Tag Archives: mommy

“Mommy, run?”

Mommy, run?”

That’s what Buster, my son, said when I walked in the door Wednesday night.  He’s never said “run” before, I don’t think.  And he’s not even two yet, so you have to fill in the blanks with him.

I believe what he meant was, “Mommy, aren’t you glad I puked my tomato/strawberry/beets/pizza lunch all over Grandma’s new rug so you would have to leave work to come get me and take me home, realizing upon arrival that I seem fine and it was just a random puke session and it was okay if you just went for a run?”

Sure, it could have meant, “Mommy, how was your run?” or “Mommy, where have you been- can you take me out for a run?” or even just “Mommy, isn’t it cool that I learned that the word for when you come back all sweaty and smelly and can’t talk very well is run?

But I’m going to stick with the first one.  It makes the times he thinks it’s funny to play under my planks and lay on my crunches during my Jillian Michaels Shred workouts, and the times he escapes his car seat before I can buckle him in, and the times he finds any open door (at the library, a store, someone’s home) and dashes towards the most dangerous thing outside (the highway, a stray dog, a pricker bush), and the times he pulls my hair because he wants something I have, and all those other times he behaves like a terrible two-year-old that much more tolerable.

I so needed that run.  It was just three miles but it made me feel a little bit human again.  (The “just” is hilarious because of where I was even just six months ago, panting my way through one minute intervals.  I only use “just” this time because it’s a pretty short run compared to the 13.1 I have looming ahead on June 1st.)

Actually, I didn’t even want to run but didn’t give myself the chance to think about it.  Like always, I was glad I did.  Thanks, Buster!  You’re an exhausting little delight.

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Ain’t No Scratch in this Soup


Today, as I was preparing the children’s lunch, Princess brought me this bowl of soup.

Princess: “Soup mommy! Pretzel soup!”

Me (taking a pretend sip): “Delicious!!! I love it. Did you make it from scratch?”

Princess (with a combined smile/you-are-the-dumbest-thing-on-the-planet look on her face): “Thank you! Actually, I made it from pretzels.”

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Princessisms Part 1

Princess has always had an excellent vocabulary and impressive eloquence. As the first child and first grandchild, she was exposed mostly to adults and I think that’s why she picked up on speaking so quickly.

When she was two, she could tell you that photosynthesis was how plants made food from sunlight. I have to credit Chris Rowland’s (formerly Ray Cycle) music for that.

(Honest mommy side note: I’m being polite here. The kid’s obviously a genius and way smarter than everyone else’s kid. C’mon, you know the same is true about your kid.)

Still, there are moments I’m reminded that she is, indeed, new to this planet. Her understanding of certain concepts, while quite logical, lacks experience. It can be very funny. Here are some examples:

1. Ambiguous Pronouns and Deciduous Trees. I think this was even before Princess turned three. Driving on a somewhat rural road, I pointed out that the trees’ leaves were turning pretty colors and falling off. She asked me why the leaves would fall off. I said, “It will be cold soon, so the trees drop their leaves so they don’t freeze.” She thought that was silly, “because blankets keep you warm!”

2. Becoming Royalty. Princess is told many times a day that she is a princess. I like to give her a reality check once in a while by reminding her that she’s only a princess because I’m the queen. When my brother got married, Princess was honored to be their flower girl. She’d never been to a wedding so I was trying to explain the details to her. I showed her pictures of when I got married. She had a good question: “Is that the day daddy became a king?” Of course I didn’t blink or even pause. I just said yes.

3. Licensing and Certification. Shortly after our ski trip (referenced in “Whiskey’s in the Cabinet”) my parents took Princess to a camper show. They stopped to look at a beautiful, fully-loaded, celebrity-tourbus-type Class A. Unimpressed by the granite counters or fully functional fireplace, Princess wanted to sit in the driver’s seat and pretend to drive it. Unfortunately, it was occupied by a sales representative. She asked the salesperson if she could sit there. He laughed, told her no and asked if she had a driver’s license. “Well, no,” she answered, “But I did go to ski school,” she countered, and then sheepishly admitted, “but I’m not married yet.” I’m not quite sure what this says about my driving or what she believes the requirements to be.

4. Musical Composition. My husband has implied that I must have has an affair with a Von Trapp because living with Princess is like living in a musical. One day, she was singing along about “mommy and daddy take me to the playground…” Or something along those lines. I asked her if it was a song she’d written. She quickly said no. I prodded her about where she’d first heard the song if it wasn’t an original. She said, “I didn’t hear it anywhere.” I told her that means she wrote it. “No, I didn’t write it down Mommy, I don’t know how to write it. I just made it up in my head.”

5. Ikea as a Vacation Destination. March put Princess in her first semester of preschool. The routine of school delights kids this age. Weekends, snow days and national holidays are disappointing and hard to understand at that age. Then, April vacation rolled around and really messed with Princess’s head. The week before, she mentioned she wanted to go to Ikea (she loves that place.) I told her that was something we could do on her vacation. She got all excited, thinking about last summer’s vacation to Strawberry Park, I’m sure. “We’re going on vacation? Where are we going?” I told her we weren’t going anywhere, she was just getting a break from school. Of course this was awful, Princess didn’t want a break, she loved school. I told her even if she didn’t want one, Miss A, her preschool teacher, certainly deserved one. Again, she was totally stoked. “Wait? You mean I’m going on vacation with Miss A? Are my mom and dad gonna be there?” The conversation just got more confusing after that. I think by the time I changed the subject, she was convinced that she and Miss A would be spending the week alone, jumping on beds, sitting on tiny stools and eating Swedish meatballs to their hearts’ content.

Oh the things she will learn no thanks to me. Sigh. And there are more of these I will share soon.

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The writing is on the wall. I rock.

“You were great today mommy.  I know I acted up some, but you made me feel so loved and I know I will appreciate the boundaries you are teaching me someday.

“I think we really both enjoyed that project you found on Pinterest, which I not only enjoyed but managed to create perfectly with no mess. Then, you didn’t even lose your sh@# when, while you were handling the baby’s blown out diaper, I used the cheap, non-washable crayons to draw triangles around the project I’d glued to the wall.  The time-out followed by the talk at my level was executed flawlessly, and since you left emotion out of it, I didn’t take it personally and just learned not to do that again.  I think you learned that it’s important to put the glue away right after we’re done with the project, right?

“Plus, yummy!  The food you made me was great – that’s why I ate all of it even though it was super healthy.

“Also, I know you said you gave up your clothing and makeup budgets when you stopped going to work, and you’ve mentioned that was especially hard right after having your second baby.  But, I gotta tell you, you really looked fabulous today, especially in the third shirt you had on – you know – the one you grabbed from the laundry pile, sniffed quickly and threw on after Buster pooped on you.  It was even better than the second clean one you put on after  I had my little accident.

“Looks like Daddy just pulled up.  Since you did such a good job today, instead of running up and throwing my arms around him like he’s rescuing me from some horrible nightmare, I’m going to go torture him.  Maybe tell him HE looks scary this time and then throw a fit when he tries to watch something other than Backyardigans, won’t that be funny?  Since my baby brother’s asleep, I’ll do it quietly.  After I’m done, I’ll help Daddy get the awesome dinner you made out on the table.  You just go for a run and then take a hot bath.  You deserve it.

“After dinner, I think I’m going to turn in early. Just one story tonight and I’ll go right to sleep.”

Said no child, ever.  But if you’re a mom or dad out there, and you’ve had one of those days where everything went wrong or everything went right, or somehow both, just know that I think you’re awesome.  And you’re doing everything right.

An Attagirl for Mommy

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