No, really, I am afraid of baboons

I am afraid of balloons. Absolutely hate them. In my worst times of anxiety, I have actually lied to my kids about balloons.


"Oh, those balloons, they're for orphans... Sorry."
"We can only buy balloons on rainy days, Honey."
"No, I said not on rainy days, Honey."


My mother in law used to mail balloons to the girls, the kind you blow up at home. I used to throw them away before the kids saw them. (My God, what was she thinking? Doesn't she know what these things are capable of? They can take out an eye, choke a baby, pose a strangulation risk, and cause an audible popping sound!)


I know it was a crazy fear, but it was my crazy fear. My looney-momma-protect-the-children-even-if-it-means-saying-no-fear.


Admittedly, as the years have gone by, I have gotten better about balloons.  My kids have managed to beg, borrow, steal, or be-gifted enough balloons over time to inhibit my fears and guarantee that their childhood's have not been balloon-free. Plus, I have always allowed mylar balloons.  I mean, I wouldn't want to deny them, right?  And there was one year where I actually put tiny toys into balloons and had all the party-goers sit on them to POP'EM and retrieve their prize.  Wow, that was brave.


Tonight the girls brought home balloons from a birthday party. Nice, Safe, Mylar balloons, which lasted all of a half-hour before they decided to pop them, on purpose, then heal them with duct tape.  It was only an hour before they were in the trash and the little one was asking for more baboons. Because I am now so-grown up and fearless my kids have me trained so well-- I will probably be at the dollar store tomorrow trying to replace the broken baboons.  Do you think they'll laugh at me if I show up in safety goggles and ear plugs? 

Do you like Orange Juice? My son loves it. Click to read more.

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Hide & Seek, toddler rules

When Alex started wailing for his orange juice today, I didn't think much of it. After all, OJ is the only thing he drinks, so demanding I find it didn't seem like much of a problem. I figured he misplaced his sippy cup... not a big deal. Probably under a toy bear or something.           


I couldn't find it anywhere; so I did what any reasonable mom would do- I made a new one.

"No cup! NOOOOO CUUUUPP! JUICE. BOX." 

No. No. No. No. No and no. No type of cup, no color of cup, no cup was gonna placate him. "No Mommy, notta new juice. I need my orange juice. I need my juice BOOOX." Clearly "box" was the operative word, the one meant to clue me in... but I failed to get it.

This went on
and on
and 
on.

No juice box and Mom with No-Clue.

Why?

BECAUSE HE WAS LOOKING FOR THIS

OMG, look how tiny it is.

Techincally, it is "orange juice"; and technically, it is a "box"; and technically, I don't have a "huge" house; but 2200 square feet to play "Find-The-Juice-Box-When-You-Don't-Even-Know-WTH-You're-Looking-For" is not exactly my idea of a fun afternoon.                                                        
I found it.

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Embrace the spit bubble

My son has a cough. And by cough, I mean nasty, deep, retching, spit out of the lungs, hacking, open-mouthed, toddler cough.  He coughs at me, on me, and next to me. He wakes up in the night, climbs into my bed, and coughs in my hair. He wipes his nose- won't let me wipe his nose- and then hugs me. It's his cold, but he wants to share. What can I say? A toddler who shares, I must be doing something right. 


Tonight I gave him a hot bath to steam some of the congestion out. It's not a pretty picture, but I'll give you a peek:  Runny-nose-and-hacking cough-boy took one boat into the tub and enjoyed himself for a little while.  Then he coughed like crazy, produced a large spit bubble, and deposited said bubble into the bath.


Alex, don't do that.
I have a watey, mommy. It watey in my mouth. (water).
Ok, spit in in here (I hand him a cup).
No
Okay, spit it in here. (I hand him a tissue).
No! 
But, Alex, that's the bath. We don't spit in the bath.
It watey, Mommy. It deep, I needa put my watey inna tub. 


Some might say that's just plain gross; but raising kids isn't for the weak. It's not clean, not perfect, and definitely not sanitary.  It is funny, however, provided you have the right attitude. You have to embrace the grime... yes, actually embrace it.


My grandmother used to say, "Everyone eats a peck of dirt in their lifetime." That's because she had nine kids and didn't bat an eye if someone ate something dropped onto the floor/driveway/playground/litter box.  


When my first child was born, she dropped her sippy cup and I  gave her a fresh (if not hermetically sealed) one as a replacement until I could boil the germs away on the dropped one.  When the second was born, I picked up the dropped item, rinsed it in the sink, and handed it back.  By child number three, I looked down at the item, casually picked it up, blew on it, and handed it back.  "It's good for the immune system."  Now I am certainly not the first mom to relay that little quip about the cups and the reason is because it's true.  As the kids grow, and survive our mistakes, we realize that they are going to be okay... and sure, a little dirt never hurt anyone.  


But I do draw the line at germs.  Dirt is dirt, but germs are...  germy.  When my kids get a cold, I inquire everywhere... who had a cold.. who was sick at school...  Oh God! Did we go to Mcdonald's??  I will track that germ down and well... do nothing... but I like to track them down.  I like to know the origin of the germ so I can avoid it next time, or at least have a source of blame. 


So what's the line on Alex's spitting in the tub?  Gross, germy, or plain old-fashioned humorous kid-dirt?  How do you find the "right" mommy attitude? The attitude that isn't grossed out by kid's actions but also isn't completely immune to them either.  I guess, for me, it's a matter of weighing the harm.  Is spitting in the tub likely to be harmful, cause bodily injury, or spread infection? No. Okay, then, file it under "Funny".

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