The intervention, when and when?

So ..........

Let's dish.

No, seriously, for reals.  My question is this:

When is it right to stand over your children and make sure they are playing nicely and calmly and not hurting each other?  It is all I ever feel like I do.  When can I trust that they are calmly playing with trucks or reading books or building blocks and I can actually sit and have a HOT cup of coffee?

Today at a school picnic held at the school due to threatening rain, majority of the other mothers or fathers could sit, enjoy a meal, listen to the retirees speak ... while I chased my children up and down the hallways and tried to shove food down their throats.

When do you know if your children are ready to play on their own?  I know it is much easier shut in our apartment than at a school picnic, but I want to able to say I have let them be, let them build their imaginations, let them share ... without pummeling each other!

June 2nd, 2013

My 2 year old

There he is ... 2 years old.  He rushed into this world 2 years ago after a very quick but never forgetful painful 2 1/2 hours for mum.  He is a whirlwind.  A cuddle bug.  Our big little boy.

Now, I know you are wondering about the rather obvious bandage on Charlie's head.  As I picked him up from U-Gro yesterday, Charlie heard the Life Lion.  Life Lion is the helicopter that flies to save lives for the literally adjoining Penn State Hershey Medical Hospital next door to U-Gro.  [Got to love the fact the ER is right there.]  Ok, back to the story.  Charlie heard LifeLion, so he ran to the window to see it pass and in doing so, slipped and hit his head into the door frame.

I'll not go into "Psycho" like details of what happened and ensued next, but I'll just show you this.  Poor Max was quite upset that little brother Charlie was hurt and thank goodness for Miss Terri who was there to help me.

So we finally got home just after 9pm after a good four hours of waiting, numbing, sedating, stitching, etc.  Max was quite a gem after the earlier tears and mum and dad had no idea what it was like to contain a 2 year old coming out of sedation.  We have a few bruises to say the least.

I understand boys are boys.  A lot more rough and tough is in my future, I know.  Yet I was not prepared for the amount of blood yesterday, the tears from Max, the shock on Michael's face when he got to the ER.  No one is ready for their little ones to get hurt.  The fact that I did this not much more than a month earlier did not make it easier.  Just calm breaths, patience, and hide your own tears.

Thankfully, Charlie seems right as rain as he ran all over the apartment with his new teddy bear, had a bite of cake, and played Pooh sticks with Max today.

And I'm fine too.

May 25th, 2013

Mummy's Little Helper

folding

ironing

Max is his daddy's son.  On those days when Michael actually gets to be home with us all, Max follows him around like a shadow.  You just can't shake him.

However, today he was mine.  Max wanted to be mummy.

As I ironed my husband's work shirts ... yes, I iron his work shirts ... Max decided he wanted to iron as well.  So he took my mixer, pushed buttons for steam and spray, and ironed and folded all his clothes.

I just had to chuckle!

May 18th, 2013

Mother's Day 2013

There are two reasons why this blog exists: 

This one is Max.

That one is Charlie.

These two pictures show my few moments of stolen peace and quiet on Mother's Day after a rousing visit to the Hershey Gardens in the wind.  They wiped out.  I went through the Starbuck's          Drive-Thru.  

There were still tantrums today, time-outs, promises of time in their rooms, and raised voices, but it was my time with my boys.

Now I'm enjoying a much appreciated glass or two or maybe three of wine, my feet are up, and I'm listening to Max talk himself to sleep.

Mother's Day is every day.  Every day I am blessed with my two little precious angels from heaven.

May 13th, 2013

What is a teacher?

A teacher is the one who listens to the “strange” boy talk about his fascination with dragons or guns and not judge.  He listens intently to the very animated child and might not understand what he is speaking of, but he listens.

A teacher is the one who listens to the 7^th grade girl complain about her over protective mother and how she wishes she could wear what clothes she wants.  She calmly tells the child that her mother is just being a good mom and taking care of her.  She watches the teenager roll her eyes and inside cries because she worries about what trouble that girl could get into one day.

A teacher sits next to the small boy, even though his clothes and he smells.  She wonders of the last time he bathed or his clothes were washed for him, but he can’t add two digit numbers so she sits by his side and helps him.

A teacher will call home even though she gets a message machine over and over again trying to get through to the parent of the child who has been missing from school for days at a time without any reason.

A teacher will take her lunch time to call home and speak to the parent of a gifted child who again has done brilliantly on a class project.  She wants to recognize the hard work each child has done even though it is expected and understood from them.  She makes phone calls for the “good” kids as well.

A teacher believes there are no bad students, just challenging ones.

A teacher stands in the cafeteria and watches certain children waste food, throwing away what they don’t eat while others have been given a free lunch and ask for people’s extras because they know there is nothing at home.  He thinks of his own lunch in his classroom and knows he could go with less.  He looks at the students who do not have that choice.

A teacher pulls apart two girls bigger than herself while they try to rip out each other’s hair for no better reason than one supposedly said something about the other.  Even though she might get hurt. she doesn't want them to hurt each other.

A teacher puts extra pencils and notebooks in her cart at the back-to-school sales because she knows there will always be someone who needs them.

A teacher gets angry.  He gets angry when a child has such potential and wastes it.  He looks at the children who want nothing more than to be able to “get it” but they do not have that gift. 

A teacher wipes the nose of the little kindergartner who fell on the playground and everyone laughed at him.  She cleans him up and lets him sit in her room while recess finishes.  He’s too embarrassed to go back outside.

A teacher will question why those students who cannot sit still must sit still through hours of state testing.  She knows a better way of assessing this child’s knowledge, but she must do what the state says.  And have a positive attitude about it. 

A teacher will stay up late grading papers and projects, writing comments and giving suggestions.

A teacher will step in front of the intruder to protect her students or his students.

A teacher will accommodate for a child’s needs so that child can be successful in the way he or she needs to be successful.

A teacher will be patient and remind himself that the student is only 9 or 13 or 17.

A teacher will be a mom or dad if the need is there.

A teacher will put a child against a wall and put him or her in their place if need be.

A teacher educates every student to her best ability and if someone or something impedes that process of learning, she will make it go away.

A teacher often comes to work when it is still dark outside.

A teacher goes to graduation and hugs the student who called her names, wrote bad things on the internet about her, lied to her face, and disrespected her.  She whispers in her ear, “I am so proud of you.  I knew you could do it.”

A teacher thanks the parents for their support.

A teacher doesn’t get exasperated with a learning support student.  He doesn’t tell the student to “try harder” he simply says “try again.”  The student is already trying hard.

A teacher can never leave their work at the office.

A teacher’s day does not end when the busses pull out.

A teacher is a gift.

May 7th, 2013

Triple Meltdown

It all started when Max had my pedometer on the way to U-Gro this morning.  He loves to "have" stuff.  It's simply the case of having something or holding something or putting something in a pocket.  I'm chalking this up to boys.  One time my blush made it to school in his pocket which was returned to me at the end of the day by his teacher declaring it really wasn't her color!

He wanted it clipped on him so it was, but then he pulled it off.  Then he wanted to open it to see what was inside.  The rattling noise.  He wanted to know what it was.  I told him we couldn't open it.  It would break.  Not good enough.  So then he started his ever so knowing phrase" Mummy I need something."  This then begins the process of me trying to figure out what he wants.  Guess what?  He doesn't know what he wants.  He just wants something else at this point.  I can normally subdue him with an empty CD case or my car phone charger because this is what I have in reach in the car.  This didn't work.  So then by the time we got to U-Gro at 6:41am he is in a full out ball.  The tears are streaming.  He keeps going on about the pedometer.  I keep trying to explain.  Not working.  So I ignore as I entice my "spazzing out" three year old and skipping about 2 year old down the hall.  As I try to hand over cleaned bed linens, Charlie now gets in on the game.  He starts balling.  I'm ready to fall over at this point due to the vice grip they have on my legs.  It takes two teachers to pull my sons off of me so I can escape to drop off other bags and get out. 

It's not over.

What did this dumbass mum do?  Forgot her car keys in the room where her two sons are still balling. 

Crown me Queen dumbass!

I bolt in, grab my keys, holler "SORRY" as I try to fly down the hallway without being seen.  At this point I'm crying.

There is no worse way to start your day than to leave two very upset children; your children none the less.  It tugs at my heart.  It pulls.  It snaps.  I just wanted to grab them, run, make pancakes, and watch Thomas the Tank Engine in our pajamas.  But I couldn't.

These are the hard times.  I don't want to be a grown-up. 

I know they were better within 5 minutes.  I know they will run up to me at the end of the day, tell me what they did, forget all about their early meltdown.  It's just hard at the time.

May 6th, 2013

This is a milestone, folks. Brace yourselves!

Max stayed "dry all day." 

What do you mean "dry all day?"

Well any parent who has, who is, or who will go through the process of potty training might understand this as "going in the potty all day."  And that is just what he did, folks.  Went in the potty all day.  When I had to tell him to wear a pull-up for night, he looked at me strange as though I was talking nonsense.

"How dost thee say such a horrid word in my presence?" (My attempt at Shakespeare.)

Yesterday morning he refused to put on a pull-up.  Ok.  So he went in the potty and then very proudly went through three pairs of underpants (Mr. Incredible, Lightning McQueen, and finally Mater Rater) before he was happy and off we went to U-Gro.

And dry he stayed all day ...

And into the evening ... after pooping not once but twice in the potty on his own before bathtime.

He is so proud.  It's awesome.  It was such an amazing feat for him that off he went again this morning wearing his Rex Dinosaur underpants very proudly.  Hopefully we will get another awesome report!

Truthfully, it has been much harder for Michael and I than him.  Let's face it, he wasn't caring where he shit.  It was Michael and I who did.  Never thought I would get so crazy over piss and shit, but all PC'ness aside, that's what this is about.  Piss and Shit.  I knew "it" would all happen sometime and I was more about "letting it happen" than Michael.  Michael wanted it to happen most specifically because he was the one lugging the boxes of Pull-Ups from Costco. 

I had such high aspirations.  I'm British.  I was out of "nappies" before I was 2.  But I was also a girl.  I had a strict mum who sat me on the pot whenevr during the day and an older sister to watch.  I thought, I can do this.  Can't be so hard.  Yep, look up gullible and there I would be.  Max's teacher has been such a lifesaver, Miss "T."  Three cheers for Miss "T." 

Funny part is Max's developing language through all this.  His favorite part in all of this, besides marshmallow or M n M treats, is yelling wherever we may be what he just did.  And sometimes the language is quite funny.  My favorites so far are "crap your pants" or "I'm going to take a big dump."  Feel free to giggle ... I do.  Then reprimand.

I hope this is a turning point for Max and us.  Right now, I'll just glorify in our hard work AND patience. 

May 2nd, 2013