Child experts, I dare ya

I have a picky eater.  And he’s driving me crazy. 

I’ve read and heard of all types of tips. 

Like don’t force him, he’ll eat when he’s ready.  Or he’ll go to bed hungry and wake up so hungry he cries and cries until you give him some bread to shut him up.

Like the no thank you bite.  I’ve sat there for hours waiting for him just to have a tiny nibble.  Plus then I read that if you force a kid to try something, he/she is less likely to like it later.  Awesome.

Like the empty plate that he has to ask for food to get it.  Guess what.  He asked for food, but he refused all vegetables, including the two he’ll eat, carrots and corn.  (And if some smart ass reader tries to tell me corn is not a vegetable, just slap the back of your head for me.)

Like give him a small amount.  Yeah, then he refuses the small amount.

Add cheese or dressings.  Vegetables still not eaten with cheese or dressings.

Always prepare something he likes with something he doesn’t.  Then he still doesn’t eat the stuff he insists he doesn’t like but has never tried.

Ignore him.  He still won’t eat.

Make him eat it.  (Old school and desperate) You want to know what happens?  He vomits.

Sneak vegetables into the foods he likes.  This works well, except now the kid won’t trust my pizza, even when I don’t add a puree.

So yeah, I’m getting a little desperate.  I save his meals until the next one unless he eats it all or tries a bite of each.  I don’t bribe with food (though the grandparents do occasionally).  I sometimes bribe getting excused from the table.  I’ve sat with him from dinner time to bedtime, squaring off for him just to take a damn bite.  I’ve sent him to time out, and that didn’t work At All.  Obviously I’ll never force feed him again.  I taught him the drink milk after you try something technique, but it only works if he takes a bite in the first place.  He’s liked something one day and refused to eat it the next time it’s presented to him. 

The kid just won’t eat. 

My BFF insists that some people are picky eaters.  Thanks.  But that’s not helping.  Since my kid refuses homemade mac and cheese, parmesan chicken (without sauce), bean burritos, and fried shrimp.  He won’t even try celery.  (And yes, I’ve smeared it with peanut butter and cream cheese, and he only licks that stuff off.) 

This last week or so has been particularly hard because I’m only cooking for the boys and me.  There’s a lot of food in the fridge left over from the meals.  If I was smarter, I would just make hamburgers and hot dogs all week, but no, I enjoy a challenge.  I also have the undying hope that one of these days he’ll try my cooking and enjoy it. 

So any other suggestions I haven’t tried?  Should we start a club?

What if The Shining was about the Mom instead of the Dad?

I’m not feeling very maternal right now.  Something about lack of sleep and whining children does that to me.  Thank God I’m not stranded in a creepy hotel without TV, though I can’t have beer at this point.  And thank God I’m not surrounded with snow and that I can shove the kids outside, if I could only convince them to get dressed.

Evan had a dry cough last week that the principal decided was bad enough to be sent home from school.  He got a fever that afternoon, but it disappeared before the next morning.  That night he woke up with another fever, but it too was gone before the next morning.  With the advice of a humidifier from the doctor’s office, Evan’s cough turned into a productive one.

Then Saturday night Evan woke up with a headache around 4am.  It took a half hour to get the meds working and he to sleep.  Then last night he woke up with his cheek hurting.  (Not his teeth, not his head, his cheek.  I know.)  He cried and whined so much I gave him pain meds because I didn’t know what else to do, though I still think he must have bumped his head.  A couple hours later he woke with an earache. I couldn’t give him anything because the meds were already in his system.  Every half hour he woke whining and crying until 6am when I declared it late enough for cartoons.

But will Evan let me put a warm wash cloth on his ear to help with the pain?  No.  Will he chew gum?  No.  Will he whine and snivel and rhyme everything with Mommy in a whiny, annoying voice?  Yes.

Sean has a cough too and is jealous over Evan’s attention.  He wants snuggled and carried.  He whined on the floor for fifteen minutes over the lack of cinnamon rolls on his breakfast plate.

I’m glad I was so tired I went to bed at 10.  But I’m still extremely tired and cranky.  The Husband is in CA for another week.  As for the other reinforcements that have been a Godsend?  My dad starts his new job today, coming out of retirement, and my mom is working a jewelry booth for my great uncle at the Gem Show.  Not that I haven’t dealt with sick babies before and on lack of sleep, but it reminds me how well I have it.

Now if only I can figure out one more dinner meal for the weekly meal plan that the boys might just eat.  I already crossed popcorn and pie off the list.  But I’m still seriously considering ice cream sundaes.

Wish me luck.  If I don’t return in a day or two, know that I’ve run away to Old Mexico and can’t speak the language.

Chinese New Year’s Crafts for Kids, Preschoolers and Toddlers

Yup, Chinese New Year is upon us, and I thought “Hey, this year, we’ll make a big deal and teach the boys to appreciate the Chinese culture.”  Then I learned it was on Valentine’s Day, and my mom said, “We’ll still do Chinese New Year; we have some great recipes and the color is red.”  Then we looked on the calendar and learned it was on a Sunday, which is the day my grandma cooks.  Yup, there’s no way she’ll do a Chinese celebration.  Catholic holidays come first.  But that doesn’t mean we aren’t doing crafts to get ready.

The rice painting and chopstick decorating are great for all ages.  They are simple and easy.  I even did rice painting with Sean back when he was a year and half.  Simple.  But the fortune cookie and dumpling crafts are harder.  They are not suitable for toddlers, and if you have old partially-dried glue (not that I would loose the cap and let the glue sit capless for months), your preschooler will hate these crafts.

Remember the ability of the child will determine how much the adult will or will not do.

Rice Painting

(I can’t remember what site suggested that I sprinkle rice on the paint for a “sparkle” look, but I tried it any ways.  It didn’t sparkle, but it gave a new texture that the boys LOVED.  Keep the excess rice; I have an idea!) 

Things you need:

•       Smock
•       Paper
•       Paint
•       Paint brushes
•       Paper plate or pie tin
•       Rice

Put the child in the smock.  Place the paint on the plate or in the tin.  Put down the paper.  Have the child paint.  When the child is done painting but the paint has not dried, let the child sprinkle rice on the wet paint.  When the paper is dry, tap off excess rice.

As for the excess partially or fully painted rice, it works well in a sand art.  Just have the child glue a pattern and then sprinkle the dried painted rice on the wet glue.

Decorated Chopsticks

(We did this when I worked with the Girl Scouts.  For the girls, they had a choice of decorating the chopsticks for hair accessories, which they could paint all the way down to the end, or chopsticks, which they could only paint half way down.  My boys are sword fighting with them.  Markers just wouldn’t do; so we HAD to use paint.  Because the boys are young, I didn’t break the sticks apart until after they were done decorating.  Older kids can decorate with them split.)

Things you need:

•       Wooden chopsticks (you can get them at the grocery store or grab them at a Chinese restaurant)
•       Markers or paint
•       (if your using paint) smock, paint brush, dish for paint

Give the child the chopsticks.  Depending on the child’s ability, break them before or after the decorating.  Let the child decorate the sticks.  If you’re stuck for inspiration, go online and look at all the neat ones for sale.

Felt Dumplings

(Sean didn’t want to participate, but Evan did.  This craft would have worked out a lot better if I hadn’t used glue that was a little dried out.  After Evan was done, I tried doing the craft with a glue gun, which worked well as long as you didn’t burn your fingers in the process.  The boys are excited to add new food to their kitchen.  I got the craft here.)

Things you need:

•      Tan felt
•      Scissors
•      Something to trace circles about 3” diameter (I used a can juice lid.)
•      Marker
•      Hot glue gun with glue or craft glue

Trace circles on to the felt.  Cut out the felt, keeping the trimmings.  (You may want to make the trimmings smaller for easier use.)  Have the child place a small pile of trimmings in the center of the circle.  Have the child glue all around the outer edge of the circle.  Fold the dumpling.  Hold in place.  If you want to leave it that way, fine.  Or you can make the indentations.  For those of you that used craft glue, wait until the glue dries to make the indentations.  Fold slightly the dumpling on the sealed part to make the indentations.  Use a drop of glue for every fold.

Felt Fortune Cookies

(These turned out super cute.  I think they are more suitable for children older than four, but then Evan was still frustrated over the glue.  The boys love playing with them.  I got this craft here.  And it has pictures {Even though I take step by step pictures, I can’t figure out how to upload them to the computer.  Sigh})

Things you need:

•      Tan felt
•      Scissors
•      Something to trace circles about 3”  diameter (Again I used a can juice lid.)
•      Marker
•      Slips of paper
•      Pen
•      Hot glue gun with glue or craft glue

Have the child write or draw a fortune on the paper.  Trace a circle on the felt.  Cut out the circle.  Have the child fold the circle and place the fortune inside next to the fold with the ends of the paper sticking out.  Glue along the inside of the edge without gluing the paper.  Close and hold until glue adheres.  If using craft glue, wait until the glue is dried before following the next step.  Fold the felt so that the two ends meet and the middle pops out, resembling a fortune cookie.  Place a drop of glue in the middle of the crease and hold cookie until the glue sets.

Expressing Excitement

So I’ve been trying to set up playdates for Evan, so that he doesn’t maul children and get into their faces when they just want him to take a step back and give them a little breathing room.  Last week I succeeded in securing a meeting at a park with a mother of the twins Evan likes so much.  When I told Evan he had to get ready to go to the park and meet his friends, he let out a high pitch squeal, which probably took off a year of my hearing, and ran off to get ready.

My question is: When did my four-year-old little boy turn into a teenage girl?

To pee or to sleep? Not that is the question

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The pains and urgings of outrageous misfortune

Or to take arms against a sea of liquid

And by opposing ignore them and get a diaper.

I forgot something when I talked about the worst things about pregnancy.  Every night about midnight or two or three or four-thirty or if I’m real lucky all of those times, I wake up to pee. 

Having the bladder the size of a pee is annoying at the best of times.  It means going to the bathroom at almost every place you run an errand.  It means having to go at least once, usually twice during the once in a blue moon dinner with your spouse.  It means going to the bathroom during movies. 

At least there is an upside to day peeing.  You know where every bathroom is in every store you visit.  You become less concern of germs, but you do wash her hands and spray them with anti-cuties.  You learn always to pee before you go, just in case you get stuck in traffic.  You become a pro at peeing into a cup.

But the bitch is the middle of the night wake up call.  Like you need that.  Like you need to wake up from your precious sleep.  Sleep that will soon become terribly more precious in a few months when you’re woken up at least once a night or several times a night to feed, change, and sooth a baby.  I have to agree with one of my pregnancy books that people who say that this is to prepare the mother to deal with sleepless nights is like saying dieting prepares someone for starvation.  And I personally think we should be able to wrap that person on the back of the head.  Sure, violence isn’t the answer, but it would make this pregnant mama feel better.  Or is that the hormones talking?  Or the lack of sleep?

Speaking of lack of sleep, did I ever mention the lack of sleep Evan had as a baby?  The kid woke up several times a night to feed, even one horrible night where he fedd EVERY TWO HOURS.  Sean slept through the night around the sixth week or so.  Yeah, I obviously don’t birth normal babies . . . yet.  But I do remember with Sean, I was a happier mama even with a two-year-old trying to boycott naps, still crawling in bed with us, and demanding to have a voice to say no. 

Ah, sleep the root of and solution of all life’s problems.

Yes, I am at that point of my life that when asked which would I prefer sex or sleep, I would say hand me the pillow and shut the lights.  Because I don’t get to snag a cat nap when I want; I don’t have down time to relax; I have much more to do during the day then I ever had pre-children.

So if you excuse me, I have to go pee.

Sean Declares Independence

Sean is going through a phase.  He’s asserting his independence, fighting for his freedom to say no when ever he wants to what ever he wants because his mommy is a horrible tyrrant that makes him take baths, hold her hand in parking lots, makes dinners, and refuses to let him stay in his pajamas all day if it hasn’t been declared pajama day.  But those damn No’s are driving me nuts.

Sean, it’s bath time.  NO!

Sean, sit still I have to wash your hair.  NO!

Sean, we have to get you dressed.  NO!

Sean, do you want to pick out a shirt?  NO!
Sean, let’s put on your shoes. NO!

Sean, it’s time to go to the store.  NO!

Sean, we have to put on your jacket.  NO!

Sean, stay by Mommy in the store.  NO!

Sean, hold on to the cart.  NO!

Sean, don’t touch that.  NO!

Sean, hold my hand, please.  NO!

Sean, let’s change your diaper.  NO!

Sean, did you poop?  NO!

Sean, we have to go take Evan to school.  NO!

Sean, we have to go home.  NO!

Sean, we have to go get brother from school.  NO!

Sean, we have to go.  NO!

Sean, it’s dinner time.  NO!

Sean, pick up the toys you’re not playing with.  NO!

Sean, it’s bedtime.  NO!

Sean, it’s time to put on your pajamas.  NO!

Sean, do you want to pick out a story?  NO!

And sometimes his no means yes.

Do you want a muffin?  NO!

Do you want juice?  NO!

Do you want a cookie?  NO!

Sometimes he runs.  In another month or so, he’ll be faster than me.  Great.

Sometimes he stands his ground, shouting no with his hand out in a stop sign.  Like that will stop me.  Like the No stops me.  When will these kids learn that their mama is a tank?  She’s going, and they’re coming with her, no matter what.

Preschool Story Time vs Toddler Story Time

Toddler Story Time

The Pros:

Before lunch.

Plenty of time to look for books before lunch.

Knowing your kids are the best in the bunch.

Cute babies.

The Cons:

Two out of control kids whose mothers never dealt with them.

Bossy nanny who insists my son hit her charge; completely false.

Texting moms and nannies.

Librarian who talks down to the kids.

Preschooler Story Time

The Pros:

More stories.

Children the age of Evan.

No texting moms and nannies.

All children are sitting and listening.  (Except Sean who I have to tell to sit down.)

More time to get things done before story time.

The Cons:

At our lunchtime.

Same librarian, but hey, at least the kids like him.

TALKING MOMS. 

Seriously, how do you expect your children to listen and be a good audience if you aren’t?  I understand a comment here or there, but there were at least three conversations going at all times.  During the songs, there were like six conversations going on.  We all need our social time with our friends and other moms, but this is not the time or place.  I can’t believe I would prefer the texting moms to you, but at least they were quiet.

Go Forth, Little Children, and Spread the Word.

I knew when we decided to raise the boys Roman Catholic, I was looking for trouble.

The Husband and I agreed on it before we were engaged, when we were planning our future together.  So when the priest at the premarital counseling asked, we could tell him, without crossing our fingers, exactly what he wanted to hear.  The Husband and I had debated it, and I promised my sometimes atheist, sometimes agnostic (depending who he was talking/listening to) husband that we would always be willing and able to explore different spiritual paths if our children decided they weren’t going to be Catholic.

Being raised as a laid back kind of Catholic, I was fully open to the prospect there were more ways to God than one.  My father was Nazarene, and he was the person I went to for spiritual advice.  I went to my mom for moral advice.  My best friend from high school was Jewish.  In college, most of my friends were D.O.C or U.C.C. or Wiccan.  I took Bible courses so I could argue my beliefs with my Protestant friends.  But I knew I had slipped away from being fully Catholic to some hybrid that no one could understand but God and me.  So I knew I was going to have issues sending my boys to Catholic school or Sunday school.

I just figured I had a few years before I had to bite my tongue over the ridiculous of Original Sin.  (If you want to debate this, just let me know.  I personally despise St. Augustine and what he did to our beloved Christian faith.  Jerk.)

We’re sending Evan to a Lutheran pre-Kindergarten.  While I was a little nervous that the new director was a missionary for years and years in Mexico (Did I mention my Catholic family is so anti-converting, they don’t even convert their heretic spouses?), I assured myself that all they could teach four years olds was simple Bible stories and God loves them.

Until last week.

When Evan came home.

The Husband: So what did you learn about in school?

Evan: Jesus loves me.

The Husband: Yes, that’s right.

Evan: Jesus loves me and you and Seanny and Mommy and everybody.  I need to tell everyone that Jesus loves them.  Can I go to all the houses and tell our neighbors that Jesus loves them?

At this point, I’m hyperventilating in the kitchen wondering if we still had to pay the rest of the tuition if I yank him out now or if I had to create a scene about teaching my four year old to apostlize.  I bet I could get their goat if I compared them to Mormons.

The Husband: Well, Evan, I’m pretty sure everyone knows that, so why don’t we play cars instead.

Evan: Oh, ok.

Me: (whispering to The Husband) What are we going to do?

The Husband: He’s four.  I’m sure he misunderstood.  We just won’t let him do it.  Though it would be funny to see him knock on doors.  Where’s his Bible?

I narrowed my eyes.  The Husband was taking this much better than I, and if I wasn’t so sure I was the Evil Genius in the household, I would bet he was enjoying this.  Atheist.

Later I mentioned it to my dad, who chuckled.  Obviously I’m the only one concerned.

Dad: Did you ever think, Fae, that they might have been talking about “Love thy Neighbor?”

Me: Of course not.  Because that would be too simple of an answer and would mean I was freaking out for nothing.

Dad: Well, anything is possible.

I’m getting a new family.

And I wonder who is the patron saint of nonconverting.

Dark Confessions

I wanted to write this post last week because it was bad last week, but then I stumbled on some truths that I didn’t know if I wanted to share.  Once I open my mouth, it’s like an avalanche.  Ask anyone who knows me.  But I feel I have to write because it’s going to seep in, like it always does every time, like smoke seeping into clothes, furniture and walls.  It’s seeping into me.

I noticed I was loosing patience with the boys.  It wasn’t like I had a hard day or they were being especially on the throttle.  I couldn’t smile when they were being actively cute-crazy.  I just wanted to be done.

Then I noticed I was tired.  Bone wary tired.  In a time when I shouldn’t be.  Even if I napped or drank lots of water, even if I took it easy.

Then I noticed I was sad.  Not sad in that was a sad movie or the sadness that comes from watching horrible events on the news that make you feel helpless.  No, this was a sadness that went to the core of my soul.  A depression.

Crap, I’m depressed.

Since I have a history of depression, I know I have to take this seriously.  I have to mark on my calendar when I’m depressed.  I have to analyze my thoughts.  I have to do something or I slip away, slowly but surely, from everything that I love and everything I am.

I’ve made a brief nod to my teenage depression, where it got so bad that I was actually coming up with plans of killing myself.  Frightening plans of when, Monday nights because everyone would be at the Boy Scout meeting, where, my bedroom, how, cutting.  I was able to ask for help when I realized I was starting to look for the perfect dress.  Stupid and creepy. 

Then I had depression in college, but my parents were able to cue in the warning signs, insisting I go to a counselor, who helped me tremendously.

So last week when I began writing, I was going to say that I never was depressed during pregnancy.  I had the two bouts before, and I had a bout of post-partum after Evan.  But other than that I was fine.

Then I started thinking.  When I was pregnant with Evan, I insisted that The Husband and I start martial counseling.  We needed it.  We weren’t able to go more than a few times because I had a horrible work schedule that was never posted until the day before the week began.  You can imagine how hard it was to set a haircut appointment, much less a counseling appointment.

Then during my pregnancy with Sean, The Husband and I had our worst time in our marriage.  We fought a lot.  He would yell and call me names, but the worst part was he would just leave, disappearing how ever long he wanted, never calling, leaving me to worry.  I wanted us to go back to counseling, and he refused.  I went any ways, learning more about myself and about The Husband.  It looked like all Hell was about to break loose when The Husband all of a sudden reigned in the month before Sean was born and for some reason I never got post-partum even though I was waiting for it, ready to battle it.

(As a side, we did end up going to counseling for a year, a year after Sean was born.)

Now I’m pregnant again.  Even though I knew our marriage wasn’t strong to begin with (And yes, people, I debated, prayed, meditated on this little fact before I got myself knocked up).  Now there are other issues, like The Husband having to work in California weeks at a time (which I understood and we make the most of) and money is tighter than it has ever been in our marriage (which causes stress on both The Husband and I).  And now I’m depressed. 

I want to rail against it because this is not the right time.  I’m pregnant!  I have two boys that depend on me to be strong and with it, ready to play and laugh, moving at the speed of light with them.  I have a household to run.  I have other issues I have to deal with, like the real possibility I’m co-dependent.  I need to be strong.

If money wasn’t so tight, I’d march myself into a counseling office.  But that’s not really an option right now.  So I have to come up with other ways to deal with this.  Don’t worry; I plan on telling my OB/GYN this week at the appointment so she is well aware of the situation.  The Husband has been informed.  I figure I should cram in some exercise somewhere into my schedule and make it a real point to actually be out in the sun to soak in some rays, since I hear that’s suppose to help.  And I might have to use you all as a sounding board as I try to work through this because the best therapy I ever had was just to talk.  I hope I don’t come off as bitter when I do.

I’m just so upset over the whole thing.  I really didn’t need this right now.  I don’t want to cry every day.  I don’t want to feel like a shadow.  I don’t want to disconnect.  Depression is a horribly selfish disease because you can’t look beyond that stupid disease no matter how hard you try.  The twist is that you no longer take care of yourself because you are the disease and you just want it to die. 

So here I stand in front of you, not knowing what to say, wondering about how lame this post is, wondering if I said too much or too little, knowing it really isn’t my best work, worrying about what you’ll think.

The Language of Sean

Sean: Mommy, I green!

Me: You mean you have the green light saber?

Sean: Yes!

***

Sean: Mommy, I ungry!  I want juice!

Me: You’re thirsty?

Sean: I irsty!  I want juice!

Me: Please may I have juice?

Sean: Yes!

Me: No, you have to say it.  Pease may I . . . .?

Sean: Give me juice!

Me: Please may I have juice?

Sean: Yes!

I think we’ll be here for a while.

***

Sean: All done!  Get down!

Grandma: Good eating, Sean.  Now what do you say?

Sean: Get down now!

Grandma: No, we say “Please may I be excused from the table.”

Sean: Yes!

Grandma: Please may I . . .

Sean: (in an adorable high-pitched voice) Be excused from table!

Grandma: You have to say “Please may I.”

Sean: Be excused from table!

Grandma: Please?

Sean: Please be excused from table!

Grandma:  That’s my boy!

Of course, Papi and I are barely keeping the laughter in during the whole conversation.