I took a vacation and I have no photos to prove it.

I took a vacation and I have no photos to prove it.

Yep, that is correct! I took a week off with my friends and family and have no photos to prove anything happened.  And you know what?  It was awesome!

This past Spring Break I decided to cash in on some vacation days and take my little man to Universal Studios.  I was very excited to be away from work and the daily grind and to be honest, pretty stoked about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  It had been a few years since my little man and I went on a vacation just the two of us and I was happy to get some alone time with him.

Of course the first thing I did was take a photo of him under the entrance to the welcome sign, next up ticket booth and another photo.

Mandatory shot walking in to park

Next thing I knew he was meeting the guys from Men in Black and I quickly hunted for my phone to get a photo of the event. 

I couldn't get my phone to work, had to improvise!

 

 

 



First Line at the park... apparently it was photo worthy?
 



 On and on it went, me rushing from spot to spot, trying frantically to get a photo of a special moment so that I could tweet/Facebook/Instagram it for all of my followers/friends/strangers to see and take part in our memories.

Then my phone died. 

DIED.

As in, stopped working, caput, no service. 

I was about ready to head to the ET ride and get him to phone home for me when I decided not to freak out.  I quietly put away my link to the outside world as I crossed under the gates to Jurassic Park.   I grabbed a hold of my little man’s hand (ok, not really, he’s too big now to hold hands, but I was allowed to hold on to the strap of his book bag). So there I was, holding on to my precious son - via his book bag and I was happy.

We had a great time!  I didn’t miss any special moments searching in my purse for my phone.  I didn’t make him wait in between rides so I could upload our most recent adventure.  After a few hours of not having my phone those who still had them out started getting on my nerves.  I wanted to yell at the lady in front of us in line for Despicable Me to put her phone down and actually talk to her kids (when else will you have all your children in one spot with nowhere to go?  Literally you are trapped like sardines; you can get some mad family bonding done in those lines!)  I was tempted to the tell kids behind us at the restaurant to put their gaming devices down and enjoy the show – their parents paid A LOT of money for this vacation and they should embrace every moment.

But I didn’t say anything.  I just sat there and was thankful that I woke up to my over use of the cell phone.

We were racing from Spiderman back to Hogwarts when I made a comment about the overuse of cell phones in Universal.  **Disclaimer, many people download an ap that has a map and wait times for the park rides. While this is useful, it is NOT smart to stop in the middle of the walkway and use such ap.  But I digress….

I said “I really think they should not allow cell phones in the park.  Too many people stop in the middle of the street and cause backups.”  My little man looked at me and said, “I know mommy, just look at how awesome this place is! Everything here is so cool.  Much better than looking at your phone.”

And that is when it happened… I realized I didn’t need any more photos of precious moments.  I was making them WITH my son, not saving them for later or posting to the interwebs.

We had a great week at Universal studios and I have no photos to prove it.

 

A little coffee talk....

“Mom, do you think that machine can switch to Louisiana language?”

I never know what is going to come out of my Little Man’s mouth and this morning I was totally confused.

This past weekend I finally entered the modern world and got a Keurig.   Ok, to be honest, I was at a fundraising auction and there was one that not many people were bidding on.  Yes, I realize this is because EVERYONE on the planet already has a Keurig and I am behind the times.  Anyway, for the sake of charity I bought a Keurig. 

It turns out that I bought a super deluxe version of the little coffee genius.  (True confession, I am deeply in love with my shiny metal best friend that lives on my kitchen counter).  My Keurig is amazing!  It keeps the water hot – not like the old model in my office.  It has 8 settings for sizes of cups, yes 8 options!  And while your delicious hot beverage is brewing it plays a little movie of coffee and the hills of Jamaica or wherever coffee is grown.

So, this little contraption is now the center of my Little Man’s world in the morning.  He eagerly makes me a cup of Joe.  I can’t figure out if he likes pressing the buttons or watching the movie more, but either way I am NOT going to complain.

Since my son is ever so observant he read every button and screen on the digital display.  There is a screen that says “Española” and “François”.  He asked what that meant, I told him that was for people who would prefer to read in either Spanish or French.  He was cool with that answer, added milk to my coffee and went about his morning.

A few minutes later, as he was getting dressed for school he asks me, “Mom, does that thing show you Louisiana language?”  I told him that people from Louisiana speak English or some natives speak French.  “No Mommy, they don’t.  They speak Louisiana.”  I was a bit confused about what he meant.  He said “well mommy they spell ‘go’ funny like ‘geaux’, but they don’t mess with ‘Tiger’ because everyone knows you can’t change ‘Tiger’. 

Oh dear!  The joys of raising an LSU fan in Florida…..

A little hearing can go a long way

“Mom I can’t hear."  

What?!?!?  Not this again.  

When my Little Man was 3 we realized that he was pretty much deaf.  He was toddling through life reading lips.  You know when a little kid gets on your lap, grabs your cheeks and looks you in the eye and you think, isn’t that cute he loves me?  Well, my baby boy was doing that all of the time and I just sat there thinking he loved me so much.  Turns out, he couldn’t hear and was doing that to read my lips.  (Insert tear and heartbreak here)

Fast forward a few years, a few ear surgeries and a lot of Dr. appointments later and I think we are all in the clear.  Then I come home to “I can’t hear."

Crap, Crap and double Crap! 

I immediately go into super mommy mode.  I call the surgeon and insist on the very next appointment.  I call the pediatrician and book a backup appointment; I rearrange my work schedule and get Little Man out school in time for the appointment. 

Yep, ears are blocked, partly infected, partly gooey buildup and a whole lot of who knows what?  The Dr. was able to get the left ear clear and gave us meds for the right.  Little Man is now seemingly back to normal (or as normal as you can be on 50% hearing) and we proceed through our days – me being Supermom and him being Awesomekid!

Until he becomes the pitcher at the baseball game.  We are at the fields, I’m in the bleachers sporting my mommy gear talking to the baseball mommies, Little Man enters the field and takes the pitcher’s mound.   Not to brag, but my Little Man is a good baseball player, like naturally good, he can basically catch anything thrown at him and has really great hand/eye coordination.  I look at him and he is so excited to be playing Pitcher.

Then it happened… the first ball gets hit right at him and he can’t find it.  Next ball, hit towards him and it goes under his legs, then the next he catches but misthrows to first, and on and on.  It was like watching a person who had never played ball before.  I started shrinking down and trying to hide between the mommies.  The coaches were yelling, the dads were yelling, heck even the kids were yelling!  No matter what was hit towards him, he just couldn’t get the ball. 

Then I overhear a mommy from the 2^nd row bleacher “I don’t think that kid can hear” she says.

Oh CRAP!  That is right!  They put this big helmet over my little guy’s head to protect him from the balls, but it also must be blocking out all of the sound. I forgot to tell the coach that my Little Man was only playing with about 50% hearing.  I now shrink even further down into the cold bleachers.  How did SuperMom overlook the one thing I had been focused on all week?!?!?!

Somehow we made it out of the inning and my Little Man got relieved as pitcher.  He had a great rest of the game and the team won.

When I asked him about being pitcher, he told me it was “Awesome!”   I’m glad to see that my Little Man didn’t let all of the yelling from the fans and the coaches get to him. 

Wait, who am I kidding?  He couldn’t HEAR them!

Hamsters, Dogs and Frogs

“Mom I need a hamster” my little says as he sits down next to me.  “Buddy, you have a dog.  We aren’t getting any more animals” I remind him. “Yes, but Mom, my dog doesn’t DO anything” he says back.  Cliffy, our 9 year old half St. Bernard half Mastiff is basically a lazy lap dog trapped in the body of giant puppy. 

“Watch this mom” my little guy tosses the tennis ball in Cliffy’s direction and all Cliffy does is raise one eyebrow in a look that might as well say “You think I’m getting up to chase that thing?!!?!”. 

“See Mom!  My dog doesn’t DO anything” my little man huffs.

Good point, little man. I do realize that we have the laziest dog on the planet and he isn’t much for a game of fetch but I refuse to allow a hamster into my home.  Sure they are all cute and cuddly at first but in reality it is a rodent and I say NO WAY to rodents.

“Buddy, you have two frogs” I remind him.  (Side note: Thanks to my crazy sister I am now the very much stressed out owner of two African Water Frogs.  My sister thought they were the cutest Christmas present ever and just had to gift them to my little man.  Well, two years later I am still worrying about Max and Ruby, our water frogs.  Know what is harder than finding a dog sitter? Finding a FROG Sitter – I digress)

“Yes, but Mom I really want a hamster, something I can play with and love and teach tricks to.” My son is nothing if not persistent. 

“Little Man, you can play with Gogo and PopPop’s dogs when you want” I try the distraction method.

“No Mom, I really want my very own pet to play with.” “Little Man, you are just going to have to wait until you are older for me to get you a live animal to play with” I think the discussion is over.

A few minutes of thinking later, my little man comes back… “Fine Mom, I will get a fish.”  

“Buddy, how the heck are you going to play with a fish?” I ask. 

“Well, it blows bubbles and I can watch it.”

If life were only that easy…

Les Miles, Testicles and One Baby

One day a few years ago my ex-husband arrived at the YMCA to coach our son’s Tee Ball Team.  Most people would think “Oh, that is so sweet”  Nope.  He arrived wearing a bright purple LSU T-shirt with big YELLOW Letters stating “Got Lesticles?”  Umm.. Ok, for one I get the pun, Les Miles, Testicles, Lesticles as in relation to the daring plays the LSU coach calls. However nowhere in America is it ever ok to walk around wearing a shirt like that.  I mean, really?  Who wears that?! And moreover, who wears that to the YMCA Tee ball game?  Needless to say, I asked  him not to wear the shirt anymore.

 Fast forward a few more years to my house last week.  My little man is sitting on the toilet doing his thing, and for some reason likes to keep the door open and have conversations with whoever may be in ear shot. 

“Mom” I hear him say.  “What are these things called again?”  Oh no! I think, what in the world can he be talking about?  The mind of a 7 year old is always an adventure.   

“What things buddy?” I ask him.  “These things, they are testicles right?” 

 OH LORD, NOT THIS CONVERSATION!!  

 “Yes, that’s what they are” I yell from the other room.  “But what do they do?” he asks. 

 CRAP! Why can’t he have these conversations at his dad’s house?  “Um, Buddy they are for when you want to have a baby” I reply.  “But, I have two of them?” he asks.  “Yep, you should have two” I reply.  “But, what if I only want one baby?  I don’t need both of them right?”  “Umm, guess not buddy” I reply. 

 OH BOY! I am NOT ready for the birds and the bees talk yet.

 A few hours later we are sitting around the dinner table with my Mom and Dad.  My Mom loves me and really loves my little man, but every now and then she will question my parenting style, and in my defense my little man doesn’t do much to help my rep out.  For instance my little man loves to take off his clothes and shock my mom, usually he accompanies his nakedness with a song or a little dance – something that will certainly gain a few laughs from the crowd and deep stares from my Mom.  Or he will take on a new accent and style of dress, most popular but also most frustrating for my mom is when Sam gets all ‘ghetto’ on her and turns his head in just a certain way and pulls his pants just far enough down for some sag. 

So, here we are at dinner, enjoying a nice meal when my little man decides to be funny.  He tilts his hat, rolls up his sleeves, and pulls his pants low (Think Bieber at the AMA’s) stands up at the table, throws some sort of gang sign and decides in his most ghettorific voice to ask my mom if she has “Lesticles”.

Really?! Crap!  How the H.E. L. L. did my little man learn about “Lesticles”? 

That shirt was banned from my existence three years ago!  Moreover, why did he decide to bust a move at the dinner table and challenge my Mom to a duel of Lesticles?   He’s all poofed up and proud of himself with his new word and tough guy persona and my mom just sat there giving me the eye.

Let’s just say that I had Sam sit down, poured myself a large glass of wine and prayed he would ask his father about the birds and the bees.

Feel like a Mom?

The other day one of those random Facebook surveys popped up on my news feed.  The question was this: “How did you know when you were a Mom?”  Ok, DUH! That is a pretty obvious question right?  I mean you KNOW you are a Mom when that little stick you pee on turns blue, or gives you two lines instead of one, or you wake up every day for a week straight and vomit, or suddenly your boobs are swollen and feel like they will explode at the slightest touch of a feather.  I mean really, this is a pretty silly poll Facebook people. 

But then I got to thinking…. You can pretty much skate by being a Mom without actually feeling like one.  (Deep thoughts by Dana) 

I guess for some people it would be the first time they see their little baby smile, or the first time they hear them utter ‘momma’ out of their little mouths, or when they walk across the room to them for the first time.  Unfortunately for me Mom memories didn’t actually happen that way.  See, I was a working Mom and had a village helping to raise my little man - we had a very loud southern Daddy and a sweet Nanny at home, all of which called me Dana.  Turns out, babies repeat what they hear.  So instead of my little man whispering ‘momma’ in a cute baby voice, he decided to call me “Anda!” (Dana mixed up) in a loud southern bellow.  And the moment he walked across the room with his hands wide open?  Yep, the Nanny got to witness that one.  I learned about it through a broken English/Spanish translation via a cell phone.  So, no – I didn’t feel like a “Mom” then either.

Some Moms know they are doing their “Mommy Work” when their little one is sick and needs help through a fever or a band aide for his first big bruise.  Well, I am very fortunate to live near my parents and have a fantastic Mom (Gogo to my little man) who has a way with bruises.  It breaks my heart a bit, but my little man prefers to spend his sick days with my Mom and get her cuddles and attention.  I love that they have a great bond and that I know he is well taken care of, but it does not leave me feeling like I’m doing that “Mommy thing”.  For some reason a band aide or ice pack from GoGo cures my little man much quicker than me and for that I am grateful.

And on and on the list goes - me wondering when the heck I knew I was a Mom? By this point I have spent a good two days pondering and it is getting to me and my mommy self -esteem.

Then it hit me! 

I knew I was a Mom this month. (Ok, my son is 7 ½, maybe I’m a late bloomer?)

My little man has been away for 3 or so weeks.  Leading up to his big trip and my spontaneous staycation I had made list after list of things I would do sans my little guy.  The list was basically this:  tan, drink with friends, try new happy hour places, go dancing, try new bars, have work happy hours, have friends come visit, go on a lot of dates, buy new clothes and so on.  It was basically a list of everything I could think of that my single non parenting friends get to enjoy.  I was stoked! I had three and half weeks to conquer the single kid-less world!  I was going to take back the old pre-mom me.  I was ready to roll!

You know what?

 I ended up not doing much of my list.  Instead of drinking the nights away talking to lame men, I went running and cooked healthy dinners.  Instead of shopping for new clothes, I got a head start on uniform shopping for the next school year.  Instead of work happy hours, I stayed at work and actually got work done.    Instead of going tanning, I decided to be healthier and cancel my tanning membership.

I guess this week I KNEW I was a mom.  I realized how much my little man means to me, and really how much I miss him.  Sure, I miss the idea of fun happy hours at bars, but I miss bike riding with my little man more.  Sure, it would be fun to spend the day at the beach tanning and drinking Coronas, but it is more fun catching the waves and building sand castles. 

So Random Facebook Poll – thank you for helping me put my life back into perspective.  It might have taken me a bit to really “KNOW” I’m a Mom.  But, thank the good Lord I am one and I can’t wait to have my little man back home!

Afraid of this?

“Won't you be nervous?”  My friend asked me the other day at lunch.  I was telling her about an event I had to go to that evening and she asked me if I was afraid of attending an event by myself and not knowing who would be there.  “Not really” I replied.  “I’m pretty much used to going to places by myself and meeting new people.”    My friend told me she could never just go to a party, work event, or mixer by herself.  She just isn’t comfortable being alone in that kind of environment.  Luckily for me, I don’t have a fear of showing up someplace by myself. 

This conversation led to another one “What makes you nervous?  What are you afraid of?”  Hmm… this one was tougher for me to answer.  I replied “Dating” makes me nervous – she quickly retorted that it didn’t make me nervous and if it DID in fact make me nervous I would not be on 2 dating sites at the same time and juggling dates.  Ok – point taken.

I still couldn’t think of much to be afraid of or nervous about?  I am confident alone, can make friends, and enjoy trying new things.   I don’t think I have too many feelings of dread when it comes to events in my life.  I guess I am pretty lucky like that.

After more contemplating and thinking about this (because, you know, it is a random thought, and those are the kind of thoughts that get stuck in my head and I can’t get them out) I might have a few things that make me nervous.

The first thing is i'm afraid of and hate confrontation. HATE HATE HATE it. I hate it so much that I still volunteer for stuff I don’t want to do just because I am afraid of confronting the people and telling them why I don’t want to help anymore.  (Yes, I’m a sucker that is engulfed in fear of letting someone down).    I will lose sleep for days about something as trivial as confronting a coworker and telling them their idea wasn’t up to par, or their attitude needs to be fixed, or that they just really need to change the way they do something.  Confrontation = Stress and fear for me.  I’ve learned that my fear of confrontation makes me a pretty bad people manager.  I’m great at managing people who are on my team and rowing the boat the way I row, but one lose paddle and I can’t deal well with it.  Luckily for me, in my career I really don’t’ have to directly manage people and I can happily pick the people I want on my row boat.

Another thing that makes me nervous is falling in love. Weird right?  Well, I’m not hung up on it in the “can’t get out of the house kind of way”, more like it’s a BIG step and I’m kind of not there yet kind of way.  Once you have a child in your life the whole “falling in love” thing takes a SERIOUSLY BIG commitment.  One bad breakup when my Little Man was 4 and I quickly developed a fear of falling in love.  For now I am putting it down in the column of Healthy Fears.   You know that column?  In that column goes:  Sky Diving, Bungee Jumping, and roller blading… (Ok, roller blading is safe for some people, but for me it is a seriously dangerous sport and it will stay in the fear column!)

I remember filling out a paper for my Little Man when he was entering Pre K. He was 4 years old and the teacher wanted to know things like, favorite color, favorite food, allergies and fears.  I think she was looking for things like “afraid of the deep end of the pool, afraid of strangers, etc.”  I asked my little man “What are you afraid of?”   He replied, “Monsters”    “That is all?” I asked.  “Well, Big Ones”

Ok, little man.  You are right.  There really isn’t much in life to be afraid of but Big Monsters.

Lessons of Little League

We all know that sometimes parents take the fun out of things.  Or, maybe it is that parents end up having so much fun they forget that they are the parents and not the kids?

I noticed this recently at the little league field.  To be honest, I could have a blog entitled – I saw it at little league as there is a ton of juicy stuff I could write about it there.  Anyway, I digress…

Last week my little man’s team was playing the undefeated team – translation –this was a tough game for the 7 year olds.  We (See I’m already doing the parent fan club thing, using the ‘we’ to describe the team)…  We started the game off great! One kid had a double, and then a few of our kids had home runs. It was a really exciting game from the stands.  The score rose and rose until it was 16-13 us.  Then the other team got two runs and two outs and bases loaded.  My little man was at pitcher. (For all of you non little league readers it means he was standing next to the coach who was pitching)  The kid version gets to wear a big helmet and stand on the mound and play defense, but the coach does the actual pitching.  So there we are, Little Man on the mound, other team’s coach pitching, 2 outs, down by 1 run, bases loaded – and No, I am not making this up.  Just as the coach goes to pitch the ball, my little man yelled something like “go team”.  I’m not so sure why he yelled at the moment, but he did.  Well, this little yell set off a firestorm from the opposing coach.  He yelled at the Umpire, yelled at my little man, yelled at our coach, just basically threw a fit that a kid could yell during his pitching.  Our coach yelled back at the other coach, the umpire calmed it all down and the game when on.  The next pitch, the batter hit and the ball flew right into my little man’s glove.  He caught the last out and the game was over! Everyone cheered and the parents gossiped about the actions of the other coaches.

When we got home that night I asked my little man if he was upset about the coaches yelling and stopping the game.  I was thinking he might be embarrassed or nervous about playing pitcher again.  His response?  “Mom, I have no idea what was going on.  My helmet is so big, I can’t see anything and it covers my ears too so I can’t hear.”  Well, where you excited to catch the winning ball? I asked.  “Mom, I just put out my glove like I was supposed to.”  Good point little man – just do what you are supposed to, stay in position, where your gear and have fun.  Maybe the parents should learn a little lesson from you?

His next game was Saturday.  I didn’t make it, but I heard they got crushed 21-4.  Yesterday I asked him about his game.  “It was awesome mom! We had so much fun!” he said.  I said, really?  What was the score?  He replied “we lost like 10-2, but whatever, it was fun….”

My favorite place

A few weeks ago my little man and I were watching a cheesy Steve Martin movie. One of the ones where he has ten kids, is busy working, mom is busy working and inevitably they lose one of their brood.  The family runs around their neighborhood, calls the police and is panic stricken.  Then the youngest of the 10 remembers where the missing kid’s favorite place is (his old house) and Steve Martin saves the day, rescuing the kid and quitting his job all in an emotional montage.

Well, after watching this movie my little man looked at me and assured me that I have nothing to worry about because he didn’t have a favorite place and he would never run away.  I changed the perspective and assured him that our home was his favorite place and therefor he had no need to run to anywhere else.  I fell asleep that night really proud of my awesome parenting skills – high five for the mommy!

The next morning as I was getting ready for work my little man came rushing to me with a serious look on his face. 

“Mom” he said, “I figured it out!”

Figured it out?  It's 6:30 a.m. what are we figuring out so aearly? I haven't even had my coffee yet!  

“Ok” I say, “tell me what you figured out”. 

He says “My favorite place! I remembered where my favorite place is. (He hesitates, trying hard to remember the name) It is where Paw Paw lives. (He hesitates more, still thinking)  You know where it’s cold? Morgan and my cousins are there?”

 I say “Baton Rouge?”

 He jumps up and down in agreement.  “Yep! – that’s it, that’s my favorite place!”

  I say “Ok, so if you run away, I need to go to Baton Rouge to find you?”

 “Yes” he happily says.  Then he hesitates and looks at me, “but Mom, I need a cell phone and Paw Paw’s phone number because I have no idea how to get there.”

Ok, I think.  I am still lucky he won’t be running away for a bit longer as Baton Rouge is a bit far. But if he does attempt it, then at least I know where to start looking.  As for getting him his own phone?  NOT going to happen little man…

Ho Ho HOLY CRAP the Holidays are here?

I realize that I have not been a good blogger lately – let’s face it, I stink at it.  I committed myself to this project and I pretty much gave up for a month or two.  Since I’m a good Catholic girl I believe in confession and moving on. So, I confess to getting a life.  Yep, I got one! I no longer sit at home sipping my coffee and dreaming up something witty to post on my blog or as a facebook update. 

Now a days I’m working full time at a pretty great social service agency, waitressing on the weekends, being a full time single mom and trying to throw in a date now and again.  I’ve pretty much given up wine nights out with the girls, I have no resemblance of a tan, and my jeans are too tight because I haven’t run or seen the inside of a gym in weeks.

In the middle of me getting a life, getting a few jobs and trying to recreate a social life I missed the holiday cheer.  All of a sudden Christmas snuck up on me. Usually I’m the one decorating the office Christmas tree, planning the cookie baking parties and sending out holiday cards. Somewhere in the middle of working and my little man’s school and all of the other day to day stuff I forgot about the holiday.  Sure, I know it is coming, but let’s be honest, Costco and Wal-Mart have been telling me Christmas is coming since August – kind of like Peter and the Wolf if you ask me.  However this time the Wolf is here, knocking on my door and I just hope he is carrying the Heely’s I purchased last night on Zappos.com because those suckers better be under the tree this week!

Always being one to look at the bright side of things, I dedicated last weekend (my one free weekend with my little man) to ALL things Christmassy.  We ice skated, observed the 100 foot Christmas tree, watched a ton of holiday specials, visited Santa, baked cookies, shopped for presents, wrapped presents, drank hot cocoa, slept in our holiday pjs and helped the less fortunate. 

So, who says that you need a month, or a week to prepare for your Christmas cheer?   I say, let’s cram it all into one weekend and blow it out!  And my Christmas wish for 2012?  A personal assistant – I mean, someone needs to send out my holiday cards next year!

How I learned to ride a bike....

I have a secret that only a very few select friends have known about me over the years…. I can’t ride a bike. 

Apparently my Mom had some traumatic events with bicycles growing up, so when my sister and I were young we weren’t allowed to ride bikes on our street.  Not to let us feel deprived, my mom did purchase us brand new bikes when I turned 7.  Mine was pink with a flower basket and my sister’s was yellow with a bell.  We were really excited about our bikes, until we heard we could only ride them in the grass in our backyard…. the bikes soon took up their spot in our shed and were donated by age 12 or so.

For most of my life I have successfully avoided getting on two wheels and being forced to peddle.  I grew up on a country road with no sidewalks and our friends lived kind of far away.  Avoid bike riding to friend’s house – check!

I guess I could have hopped on a bike in college and gotten around campus a bit faster.  Instead I strategically signed up for classes near each other and near a good parking spot.  Avoid bike riding in college – check!

I got a bit braver once I was in the “real world” and my boss was selling her bike.  I was happy to purchase a pink bike for $100 in Washington D.C.  My boyfriend at the time rode his bike everywhere and I had visions of us biking the mall, touring the cherry blossoms and hitting the trails in Virginia.    I hopped on my new bike and started to peddle.  The streets of Capitol Hill are brick and full of tree roots.  I shook, I cried, I wobbled, it was really terrifying.  My boyfriend suggested I bike in the street – I walked my bike into the street and started my way down the road between parked cars and moving cars.  I was a wobbly wreck.  I don’t think I even made it to the next stop sign. I hopped off my bike, put it in storage and donated it three years later.  Avoid bike riding in a major city – check!

For the next ten years or so I was happy to avoid all things related to bike riding.  I’ve been invited on bike rides with friends – no thanks, busy that day.  Asked out on a date to go bike riding – sorry, can’t make that one.  Participate in a mini triathlon – nope, busy.  Take a bike ride tour while visiting a new city – I’ll take the trolley tour instead. 

I had answers and ways of avoiding any and all kinds of scenarios regarding bike riding.  I was planning on living happily ever after without getting on two wheels. 

….until my son turned 6.

I forgot that when you are a 6 year old little boy your most favorite activity is riding bikes.  I also forgot that once the training wheels come off, little boys can peddle really, really fast.   Up until age 6 I was able to walk/run along with my little man while we rode his bike.  Apparently overnight the little man figured out how much fun bikes were, graduated to removing training wheels and turned into Lance Armstrong.

Crap!

I had a heart to heart with my little man.  I told him that Mommy doesn’t know how to ride a bike and therefore his bike riding would be limited to Daddy’s house from now on.   Not to be discouraged he replied, “I’ll teach you mommy!”  He then proceeded to outline his plans to get me to ride a bike.  It included training wheels, going slow and practicing in a parking lot.

I put on my brave face and we went out to buy bikes.  Three bikes later (my mom got in on the bike riding lesson too) three helmets, one bell, one basket and big dose of crazy later, I was having my first bike riding lesson. 

It turned out that bike riding is actually really fun!  Sure I’m still really shaky and I tend to crash into a few bushes now and then, but my little man and I are having a great time.  We pack our snacks and head out for new adventures.  The best part of the ride is when we take a break, watch the sunset at the beach and I see the wonder in his eyes. 

My little man’s goal is to ride his bike to school.  To get there we have to go over a HUGE bridge.  I am completely terrified of the bridge – the down is just a tad bit too steep for me.  But according to my little man I can do it, and with his help I think I can!

Little Man and I on our snack break during an afternoon bike ride

Spin Doctor and Politician in training?

It is amazing how much our little people take after their parents and grandparents.  My little man comes from a long line of politicians and spin doctors.  His one grandfather held state wide office for years and is now a lobbyist.  His other grandfather is a successful salesman who now holds a local office.  His daddy is a lobbyist who ran a state wide political party, and let’s face it my job has always been political – raising money for political candidates and charities.  You can say he was born to spin a tale, impress a crowd and basically get his way…

 I remember taking my little baby into the local coffee shop and the ladies behind the counter swearing he was going to be President someday.  At only a few months he had developed a sense of stage presence like a mini Bill Clinton.  He would bat his long lashes, flash his big toothless smile and flirt his way to a free muffin. 

At about age four he perfected the art of making a contract.  He somehow convinced his Gogo (my mom) to pay him a dollar to take a nap.  If payment for services he was already going to do wasn’t bad enough, he made her sign a contract to ensure she upheld her end of the bargain.

Once he entered Kindergarten he had a bit more bargaining power.  He now lived in a land based on spelling tests and math homework.  One Sunday night I was watching Sunday Night Football while at the same time trying to uphold the 8:00 bedtime and I was met with a really tough argument.  My  3 ½ foot spin doctor was able to convince me to alter his bedtime saying that him watching the game was going to help him with his numbers.  “See Mommy that is number 57 and number 35 just tackled him…”  My little man won a later bedtime that night.

The problem is that my little man is now using his powers of persuasion and storytelling on his friends.  After the infamous black eye incident I heard him on the phone with my dad.  “Pop Pop I have a black eye.  Yep!  Yesterday, during my game, I caught a fly ball with my eye”.  What!?!   That is NOT the story I remember.  How did he turn a bruise in the shower into a baseball injury?  Like any good mother, I confronted him and told him I do not appreciate him making up stories. 

“Ok Mom” he said, “but falling in the shower is really not cool.”

Good point, little man, good point.

Mom Did It

My little man has a really bad black eye.  Unfortunately it is not his first black eye, however it is the first black eye where he is old enough to tell people how he received a giant purple and blue bruise on his face.  Let’s just say this is one of those times I regret ever teaching my little man to talk….

After a rather muddy baseball game I made the little man shower.  Like any good mother, I was hovering in the bathroom making sure all of the parts that needed cleaning got sudsy.  Well, my little man didn’t necessarily feel like actually cleaning anything in the shower, so I had to intervene.  I pulled out my stern mom personality, grabbed a washcloth, added soap and started scrubbing.  Like a wild animal not wanting to be caged my little man broke free of my grip and bit it in the shower.  Yep, wham, blam, splat!  His little body splayed out on the floor of the tub with him screaming about his eye.  As the bruise swelled into a grapefruit I thanked the good lord that he wasn’t seriously hurt.

The next morning I dreaded the car drop off line.  I just knew someone was going to say something.  I mean really, my kid looked like he just went head to head with Tyson.  At least I had a legitimate story – me being the good mom ensuring cleanliness.  No need to worry right?

Not so…

Teacher in drop off line “Morning Little Man”

Little Man: “Morning”

Teacher: “What Happened to your eye!?!  Poor Baby!  Are you okay??!?!?”

Little Man:  “My Mom did it”

UGH!

Sister Wife

I am not a polygamist nor do I live in Utah, but I do have what I sometimes refer to as a sister wife.  She is the wife of my ex husband, also known as a step mom, step monster, and in some circles the ‘devil’. But in my world, I like my sister wife and I do everything I can to keep her happy. 

Some people think I’m crazy.  Why would anyone want to get along with their ex husband’s new wife?  I’ve heard all of the reasons about how she is the one he left me for, she is the one who caused trouble, she did this, and she did that.  Honestly – I don’t care. I don’t blame anyone else for the breakdown of my marriage – it was my fault, it was his fault, it’s over – move on.

And with that moving on attitude, I’ll explain why I like my sister wife.

For starters, she and I have more in common than anyone else on this planet.  Let’s face it – we both raise my son, we help with his homework, wash his clothes and clean up his boo boos. We both have to deal with the same crazy schedule my ex husband has, rotate our family holidays to accommodate our son’s schedule, share the same crazy mother in law/grandma, and we both slept with the same man.  We definitely have a lot in common.

Honestly, I think I scored in the sister wife department.  One thing might be small to you, but HUGE to a boy is she loves water parks and roller coasters. Me, I hate them.  She LOVES them and actually asks to take my kiddo on extra trips to Disney just to go on the giant crazy water slides. Small to you – HUGE to me. Check one for Sister Wife!

Two – she doesn’t work.   I often have the guilt of a working mom. Not so much with my sister wife around. When my son has a field trip and I can’t go because of a work meeting – she goes.  When he is home sick and I can’t stay home – she does.  When I have a date and can’t find a sitter – she kid sits.  Check two for sister wife!

Three - I never wanted my son to be an only child.  She and my ex have one daughter and will be having their second any day now.  I get the best of both worlds.  I don’t have to raise another child and he gets sisters – Check three for sister wife!

Four - she puts up with my ex husband and all of his crazy… Enough said – check four for sister wife!

I’m not going to say our relationship has been all roses and sunshine – it hasn’t. We’ve had our share of blow ups and arguments. But, at the end of the day we learned a few things.  First we both care about our little man and second, we both get mad at her husband equally!

I think you need a husband...

Son: “Mom, I think you need a husband.”

Me:  “What?”

Son: “Yes Mom you need to find a husband”

Me: “O.K. Where does one shop for a husband?”

Son: “Dick’s of course!” 

Me: Trying really hard not to laugh at the obvious pun of my 6 year old. I know he is thinking of the sporting goods store, but my brain tends to wander.  “And what would someone who needs a husband look for?”

Son: “A football guy”

Me:  “Ok, besides a football guy, what else would I look for?”

Son: “Batman”

Me:  “Ok, so I’ll go into Dicks walk to the football aisle and find a guy that is batman and he will be my husband?

Son:  “Yep”

If only life were that simple….

Seriously? Who IS This guy? 

The things we do for love...

There is nothing I despise more than spending my Saturday morning at the little league field – really nothing tops the discomfort I feel. 

My people skills and personality have helped me get far in life and I’ve successfully conquered closed societies like the High School Cheerleading Squad, a Southern Sorority (new member of the year and President), secret societies (sorry, you won’t get the name out of me), the local HOA, and even the PTA.  But for some unknown reason the cliques of the Little League leave me shivering with uneasiness.   I am not sure who scares me more; the clusters of happy moms sipping their Evian and pushing their strollers, or the groups of Dads scouting the players and predicting who the ringers will be, or the groups of grandparents in their pop up chairs trying to hold on to the toddlers who are too young to play, but are dressed like their older siblings anyway.  Either way, each group is an unwelcome challenge that leaves me dreading Saturday a.m.

…this leads me to my little man. 

 I honestly have never said no to my son (ok, yes I say NO to things like No new pets, No you can’t eat that, No you cannot jump off the roof).   However if the request is reasonable and no one is going to be harmed, than I generally go along with it for the happiness of my little man.  I’ve taken him on trips, we’ve tried new adventures, I’ve enrolled him in every sport you can imagine and I’ve happily been the snack mom.  I’ve gone as far as coach the cheerleaders for his flag football team, because no other mom would and I had a few pom poms and spirit dust in my closet.  But, I draw the line at Little League. 

I’ve pawned off the practices and games to everyone I can think of. I’ve corralled my parents into helping, let my ex husband have him extra days, scheduled Drs. Appointments, anything I can think of to NOT have to go the dreaded little league field. 

So imagine my dilemma when my little man comes home from baseball practice asking me to be the dugout mom.  WHAT?!?! How did the devil get a hold of my little man and play games with my baby?!  There is NO WAY I can be the dugout mom. 

I tried to stall.  “Mom, the coach really needs you now”. 

I tried to deflect.  “Don’t you like Karate more than baseball?”

I tried to play dumb.  “I don’t know anything about baseball.”

Then he hit me with the knockout punch.  “Mom you would get to spend time with me and be the coolest mom on the team.”

Ouch!

He got me.  He hit me where it hurts. 

Of course I’ll be the dugout mom.  Of course I’ll label all your bags, memorize the line-up, figure out  which kids have peanut allergies and make sure you all get bathroom breaks.  Of course I’ll bring coffee, have band aids and smile while all of the dads yell at me about the line up and the moms question me about this week’s snack.

At least I won’t have to deal with the Evian sipping moms or the grandparents in their pop up chairs.

Go Cubs!