It Was Only a Matter of Time

In all honesty, I knew this day was coming.  

I simply didn't realize it would happen so soon.

Or so loudly.

Or so publicly.

My children have said a lot of crazy things in their short little lives.  Some funny, some sweet, some embarrassing, some downright hilarious.  Up until this point, they have been said, for the most part, in the presence of family or friends.

Not any more.  My son is now in school for 7 hours a day, 5 days a week. 

That gives him 35 hours to let one of his gems slip out of his sweet little mouth.  And slip out it did...

The 'B' Word

Last week, his class was working on the letter 'b' at school.  They were brainstorming words that start with the letter 'b' in class.  He eagerly raised his hand, and waited for the teacher to call on him.  As she pointed his way, a smile crept across his face.  Very loud and very proud, he said for all the class and his teacher to hear...

[enter your thought here on what it might be]

"BEER!"

Yes, beer does indeed start with the letter 'b.'  I can see he's got that initial sound thing down.  That is good.

Yes, I know there is another 'b' word that could have been much worse that could have popped out of his little mouth.  (That is actually what I was fearing when this story was relayed to me the first time, although I'm fairly certain he's never even heard that word before...)  That is also good. 

But seriously?  BEER?

That's the first word that pops into my kid's mind?  That's his 'b' word?  

Let me take 5.3 seconds to think of, oh, I don't know, a MILLION other kindergarten appropriate words he could have said.

Bat.
Ball.
Book.
Blue.
Bear.
Bike.
Bed.
Banana.
Beach.
Boat.
Bus.
Birthday.
Binoculars.

Oh no, not my son.  My son comes up with beer.  Proud day for this Momma, let me tell you what.

Then there was the picture he drew at home on Sunday for his Grandma.

"What does that say?" you're wondering.  Apparently, this drawing really needed a picture of a beer fridge.  Yes, a BEER FRIDGE.   No, she doesn't have one.  No, we don't even have one!  

From these two lovely little tales, you'd think we're raging alcoholics in this house.  I assure you, this is not the case.  Far from it.  I'm just hoping we can convince his teacher of this.

Our Saving Grace

The one thing that might get us out of this whole mess is a comment he made at home about 3 weeks ago.  

I had my copy of Parents magazine sitting on the end of my bed.  My son walked by it, then did a double take and walked back and looked at it again.

"Mom, is that Mrs. K?"

Oh, sweet child of mine.  Why don't you say things like this at school and leave all the beer talk for home?

No, that is not your kindergarten teacher.  It is supermodel Heidi Klum.  

(I will say, there is definitely a resemblance, though.)

I did email this little tidbit of cuteness to his teacher before the whole beer fiasco took place, so I'm hoping those two things somehow cancel one another out as she's debating if she should be calling the authorities on us.

Would it be inappropriate to get his teacher beer as a Christmas gift and address the card to Heidi?  Hmm...

Even when they embarrass you and they're not even in your presence, fear not, You Are a Good Mom.

*******************************************************************************************************

If you haven't already, be sure to stop by and check out the "You're a Good Mom" page on Facebook.  "Like" it and any new blog posts will be delivered right to your news feed!  Thanks!!

A Tooth Fairy Favor

Have you ever been blessed with "lifetime" friends?  I'm talking about people who are dear, dear friends, and you just "do life" with them.  You know they're going to be around, throughout your life, no matter what.  Distance, time, whatever; it doesn't matter, because they'll be there.

We are very, very fortunate to have many special "lifetime" friends in our lives.

(If you're reading this and wondering if I'm talking about you, I most definitely am.)

One of our "lifetime" friends is my husband's college roommate and his wife, and their two children.  Without even planning it, each of our children was born within 4 months of each of their children.  

We are quite literally "doing life" with them.  

When we get together, our kids love to play together.  They are at just about the same stages and interested in the same things.  Ever since our kids have been babies, we've been able to talk and share with each other about the same questions and concerns and wonderings and milestones our kids were approaching or struggling with, and that is true to this day.  Luckily for us, their oldest child is 4 months older than our oldest child, so these "lifetime" friends field a lot of things just enough ahead of us to warn us what's coming down the road.

This very thing happened just two days ago.

My friend posted that her daughter lost her first tooth.

My first thought:  How exciting!! Losing that first tooth is such a big deal and a rite of passage!  How fun!

My second thought:  Oh my goodness.  That means this is probably coming around the bend soon for my son.  

My third thought:  Holy.  Crap.  I am completely unprepared for this huge life experience for my own kid!  (Keep in mind, I am a natural born worrier...) 

Honestly, my son doesn't even have so much as a wiggle to any of his little teeth, so I know I've got some time, but losing teeth wasn't even on my Mom Radar yet.  (This is another benefit to "doing life" with lifetime friends...it's like a build in safety net.  I get reminded of and warned about all the millions of things I would otherwise forget.)

What got me thinking, though, was what is protocol going to be in our house when a tooth is lost?  (These are the parenting decisions you have to make that no one warns you about.)  I saw that adorable picture of their sweet, toothless daughter, and realized the Tooth Fairy would be making her inaugural visit that night at her house, and I realized I had absolutely no idea what that will look like here.

So I'm throwing it out to you guys...  What is Tooth Fairy protocol at your house?  (Or what do imagine it will look like?)  What does she (I'm guessing it's a she...maybe at your house it's a he?) bring?  If it's money, how much?  If it's not money, what is it?  Any special Tooth Fairy traditions?  Where does the lost tooth wait for the Tooth Fairy's arrival?  (under the pillow seems so very complicated...)

And perhaps most importantly for this Mom...  How does the Tooth Fairy NOT wake the loser of the tooth up?  How does the Tooth Fairy STAY AWAKE to remember to do so?  

Thanks in advance for your help.  Feel free to pass this post on to any other Moms you know who can weigh in on this subject, or might benefit from getting ideas from others, too.  Open to any and all suggestions!!

I'm fairly certain that now that I've posed these questions, my son won't lose a tooth until the 3rd grade.  Had I not asked, he would have come home from school with a missing tooth tonight.

When you can help out other Moms with their "firsts", You Are a Good Mom.

*******************************************************************************************************

If you haven't already, be sure to stop by and check out the "You're a Good Mom" page on Facebook.  "Like" it and any new blog posts will be delivered right to your news feed!  Thanks!!

A Mom is Born

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new."  ~Unknown

I'm A Mom...!...?

The first time I realized that I was indeed someone's "Mom" was not all that long after my first baby was born.  I know that sounds very silly, but it's true.  My son was born at 11:15pm. 

[For those of you keeping score, those 45 minutes did indeed count as our first "night" in the hospital.] 

We were absolutely elated.  Delivery had gone well, I was able to nurse him shortly after he was born, and we were then able to welcome our family into the delivery room to meet the little guy.  They had been waiting patiently all evening and into these early morning hours to meet the new addition to the family.  We finally made it to the room we'd be staying in for the next two (read above comment...more like one...) days by about 2:30am.  We chose to keep our son in his bassinet in the room with us that first night.  When I was wheeled into our room and looked up to see the clock, I remember feeling like we were running on pure adrenaline and joy and couldn't believe we had a healthy baby boy that was our son.

Our son.

Does Anyone Know They Left This Baby in Here?

That feeling hit me like a tons of bricks in the middle of that first night.  Around 3:30 or 4:00am, my son woke up and was crying.  That cry.  That was the cry of my baby.  I had been around a lot of babies in my life, and every single other time I had ever heard them cry, I knew there was a Certified Mom around to comfort them, cuddle them, console them.  That was now, somehow, me.  
Was I ready for this?  Was I prepared for this?  Was I supposed to have a license or some kind of seal of approval or something to do this?  Medical professionals had knowingly left this poor, innocent 5-hour old baby in this room with my husband and me.  I wondered how long it would be until they realized this.

Upon hearing the cry of our son at that middle-of-the-night hour, I carefully got out of the hospital bed, and tried not to wake up my sweet husband, who was attempting to "sleep" on the pull-out chair contraption they deceptively called a "bed" near the window.  I walked over to my newborn son's bassinet and picked up his teeny, tiny swaddled body.  I put him up on my shoulder and patted his back and began walking him back and forth, back and forth, in the dim light of the hospital room.  I was somehow hoping maybe once I picked him up he would just magically fall back asleep in my arms.   I was trying to conjure up all these images of the videos we had seen in our birthing class, the pictures in the books I had read, the visions I had of other moms I had witnessed do these things hundreds of times.  I kept pacing back and forth, back and forth.  I had this crazy feeling of "What am I supposed to do now?  I am his mom.  I am the one who is just supposed to 'know' what do do!"  

At that point, my husband was awake.  We both had a little of a "deer in the headlights" look, and were looking to each other for what to do or what to try next.  After about 10 minutes, a nurse came in our room to check my vital's or the baby's vitals or give me meds or one of the other 476 reasons they come into your room that first night.  I remember thinking "Thank God!  She must have heard him crying and come in to check on him!"  She went about her business of whatever she had come in to do, and wasn't phased in the least by our crying newborn.  

"Ok," I thought.  "This is a good sign.  She is not acting as alarmed as I feel right now.  She is not looking at us like we are the worst parents on Earth.  This must be somewhat normal."

After a couple of minutes, I said "I'm not quite sure why he's crying.  I've been walking him and patting his back and 'shush'ing in his ear, but nothing really seems to be working."  

With very kind eyes, she looked at me and asked "What time did he last eat?"

EAT!  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  How did I not think of that?  A basic survival need, and it had never even crossed my mind.  I have to feed this kid.  How in the world can I be a mom if I don't even remember...wait, even think...to feed my little guy?  

I instantly flashed back to what I had read, what I had heard.  That newborns eat every 2 hours.  That their stomach is the size of a marble.  Those thoughts had not surfaced in all my walking and patting and 'shush'ing.  It had been nearly 4 hours since he had his first meal.  The poor kid was hungry!

The amazing nurse and my incredible husband helped me get our little 7 pound miracle fed, changed, settled and back to bed.  I took a deep breath at that point and thought "This is it.  There is no going back.  I am now a mom.  I am now his mom.  God, please help me to not screw up too badly and to know what to do at least some of the time.  Grant me wisdom, as I'm pretty sure I have no idea what I'm doing, and somehow, the people in this hospital trust me with this precious child.  Your precious child.  Please walk with me every step of the way."  I have prayed that last line, or some version of it, nearly every day for the last 4 1/2 years.

Getting to Know All About You...

In the days and weeks that followed, our little family of three got the hang of being a family.  Feeding, napping, bathing, changing.  We spent time figuring each other out.  When I look back on it now, those are truly some of my absolute happiest memories.  Yes, we were sleep deprived.  Yes, we didn't really know what we were doing.  But it was us.  It was the three of us, and we had each other.  It was in those days that I started trusting myself and trusting my instincts more and more.  I owe a lot of this to my husband, my own mom and the other moms who stopped by to visit.  I could see it in their eyes and hear it in their words and feel it in their warmth-- they trusted me.

I was his mom.  He was my son.  I loved him more than anything on Earth.  When he was hungry or tired or just needed his mom, that was me.  I was that person.  I had walked into that hospital as a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a teacher, but walked out as a Mom.  I knew something had forever changed within me.  

A Mom had been born.  

So whether your little tiny miracle hasn't yet shown herself to the world or your baby is now taller than you, You Are a Good Mom.  You will always and forever be.  You are the one who knows them best.  You are their comfort and their safe place.  You are their Mom.

*************************************************************************************************
If you are a Mom-to-be or a relatively new Mom or know someone in those categories, you may want to check out this little addendum post, too!  Just a few more thoughts on this topic that didn't quite fit into this post anywhere.

My Life in the Rocking Chair

"Worry is like a rocking chair.  It gives your something to do, but never gets you anywhere."
~Erma Bombeck

Which bedding set should I get for my baby, that I have yet to even hold in my arms?  Which diapers should I use?  Do I let him cry it out or go in and comfort him?  Should she be crawling yet? Walking? Talking? Should he go into Young 5s or Kindergarten next year?  Is she ready for a sleepover yet?  How much do I help him with his science fair project?  What if no one asks her to the dance?  What if someone DOES?  Which college will he choose?  How will we afford it?  Is he really "the one" for her? From before they are born, until they are parents themselves and beyond, we worry.  Rock, rock, rock...yet we get nowhere.

I am a worrier.  I admit it.  I'm not proud of it, but worry seems to creep into my thoughts whenever it darn well pleases.  It's just there.  It's what we do as moms.  We worry about our kids.  We worry about things we can't control.  We worry about people they have yet to meet, obstacles they have yet to face, challenges they have yet to overcome.  We know we can't be there with them at every moment, and so we hope we are preparing them the best we can to go out and face the world, whether that world is the other kids playing on the playground at the park, the new roommate they meet for the first time as you move them into their dorm room, or unknown co-workers at a first job halfway across the country.

There is such a wide variety and so many options when it comes to worry.  Don't you worry...I seem to have mastered them all.  Let me share a few pages from my personal worry book...

The "I Can't Believe I Did That!" Worry
Scene: Driveway of our day care provider's house on a cold, dark December night, after picking up both of my children.  Life has been overall hectic, and I have just wrestled my oldest (who was 3 1/2 at the time) into his car seat, which took quite a bit of force and effort.  Both kids are successfully strapped in.  I am beyond ready to get home.  Push button on automatic door to close.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!" I say as I turn in slow motion and see my car keys lying on the front seat.  Check doors.  Locked.  Tightly.  All of them.   

"Hey, buddy!  Do you think you can reach your arms out of your straps?!" said hopefully, playfully, as if it's a crazy new game mom invented.  Continue miming how to do this outside of his window.  Son looks at me as if I'm crazy.  He tries, to no avail.  (Note: In the long run, a good thing.  If he could get himself out of his 5-point harness car seat on his own, that is an entirely different set of worries...)

Walk to day care providers front door.  Knock, knock, knock.  "Um, yeah, I know you're trying to start dinner with your own family after an entire day with other people's kids, too, but do you think you could call a tow truck for me?"

Thank goodness our day care provider was a good friend from high school, who stood out in the cold with me with a flashlight waiting for the tow truck and did NOT later call child protective services on me.  Tow truck arrives, and I realize I have forgotten my wallet at home.  Call Mom to get her credit card number to give tow truck driver, and tell her I will pay her back later.  (Thanks, Mom!  You're the original Good Mom!! :)  The fun just never ends, right?

That one was even in my control, so to speak.  It was something I did, and unfortunately, it was not the first or last time I will be guilty of pulling something like that.  The lesson I learned here is don't beat yourself up over it.  It happens.  We're moms and it comes with the territory of being human and having a million things on our plates and on our minds at once.  Get up out of the rocking chair, work to resolve the issue at hand and move on.  

The "What Will They Think?" Worry
Scene: Our little family of 4, the secretaries, and the principal, in the office of my son's preschool, also a K-6 school, the Friday before Christmas break. The secretary has asked my preschooler what Santa will bring for Christmas.  She has asked him about what Santa will bring him, his sister, his mom, and is now asking about his dad.

"I think he'll bring him tools.  He really likes to build stuff."
"Really?  That's neat!"
"Yeah.  He works in the garage a lot.  And this summer, we're gonna build a bat house together! (Note:  This is actually true.  My husband has talked with my son about this upcoming endeavor.)  It's gonna be so fun and I'm gonna wear special glasses and use tools!  And we're gonna catch bats in my bat house from our backyard so we can eat the bat meat (Note: This was NOT part of any conversation my husband has had with him about this upcoming endeavor) and...."

I have no idea what he said after that.  Excuse me...did he just say we would catch the bats and EAT THE MEAT?  Did he just tell the school secretaries we would EAT BAT MEAT?  Seriously?!  Worry sets in...oh no...are we going to be the crazy bat family?  We are going to have children at this school for the next 10 years!  

Thank goodness my aunt is the principal in this scene, and thank goodness the secretaries are the sweetest, most amazing women on the planet, and my aunt just started laughing right along with my husband and I as we all looked at each other.  She saved the day and jumped in with "Where does he get this stuff?"  I'm sure we will inevitably be come to be known as the "something" family over the years, but at least for now, it's NOT the crazy bat family.  

The lesson I learned here is learn to laugh at it.  There is no way we can control the things that come out of our kiddos' mouths...at age 2, at age 8 and most definitely anything that ends with "-teen."  We can't control what other people are going to think of us or our kids, either.  We shouldn't even try.  Get up out of the rocking chair, laugh over whatever goofy/embarrassing/off the wall thing that was said or done, and move on.  

The "Is My Kid Gonna Be Alright?" Worry
Scene: Our house, the weekend after school was out for summer vacation.  Loud "crash" noise comes from my son's room, as I'm in my daughter's room, trying to get her to nap.  Immediately followed by my husband's swift steps up the stairs.

My husband, extremely calmly.  "Carrie, get her dressed.  Grab your keys.  I need you to drive us to the emergency room."  

My heart sinks.  My stomach drops.  My mind is racing.  What happened?  Is everything OK?  Obviously not... (Note: I can handle a lot of of bodily fluids from my kids.  Poop.  Pee.  Boogers.  Puke.  Spit up.  You name it, I've been covered it.  And sometimes in a combination of the above.  Does not phase me in the least.  Except BLOOD.  I don't handle blood so well... like I faint.  Not good.)  

My incredible, calm, level-headed husband is taking care of our son and helping to calm him down and reassuring him, all the while trying to keep me calm.  He has his head wrapped.  They are both covered in blood.  I am worried beyond words, but do my best to get myself and my daughter buckled in the car and ready to go.  As it turns out, my son was running into his bedroom, and either slipped on something or just tripped, and fell and hit his head on the baseboard of his bed just above his eye.  He got a pretty good sized cut, 5 stitches, and now has a faint scar that he loves to tell people about.  

All 4 of us end up spending a few hours at the ER, complete with Toy Story and Popsicles.  When the ER doc comes into our room, he looks at my husband and I and asks us what happened.  Our son pipes up from his bed, with his wounded, wrapped head (he honestly looked like a little miniature Civil War soldier...) and matter-of-factly remarks "I got in a fight with my bed, and the bed won."  

Thank goodness for my incredible, calm, level-headed husband, who got our son through the actual stitches as I took our daughter out to the lobby...and worried the entire time. The lesson I learned here is be there and be present the best you can.  Just having you there and present will do wonders for your kiddo, even if you are scared and worried yourself.  Get up out of the rocking chair, love on your sick/injured/hurting kiddo like crazy, provide comfort and support, and move on.

There are so many other worries that rear their ugly heads throughout the day or night.  I'm guessing that most of you out there have your own to add to this list, too.  If not, please let me in on your secret!

**********************************************************************************************

Even now, my 83-year-old grandpa still worries about my 60-year-old mom. Are you OK driving across town by yourself?  Did you get your power back after the storm?  Do you have an umbrella if it rains?  So I guess it never really stops...we never really totally get up out of the rocking chair.  It's just one of those things that comes with being a mom.  We worry because we love them.  We worry because we want the very best possible life for them.  We worry because they are a little tiny piece of us living out there in the great big world.  We worry because we wish we could make sure that everything will always be "OK," but we know we can't.  We just have to be by their side and love them through it all, no matter what.  

But this post is not just about worry.  It's not just to give you more things to worry about...as if you needed that.  It is to put it out there, so that we know we are not alone in our worry.  To focus on what we can control, and hopefully to provide some encouragement.  

Let love guard against worry.  Take heart in the knowledge that your child is loved beyond words and that they know that.  They can feel it in a way that they don't always show and don't always say.  Sometimes they even say it to the contrary.  

(My 2-year-old daughter cried all the way home the first time she came with me to drop her older brother off at preschool because I wouldn't let her stay at school with him.  After we pulled out of the parking lot, she yelled at me "I need a new mommy!!"  Oh yeah...those teen years are gonna be a ball of fun with this one!)

But no matter the words they sling at us, or the actions they take to try to say otherwise as they assert their independence and try to find their place in this world, they KNOW they are loved.  They know it in a way they can't even put into words.  It is comfort.  It is a warm blanket wrapped tightly around them, even when you are not there.  That is the very best gift we can give them.  They have worth.  They are worth loving.  That sticks with them.  

All those "what ifs...".  All those uncontrollable factors out there.  All those obstacles and challenges they have yet to face.  All those things we worry about in the middle of the night or the middle of the day, for that matter.  All those things do not compare to this one simple truth they know in their soul:  I have been, and continue to be, loved unconditionally.  No matter what they face, what they come up against, that is with them.  YOU have given that to your child...and no amount of worrying can take that away.  

So tonight, let your mind rest at ease, if even for a few minutes.  Let go of the worry, just for a short while.  Give the rocking chair a break.  Know that your child is loved in a way only YOU can love them, loved in a way that can never be taken from them, loved in a way they will never forget.  They will be ready to face all that this world has to throw their way.  Not to say there won't be obstacles or challenges, but that infallible truth of a mother's love will be there with them.  Always.  

Don't worry...You Are a Good Mom.