I don't like you.

You are the woman who slid by my stroller so you could jump ahead of me in line today at Barnes and Noble. I was having hard time making the turn and you stuck your leg between the rope and my stroller so you could get in there ahead of me. Thanks.

Not only did you jump ahead, you sneered at my children when they started grabbing things off the impulse lane because, now, thanks to you, I couldn't get the stroller up far enough to bypass these temping items.

As I ripped the items from my children's hands they let out wails of disappointment and anger, to which you rolled your eyes and got out your cell phone.

When their announcements of disapproval started getting out of hand because they could not grab the Godiva chocolate bars anymore, you blatantly stated to your phone-a-friend, loud enough so I could hear, "oh sorry, I couldn't hear you, there's these kids screaming."

After your friend joined you in line, pushing past my stroller once again, the two of you proceeded to talk about non-sense and I ignored you.

Once we finally pushed past the impulse items my son tried to escape his stroller, to which my daughter followed suit thinking it was an awesome idea. As I tried to corral the determined two-some I heard your whisper (not all, but I did catch) "...control their kids".

Ah yes. Young women in their 20s and 30s who don't have children. You think it's just that simple. I mean, if you can control a dog or guinea pig, why can't you control children? Don't they understand the command "stay"?

Your comeuppance arrived as my daughter loaded her diaper during her after-lunch poo. The smell was awful, making my own toes curl but I stood there smiling, knowing you too were getting a nose full. We stood in line for 20 minutes, thanks to the ridiculously slow checkout woman...hope you liked the bouquet.

To all those women (and men) out there that think newborn-3 year olds can be "controlled", I can't wait until your bun pops out of the oven.

Laughing out loud

I think it's important that you laugh at or with your children at least once a day. I feel very fortunate that I get to laugh a lot. My twosome are quite the pair. Laughing helps erase the tension that builds up inside of me when my son has been in time out of 20 times in one day. It makes me forget the bite marks on my arm that my daughter has left there.

Today was a hard one for my daughter. This past week she has not been herself (i.e. perfect). She has continually woken up at night between the hours of 2 and 3am moaning and crying. Her naps have gone from two 2 hour naps to two 45 minute naps, or like the other day one 30 minute nap. She's been overly aggressive towards me and her brother. She also whines for a better part of the day. Always Miss Independent, yet she has been clinging onto me and hiding behind my legs. Who knows what is currently going on her but it is taking a lot of patience on my part.

I've been fortunate to have one easy baby to help counteract the demands of the other more spirited one. This shift in her personality has resulted in one tired and frazzled mom. I hope that whatever she is going through I can help her through it as soon as possible because I really would like my little sweet girl back. However, in the meantime, I'm still trying to make it a point to laugh each day with her.

Tonight's episode was right before I grabbed her for her bath. I just finished with my son (who had thrown a fit in the tub because he wanted to touch the hot water knob and I wouldn't let him), he yelled kicked and threw water in my face. I got him out (annoyed) and looked in the hall for her. I saw her come into the door frame from the left. She smiled a big smile and then slyly inched her way out of the door frame moving right until she was out of site.

I stood up and peeked out the door, way over her head. I could see her little hands and face pressed against the wall and she was standing there naked peering ahead with a little smirk on her face. She thought she was hiding. Above her head I said "GOTCHA!" she jumped, startled, and then took off running while laughing.

Her little naked butt flew down the hallway towards the kitchen. I bolted out of the bathroom to run and grab her. The whole time she was looking behind her with a huge smile plastered on her face thinking she was going to get away. I felt like I was trapped in one of those "Foundation for a Better Life" commercials. It had been a long day with lots of tantrums and whines from both. I could have easily demanded that she return to the bathroom to take her bath, thus practicing discipline.

But instead I found myself chasing her and laughing so hard I was laughing out loud. If you know me, you know that I rarely laugh out loud. Most of the time it's a smile or a happy huff, but when it's out loud, I know I'm having a good time.

I hope she returns to her normal self soon, for all our sakes. Last night she woke up once each hour. I've already heard a few noises coming from her room since we put her down meaning tonight might be another long one. But, I'll drink my coffee in the morning and remember not to take it all so seriously.

That Mom

I don't want to be her. I try my best not to be her. That mom. The one who is such an overachiever her child knows 5 languages (one of which is latin) by age 3. The one who is so proud of their child the only words that come from her mouth are those meant to make you feel like your kid is inadequate. Every mom has that mom deep within her, it's whether or not you make her appear that shows your strength. I met that mom at the park today.

Her first question. "How old is he?" While to the inexperienced this may seem like a harmless question, a simple getting to know you question, as innocent as mentioning the weather. But no. no.no.no. This question should always be a giant red flag that you are talking to that mom. The reason why that mom wants to know your child's age is so that she can do a quick "how does my child rank" analysis in her head or she wants you to ask her child's age so she can impress you.

("How old is he?") ..."14 months" I respond. She said, "oh." I sigh and say flatly..."how old is he?" She says, "9 and one half weeks." Second red flag. Any mom who includes weeks in her child's age is that mom.

Why was this woman wanting to start this conversation? Simple, so I could see that her 9 and one half week old was walking. I obliged. "Wow, 9 and a half weeks and he walking, good for you." I had meant to say "...good for him" but "for you" slipped out. Her reply, "thanks!". Yep. That mom.

Of course I am proud of my children and of course I do that mom things. My children are sleep trained, I make their food, they do sign language, all those obnoxious things that some mom's can't keep their mouth closed about and yes, my kids are ahead of the curve, but good for them.

I want to scream "what the hell are you doing!" when I see a 6 month old at the grocery store at 9pm or sneer at the women who ignore their kids so they can focus on their iPhone.

I judge every parent that I see, it's motherly nature, but I try to keep that mom repressed deep down inside so it is not blatantly obvious that I am in fact a first time mom who thinks she knows it all.

I know a lot, but I know a lot about my children, your child, I'm clueless, and that is what I try my best to remember. Especially when your 11 months and 3 week old is drinking Pepsi out of his bottle.

The lady at the park did not look like she was having any fun. She forced her 9 and one half month old up onto the jungle gym, forced him to slide down a slide, forced him to climb down steps, all with her hand pushing his perfectly cloth diapered tush. He wasn't ready. He fell on the stairs and cried, she picked him up and made him do it again. His dad put him in the infant swing and pushed higher and higher. I cringed watching his neck snap backwards when he reached each apex. Too soon mom and dad, stop pushing.

Mirrors

The hardest part about raising children (besides the constant worry) is a deep seeded one. Like nails on a chalk board, your children flaws are smaller versions of your own flaws. Everything you don't like about yourself either shows up in your children or comes flailing out of you.

By nature, I am a very hot headed person. Even though I fake it well, I can snap like no one's business. When buttons are pushed I can feel heat rise in my chest and words spew out of my mouth that I wish I could cram back in.

Things I thought a loving mother would never say to her children, such as, "what the hell is wrong with you!?!", "are you stupid!?!", "knock it the hell off!", "ENOUGH!" are all items I wish I could take back and hope no one but the good Lord was watching.

Sadly, none of the above has ever been uttered to my daughter but she has bared witness. My son, is me. He has a fierce temper, utterly impatient and willful like you have never seen a child. At 3 days old, the nurse at the hospital laughed at me and said, "you have fun with that one". His first day of daycare, at 3 months old, the room lady asked "is he always like that!?!".

My son knows what he wants, he wants it now and will stop at nothing to get it. What I hate most about myself, reflects right back into my face each day. We hate in others what we hate most in ourselves, and sadly, for my son, it results in an angry mommy that I regret instantly. But as all items in parenting...I'm working on it.

Reduced to Poo

At one point in time in my life I was a scientific researcher and a pretty good one at that. Though days of repeating the same experiments over and over again seemed mundane, in retrospect, it wasn't such a bad gig. I do miss the discipline of experimentation and the methodical nature of it all. My pipettes and test tubes were the instruments that played out what radical ideas I had for the day.

It's been a few years since I've touched any type of experimental tools, so I found myself improperly excited today when I had to collect fecal samples from both my children. We have been having a bit of a poo problem around here and so, their doctor and I agreed to test their stool to make sure everything is as it should be and all that is needed is a quick change in diet to get the poo back on track.

I patiently waited for each of my lovely children to poo (which they did within 5 minutes of each other!) and I stood over them eager to get my hands on their diapers, much like I used to stand over my mice ready to take their blood. After each child was wiped, changed and sent on their merry way, I gathered the diapers, made myself inaccessible to the twosome and began my fun for the day.

Carefully removing all 6 containers from the bags, I read the ingredients on each one. The first tube had 10% formalin in it, the second a growth medium, and the third had some type of fixative thicker goo. Like a good researcher, I wrote the names, dates, times of collection, and sample consistency on the labels first, then slowly uncapped the tubes and began dredging my collection stick through the mess. I have a horrible cold at the moment and could not smell a thing and for this I was grateful.

I was surprised at how much I had to get into such tiny tubes but I carefully placed the poo with patience and accuracy. After I finished, I examined my work, recapped the lids and followed the directions to shake and combine. The task was finished and I was oddly proud of this little setup. I wish I had someone to show my very neat and organized lab bench but alas, no one would care.

Throwing the children in the car, I rushed to Quest Diagnostics to hand over the collections. The man met me at the window and I smiled as I handed them over. He didn't even glance at the gift that I had just given him. I had painstakingly written all the necessary information (and some unnecessary information) on the tubes. I arranged them by type, color and had separated each into little plastic baggies. He did not care.

He also did not care that at one time, I handled cancer patient tumor samples, mined through endless data or had operated on rodents. To him, I was just another stay-at-home mom who was over reacting to her children's diarrhea.

I took my children's insurance card's back into my hands and asked "was that all?" He said, "yes". That was that. I slowly backed out the door, to load the kids back into the car, drive home, unload the kids, and put them down for a nap. My excitement for the day was over and it was time to fold laundry.

My kids will probably never know that mom used to do some pretty cool things on a lab bench, at least not for many years, and even when they get to those years, they may just not care. I'll probably just be that mom who gets them disqualified from the science fair because running an EMSA gel is just too advanced for a 5th grader.

Introduction

A friend of mine, who also has children and also has a blog about her children, started a personal blog. I love this idea. While my children are my delight and take up the majority of my time, I do find time to vent about certain things. Although most of my writings will pertain to children, marriage and all those thoughts that swim around in a stay at home mom's head, I will do my best to expand on other things as well. I hope you enjoy this blog and perhaps can find a way to relate to the musings that come out of my noggin.

Please leave a comment, it's what keeps a blogger going.