Ohio Moms Blog

Why is "poopy" so popular?

I’ll be the first to admit that poopy is a funny word. It is a fun word to say, and I am certain I have said it more than I can count on my fingers and toes. There are websites dedicated to poopy humor and just about everyone I know giggles if the word poopy is used as an adjective, a verb, a noun, or as an expletive. Poopy has also become my 4 year old’s favorite word. Noone is safe from poopy in my house.

 My daughter has a terrific vocabulary for a 4 year old. She uses words such as octagon, obnoxious, fantastic, and now - poopy. Seems as if my son has a poopy foot, I have poopy hair, and my daughter’s dresses are now poopy dresses. What does that even mean? Whatever it means it is certainly funny, because every time my girl uses the word she giggles as if I am tickling her with a thousand feathers. She makes up songs with poopy too. The latest is sung to the melody of Mary Had Little Lamb and goes a little like this: “Loki (our dog) has a poopy butt, poopy butt, poopy butt. Loki has a poopy butt and it needs a diaper.” Proceeded by rolling on the floor with laughter. Her little brother was enlightened to the fact that there are not only cars on the road, but poopy cars. Again, what does that even mean?

Inside Information

I did something awful.  I read my daughter's diary.

I thought I would find valuable information about the thoughts in her 11 year old head.  I thought I would find out what she and her friends are up to.  I know it was wrong to read her personal journal, but in today's world, I can't help but feel that parents need all the help we can get to keep our children safe.  I would do it again if I thought I would learn something that would help me protect her.

Although there was a little bit of information about her friends and about boys, most of her entries spoke of her disdain for her little brother and me.

It turns out that what I consider mundane requests ("Pick up your socks."  "Clean your room.") are actually quite bossy to an 11 year old.  By reading her diary I realized that my methods of trying to get her to be more responsible are making her feel like I treat her poorly.

Not a problem, I'll be sending you a bill for my time

As parents, we make a multitude of decisions about how we spend our time: How many activities can fit into each day?  What activities will a 3 year old enjoy and will also be safe and do-able with an infant?  How can we coordinate the housework, cooking, appointments...you know what I'm saying, right?  It is hard to find enough time in the day for the things we want to do without spending time on the phone trying to rectify customer service errors.  Sadly it seems like I'm spending time each week having these conversations.  It's easy to fire some problematic companies, like the cable company or phone service.  I make sure they know why I'm making the switch with the hope someone might listen. (doubtful, I know.)  But what can I do about companies I'm stuck with, like my health insurance company, or people I don't want to fire, like the most fabulous pediatrician in the world, who just happens to have a terribly inept billing department?  And why, with so many great people looking for jobs today is customer service still so deplorable?

I recently had the opportunity to talk with my health insurance company and the doctor's office about a billing mistake - each wanted me to call and confirm who was at fault before they would do anything.  Sure, I'd be happy to make another phone call while simultaneously nursing the baby and trying to keep the preschooler from using her markers as darts in some new game she just made up.  Tell me again why you can't just call the doctor's office?  My favorite part about the experience was her response when I assured her I had done my part and reiterated that I just needed her to investigate further - no apology for wasting my time, no promise to take care of my problem, just a "not a problem, we'll look into it for you". 

The Kids Don’t Need to Be Afraid of Great Aunt Elsie

Time and distance can be a brutal combination when it comes to visiting extended family, especially family members who are quite up there in age. I tend to forget about my great aunt except for on holidays or when someone mentions Pensacola, Florida. It is horrible, and I’ll admit I am a bad great niece most of the time. Still, though, I want my kids to understand that family is important, and that we should try not to forget our elderly family members. We tend to forget them because they can’t visit like they used to, can’t hear on the phone, and don’t always have the energy to write a letter. I know my great aunt doesn’t drive any longer, and just getting around is hard for her.

Sure, great aunts can also smell funny and have hair in places they shouldn’t, but who doesn’t at the age of 90? My husband and I recently took a trip to Disney World in Florida, and we started and ended the trip with visits to each of our remaining great aunts. We knew they had gotten much older since we saw them years ago, and weren’t sure how the kids would react to our elderly family members. I was concerned because I remember as a kid being quite fearful of my great grandma, mainly because she seemed to have really saggy skin and was a bit out her mind (now I know it was because of Alzheimer’s). She looked much older than my “old” grandmother and she also couldn’t hear, which escalated my fear.

Having it all

When I was pregnant, I remember sitting with a friend on her couch as we watched the baby inside my belly make its way from one side to the other.  As we were watching in awe -- this alien-like experience going on in my body-- I was sure that I was not going to change when I had my daughter.  I wasn’t going to sit still because I had a baby. 

Parts of my life have not changed. I’m still pretty social, actually more so now.  I go to concerts on a regular basis and travel.  Only now, I travel with my daughter, rock concerts require a baby sitter, and we’ve attended more gallery openings and festivals then my daughter probably cares to think about.  I don’t sit still, to a fault.  

Recently I had a small breakdown.  All my activities came to a head. I returned from a weeklong work trip, was finishing an art piece for group gallery show, organizing my daughter’s pre-school fundraiser, training to run my first 5K, and preparing to move our home, all while working full-time.  And, oh yeah, trying to raise a child.

My eye started twitching due to the stress.  I sat one night and cried because I couldn’t take it.  I did this to myself.   I felt that everything in my life was suffering because I was doing too much and doing it badly. I was physically exhausted. 

Bugs don't bug me...do they?

Aaah, Ohio in the spring time - wild weather swings, bushes and trees bursting with blossoms, the optimism that accompanies the end of winter...and ticks.  This promises to be a banner year for ticks, with mama finding one or more a day for a week now.  There's nothing quite like a blood sucking parasite to make the little hairs stand up on the back of my neck.  Seeing as I encourage my daughter to be bold, to play in the dirt and explore the outdoors, I try not to let on. 

The other day we had a picnic in the front yard for dinner and I totally failed the freak out test.  The weather was perfect, the food delicious and daddy was even able to join us.  I was just finishing up my salad when I felt something on my arm.  I tried to casually brush that "something" off, but it didn't budge.  It was a pesky little tick, not attached but not easy to get rid of either.  It took five swipes to get off, each one slightly wilder than the last.  I don't think my oldest noticed, but hubs certainly did and he teased me about it the rest of the night.  I tried to make up for my wimpiness by suggesting we hunt for worms to add to the flower bed after dinner.

Letting Go

Watching my kids walk away from me was horrifying. My heart started racing. I wanted to run after them yelling, "Wait! Don't go!" To stop them from leaving my sight. Funny thing is, it had been my idea all along.

"Why don't you walk home?" I had said. We were at our neighborhood school and it was only a quarter of a mile away. Seriously, it was not far at all. So I had told them they could walk--alone--and that I would drive home with the toddler.

Two things happened that surprised me. The first was the visceral reaction when they turned to corner out of my sight. The second was that I was not arrested for "suspicious behavior," tailing two children while driving a van. Of course it is not the "child abductor" econoline model and I am not a scary old white guy, but I was still mildly surprised I did not raise any eyebrows.

Why was it so hard to let them have that tiny bit of freedom? To let them be proud of themselves because they got to walk home? I blame the media.

Motherhood--on Adderall

When I was 26, I was diagnosed with ADD. It came as no surprise to me--I had always known there was something "wrong" with me. I was incapable of focusing, especially if the subject matter bored me (Calculus, I am looking at you!). While having an official diagnosis game me a reason to be doing so badly, it was no excuse. At least, not one the College of Veterinary Medicine would give weight to.

Once on medication, I achieved a 4.0--a grade that had been elusive to me my entire college career. At that point, it was too late to save my GPA (and my self-esteem),  and my lifelong dream of being a vet died a slow, torturous death. (No worries--I am over it now!)

Fast forward *cough* ten years *cough*. I have not been on meds since I graduated college. After all, I was "only" a vet tech, "only" a lab assistant, "only" a mom. I had no reason to stay on the drugs. That is what I told myself, anyway. I wonder how different things might be, had I decided to stay on the medicine.

Throughout my entire life, I thought I was stupid, lazy, a failure. Adding "mommy brain" to the mix only made things worse. Now, I was completely incapable of doing anything right and I was dragging another little person along with me.Suffice to say, times were tough. I got through it thanks to a great husband and good friends. My husband didn't care if the house was a mess (why couldn't I keep it clean?) or if the laundry wasn't done (why did I *always* forget it in the washer?) and he cooked dinner (why was it so hard to start dinner on time?). My friends didn't complain that I constantly interrupted (why could I not wait my turn to talk?) or was always running late (how hard is it to get out of the house on time, anyway?). Basically, I really got lucky.

Once my daughter started school, I became "That Mom." "That Mom" that forgot to pack a snack. "That Mom" that forgot to sign the permission slip or send a tee-shirt for tie-dye day. "That Mom" that kept letting her daughter down.

I don't remember at what point I said enough. I think it was after I forgot to send something--again. I decided I was being unfair to my daughter (well, my sons, too, but she was the only one in school). By constantly forgetting things then beating myself up for it for hours--or even days--I was teaching her that mistakes are to be dreaded. I was teaching her that self-hate was okay, and even acceptable. I don't want her to grow up hating herself--her creative, adorable, ADHD self--like I did. I want her to see that, sometimes, it is okay to accept help, even in pill form. That sometimes knowing your limits can be a strength. That having ADHD is not a curse---just a difference.

So, I started back on meds and things have improved radically. I started back on meds not because I was "only" a mom, but because I AM a mom--and my kids deserve better.

Original post to Ohio Moms Blog.

It Sure is Hard to Walk the Talk

March 31 entry:  I am writing this down now during my lunch break at work because a million angry voices are screaming in my head and I need to refocus them to a task like typing so I do not explode.  I took on a new assignment at work and a new person "J" that I now have to work with daily is really making it hard for me to wake up everyday and go into work.  Now, I am one of those people with Singaporean-clad work ethics who feel that work relationships should be considered but not detrimental to your ability to contribute and be effective at work.  However, since taking on this assignment, I have been berated, disparaged, and subjected to unreasonable and inconsistent directions from "J", making it harder for me to complete the tasks I have to and causing me to dread meetings with him.

Caregiver or Parenting?

I’ve come to the realization that caregiving and parenting are not the same. When I became a mommy I knew that I was going to have to teach my children about proper nutrition, how to tie their shoes, and zip up their coats, and I could handle those tasks. As they grow, I realize I am also responsible for teaching my children things such as manners and how to be a good friend. Sometimes I wish I could just change diapers all day and not have to worry about explaining why or why not, or role modeling good behavior with play-by-play instructions. Being a parent and a caregiver is hard work. And, shucks, I already signed up.

Two incidents occurred the other day at the playground that put me to the test: 1.) my daughter told her friend she didn’t like her anymore, and 2.) My son ran into the parking lot. Both needed addressed, but in completely different ways. I wasn’t prepared to hear those despicable words uttered from my daughter’s mouth, and I certainly wasn’t expecting a jolt of shock to run through my body as I sped to rescue my son. When we left the playground I reflected on both things and felt I learned a lot about myself.