idontbelieveingrammar

Santa brought Owen a go-kart. Santa was reluctant, despite Mrs. Claus’s pleadings that it is what he asked for and that this might be the last year he believes in him. And doesn't he have any Christmas spirit. Even a little bit. Santa was caught up in details, like who was going to put it together, how safe it was, how were we going to get it under the tree and the hefty pricetag. Mrs. Claus only thought of her son excited on Christmas morning or driving little circles around our cul-de-sac and sent him text after text that they were on sale. And to hurry up before they were all gone. We did Christmas morning a day early at our house. Due to Santa’s demaning travel schedule and things like how impossible it would be a to sneak an entire person sized gokart into my car before heading over the river and through the woods. He was not as excited as Mrs. Claus had hoped. His sleepy eyes took it for a few spins around the living room and then we all piled into our real car ...

I’ve learned, the hard way that when I take my kids in for well child check ups that there will be questions. I like to call it the whatever-age-they-are-test. Mostly for the moms. First come the questions about my kids that I should know, but might not. Like do they alternate their feet when climbing upstairs? I don’t know. She gets up the stairs. Is that all that matters. And I don’t exactly have stairs in my house. So this whole stair observation thing is pretty limited. Besides, she’d much rather take the alligator anyways. Which I clearly know means elevator, but took my husband a while to catch on. Next are the questions that I know I should lie when asked, but unfortunately sometimes accidentally answer with the truth. Like when she asks if she eats a balanced diet I respond with do chicken nuggets, fruit snacks, yogurt and cookies count as balanced? Does she do chores? Uhm. She is 3. Is that too early to use the vacuum and iron. Because if not I am about to be one hap...

A few things I am good at: math, making mix cds, cooking, napping and losing my keys. A few things I am not good at: dancing, french braiding, matching outfits (heck, I don’t even match my socks) and applying makeup. And yes. I subscribed to YM, Seventeen and Teen Magazine growing up. And I read them cover to cover. But I still couldn’t tell you how to apply eyeliner. My husband will tell you that I’m all girl. Meaning I cry at cheesy movies, occasionally stress over what to wear, take things he says the wrong way, can quote Top Gun and Dirty Dancing (and owned the soundtracks), and most days I’d much rather get a pedicure than watch ESPN. But I don’t like frilly dresses or big hair or lots of makeup. Growing up, I played outside way more than I played with barbies. And I own nothing that has been bedazzled. My daughter on the other hand came out twirling. She sometimes sleeps with shoes instead of stuffed animals. She has dolls for her dolls. Is in love with anything princ...

I am beat. Exhausted. Worn out. Only like the last week of school and throwing my kid a birthday party could do. And want nothing more than a nap. My son is playing with his new legos quietly in his room. But no way would I dare nap with my 2 year old on the rampage. Because even when I’m awake she has managed to color all over herself, the furniture and the floor with sharpies. Lock herself in her room. Swallow unidentified pills. And flood the bathroom. And destroy a room in 3 seconds flat. No telling what this girl could do if I closed my eyes for a half hour. And so I can’t wait, until she can play quietly in her room while I get some much needed shut eye. Or so I think. There are all kinds of milestones I think I can’t wait for. Like I couldn’t wait to be done buying diapers. I couldn’t wait for a full nights sleep (and most nights I still feel that way). I can’t wait to stop writing huge checks for childcare. Til my kids can work the DVD by themselves (ok, the...

I was showing my kids a video from the high school I teach at and my son kept asking who people were. I knew most of them and would tell him their name and if I taught them and maybe something I knew about them. A little bit after the video ended, he asked which one was the littlest. Ugh. I thought. He knows. I pointed out a really great kid who happens to be not very big but very talented, well liked, smart and athletic and told him all the great things I could about this kid. He nodded and went back to reading Green Eggs and Ham. Crisis averted. I thought. Then the next day from the back seat he was talking about kids in his class. Justin is taller than Samuel. But CJ is even taller. He only comes up to his hair. And so on. Are you taller than anyone in your class Owen? No. Not even the girls. I’m the littlest. Crap. He totally knows. My son is tiny. My dad may be over 6 feet, but I don’t think my son got any of those genes. All the asthma steroids he has taken h...

 Tess 4 months  When I had kids my world changed. Everything changed. Sortof. I mean I don’t go to nearly as many movies. I can’t just take off for a run whenever I want. I buy a lot more fruit snacks and Capri suns. I try to be a little more responsible with my money. I go through a lot more drive thrus. I watch more cartoons. I have to watch my step in the middle of the night not to step on legos and hot wheels. But. I often feel guilty for it not changing enough. I still have coffee with friends. I still go on dates with my husband. I still run races. I still read lots of books. I still don’t make my bed. I still go on the occasional road trip. Without my kids. I have missed a few soccer games. I don’t play kids music in the car (although there are a few songs that I have to skip). And 90% of the time I feel ok about that. That I am teaching my kids that they are important. But maybe they aren’t the center of the universe. That I am showing them how to cultivate t...

This year I’ve earned a bit of a reputation as a prankster. I won’t incriminate myself too badly here…but one of my milder but still fantastic pranks involves going to awkwardfamilyphoto.com. Finding the most awful pictures that I can, slipping them into frames and placing them strategically around people’s office or classroom. It is a good joke every time. The more ridiculous the picture the better. I’ve mentioned this before. That I know that I love my kids well, But I often doubt that I parent well. We watch more cartoons that we should. I go through the drive thru. I occasionally use language I shouldn’t. I’m late to soccer practice. I don’t know what to do when he keeps getting in trouble at school. I let them stay up too late. My car is a disaster zone of coffee cups, juice boxes, extra clothes and fruit snacks embedded into the seat. My kids sing along to the Beastie Boys. Sometimes we eat around the table, but sometimes we eat in the car. And sometimes we say our prayers...

Lately my son has been getting in trouble at school. Repeatedly. And it isn’t big stuff. Little silly boy things. Like not staying in his seat at lunch. Being silly. Talking. Not getting his work done. You know. Pretty much a typical day for me. And every once in awhile I don’t mind and I know how to handle it. No video games. No playing outside with the neighbors. A stern talk about listening and respect. And of course the assurance that I love him no matter what. No matter how many stamps or bad notes he gets. But we are on day 4 of no stamps. And he gets in the car and his little chin quivers. And my tears fall before his do. And we get home and he goes straight to his room and climbs into bed. At 4:30 in the afternoon. And I coax him out. Assure him that we all have bad days. And that he can try again tomorrow. But tomorrow it is the same thing. And I wonder if I need to get sterner. Amp up the punishment. Or pour on the love and reassurance that he is good e...

Yesterday I made a list of all the things I wanted to do this weekend. And none of them were good productive things Like clean the house, rest, or grade papers. These were all places I wanted to go, things I had committed to, and people I wanted to see. And it was a good list. Friday there was play dates, soccer practice and I had a date with my hubs. A movie. just us. And I can’t remember the last time we saw a movie together. Today there are soccer games, authors speaking, lunch, friends in town, and other friends I just haven’t spent enough time with lately. And tomorrow is church, more authors (Donald Miller even), bands I want to hear, writers group and of course I hope to squeeze in all that stuff I am actually supposed to do…..along with good quality time with my family. And well. As much as I try. I can’t do it all. Or even half of it. And I do very little of it actually well. I get sick. My house is a mess. And my husband has to pull more than his share of the we...

A few months or so ago we were at the lake. The cousins were all on the dock floating and jumping off the sides. The older boys were doing gainers and cannonballs and even the occasional belly flop. And by older I am including some in their 30s and 40s and possibly even me. Owen was a little more cautious.     He was floating and splashing happily enough in the water. But he wouldn’t have anything to do with jumping in. You could tell he wanted to join in, but I couldn’t convince him that his life vest would hold him up. And that even though it might be a little scary at first. That it would be fun. Eventually I talked him up the ladder, and he was staring over the edge. But not jumping. I nodded to my brother to give him a little push. And he looked back at me, like are you sure? And I insisted. And it didn’t take much. Just a little nudge. And Owen went flying over the side. Screaming and gasping a little. Only to scurry up the ladder and do it ...

When I was ten I fell on a piece of glass and sliced open my left hand. The scar is thick and a little lumpy because I waited too long to get stitches. On my other hand is larger white scrappy scar from a bike injury. The involved me trying to beat the boys. My knees are thick with scars. More bikes, tennis courts and plain old clumsy. My son has a few already and he gladly shows them off. They are a testament to his toughness. The one on his back shows that he did in fact survive jumping (and falling off the bed). There is one on his chin that the ER doctors glued shut – we no longer practice diving in the bathtub. And a little one on his hairline that received a few staples. But I have a favorite scar. It is about 6 inches across and marks a thin pink raised line across my lower abdomen. My son’s delivery ended in an emergency c-section. After all the pushing and blood I really didn’t care how he got here. Even if it involved slicing across my belly and eventually 19 staples. Every n...

I know it might be hard to believe but. This sweet little thing Is a biter. Like leaving marks on other kids in her class multiple days this week. They haven’t threatened to kick us out yet. But I’m afraid it is coming. And I’m not really sure what to do. She bites. We say no. We put her in time out. She screams. She hits. She bites again. I have one of the mean girls. So tonight I searched parenting websites for advice on how to stop biting. And they all pretty much stunk. Suggestions? and don't worry, that's spaghetti sauce on her face, not blood.

My son is the littlest. He is a full head shorter than everyone else on his team. We get hand me down bikes and clothes from my friend’s 3 year old ( we are almost 5). He still has a pair of 18 month jeans that fit ( mostly we wear 3Ts though). And the other day when I picked him up from school his whole class was lined up. And he was the shortest. Even compared to the girls. I worry about this. Mostly about what will happen when he gets to junior high. Or when his little sister surpasses him (and she is well on her way, she must have gotten my dad’s tall genes). But he doesn’t seem to know yet. Yet. Every few weeks or so he asks me to measure him against the door frame so he can see how much he is growing. The frame is filled with little sharpie marks and ages. More often than not when we stand against the door it is in fact time to make a new mark. Progress in centimeters. And just yesterday he told me that he was tall. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wasn’t. And probably...

1. Tess and her paci -- The sleeping situation still sucks...but we have been paci-free for almost a week and are now almost red blistery rash free. She better thank me for not having a red mustache scar when she is in junior high. And on a related note--toddler beds are not made for two. Snuggling up with her took me straight back to my college freshmen year with my tiny bed that pulled out from the wall. 2. The soccer update. Last night was the last indoor game in which they got creamed by an all girls team. We still have about 7 outdoor games to go but last night was a success. The trick -- not know how to read your schedule and show up thirty minutes late. Owen didn't have to get all worked up and he just hopped right in and started playing. No he didn't score any goals......but he tried hard and there were no tears. At least not until one girl reeled back and nailed him right in the face with the ball. Hard enough to stop the game and for both coaches (and mommies) to chec...

Tess has been pacifier free for over 72 hours. I’m not sure who is suffering more. Me or Her. My little girl who used to go to sleep without even a whimper at 8:00 pm on the dot, now screams for over an hour first. Even if I am holding her. She searches everywhere in case she has just misplaced it. Under the pillow, under the bed….hoping that she will find a pacifier there. But mostly she just lays there and cries….….I mean screams. Instead of seconds of bonding before bed we now have hours. And last night as she lay there crying while I tried everything I could thing of Reading, singing, praying, etc. I thought about her loss a little. And I was quickly losing patience, and lots of much needed sleep to this incessant crying. Because to me, it is just a pacifier. A baby phase that I wish we could hang on to for just a while longer… But thanks to super sensitive skin and multiple ear infections the pediatrician encouraged us to let go now. But to her it is her comfort. And as she scream...

Yesterday my pediatrician used the F-word. Ferber. She suggested that I ferberize my sweet baby girl. Maybe it was the bags under my eyes or my disheveled appearance or the fact that I nodded off in the waiting room that tipped her off. But Tess is not a good sleeper. My kids couldn’t be any more different. My son started sleeping through the night at about 9 weeks. And was in his own crib in his own room at only 4 weeks. And we threw out the paci before he was a year old. I read Babywise (The baby sleeping bible back then) and although I did not follow those methods rigidly, I did implore some of the techniques. And for the most part they were successful. Now, he did ( and still does!) hate going to sleep……and will fight it with every once of his being….and sadly just needs less sleep than most kids. So more often than not, you might find me getting into bed before he does. And nap times, we mourned the loss of those way too early. Tess on the other hand needs more sleep just l...

“But I don’t want to go to soccer, I’m tired” says the boy who has been running circles around the living room for the last hour. “No, I don’t want to wear my jersey” says the same boy that slept in his uniform just last week. And so I do what any good mom would do, which is start bribing my kid. I promise him ring pops or pizza or new toys for having a good attitude, listening to his coach and trying his best. But those things are not quite enough to make him eagerly lace up his cleats. Owen actually loves soccer practice. And is one of the best dribblers on the teams. And he loves kicking the ball around the living room and in the front yard. But games days are hell. Instead of being a proud momma on the sideline snapping pictures I am usually trying not to cry. Because Owen has realized that he isn’t really good at it. That the other kids are bigger and faster and score more goals. And today his team won. And they haven’t won many games. And they cheered and lined up eagerly for ...

So we have decided ( more like he decided) to move Owen up to a real bed. So after a trip to Ikea and Target … Tuesday he snuggled in for a night’s sleep sans bars. At 4:30 a.m. I hear little tiny feet padding down the hall. I know what I should do. This is the beginning of the education process and I should take him immediately back to his bed, snuggle with him for a second and leave him on his own. However, like I mentioned, it is 4:30 am. The good parenting can start tomorrow. So I quickly scoop him up and place him in between me and Shaun. Within seconds his breathing relaxes and he goes back to sleep. I realize I really need to pee, and I might as well take him back to bed while I am up. At 6:17 am, a little crash and lots of crying. Owen fell off his big boy bed onto his legos below. Stepping on legos hurts like hell I can’t imagine falling onto them from a early morning stupor. Shaun, who should be getting up for work soon anyways goes off to rescue him. Still screaming, Owe...