milk throughout the house. For that matter, no soul-searching questions about why sippy cups aren't exactly leak-proof, either.

The other day, I hosted an impromptu play group with 8 kids and 5 mommies. Toys everywhere! Kids amok! Lunch burning on the stove! And yet, I didn't take any photos. So many opportunities and the camera stayed, well, wherever it is that it goes when not in my hands. Elephant graveyard? Hard to say.

So instead of whipping out my paparazzi credentials, I enjoyed the moments with him. I was in them, unlike all the photos I take of his events, achievements and every day life.

For a little while, I haven't thought of how an activity could make a story, what someone else would think of what happened today, and how the family should see him in this new shirt. It's just me and the G-man. Sweet.

Those three little words

"I hate you."

No, I haven't heard it yet, but I know I will. Maybe G-man will wait until he's four or maybe I'll be stung much sooner than that. But I'm pretty sure every kid says it...and for that moment, every kid means it.

Why?

Because for a while, he's just not going to get it. He's not going to fully understand how much we love him and all the things we do for him. Even though he seems to think the world truly revolves around him, he doesn't know what that is. So when I inevitably do something to betray him, like deny him a toy, discipline him for a behavior or simply cut his sandwich in the wrong shape, he'll think I don't love him and he won't love me back.

And sadly, part of that is going to come because he won't remember this time of his journey, when we are practically allowing everything in our lives to stand still for the chance to be with this amazing firstborn love.

When he hurls the toddler/child/pre-teen/etc insults at me proclaiming the injustices of his world, I'll be able to take it, for luckily, I will remember these moments. I can say to myself, "sure, now he's being a jackass in the airport, but oh, when he was 20 months and made the sign for airplane the first time, my heart grew yet another size." And we'll both survive.

He won't have this to fall back on. He won't ever realize that his parents go into his room together every night before going upstairs and just marvel at this wonder in the crib, checking the air temperature, stroking his head, and remarking to each other how much we love him. G-man will see photos of all of the adventures we take - the visits to the zoo, children's farmstead, beach, parks, pools, festivals - but only from those images will he maybe know that he laughed on a swing, ate ice cream in the shade, played joyfully with sand.

I can hope that these experiences are building a foundation for him, one where his subconscious feeds a message of security, trust and love. But his conscious self won't truly know or understand the details until he's much older and even then, he might ignore those truths. In the heat of the moment, and he will be living in the moment for quite sometime, he'll pass on these vague stirrings and go straight for the throat.

And despite how much I may want to sell him at that point, of course I'll respond with the other three little words, Shut Your Mouth. No, no, seriously, I'll tell one of us or both of us, I Love You. It's my greatest defense.