New Jersey Moms Blog

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

It happens.  Break ups.  They start as children and carry into adult hood.  You have a spat with a friend in first grade but in a few minutes you make up.  In high school the spats can last longer.  You may even have a boyfriend or two that you break it off with.  Perhaps in college you had a college sweetheart that didn't quite work out.  Of course, you made friends.  Making friends is what goes on in life.  Keeping friends is something I thought I would never have to work hard at.

As an adult I have kept my friends.  Maybe not talking to them for a few days, even a few months but I could call them up, any time and it would be like we talked five minutes before.  I don't have many friends but who I have I consider close.  One friend I considered very close.  She had other thoughts.

Tilt A Whirl, Tilt A Hurl

Cause and effect.  Action and reaction.  We have all learned these phrases and their meanings long ago.  Apparently, I have forgotten these theories.  My family recently visited a local amusement type of establishment.  Go karts, bowling, bumper boats, that sort of thing.

My youngest decided he wanted to take a spin on the Tilt a Whirl.   Being only three and a half years old, he needed an adult to ride with him.  His father is unable to do any type of ride that spins you, so I volunteered or was forced to take him, take your pick.  I have always had good luck on these type of rides.  Years ago I repeatedly rode the teacups at the Magic Kingdom with no side effects.  Not so much any longer.

This ride lasted probably three minutes but it felt like hours.  At first I had no problem but as the speed quickened so did the waves in my stomach.  I glanced at my son to see him grinning ear to ear.  He was clearly enjoying life at the moment.  I, on the other hand, attempted to get the attention of the teenage ride attendant to shut it off.  The ride finally stopped, I stumbled off, looked at the ride attendant with disdain and promptly had to sit.

Got my wish: No More Binkies

It’s finally happened.  The big day I was waiting for, the end of the bane of my existence has come.  My son has finally given up his binky.  It happened in such an easy manner that I can’t believe it seemed like it was going to be such a struggle.

Easter eve my son asked to watch a movie and have his binky.  I complied since it was a short time before bed.  While he sat on the couch enjoying his binky, I banged away on my computer.  Peering over at him, from time to time, I noticed his binky in his mouth.  One time I did not.  Thinking nothing of it, other than it must be in his lap, I continued my aimless banging.  I glanced again, only to find him yawning, with his entire green binky on the inside of his mouth.  Yes, he had it in his mouth, lips completely encasing it.

Tommy Gun! Pow! Pow! Pow!

This is the new phrase that is said in my household about every hour of the day.  Whatever the 3 year old can get his hands on becomes, in his mind, a version of the famous Tommy Gun.

As his mother I was unaware that my son even knew the phrase Tommy Gun.  The last time I heard it was in the first “Home Alone” movie.  Unbeknownst to me, my son picked up the phrase after watching “The Mummy 3” with his father and siblings.  I wasn’t home at the time, go figure.

When my father heard of his grandson’s new obsession with Tommy Guns he offered to buy him a toy one, much to my chagrin.  I am not opposed to guns.  I grew up with a gun in the house.  My father a police officer had his gun on his person or in a spot, high in the hallway closet that I couldn’t reach.  He would clean his gun in the living room, the bullets no where to be found.  My father was a stickler for safety and I knew if I even so much as lightly put my pinky finger anywhere near his gun I would have probably gotten the beating of a lifetime and been grounded until I was 50.  Both my parents raised me to know the dangers of guns.

Must be a boy thing!

As the mother of three boys and the wife to one large man child, one would think I have seen it all.  Truth be known, I thought did too until the other day.  I was standing in the bathroom while my three year old was using the potty.  He finished doing his duty, shook, then to my utter horror he did it!

He raised his finger to his teeny nostrils and sniffed.  That's right.  He took a big, ole honkin' sniff of the finger he just used to help him pee.  At that moment I threw up a bit in my mouth.  I told him that is impolite and unsanitary.  Well I actually told him it was rude and icky so he understood what my point.  He washed his hands while I went to find his father.

All that was missing when I spoke to his father was a spotlight,  I interrogated the man to find out if perhaps his gene pool was shallow and that is why our son was a "sniffer."  He held his ground and used the ever popular defense of "It's a boy thing!"  I didn't buy until I talked to the 11 year old.  The middle child wouldn't admit he had ever "sniffed" but he didn't deny either, just sort of smirked and looked at the youngest one as if to say welcome to the club.

Daycare providers done wrong

This morning started out refreshing.  My three and a half year old son woke up smiling and was cooperative.  He wouldn’t wear his coat to daycare but no big deal, I let him freeze.

 Upon arriving at daycare I told my daycare provider I would be switching my son to a preschool closer to my work.  She nodded her head and said “I think that will be good for him”.  This decision comes after a few months of her saying “I worry for him when he gets to school because of his mouth.”  My son is the youngest of three boys, all of whom at smart alecks, created from the loins of the biggest smart aleck on the planet, their father, my husband.

She then followed up that statement with one that took me by shock and surprise.  “I think he has a problem and being around professionals will help diagnose that.  It may be ADD or Hyperactivity but none of us here are professionals so we can’t make that determination.”  Through a little more morning conversation and explaining to her why I am moving him, which in essence is none of her business, she proceeds to tell me that E’s biggest problem is, indeed,  his mouth.  Really? Your kidding? The son of two smart alecks at the age of three is mouthy? Stop it!  The blow came when she decided to tell me that everyday he has been calling Miss J a “bitch”.  At this point I told her that is something I should have been told every day it happened.

Instead a book is sent home with his activities for the day, his moods (always happy and active are circled), what he ate, which I know because I packed it and any notes the daycare feels are relevant.  Usually “E needs pull ups for nap time” or “Please send a picture of E by next Tuesday”.  Never, not once, has a note been written about his “mouth” or “behavior”.

Reality Addict

Let's face it my life is reality.  I am a work out of the home full time mom to three young boys and one large husband.  I solve crisis all day long, upon arriving home I solve more by cooking dinner, playing, bill paying, cleaning, the list goes on.  Somewhere in there I must make time to spend with the husband. 

When I do get some spare time I like to wallow it away by veggie out in front of the boob tube and watching some good ole' wholesome reality television.  Not just any reality television, I prefer most of VH1's programming and TLC's.  I watched the whole Jon and Kate fiasco unfold before my eyes and I can name all the girls left on Frank the Entertainer: A Basement Affair.  Inspiration for me comes in the form of Clean House as I watch Neicy Nash tell it like it is to people who are slobs.  Hence why I cleaned out my closet and donated a lot of clothes that I will never fit into again.

My three and half year old son will watch America's Next Top Model with me when the marathon is on, and my older boys will secretly watch Tabitha's Takeover when it's on.  Of course, Millionaire Matchmaker is one way for me to have fantasies of not working one day by finding myself a millionaire vs the thousandaire I found.

That's Jersey, not New Jersey and I am proud to be from here!

I am a Jersey girl.  Let me clarify, I am a South Jersey girl, born and raised.  When I am asked where I am from I reply "Jersey", not New Jersey, just Jersey.  That's how we do it up here, we just shorten the name of the state.  Try doing that with New Hampshire or New York, doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

If you saw me back in the day, you wouldn't have had to ask where I was from.  My hair was so big it answered the question before it was asked.  It was Jersey girl mall hair and I wore it with pride.  I also wore neon orange clothing, stirrup pants and jazz shoes, don't judge, it was the 80's.

Being from Jersey affords me some food luxuries.  The Tastykake is one such example.  The rest of the country has Hostess and Little Debbies and such but the great state of Jersey has Tastykakes!  These scrumptious baked goods are like gifts from the Heavens.  They are the perfect treat to your day.  Tastykakes are branching out, I hear they are as far down as Virginia now but the selection is small.  In my neck of the woods the selection is fantastic as is the taste.

Single parenting in a two parent household.

Three kids, two parents.  Typical blended family.  Older boys live with their mom but come on weekends and pretty much whenever else they want.  For the most part, our home consists of two parents and one strong willed three year old.

It may seem like this is ideal, and it is.  To a point because a lot of times I feel like I am the only parent he has.  It's not that my husband doesn't play with him or cuddle or even try to discipline but the majority of everything is my job.  I am the disciplinarian, the playmate, the storyteller, the cook, the chauffeur, the candlestick maker, etc.  My husband sits back, quietly, and lets me rule the roost for the most part.

Caving, The Fairy Tale

August 16, 2006 a beautiful 11 pound, 1 ounce baby boy was born.  He was cuddly, smelled good and was loved by all.  He needed comforting that sometimes his parents or siblings could not provide.  To help soothe his grief he was introduced to the "binky."  Not by his parents but by the well meaning hospital staff.

The binky habit continued upon his arrival home and for his next 3 years of life.  Where ever boy went so did the binky.  In the spring of 2009, boy's father told him no more binky when he wasn't in his bed.  Binky no longer came in the car with him or to daycare, he didn't have get the binky when sitting on the couch watching his favorite movies.  He was allowed to have his binky when taking a nap or going to bed.  Boy was so attached to the binky that if it fell out his rosebud mouth in the middle of the night and he could not find it, he would whine "Binky, binky" until his bleary eyed mother stumbled into his room to retrieve the bink.

Realizing that her son was a month shy of being a big boy of three and a half years old, mother decided it was time to break the bedtime binky habit.  She sat her son down and explained that he was a big boy and didn't need it anymore.  When this didn't work, she explained to him that the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man and Spider man didn't sleep with nor need binkies as they were big boys.  He son agreed with this logic and all was well during story time.