mother of the year

Ok, so every once in awhile someone claims to win the mother of the year award, then as proof they cite some incident, some faux-pas, some event that may or may not land their kid in therapy in later life. 

Let me just say this- you aren't even in the contest until someone calls the cops on you.

Obviously, I have a story....

Christopher and Zach have swimming lessons.  I take them twice a week.  Twice because Zach needs some activity in his week, and because it's about time Christopher learn to swim.  Or at least not drown, and I don't think 30 minutes a week is enough for either of them to progress much. And they were having a special- buy one session, get the second half off.

I've made it no secret that my almost 5 1/2 year old is still not potty trained.  We've (finally!) seen some progress these past few months, but we still have issues.  Like, he will pee in the potty if he is wearing underwear, because he doesn't like pee running down his leg, ( who would? ) but is pull-ups rarely stay dry.   "So throw out the pull-ups!" you say.  But the problem is, he doesn't much care what he's wearing when he decides to poop.  We had a little bit of success with a treasure box, but once the novelty wore off (and the prizes got lamer- matchbox cars and candy) he quit trying.  Poop in a pull-up or underwear feels the same to him. It's been a normal sensation for his whole life.  I haven't figured out how to make him see that flushing it down the toilet is better than walking around with a load in your shorts.

I KNOW that at this point it's a matter of him choosing to.  For instance, just yesterday, he got bored in church, so announced to me (and everyone else in ear shot) that he needed to "go poop in the potty" and "make the water yellow".   Which he did.  It took some effort on his part, but he did. (since he said he needed to go, I wasn't gonna let him off the hook until he did.  If he's gonna pull that card, he better be able to back it up.)

So, back to swimming lessons.  Since he's not potty trained, I take appropriate measures every time.  I sit him on the potty for ten minutes before hand.  We discuss pooping in the potty, not in the pool. I put a swim diaper on him.  I put a plastic cover over that, then I put his regular swimsuit on. 

Most of the time it's not an issue.  Most of the time he stays clean.

But once or twice we've had a problem.  It's usually not apparent until we get to the car, and I usually have them sit on folded up towels anyway.  (And call me crazy, but I am uncomfortable looking down my kid's pants to check for issues in front of all the other mothers.  If he were two, I'd be fine, but he's five, and I just don't feel like dealing with their judgments -real or imagined. "Shouldn't your kid be potty trained by now? What's wrong with you?  What's wrong with him?" )

So where do the cops come in you are wondering?  I'm still getting there.

When we get home, those ever so permeable swim diapers are still leaking, only the water isn't so clear anymore.  It's taken on a brownish tint.

Anyway, so what would you do?  Have you kid walk through the house to get to a shower dripping brownish poop-water all over your carpet?

Not me.

I strip him naked and hose him off right there in the front yard.  (that's where the hose is, and the back yard doesn't have more privacy with the view fence back there and in the front yard he can stand on cement, in the back we have to choose between rocks and grass- rocks are uncomfortable, grass is another mess to clean up. )

No, it's not pleasant for him.  Yes, he cries.  Loudly.  Yes, it might be November, but No, we don't live in Minnesota, Maine, Canada, or even Utah.  It was between 60 and 65 degrees outside.  No, that's not running through the sprinkler weather, but in the three minutes it took me to clean him off, he wasn't going to get hypothermia.  (Besides in my irritation, I have been known to hose him off in the shower without waiting for the water to warm up.  Just sayin'.)

Before I could leave to take Maddie to her ballet class, there was a knock at our door. 

One of our neighbors had tattled on me to the police.

I don't know who.

He came, asked questions, talked to us, met Christopher -who was fully dressed, running around, perfectly happy, and completely untraumatized by the incident.

Nick elected to share this incident in class at church yesterday.  His teacher just happens to be a DPS officer, who stopped me in the hallway afterwards to talk about it.   He thought it was ridiculous, and he said that for $5 I can call a number and get a report from the city and figure out exactly who it was.  He said that they were probably some person who was traumatized as a kid because they had parents who did that to them.  In Minnesota.  In January.  For hours at a time.  As punishment for something like forgetting to put their dishes in the sink or leaving their bedroom light on.

I haven't decided yet if I want to know. 

I was really, really mad on Saturday.  Which one of my anti-social neighbors stabbed me in the back?  We only know one other family on our whole street. (I don't think it was them)  Every time I get to know somebody, they move.  And then if I should (heaven forbid) wave to a neighbor as I drive by, I usually get a look that says, "Do I know you? Why are you waving to me?".

After a day or so, I came to peace with the fact that instead of someone doing this TO ME, I could be okay with someone doing this FOR MY CHILD.  Someone was looking out for Christopher.  Someone felt protective of him, and despite the fact they wanted to protect him from me, and didn't have all the facts, I can live with that. I want what's best for him too.

So get the report or not?  It would probably be easier to emotionally let it go if I didn't.  Then I wouldn't know who to give dirty looks to. 

On the other hand, should we have another accident at the pool, I could pull up to their house, knock on their door, and ask to use their shower and drip poopy water through their house, since they are uncomfortable with me hosing him off in my front yard.  

That and the wife of the DPS Officer offered to help me toilet paper them. 

favorite soda pop

This morning Madison says to me (in front of Zach)

"Guess what my favorite kind of soda is?"

"I don't know."

"The really small kind. The teeny-tiny kind. Soda that is mini. You know. Mini-soda."

And then she starts giggling and gives me a "knowing" look.

She thinks she knows where we are going.

Minnesota. (mini-soda)

Yesterday she threw out a wild guess just to be silly, and apparently my face told her quite the story. One that said "I can't believe you guessed it!" Of course I would neither confirm nor deny what she knows to be true, but that doesn't matter to her, because my children think they can can read my every emotion on my face. (and therefore know when I'm lying or not)

I'm sure in many cases that's true, and I don't usually lie to my children, however, I'm certainly not above teasing them, and because of that they think they can spot a lie a mile away. (Which is usually true- but that's because I'm usually not trying to deceive them.)

However, surprises, GOOD SURPRISES are a different story.

So now Madison is bouncing around the house, positively giddy with the information that she figured it out. She alone knows the secret. Totally smug about it. Dropping those little hints in front of her brothers, and saying things to me like "I feel so sorry for you mom, to work so hard to keep it a secret for so long only to have me figure it out at the last minute..." To which I'd show mild irritation and tell her to stop being such a brat.

And then I have to turn away because I am sure my face will betray me at any second.

secrets, lies, and half-truths

We're going on a family vacation soon.

We've cashed in all our frequent flier miles, hotel rewards points, and our car rental rewards points. (the one big benefit to having your husband travel all the time is every once in awhile we can take a reduced-price family vacation.)

My glorious plan was to not tell the kids at all.

Nada.

Zero.

Zip.

Zilch.

Just wake them up one day and say "get dressed! We're going on vacation!"

Or better yet, send them off to school like it's just a normal day, and then pull them out halfway through the day.

That plan failed because a) they overheard "when", and b) at least one of my kids needed to talk to teachers and arrange to take tests, turn in homework in advance.

Plus, I've been bouncing off the walls for days. (weeks)

But, we've managed to keep the location a secret.

Despite their multiple and furious attempts at questioning. "Are we going by plane or car? Is it in the United States? Is it near a beach? Do we pack coats or swimsuits? Have we ever been there? Has dad ever been there? Do they have roller coasters?"

Some of the questions I answered honestly. And some not so much.

Even this morning Zach whined "Why won't you tell us? Other parents tell their kids where they are going on vacation."

We finally broke down and told them North Dakota. We're gonna go work on a dude ranch. Muck out stalls... Harvest corn... Feed pigs... Maybe if they're lucky ride a horse.

For some reason they don't believe us. I wonder why?