The Internet is Evil. . .

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, Brady ran a fairly high temp (102) from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning. With the two sleepless nights thrown in there for good measure, I had plenty of time to search his symptoms on the internet.

Saturday morning (post sleepless night #1) I called the doctor's office and described his symptoms. Their glib diagnosis - over the phone I might add - it's just a virus and it has to run it's course. Well that's just frickin' great. . . I was tempted to suggest how about they come over and stay up with him while it "runs it's course?".

So I decide to take matters into my own hands and I start searching on the internet for what it might be. I really should have known better. In the matter of an hour I had managed to convince myself that it was some rare and debilitating disease, despite the fact that the fever was responding quite nicely to Tylenol/Motrin and for the most part, he was acting normally even if he was a bit grumpy.

It's a miracle my husband didn't divorce me.

So lesson learned. Next time he's sick and the dr's office tells me that I just have to ride it out, the best course of action for me is to close the laptop and walk away. . .walk far far away.

Conversations with Brady and Thomas (the train)

Note: In this, Brady is running dialogue between his toy police car (which he calls FireCar), Thomas the Train, and Sally (from the movie Cars).

FireCar (as he is driving dangerously close to the edge of the table): Here I go.. .
(as he falls off the edge of the table onto Brady's lap) Oh no!! Help me Thomas!!

Thomas (helpfully somehow lifting FireCar back onto the table): Here you go.

FireCar: Thanks Thomas

Thomas: No problem.

Sally: Thanks Thomas

Thomas: Bye Bye

(Sally and FireCar kiss).

End scene.

The sweetness. . . .

Today I did what cooks will inevitably do at some point in time. I burned myself. This isn't the first time it's happened (and most likely won't be the last) but this does win the prize for being the dumbest. I was making dirty rice and in trying to follow child safety regulations, had all the handles turned towards the back of the stove. When I picked up the sauce pan, I neglected to note that it had been subjected to the heat of the other burner that was on at the time. So needless to say I had the handle impression burned into the palm of my hand. The burn isn't bad by any stretch of the imagination, but it did sting a bit.

So after I had invented other curse words to say that would not come back to haunt me by way of a 2 year old child, I went to sit down on the couch while Mike got some ice for my hand. The ice packs that I got were in the form of Lightining McQueen and Nemo. Brady saw these ice packs and came running over, but Mike told him that they were for me because Mommy had an owie. Brady become very concerned at this point, wanted to see my "owie" and then asked, "I kiss you" at which point he proceeded to kiss my hand. Afterwards he took it upon himself to hold the ice pack against my palm and asked repeatedly, "Mommy ok?". Of course, I assured him that I was. . .

He got the memo. . .

Over the past few weeks, Brady has become the quintessential 2 year old. This was to be expected, but as we had enjoyed a peaceful few months I was hoping that we would somehow skip the whole 2 year old experience and sail along as I would smugly watch all the other 2 year olds throwing tantrums around me.

So much for that.

Now for the most part he is still a pleasant happy child. But he has discovered his stubborn streak (again no idea where that came from) and when he digs his heels in he is firmly stuck.

Example of a typical morning at our house as of late:

Mommy: "Do you want to wear your Elmo shirt?"
Brady: "NO!"
Mommy: "Do you want to wear your bike shirt?"
Brady: "NO! No, Elmo Shirt".

As I am pulling it over his head. . .
Brady: "No, No No Mommy, bicycle shirt. No pants, no pants, no pants!!" (Accompanied by some theatrical screaming).

Getting out the door:
Mommy: "Ok, time to go take a ride in Mommy's car"
Brady: "NO ride in mommy's car" (Stubbornly refusing to move, which means I have to carry him, a computer bag, a purse and whatever supplies he will need in daycare that day).
On the way to the car (me carrying him):
Brady (occasionally kicking, screaming, and thrashing): "NO NO NO NO I walk I walk I walk!"
When I put him down:
"NO. . .Mommy carry Mommy carry"

My mantra these days. . .

Pick your battles, pick your battles, pick your battles. . . .

Inanimate objects. . ..

Brady talks to things that don't talk back. I find this entertaining and sometimes hilariously funny. Like when he dropped one of his toy cars on his foot and proceeded to shake his finger at it and say, "No, No. Bad car!!!" (Which coincidentally sounds suspiciously like he was talking to. . hmmm. ..let's say a dog? Really, I have NO IDEA where he could have picked up something like that).

He says hello to everything in his room each morning, and good night to it every night. When he sees my car parked in the driveway outside he says, "Hi Mommy's Car.". As we are pulling out of the driveway he says, "Bye, house." And the list goes on and on. I feel that pretty soon he's going to realize that these things don't talk back, but right now I am really enjoying it and he sees these things that he talks to as a part of his world. I'm enjoying being there and seeing that awareness of his surroundings evolve. And quite frankly, maybe I'm missing something by not conversing with things .

Bye, Blog. . .

The Exhibitionist

There is something really funny about walking into your son's room in the morning, after putting him to bed wearing PJs to find him wearing nothing but his diaper. It's also really funny when he stands up, holds his PJ bottoms up like a flag and shouts triumphantly, "Mommy! Pants come OFF!"

Accident Reports. . .

I was greeted with an accident report today when I picked up Brady from daycare. At our center, "accident reports" are filled out when a child sustains an injury (like a tumble) that requires minor first aid. It details what happened, when and where it happened and the treatment that the child was given. It is signed by the center director and has to be signed by the parent when the child is picked up.

Brady has had his fair share of accident reports, but all of them have pretty much been self inflicted injuries. Until today. As the accident report reads, "A student who wanted the toy Brady had while on the playground scratched him on the cheek." The scratches are fairly angry looking, and one of them is across his nose and eye, all the way to the hairline on his temple. His eye is fine, the scratches are appropriately cared for and all will heal and be well. This wasn't done by some malicious deviant that terrorizes all the other kids in his class and beats them up. . I would bet that it was done by one of his friends. I figured with this age group it would happen at some point, and pretty much expect that it will happen again. My fingers are crossed that the next time it isn't bite marks.

(As an aside, I really wanted to ask if the other student got the toy he/she was so adamantly intent upon getting. But I didn't. . )

This made me realize that at some point when he is older, Brady is going to be faced with situations where he will have to stand up for himself. And one of my greatest hopes is that, as a mother, I am able to teach him to do just that.

Because, after all, even the playground bully needs to be put in his place every once in a while.

The Happy Song

My son loves music. Loves it. When he hears it he puts his fingers in the air, wiggles his butt, and does what Mr. ZM and I like to call the hippie dance. It's totally un-self conscious and completely hilarious.

A few weeks ago, I got hooked on a song that I heard in a movie. The song is "Galway Girl" by Steve Earle. It combines two of my favorite things: songs about Ireland and an excellent guitarist. Baby ZM became hooked on it as well and going with the repetitive nature of 2 year olds, insists on listening to it over and over and over in the car. As much as I like the song, after about the 5th time I search in vain to distract him while punching desperately at buttons to get to the next track on the CD. There are reasons for the saying "too much of a good thing" people. But the distraction merely lasts for a few opening notes of a different song before a protest ensues from the backseat. It's a small car, and I value my hearing, so I figure I'm allowed to pick my battles. And I gave up. Thank God for the repeat button.

I woke up one morning last week really not looking forward to yet another day of more of the same. Needless to say I was pretty much in a foul mood knowing what I had to deal with once I got to my office desk. As I was backing out of the driveway, Baby ZM piped up from the backseat. "Mommy! Happy Song!!" Of course I had no idea of what he was talking about, but hedging my bets, I punched the button to start the Galway Girl. When he heard the opening notes start, his face lit up and he said "Happy Song Mommy! Happy song!!".

And you know what I figured out? It really is. . .

Off to the races

I have attempted to write in some way, shape or form for most of my life. It started off with fictional stories, based on whatever interested me at the time when I was about 12. It then expanded to diaries when I was about 15. So to keep up with the times, I figured this blog would be the next "fad"of writing. To make matters more interesting (or entertaining) I am now the mother of a 2 year old little boy and get to see the world through a different pair of eyes these days. So here's to the next fad. . .I hope that you enjoy!!!