You Know It's Time To...

Things I have learned this week:

You know it's time to... shave your legs when your child uses your leg as a scratching post to itch his mosquito bites.  

You know it's time to... start making some serious life changes when your husband says he's going to take the treadmill out and my first thought was, "oh, you're going to sell it" instead of getting it out to actually exercise. 

You know it's time to... intervene when your husband is in charge of bath night and you find your child and husband outside with the garden hose. 

Just a typical "bath night" at the Revermanns.  

A Baby, A Puppy, And A Salami Sandwich

So now, our family and friends, the Facebook world, the woman cleaning the bathroom at Walmart, Chase’s dentist, and all of the other people Chase has randomly blurted it out too, know we are expecting a baby early next year.  To say Chase is excited is a complete understatement.  

It’s no secret that Chase has wanted a “baby of his own” for some time now.  He hasn’t been very discrete about it, especially when he wished for a baby before he blew out the candles at his fourth birthday party.  It was sweet, but pathetic, very pathetic.  When we found out we were expecting a few months ago, we were so delighted to tell Chase.  Here was our conversation:

Me: “Chase, we are finally getting a baby.”

Chase: “I’m so happy; I hope it comes out a puppy.”

Forehead smack.

Chase has also been pondering what we should name our new family member.  So far, after we vetoed Chasey Jr. (a number of times), Chase has decided that if we have a girl, her name will be Pretty Pretty and if we have a boy, his name will be Salami Sandwich. Hmm, I think, as for now, he is off the naming committee.

So, as it turns out, we were not one and done.  Maybe two and we’re through?  J

Belly Button and a Finger

My child and I spend a significant amount of time together.  We can go weeks at a time being side by side (except for some bathroom trips), hip to hip, playing Legos and painting and reading books.  With this being said, you can imagine that most of my conversations are not that (how do I say this nicely?)… in-depth? Intelligent?  You pick.  So when I think a conversation may go knee deep, I jump right in.  But don’t worry; my nugget always finds a way to bring it back to the surface. 

The other day, Chase asked me why everyone has a belly button.  And I grasped at the chance to discuss this. I told him that the umbilical cord is a flexible tube that carries food and oxygen to a baby while in the mother’s stomach.  And when the baby comes out, it no longer needs the umbilical cord since the baby can breathe and eat on its own.  Then the umbilical cord then dries up and falls off and then you have a belly button.  (To be quite honest, I was quite impressed with my ability to rattle this off the top of my head without even Googling it. This went way better than our “hangy ball” discussion.  I looked it up later and that body part turns out to be called a uvula and it’s not actually called the hangy ball in the back of your throat.  But I didn’t want to lose all credibility with my child, so he still calls his uvula a hangy ball.)

Chase looked at me horrified and said, “Eww. That’s gross.  I wonder how far I can stick my finger in mine.”  He then proceeded to lift up his shirt and shove his finger, nail deep into his belly button.  

Any who, Happy Friday!

Our First Hospital Trip and Rolling Down the Windows

So about two weeks ago we had an eventful night.  Chase went to bed as usual.  Cory and I woke up around 1:30am to a strange sound in Chase’s room.  We ran in there to find Chase, awake gasping for breath.  Without even thinking, we grabbed Chase, still in his Scooby-Doo pajamas without shoes or underwear on, threw him into the car and drove to the Emergency Room. While on the way to the hospital he developed a strange barking cough in-between gasps for air.   

Luckily, we live close to the hospital so the dash to the ER was short.  We ran our little nugget inside and they rushed us back to a room where a doctor met us and assessed the situation.  Chase was so panicked that he followed all instructions and was a great patient- at this point.  (We are actually contemplating telling Chase he is dying when we have his 5 year check-up next year to save us some humiliation and win some cooperation from him.  That wouldn’t be bad parenting would it? I guess I have almost a year to tackle that moral dilemma.)  It turns out that Chase had developed Croup. (Croup is an infection of the upper airway, generally in children, which obstructs breathing and causes a characteristic barking cough.) The treatment for this is a nebulizer.  As you can imagine, my precious little nugget was less-than impressed with this and in true Chase fashion, this experience was anything less-than normal.  As it turns out, I ended up doing the nebulizer treatment on him in the hospital bed because the nurse was laughing too hard to hold the devise properly.  According to the nurse, She,“had never seen a child try to ninja kick a nebulizer attached his to his face before.”  Strange.

(On a side note: Sitting in the hospital really makes you start wishing you didn’t let your child win so many battles. Ex: While there, I kept wishing that I had actually made my child wear underwear to bed, or pajamas that fit, or cleaned out his ears this month.  Or that you actually wore a bra to bed that night.  You know, those totally rational things that are appropriate to be thinking about when your child is gasping for breath.) 

Anywho, one day resting at home with Mommy and Daddy did the trick and he was up harassing life again in no time.   

Doesn't everyone take a selfie at the hospital nowadays? Apparently Chase needs a "snacky snack" at 3 am and I am overly perky.  Poor Cory. 

On a completely unrelated note: While Chase and I were driving in the car the other day, I asked him if he wanted his window rolled down.  His response: “No, I didn’t fart.”  Apparently in our family, we only roll down windows if someone passes gas.  And looking back, that may be accurate.

Michael Jackson and My Toilet

So, my child and I have been talking sanitation for a while.  We have countless discussions, daily, about washing our hands.  Chase strongly feels that he shouldn't have to wash his hands after he goes to the bathroom because he can unzip his pajamas and urinate without even touching his man jewels.  And while I find this to be talent, I do not find it to be sanitary.  It took me a while to come up with the reason, “But you still touch the handle to flush the toilet and that is dirty,” to win the conversation. 

But of course Chase had a rebuttal, “Why don’t you wash the handle.” Although, I do try to keep a tidy home, I don’t wash down the toilet handle after every use.  I simply told him I don’t have time to do that. 

So yesterday morning, I hear my child’s bedroom door open, I hear him trot into the bathroom and unzip his pajamas.  I gave him a minute of privacy and then went into the bathroom to check on him and BOOM… What did I find?  My child wearing a frickin’ mitten on his “flushing” hand.  

That’s right, my child would rather resort to a Michael Jackson look-a-like than wash his hands after going to the bathroom.  And all he said to me was, “Looks like I don’t have to wash my hands.”  And yeah, the kid was kinda right, he didn’t need to wash his hands.  I hung my head in shame, for many reasons, as I walked out and closed the door behind me. Hoping that if I closed the door quickly enough, that shameful encounter didn't really happen.

Strangely enough, the thing I am pondering the most about this whole situation is; I don’t even know where the mitten came from and where its match is.  

Superhero Qualities

With Mother’s Day quickly approaching, I can’t help but think of all of the qualities Mothers’ poses.  We truly are Superheroes! Here are some of my Superhero qualities:

-I have impeccable eyesight:  Believe it or not, I can tell, with just one look (even from across the park), that my child has to poop and we need to skedaddle.  Some may not think this, in fact, is a superhero quality. Those people don’t have children. 

-I have the ability to be invisible: You know, when your child is the one acting out at the playground.  I’m super great at being incognito at these times.  You know, when all of the other moms are looking at each other making eye contact trying to figure out whose child is the one being unruly.  One of my talents is looking blankly back at them and shrugging my shoulders, all while pretending to scan the crowd of people pretending to look for that “unruly” child’s mother.  Then leaving shamelessly an hour later holding my “unruly” child’s hand as we skip to our car, blissfully; none the wiser. 

-I have the memory of an elephant:  Yeah, elephants have great memories, right?  Well, anyway I have a memory similar to some animal that has a great memory.  I have the ability to remember almost anything.  Well anything that has something to do with my child.  Ask me what my social security number is or what I had for lunch today and I will draw a blank.  But ask me to name every Teletubbie or when the last time my child pooped was and I can name them all.  I could even tell you what my child’s feces looked like, smelt like, the consistency of it and when I think he will relieve his bowels again.  If that isn't a superhero quality, I don’t know what is.   

-I have the ability to read minds:  The more this “Mother” title is on my resume; the better I am at reading minds.  Well, maybe not everyone’s minds, just my child’s.  For instance, I know three seconds before he tries to whip out his man jewels to urinate on a tree at the park.  I know in enough time to swoop in and swat his hands away from his waistline in the hopes that he won’t have to register as a sex offender at the sweet age of four.  I can also tell three seconds before my child tries to give someone a titty twister (or penny spinner as my child calls them nowadays).  Unfortunately, that is usually three seconds too late and there is nothing I can do (Well there is, this is when I call on my invisibility talent).

-I have excellent self-esteem: Although many people are self-confident in their parenting, I believe becoming a parent made me more confident in myself and in my decisions.  I mean, I had to become confident, I had no choice.  Do you know how many times a day I hear things like, “How come your butt is squishy?” Or my personal favorite: “How come my boobs are bigger than yours?”  If I hadn't built up my self-esteem, I may have ended it years ago. 

On serious note (I know, I can totally be serious once every four years): I do have a great life being my Little Nugget’s Mommy and I do know that I have a pretty sweet gig, especially since I get to work from home and enjoy my child more than most.  I think Chase described it perfectly the other day when we were in the car on our way to Target (Because honestly, don’t all of the best memories happen when you are on your way to Target?).  Chase was in the backseat, strapped into his car seat with his hands stretched behind his head, relaxing, and he looked at my reflection in the mirror and said, “Mom, it’s great that I have this life.”  (On a side note: this philosophical side of Chase ended just as quickly as it came; we ended up leaving Target prematurely due to a tantrum. Like one of those “that lady must be abducting that child” sort of tantrum.  Come on Mommies, you know the level of tantrum I’m talking about.)  

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the other Mommy Superheroes out there, and to anyone who fills that motherly role for anyone.  

My Nugget; wrapping fake presents for his imaginary pets.  I couldn't tell if this activity was cute or a cry for help. Either way, I got a half smile out of him for the picture. 

Kindergarten Screening, Forehead Smack.

So yesterday my beloved Chasey had his kindergarten screening.  (On a side note he isn't going to school until fall 2016.)  I registered Chase for this awhile ago and have been stressing ever since. Since my child didn't do stellar at his 4 year check up I thought we were doomed for his kindergarten screening.  Turns out, we were only slightly doomed. In all honesty, my child did great and I was proud of him. But in true Chase fashion, his appointment (or school meeting, as we described it to Chase) had us laughing, and shaking our heads, many, many (many) times.  

Anyone who knows me, knows that I can be somewhat of an anxious Annie. And this appointment didn't leave me without anxiety.  I was up the night before with stomach aches hoping that all went well for my child, but most importantly, for the poor person conducting the screening. I hoped and prayed there wouldn't be tears (on anyone's part) or foul words thrown in all directions (again from anyone. Especially my child). In an attempt to make this appointment go smoothly for everyone involved, we spent weeks talking about it, reading books about school and bribing. Yes, I did say bribing.  Chase had a "big toy" on the line. 

I fear for when my child has his first college interview. If I was this much of a mess for his kindergarten screening, I can't imaging the amount of medication I will need to be on for that day.  Cory said that he doesn't think I would be allowed in any college interview.  Silly Cory, he doesn't know how persistent I can be.  

As soon as we walked into the school we were greeted at the door. The woman conducting the screening asked Chase to step on the scale. And of course my child got tears in his eyes and refused. My heart sank. I thought the whole appointment would be doomed and he would only be able to attend kindergarten in the fall of 2023.  But, of course this woman had seen this before and invited chase to start his day off with "playing games" instead. (Silly Chase, they weren't games, they were tests masked by blocks, pictures and drawings.  Well played school district. Well played). Chase did great throwing bean bags on target (of course Cory's proud parenting moment.  For some reason he feels his years, well decades really, of playing bean bags in the backyard, with bud light in hand, has served a purpose.), correctly naming items, drawing shapes, and building block towers. When the woman handed chase a pencil and said, "Please write your name."  Chase grabbed the pencil and replied, "I'd rather draw a rock." So draw a rock he did.  I felt my entire body start to sweat.  Luckily, I had worn black (on purpose) so my pit stains from anxiety wouldn't show throw my shirt.  Although I wish I had a hankie to wipe the sweat beads from my forehead.  Those are harder to hide.  Chase wrote a letter or two from his name and moved on. (On a side note, I debated pulling out my phone and showing the lady a picture of Chase writing his name, so she did, in fact, know that he can write his name, but opted against it because I didn't want to be "that parent", although deep down, I am totally "that parent.") 

The woman also asked Chase what his full name was. Chase said, "Chase Charles." I was glad we dodged the "Chasey" bullet on this one. She asked Chase what his last name was and he replied, "It's a secret." Ok, child. You're not a spy. People can know your last name. My child happily spouted out his birthday with no problem, but his last name he would like to keep private.

Then we get to the last portion if the testing; critical thinking. Damn. I was worried and happy at the same time.  Worried because critical thinking could turn into a disaster with my nugget and happy that the hour long testing was almost done.  The woman testing pulled out a picture of a kitchen.  The lady said, "What is something that starts with the "b" sound?" Chase spotting a bug flying and pointed that out. She said, "Good Job." The women then said, "I see a fork laying on the floor. What should we do with it? (Trying to get Chase to say to pick it up.) Chase then replied, "I would use it to kill the bug." The lady didn't know what to say.  Cory and I both looked at each other horrified. The lady then said, "Is there something else you would do with it?" Chase replied, "Nope. I would still use it to kill the bug."  The woman scribbled something on her testing workbook and as a reflex I glanced to see what she wrote. It simply said, "kill bug." I just sat back in my chair and thought, "F**k." That's right. My child's school screening workbook actually contains the word, "kill" in it. Awesome. 

After this, Chase completed the vision and hearing screenings. Yeah, I know. I was a bit shocked (and proud) too. Then to complete the meeting, he put on his big boy panties and stepped in the scale. He knew this was a big moment. He looked over at me and said, "Looks like I get a big toy." The woman, without even looking up from her chart and says, "Oh, did you make a deal." Not as a question, but a statement. I replied, "We sure did." While thinking to myself, stop judging lady. You have no idea how this meeting could have went down.  

Cory and I walked out of the school high-5ing each other because we did know how this could have went down... But didn't.  We then headed to Target and Chase picked out a big toy. Best $49.99 I've ever spent. 

"Mom, take a picture of me."

Chase shooting a paintball gun. Because, what four year old doesn't?