It may or may not surprise you to know that I have mommy guilt. Actually, I have a lot of mommy guilt. It's usually about, well, whatever area that I feel I'm failing in on that particular day, and whichever child I feel has been short changed at that particular moment. That usually means I'm feeling guilty about several areas of life and at least two children on any given day.
Lately, B has been the focus of much of my mommy guilt. When N was small, she had me all to herself for three years. We went to play groups. We went to baby sign language classes. We went to a kids gym. We went to mommy and me swim classes. We went to mommy and me dance classes (if dancing to the Wiggles really counts as dancing). We went to mommy and me gymnastics classes at our Rec Center. (Fortunately, my role in this class was quite limited, as was our time in the class. Apparently, almost head butting the instructors daughter is highly frowned upon. I know-- almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades, right? That's what I thought. But apparently, it counts in gymnastics, too. And no, in case you're wondering, I was not the one who almost head butted her).
Eventually, N went to preschool, and the mommies were no longer welcome in the activities she did. (Of course, I'm still more than welcome to drive her there, and pay for it, and chase two boys around while she participates, but for some reason, once she turned three, my participation was no longer encouraged. But I'm not bitter. Anymore. Most of the time).
When B was a baby, we took one mommy and me swim class. N did not appreciate that she had to play in the shallow end while B and I played "Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall" (Huh. Not so fun to be left out, is it?). After six weeks of trying to be attentive to the baby I was holding and the four-year- old who was calling me from the other end of the pool, I gave up. Then we had O, and logistically and financially, our options became even more limited.
I looked into activities for B last year, and some of the classes N had taken just weren't available. They don't offer mommy and me gymnastics at the Rec Center anymore. Coincidence? I think not. Dancing to the Wiggles wasn't even an option. I took B and O to the library for a while, until it was becoming obvious that B was well over a year past the age cut off for the babies group. When the other parents started giving me dirty looks when he not only took their kids' toys, but rather articulately told them he wasn't giving them back, I thought we should probably stop going before we were kicked out. I mean, I've accepted that, at some point, he will be kicked out of something. But why rush it? I'm sure there will lots of other opportunities for that.
I thought he would start preschool last fall, but that whole "I'm wearing diapers until I'm thirty-five" attitude got in the way of that. A few months ago, I decided to try a free class at the kids' gym N had gone to. I told him that morning that we were going to play. It was going to be so much fun. There were all kinds of kids there. N even went there when she was little. As I excitedly looked at him and said "Doesn't that sound like fun?" He looked at me and said, quite clearly, "No."
I ignored the voice that told me this was not a good idea (Never ignore the voice), and he eventually got in the car, but only after he had gone back in the house to get a hat. The gym is only ten minutes away. Half an hour later, we finally walked through the door. Me, O, and B. B had finally agreed to get out of the car only if he could wear the hat. Which was actually Jimmy's adult sized ten-year-old baseball cap that said John Deere on it, and it looked every minute of its ten years.
After more coaxing, he agreed to leave the lobby and go into the gym. Where he stood behind me for most of the next thirty minutes. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't look at anyone. He had zero interest in the other kids, none of whom were wearing a cool, if way too big and disgustingly dirty, John Deere hat like his. At one point, he expressed vague interest in the ball pit, but when the instructor told him it was circle time and not ball pit time, he looked at me and said it was time to go. I thought he probably had a point.
Recently I started feeling guilty again that B has not been involved in nearly as many structured activities as N was at his age. And, since he will be starting preschool in the fall--diapers or no diapers-- he needs to get used to listening to someone besides me (not that you should take that to mean that he listens to me). So, today, I did something very brave, and took him to swim class. This was not a mommy and me swim class. This was all three-year-olds. I wasn't sure how it would go, but I knew that it was time we tried. I also knew that there was a large sign on the door to the pool that said "NO Parents on deck" which I thought might be a good thing, once he got past the initial adjustment to me not being there.
When B was still clinging to the door and stating "I am NOT going in that pool" five minutes after the class was supposed to start, they asked me to come sit on the deck. Apparently, they made an exception for us. I always knew we were exceptional.
So I sat on the side of the pool, in my sweats, getting soaked, and attempting to hold onto O, who unlike his brother, wanted nothing more than to get in that pool. B, meanwhile, just watched us from the deck before eventually agreeing to get his feet wet. Fortunately, no one else showed up for the class today, which allowed the instructor to spend the entire class focused on B. Good thing, since he would have had to do that anyway.
B eventually warmed up a little and went in up to his knees when the instructor, Mr. Cory, threw water toys to him. In fact, B quite eagerly threw them back. At Mr Cory's head. Repeatedly. I suggested to Mr. Cory that he may want to wear a helmet to their next class. Mr. Cory was a good sport, and encouraged B to walk into the pool to get the toys back. B looked at the toys, looked at Mr. Cory, smiled, and said "No, thanks. You can get them". They repeated this exchange several times, as O tried harder to alternately jump, wiggle, and swim out of my arms and into the pool.
I was beginning to wonder if there would be a point to us coming back next week, or if Mr Cory might suggest that we try something different--like sedatives--when, at the end of the class, B surprised all of us by walking right into the pool, all the way up to his waist.
It just took O throwing his shoes in the pool.
If only I'd known that sooner.
I would have brought a few extra pairs.
Showing posts with label never ignore the voice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label never ignore the voice. Show all posts
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Are you speaking my language?
I love the way N's face lights up when she learns something new--especially when it's something that her brothers can't quite understand yet. Tonight when I was tucking her in, the topic somehow turned to pig Latin. She didn't know what pig Latin was. She was clearly excited that this was some new bit of knowledge that she and I would share. And yet, as I started to tell her what pig Latin was, there was a voice in my head saying , What are you doing? Why would you teach her pig Latin? Isn't it bad enough that you can't spell in front to her anymore? Pig Latin is all you have left! It's like your rump tay ard cay!
I knew the voice was right. We really don't have any way to communicate in front of N without her knowing what we're saying. She spells better than we can. I can't use the approximately ten words of Spanish I know, since N now knows them, plus ten more that I don't know. And it's not like Jimmy and I can use Irish to speak, since I never really know if those few words he's taught me really mean what he told me they mean. Even if I had enough words to try to tell him "The kids are driving me crazy today", the words he taught me could very well mean, "I think you should go to the pub every night and stay as late as you want". So I knew that the voice had a point. And yet, when I saw the look of sweet excitement in N's eyes, as she anticipated this new tidbit of amazing mommy knowledge that I was about to share with her, I chose to ignore the voice. I'm sure at some point I will regret this, as past experience has taught me to never, ever ignore the voice.
I justified this decision with the fact that, though pig Latin should have been a great way for Jimmy and I to talk about the kids without them knowing what we were saying, we had, in fact, never actually used it. I don't know why this is. As I sat with N and translated words like ommy may and addy day and oop pay, I realized that I'm not even sure if Jimmy knows pig Latin. How do I not know this about my husband? As N practices a few words of her own, I make a mental note to ask Jimmy when he gets home if he knows pig Latin. Not that we can use it around the kids, of course, since I have now let N in on this little secret. I comfort myself with the thought that at least B and O can't spell yet, and I'm pretty sure N won't teach them pig Latin anytime soon.
And, of course, N and I have this cool mommy-daughter thing that, for now, is just ours. I realize that we'll have to let Jimmy in on it soon, though. It wouldn't be right for N and I to speak in a language that he can't understand. That's always struck me as incredibly rude. It's like when the ladies in the nail salon talk about me in Vietnamese when I'm sitting right there. Please. As if I don't know that they're saying that it looks like I haven't had a manicure in ten years. That's because I haven't. I have three kids and a husband who can't even speak pig Latin. How am I supposed to get out to get my nails done? Not to mention, I'd have to change a diaper as soon as I got home, which means my newly manicured nails would get all irty day within an our hay.
It occurs to me that maybe Jimmy and I should learn Vietnamese. At least then we can speak to each other without the kids knowing what we're saying. It could be our new secret language. And I bet we don't even know anyone else who speaks Vietnamese. Except for the ladies at the nail salon, and it would be nice to answer them in a common language when I know they're talking about me. But, you know, Vietnamese is probably a really hard language to learn. Maybe I can just teach Jimmy pig Latin and we can use to communicate without the kids knowing what we're saying. I mean, would they really be able to translate, "I think I've just ost lay whats left of my ind may?", or "I need a ig bay tiff say rink day?"
And maybe the ladies at the nail salon speak pig Latin, too--at least enough to understand when I ask for a nice shade of brown. To blend in with the oop pay.
I knew the voice was right. We really don't have any way to communicate in front of N without her knowing what we're saying. She spells better than we can. I can't use the approximately ten words of Spanish I know, since N now knows them, plus ten more that I don't know. And it's not like Jimmy and I can use Irish to speak, since I never really know if those few words he's taught me really mean what he told me they mean. Even if I had enough words to try to tell him "The kids are driving me crazy today", the words he taught me could very well mean, "I think you should go to the pub every night and stay as late as you want". So I knew that the voice had a point. And yet, when I saw the look of sweet excitement in N's eyes, as she anticipated this new tidbit of amazing mommy knowledge that I was about to share with her, I chose to ignore the voice. I'm sure at some point I will regret this, as past experience has taught me to never, ever ignore the voice.
I justified this decision with the fact that, though pig Latin should have been a great way for Jimmy and I to talk about the kids without them knowing what we were saying, we had, in fact, never actually used it. I don't know why this is. As I sat with N and translated words like ommy may and addy day and oop pay, I realized that I'm not even sure if Jimmy knows pig Latin. How do I not know this about my husband? As N practices a few words of her own, I make a mental note to ask Jimmy when he gets home if he knows pig Latin. Not that we can use it around the kids, of course, since I have now let N in on this little secret. I comfort myself with the thought that at least B and O can't spell yet, and I'm pretty sure N won't teach them pig Latin anytime soon.
And, of course, N and I have this cool mommy-daughter thing that, for now, is just ours. I realize that we'll have to let Jimmy in on it soon, though. It wouldn't be right for N and I to speak in a language that he can't understand. That's always struck me as incredibly rude. It's like when the ladies in the nail salon talk about me in Vietnamese when I'm sitting right there. Please. As if I don't know that they're saying that it looks like I haven't had a manicure in ten years. That's because I haven't. I have three kids and a husband who can't even speak pig Latin. How am I supposed to get out to get my nails done? Not to mention, I'd have to change a diaper as soon as I got home, which means my newly manicured nails would get all irty day within an our hay.
It occurs to me that maybe Jimmy and I should learn Vietnamese. At least then we can speak to each other without the kids knowing what we're saying. It could be our new secret language. And I bet we don't even know anyone else who speaks Vietnamese. Except for the ladies at the nail salon, and it would be nice to answer them in a common language when I know they're talking about me. But, you know, Vietnamese is probably a really hard language to learn. Maybe I can just teach Jimmy pig Latin and we can use to communicate without the kids knowing what we're saying. I mean, would they really be able to translate, "I think I've just ost lay whats left of my ind may?", or "I need a ig bay tiff say rink day?"
And maybe the ladies at the nail salon speak pig Latin, too--at least enough to understand when I ask for a nice shade of brown. To blend in with the oop pay.
Monday, January 30, 2012
An Act of Courage
Today, I made a choice to do something that I thought was very brave. I decided to take N and B to K-Mart. What's so brave about that, you say? You didn't even have all three! True, as Jimmy had come home for lunch and offered to stay with O, who was already half asleep. As it turns out, this was probably a really good thing. However, I didn't just take N and B to K-Mart. I took them to K-Mart when B hadn't had a nap, and it was way past nap time. I knew this would require a great deal of strength on my part. In fact, there was a little voice telling me, "This is NOT a good idea. You just get this whole K-Mart idea right out of your head, put that child down for his nap, and go later". But I didn't listen. Instead, I ignored the voice. I thought I was doing something very brave, but it turned out I was just doing something really, really stupid. Never, ever ignore the voice.
The reason for my obsession with going to K-Mart? Coffee. Our coffee maker has been broken for a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks! I don't know how I have survived that long, but I have. Since I am the only coffee drinker in our house, it's only impacted me, and coffee runs to Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Caca's (no, not like WaWa's...she's my sister) have gotten me through. I've even started drinking tea in the morning, but today when I was contemplating a third cup of tea to help me wake up, I finally accepted that it was time for a new coffee maker.
On the way to the coffee maker aisle (no, I know it's not called the coffee maker aisle, but in my mind, that was the single most important thing in that aisle, so that's what I'm calling it), B decided he wanted to be a mannequin. Just like the ones in the store. Well, except that he wanted to keep his head. He did, however, want to be up on the little stage that they're on. So that's where he went. Several times. He did a perfect mannequin imitation. Several times. Not that hard, you say? It involves standing completely still. And this is B. Need I say more? Eventually, he agreed to come with us to the coffee maker aisle, but only after he had waved good -bye to the mannequins, and eventually accepted that they weren't going to wave back.
I had no idea there were so many different kinds of coffee makers. I am amazed by all the choices. I wonder if I should go cheap and simple or get something a little more expensive that will brew individual cups on a timer. I imagine coming downstairs in the morning and having a fresh hot cup of coffee waiting for me. Then, the fireman's daughter in me thinks that can't possibly be safe, and I decide a timer is not a good idea. But maybe the individual cups are. I am contemplating all this as N and B are behind me...somewhere. I look to see N curled up on a lower shelf. B is telling her to push over. N says "Hey mom! Didn't you get left in a store once when you did this?" I tell her no, that was Caca...or Uncle Pat. Who can remember. I wasn't even born yet. I just know it wasn't me.
I know I should tell N to get down, but she is usually so set in her role as responsible older sister that part of me is happy to see her laying on a shelf in K-Mart, and I decide to let her stay there. Besides, it looks sturdy, and it's keeping them relatively quiet. I go back to looking at coffee makers, and start thinking that maybe timers are a good idea after all. I discover that the prices go up to a hundred bucks, and I wonder if one of the more expensive ones will make me a single cup of coffee on a timer, add cream and sugar, and bring it to me in bed. N is off the shelf and standing behind me talking about...something. B has taken N's spot on the shelf, and I realize that N is talking about martial arts. I briefly wonder why she is talking about ninjas, but realize I will hear the whole story again on the way home anyway, so I don't focus too much on what she's saying until I hear these magic words..."Look! It makes frozen drinks!"
A machine that makes coffee AND frozen drinks? Why didn't I think of that?! Whichever one it is, I am getting it. What a perfect combination! I turn around to see her standing in front of a large blender looking thing. "Look mom! It's a Ninja! I've seen it before. It makes frozen drinks and salsa!" I have a crappy mommy moment when I realize that my daughter must have seen this on an infomercial, and yet I have never seen it, or heard of it. And aren't those infomercials on at 3 am? I make a mental note to check the parental controls on our TV. And then I get back to the Ninja. It does not make coffee, but it does make frozen drinks and salsa. The box has the most beautiful picture I have ever seen--of a frozen strawberry something-or-other, and it is talking to me. "Buy me! You won't regret it!". Never ignore the voice! I decide that a cheap coffee maker and a Ninja is as good as a two for one deal, and put them both in my cart.
B had been very quiet during this time, but at this point, he decided he was done. He was so done, in fact, that when I said it was time to go, he just laid on the floor. And stayed there. No tantruming. No screaming. Just kicked back. Arms under his head. In the middle of the ninja aisle. N and I walked an aisle over and came back to find him in the same spot. Twice. He was not budging. Someone made an announcement over the loud speaker, and I told him, "Didn't you hear, B? She said that little boy needs to get up off the floor". Believe it or not, this has worked for similar situations in the past. Not this time. This time, he just looked at me and said, "No. I don't think so. I didn't hear her say my name". We tried walking away again. He didn't budge. Finally, I went back and said "Bye, B. We love you. We hope you enjoy your stay here. We'll come back to see you on alternate Wednesdays." A staff person walked by and then came back and waited to make sure I wasn't really leaving him there. Whatever.
Eventually he got up, and as we headed for the register, he and N decided to look at kids place mats. And then they decided to take them out. And then B decided to throw them all over the floor. Repeatedly. A woman walking by observed this, and shook her head at me as she walked by. This was not a smiling head shake. This was not an "I've been there, honey" head shake. This wasn't even a "Better you than me" head shake. No, I've seen my share of head shakes, and this was definitely a "your children are going to end up in prison" head shake. So, I did what any good mother wanting to model appropriate social skills for her children would do. I smiled and said somewhat loudly, "Yup, They're mine. Lucky, aren't I?"
We finally made it to the register, and B was holding on to the front of the cart, facing me. I've heard you're not supposed to let them do this. I've heard it's because the cart may tip over. I've heard it's because they may fall. I've never heard it's because their foot may get stuck in the bottom part of the cart, and they will be unable to move, and that, even though you are just a cart's length away from them, at the cash register, surrounded by people, they will loudly and repeatedly scream, "Mommmmmm!!!!! I'm STUCK! Get me OUT!!!!!" I've never heard that it's because it's very awkward to try to remove a foot from the underside of a shopping cart while also holding onto the child whose foot it is, to prevent him from falling face first onto the dirty K-Mart floor (that he was just laying on) once you eventually remove his foot. I've never heard that. But now you have. So don't say you didn't know.
The other thing I never heard is that, once you realize that your child is not injured, and that he's not screaming in pain, you will laugh uncontrollably as you attempt to remove his foot from the shopping cart. This really doesn't help the process. However, it does provide great entertainment to the man behind you in line, who is buying newborn size diapers and bottles, and in all likelihood has no idea that his life will, in a few short years, look very much like yours.
Fortunately, we left without having to call the fire department, but I realized that I needed to pick up my W2 at work, only a two minute drive away. I decide it couldn't be any worse than K-Mart, and I really needed to get it today. So, I ignored the little voice again and took them with me to my office. We took the elevator up to the second floor, where B was excited to see that we could look down on the lobby below. He stood at the railing and looked down, and as a man I assume is a client of a co-worker came out of my office suite and stood next to us to wait for the elevator, B announced loudly, "Mom! I'm gonna jump! I'm gonna jump!". The man was kind enough to talk him down, and tell him that while it did look like fun, it probably wouldn't have great results. Why did I ignore the voice? Never ignore the voice!
Some days I come home fairly surprised that we are all still in one piece. Today I also came home happy that we didn't have to call the fire department to remove B's foot from the shopping cart, thankful that B only talked about jumping over the railing in my building, and glad that no one was left--voluntarily or otherwise-- at K-Mart.
I also came home thinking that, in spite of days like this, life is good. At least I have a sense of humor to get through these moments. These are the small things, and in the big picture, the only parts of them that we'll remember are the parts that made us laugh. And, if my biggest problem--today, at least-- is working around nap time (or not) to go get a coffee maker, then I am truly, incredibly fortunate.
Life is good.
Cause I have a Ninja.
The reason for my obsession with going to K-Mart? Coffee. Our coffee maker has been broken for a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks! I don't know how I have survived that long, but I have. Since I am the only coffee drinker in our house, it's only impacted me, and coffee runs to Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and Caca's (no, not like WaWa's...she's my sister) have gotten me through. I've even started drinking tea in the morning, but today when I was contemplating a third cup of tea to help me wake up, I finally accepted that it was time for a new coffee maker.
On the way to the coffee maker aisle (no, I know it's not called the coffee maker aisle, but in my mind, that was the single most important thing in that aisle, so that's what I'm calling it), B decided he wanted to be a mannequin. Just like the ones in the store. Well, except that he wanted to keep his head. He did, however, want to be up on the little stage that they're on. So that's where he went. Several times. He did a perfect mannequin imitation. Several times. Not that hard, you say? It involves standing completely still. And this is B. Need I say more? Eventually, he agreed to come with us to the coffee maker aisle, but only after he had waved good -bye to the mannequins, and eventually accepted that they weren't going to wave back.
I had no idea there were so many different kinds of coffee makers. I am amazed by all the choices. I wonder if I should go cheap and simple or get something a little more expensive that will brew individual cups on a timer. I imagine coming downstairs in the morning and having a fresh hot cup of coffee waiting for me. Then, the fireman's daughter in me thinks that can't possibly be safe, and I decide a timer is not a good idea. But maybe the individual cups are. I am contemplating all this as N and B are behind me...somewhere. I look to see N curled up on a lower shelf. B is telling her to push over. N says "Hey mom! Didn't you get left in a store once when you did this?" I tell her no, that was Caca...or Uncle Pat. Who can remember. I wasn't even born yet. I just know it wasn't me.
I know I should tell N to get down, but she is usually so set in her role as responsible older sister that part of me is happy to see her laying on a shelf in K-Mart, and I decide to let her stay there. Besides, it looks sturdy, and it's keeping them relatively quiet. I go back to looking at coffee makers, and start thinking that maybe timers are a good idea after all. I discover that the prices go up to a hundred bucks, and I wonder if one of the more expensive ones will make me a single cup of coffee on a timer, add cream and sugar, and bring it to me in bed. N is off the shelf and standing behind me talking about...something. B has taken N's spot on the shelf, and I realize that N is talking about martial arts. I briefly wonder why she is talking about ninjas, but realize I will hear the whole story again on the way home anyway, so I don't focus too much on what she's saying until I hear these magic words..."Look! It makes frozen drinks!"
A machine that makes coffee AND frozen drinks? Why didn't I think of that?! Whichever one it is, I am getting it. What a perfect combination! I turn around to see her standing in front of a large blender looking thing. "Look mom! It's a Ninja! I've seen it before. It makes frozen drinks and salsa!" I have a crappy mommy moment when I realize that my daughter must have seen this on an infomercial, and yet I have never seen it, or heard of it. And aren't those infomercials on at 3 am? I make a mental note to check the parental controls on our TV. And then I get back to the Ninja. It does not make coffee, but it does make frozen drinks and salsa. The box has the most beautiful picture I have ever seen--of a frozen strawberry something-or-other, and it is talking to me. "Buy me! You won't regret it!". Never ignore the voice! I decide that a cheap coffee maker and a Ninja is as good as a two for one deal, and put them both in my cart.
B had been very quiet during this time, but at this point, he decided he was done. He was so done, in fact, that when I said it was time to go, he just laid on the floor. And stayed there. No tantruming. No screaming. Just kicked back. Arms under his head. In the middle of the ninja aisle. N and I walked an aisle over and came back to find him in the same spot. Twice. He was not budging. Someone made an announcement over the loud speaker, and I told him, "Didn't you hear, B? She said that little boy needs to get up off the floor". Believe it or not, this has worked for similar situations in the past. Not this time. This time, he just looked at me and said, "No. I don't think so. I didn't hear her say my name". We tried walking away again. He didn't budge. Finally, I went back and said "Bye, B. We love you. We hope you enjoy your stay here. We'll come back to see you on alternate Wednesdays." A staff person walked by and then came back and waited to make sure I wasn't really leaving him there. Whatever.
Eventually he got up, and as we headed for the register, he and N decided to look at kids place mats. And then they decided to take them out. And then B decided to throw them all over the floor. Repeatedly. A woman walking by observed this, and shook her head at me as she walked by. This was not a smiling head shake. This was not an "I've been there, honey" head shake. This wasn't even a "Better you than me" head shake. No, I've seen my share of head shakes, and this was definitely a "your children are going to end up in prison" head shake. So, I did what any good mother wanting to model appropriate social skills for her children would do. I smiled and said somewhat loudly, "Yup, They're mine. Lucky, aren't I?"
We finally made it to the register, and B was holding on to the front of the cart, facing me. I've heard you're not supposed to let them do this. I've heard it's because the cart may tip over. I've heard it's because they may fall. I've never heard it's because their foot may get stuck in the bottom part of the cart, and they will be unable to move, and that, even though you are just a cart's length away from them, at the cash register, surrounded by people, they will loudly and repeatedly scream, "Mommmmmm!!!!! I'm STUCK! Get me OUT!!!!!" I've never heard that it's because it's very awkward to try to remove a foot from the underside of a shopping cart while also holding onto the child whose foot it is, to prevent him from falling face first onto the dirty K-Mart floor (that he was just laying on) once you eventually remove his foot. I've never heard that. But now you have. So don't say you didn't know.
The other thing I never heard is that, once you realize that your child is not injured, and that he's not screaming in pain, you will laugh uncontrollably as you attempt to remove his foot from the shopping cart. This really doesn't help the process. However, it does provide great entertainment to the man behind you in line, who is buying newborn size diapers and bottles, and in all likelihood has no idea that his life will, in a few short years, look very much like yours.
Fortunately, we left without having to call the fire department, but I realized that I needed to pick up my W2 at work, only a two minute drive away. I decide it couldn't be any worse than K-Mart, and I really needed to get it today. So, I ignored the little voice again and took them with me to my office. We took the elevator up to the second floor, where B was excited to see that we could look down on the lobby below. He stood at the railing and looked down, and as a man I assume is a client of a co-worker came out of my office suite and stood next to us to wait for the elevator, B announced loudly, "Mom! I'm gonna jump! I'm gonna jump!". The man was kind enough to talk him down, and tell him that while it did look like fun, it probably wouldn't have great results. Why did I ignore the voice? Never ignore the voice!
Some days I come home fairly surprised that we are all still in one piece. Today I also came home happy that we didn't have to call the fire department to remove B's foot from the shopping cart, thankful that B only talked about jumping over the railing in my building, and glad that no one was left--voluntarily or otherwise-- at K-Mart.
I also came home thinking that, in spite of days like this, life is good. At least I have a sense of humor to get through these moments. These are the small things, and in the big picture, the only parts of them that we'll remember are the parts that made us laugh. And, if my biggest problem--today, at least-- is working around nap time (or not) to go get a coffee maker, then I am truly, incredibly fortunate.
Life is good.
Cause I have a Ninja.
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