School Days

Last week I was the parent helper at preschool.  This job is one part heaven and one part sheer hell.  It's heaven, because I get to get a peek at what Addie is learning and spy on her playing with others.  She doesn't pay me a ton of extra attention while I am there and I feel like I get to be a fly on the wall watching her play, learn, problem solve and just be herself. 

It's a little bit of hell because a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds know the routine better than I do.  There also is inevtiably a child with mucus or tears or both cascading down their face, and that child always wants to hold my hand. Everything in a preschool, including the toilets, are very low to the ground - which, come on, is pure hell on any seven month pregnant lady.   Not to mention I sometimes struggling playing pretend with my own kid, let alone eleven other kids (who may or may not be covered in mucus).

However, being helper also lets me be a bit more thankful for my sweet daughter.  It's no secret that sometimes she pushes my buttons or that she knows exactly where to stand to be on my last nerve.   Sometimes I am convinced that she suffers from a hearing loss that blocks out the very sound of voice.  But being at school lets me see that my parenting is paying off - she shares, she takes turns, she asks good question and she listens, very well, to her teacher.  Being helper also let me see some other kids in action - which always makes me thankful for the kid I have.

On Addie's first day of school I asked her to learn the name of one new kid in her class (only two of her friends from last year are in this year's class).  When I picked her up from school she told me her new friend was __________ and that he was a boy.  I discovered last week that she may not have learned ________'s name by befriending him.  She may have simply learned it from hearing his name said over and over and over again.  Turns out __________ does not have listening ears.

Today I am not helper.  I am not even the driver.  Today I have a little over three hours all to myself.  I plan on doing exciting things like vacuuming and laundry.  I may run to Home Depot to buy paint for the littlest lady's room and get a mini blind cut to size.  I know - it's exciting stuff.  But at least I can do all these mundane errands and chores knowing that Miss Addie will be learning and engaging and listening - and, hopefully, not being that kid.  With any luck, she'll leave that up to __________.

Little Lies Later in the Day & a little Redemption?

Me: Add.i.son do NOT jump up and down on your bed. You know better.
A: Daddy says I can jump on the bed. Uh huh, Daddy says so. Yes. Daddy. Uh huh, mommy. Daddy okay.

Text message: Do you let her jump on the bed?
Text response: I tell her NOT to.

He comes home from work, before the game:
Him: Addison, did you tell Mommy that Daddy let's you jump on the bed?
A: No. I no say that, Daddy. I no jump.
Him: Addie are you fibbing to Dad and Mom?
A: No, Daddy. I no jump. No. I no say Dadddddy.

Bedtime - he's at the basketball game, I've already poured a glass of wine. Probably not my last glass of wine.

Me: Addie, go pick out two books for bedtime.
Me: No, Addie. Not three - pick two books. Two. Ad.d.ie TWO. Thank you.
A: Addie pick Curious George? Yeah, Curious George, mama.
Me: Addie, do we read Curious George at bedtime?
A: Yeassss. Daddy say...um, no. No Curious George bedtime Mama. Duckies?
Me: Make Way for Ducklings? Yes, babe, that sounds good.
A: Okay, mama. Curious George at nap tomorrow? Okay, mama. Tomorrow.

That might be my lie - she's totally not going to be at home for naptime tomorrow.

Little Lies

Me: Addie, please pick up your princess dominoes.
A: Okay mommy. (Continues playing with stuffed kitty and toy broom)
Me: Bud, you need to pick up your game - it's all over the hallway and we don't want to lose any pieces.
A: Okaaay, mommy. (Picks up two dominoes and then gets distracted by live cat meowing)
Me: Addison. I'm not going to ask again. Pick up your game. If mommy picks it up then it is mine.
A: Okay, mom. I all done. You pick up. I done.

So I picked up the dang dominoes, illustrated with Belle, Cinderella, Aurora, Jasmine and Ariel - her most favorite people these days - and I put them on top of the cabinets. My game now, kiddo.

A: Mooooommmeeeeee, my game! My game! I want my game.
Me: Sorry kiddo, I told you it was mine if I had to pick it up.
A: Screeching and blubbering and nonsensical words. Stomping of feet, throwing herself on the floor, river of snot. PLEAAAASE MOMA!
Me: Nope. You can earn it back to tomorrow, now stop all the crying, drama mama.
A: Distracted by sight of tea set. Okay mommy, you want tea or coffee?

Andy came home and I got ready to jet out the door to my exercise class and 75 minutes of being childfree. Before I left I explained to him the dominoes situation and said she couldn't have them until they were earned back the next day. Kiss kiss, bye bye. Good luck.

Pulling into class my phone rings:
Him: Did you tell her she could have treat milk when I got home?
Me: What? Treat milk? Uh, No.
Him: She said that mommy said yes to treat milk.
Me: Yeah, she's lying.
Him: Addie - are you fibbing to Daddy? That's not nice, we don't tell fibs. No treat milk.

I went off to work on my spare tire...and according to him a few minutes later she looked at him with those huge, beautiful eyes and said:

Daddy? I get my game? (pointing to the top of the cabinets) Mommy said yes. Uh huh, mommy said.

Oy Vey.

Please understand

I don't want to raise my voice, but when you go darting out of the shoe section and into the men's underwear section, barefoot and shrieking, I kind of have to. I also have to grab you by one arm and shove you back in the cart. Oh, by the way, that was not a fun game, so stop laughing.

I don't want to use your middle name as a punishment, but you only seem to respond to Addison Evelyn, DO NOT take one more step toward the street. Or Addison Evelyn stop it! If you keep picking your nose it WILL bleed. Or Addison Evelyn, DO NOT put that in your mouth! Where did you even find a blue Froot Loop? We don't have Froot Loops!

I don't want to make you sit on your play stool in the middle of kitchen, but that is the only way I can insure you won't trek through the shards of glass in the entry way. The shards of glass that are there because a) Mommy left the darn Orange & Fennel candle on the stairs one day too long and b) You picked it up by the lid, 100 percent knowing you shouldn't touch it. You knew this because I had said, three minutes earlier, Addison leave that candle be. Addison Evelyn, let it be.

I don't want to put you to bed screaming and crying with snot flowing freely, repeatedly calling my name and breaking my heart, but I have stick to my guns on occasion. When you hit mommy I warned you that if you kept acting not nice there would be no bedtime stories tonight. When you kicked mommy I stayed true to my word.

I know you are just two. I know that you are figuring all out slowly. I know that I am cranky when I haven't slept well and the house is a mess and your dad is drowning in work. I know that you can't always be bluebirds and rainbows and giggles. But I also know that you are starting to figure out right from wrong.

You know to hold my hand in a parking lot and to not go near the street. You know to keep your food on your plate and not throw it on the floor. You know to use both hands when drinking juice from a big girl cup and not go running through the family room with your full cup. You know when I say One more time down the slide and then we head in for dinner that I don't mean one more time down the slide, a quick ride on the swing and a romp through the sandbox.

Starting today, it's time to start thinking. And here is your Thinking Stool*...

*I spent a day and half staining this Ikea creation white. I had visions of two hand prints, in orange and pink, flanking the word THINK (which would have been bright green). But no. You were not interested in hand prints. As I pressed your paint covered hand on to the white stained stool you turned it into a finger painting project - smearing and smacking and having oh-so much fun. So this is what I improvised after smoothing out your smears. Is it what I imagined? No. Can we still pretty pretty up? Yes. Will your butt fit on as well as it would have fit on the white stool? Yep...Welcome to the Thinking Stool, my dear.

Have fun.