Redemption Song

Sometimes I feel like Red, sitting across from the parole board in Shawshank. Am I sorry for what I did? There's not a day goes by I don't feel regret. Not because I'm in here, or because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I wanna talk to him. I wanna try to talk some sense to him -- tell him the way things are. But I can't. That kid's long gone and this old man is all that's left. I gotta live with that.

My crime? Being obsessed with clothes. And now…laid out before you, THIS is what I gotta live with.

World War III with Lucie…every morning…picking out clothes. God help me if one of the four pre-approved t-shirts (tie-dye, Monsters University, Angry Birds or purple "Angel" from Italy) isn't clean and ready for her to wear. Literally--God, help me.    

What the heck has happened?! She used to LOVE the adorable clothes I picked out for her! Cute pink bubble skirt with coordinating leggings and a matching headband complete with shiny silver ballet flats, yes please! I was the proudest mommy EVER when I could smugly say "Oh yes--Lucie keeps her hair bows in, no problem. The bigger the bow, the better the mommy, that's what I always say!" But that ship has sailed, folks. That ship has sailed, been hit by a nuclear torpedo and exploded into non-existence with the force and heat of a thousand suns. 

I admit it. In the years before I even THOUGHT about having kids, I was slightly* obsessed with clothes. I spent just about every paycheck from Baby Gap/Cracker Barrel/Chili's on clothes, and I even stooped so low as to lock all my clothes in the trunk of my car just so Michelle couldn't wear them.  

*Some of you reading this may say that this is a slight** exaggeration.

**Some of you may say this is the biggest understatement in the history of understatements. 

I even kept a "clothing calendar" after college--I would write down what I wore each day so that I could look back and say, "Nope--I just wore this two weeks ago. Too soon, 3/4-sleeve hot pink shirt from Banana Republic, too soon. Back in the closet you go." Yes. I had a slight problem.  

Judge me all you want…I'm paying for it now.

After having Ben, I instated a very strict "no-character, no-cheesy-tagline" rule on clothes purchased for or gifted to my handsome firstborn. Again, I'm humbly admitting this to you--I would literally cringe at the sight of onesies with cute animals saying "Somebunny Loves Me" and while yes, I wanted people to know that Ben was obviously thinking "I Heart Mommy" at all times, I refused to let it be embroidered across his chest in a crawler. (There were a few exceptions: A little romper from HHI that had "Poop Deck" written across the butt. C'mon--poop jokes trump all rules, across the board.) I was a flat-out brat, reminding family members around birthdays and Christmas of this regimen and preemptively preparing myself to return anything that broke my rule, like some crazed Fashion Führer.  

Again, judge me all you want…I'm paying for it now.

As I am typing all this out, I am shakily slurping up my third cup of coffee…trying to recover from the massive meltdown that took place this morning.  Little fists of fury, flailing…fiery red curly locks whipping around…the shrieks…oh dear Lord, the shrieking!! And why?? Because she wanted to wear her Angry Birds shirt and non-matching striped shorts. Again. For the third day in a row.  

Call it payback. Call it karma. All of you are saying I deserve this--you are absolutely right. Now that I'm owning up to all this, I just have to find my patience. Because even though these battles make me want to tunnel my way out of her room with a freakin' spoon and crawl through five hundred yards of $@*# just to avoid it all, I just have to remind myself that I am the lucky mother of an adorable little red-headed diva…that this is all (hopefully) temporary…and at some point in the future--maybe a high school graduation party or wedding rehearsal dinner--I can show this picture. Not in the effort to embarrass her. But as a reminder to myself--that even though she's mismatched and breaking every haute couture rule I thought I would live and die by, she's still absolutely beautiful. 

Baby Face

I'd like to tell y'all a story about Myrtle. AKA Big Baby. 

Myrtle joined our family over Christmas back in 2007. Mamaw, my grandmother, was going through her doll-making phase and had decided to make each of her great-grandchildren a doll. At the time, there were 6 great-grandchildren. (I think--don't fact-check me on this...and don't judge me--we're up to about 40 people in the family, so cut me some slack.) And out of those 6, Ben was the only boy. So, Christmas Day at Mamaw's, all the kids opened their dolls. 

Now. Just imagine pulling back some red and green wrapping paper and seeing this face.  THIS. FACE. 

I knew the hard work and months of time and heartfelt effort that went into making all of these dolls…so I did what any good family member would do. I smiled, thanked Mamaw for the doll…and took it home with us to Florida and buried it in the closet in hopes that it would not rise again in the middle of the night á la Poltergeist. And there this banished baby stayed.

Until a few months ago.

Fast forward to 2012. A lot has changed. We had Lucie, moved to Tennessee and had finally gotten settled and somewhat organized in our new (rental) home. I had completely forgotten about the hideous plastic baby-creature that had been hidden away for so long. But somehow, Lucie found it. Him. Her. Whatever. Literally, this thing was still in the box…but she insisted on opening it up and adding this baby to her collection of dolls. And sleeping with it. And taking it in the car. And in the store. And EVERYWHERE ELSE. The curse of the risen doll was upon us.

People would gasp. Shudder. Coil back in fear. What…is…THAT?!?!?!  And Lucie would just smile and say, "My Big Baby." (And then she would continue to carry it by its hair across the room.)

This is a problem, people. But, in my heart of hearts, I felt awful for making fun of it. This doll has been lovingly made for my firstborn son by MY GRANDMOTHER. My children's great-grandmother…it's Mamaw!  How can I be so ungrateful and disrespectful?!

Well, Mamaw came to visit…and for once, I wasn't clambering to hide this baby doll away for fear of scaring my house guests. I was actually looking forward to telling her that the kids love to play with the doll that she made for Ben 5 years ago…and how much Lucie loves it and is proud of it. 

In walked Mamaw…and she gasped. 

I thought to myself, Yep. I'm scoring major points here--she's so happy that the kids love her doll!

"Nicki, WHAT IS THAT?!!?"  

Wait--what?!?!? I said "Mamaw--you made that for Ben…!!?"

"NO I did NOT. I found that at an estate sale because I made the girls dolls and I didn't want Ben to feel left out. And he liked ducks. Good Lord, Nicki--why do you have that?! That's just creepy."

No s*@%, Mamaw. 

So here we are today…this creepy baby is still as much a part of Lucie's daily routine as it is a funny focal point with friends--we've started calling her/him Myrtle because we think she would get tons of attention strapped in a Baby Bjorn and walking down Myrtle Beach, Hangover-style.  

I guess I've learned my lesson--from now on, I'm double checking the heirloom-status of everything before deciding how long to keep it. Although I don't know that I could pry Myrtle away from Lucie quite yet…but I'm hoping she'll let go of it the next time a White Elephant party comes around… 

Fat Boobies

By now, most of y'all know this story...but for those of you who don't, I'm going to share it.  Trust me--it's a good one.

A few months ago, I went to pick Ben and Lucie up from daycare, and I walked past the director's office and saw her having a serious conversation with Ben.  I heard her say, "Now, Ben, can you explain to me what you said that was inappropriate?" and I decided that I would just keep on walking and let them finish their conversation.  Walking down the hallway to Lucie's classroom, my mind was racing. What could he have said? What could I have said that he's now repeating? Oh crap...

We got to the car and I turned around in my seat.  "Ben, do you want to tell me what happened today?"  He shook his head.  He's the type of kid that just wants his punishment: tell me you're taking away my iPod or that I can't play outside...just don't make me talk about what I did!

But I wasn't giving in--we weren't leaving that parking lot until he told me what he had said that had warranted a trip to the 'principal's' office.  He took a deep breath...and dove right in:

"Well, I said 2 bad words.  The first bad word was fat..."

Now, my heart sank.  I would hate to think that he was being mean to another student or a teacher...but that just didn't sound like the Ben I know, so I chose to stay silent and let him finish his story...and frankly, I was more than a little anxious to find out what the second word was...

"...and the second bad word was boobies."

I had to fight off the urge to snicker.  At this age, of course there's playground talk and I'm sure that this word has been thrown around, along with other phrases and--

"But Mommy, that's not the worst part."

Uh...it's not?  Uh oh...

"I put them together in the same sentence.  I said 'fat boobies'."

Well, I couldn't let this go without some discussion--and let's be honest, I needed to distract myself from laughing hysterically at this.  I mean, I could see in his adorable face that he really felt bad about saying this...which he should have--it was entirely inappropriate.  But..I asked him why he said that...

"Well, I was reading the dragon book, and the princess had fat boobies."

No, I haven't seen said dragon book or said princess...  Yes, Ben was given a talking-to about appropriate language...  And heck yes I told my friends and we still use it as a catchphrase to this day.

One day, in the distant future, we'll tell Ben that he contributed to some pretty amazing humor--and kids really do say the darnedest things.  I like to think that these brief moments of hilariousness are just an added bonus of being a parent...and this will make one heckuva story somewhere down the road...I'm thinking high school graduation or rehearsal dinner. ;-)

Sweet Dreams...

I have never claimed to be the world's best mother, but I will give myself credit for one thing: I can stick to a routine, by golly. Especially when it comes to bedtime. Ask anyone--when Ben was little, come hell or high water, we were going to be home in time for his afternoon nap! Granted, when Lucie came along, I had loosened up a little bit when it came to our sleepy-time schedule...but not by much. Whatever--judge me all you want, but my kids know the drill when it comes to getting some shut-eye and I have to admit that I felt a little validated when I was quoted in the latest issue of Babytalk magazine on how valuable a bedtime routine can be!

But one thing is really throwing this drill sergeant for a loop: Lucie's entourage.

Now I know that kids all have their security blankets--literal and figurative. Teddy bears. Blankies. Pacifiers. We never really experienced this with Ben, and most kids I know have only one beloved token. But not our little diva. Care to meet the crew?

Boo
Ben went through his Blue's Clues phase a few years ago, and I remember searching high and low, at toy stores and online for a stuffed Blue. Finally, after finding one--it might have been in an airport gift shop!--he was excited for about 5 minutes and then Blue joined the pile of stuffed animals that sat in his toy hammock. A couple weeks ago, Lucie saw Blue...and luckily her older brother is very good at sharing, and we thought it was pretty cute that she had found her favorite stuffed animal. But "Boo" was only the beginning...

Melmo
I'm pretty sure that Elmo was Ben's, too. I swear--there is some innate magnetism between kids and Sesame Street. I can count on one hand the number of times I have actually changed the channel to the show, but Lucie just seemed to automatically know, recognize and love this furry, red guy. In fact, it was one of her first words: "Dada...Bubba...Mama...Melmo." Of course he takes a spot in the nighttime lineup.

Bunny...and Bunny
I actually like these 2, because I can pinpoint when she added them to the group. Ben had a book called "Hungry Bunny" and it seems appropriate that it's now Lucie's favorite book because, let's face it, she ain't starving. Well, for Easter, she got 2 stuffed bunnies, and they've been inseparable since. Both of them.

Puppy
She actually has several stuffed puppies--the first was a stuffed yellow lab from Uncle Chris who knew she lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw the DVD cover of "Marley and Me" and the second was from Ben who made and named Bandit for her at the Build-a-Bear store in North Carolina over Christmas. Both great puppies...but which one does she go with? The little stuffed puppy that Santa brought her...and Santa just happened to find it at a Starbucks when he had a craving for a gingerbread latte during some holiday shopping. Can't really blame her for that one--few can resist the draw of S'bucks.

Ni-Night and Pati
I am very grateful that these final items aren't exactly specific. Any ni-night (blanket) and pati (pacifier) will do at this point...as long as you have read "Hungry Bunny," "5 Little Ducks," "Peekabo Elmo" and at least one other book before laying her down with ALL of these things. Yes, you read that correctly: ALL of these things.

Yes, she's high maintenance. Yes, it's a pain to pack ALL of these up in her little tote bag (monogrammed, of course) to cart them all back and forth to daycare every day. But yes...it's pretty freakin' adorable to hear her calling roll every morning in her crib. "Boo? Melmo. Bunny? Bunny? Puppy. Ni-night? Pati."

I'm just glad her obsession is with stuffed animals...because I'm pretty sure in a few years, it will give way to shoes.

Pour one out for my Hammy...

We bought Hammy in North Myrtle Beach. Ben saved up his money, had even checked out library books on how to take care of hermit crabs, and it was all he had talked about before our trip down to the Carolina coast. Ben picked out 2 hermit crabs--along with the purple cage, blue rocks and orange food dish--and we welcomed Hammy and Shelley into the family.

After upgrading to a 20-gallon aquarium, these hermit crabs were living pretty large. Hammy was by far the more active one, even keeping some out-of-town guests awake at night with his crawling and clawing. Ben would take him out every now and then, and I don't think I'll ever forget when I found Ben in the living room...and the empty box on the floor of his bedroom. We spent hours looking for Hammy, praying he wasn't dead, or worse--that he had crawled into Lucie's crib. Let's face it--he wouldn't have stood a chance against our little Miss Piggy.

When Hammy molted--yes, they do that and yes, it's freaky--I thought he was dead. And that was my dress rehearsal for what was to come. My thoughts? Do I buy a new one before Ben notices? Do I tell Ben and use this as a learning experience? UGH! Tough decisions!

A few weeks later, after a weekend in Orlando, I came home and found Hammy. *Reader discretion is advised.* He had crawled out of his shell and was shriveled up. Deader than driftwood. We decided to tell Ben the truth about his crustaceous friend...we sat him down on the couch in what felt like a very after-school-special kind of conversation. There were a few tears, and finally Ben said he wanted to see him. After crying and saying he "very missed Hammy", he asked if Hammy would go to heaven in the middle of the night. I said that he was already there, but Ben was confused--what kid wouldn't be?--because Hammy was still in the aquarium.

I tell you what--nothing quite prepares you for the spiritual, after-life conversation with your 4-year old. We talked a little about someone's soul, heaven, etc. as child-friendly as we could, and then Ben asked if we could put him in a cemetery. I found a little jewelry box--NOT Tiffany blue...sorry, Hammy--and Ben asked me to put a little blanket in there, in case he got cold. We tied an orange bow around the box, and buried him in the flower bed in the backyard, complete with a homemade cross.

As we stood there, we asked Ben if he wanted to say a little prayer for Hammy.

"Sure," he said. "God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. By His hands, we all are fed. Give us, Lord, our daily bread. Amen."

Guess that one just felt right to him.

There are many defining moments in the life of a child as seen through the eyes of his parent. From the time he takes his first steps to his first bike ride, there are years of memories and learning experiences that build up and you wonder which ones will shape his future. I'm pretty sure that he'll look back, remember, and still very miss Hammy.

Even though he was more than excited to bring home Second Hammy. The legend lives on...

Out with the Island Margarita, in with the Market Fresh Apple...

I ran out of soap yesterday in the kitchen.

I know, I know--this might not seem like breaking news, but the timing of it really stood out to me. See, earlier this summer, I ordered a bunch of soaps from Bath & Body Works. My favorite was the Island Margarita. It was perfect because it made me think of the beach and--let's be honest--I drank enough of them to make it my official beverage of choice this summer. (Helpful hint from Daddy...add a splash of Cointreau and orange juice to make it juuuuust right.)

Anyway, I've had this soap in the kitchen for the past few months...until yesterday, when it sputtered out its last pump. I went to the cabinet and the first soap I saw was...you guessed it...Market Fresh Apple. Perfect timing.

Ben started school this morning (insert thoughts of taking apples to the teacher on the first day of school), and I swear that it was about 10 degrees cooler last night on our evening walk. It's like Fall is starting to make its presence known...and I couldn't be more excited. The leaves will be changing in a couple months, and if I can't wait until then to see orange, I can just look at any storefront here in Knoxville--the Orange Nation is everywhere here, and I'm not talking about cheap and flimsy banners...they have checkerboard awnings, people. It's no joke. Football season is almost here, and you can feel the excitement and school spirit.

At the same time, it made me think back on this time that is coming to a close. Our first few months here, our first summer in a new home. We've gone through a lot of changes, and there have been some trying moments, to say the least...mostly including me losing my patience and adjusting to being a stay-at-home mom. (Other SAH moms, I can now say, without a shadow of a doubt, that you have the most difficult job in the world. I have only walked a tenth of a mile in your shoes, and I have blisters--I don't know how you do it.) Overall, though, I know that I will look back and know that we had a darn good time...but just in case I forget, I'll list a few highlights:

• Ben learned how to swim. Like going-under-water-and-picking-up-diving-rings swimming. Jumping-off-the-diving-board swimming. Heck-no-I-don't-need-water-wings swimming. It was incredible to see him go from being afraid of getting his hair wet (wonder where he gets that from?) to strapping on the goggles and jumping right in.
• Lucie started crawling, standing up and talking. Aside from Da-da, Ma-ma and Bubba (her nickname for her brother), her first real, uncoached verbal response to something was "Uh oh!" when she dropped a bottle. After watching her crawl and realizing that she has her mother's grace, I'd say this is a perfectly appropriate phrase and will probably come in handy...she's destined to be clumsy like me. Sorry, Lucie Lou.
• We got to travel. Without hopping on a plane. Taking the kids to Myrtle Beach made me feel like I was back in school--the excitement of 'having the summer off' was so fun. Spending time on the sand took me right back to my childhood when our huge, crazy family would all pack up and head to the coast. I hope that this is a tradition we can continue.
• We live in a neighborhood where people walk. Families take their kids to the playground. Couples walk their dogs. Kids ride their bikes and scooters everywhere, and play basketball in their driveways. It really feels like a community...and that's so nice.
• Above all else, overlooking the time-outs and tantrums, I have 2 happy, healthy children who love their parents and each other. And if there's one image I want to keep in mind when I look back on this summer...it's this one:

With Ben going off to his new school today ("I'm so exciting to make new fwends!"), I kind of feel like a chapter is closing. It's like when you reach the point with your baby when you stop counting his/her age in weeks. It would sound silly to say "Oh, she's 42 weeks old." You just say "10 months." Not that the excitement has worn off, but the newness has...and that's not a bad thing--it just means it's more of a comfortable thing.

We've been here for 3 months now, and it's comfortable for us. We're getting settled and we're LIVING here. The summer might be over, but we really had a blast...and I can't wait to see what the other seasons here in Knoxville have in store for us...and you can be sure they'll each have their own appropriately coordinated hand soap.

Hey, Mister Postman...

As the parent of a constantly curious little boy, I am always surprised when he finds excitement in things that adults take for granted. Case in point: Mailboxes.

I know--I was just as baffled by this as you are.

I really had never thought about the concept of mailboxes. It seems like a pretty basic thing, right? I've known many types of mailboxes in my lifetime: from a custom-painted mailbox on a matching wooden post at the top of my parents' driveway to the communal mail station that every complex in America has to the vintage-looking metal mailbox attached to our house in Florida...I guess I've seen it all. But Ben hasn't. The only mailbox Ben knew was the latter--and I didn't really think it had made an impression on him. Sure, this was the depository for the Paci Fairy's gifts years ago (see previous blog), but other than that, Ben really had no need to familiarize himself with our mailbox. So, it genuinely floored me to see his confusion when we arrived at our house in Tennessee...and he asked, "Mommy? What is that stand at the end of our dwive-way?" He listened intently as I explained that, everyday, the mailman would drive up to our mailbox and leave mail...and then he asked if he could check for the mail. Little did I know that this would be the start of a routine.

Everyday since we have arrived, Ben gets excited to go get the mail. Rain or shine, people. Don't believe me? See for yourself.

(In case you can't tell, those are rainboots he's wearing and the only thing that keeps him inside is the fun-der.)

He got even more excited to know that the little red flag rises up when you have mail for the mailman to pick up...! He began to ask when he would get mail, so I told him that he could write letters to some friends and maybe they would write back--let's just say he's better at getting the mail out of the mailbox than he is at dictating letters...sorry, Girl Micah, Torun and Anooja--I had to improvise some. ;-) He was so thrilled to take his letters out to the mailbox and put the flag up...and then a few hours later...the flag was down!! YIPPEEE!!

It's refreshing sometimes when kids remind us that sometimes the truly simple things in life can bring excitement and joy...and I have to say that the surprise of receiving a sweet note from a friend in the mail (be it snail mail or virtual) is a pleasure at any age. :-)