With two boys playing Baseball, we have been stretched as far as we can go. I broke down and signed the kiddos up for phones. Why? Because I am a paranoid Mother! I couldn't handle the idea of dropping one child off, at a PARK, and driving the other one to another PARK. So, I gave in and got them phones. And just when I thought Baseball was over, Thing 2 is recruited by the Traveling Allstars. I have NEVER been a sports enthusiast, and going to games is BORING to say the least. I enjoy professional Ball parks, not because of the game, but the atmosphere. I guess I will have to LEARN to love the game. For the sake of my kiddos!
kizzez, huggz n luvz
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The end of time!
Thing 2 was performing his daily duties of "irritate Mama". I told him he was lucky that I didn't sentence him to his room for the next 4 years. He started whining..."you mean I'll have to stay in my room until the end of the world?" No, just for the next 4 years! "Mama the world ends in 2012!"
kizzez, huggz n luvz
kizzez, huggz n luvz
GOOGLE MOTHER
Dairy of a Mama…
This morning, I decided to Google Mother. Google…Ahh! A Mother’s best friend, well at least my best friend. All you have to do is type in symptoms and “Boom, Boom Pow,” you have successfully diagnosed your child’s aliments. First result, Wikipedia, Whom defines mother as a MAMMEL. Hmm? Must be written by a man, Right? That’s all we are? A uterus with milk glands. I think NOT! We are more complicated than that. Giving birth doesn’t always make you a MOTHER. Squeezing a watermelon out of a hole the size of an orange is pretty impressive. But to truly wear the badge of honor they must steer the ship all the way.
There are many ways a Mother could conduct her self. I could choose to reign with “my way or the highway” mentality. I could demand respect, No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I personally choose to rule with reasoning. I earn my respect. I take sass and embrace it. I view it as communication. Dialog, if you will. Everyone deserves to have an opinion. Why not my child? I try to consider their point of view. Why? Because, I have realized that this job doesn’t have a handbook. There is no rule numbered 126 that could have prepared me for when my son discovered he had a hole in his bum. “Do you know you can stick your finger in it?” OMG! What do you say to that? Yes son and some people ENJOY that! No, I have to choose my words carefully. Self exploration is natural, so I approached it in that way. I explained what the opening is used for and that it is NOT sanitary to stick his finger in his bum.
But, sometimes that approach can BACKFIRE. My youngest, who is a hard nut to crack, asked me “What does this mean?” My baby stood, sporting the “BIRD!” Now in the past I have always answered my children’s questions with some form of the truth. So why stop now? I explained that the middle finger is sometimes used as a way of saying the “F” word. Boy was that the wrong thing to do! Needing to spread his new found wisdom, he goes around the hood educating his peeps. My Facebook wall was full of messages of satisfied customers! NOT!
In my house I am Mama, that’s my title. Mother is too formal for me. My husband and I always have the final say. But we do give our children a platform to have a voice. We promote team work and as a family that is what we are, a TEAM. We have a saying in our home, our code of arms, “The Smith family always sticks together.” Because when it comes down to it, we are all we have.
Wikipedia can stick its definition where the SUN doesn’t SHINE!
We are more than just Mammal. Mothers are healers; we kiss boo boos and seal them with Spongebob band-aids. Mothers are gourmets; we can whip up a mean box of macaroni n cheese. Mothers are maids, picking up the trail crumbs they leave behind. Mothers are unconditional love.
kizzez, huggz n luvz
This morning, I decided to Google Mother. Google…Ahh! A Mother’s best friend, well at least my best friend. All you have to do is type in symptoms and “Boom, Boom Pow,” you have successfully diagnosed your child’s aliments. First result, Wikipedia, Whom defines mother as a MAMMEL. Hmm? Must be written by a man, Right? That’s all we are? A uterus with milk glands. I think NOT! We are more complicated than that. Giving birth doesn’t always make you a MOTHER. Squeezing a watermelon out of a hole the size of an orange is pretty impressive. But to truly wear the badge of honor they must steer the ship all the way.
There are many ways a Mother could conduct her self. I could choose to reign with “my way or the highway” mentality. I could demand respect, No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I personally choose to rule with reasoning. I earn my respect. I take sass and embrace it. I view it as communication. Dialog, if you will. Everyone deserves to have an opinion. Why not my child? I try to consider their point of view. Why? Because, I have realized that this job doesn’t have a handbook. There is no rule numbered 126 that could have prepared me for when my son discovered he had a hole in his bum. “Do you know you can stick your finger in it?” OMG! What do you say to that? Yes son and some people ENJOY that! No, I have to choose my words carefully. Self exploration is natural, so I approached it in that way. I explained what the opening is used for and that it is NOT sanitary to stick his finger in his bum.
But, sometimes that approach can BACKFIRE. My youngest, who is a hard nut to crack, asked me “What does this mean?” My baby stood, sporting the “BIRD!” Now in the past I have always answered my children’s questions with some form of the truth. So why stop now? I explained that the middle finger is sometimes used as a way of saying the “F” word. Boy was that the wrong thing to do! Needing to spread his new found wisdom, he goes around the hood educating his peeps. My Facebook wall was full of messages of satisfied customers! NOT!
In my house I am Mama, that’s my title. Mother is too formal for me. My husband and I always have the final say. But we do give our children a platform to have a voice. We promote team work and as a family that is what we are, a TEAM. We have a saying in our home, our code of arms, “The Smith family always sticks together.” Because when it comes down to it, we are all we have.
Wikipedia can stick its definition where the SUN doesn’t SHINE!
We are more than just Mammal. Mothers are healers; we kiss boo boos and seal them with Spongebob band-aids. Mothers are gourmets; we can whip up a mean box of macaroni n cheese. Mothers are maids, picking up the trail crumbs they leave behind. Mothers are unconditional love.
kizzez, huggz n luvz
LYING!
Diary of a Mama……
Recently I have made a profound and shocking discovery. Children LIE! The average 6 year old lies every 90 minutes. Yeah, and the higher the IQ, the better the LIE! Who knew? I can proudly stand and raise my hand high. ME, ME, ME, I KNEW!
Having two boys gives me an opportunity to tackle such phenomenons, as children becoming versed in the art of fabrication. This habit is obviously an instinctual one. We don’t set them down and give pointers, or enroll them in Lying 101. Who knew that being a con artist was such an animalistic thing? In the beginning it starts out as their magic invisible force field. They use it as a shield to deflect the Disappointment we hold towards the Picasso we now have on the wall. They intuitively deny, with yellow crayon in hand, ever seeing the artwork let alone being the artist. Let’s admit, in the beginning it is irresistibly cute. This is where we go, entirely wrong. Immediately picking up the cell to call Grandma, “You won’t believe what CHUCKY did?”
My oldest has no POKER FACE, and lives by the Washington rule of thumb. When he chops down the cherry tree, the canary sings the minute he senses your presence. But, my youngest is a tall,” LARGE “tale weaving machine. He is wolf boy, and cries some imaginative fables. According to him eating cheetos, the hot variety, can cause death in pre schoolers. “I had a best friend who ate a hot cheeto and died. He died because he had nothing to drink!” This particular fib has made it to legend status in my family. Everyone from grandparents, great aunts and cousins like to relive the cheeto experience. As entertaining as this may be, it could soon escalate into a bigger problem.
What do you do when lying becomes almost habitual? Why would one child feel the need to perjure themselves on a daily, sometimes hourly basis? “I was bitten by a spider once, it hurt real bad. But it wasn’t the poisonous kind.” He has NEVER been bitten by a spider. “I rode my bike down the street; a bird flew down and pecked my helmet. I had to fight it off!” UMM, don’t think so son! Try again.
I wish I had some great words of wisdom, but sorry folks I don’t. Every child is different, and why my youngest lies may be entirely unique to him. I blame it on EGO. An enormous, super, sensitive EGO! An inner nemesis that he is in a constant battle with. He is competitive, spirited and aggressive towards perfection. He has to look good for his BOYS.
My Husband and I try to stop him in his spin. “Whoa, Charlotte, slow it down!” Is this a fish tale or is this a real one? We let him tell his narrative, but make sure to acknowledge that WE know it is inflated. What is most important to us is that we do not hinder his creative side. The ability to grab hold of your imagination is so powerful and rare in most cases. He needs to know that while telling stories is fun and attention getting, there is a thin line.
LYING, not an easy subject to tackle, especially in our case, we don’t want to bruise the EGO and damage his creativity. But unlike the tale of a clever spider, spinning accolades to promote the greatness of another, my guy constructs whoppers to promote Himself. “SOME PIG!”
kizzez, huggz n luvz
Recently I have made a profound and shocking discovery. Children LIE! The average 6 year old lies every 90 minutes. Yeah, and the higher the IQ, the better the LIE! Who knew? I can proudly stand and raise my hand high. ME, ME, ME, I KNEW!
Having two boys gives me an opportunity to tackle such phenomenons, as children becoming versed in the art of fabrication. This habit is obviously an instinctual one. We don’t set them down and give pointers, or enroll them in Lying 101. Who knew that being a con artist was such an animalistic thing? In the beginning it starts out as their magic invisible force field. They use it as a shield to deflect the Disappointment we hold towards the Picasso we now have on the wall. They intuitively deny, with yellow crayon in hand, ever seeing the artwork let alone being the artist. Let’s admit, in the beginning it is irresistibly cute. This is where we go, entirely wrong. Immediately picking up the cell to call Grandma, “You won’t believe what CHUCKY did?”
My oldest has no POKER FACE, and lives by the Washington rule of thumb. When he chops down the cherry tree, the canary sings the minute he senses your presence. But, my youngest is a tall,” LARGE “tale weaving machine. He is wolf boy, and cries some imaginative fables. According to him eating cheetos, the hot variety, can cause death in pre schoolers. “I had a best friend who ate a hot cheeto and died. He died because he had nothing to drink!” This particular fib has made it to legend status in my family. Everyone from grandparents, great aunts and cousins like to relive the cheeto experience. As entertaining as this may be, it could soon escalate into a bigger problem.
What do you do when lying becomes almost habitual? Why would one child feel the need to perjure themselves on a daily, sometimes hourly basis? “I was bitten by a spider once, it hurt real bad. But it wasn’t the poisonous kind.” He has NEVER been bitten by a spider. “I rode my bike down the street; a bird flew down and pecked my helmet. I had to fight it off!” UMM, don’t think so son! Try again.
I wish I had some great words of wisdom, but sorry folks I don’t. Every child is different, and why my youngest lies may be entirely unique to him. I blame it on EGO. An enormous, super, sensitive EGO! An inner nemesis that he is in a constant battle with. He is competitive, spirited and aggressive towards perfection. He has to look good for his BOYS.
My Husband and I try to stop him in his spin. “Whoa, Charlotte, slow it down!” Is this a fish tale or is this a real one? We let him tell his narrative, but make sure to acknowledge that WE know it is inflated. What is most important to us is that we do not hinder his creative side. The ability to grab hold of your imagination is so powerful and rare in most cases. He needs to know that while telling stories is fun and attention getting, there is a thin line.
LYING, not an easy subject to tackle, especially in our case, we don’t want to bruise the EGO and damage his creativity. But unlike the tale of a clever spider, spinning accolades to promote the greatness of another, my guy constructs whoppers to promote Himself. “SOME PIG!”
kizzez, huggz n luvz
I wanna be a rock star!
Diary of a Mama
All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother. ~Abraham Lincoln
I want to be a Rock Star! It is of no surprise to me that my youngest would one day recite those very words. When your middle name is Hendrix it is your destiny, right? Well, sort of, he has also wanted to be a Motor cross racer, a professional ball player, and a Power Ranger. Who really knows what he will do for a living. But I do know it won’t be a rocket scientist. That I am sure of.
My second child is a fashion forward one. He has to “look the part” or it just isn’t working for him. “Mama, I am gonna have a band! Can we go to the store and get?” Now, my son began to present me with his list of provisions that he would need to accomplish his DREAM. Hair spray, black nail polish, a case of Rockstar, a wallet with a chain, a black scarf, and a pair of slightly worn cowboy boots. Watch out Brett Michael, my son is reviving the hair bands! Just what a Mother needs a 7 year old jacked off of an energy drink. And a wallet with a chain? Isn’t that a redneck? You know the joke, if your WALLET and your DOG are both on a chainyou must be a REDNECK. Well for some reason in his world rockers wear them too. At that moment I flashed forward and saw my son with multiple body peircings, sporting tattoos of I love Mom and OZZY on his fingers.
For Christmas, he received his very own electric guitar, and soon he was amplified to the MAX. Strumming to his own melodies, and belting out creative lyrics. His sound stage...MY COFFEE TABLE. His audience? Mama and Daddy. His one hit entitled Sharks Sleeping, streaming from his too sweet to be a rock star, little boy voice. Every night for weeks we could expect an encore performance. Each time he had new moves. To be honest, his moves resembled interpretive dancing and a hint of the occasional gang sign flash.
For now the dream of glam rocking it in front of millions has faded. I am sure it will peak again. We haven’t even left elementary yet. At least I know, he will be prepared with the right equipment, when he and his gang turn my garage into a hip suburban hangout. I, as his mother look forward to the next obsession. My children keep me guessing. My children keep me young. One of these times He will find the perfect match for him. Until he does I will continue to feed his little ego. Who knows maybe, just maybe, he might be a Rock star!
kizzez, huggz n luvz
All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother. ~Abraham Lincoln
I want to be a Rock Star! It is of no surprise to me that my youngest would one day recite those very words. When your middle name is Hendrix it is your destiny, right? Well, sort of, he has also wanted to be a Motor cross racer, a professional ball player, and a Power Ranger. Who really knows what he will do for a living. But I do know it won’t be a rocket scientist. That I am sure of.
My second child is a fashion forward one. He has to “look the part” or it just isn’t working for him. “Mama, I am gonna have a band! Can we go to the store and get?” Now, my son began to present me with his list of provisions that he would need to accomplish his DREAM. Hair spray, black nail polish, a case of Rockstar, a wallet with a chain, a black scarf, and a pair of slightly worn cowboy boots. Watch out Brett Michael, my son is reviving the hair bands! Just what a Mother needs a 7 year old jacked off of an energy drink. And a wallet with a chain? Isn’t that a redneck? You know the joke, if your WALLET and your DOG are both on a chainyou must be a REDNECK. Well for some reason in his world rockers wear them too. At that moment I flashed forward and saw my son with multiple body peircings, sporting tattoos of I love Mom and OZZY on his fingers.
For Christmas, he received his very own electric guitar, and soon he was amplified to the MAX. Strumming to his own melodies, and belting out creative lyrics. His sound stage...MY COFFEE TABLE. His audience? Mama and Daddy. His one hit entitled Sharks Sleeping, streaming from his too sweet to be a rock star, little boy voice. Every night for weeks we could expect an encore performance. Each time he had new moves. To be honest, his moves resembled interpretive dancing and a hint of the occasional gang sign flash.
For now the dream of glam rocking it in front of millions has faded. I am sure it will peak again. We haven’t even left elementary yet. At least I know, he will be prepared with the right equipment, when he and his gang turn my garage into a hip suburban hangout. I, as his mother look forward to the next obsession. My children keep me guessing. My children keep me young. One of these times He will find the perfect match for him. Until he does I will continue to feed his little ego. Who knows maybe, just maybe, he might be a Rock star!
kizzez, huggz n luvz
SQUARES!
Diary of a Mama….
“I don’t do squares!” My youngest told me as we were shopping in the boys department. But unfortunately for him, I won that day. I bought him two pairs of shorts with squares. If your wondering what squares are? It is actually “plaid.” I tried to convince him that all the famous skateboarders like Tony Hawk wear them. For some reason, he thinks I don’t know what “cool” is. So I pulled out my high school year book to show him; his Mother was voted “best dressed” her senior year. He wasn’t impressed!
My boys definitely have their own flare when it comes to fashion. I usually am the type to go with the flow. I have lost count on how many times I have run errands with a super hero or two. Spiderman likes Heb. I have to admit his web slinging does come in handy in the produce department. Boba Fett? Target. The cloths racks make radical, camouflage bunkers as he battles the Jedi. Snake eyes, the black ninja, loves furniture stores. The comfy coaches transform into building rooftops, perfect for a skilled martial artist to hop on. Ghost Rider loves ribs, and Indiana Jones prefers the Chinese buffet. My personal favorite is Gadget belt guy. This one he created. This hero is a floss, tong, stick, marble, flashlight carrying evil genius.
The oldest is a bit lower key. Conservative. He likes to blend in. Not stick out like a bedazzled glow stick. “Easy up easy down” is his mantra. If it has elastic he is good to go! He doesn’t like his hair fussed with. He loathes hair products. “It feels like sticks!” Boxers are his BFFs or best friends forever. LOL! He doesn’t like to feel confined. He doesn’t “do” open toe shoes like sandals. Crocs will be forever attached to his feet. He loves t shirts with his favorite characters on them. Oh! And he has to have pockets. This is the absolute must. Why? For all the tiny trinkets he carries around in them. If he finds himself with out pockets he uses his backup, his murse…or man purse. This fabulous accessory is actually a small camera case. Kudos for him! I love the idea of him being in touch with his inner femme fatal.
I remember when I found out we were expecting. I wanted a little girl! I never saw myself raising two boys. Now I can’t imagine my life without them. They have introduced me to a world I never knew. Super heroes, Hot Wheels, Legos and Dirt! I have learned that most everything can be washed. If not just toss it.
I believe it is important not to hinder my children’s development. Yes, I do believe that what they wear is crucial. They need to discover who they are. They need to wear many hats. My oldest may change, especially when the right girl skips by. I may find him with a handful of hair gel. He may even start wearing deodorant! LOL! I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I just know that I don’t want to be a Mother who refuses to let her children experiment. I know this is going to be tough. Especially when my youngest comes home with a Mohawk and body piercings. I know its coming! I will just have to take a deep breath and repeat…this too shall pass!
kizzez, huggz n luvz
“I don’t do squares!” My youngest told me as we were shopping in the boys department. But unfortunately for him, I won that day. I bought him two pairs of shorts with squares. If your wondering what squares are? It is actually “plaid.” I tried to convince him that all the famous skateboarders like Tony Hawk wear them. For some reason, he thinks I don’t know what “cool” is. So I pulled out my high school year book to show him; his Mother was voted “best dressed” her senior year. He wasn’t impressed!
My boys definitely have their own flare when it comes to fashion. I usually am the type to go with the flow. I have lost count on how many times I have run errands with a super hero or two. Spiderman likes Heb. I have to admit his web slinging does come in handy in the produce department. Boba Fett? Target. The cloths racks make radical, camouflage bunkers as he battles the Jedi. Snake eyes, the black ninja, loves furniture stores. The comfy coaches transform into building rooftops, perfect for a skilled martial artist to hop on. Ghost Rider loves ribs, and Indiana Jones prefers the Chinese buffet. My personal favorite is Gadget belt guy. This one he created. This hero is a floss, tong, stick, marble, flashlight carrying evil genius.
The oldest is a bit lower key. Conservative. He likes to blend in. Not stick out like a bedazzled glow stick. “Easy up easy down” is his mantra. If it has elastic he is good to go! He doesn’t like his hair fussed with. He loathes hair products. “It feels like sticks!” Boxers are his BFFs or best friends forever. LOL! He doesn’t like to feel confined. He doesn’t “do” open toe shoes like sandals. Crocs will be forever attached to his feet. He loves t shirts with his favorite characters on them. Oh! And he has to have pockets. This is the absolute must. Why? For all the tiny trinkets he carries around in them. If he finds himself with out pockets he uses his backup, his murse…or man purse. This fabulous accessory is actually a small camera case. Kudos for him! I love the idea of him being in touch with his inner femme fatal.
I remember when I found out we were expecting. I wanted a little girl! I never saw myself raising two boys. Now I can’t imagine my life without them. They have introduced me to a world I never knew. Super heroes, Hot Wheels, Legos and Dirt! I have learned that most everything can be washed. If not just toss it.
I believe it is important not to hinder my children’s development. Yes, I do believe that what they wear is crucial. They need to discover who they are. They need to wear many hats. My oldest may change, especially when the right girl skips by. I may find him with a handful of hair gel. He may even start wearing deodorant! LOL! I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I just know that I don’t want to be a Mother who refuses to let her children experiment. I know this is going to be tough. Especially when my youngest comes home with a Mohawk and body piercings. I know its coming! I will just have to take a deep breath and repeat…this too shall pass!
kizzez, huggz n luvz
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