Full Disclosure

Which came first, the bad mommy or the whiney Parker?

I am NEVER moving again. I STILL do not have my credit card or debit card- thank you Bank of America. (I am in the process of switching banks.)

Verizon is being difficult about setting up a landline.

The Comcast guy who came to install our cable could not bury the line so our cable cord is running up the length of our driveway- ABOVE ground. He also told me he mounts flat screen TV's on the side (stop telling me about your personal life weirdo) and he would hang ours - 3 of them- for $250. INSANE.

I have been on the phone for the better part of each day since we moved into this new house.

NEVER moving again.

Between all the phone volley sessions, unpacking and laundry- yes I even have to do laundry in my new house- I have not been the happy go lucky mommy I usually am (read: not usually, but strive to be).

Left to his own devices, Parker has taken up a new hobby- whining. Among the words he knows and uses regularly is the word "this". It is usually mixed in with a little bit of "snack snack" followed a lot- a lot- of whining.

Learn to speak kid. I will give you whatever you want if it will make you stop THAT.

Yesterday, I hit an all time low. Since this blog is about confessions- here goes.

Pfunk knows the sign for all done. When he is eating and does this sign, I always make him take one more bite. I do this for a few reasons- 1. I want to establish and maintain my control. 2. I don't think he really knows when he is full and therefore done eating verse being bored and done eating. 3. It's usually not a big deal because I ALWAYS do it.

Flash to lunch time yesterday, one more bite was a major deal. He said, "no." I tried all my tricks.

Nothing.

I said, "Ok, I'm going to starting cleaning up. You can get up after you have one more bite."

He lost his shit. Crying. Screaming. That desperate hiccup-like breathing.

I stomp over- in my best (or worst) mommy is mad- fashion. I pull the tray off his chair and say, "Fine. But I need you to leave me alone for a little bit."

No need to call CPS- we were both in the kitchen and the new house is very open and empty rendering it mostly childproof.

As I stood at the sink doing dishes, I can hear his wailing and whining loud and clear, so I glance over. My sweetP is crouched down- still sobbing- peering at me from the space created between the chair and table. It sort of looked like a Normal Rockwell meets Mommy Dearest type of scene.

In what can only be described as mean, I said, "I can see you. Mommy needs a minute away from you and your whining."

I swear, P turned, walked down the hall and into a room that is occupied by a sole four and a half foot book shelf. On the top two shelves there are books, the bottom three shelves are either bare or have some of his toys on them.

I heard him pull out a toy and play with it for a few seconds. Then nothing.

Worried, I looked up. He was back in the kitchen. Not whining. Not crying. Just sweetly, silently watching me.

I picked him up and promised to stop yelling if he stopped whining. (what?) Parker looked at me and said, "yes."

He is a very sweet forgiving monkey. I am very lucky.

I Feel a Part II Coming On...

Discipling Parker.
Comforting Parker.
Locking myself out of the house.
Making dinner.
Grocery shopping.
Changing diapers.
Losing my wallet.

Common factor: The items on the above list cause a person (me) to feel as though they (again me) are stuck in their own personal version of Groundhog Day.

Most recently, the last item on the list is causing me a slight bit of repeat embarrassment.

I just posted this about losing my wallet.

I am a mother (a pretty darn good one if I do say so myself), a wife (mostly good most of the time) and a college trusts me to teach paying students how to be effective communicators and write standard early college level essays. However, I cannot seem to hold onto my wallet despite the fact that it even has a little strap that my wrist fits in perfectly. I cannot manage to go a month without misplacing it- severely.

It took me a full  6 hours to admit I lost it. I swore I would find it. I would not give in. I was on a quest.

Hours later, my determination dwindled and I conceded.

My first call was to cancel my credit card. As I the words were slowly dripping out of my mouth, “I need to report my card lo...lossssss...losT.” it hit me- if I cancelled my cards, I would be in the middle of moving without any connection to my money. If I cancelled mine then J’s would be shut down too.

I was near tears and my voice was beginning to shake. The nice man from my bank told me he would rush my new credit card and waive the “rush” fee.

One reason I love being a girl is the way men react when you get emotional- it’s like a damsel in distress/knight in shining armor thing and I’m 100% ok with it.

Once again, thank you kind stranger.

Then I realized I also have to get a new license, library card, Safeway Club Card, Giant Club Card, Banana Republic Credit Card, debit card and school faculty ID.

Not to mention hundreds of dollars in gift cards- mostly Home Depot earmarked for 3 ceiling fans with lights. When you come to the new house you need to come in the hours of daylight or see the house via candlelight.

I also lost P's orange ID card from Hopkins. This makes me teary for real- for real.

As if all of this is not a blow enough, now I have to relive my absentmindedness several times over to total strangers. A majority of these customer service representatives are nice, sympathetic and helpful, however not all fall into that category.

I suppose it is not all bad, I needed to change my address anyway with most of these places, but calling to say, "Hey! look at me in my new house, please send further correspondence to ____."

Is very different from saying, "I'm a sieve head and no longer have my wallet. Or possibly my son threw it away while I was not watching him- I think I saw him run by with scissors and my pink Vera Bradley wallet. I couldn't really see through my glass though- red wine is quite opaque."

As if all of this was not punishment enough- now I have to go to the MVA armed with my passport and settlement papers in an attempt to get a new license with my new address. I PRAY they make this easy. (har-har)

Also, Josh is a very smart man. He did not say word one about any of this. He just occupied Psizzle as I dug through the trash, tore apart my car, and unpacked a few recently packed boxes.

no luck- obviously.

Stay tuned- a trip to the MVA usually means a bonus blog entry.

Approval from the Source

A few years ago Josh was a staff writer for the Tester Newspaper- it's a military thing. Round about Valentine’s Day 2004, I wanted to repaint the living room in what is now our old house. I asked Josh to get me a gift card from Ace, so I could pick up some paint. He forgot and instead wrote the following piece. Posting is on my blog is not plagiarism; I'm close to the source and got permission. The article was published in that weeks' edition of the Tester.


This (aside from Parker and maybe my engagement ring) is my favorite gift from Josh.
___________________________________

Wednesday, February 18, 2004

I'm a Valentine's Schmuck
Josh Phillips

Valentines Day.

A day to show your undying love for that special soulmate and promise her your affections until the sands in the hour glass of time trickle to the bottom and fall still.

Or if you're one of the millions of Average Joe's such as myself, it's a date marked on the calendar with a giant black "X" as an impending natural disaster.

Why? Because I always, without exception, manage to botch this supposedly simple holiday every single year.

Yes, another one has come to pass, ladies and gentlemen, and once again I share a doghouse with many a fellow man around the globe.

I don't know why, but this stuff happens to me year after year. After all, my intentions are good. But like The Simpson's Ned Flanders once said, "I can't feed my family on good intentions, Marge."

Very true.

Last year, it was a tsunami of problems when I ventured forth into the kitchen in search of adventure, danger and dinner. Like Indiana Jones exploring the pre-Columbian ruins in the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I entered a place where only the bravest of men dare to venture and few ever return unscathed.

Cooking is obviously unfamiliar territory for me, but for my true love I'd climb the highest mountain, brave the deepest sea and ruin the simplest recipe.

I had found a meal on the Internet (honey-mustard salmon, if you're interested) that promised to be so simple, a small child was capable of preparing it. However, the supermarket was all sold out of "small child," so I was flying solo on this mission.

Remember that scene from the movie where Indiana was fleeing the cave as a giant boulder threatens to crush him underneath its massive weight? Well, substitute "boulder" with "stench of burnt mustard-coated fish" and the scenarios are practically interchangeable.

Even my dog wouldn't come out of hiding for three days and had to be fed by my old roommate. I can't say I blame him, though.

So, with the idea of cooking scratched forever more by my girlfriend and the good people of the Solomon's Volunteer Fire Department, I had to take a completely different approach to this year's Valentine's Day gift. This time, I thought the best approach would be to just simply ask her what she wanted and then deliver it to her that day.

Easy, right?

Can't miss plan, eh?

Well, for all practical purposes, it should have been. My girlfriend, the doll that she is, asked for two things and only two things: a CD of songs I would burn for her and a gift certificate to the hardware store so she could select paint for her kitchen redecoration project.

It was handed to me, fellas. This Valentine's Day is going to be a cinch! All I had to do was remember to do two little things. Couldn't be simpler!

I have a few theories on why men forget all the things that women tell us.

When early Neanderthal man was young and still hot-to-trot on the hunter/gatherer concept of society, the man and woman had two very different roles. Men went out and threw sharp sticks at the dinner, while women stayed home to care for the family.

Women listened to the needs and wants of the children and made mental notes on how to improve the family's way of life.

Men threw sharp sticks at things.

Women told the men how they felt life could be made easier if certain changes to their lives were made.

Men threw sharp sticks at things.

The role each sex played back then determined how many of us act today. Women communicate to us what they want, men throw the remote at the TV when the Dolphins turn the ball over. Times haven't changed all that much.

So this past V-Day, I showered, shaved, picked up the CD, bought a very sophisticated bottle of wine that happens to be one of her favorites and began to walk out the front door when I realized that something was missing. What was it? What did she tell me? Was it something important?

Oh, silly me, I know what I'm missing ... a Valentine's Day card, of course! So 10 minutes before my arrival at her home I was out at the supermarket, card-shopping for that special someone.

Why they don't overstock grocery stores with Valentine's Day cards is beyond me. How many do they actually order, anyway, 12 or 13? But being of quick mind and exquisite judgment, I made one of the most brilliant decisions in the history of Man, a move so legendary that it will be forever recorded in the annals of Man history.

I'll just spice up a non-Valentine's Day card!

Let's see what we got here: "Dear grandson ...." Nope, that one won't do. "With our deepest condolences ...." Nah, too heavy. "Happy Anniversary!" Yeah, close enough. What's the difference, right?

After crossing off a couple of the more trivial words such as "Happy 25th Anniversary" and "After 25 years of being married to you" I was in business! Just a few scribblings with my pen and it was an entirely new card!

Being the debonair kind of guy that I am, I presented Nikki with her gifts and asked her a romantic question: "What time do we eat?"

But of course, if you've been paying attention, you've probably already noticed that there was no mention of the hardware gift certificate or of any paint. That's because I forgot all about it and was subtly reminded the next day as we drove by the store on our way grocery-shopping.

My memory works fine on stuff like sports scores and statistics, but just seems to go to waste on stuff like that. I know I'm not the only one, but I'll be darned if I'm not going to do better next year. Because I'm going to remember what she wants. I'm going to get it done ahead of time to avoid all the embarrassment of looking like an insensitive Morlock.

Because when all is said and done, it really is all about your partner's ... WHAT?!?!?! The Yankees picked up A-Rod? Not the Yankees! Anyone but the Yankees!

Now where, was I? Oh yeah, throwin' sticks.

Suck It Up

Yesterday I deemed myself officially over the flu. I was still a bit nauseous and could only stomach half a bowl of chicken broth and a few small sips of ginger ale, but those were both major improvements.


Josh was attempting to sleep off the last of his bug as P and I played in the living room, when I had a thought. Could I get out of the house if I needed to?

I opened the heavy door and saw about 8 inches of snow piled up against the glass front door. We were literally snowed in. I tried opening it and closing it little by little there by pushing the snow ever so slowly out of my way so I could squeeze out and start properly digging with a shovel.

No such luck. The door was bowing. The glass bending.

After much thought I figured the only thing left to do was jump out the living room window. I have actually climbed in this very window many times as I went through a period where upon I forgot my key like it was my job.

Since the snow was very deep I did not have any leverage and like a reverse Winnie The Pooh in the honey tree, I was stuck in the window. Rather my right foot was stuck on the window frame. Josh had to push me out.

My neighbor, the one who left a Lazy Boy recliner outside for 3 weeks, witnessed the whole thing. Of course.

I trudged through the thigh-high snow and dug an exit path for my family. Sometimes, mommy just has to suck it up and dig her family out. It should be noted I did this on my own accord.  Josh thought I was nuts for jumping out the window to shovel at 5p.m. while it was still snowing.  He did laugh at me though.

Also, below is my favorite picture from this storm:

 

Puking (Squared)

I'm better. I think I can say with full confidence that I am on solid foods again.


On Wednesday afternoon as I was complicating whether or not to go to the gym, I decided no because I was feeling off. Instead of gyming it, I sat on the couch and watched Pfunk squeal as he ran circles around the room/house (really it is that small).

Then, I felt it.

The unmistakable- thick tongue, extra saliva, building pressure from the belly area- I was about to puke. I was holding Parker's sippy cup, so I threw it in his general direction and ran to the half bathroom. P followed me and at first heave he was terrified.

I was kneeling on the ground, face in toilet, retching and convulsing up my Bob Evans spinach salad (never again!) and trying to reassure SweetP that, "Mommy is ok. It's ok." Weak smile.

I was doing this so much that he started imitating me between hurls. He would stick his little face in the toilet and go, "BWWWAAAAAHHHH" and then laugh. Hysterically.

When I was able to actually pick my head up, I called Josh told him the events of the day. Like a wonderful husband he took my illness as an excuse to come home early and take off the next day. I say this in jest, but really he was so great about all of this.

From 4p.m. to 9:30p.m. I threw up 9 times. After about the second session, my belly really needed to send the message to my head that there was no need to continue with the vomiting portion of the flu as there was NOTHING IN MY STOMACH ANYMORE!

Four days before our wedding- almost 3 and a half years ago- I had food poisoning. I burst several blood vessels in my eyes expelling the bad salmon from my system. This flu was worse than that.

Around 11p.m. Parker started crying.

Uh-oh.

On the monitor it sounded like a cough and then a horrifying scream. Even in my weakened condition I knew what it was. I had my cell phone with me, so from my bedroom, I called Josh who was in the living room and told him to meet me in P's room.

I picked up P as Josh stripped the sheets. As Josh was trying to get everything cleaned up and reset, P and I sat down in the rocking chair- I pass out as in faint and Psizzle toss his cookies again.

We were a mess.

Alls well now. Josh eventually caught our bug, not surprisingly, but we are on the mend.

It was terrible, but we survived our first trip down the Family Flu Row- a milestone. A gross milestone, but a milestone nonetheless.

On the bright side, I am well within my target weight range! Josh assures me this is not something to be proud of since I achieved it by spewing everything I had eaten in the last week. Oh well. Too bad it's not bathing suit season.

Arch Nemesis

I apologize if the above images fill you with rage and fear as they do for Psizzle. To some these may seem like innocent images, however, in the eyes of my 19 month old son they invoke terror.


Pman does not seem to like anything that moves on its own- enter Tickle Me Elmo. Parker LOVES all things Sesame Street. His character of choice is Cookie Monster or CoooooKaaaa as P says. He even lights up when the Elmo’s World theme song is played.

For Christmas my parents...err I mean Santa got him a TME. When the doll's belly is pressed it laughs- loudly. If you press it several times in a row it laughs, says, "That tickles." and then shakes.

On. It's. Own.

The first few times we made the TME do its thing, Parker out and out cried. Actually, calling what he did sobbing would not be incorrect.

When we brought the vicious toy home, he avoided it at all costs. If IT was on the floor, he walked a semi-circle around it, staring intensely in case it starts shaking- on- it's- own.

Now, he is ok with it being around because he knows it only wiggles and shakes if you press its belly. In fact, Pman will point to Elmo's belly and shake his head. In the event another child comes over and likes the Psycho Elmo, Pman runs into the kitchen for cover.

The Fear of the Turtle is a new thing. This happy looking bright green turtle holds P's bath toys. The turtle is not new, in fact I got it as a baby shower gift. It has been suction-cupped to the bathroom tile ever since P started using the "big boy" tub.

Last night, I pulled out a few random toys for him to play with and plopped them in the tub. This is standard protocol. I guess Grand Master P did not like the toys I selected as he was reaching in the direction of the turtle and whining.

After pulling out a few more toys, the reaching and whining was not stopping.

My next thought was to lower the turtle, so he could easily grab what ever he was looking for that night. As I did this P looked at me- wide eyed- and slowly shook his head from side to side. Clearly, he did not want the toy turtle that close.

I put it a little higher on another wall. Still in his reach, but less in his tub space.

Eyes wider, head shaking slightly faster and lower lip pooched out.

Ok. Giving up my genius plan I placed it back in its original spot. However, since it had been stuck and re-stuck in several damp locations, the suction cups were not at their best.

The turtle plummeted into the tub with a lot of crashing and splashing. Immediately, P let out a petrified wail and headed for the safe side of the tub. As toys spread through the water I tried to calm my little Pman, but really the scene looked like Yo Gabba Gabba meets Titanic. I scooped the toys up as quickly as I could and pulled, a calmed down, but still skeptical, P out of the tub.

I hope I have not traumatized him too much. He pooped 3 times today and REALLY needs a bath.

It Matters To Me

A couple weeks ago SweetP had to go to the doctor to get some cream for a mysterious rash thing. While he was there the nurse gave him this horse sticker. When P moved it looked like the horse was running. It's about the size of a stamp.


We still have this sticker.

Calling it a sticker is a bit misleading, as it no longer sticks.

It lost it's stickiness about a day after he got it, so naturally I threw it away -in the trashcan in the bathroom.

P peered into the trash can, ignoring any and all sorts of feminine hygiene application materials (which I guess are only useful to him at Christmas time), to find this horse sticker.

I need to be clear, in no other way does he show an affinity for horses or stickers. He has also gotten very similar motion stickers from this nurse before. There was something about this particular sticker that pulled him in and he refused to let go.

When we clean up his toys at the end of the day this sticker gets put in his Miscellaneous Toy container along with Happy Meal Toys and his binoculars.

We now tape this sticker to his shirt so he can still glance down at it. I don't know why I have not just gone out and bought the boy new moving horse stickers. It's never on my list...?

This morning it struck me that he has managed to hold on to this tiny, seemingly meaningless, thing for quite some time. He also seems to remember it, seek it out even.

Later this afternoon we took a family trip to the grocery store. I left my wallet in the store.

After we were about 3 miles from the store my mom, who lives in a town about 3 hours from me, called and said, "Did you leave your wallet at Giant?"
...

Yes, I guess I did, how did you know?

A guy- who turned out to be about 21 at the most- found my wallet with a check from my parents in it. He called them, told them he had my wallet. They called me and Josh turned the car around so we could pick up my wallet.

They kid was very nice, obviously. As he handed me the wallet he said, "Here you go, everything is in there."

I thanked him over and over and we got in our respective cars and drove off.

I quickly thumbed through the wallet to make sure IT was still there.

Credit cards and checks can be cancelled. Driver's licenses can be replaced. Gift certificates from Christmas are nice and although they are irreplaceable, they are not important. I had no cash in the wallet.

The most important thing in my wallet is Parker's ID card from Hopkins. I've had it in my wallet since he was discharged. Maybe I feel like I don't want to forget, although how could I? Maybe I think one day he will want it, although why would he? Maybe I think if I throw it away I will be jinxing him somehow.

It's a small, orange, plastic card that is the first thing- before Birth Certificate, before Social Security card- I had to identify my son. Every time I open my wallet I see it and am thankful for a happy, healthy Pman.

It is small, but it matters to me.

Thank you Greg.