Chick-fil-a and Me: The Public Service Announcement

I know all of you faithful readers have been prone to skipping "those" places with a playscape since my fun adventure of having to climb up one . . . I know you've been avoiding the horror.

But, there is hope. Your children will now be able to consume their fast food delight when I let you in on this one. (and, no we didn't go back until last week since our adventure in April)

Don't avoid it because you might have to climb the structure---CLIMB the slide instead.

I KNOW! Genius right? I am sure you are amazed because you didn't think of it first (yeah, right, how slow am I?)

It works beautifully to rescue toddlers from death-scary high play structures (or having to slide down by themselves with poop in their pants).

And, yes, you have to tell the other kids to stop sliding for a 30 second period or so.

Believe me, climbing the slide is TONS better than climbing the structure to get to the slide. I know. No, seriously. I really know.

Chick-fil-a and Me

Have you ever watched kids playing on a play structure and said to yourself,"I hope I never have to go up there and rescue anyone." I have, about a bajillion times, and, yeah, you know where this is going.

Chick-fil-a and I have a somewhat tenuous relationship. I don't appreciate all the misspelled words in the establishment, something about environmental print and whatnot. I am a bit sick of their limited use of chicken. But, they have the best of the "fast food" out there, healthwise; Everett loves to play on the play structures; Erik, especially, loves the lemonade.

This evening was a bit harder for Everett with Erik not being around to play. I decided to let Evy pick what was for dinner . . . and we ended at Chick-fil-a. Our local chicken providing establishment has one of the most intricate and highest play structures I have ever seen. [Erik always calls me OSHA (Occupational Safety & Health Administration) because up until the past few years most playscapes looked like death traps, and I would be the first to critique them.] Our structure is very clean, very OSHA friendly, and Erik said that Everett made it to the top last time and slid down the slide.

So, off he went to play while I sat on the bench to entertain Merritt.

Tonight, Everett did make it to the top (the top has to be around 15-18 feet up). I thought his goal was to slide down. There were lots of kids playing around, climbing up the slide, and screaming. So, I knew it would take some time. Well, it took too long. The time to feed Merritt came and went, and it was time to get Everett out of there and go home.

I called his name.

I cajoled.

I cheered.

I counted.

I waited.

I tried to problem solve.

I said I was leaving and left the room (to this he said cheekily,"Bye, Mom").

I called his name repeatedly.

I counted again.

I asked the older kids to help.

I waited and called, in vain, for him to come down.

I exchanged looks and comments with other moms and wondered at what point I needed to go up.

Other moms came to investigate: Is it the four year old blonde boy at the top?

Me: Yeah, but he is two, he is just big for his age.

(BTW, with how this structure is designed, you can't see the kids at all times. There are lots of places where they are hidden from your view. I have now added this problematic element to my OSHA criteria.)

Supportively, the other moms started to say to their kids: Stay down here until he comes down, Stop screaming, Get back here, Don't climb up the slide, I said not to scream, No--you need to wait until we get him down.

20 minutes after I started, in vain, to get him to come down, I decided I had to go up.

I am SIX feet tall. I've got a little extra post-pregnancy love around my middle. In all, I am not a small woman. (if you are over 54 inches, you aren't supposed to play on the structure the sign says). You know that the openings to climb through get smaller the higher up the structure you go. ye-ah.

I climbed that play structure, trying not to expose my entire belly to EVERYONE in Chick-fil-a who was now watching some grown woman climb the stupid thing with 8 kids running and climbing around her. Found Everett. Asked what the problem was and he said,"Wanna slide but poopoo."

The boy wanted to go down the slide; he was right by the opening, poised to go, but he didn't want to slide because he had POOPOO in his pants.

I gave him the choice to slide with poopoo or climb down. He tried to slide. I cheered him on, but he just couldn't do it.

So, with a John Wayne swagger (remember the poopoo), he started to climb down the structure. Midway down he decided he wanted to go back up, and I let him know that in no uncertain or certain terms was he going to do that. So, he started crying and calling for dada and screaming about how he missed his dada.

And, yes, Merritt is bawling his eyes out the entire time.

And you know what bothers me the most, it isn't the crying. I hate heights and never want to have to climb through those multilevel structures again. I had to slither my body through the levels because I am so long.

And, we had a thorough debriefing when we got home about what happened. Don't underestimate the 2 year old. They know a lot more than one would expect.

Whinisitis

Definition: (noun) a condition of the toddler brain that creates the compulsion to whine without any cause or instigation. Typically, whinisitis is relieved with random items or actions provided by the caregiver. No item or action can be depended on for repeated relief from whinisitis. One who is afflicted with said condition is called a whiner. For more see to whine.

Said favored songs of those afflicted are "Whine All Night Long" and "It's My Party, I'll Whine If I Want To." The act of whining causes the whiner's caregiver a long, slow, and debilitating death of all working brain cells. Whinisitis can instigate desperate behavior on the side of the caregiver after durations of whining; this is called the Desperation Period.

Case Study: Everett, a budding two-year old, has recently contracted an acute case of whinisitis. His caregiver, Sheila, when giving an oral history of his health and her mental status, included the fact that she would rather he tantrumed than whined. Tantruming, though stronger and louder per episode, is shorter in duration than whinisitis. Said caregiver was completing family shopping when the Desperation Period hit. Standing in the refrigerated section, she saw some "cat sugar cookies" produced by Pillsbury.

"Look Evy! Kitty cookies," She exclaimed, faking way more interest and enthusiasm than these tasteless wafers of dough would normally insight.

"[punctuated silence which was previously whining] Kiddy-koookys?" Everett said quietly as if he couldn't believe it.

"Why don't you hold the box?" Sheila suggested.

The whiner's calm demeanor lasted 90 seconds before whining began again. However, the 90 seconds provided needed respite and rebuilding of neurons for Sheila enabling her to function all the way to the check-out lane.

The cookies tasted horrible. But, he was happy to look at them (once he finished whining all through the 10 minutes they took to bake) and ate most of the offered cookies. And, yeah, that is part of the laundry in the background. Hope it makes you feel good about the status of your laundry right now.

Too Big for His Britches

Right now, Everett is allowing me to watch the last fifteen minutes of the Today show so that we can hear Sara Evans sing. I've got my bowl of apple cinnamon oatmeal in front of me, and Evy has both of his blankets.

We've just finished our morning routine . . . going to the potty is now part of it. Not Mommy going to the potty, but Evy. "Go, Poopoo!" He requests to go to the potty at least once a day. He has actually done something while on the potty, and I am not ready for this.

I was ready for him to walk MONTHS before he was ready.

I was ready to trash all his meds way before he was.

Most moms count down until they can potty train . . . not me. I wasn't planning to potty train until Feb or March. He is just weeks shy of turning two . . . the pediatrician told me not to expect to train him until he was at least two and then some. I'm unprepared . . . and in Sheila World that means that I haven't thoroughly researched books, asked friends, and then created a plan to go about it.

So, I am just going to let him potty train himself for now. I figure he might plateau at this point and not need to be taken to the next step for awhile? We do have a potty for him. We do praise him. He is telling us, sometimes, before he needs to go pee or poo. Mostly he tells us just after he goes. He usually doesn't fight me during diaper changing time, now. I'll just be grateful for those behaviors, and let him cue me as to when he is ready to go to the next point, because I certainly don't want to right now.

Call me lazy, but I rather think I am wise.

His first trip to the potty occurred this weekend. Let me tell you, he was so PROUD of himself. He sat there for 20 minutes, just grinning away. What do first-time parents do when the KID tells them he needs to go to the potty without any kind of prompting on their part?--take a picture.

Instead of Napping--Dulcet Tones of Meow

Everett, instead of napping, gives a concert. The most recent additions to the repertoire have been "meowing" songs. He'll intersperse that with screaming out "Momma!" and "tractor!"

I was able to get a very quick soundbite of what it sounds like . . . of course in the 10 minutes that I sat there staring at the baby monitor ready to catch him in action, he somehow knew I was taping it, and was extremely quiet. So, this is/was sort of a let down. Don't worry, he never fell asleep. (Gotta do something to entertain myself because if he doesn't sleep I don't either and I really don't want to do laundry or vaccuum or the wash dishes or clean bathrooms right now.)

For the posterity's viewing pleasure, I start out with a shot of Twiggy's offering for the hour. Since Erik left, there have been multiple gifts laid with honor on our front and back door--only element missing: daisies in the hands of the deceased. I guess she misses him, too. And since he is gone, I guess I get to bury the carcases. (Have to think of a pregnancy rule against doing that and then ask my neighbor to bury them.)

If you care enough to watch the video of the monitor picking up the sounds (sounds thrilling right?), you'll have to turn up your volume because I didn't have enough forethought to turn up the monitor's volume myself. And, the last 8 seconds or so he says nothing--couldn't get the computer to cut that section out. Today has been a "go me" all around day.

Parenting Dilemna #100,125

Set scene:

• Bathtime
• Erik is working late (no one to moderate my "ideas" hanging around)
• Everett needs a haircut
• I have scissors handy

And so, I followed through on my BRILLIANT idea to cut his hair while he was taking a bath. He is semicaptive in the tub, he is occupied, and he is having fun. (I didn't think that sharp scissors near slippery surfaces was a deterrent.)

And so, Everett and I go through the motions of not cutting his hair. I mean he twists and turns more times that I thought possible. But, after some time, we come to an understanding, and I get to cut the most offensively "ugly" parts of long hair.

And when I say BRILLIANT, it also means that all that hair either goes in the wastebasket beside me or down the drain. Don't get started on the "don't put trash down the drain" . . . because think of all the hair that goes down the drain just from ladies shaving their legs.

And so, as I round the task corner of getting the cut done, Everett gets a *look* on his face. And, yep, bubbles come up from the bottom area, and, yep, I then see the results of Everett's carrot and pea binge over the past week. He pooped.

I guess I could have rushed and held him over the toilet. But, it was just easier to let him take care of business in the relaxing warm water and then let him shiver while I cleaned him up.

And even though this isn't the first time he has pooped in the tub, I do think that this poop was pay back. Or, I took too long cajoling him to let me cut his hair. I am not sure what Erik will think. I am not allowed to cut *his* hair.

Parenting Dilemna #100,112

Everett

MRI-With-Anesthesia

It is tomorrow at 7:00 AM.

I am nervous.

Erik isn't.

We kind of balance out that way.

But, I get to be the one that takes him.

Don't worry, I packed an extra shirt for myself this time.

Parenting Dilemna #100,001

Cough

Cold

Sniffles

Mucous

Sick

Vomit

Everywhere

Tired

Stinky

Everywhere

Laundry

Everywhere

Yuck

Dirty

Friday

Trashday

Trashday

HHhhmmm

Throw Away?

Parenting Dilemna #1,024

Santa is our parenting dilemma. We have always chosen to limit the Santa-y decorations. We really try each Christmas to focus on a service project--some years we do this better than others. Now we are at a point (we really have another year) to figure out if we want to teach Everett about Santa.

Now, I know some of you are gasping in horror that I could even think of not building a child's fantasy about this jolly kind gift giver, but in my typical fashion, I do question it. I've heard all the arguments about you are teaching your child to use his imagination, but I question those. When you teach your child that the stove is hot, is that teaching him to use his imagination? No, we only say teaching about Santa is using the imagination because WE have to use our imagination to conceptualize his existence.

I really am not too keen on getting Everett's picture taken on Santa's lap. There isn't any harm in it (except if he is scared of a second rate, stinky, seasonal worker sweating in a Santa suit). The pictures can be really cute. But, I just don't know.

I've heard of parents teaching about the spirit of Christmas, and that Santa is a figure who embodies that. How do you teach a 1-2 year old that? I don't want to socially stunt my kid, "He's the one that has never heard about Santa." Nor do I want to be the spoiler of other parents' work in building up the Santa image by making other kids cry (ie, I don't want him spilling the beans in his kindergarten class that Santa will never, ever come).

I want the phrase "Christmas" to bring images of love, sacrifice, and Christ.---Not the ever growing lists of wants that I even had as a kid.

What about the "magic of Christmas" that Santa brings? Well, isn't love and service toward others really the magical part of the season? Isn't further understanding the birth of Christ, his mission, and his sacrifice the real magic?

I am sure I'll come to terms with this since there are others I am going to have to decide what to do with--(1) Tooth Fairy, (2) Easter Bunny, (3) Boogy Man, and the ever fun and adventurous (4) Snipe Hunting.

NOAA Photo Library
Wilson Bentley, a Vermont farmer, took photographs of snowflakes under a microscope as a hobby. These photographs were published in the "Monthly Weather Review" in 1902.

Parenting Dilemna #1,023

Here is a simple addition problem for you:

Babygate + mentally challenged cat + accidentally trapped by the gate on the upper floor + no kitty litter box on previously mentioned floor + duration of 12 hours = (what do you think?)

Oh, yeah, she peed all over Everett's crib bedding. All over. All over. She must have peed like 2 gallons of pee. Okay, slight exaggeration. But, it was a lot.

Erik was trying to make me feel better about the situation (he's the one who accidentally locked her on the top floor), "Sheila, I am sure she held it a long time before she finally found some place to pee." y.e.a.h.

And, is it coincidence that she peed in the bed of my beloved son who takes up more of our time which we now don't spend with her?

The good side to all of this . . . . no poop found . . . . yet.

Parenting Dilemna #254

Setting: 9:oo pm, Everett is sound asleep, snoozing peacefully. Sheila sneaks into his room to put aways clothes and comes out quietly.


Sheila: It really smells in there. I am afraid he pooped.

Erik: Are you sure, it could just be gas. Everybody can have gas. I get gassy you know.

Erik goes in and checks out the level of rankiness.

Erik: Yeah, he pooped.

Sheila: That means he'll sit in it for 10 more hours. He's had such a problem with diaper rash recently. But they say "don't wake a sleeping baby."

Erik: Well, if it really bothers him he'll wake up.

Sheila: Okay.

One hour later--

Sheila: It really stinks. The whole floor smells now.

Erik: Should we try and change his diaper.

Sheila: I'll see how bad it is.

Erik: Okay, I'll be ready to prep a bottle in case we need one to get him to go back to sleep.

Sheila quietly checks the diaper like only a mom and dad can check a diaper.

Sheila: Yeah, it is poopy. It will be a quick change . . . not a messy poop. (Read between the lines here people.)

Erik: Okay.

Sheila quietly goes in, lines the changing table with a warm blanket, gently moves Everett to the changing table, changes the diaper with the speed that only moms who want their babies to go back to sleep can. She then places him back in his bed . . . ASLEEP!!!

Will we ever do that again? I don't know. Am I very, very grateful for disposable diapers that make changing a diaper quick and easy? YES.