Wash and run

Want to know how to get Mom to take a really fast shower? Just start yelling, "K doesn't have a diaper on." This is especially useful when K, spotted with said diaper upon a quick glance from the shower, laughs mischievously and runs in the opposite direction.

On the plus side, I believe carpet pee I can neither see nor smell must not exist.

President Pirate

(Singing Hullabaloo to the kids, post-nap)

Me: Oh, they call me Polite Pete the Pirate. I sail the seven salty seas. I rob and I loot, I pillage and I plunder, but I always say...
M: Obama.

Apparently they're learning about presidents this week in preschool. The correct answer, of course, is "Thank you and Please." Not nearly as gut-bustingly funny.

Crumb-diddly-icious

I have a love-hate relationship with running. I've always admired runners and their determination (not to mention their physiques), but I just can't seem to become a runner myself. I'll try it, fleetingly, for a day or day, then give up for more enjoyable exercise (or, honestly, the Wii). The precise reason eludes me, although I've been given to blame flat feet, achy knees, big boobs, asthma, and time-constraints.

But I signed up for a 5K run with some of my mom friends at the beginning of the year. The run takes place next Sunday. I thought I would have plenty of time to train for the run, by which time I would realize that I really do enjoy running and therefore keep it up indefinitely. Only I still don't enjoy it. I trained diligently for about a month, increasing in both time and distance on track with that 5K. Then I took a two week break due to colds and weather. When both cleared up this morning, I found myself dreading the restart.

Hey, I told myself. I could try a new training philosophy, being "Let's not train at all and see how far I can run without any prep!"

Which was tempting. But a cop out. So I strapped on my shoes and went for that run. All the way to the donut store and back. Because nothing celebrates dedication and 2.5 miles like trans fat.

Blue Plate Specials

Granola
We're on a granola kick around here. A friend of mine picked up a box of Trader Joe's maple pecan clusters, which was thereby rapidly consumed. We now have a second box, and a lot of granola bits scattered all around the house. Because nothing gets spilled faster than tiny bits of oat. Well, except...

Nonpareils
Those tiny little balls made for marvelous Valentine cookie rolling. But when you spill those little buggers, you will be finding tiny little balls in every nook and cranny of your kitchen for the next ten years, because those things are repelled by all manner of broom.

Korma Curry Simmer Sauce
Also Trader Joe's. Also yummy. Especially with some potato and carrot chopped up in it, and a little cornstarch to pull it all together. The best part is that both kids actually ate curry, really truly loved it. Of course, it helped that I put on a strong front of believing this was a dinner fit for everyone. They're like dogs and can smell fear, you know.

Bran Flakes
Still. Don't get me started.

Banana Peanut Butter Sammies
Concocted this out of my desperation to meet the something-very-special request while also using up my banana without using any cooking utensil not already dirty. Take little slices of banana, smear 'em with PB, add a tiny drop of chocolate syrup, and top with another banana. Voila--instant happiness. And messy finger too. But happy messy fingers. Please note that trying to translate this into actual PB Banana sandwiches (as opposed to PB&J) resulted in both kids pulling off the bananas and asking for jam. Hey, they can't all be winners.

What are you eating? Because we're still hungry over here...

Bran or Bust

Can anyone explain why every cereal has to have sugar? I understand why some cereals have sugar. I understand why most cereals have sugar. I LOVE sugar. Sometimes. But not on my bran flakes. I just want plain bran flakes. I want to be able to adjust them just to my taste with raisins or bananas or honey or a combination of all three. I don't want sugar, corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, malt sugar, cane syrup, etc. Let's face it: anyone buying bran flakes is into healthy. So leave the sugar on the Froot Loops, people, and leave my bran flakes alone.

Growing economy

M's consumption, morning to nap:

• 4 mini muffins
• 3 strawberries
• 3/4 cup coffee milk
• Handful raisins
• Handful soy nuts
• 1 bag freeze-dried fruit
• Handful chips with salsa
• Handful granola
• Large serving macaroni and cheese
• Small serving rice
• Small serving watermelon
• 1 scoop ice cream
• 2 more handfuls granola

And yes, those were Mama handfuls, not boy. I suppose, since the thought of adolescence makes my stomach turn, I can take comfort in saving on my plate. But seriously, my kid is not that big. Where does he put all that food?

Mamaphon-tastic

If you have a moment to spare, please check out Mamaphonic. Or, if you're really in a hurry, try here. Mamaphonic is a fabulous zine all on its own right, but I'm a tad more blushingly fond of it right now. And fond too my faithful writing mamas who gave me the little boosts I needed to get there and never took "I don't know" for the answer.

No Know

My current parenting dilemma is a big I don't know. Not that I don't know things, which I don't, but I don't know, which is M's most overused refrain. He uses it and misuses it often during the day. For example, he may legitimately not know where his Duck is, or where he left his cup. But more often, I don't know is an easy translation for It will take too much work for me to figure this out, so I'm not going to deal with it.

Whether it's the response to "What did you have for snack today?" or "Why are you laying on the floor screaming?" I'm at a loss for how to cope. Because the simple solution is for me to fill in the blanks by offering likely responses, such as, "Crackers? Cereal? You wanted to eat lunch in the living room?" And when I do this, I fall upon an affirmative sooner or later.

But while the problem is known, then, I wind up feeling ever so manipulated. He knows what's going on. I know he knows. And he's rigged up this system where he can get me to do all the thinking for him. Which is not only lazy on his part, but ends up making me his voice.

I want my kid to have his own voice.

So then I stick to my less helpful responses: "If you don't know what you're screaming about, it must not be a big deal" or "Try thinking about it very carefully for a few minutes and then we'll talk about it." Which leave me feeling less manipulated. But they can also leave us in stasis for an hour or more while M, stubborn as all get out, waits for me to break.

It's a rock/rock place that shows up in many forms: do you take the route that leads to short-term communication and problem solving, or do you insist on breaking a pattern even if it means hours, days, or weeks of frustration?

I DO know the answer, of course, which is long-sighted (and long-suffering). I've been here before with M's speech delay, where I was filling in for his language in an attempt to make him feel heard. In the end, he was content just hearing me. And we worked through it then, as I'm sure we'll work through it now. But I can't help heaving a sigh, facing again a battle I've seen before and will likely face in the future. Parenting seems so circular, sometimes, that I wonder if I'm the one taking the wrong road.

Now you'll have to excuse me, as K has occupied herself by climbing up to the island and eating strawberry jam from the near-empty jar. Why did I let a twenty-month-old go to town on jam? Well, I just don't know.

Raining acceptance

Really fantastic to get an essay picked up by an online zine. Not really fantastic to get the same essay picked up by two online zines. But I got to write my first retraction email. Twice.