luckypennymake

Grandpa Day

Last week I posted this on facebook: Love it when Grandpa calls up and asks if I want to drop Ezra off to play while Junah's at school. Thanks Dad!

But I think I kind of gave the wrong impression.  Because it wasn't a one off, out of the blue call.  It was that we hadn't planned for Ezra to go over, so having my dad call that morning and being able to run Ezra right over was a pleasant surprise.  

But my dad doesn't usually call in the morning to see if I want to bring one of the kids over because we've already worked out when the kids can come over.  Because he calls the night before, or a few days before.  He sets it up in advance, which is so incredibly nice for a planner like me.  

Grandpa day includes lots of outside time in the garden (for some reason I can't locate any of the pictures my dad has sent me of Junah playing around).

You see, he has each of my kids over for a "Grandpa Day" (as Junah dubbed it) every week (baring debilitating sickness, which we've seen a bit of this year).  Wednesday is usually Ezra's "Grandpa Day" while Junah has Friday.  It all started three years ago, when Junah was nearly two and I was newly pregnant with Ezra.  For a few months Junah was going over once a week, then that grew to twice a week and stayed that way until Ezra dropped his morning nap and was ready for his own Grandpa Day.

And you know, it is so wonderful for me.  I look forward to my breaks, my mornings alone if Junah is at school and Ezra is at my dad's.  I think of it as something my dad does for me.  But it is also something he does for them.  And, I think, for himself.  For love. 

Thank you, Dad.   Thank you, Grandpa.

Best & Worst Case Scenario Resolutions

So I have my failed resolutions.  But after failing the very first day of the New Year, I managed to post as resolved for a couple of weeks.  Until last week.  Wednesday morning we woke to the sound of a croupy cough.  This is the fourth time Junah has had croup (which for her means a croup cough followed a few days later by a terrible cold).  

She is still sick, my poor girlie, now with a painful cough and an earache.  And so, I've come up with a new plan for New Year's Resolutions, even though I don't really do resolutions (I'm just trying to keep myself to some sort of posting regimen).  My new idea is for best and worst case scenario resolutions.  You know, make your resolution and then give yourself an out.  A modified resolution, a worst case resolution.  Something that keeps you going rather than making you feel like you've failed completely so you might as well give up altogether.

My best-case scenario resolution is still the same: to post every weekday.  And my new, worst-case scenario resolution?  To post at least once a week.  So now when a kid gets really sick in the same week that we go out of town, I can give myself a blog breather without feeling like a total failure and throwing in the towel for a few months.  

my job

Sometimes I wish I had a job.  Somewhere to go four, six, eight hours out of my day, where everyone is roughly my height.  Where I don't have to say either, "Speak up; I can't hear you," or "Please don't yell at me!  Talk in your regular voice." Where I move about unencumbered by a hand gripping the back of my shirt, and where my hip isn't constantly occupied by a twenty-sevenish pound weight.  Where I can complete a sentence, or please, a thought of my own, without interruption.  Where the endless cycle of food preparation, dissemination, inhalation, excretion, doesn't mark each hour of the day.  Where my breasts stay inside my bra and the bathroom door stays closed when I'm using it.  Where I might be able to have a phone converstation without anyone deciding that is the moment they need, and NOW.  Where I can have lunch and eat it too.  All.  By myself.  

And then there are days like today.  When even the mundane can seem just right.  When I get into the groove of folding and putting away the four clean loads of laundry that have sat wrinkling in their baskets over the weekend.  When watching my boy play outside in his favorite pair of shoes is the best thing ever.  When I can wake up in the morning and really hear, really engage in, the constant chatter that seems to burst forth from my four-year old every morning at six-thirty.  When reading Katie Loves the Kittens five times in a row is thrilling because I get to hear Ezra say, "Arooooo, arooooo" everytime I turn the page.  When I'm totally okay with being interrupted while writing this post to read it yet again.  When I remember that each and everyday, even the long, teeth-gritting-just-to-get-through-it days are important and special.  When I remind myself to try to turn that kind of day into this kind of day.  And give myself a break if I can't always manage it.  

Because in the end, I'm doing this to raise strong, smart, healthy, happy kids.  And you can't do that with just sunshine and smiles.  Because there needs to be something else mixed in.  'Cause it builds character, just like doing the dishes, right Ma?

Uncle Bob Song

One of the reasons I was so excited for our trip to San Diego a few weeks ago was the present I had planned for my wonderful Uncle Bob.  I was born at home one week after my mom's sister, Barbara Gay, died.  Within hours of my birth, my dear, sweet Uncle Bob arrived at our home, guitar in hand, to play a song he had written for me and my family.  It has always felt so special, and is such a dear thing to me.  

Woke up this morning and I praised the day, 
We all have a brand new Barbara Gay
Thank the Lord for her mother Toni Rae, 
She gave us all a brand new Barbara Gay

Happy Father, happy relatives too
We're all glad to be a a part of you.
Waited so long but we couldn't ask for more
All the best things in life are worth waiting for.

Born in your own home, no doctor there.
You were determined, Dad a little scared.
You came to us in the wee hours of the night.
Mother and Debby knew everything would be alright

Barbara Gay--praise the day
Barbara Gay--say hi to Toni Rae
Happy father, happy relatives too,
We're all glad to be a part of you.

So as soon as I received the invitation to my Uncle Bob's 60th birthday party (a weekend long family reunion event) I knew I wanted to rewrite the song with words for him.  I don't sing, and I don't play guitar, but my mom does both, so I requested her help.  

I kept putting off the actual writing, worried that I wouldn't be able to do it.  Then one afternoon, just over a week before the party, I sat down with my baby book (with the words to my song) and some sheets of paper.  Literally, within forty-five minutes I had the song.

Woke up this morning and I praised the way
We gathered here for Uncle Bob's birthday
Thank the lord for his wife Paula Rae
She gave us all an Uncle Bobby Day.

Uncle Bob, Happy Birthday,
Uncle Bob, give a kiss to Paula Rae
Happy friends, happy relatives too, 
We're so glad to be here for you.

Drove so long but we didn't mind for sure,
Robert Henry Cyman, you're worth sufferin' for
Tucked up at the ranch with Paula and your mare,
You decided to let us all come if we dared.

Uncle Bob, Happy Birthday,
Uncle Bob, give a kiss to Paula Rae
Watch out cause the septic tank might go tonight,
I hope you don't regret this party outright.

Uncle Bob, Happy Birthday,
Uncle Bob, give a kiss to Paula Rae
Happy friends, happy relatives too, 
We're so glad to be here for you.

Fortunately, despite Junah being sick (and thanks to my sister Maddie's tender ministrations of her) I was able to be part of the party for the gift giving. I got a bit choked up as I briefly introduced my song and then my mom played it beautifully. It got a few laughs and a few tears, and I think Uncle Bob and Aunt Paula both loved it.  

Dream Vacation & The Flu

What is your fantasy vacation?  A tropical island with just your sweetie, sand and surf?  A trip to Paris to visit the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre?  A chance to climb a high mountain or dive to the bottom of the sea?  A ten hour car ride with two littles to the desert east of San Diego to stay in a trailer for a weekend family reunion?

Can you guess which is mine?  

That last one is how my fantasy vacation started out last Friday.  But I didn't dream of the girl getting the flu a few hours into our first full day.  I didn't dream about trying to sleep between a nursing twenty-month old and a feverish four-year old, only to woken before five-thirty each morning (after many night wakings) by the same.  

 Junah all ready for some fun, just a few hours before her fever hit.

My Uncle Bob's and Aunt Paula's ranch is my dream vacation spot.  And it is made more so by each family member there, the more the better.  I come from a big family and love, love family reunions.  I was so looking forward to this past weekend (despite my worries about keeping Ezra from diving head first into the pool or charging down the dirt driveway) because for me connecting to my big, loud, funny family is such a rejuvinating, soul-feeding experience.  And I was especially looking forward to spending time with my brother, whom we have only seen once in the two years since he moved to Texas.   

 My wonderful cousin Zachary with my much missed brother, Austin.

I got a bit of everything I wanted, to be sure.  And, terrible though it may sound, I'm glad Junah got sick once we were there, rather than before we left.  There were so many special moments, moments made brighter because of the contrast with tending to my poor, sick girl, that I am so glad I didn't miss.

But through it all, especially Sunday, when Junah wanted no one but me and slept fitfully in ten to twenty minute bursts, there wasn't a time when I didn't want to tend to her.  And there was something lovely about really being with this sweet girl through it.

 

And I couldn't be more grateful to all of my family for their love and help.  Aunt Maddie especially for being a totally amazing copilot for the eighteen plus hours of travel time and for giving me a a few breathers Saturday when Junah declared, "Maddie is the only person I like, she is the only one I want!"

Post #185: In Which I Remember to Listen, and Say No to the Zoozeum

A few months ago I got a copy of How to Talk So Kids Can Learn (by the same people who wrote How to Talk So Kids Can Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk) and read only a bit of it.  Maybe the first two chapters?  If that.  But just that much was so much.  You can read a bit of it through the amazon link above; but the jist is to listen and validate.  Listen to your child's dreams and fantasies, even when all she wants is a cracker at eleven PM (when you're not going to get her a cracker)  acknowledge her desire for a cracker.

I have a four year old.  Probably a pretty typical four year old (even if I consider her the most amazing and special four year old on the planet).  She is independent and has her own ideas.  Ideas about what to wear; what to eat; when, where and with whom to play.  She'll often tip her head to the side, touch a fingertip to her chin, and say, "Mom, I have a great idea..."  

But.  But she is a four year old in a house with three other people.  A four year old who has to eat at certain times, has to sleep at certain times, shouldn't practice somersaulting off the back of the couch and most definitely shouldn't climb over the front fence to get something on the other side.  In short, she has grand ideas, and imposed limitations.

"Mom, I have a great idea.  My great idea says we should have pancakes for lunch then go to the childrens' zoo-zeum!"

"Nope.  You already had pancakes for breakfast, I'm not making them for lunch too.  And we can't go the childrens' zoozeum (yes, I repeat her little junahisms right back) because Ezra's gotta have a nap."

"But, Mom!  I really want pancakes and I really want to go to the zoozeum because I haven't been there for fourteen-twenty-six minutes and I have to play with the chicks in the eggs!"  

And she suddenly goes from cute-head-tip-great-idea-girl to monster-snarl-horror-movie-howl-girl.  

And what do I do?  Well, to be honest, I sometimes turn into my alter-ego, mean-potty-mouth-mom (with a suddenly and strangely deep voice?!).  Yes, sometimes I cuss at (ooh, I hate to say at, near?) my children.  

But.  Sometimes I don't.  Sometimes I can take the proverbial deep breath, remember the golden pages of the aforementioned book, and say, "Oh, honey, you would really like to have pancakes for lunch and go the childrens' zoozeum, wouldn't you?"  And I'll hear a sniffle, and a grunt of assent. 

Then, if I really have the good mojo going, I'll say, "If you have as many pancakes as you wanted, how many would you want?"  or, "If we could go to the zoozeum, tell me all the things you would want to play with."

And she'll usually answer.  With a smile.  And she'll tell me she wants "these five pancakes" (holding up five fingers) or she'll rattle off a list of all the things she likes to do at the childrens' museum (dressup and playing with the shopping cart usually topping the list).  

And I'll listen.  And I'll say, "Wow, that would be great," or "Oh my goodness (because yes sometimes, I sound just like a cable-tv grandmother) wouldn't you just love that."  And eventually I'll say, "That sounds like a lot of fun, but today we are going to fold laundry instead!"  

And because I've listened, because I've allowed her to verbalize her fantasies and ideas, she'll usually be okay with it.  Even happy.  We'll go on with our day, she'll help me make something else for lunch, and she'll tell me other things she wants to do "another day after this day" when we go to the museum.

Because when it comes down to it, she's not just a typical four year old.  She's a typical person.  She wants to be heard.  And she wants her feelings to matter.  And sometimes I remember that is the important part.

~*~

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Mud Puddle Stomp

We've been experiencing a few rare days of spring rain this week, and I took the opportunity to do something with the kids that I haven't done for too long.

I used to do this kind of thing with Junah all the time, but since Ezra has been added into the mix, these spontaneous tromps down around the neighborhood have ceased.

Junah in 2009 during a very rare snowfall.

Now that Junah knows to stay to the side of the road and Ezra can be coaxed to "follow Do-Da," these little forays are once again possible.

I don't know that Ezra has ever stomped in mud puddles before, but he wasn't at all hesitant.  He followed Junah right in and had a great time.

And, fortunately for this cold momma, he willing followed her right home for a warm bath when the time came.

Family of Mouses

Families are very important to the girl.  Whenever she plays with something that there are more than two of (dolls, cars, bugs, sticks, dinosaurs, etc.) each thing has a familial role.  Momma, papa, sister, brother.  She also loves to play with little things like her dollhouse people or those darned polly pockets with their impossible clothes.  So when I found this pattern, I knew she would love a little family of mice (or mouses, as she calls them).  

From left to right: Papa, Baby and Momma mouse (yes, I would have thought the pink mouse was the momma too, but sweet Junah doesn't have such preconceived notions about colors yet, thankfully).

The pattern is by the amazing Barbara Prime of Fuzzy Mitten.  She has so many cute patterns, mostly of animals and the shaping is amazing.  And her Holiday Mice are not only quick to knit, but the pattern is free.  

Junah received this family in her Easter basket along with some stamps and glitter glue.  By Easter afternoon the  mice were decorated, and after some scrubbing, looked like this.

After about a week this family of mouses became the toy.  She slept with them, woke and played with them, carted them everywhere.  So what was a momma to do, but add to the family?  I stayed up late one night making a littler baby mouse and snuck it into bed with her.  In the morning, magic! a new baby mouse.

But, like all families, this family has seen some changes.  An adopted big sister, not quite a mouse (a finger puppet I bought while I was pregnant with Junah, a squirrel maybe?) joined the ranks.  Then Momma mouse got lost at the hardware store, and big sister became "Big Sister Momma Mouse" in short order.

The newest baby mouse went through the washer and dryer, which is why his poor ears are mangled.

And you know, for my baby-and-birth-loving, born at home girl, the fact that the puppet can have a baby is a thrill.  This young mother spends most of her days giving birth to one baby mouse or the other.  

As the daughter of a midwife (turned OB nurse turned Dr. of Nursing Education!) I'm not the least bit surprised.  And I'm kind of proud.

 

Just Deserts for Picky Kids

Feeding a picky kid is a pain.  And I don't know that for a four year old my daughter is all that picky, but she's heading there.  She keeps dropping things from the "likes" list and adding them to the "aggh, i hate that" list.  Peanut butter has moved, as has chicken.  Milk seems to be migrating as she recently has been spitting it back in the glass in disgust.  

New foods (and some that aren't) are inspected, sniffed, and dissected before one teensy bite crosses her lips.  She wants particular foods at particular times (like toast after I've made the oatmeal!) and throws fits (fits are tantrums that involve lying on or hitting the floor) when I gently remind her (or growl and stomp my foot if I've not had my coffee) that she requested the oatmeal not ten minutes before and can have toast tomorrow instead.

And if this girl doesn't eat, or doesn't eat enough of the right stuff, misery.  Crying, weeping, scratching, biting, yelling; we get it all in great quantities her eating is off.  So I get a little fixated on the whole eating issue.  Is she getting enough vegetables? protein? fats?  Is she getting too much sugar? Red #40? wheat?  Can she survive on rice and beans alone?  What if this is all my fault?

Because, yes, I too was a picky kid.  And a picky teenager.  And a picky adult.  And now I'm a still picky-but-much-less-so-than-before mother.  My motto used to be  "I don't eat mixy foods" and now, while I do eat some mixy foods I won't let anything that can be termed casserole* pass through my lips.  And I vividly remember the feeling of trying to eat keish when my throat just would not let broccoli-flavored custard pass.  So our usual family fair is pretty basic, somewhat limited, perhaps?  Which makes having a picky eater edit out some of the relatively few foods we eat that much more challenging.

I don't want to demand that Junah eat things she doesn't like.  But I do want her to eat the things she's been eating for years, and maybe, occasionally, try something new.  I've never been fond of the "eat two (or three, etc.) bites of everything" rule, due mostly to my memories of the aforementioned keish, I'm sure.  But.

But, this girl has to eat.  And I think sometimes it is only excitement getting in her way.  She'll push away her breakfast after a bite or two, declare she's done and want to get ready for Grandpa Day or School Day.  And she just shouldn't leave the house like that.

So.  So, Jason and I talked to her one night at dinner about healthy eating and that we want to make sure she's eating all the different things her body needs and how she needs to eat enough of those things that she can have a lot of energy and grow big and strong.  We told her that she has to eat her breakfast or she won't go to school or Grandpa's that day.  

It's early days yet.  She's eaten all of her breakfast for the past two mornings since our talk.  This morning she finished her milk while telling me that she thinks the cow ate garlic grass because the milk tasted awful (smarty!).  And yesterday I made her lunch, four different items that she always eats, and she protested each and every one.  So I did pull out the "two bites" rule and she willing ate her two bites of everything.  At dinner we talked about food again and after I reminded her about the two bites thing she ended up eating all of her food and asking for more.  It's a start.

So, am I just getting my just deserts here?  Payback for all I inflicted on my mother when I gagged at this meal or that?  Or does every mother experience some amount of this with every child?  How do you deal with the picky kid in your life?  And, Ma, any words of wisdom from someone who's been there?

 

 * Casseroles are the height of mixy in my opinion.  The whole point is mix it all together into a goobery mass, cook it and eat it.  My dear husband loves casseroles which is why I've been trying to make them regularly.  And he alone eats them.

Easter Outfits, Part 3: The Part That Didn't Make It

Since Junah's been wearing headbands a lot lately, I decided to make her a kerchief style one to go with her Easter outfit.

It was so quick and easy to make that I had time to make Ezra some Easter headgear too.  For his I pulled out an actual purchased pattern (McCall's M4478) and, with some alterations, made him a sunhat.  I was hoping for a big, floppy sunhat.  I got big, but as I was working fast I didn't really consider how I would need to alter it for the floppy part.

I made the brim deeper, but didn't make it longer, so it angles pretty sharply toward his face.

In order to wear it and see at the same time (kind of important, I think) he has to go the fisherman route.

His hat made it to the Easter party at my parents' but I stuck it in the fruit bowl and forgot about it when it came time for the Easter egg hunt.  Which is fine, as combining Scottish chic with Fisherman fashion might have been a bit much.

I'm sure with summer fast approching he'll get a lot of use out of it anyhow.