PSA: The Following are NOT Appreciated

I know people mean well (most of the time)...but I've endured the following questions/statements for a while now, and it is time to put my foot down.  If you cross my path and think any of the following...keep them tucked away in that cute little brain of yours and spare me the self-esteem blows.

• Are you tired?  You look tired.  (Nope, my eyes are just small)
• (variation on the first) Did you just wake up? (Nope, been up for hours)
• You look like you don't feel well. (Nope, this is my face)
• (variation on the third) Wow, you look like you're sick.
• Don't worry, that pregnancy weight will come off (non-solicited)
• Your toes are so long. (Unless I'm a sloth, this is not a compliment)
• You have a lot of freckles.
• Are you Chinese? (I in no way mean this as a dig against Chinese people, but I AM NOT Chinese.)
• You cook?
• Wow, your child is cute! (after looking at me and then back at my child.)

Okay, I think that's it.  I'll make an addendum if I dredge up any other painful memories.

And I Ran...I Ran So Far Away

I ran my first 5k since the birth of my child yesterday (I know there's a misplaced modifier in this sentence, but I'm not really sure how to reword it to make sense -- mind you, I didn't have my first child yesterday -- I ran a 5k yesterday).  I ran it with my-way-more-in-shape-than-me sister, who was a saint and stayed with me the whole race, even when I stopped for a second to choke down my breakfast which tried making a second appearance around the 2-mile mark. 

I'm not proud of the race.  I finished under 30 minutes (which was my goal--actually my goal was not to die, but 2 for 2 is good for me), but I ran the course a whole minute faster when I did a test run last week. It just wasn't a good running day for me.  I think my final shame came when I was passed by a speed walker....A SPEED WALKER!!!!  Classic speed walker, too -- with the hips moving, arms swinging ready for take off. 

Oh well...I'll just have to run another one so I can prove to myself that I can in fact beat a speed walker. 

Here are some pics for your enjoyment. 

My cheering section

This One is Going Out to the Dads (you know who you are)

"'Miss Jean Louise, stand up.  Your father is passin'.'" To Kill a Mockingbird

I think TKAM is one of my favorite books because the character of Atticus has always reminded me of my own father.  My father exudes a quiet wisdom.  He is a man of character and grace.  He is a man of God and a faithful servant.  He may not be the best shot in the county, but he has earned the respect and trust of so many people.  I am one of his biggest fans.  I love you, faja!

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

Throughout the last 16 months, my husband has been a model of selflessness.  It's actually kind of annoying, because I really don't know how he does it.  Parenthood requires a person to give up  a lot of the freedom he/she had prior to having children.  While I've had to accept this fact kicking and screaming sometimes, Ben has made the transition quite easily.  He is so gentle and accommodating with our son.  There's no greater pleasure I get than watching the two of them laugh and play together.  Eli has a tremendous role model in his father.  I could not have asked for a better partner with whom to raise a family. I love you, Benj!

Happy Father's Day, Benny!

Molars and Haircuts and Tantrums, Oh My: 15/16 month edition

I've decided that if I ever wrote a book it would be called, ...And Then I Farted.  Classy, right?  It's just I embarrass myself on a daily basis, and a lot of times it's because I've passed gas in a public place... around human beings...who can smell...and have the power of deduction.  However, I've recently come up with a title for a book I would write about you and me (and these last two months, during which I've become an expert in interpreting whining and writhing).  This book would be entitled Mom for Sale.  I envision a picture of me sitting on a curb with a For Sale sign around my neck with you standing next to me.  These past two months have been a journey in discipline, laughter and patience. 

Any extra flubber baby weight I had from being pregnant with you has been burned away due to racking up the miles on my pedometer from chasing you around. Chasing you up stairs.  Chasing you down stairs.  Then up again. Then down.  Then across campus.  Then through Lowell.  You are in a constant state of motion.  Like the earth (and there's your science lesson for the day).  And it's not just walking or running or climbing.  You are touching things and moving things and playing with keys (that we can never find...EVER) and taking clothes out of drawers and strewing my lady products throughout our house.  Ewww, I said lady products....LADY PRODUCTS, Ben. 

We bought a bike trailer to pull you around the Arbor (on our bikes, not rickshaw style).  You love it!  You hold onto your sippy cup and keep us updated on any dogs within a 30 mile radius of us (it's your super power).  I mean, really, we could have strapped a card board box to our bikes, put some pillows in and you would have been just as content, because you're outside, which happens to be your favorite place.  You will stand by the screen door waiting...just waiting for someone to let you out.  And when that moment comes...oh, how the angels sing.  You usually dart for the basketball court because that's where you will see a ball...your favorite word.  And when I try to take you away from your favorite place, your skin begins to peel off your body, you turn into a rubbery contortionist and shoot fire from your eyes.  It's my favorite. 

Over the last two months, you've developed this thing called "a will of your own".  You have realized that maybe if you scream loud enough or whine long enough or cry those very sad crocodile tears your mother or father will let you get what you want.  Maybe we'll let you never bathe.  Or maybe we can just let your diaper stay on you until it disintegrates.  Perhaps we'd let you eat that whole bag of barbecue chips.  It's really, really hard to be consistent with you.  When my mom used to say, "just be consistent." I was like "psshh, piece of cake."  Whatever.  I feel like I'm constantly having to do time out or tell you, "sorry, no, but can I interest you in this?"  And if I slip up, you write it down in your journal late at night so that you can remember to stick it to me tomorrow.  I can handle the writhing and whining at home.  But, when we're in the middle of Meijer, I'm at a loss.  Honestly, I usually just let you whine it out, much to the chagrin of my fellow patrons. 

There was a two week period where I thought you might take out an ad on Craig's List for a new mother, because clearly, I was no longer getting the job done.  I was obviously ruining your life (insert door slam here).  You started to hit me when you became frustrated.  And I just don't like to be hit, not even by someone as adorable as you.  Every time you hit, we do a time out.  Our time out consists of me holding you in your time out chair.  I'm not sure if you're cognitively aware of what time out is.  But, I have noticed a decline in your hitting.  You do this thing now where you act like you're going to hit me and then you put your hands on your face.  Or you look at your hand like, "Oops, how did that get there?  Is that my hand?"   You still hit once in a while, but I am hoping by the time you enter pre-school, your bid for the UFC will have subsided.

I am not saying these two months have not been hard on you.  You had 5...FIVE whole teeth come in.  Four of them were molars.  I remember when my wisdom teeth came in--I thought I was going to die.  You also had your first hair cut.  So, I'm not sure if there was a Samson thing going on there.  You lost your inverted Flock of Seagulls do and didn't know what to do with yourself.  Your whole world was off-kilter.  And then Lost ended and Glee is gone for the summer.  Who wouldn't writhe in frustration?  

These last months have really tested my patience.  I cannot tell you how many times I have prayed that the Lord would give me patience...and a sedative.  When you're doing something you're not supposed to (like washing your hands in the toilet), my first reaction is to get mad.  But, a lot of times you just don't know any better.  I mean hey, it's water...you like water...you like washing your hands...it's your height.  Makes sense to me.  The super-uptight, anal part of me cringes when you wipe ketchup in your newly washed hair or have ketchup covering your entire up half.   I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel uptight or scared.  I don't want you to feel like you're nothing short of incredible to me.  I know it's been 16 months, but I'm still learning about this whole parenthood thing...and that show Parenthood, NOT a big help (sheesh, NBC).

I remember this one episode of the Cosby Show where Vanessa wore make up when her mom explicitly told her not to.  When Claire found out, she started counting to 10 and then calmly and sagely handed out her discipline.  Okay, so I'm not Claire Huxtable.  Sorry.  But, I really try to be fair with you. I make every effort to not react out of anger. Your dad and I are trying to help you become a caring, selfless, conscientious individual.  Sometimes it's not fun.  But sometimes, you make faces like this and all is right with the world.  I love you, my sweet Eli, eli, oh. 

Shameless...Utterly Shameless

Today I guaranteed my spot in Dante's lowest circle of Hell.  I mean, I might as well start saving for my child's future therapy.  So, Eli and I were in Meijer after our lunch date at Wendy's.  We were in an aisle by ourselves and I felt the urge to ummm...well, ease my gastrointestinal tract (fancy way of saying toot).

Sweet mercy, it was a doozey.  Silent and horribly, horribly violent.  So we're still in this aisle and this ubiquitous smell is unrelenting.  I started wondering if I had swallowed some road kill in my sleep.  So, I'm trying to decide between a couple of things for Eli when another family turns into the aisle.  A sweet family.  An innocent family.  A family who did not hide the disgust they felt when they walked into my sulfuric stink fest. 

And then I did it.  So unforgivable.

I turned to Eli and said, "Eli, did you go poopy? Peewey." 

That's right, Internet, I blamed my flesh and blood, my beautiful baby boy.  I made a beeline to get out of the aisle and apologized to my son after we were out of earshot of the gasping family in aisle death.  He just smiled, but I could see the look of betrayal in his eyes. 

And I know if he's anything like his father, he will someday get me back.

What's That, Internet...You Missed Me...You're Sweet

Sorry to disappoint my readers, but you've been in England for the last three weeks, mom; I didn't think you'd miss it.  So much has been going on in the Parker house.  And by so much, I mean very little.  Here's a nifty bulleted list for you.  No need to thank me (I prefer daisies).

• Eli has been possessed by a slime-spewing, head rotating monster.  For the last two weeks, he has learned to contort his body in ways that would make a Cirque du Soleil performer proud.  We have his audition for Allegria planned for next week.  These contortions make an appearance when he is not getting his way.  For example: when he wants to wrap the cord of my curling iron around his neck (turned off...but still, probably not good parenting); or when he wants to drink milk from his sippy cup that's been sitting out for three hours; or when I try to change his poopy diaper (contortions during this are super fun, as poop usually gets on my arm and his feet); or when he wants to keep walking all the way to the highway by himself; or when I stop him from eating toilet paper from the trash.  Soooo...that's been fun.  I'm not sure what to do.  We do not give into him, we put him in time out, we are as consistent as possible, we have Super Nanny living in our storage room for the month...what else can we do?

On a more positive note...

• Ben now has his motorcycle license and is searching for a motorcycle to show of his mad CHiPs skills.  Meanwhile, I have increased my Xanax dosage (ha..ha...ha...ha...joking).
• I am running again.  I'm planning to run a 5k in a couple weeks.  There is a possibility that I may cough up blood at the end and need oxygen, but gotta love getting in shape.
• Eli and I got to spend a week with gaga and gaga (that's Eli for grandma and grandpa)...or he just really likes Lady Gaga (he has requested to wear his red rubber onesie a lot lateley).  Anyway, my mother-in-law had foot surgery and we went up to north to help her not go crazy whilst laying in bed unable to teach, clean, cook, find good deals at garage sales, organize, do laundry, and save the planet from social-studies-illiterate fools.  It was great to spend time with our family and get away from the Arbor for a while.  Also,  I laughed A. LOT while I was there, so good ab work out.
• Lost ended its 6 year run...and took a piece of my heart with it.  I won't go into my analysis of it here, but I LOVED it!  It was the best series finale I've seen...ever.  I really felt like the major questions were answered, and it was just a great way to end the show.  I cried at the end and am still wearing my mourning clothes. 
• We're moving to a new dorm building in about a month.  It'll be like a Jetsons upgrade.  We're pumped.
• I had a mole removed from my shoulder.  One time, I laid on a white sand beach in Florida for three hours after scoffing at wearing sunscreen.  Two days later my face looked like Sloth's (from The Goonies) due to the alarming amount of blistering and I was seizing in the bathroom (okay, I think I just passed out after throwing up, but I heard my mom tell my dad she thought I was having a seizure right before I passed out).  Fast forward to today.  I am now concerned that this blistering sun burn will result in skin cancer.  So when I found a mole that had morphed into a weird caricature of Mr. Potato Head, I made an appointment with my doctor.  He referred me to the nicest dermatologist on the face of the planet, who then removed it.  And the results are in...it was just a weird mole.  You may now exhale.
• T - 20 until Eclipse. Let the awkward Kristen Stewart interviews begin.

the end.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Today marked yet another milestone in my nearly adult son's life.  Eli...now brace yourself....Eli got his first haircut.  Okay, so my child does not have thick, lustrous hair.  He has fine hair.  Blond, fine hair.  So a haircut seemed a ways off.  But, friends, up until today, Eli had a mullet.  Okay, so it was not technically a mullet.  Actually, the back of his hair was growing longer than the rest of his hair on the right and left side of his head.  So, it looked like he had hair horns growing out of the back of his head toward his neck.  It was the anti-Flock of Seagulls. It would curl up after he'd gone a couple days without a bath or if he had a particularly rough night in the crib.  Anyway, people were getting on my case about it. And by people, I mean my sister.   Who was relentless.  I  pictured him looking back at his baby pictures and cursing the fact that he had a mother who allowed him to grow neck-hair-horns.  HAIR HORNS!! 

So, we took him to where Ben gets his hair cut.  He was so precious with his little smock on.  And after they slipped me a sedative to control the weeping, I was able to snap some pictures of the event.  Now, I should tell you that unless you are around my child a lot, you will not really be able to see a difference.  But, the horns are gone...along with a little piece of my heart.

Before shot...(notice he's trying to put two pacifiers in his mouth. awesome.)

A

After 

(I caught this while he was in mid-conversation with a friend) 

A

Aaaaaand, I wanted to put this one in b/c this is the face he makes before I take his picture now.  awesome.