I guess moms can be embarrassing too.

 I have always been the type of mom who makes sure my Little Man is dressed nicely, is polite and well behaved.  Since I am a single mom who works full time my Little Man often tags along with me to work events and community projects I am a part of.  I’ve always stressed manners and have taught him to make good impressions on people (I mean really, I don’t want to be the lady with the kid who looks like a hobo and has runs around like a crazy kid!) 

Apparently over this last week my son has noticed that having his mom around is not the coolest thing.

Exhibit 1: I pick him up at the school office.  Little Man comes down to the office and the secretary, teacher and other moms all talk about how “cute” and “adorable” my Little Man is.  They go on and on about his blue eyes, his smile and his manners.  Of course as a Mom I eat this up. Little Man just stares at me giving me the stink eye.

Exhibit 2:  I take Little Man with me to the office holiday BBQ.  My coworker brought his boys so Little Man is happily swimming and playing with the other kids.  It was getting time to leave and I noticed that my Little Man had HUGE grass stains on his pants.  “Little Man” I yell, “Come over here” I then proceed to tell him that we are going to his Pop Pop’s Holiday Party and he can’t be dirty.  He looks at me, gives me the eye and whispers “Can’t you just call him Granddad?”  His attitude was like a little gangster who just got called out in front of his crew- he was so frustrated with me for using “baby” words and pointing out his good clothes got dirty.  Oops!

Exhibit 3:  We have a few high school and college boys who live on our street.  Little Man likes to play catch with them when they are home on break.  The other night he got all dressed and ready to play, but unfortunately the boys had to go inside.  Not to let my Little Man be disappointed, I volunteered to play catch.  (Side note: One random thing I can do pretty well is throw a football.)  So there we are,  out in the front of the house tossing the ball and I am coaching my Little Man on the best way to throw a spiral.  “Straight like this,” and “stop throwing high, just aim here.”  Little Man kept looking behind him and over his shoulder, glancing up the street.  I couldn’t figure out what his deal was.  Then I heard it “I can’t believe I’m learning football from a girl!” 

Duh! My Little Man was embarrassed that his Mom was playing with him AND was good at it.

Well Little Man, lesson learned for both of us.  I will do my best to stop being embarrassing and you do your best to keep hanging out with me.

Baby Got Back

Maybe my OCD when it comes to having things correct is getting a bit out of control?

I have blogged before about my addiction to proper grammar, so I won’t bore you with that rant.  However I have come to realize that I am pretty much made up of the attitude “if you are going to do something, do it right.”  Seems like a good thing to insist on as a mom, employer, friend, etc.  However I think I have taken my belief a little too far.

First of all, I am stickler for doing homework properly.  In my house this means neat handwriting, full sentences with complete thoughts and taking your time to understand your work.  My Little Man HATES doing homework with me.  He prefers to slide it by his Nanny who happily ok’s his work and gives him hugs and snacks, or my Dad who is usually a bit distracted and trusts that he has gotten it all correct.  I want my son to be learning something, but I also don’t want the teacher who corrects his work to think I’m one of those parents who is too busy to care about his education. I mean, I don’t pick him up from school, I don’t volunteer in the classroom, and I barely pack his lunch.  The least I could do is send him to school with a good round of well thought out completed homework.

The second area of life where I have accidentally over influenced my Little Man is on his outfits.  I just don’t deal well with kids that don’t match.  (Yes, I know all of you parents out there that it is GOOD to let your kid express himself through choosing his own clothes, and yes I know I am probably stifling my son’s creativity.) However, watching my son walk around in two forms of camoflauge paired with stripes and argyle socks stifles my sanity and I am not going to put up with it.  I happily provide my son with plenty of outfit choices and I always buy things in a set so that he can see what matches with what.  I supply basketball shoes for basketball attire, sneakers for the athletic look, boots for skinny jeans and deck shoes for the casual weekend.  Yes, I may go a little overboard with my son’s wardrobe, and yes I did just have to buy him a new dresser to hold his gear.  But, my OCD self is much happier toting around a color coordinated appropriately dressed kid.

This past weekend I realized that my desire to have everything “right” has probably crossed the line.   I found myself teaching my son the words to “Baby Got Back.”  Somehow my Little Man heard parts of the song.  I still am trying to figure out how this song got played in 2012 when it was popular in 1998 but I digress…  I hear my son singing some words like “I like big butts and I lie”.  Oh stop right there! If you are going to sing a song, sing it right Little Man.  “No baby” I tell him, its “I like big butts and I cannot lie” and I go on singing the words.  First, he is super impressed that his Mom knows all of the words (ok, one talent I have his memorizing cheesy rap songs).  Second, he tries to follow along.  “When a girl walks up with a circle thing in your face you go crazy!” he sings.   “No baby the words are…” and I continue. 

Then I realize that not only am I teaching my son inappropriate lyrcis, I am teaching him in public, on a crowded street and other people can hear me.  Ok, I think to myself, I have officially taken my control of all things to make them correct to a whole new level.  I must stop and let go, and I am choosing to do it with “Baby got Back.”

I swear I didn't plan this blog.

I’m a planner. I admit it.  If there were a planning addiction group I would join it.  Then I would plan on becoming it's President.

I plan random things.  I never was one to plan really big picture things.  I never planned where I wanted to go to college.  My parents suggested a few places, I got in, and I went.  But I did plan every last detail of what I would pack, what my room would look like and how I would make new friends.  I was never one of those girls who had their wedding, kids, job after college planned out.  I planned a road trip to D.C.  met a guy, got married then pregnant on our honeymoon (Let me tell you NO ONE plans to do that!).  I then planned the nursery, our house furniture and my labor and delivery schedule. 

I like to plan. I find it comforting to know ahead of time what to expect.    I plan my outfits, my hair styles, and I always plan on being on time (ok, I’m a bit OCD I tend to plan to be early).  You would think all of my planning would make my life an organized peaceful existence.

Until you’re planning involves others!

My family learned years and years ago to sort of ignore my planning.  I call it planning; they may call it slightly overexagerated expectations of others – Tomato/Tomata. Once I planned a wonderful warm Thanksgiving dinner, with pressed cloth napkins, place cards and classical music in the background.  I got a Crazy-Ass Family Turkey Day complete with party crashers, tears over the Turducken (Turkey/Duck/Chicken) and three types of sweet potato casseroles. DEFINTELY NOT in my plan.

I planned my son’s nursery and existence to match mine.  I had a huge fear that my house would be the type of house you walk into and because of its red, blue and yellow Duplex boxes combined with playschool power wheels the house would scream “A KID LIVES HERE”.  I promised myself my son was coming into my life and I would maintain our adult existence. For the first 8 months of my son’s life he was only allowed toys that were green, khaki or white. I planned the color scheme to coordinate with my furniture and other décor.  His burp cloths, blankets, floor mats all nicely matched my throw pillows and sconces.  Life was color coordinated peace.  Until he learned to walk and needed things with wheels and sounds, and apparently things with colors are GOOD for children.  Needless to say my plan went out the window.

My planning prowess has reached a new challenge, that of the world of dating as an adult.  Typically my plans for an evening out revolve around me, my schedule and my commitments.  Enter in a grown man with a job, maybe a kid, maybe a hobby and my planning gets all out of whack!  As I get older (maybe more mature) I find myself wanting to date guys with grown-up jobs, you know the guys – those that have responsibility, maybe a few people working for them, budgets, meetings, so on.  These guys are interesting, can have an actual conversation and have a lot of potential.  Know what the downfall of this guy is ??? 

His plan doesn’t always conform to my plan.

Total challenge for this self-declared President of the Planners Addiction Club.  What do you mean you will be late to drinks because you have a crisis at work?  Or, you can’t take my random call in the middle of the day because I want to plan what we are having for dinner?   And so it goes more and more interruptions to my planning perfection.

Just this morning I was talking to someone about his plans for the day.  I asked typical planning questions like, “what time are your friends coming over?” and “how long are they staying?”   His answer, “I don’t know.”  I suggested he didn’t pay too much attention to details in his life.  He replied “I let life happen.”

Wow!

It hit me. 

Maybe all of the times I spend trying to plan the small details of my life I should relax and let some of life just happen?

Good idea.  I will get right on it, I will just have to plan to add “letting life happen” to my schedule!

I love you baby, but please roll over….

Being a working mom is busy, being a working single mom is rough, being a working single mom when every last one of your babysitters is out of town and you have a HUGE deadline and a sick kid is just plain miserable.

I am always the first to say that I am thankful for a great job with a flexible schedule.  I have amazing parents who are good babysitters and I have a village of friends who help out in a pinch.  What is that old saying, “when it rains it pours?”  Yep, it was pouring germs in my house all week and weekend.

My Little Man came home from spending Thanksgiving with his Dad with an awful cough.  Because I missed my baby so much I let him stay home from school to recover (I shuttled him between grandparents and babysitters and took a turn at home with him for a few hours on Thursday).   I was able to get a few meetings and phone calls in, loaded him up with Nyquil and planned on a day of meetings for Friday.

Friday came and the cough was worse, I emailed the office and declared I was working from home. Loaded my baby up on some cough medicine, Tylenol and Disney movies and even did a few rounds of laundry.

By Saturday my Little Man was still coughing and we hit the Doctor’s office, where they immediately sent us to the Hospital for X-rays.  My Little Man came down with a case of Pneumonia.   What!?!   We stopped at the pharmacy for his medicines and I loaded up on every variety of Lysol and Bleach I could find.

I gave him a dose (ok, two doses of his meds) tucked him in, and went to work.  No, I didn’t go back to replying to emails or checking phone messages – I started disinfecting. Every surface, vent, pillowcase, dish, nook and cranny got scrubbed, bleached, sprayed and sanitized.

Mommy has a big week ahead and I am taking no chances!  

True confession – I am not afraid of germ.   I am afraid of coming down with the flu or a virus and not having my mommy or someone to take care of me and my Little Man.

What is worse than being sick?  Being a sick mom! 

Seriously, do you realize how bad it is when the Mom has the fever or a stomach virus?  Moms don’t get to stop their jobs and remote in.  I still will have to make lunch, help with homework and bath time, sign permission slips and walk the dogs.  Someone still has to drive carpool, clean the dishes, pay the bills and remember what uniform day it is at school.  So needless to say, my biggest fear is being sick when my village is on vacation.

 Crap, crap, crap!  My Village is in California for the week!

When my Little Man is sick, he gets all cuddly and wants to be hugged and snuggled.  He’s cute. I don’t mind.  But when he has GERMS with a big G like Pneumonia I spend my time balancing his hugs and avoiding his kisses.  I mean I love my kid, but my week is way too packed to get sick today.  I successfully avoid him during the days and take an entire bottle of Vitamin C to create my force field.

I happily go to bed early and am in a deep sleep, when all of a sudden I feel something breathing on my face… Uh oh! GERMS!  (I can’t scream or yell, I mean he is only 7 and has no idea what he is doing spreading his big G GERMS all over me)

I gently pat his back, tell him to roll over, and spray his pillow and mine with Lysol.

T Minus 5 days until my village returns.

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.