To My Son on His First Day of School

To My Son...

Today is your very first day of kindergarten.  

Your backpack is zipped up.  Your lunch is packed.  Your water bottle is topped off.  

You are ready to go.

Every day for the last week, you have started your day by asking me "Mom, is today my first day of school?"  You eagerly sprinkled your 'Ready Confetti' from your teacher under your pillow last night to help you get a good night's rest. You've been jumping up and down every time someone so much as mentions the word "kindergarten" in your presence.

I suppose those things really just describe the "excited" part of being ready to go.

But I've also seen the "prepared" part of being ready to go in you, too.

You are a good problem solver.  You know how to zip and unzip your lunch box.  You are a good listener.  You love to learn new things.  You introduce yourself to new kids, and invite them to play.  You know exactly where your classroom, your locker, your desk are.  You can follow directions.  You can ask questions and ask for help when you need it.  You know how to stand up for yourself.  I've seen you grow and develop confidence in yourself and do all these things.  

I know you are ready, in every sense of the word.

So I guess the real question is: Am I ready?

Am I ready to put you on that bus?  Am I ready to admit that you really don't need me to help you eat lunch every day?  Am I ready to accept that you will make friends that I don't know and haven't met first?  Am I ready to admit that the sweet baby boy I held in my arms what seems like moments ago is ready to walk into his kindergarten classroom and wave good-bye?

Here's the funny thing about being a parent...the answers to those questions are irrelevant.

It doesn't really matter if I'm ready or not, because you are.  And you won't wait around for me to 'be ready' because that's not how it works, and that's not how it should work.  Honestly, I don't know that I'll ever truly be ready for any part of you growing up, whether it's your first day of kindergarten or your first day of college.

But that's OK.  

Because you are ready.  And I wouldn't want it any other way.  I am thankful that you are excited and confident and eager and ready.  It is a blessing to this Mom's heart.  

While I may not be nearly as ready as you are, I do know I am just as excited as you are about today.  So much lies ahead, and today simply marks the first step in an amazing journey for you.  You are going to experience so many "firsts" this year, and I can't wait to hear all about them from your thrilled little face while you jump up and down the entire time you're telling me about it.  There is so much for you to learn and do and see and experience.  Your whole world is going to open up to be so much bigger this year.  

As your world does grow by leaps and bounds when you walk in the doors of that school, my prayer for you is that you are YOU.  That you are 100% totally and completely YOU.  God has made you this kind, fun-loving, compassionate, goofy, smart boy, and He needs you to be YOU.  Your teacher and your classmates need you to be YOU.  The world needs you to be YOU. 

And do you know why?
  
Because you are a pretty incredible kid.  You are an incredible kid just by being YOU.  You have so much to offer this world, and in order to do that, you need to be YOU.

I hope you follow your heart and make choices based on what you know to be true and right and kind.  I hope you have lots of chances to speak what's on your mind, and share your thoughts in the way only you can.  I hope you find a peace and confidence to just be yourself and light up the room the way I've seen you do countless times.  I hope you trust yourself and believe in yourself and stay true to yourself.   

This will be true for your first day of kindergarten, your first day of high school, and your first day at your first job.  

I think that's what gets me about this day.  I'm going to blink and I'm going to be sharing these same words with you on your first day of high school, and over the phone with you on your first day at your first job.  Today is a reminder of just how fast it all goes and how precious these moments with you are.  Today is also a reminder of all the possibilities that life has to offer you.

So today, if you happen to see me cry or catch my breath as I wave good bye to you when the bus pulls away, please know they are tears of absolute joy and pride and excitement and gratitude on my part.  I am so very honored that I get to be your mom, and have a front row seat to watch you grow up.  I am thrilled to be on this journey with you.  

I hope you have a fantastic first day of kindergarten, and I absolutely can't wait to hear every single detail from you tonight at dinner.  

I love you to the moon and back!
Mom

Ready or not, You're a Good Mom.

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"Parent"dox: "I Have to go Potty!"

Sunday Night "Parent"dox #19:  "I Have to go Potty!"

How is it that kids know the absolute worst time possible to have to immediately use the bathroom?  

Do they teach this in some secret underground toddler group?  Is there a tutorial on YouTube they're all passing around?  Are they born with a sixth sense to know when the absolute most difficult time to request a trip to the bathroom is?

I don't know exactly how they do it, but they do it.  And they do it well.

Now don't get me wrong.  In the days when each of my children were first starting potty training, hearing those words was absolute music to my ears.  I'd do a little celebratory dance when I'd hear "I have to go potty!" as it meant: 1.) they were actually recognizing when they had to go to the bathroom and 2.) they were actually telling me they had to go to the bathroom.  

The dancing was brought on by thoughts such as these:   Oh, the money we'll save now that we won't be buying boxes of diapers that weigh more than either of my children from Costco.  We'll be rich, I tell you, rich! 

However, now when I hear those words, it can potentially be cause for alarm and without a doubt requires immediate action.  You see, now there are no more diapers (yeah!), but also no more diapers (boo).  (The "boo" part being now that there are only underwear and pants, an accident means a much larger, more complicated, mess to deal with).  Still more emphasis on the "yeah!" than the "boo," but you catch my drift.  

I experienced an instance such as this just yesterday, when I embarked on a 4 1/2-hour car trip with my 3-year-old and 5-year-old. (I can hear you all shaking your heads and smacking your foreheads with your palms now.)  About halfway through our trip back home, I had a fail proof plan to stop at an Outlet Mall to break the trip up, grab some lunch and stretch our legs a little bit by walking around the stores.

The first thing we did when we got out of the van and walked in to the restaurant was for all 3 of us to hit the bathroom.  One of the stalls was out-of-order, which caused a little wait, but nothing too major and we all made it in time.  Success.

We sat down, ordered our food, colored on place mats  and slammed glasses of chocolate milk.  Just as our food arrived and I began cutting up slices of pizza for my kids, my son announced he had to go to the bathroom.  Again.  We had just left the bathroom a mere 20 minutes ago, but he had been in the car for 2 1/2 hours, and he had slammed a glass of chocolate milk, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Because I was on my own, I had to grab my purse, grab both kids, head to the bathroom, and pray our server didn't tell her manager to call the police because we skipped out on paying the bill.  

Remember that out-of-order stall from earlier?  Yup.  Still out-of-order.  We waited and waited and waited and thank goodness, so did my son's bladder.  

When we got back to the table, our food was still there and no armed guard was waiting with handcuffs to take me away, so that counted as a victory.  We finished our meal, I gave my debit card to our server, and while she was running my card, my daughter announced she had to go to the bathroom.

Really?  Really?

But, alas, the whole "2 1/2 hour car ride" and "slamming chocolate milk" and "she's 3 years old" and "the mess factor" and all flashed before my eyes, so I grabbed my purse, grabbed my daughter, and hoped the server wouldn't assume we really did skip out this time and I had just left her my debit card as a thank you gift for her to use freely as she saw fit.  

Just for good measure, my son also decided to stage a sit-in in protest, and refused to leave the table and go to the bathroom.  As I was busting out all the negotiation skills I've picked up from watching Flashpoint to use on my son, by the grace of God, the server returned with my card.  I signed the slip and was able to get my son to come with us because I told him we were leaving after the super speedy bathroom stop, and thankfully he conceded.

Third trip to the bathroom in one restaurant trip, for those of you who are counting.

Remember that out-of-order stall from earlier?  Yup.  Still out-of-order.  And the line was now spilling out the bathroom door, into the restaurant.  I figured this was not a good sign in any way, shape or form.  I loaded the 3 of us up in our Minivan, and headed over to the information center of the Outlet Mall in the next building over, as I knew there was bathroom with lots of stalls.  My daughter was a champ, and held out the 2 minutes until we got there.  

Sigh of relief.  We were out of the woods on the whole bathroom thing.  Or so I thought...

We left the information center and drove to the neighboring building at the Outlet Mall and headed into the toy store.  In my Mom Brain, I figured I'd let them take as much time as they wanted to wander around and look and play and pick out one small toy before I strapped them back in their car seats for 2 more hours on the road.  The first 10 minutes in the store went according to plan, and all was right with the world.  Minute 11, however, went something like this...

"Mom, I have to go potty!"

My daughter.  Again.  

Now you may be thinking "Did she really actually go the other 2 times?"  Yes, yes she did.  

Or maybe "Does she have some sort of medical thing going on here?"  No, no she doesn't.

Just a need to teach me about another of life's "parent"doxes:  Kids will always need to go to the bathroom at the absolute worst possible time.  And as parents, there's not a single thing we can do about it.

At this Outlet Mall, there aren't public restrooms in the individual stores.  They are only at certain points and at certain buildings within this particular seven-building Outlet Mall.  Remember how we drove to this other building?  To get back to the information center where the nearest bathroom was, I was going to have to get my kids out of the toy store, walk to the car, strap them both in their car seats, drive back to the other building, unbuckle them both, and run frantically through the information center to the back where the bathrooms were.  With my 3-year-old, there was no telling if we could make it through all that without an accident.  

I wasn't going to chance it.

I tried to get my kids out of the toy store as quickly as possible.  (I'm going to let you picture how that went, especially considering I had already told them they could each pick out a toy before we left.  Two words: Not. Well.)  I carried my daughter and told my son to run as fast as his little legs would take him, and yes, indeed, we made it.  We made it.  For a trickle.  Ladies and gentlemen, a trickle.  

What's worse, though, is that I knew this was the beginning of the end. Based on past experience with my daughter, I knew this particular "I have to go potty!" combined with the look on her face and "the walk" I was seeing in the toy store, it really meant "I'm gonna have to poop...sometime soon, but I'm not exactly sure when...and make no mistake it's going to happen...but it might be awhile...or it might be really soon...your guess is at good as mine...but this is real, so don't ignore it."  

Needless to say, we made this run between these two buildings two more times.  

Two.  More.  Times.  

(I'll spare you the details, but the third and final trip did prove to be successful.)  

For those of you keeping score at home, that was six -- yes, count 'em SIX -- different trips to the bathroom in one 2-hour time period.  

Thankfully, the rest of the trip home was uneventful, and didn't contain a single bathroom stop.  I would be lying if I told you the thought of putting both my kids in diapers the next time I took them on a road trip by myself didn't cross my mind at least once, if not twice, on the ride home.  

But then I decided against it, as I figured the cost of inevitable therapy for them later in life would negate the savings on not buying cases of diapers any more.  

But just barely.

On the days you spend a good portion of your day running back and forth to the bathroom with toddlers in tow, You Are a Good Mom.

(If you're really lucky, maybe someday my husband will tell you the story of my son having an "I have to go potty!" moment during the Kilimanjaro Safari at Disney's Animal Kingdom. All I can tell you is my husband had what can only be described as a moment of pure parenting genius.  Genius, I tell you.  But that story, my friends, is for another day...)  

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Who Says a Washing Machine is Just for Clothes?

Things I Have Pulled Out of my Washing Machine or Dryer Since Becoming a Mom

1. broccoli
2. a wide variety of combinations of change  (The upside of this is unanticipated pennies for pony rides at Meijer for my kids and quarters for my husband to feed the parking meter when he goes to his grad classes.)
3. a Lego
4. guitar picks
5. mailing labels that my daughter had been playing with and stuck all over her pajamas while wearing them  (Those labels are now pretty much permanently glued to those pajamas.)
6. ear buds 
7. a clean pull up (which now happens to be a very clean pull up...)

#7 was most definitely the worst.  And the most recent.  As in it happened two days ago.  

Please hear me loud and clear on this one:  Do NOT try this at home.  

I opened my washing machine to find lots of little gel "crystals" on everything.  EVERYTHING.  As soon as I saw it, I knew what it was and I knew it was not good.  I immediately pictured my daughter putting her own clothes in her hamper.  While it is exciting to watch my children grow up and  become more independent and self-sufficient, it is not exciting when it results in a complete and total mess.  

(All you parents out there know that for independence to be achieved, a complete and total mess is pretty much necessary.  Case in point: learning to pour juice.  I rest my case.) 

Unfortunately, this time around, being independent also involved a clean pull up being tucked inside her jeans as she tossed them in her hamper.  I mistakenly dumped the entire hamper into the washing machine without paying too much attention to the contents.  Guess who will be checking every single pair of pants that goes from her hamper into my washing machine from here on out?  Add that to my "Weird Stuff I Do Now That I'm a Mom" list.  

Just in case you ever find yourself in this same unfortunate position, here was my plan of attack that proved to be fairly successful.

1. Throw your gelified clothes from your washer into your dryer.  
2. Run the "clean washer" cycle in your washing machine using one of those over-sized Alka Seltzer cleaning tablet things.  
3. Dry your gel-covered clothes.  
4. The gel will all clump together and form a strange science experiment which could win you a science fair blue ribbon, as you've just discovered a new state of matter.  
5. Washer is clean.  Clothes are gel-free.  All is right with the world again.  

I'm sure you can find that entire process out there on Pinterest somewhere...complete with pictures and a recipe for homemade over-sized Alka Seltzer cleaning tablet things.

Please do not ask what I've found in my dishwasher.  Yesterday I opened it up to find a Dora the Explorer Band-Aid.  Really?  A Band-Aid?  How on earth did a Band-Aid make it into my dishwasher?  I cannot make this stuff up, people.  I wish I was, but alas, this is just the craziness that is my life.  

When emptying the contents of your washer or dryer (or dishwasher around here...) is an adventure, You Are a Good Mom. 

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Dodging a Bullet

My husband and I narrowly dodged a bullet the other night.  Make that a speeding bullet.

We were knee-deep in the bedtime routine, (which, of course, is when most speeding bullets go whizzing by at our house...how is it that kids know just when to time these things?) smack dab between brushing teeth and reading bedtime stories.  Somehow, all 4 of us were in the hallway outside the kids' bedrooms and my 4-year-old looked up at us with his quizzical look that means he is thinking.
  
"Where do babies?..."

(Pause.  Husband and I exchange glance.)

"Babies come..."

(Pause.  Husband and I collectively hold our breath.)

"Babies are born at the doctor, right?"

(Tension lifts.  Sighs of relief.  Husband and I exchange knowing smile.)

My younger sister is pregnant right now with her first baby, so there has been lots of talk around our house about our kids' new baby cousin and when she will arrive and when they will get to hold her.

(Please excuse my scatterbrained-ness and all the interruptions in this post.  I am just laughing as I am writing this because I can picture my sister reading it and saying "So this is my fault, too?  You're pinning this one on me?  You spilling the juice on the carpet and telling Mom it was me wasn't enough?"  As the older sister, I may have been known to blame a thing or two on my younger sister.  This "blame claim", however, cannot and has not been corroborated.  I plead the Fifth.  And dear sister, I am not blaming you, simply laying out the case for why babies have been a major topic of conversation in our house as of late and why your nephew may have been asking this question in the first place.) 

So yes, lots of baby talk at our house lately, and this time, we were able to dodge the mother of all bullets.  I know this is not over.  I know the "big one" will come up again.  I only hope I will not look as though I have been hit with an actual bullet when he does inquire further.  I hope I am able to provide him with just enough information to answer exactly what he is asking at that moment in time and not stumble into any other "land mine" topics while trying to provide answers.

Which leads me to my next dodged bullet...

However, this story only involves my child as a supporting player, not the main character.  The main character will remain nameless to protect the innocent, but for the sake of the story, you need to know this:

Big Kid = 5 years old; not my child; has sibling of different gender
Baby = my son (2 months old at the time)

The conversation between the Big Kid and I occurred while we were both looking at my son's birth announcement.  It went something like this...

BK: "How did you know when the baby would be born?"

Me:  "The doctors told us a due date.  That is their best guess for when they think the baby will be born."

BK:  "Hmm."  (Pauses.  Accepts that answer, and continues thinking.)  "How did you know what you were gonna name the baby?"

Me:  "Well, we didn't know for sure if the baby was going to be a boy or a girl, so we had a couple of names picked out, and decided on his name at the hospital."

BK:  "Hmm."  (Pauses.  Accepts that answer, and continues thinking.)  "So when did you find out he was a boy?" 

(I'm pretty sure this is when I was trying to hide the sheer look of terror that was creeping across my face.  Please remember, this was not my child.  My child could not yet speak, so I had no experience with this whole Big Kid questioning/thinking/responding thing.  This Big Kid did have a sibling of a different gender, I silently reasoned to myself while trying to play it totally cool, maybe BK knew about this stuff.  Then again, this was not my child, and this felt somewhat out of my realm.  What to do, what to do.  I knew I should have worn my Kevlar vest today.  I went with the only weapon I had...put it back on BK.) 

Me:  "How do you think we knew when he was a boy?" 

BK:  "Well, when you saw he had hair!" 

Me:  "Yes, yes...that was it!  When we saw he had hair we knew we had a son and that's when we picked his name."

So, yes, I may have lied to a 5-year-old.  I admit it.  Sue me.  But I figured at that point, I had provided just enough information to answer BK's line of questioning, without providing too much.

All joking aside, I pray each day that my husband and I are building the type of relationship with both of our children where they will come to us with these tough questions as they grow up.  I want them to trust us and feel comfortable to approach us with their wonderings.  I hope they will turn to us, and we will be able to have open, honest conversations about their big questions, no matter how initially uncomfortable for us...or them.  

When you are faced with the toughest of questions, You Are a Good Mom.  
When you have none of the answers, You Are a Good Mom.  
When you do have the answers, but aren't quite sure how to deliver them, You Are a Good Mom.
When your kids trust you and come to you with those tough questions, You Are a Good Mom.
When you engage in meaningful dialogue with your child, You Are a Good Mom.  
When you figure out how to explain where babies come from, You Are a Good Mom.  (And then please call me and let me exactly know how you went about this conversation...)
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Wondering what began all this blogging craziness?  Check out my first post for the back story on "You're a Good Mom" if you're curious.

I am a Mom of Big Kids

I came to a somewhat startling realization the other day.

I am a Mom of Big Kids.

Now, before we get too far, I am well aware that at ages 2 1/2 and 4 1/2, my kiddos are still "little kids" in the big picture of childhood.  They still need my help to button their pants and brush their hair and cut their food for them at meal time.  I guess the "startling" part of my realization was more clearly this...

I am no longer a Mom of a Baby.

It happened when I stumbled into a conversation in which a group of Moms were talking about baby led weaning.  I had absolutely no idea what they were referring to.  I knew what 'baby' meant.  I was good with 'led.' And I had (what I thought) was a fairly good understanding of 'weaning.'  Put those three words together, though, and I was clueless.  Was this actually a "thing?"  I actually had to Google it later to find out what it was because 1.) in general, I am a curious person and 2.) I didn't want to feel "out of the (baby) loop" any more.  And yes.  It is a "thing."  Very much so.  

This was the first time I had been totally blindsided by something related to being a Mom of a Baby.  My own kids are only 22 months apart, so I felt like we went from one just on his way to Toddler Town, and then jumped right back into BabyVille again.  For the most part, when topics related to being a Mom of a Baby came up, I could relate and generally knew what people were talking about.  Even if it wasn't something I did with my own baby, I was at least aware of the topic, or had vaguely heard of whatever was being discussed.  This time, however, I had no clue.  I knew the day would come when I wasn't a citizen of BabyVille any more, but nonetheless, it felt like it snuck up on me a little bit.

It dawned on me again in talking about baby registry stuff with my sister.  I was finding out just how much had changed in the world of baby gear since I had my son.  There is a new "must have" bottle, stroller styles are different and you can't find a drop-down side crib anywhere.  (This will make me feel extra old...many of you reading this don't even know what that is...) The things I had used were still on the shelves, but were no longer the "it" items.  There was a time when I felt like I was "in the know" about baby gear and gadgets.  I now feel like I'm more "around the know" ... or maybe "adjacent to the know" ... or perhaps "down the street from the know."  A lot of the stuff is basically the same, but the amount of change in what Moms of babies are using now had the same thoughts entering my brain...

I am no longer the Mom of a Baby.

I have to admit, it did make me sad.  For a minute. I have so many precious memories wrapped up in those first weeks and months with my kiddos!  I loved being the Mom of a Baby.  

I loved having a sleeping baby curled up on my chest.  I loved their teeny, tiny little fingers and toes.  I loved the look of wonder on their faces when they discovered those fingers were theirs...and {gasp!}...they could actually control them.  I loved the smell of all things baby.  (Well, maybe not all things, but you get the picture.)  I loved their little baby fat rolls on top of baby fat rolls.  I loved those first few smiles.  I loved being the Mom of a Baby.

But that sad feeling really was just for a minute, because I have come to realize that...

I love being the Mom of Big Kids, too.

My 4 1/2 year old has just learned how to play checkers.  It is amazing to sit and play a game with him and see his little wheels turning as he plans where his next move will be.  He gleefully instructs "King me!" when he reaches my end of the board.  He smiles and tells me "I'm coming after your kings, Mom!" as the game reaches the end.  He is looking and talking more and more like a Big Kid.  And even though it's hard to see my baby growing up some days, I remind myself it's OK. 

 It's better than OK, actually. It's amazing.
  
Our family can play a game of Memory together.  We can go catch a movie at an actual movie theater together (as long as said movie is animated...under 90 minutes...but I'll take it).  We can go from one adventure to the next (please note, 'adventures' at this point in life refer to Meijer, the mall or the library, for the most part), and not have to worry about who has to nap when or what time the next feeding will be.  We can leave for the afternoon and not bring half of our house with us.  

My kids tell me jokes now.  (They are still more like statements at this point, but in their mind, they are jokes).  My kids draw pictures for me now.  My kids sing Disney songs to me now.  They are becoming their own little selves, and I get a front row seat to watch it all unfold.  

I know the time will fly.  I know all to soon, I'll be realizing I'm the Mom of School Age Kids.  Of Teenagers.  Of College Kids.  Of Married Kids.  Of Grandkids.  

For now, I'm going to fondly remember being the Mom of a Baby, and revisit those days through pictures, stories and memories. 

For now, I'm going to celebrate being a Mom of Big Kids.  I think I hear another game of checkers calling my name...

Whether you are currently a Mom of a Baby or just remember being one, You Are a Good Mom.  Whatever stage of motherhood you are in, embrace it and enjoy it.  (Moms of teenagers, my heart goes out to you all.  Please take notes so you can tell me what to do when I get there!)  Live in the moment of every stage, as they fly by much too quickly.  As you look back on the end of one phase, look ahead to the new adventures that lie in the next.  Through them all, rest assured that indeed, You Are a Good Mom.