I'm a genius

Well, at least my husband called me a genius and I do have to agree with him.

Here's why:

Luna is no longer wearing a pull up at night so that means the sheets are inevitably going to get wet in the middle of the night.

On her mattress there is one mattress protector, one sheet, another mattress protector, and another sheet.

When she wets the bed in the middle of the night and wakes me up to tell me, all I have to do is pull off the top set and...voila...her bed is made.  The wet sheets go in the washer for me to deal with in the morning, little miss L goes right back into a clean dry already made bed, and most importantly, Mama goes right back to bed without having to wrestle a new set of sheets onto a bed at 2:30 a.m.

You're welcome.

Tell me, mamas, why are YOU a genius too?

8 years ago, I became a mama.

I love each and every one of his freckles.
I love the windows in his smile.
I love his beautiful almond-shaped eyes and how bright and engaging they are when he talks to me.
I love how he looks, how he smells, how he feels and how he, um, tastes.  (and if you don't believe me, see here)
I love the sound of his giggle and his hearty laugh.
And OMG I love the way he dances.
I love how he fondles my hair or my necklace or my shirt when he tells me something important.
I love to hear, "Mama, can I tell you something...?" before he, you know, tells me something.
I love how important it is to him to tell his Papa about his Legos.  ("Mama, will you text Papa and tell him that I just built a ________?")
I love how he is patient and eager to play with his little sisters.
I love to clip his toenails because when I get to that baby toe it reminds me that he still has a baby something that I get to take care of.
I secretly love it when he tries to tickle my armpit or tickle my feet or slap my butt (even though I tell him not to do that) because at least he still wants to touch me.  I mean, one day he might not want to touch me at all or, worse, he might not want me to touch him.
I love the way he draws.
I love his handwriting.
I love the way he still says "babing suit" when we get ready for swimming.
I love what an avid reader he is.  And I love that he recommends books I might like such as The Magic Treehouse "Dinosaurs Before Dawn." Riveting.
I love it that he loves art.
I love it that he finds the right occasion to say thank you and I don't have to prompt him.
I love how when I spend an afternoon in his classroom as a parent helper which really means I sit at the back of the room and do some clerical chores to help out the teacher (which I really, truly am happy to do), he turns and waves at me at least 87 times.
I love his posture and body language when he is explaining something.
I love that he wants to share his day with me.
I love that he appreciates a routine.
I love that he is willing to try new things.
And I love how he enjoys the simple things.
I love his imagination.
I love that he invented Ultrabot in kindergarten and that he has become part of our life.
I don't love that he is 8 because that is too big too fast but I do love that he is 8.
And I love how every single night he tells me, "Mama, don't forget to come up to my bed to give me a smooch."
And I love that I get to do that because he is what made me a mama.

The Cute Factor

When my children see something they think is cute, like a baby animal or a baby, um, baby, they make these "oooooh" and "aaaaaw" sounds with such emotion it sounds as if they are crying.  If I'm in another room, my ears have to hang on to the "oooooh" sound to see if it ends with a "it's sooooo cuuuuute."  This morning, I hustled into the girls' room thinking someone had gotten injured only to find them playing with their Littlest Pet Shop animals.

Oh, and in my house it's not "cute", it's more like "key-uuuuute."  And with that cringing-crying-but-actually-not tone.  And Luna balls her fists up under her chin.  Tulip is about one step away from biting her fist over the cuteness.

Me, I just get tears in my eyes when my kids, um, babies, are doing something cute.  So I guess they get that cringing-crying-but-actually-crying thing from me.

Oh, and don't watch Toy Story 3 on a snow day when you are feeling so fortunate and so full of happy emotion to be granted an extra day to be with your children unless you don't mind cringing-crying-but-actually-crying-way-out-loud-so-you-have-to-excuse-yourself-to-the-bathroom.

Sigh.  The good kind.

Mama Success

Sometimes, Luna and I have these very deep conversations.  She uses a very serious whisper-type voice.  She makes intense eye contact.  She places her hand on my cheek to make sure I am an active listener.  And she e-nun-ci-ates with real intent.

Tonight, as we snuggled, we had one of those moments.

"Mama, farts stinks," she begins.  "And, if you touch your butt, your hand smells really stinky."

I feel triumphant that my youngest child has realized, fully, these two wise lessons.  They will carry her far in life, I'm sure.

Good night.

Sorry, Barbie

I had a date at Barnes & Noble with Tulip today - she still had a gift card from Christmas.  Out of the 100 million books in the children's section, she grabbed a Barbie book.  Now, those of you who know me know that I'm not that crazy about Barbie.  And neither is Tulip.  She has one doll and has never asked for another one.  Why Tulip was drawn to a Barbie book is beyond me.  Actually, I probably know why.  It's Barbie.  She smiles at you prettily from the front cover of a book.  Duh.

Anyway, when I looked at the title of the book, I had one of those "oh, it figures..." moments.  Barbie Wants To Be a Baby Doctor.

Seriously.  Those of you who know me know that I am a natural birth/attachment parenting advocate.

I flipped through the first few pages and saw Barbie in the nursery.  (What?!? No rooming in?)

Barbie gave a baby a bath.  (What?  Where's the midwife teaching Barbie the invaluable benefits of vernix?  Why is Barbie bathing a baby?  Why isn't she showing the mother how to massage the vernix into the baby's skin?  Sheesh.)

Then.  You guessed it.  Barbie gives the baby a bottle.  Gah!  (What?!  Where's the lactation consultant showing Barbie and the mom how to obtain a proper latch?)

Oh, and during all of this she is wearing skinny jeans and high-heel wedge sandals.  Whatever.  I'd like to have those same purple skinny jeans and wedges as Barbie but I wouldn't be wearing them if I was a baby doctor working in a hospital.

I had to remind myself that at least in Miss Bindergarten Gets Ready for the 100th Day of Kindergarten a mother is wearing not one but two babies in a sling.

Tulip grabs a coloring book and a Fancy Nancy book and some generic princess book that comes with a locket and we get chocolate milk and a cookie and finish our date.

Inevitable it is bedtime and we read the whole Barbie book.  Well, further into the book we find that a new doctor needs Barbie and the nurse's help.  A mommy had a baby girl.  The nurse shows Barbie how to hold the baby.  The baby cries.  The baby is hungry.  Barbie brings the baby to her mom.  Then the book says, "Her mom will feed the baby."  There is no picture of a bottle.  It is completely implied that the mom will breastfeed the baby.

Yay.

Sorry, Barbie.  I'll give you the benefit of the doubt next time.

My son

My son.  Here's what he's like right now:

Wolfie's giggle is so genuine and delightful.  

At exactly 5:59 this evening he said, "Well, it looks like we have 91 minutes until bedtime."

He had two chapters left in a book he's reading.  He read one before bed and then was strategizing how he could finish it in the morning.  I reminded him that tomorrow is late start Wednesday (implying that he would, in fact, have extra time in the morning) and his face lit up.  "Great!" he said, excited to have extra time to read.

We went to Key Lime Cove this weekend.  It was bananas.  I might blog about it another time but part of the kids' big treat was an arcade swipe card with 100 credits.  One card.  Three kids.  It turned out that Luna skipped the arcade so only Wolfie and Tulip had to share this card.  Without prompting from me, Wolfie turned to Tulip and said, "I know, I'll use the card to play three games, then I'll give it to and you can play three games and then you'll give it back to me and that's how we'll share it."  And that's exactly what they did. 

Finally, he made this puppet stage last week.  He just asked me if we had any boxes that he could turn into a stage.  A half hour later we were all handed "tickets" and invited into the living room.  

Ultrabot was at it again.

fascinating

Tonight I was coaxing Luna to the bathroom so she could do her business of getting ready for bed.  On our way down the hall, she told me to be the teacher.  I said, "Come on, student, let's go potty and brush your teeth."  Game is on.

"Okay, teacher," she says in her pretend voice.

While she was on the potty, she asked me if teachers wipe butts.  I figured this was the opportune time to tell her how it really is.  I was rambling on and on about how to go potty at school...

"Close the door for privacy."
"You can even lock it."
"The potty will be just your size."
"There's toilet paper right next to the toilet just for you, student." (the game was still on)
"You get to wipe yourself..."

She squeaks, "That's fascinating."  Then, in a whisper voice, "Mama, that means 'wow'."