A NCAA TOURNEY MOMENT
I don’t really care about the NCAA Tournament this year; Well, I’m in a $10 neighborhood pool, so I care a little bit.
The North Carolina vs. Louisville game was starting…
“Those North Carolina cheerleaders have cute uniforms,” I told my husband. As soon as I said it, I wondered why I had (but they were cute).
“Don’t be a girl,” he grinned.
“You’re so happy I’m a girl!”
He laughed.
Ah, it’s nice to know your priorities.
ANOTHER GUY WHO LOVED HIS MOM
“My mother had a slender, small body, but a large heart – a heart so large that everybody’s joys found welcome in it, and hospitable accommodation.”
~Mark Twain
WHAT ARE THE RULES OF THE EASTER BUNNY ?!
On ‘Easter Eve’ (I just made that up),
the eggs had been dyed, baskets were ready and I was putting my 4-year-old son to bed.
I told him he should go right to sleep because we had a big day ahead of us, the Easter Bunny was coming. Then he started asking very specific questions about the procedure involved in hiding Easter eggs…
“Mommy, does he hide them tonight?” I told him yes (whoops, that’s Santa), so then he immediately pulled up his black-out shades and looked for the infamous bunny.
So I told him that the Easter Bunny hides eggs in the morning too.
“How does he hide all those eggs?” Well, he’s super-fast. He can hop so fast that’s it’s magical.
At this point I’m screaming inside my head, “Nicole!! What are you doing? Why aren’t you better prepared for these questions?” And I’m a planner for gosh sakes; I plan lunches for the week, all weekly dinners… I make lists!
We happen to be lucky enough to have lots of bunnies in our neighborhood. So then my 4-year-old asks me if those bunnies around our house are related to the Easter Bunny. “Yes, they are. They are the Easter Bunny’s helpers. They help him hide eggs sometimes.”
Then that voice inside my head comes back, “You better be careful Nicole, you are making up rules as you go along… And remember, 4-year-olds never forget!”
I took a deep breath. Relax.
Kissed my little guy good night and tucked him in.
Then, downstairs, my husband asked me about hiding the dyed easter eggs. Yes, I told him, we’re hiding them, along the the store-bought plastic ones.
Then my husband, completely seriously, tells me that doesn’t make any sense, because how would a bunny, now a ‘magical’ bunny, as I’ve just made him, get inside to get those eggs to hide.
I look at John and tell him, “The same way he gets in to ‘magically’ fill our son’s Easter basket… He jumps in a window or something.”
“Nicole, this really doesn’t make sense.” He’s right…
But wait, I forgot about our old friend – the whole ‘suspension of disbelief’ thing that is in its prime in 4-year-olds!
Hoorah!
But, as long as we’re on the subject:
Are there any official rules of the Easter Bunny?
Or did our parents make them up and now we are responsible for making up our own?
I want to be better prepared for next year 
QUICK REFLECTIONS ON ST.PATRICK’S DAYS GONE BY
My husband is Irish. He used to take off work for St. Patrick’s Day. We’d wake up, have breakfast, get on Metro and head down to the Dubliner on North Capitol Street.
With the shadow of the Capitol building at our backs, we’d take a break for lunch and then head to other Irish bars around DC. The last year we did this- we made it until 8:00pm and we were done. We found ourselves back in Bethesda and walked on home. But we were proud we had lasted so long.
We have fun memories from those St. Patrick’s Days… you meet some interesting characters in Irish bars at 10am (it’s a little embarrassing to see the 10am in print).
About a month after St. Patrick’s Day in 2003 I got pregnant with my beautiful son… and our tradition of celebrating St. Patrick’s day ALL DAY LONG, rode into the sunset.
This year my 4-year-old son greeted me with a huge smile at the end of school and showed me the necklace he made out of string, green beads and green straws.
After my son went to sleep we got out NCAA brackets and talked about our picks for the neighborhood NCAA pool. We were sitting on the couch with books on our laps to write on. I noticed the books: ‘Richard Scarry’s Cars and Trucks and Things that Go’ and Eric Carle’s ’10 Little Rubber Ducks’.
My, how things change.
Green beer days are over… good riddance
This reflection on the days of green beer and happy hours can also be read at DC Metro Moms.
BOX CARS… PRICELESS!
After an over-scheduled day of school, a playdate, and a birthday party – my husband, my son, my sister-in-law, her twins and myself walked from All Fired Up, the twins’ birthday party site, across the street to Café Deluxe (I love this place for ‘dining’ with kids) for a quick, but nice 5:30pm dinner in Bethesda.
The first family we saw as we walked in was one of my son’s friends from his ‘3’s’ class. After all the hellos and smiles, his mother asked me, “Where do you get the cars in your playroom that I’ve been hearing about?” Her son has been talking about them for a week.
I started grinning from ear to ear and told her: they are boxes.
She and her husband started laughing a little and both said, “What?”
Yes, they are boxes. And this isn’t the first time our ‘cool playroom cars’ have been brought up. Kids, especially boys, LOVE these boxes… I mean cars.
The idea for these toys began with my son just playing with the box his carseat came in. We quickly made it into a car with a cut-out door. My husband added paper plates for wheels and a steering wheel. I then made a gearshift from a paper towel roll and a tissue box after my son matter-of-factly commented on the need for one. Lastly, we got a little fancy and added handles to the doors that were lying around in my husband’s tool box.
Whoa- one more important thing: you must make a key out of cardboard and have a slit to put it into = ignition key.
We made a second one for friends and playdates. My son and his friends will drive to the beach, stop at the gas station, get in each others’ cars to give each other a ride or just drive around the neighborhood. Ahh, pretend play… I love it!
I love that my son and his friends get so much enjoyment out of these boxes, that they are using their minds, that they are even being a little creative. I love that my son didn’t even want to take the time to decorate them… His response- “Why? They have wheels.”
I’m another mom chiming in how cool it is to make things and play with… stuff! Imagination is cool. And it’s free. A great DC Metro Mom post last month talked about how important imagination is.
So, get a box and see what happens;
gather up some paper plates and enjoy!
Next project – my son wants a plane… that might be a tough one!
This can also be read at DC Metro Moms; it’s a great site, I’m a contributor!
WILLING WINTER AWAY
Last week I decided I was done with Winter. All I needed was a couple of 60 degree days and I was through with it.
We’ve done the months of bundling up, mittens, hats, winter coats, wind chilly days. We’ve done boots and outer wear drying on towels by the front door.
It’s time for Spring! Easter is quickly approaching and our crocuses are out!
So I visualized warmer days and put my money where my mouth is- I put my most cumbersome winter coat in the dry cleaners.
Then it got cold again.
But I picked it up yesterday and put it in our back closet where it will hang until next winter…
I was chilly this morning taking my little guy to nursery school but like I said, I am willing winter away! I’m done with it! Winter does not serve me anymore!
Yesterday evening, after my son went to bed my husband and I heard geese coming back north for the warm weather… Victory! I was right…
Maybe not- forecast of snow flurries possible for tonight, UGH!
‘RECYCLED’ TODDLER FURNITURE
What do you do when your 4-year-old son vomits incredible amounts of medicine, food, liquid, some brown particles, and a few carrots, onto his favorite chair? You throw it away…
That was my first reaction. But the chair in question has been a mainstay in our home. He sits in it, does art projects in it. We make paper maps on top of the coffee table while sitting in it. It is a fixture.
It’s been through a lot in the past three years- snack incidents, mucus and colds, more vomiting, but I’ve always been able to clean it with whatever cleaning solution I’m into at the time.
But this time was the vomit of all vomits. And after trying to clean it and scrub it, my husband and I realized that it may have reached the end of its time with us. The chair smelled so bad, we had to put it down in the back part of the basement.
I started thinking… It’s gone. This stinks… literally.
Stain cleaners can’t tackle this job. It’s been a great chair.
Hmmmmm, I’d always noticed a zipper on the bottom of the chair. I went downstairs and looked at it again. There were a couple of zippers strategically placed on the chair, so I looked for possible laundry instructions. Then I saw the tag, and I quote:
‘Do Not Remove the Cover’.
“Shoot, I can’t take that off,” I thought.
Bummer!
Wait a Minute… Wait One… Little… Minute.
I can’t believe I’m obeying this little tag! This is worse than obeying those PILLOW tags that read- ‘Do Not Remove’.
I can do this. I WILL do this. I’ve lived through a 17-hour labor! I’m not listening to a little tag. I’m an educated mother, wife… woman.
I will remove this cover, I will wash this cover and take my chances. Consequences be damned! I will not obey this little tag, but instead obey my instincts!
I removed said cover. It felt great.
Into the washer it went… with a lot of detergent.
How will it look? Will it fit back on? The wash cycle seemed to take 45 minutes… Well, it always takes 45 minutes, but back to the story.
I took it out and it looked BRAND NEW! I’m embarrassed to admit how excited I was…
Victory seemed so close. So then I dried it on just the ‘AIR’ setting to prevent any shrinkage. Would it work?
My husband and I took it out of the dryer; he was completely into the ‘Saving of the Chair’ by now too.
It took some prying and wiggling and me pushing on the chair with my full weight at strategic angles to put the cover back on. I was sweating by this point, again… literally. BUT IT WENT BACK ON!!!!!
It’s beautiful! It looks like it can last another 3 years! Victory is mine (start humming ‘Rocky’ theme). I didn’t listen to that little tag or any little voices telling me to obey directions!
What a victory… I have saved a beloved chair from extinction!
Okay, it’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I am so psyched! Gotta go upstairs to the bedrooms to remove all those tags from the … well, you know.
This victory tale is crossposted at DC Metro Moms Blog. It’s a great site!
MOMS MAKE THE MAN
“Men are what their mothers made them.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Boys need instruction, leadership and a good model to follow.
They also need kindness, love and comfort.
No matter how old our ‘little boys’ get, they will always remember-
hugs we give them, bandages we apply, our laps to sit on, encouraging words and knowing that they are great ‘just the way they are’.
ROCKING MY ‘BABY’ TO SLEEP
Last night my 4-year-old son was very tired. We played outside most of the day. Well, my husband and him played mostly, while I cleaned house, got taxes done, paid bills, planned lunches and dinners for the week and did three loads of laundry.
After dinner we played some more until it was apparent that bedtime should be moved up a few minutes. I saw my son getting that tired and cranky look in his eye…
‘I have just a short window,’ I thought. But it was too late at that point (ugh- rookie mistake) and I knew there would be some kind of power play upstairs.
Turned out, it was just over teeth brushing. After several minutes of negotiating, if that is what you would call it- aka: trying to persuade him to do it and then resorting to making it a game (that’s what I call it in my house), the teeth were brushed.
On to his room we went. He was still a little bent out of shape, so I picked up my 4-year-old (my cardio) and sat down in the rocking chair. I started to rock him and he took to it like he was a baby. He nestled down in my arms and started to relax.
I could have put him in bed at that point with no problem. I was about to… and then I realized I had an opportunity I RARELY get. I could rock him to sleep.
I spent the next 10 minutes rocking him. I closed my eyes from time to time and completely enjoyed every second. He fell asleep in my arms and I kept rocking slowly for a couple more minutes.
I looked down at him ‘sleeping like a baby’ in my arms. My big boy, whose favorite line is, “I can do it” looked like he did when he was 12 months old. I stared at his little cheeks, the flawless baby skin and his long eyelashes resting comfortably.
“I love this moment,” I thought.
I put him in bed and closed the door and went downstairs.
My husband grinned, “You got to rock him to sleep, didn’t you?”
I nodded with a big smile.
“Good stuff,” my husband said.
“Great stuff,” I replied.
TAXES
I’m preparing our taxes for our accountant.
Even when we are getting a refund, taxes don’t put me in a great mood.
I look at Social Security withholdings on my husband’s W-2. Then I remember that we are the generation that will somehow support the aging ‘Baby Boomer’ generation.
Social Security? I’m not feeling all that secure about the nation’s ‘Social Security’ program…
But then I pause. Mine is not to figure out how…
There are accountants and lawmakers and government workers and Social Security officials and managers and financial whizzes and assistants and assistants-to-assistants to work that out… Hmmm, maybe that is part of the problem.
But I digress…
Mine is to smile and give thanks that I get to see the world through a 4- year- old’s eyes.
Besides, you know what they say, ‘It’s only money’!
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