Girls vs Boys

Will, the very inquisitive almost four-year old, has lots of questions about my pregnancy. He comprehends that I have a “baby growing in my tummy.” He also comprehends that “God gets to decide if I get a boy baby or another girl baby.”
What is not so easy to comprehend it that even when Will is a grown up, he will never have a baby growing in his tummy. He gets to be a daddy, not a mommy. Sometimes this answer is acceptable and sometimes he decides to protest. You just can’t win that fight.
This leads to my point of teaching children about gender. Sure, kids recognize the differences about little girls and little boys. For example, when Abby was a tiny baby, I was changing her diaper on the floor. Will was helping me. Suddenly, he let out a big gasp. “Mommy, where is Abby’s pee-pee?”
I saw this as a teachable moment. “Will, Abby doesn’t have a pee-pee, she is a girl. Only boys have pee-pees.”
Will thought for a moment and then responded, “That’s okay Mommy, we can buy her one at Target.”
Well, at least he understood the difference.
From this relatively simple explanation, we move to a much bigger discussion of social gender differences. The topics of hair, clothes, shaving and nail polish are a slippery slope with almost no easy answers.
I was painting my nails recently and William wanted his toenails painted too. What is the harm? Will got his toenails painted in a beautiful pink color, just like his Mommy’s. Will proudly showed off his toes to his dad. Dad just met my eyes with a dumbfounded look. How could I do that to his boy! (Matt is not going to be happy that I told anyone that I painted Will’s toenails pink.)
My second situation was my recent haircut. I got my long hair cut into more of a chin length bob. So that Will would not be surprised when I got home from the salon, I let him know ahead of time that I was going to go get a fun hair cut.
“Mommy, will your hair be short?”
“Yes Will, it will be shorter than it is now.”
“Mommy, will it be short like a boy’s? Boys have short hair. Mommy’s have long hair.”
“Will, Mommy will still look like a mommy. I am just going to have different hair.” (Whew, barely got out of that one. I needed something shiny to distract him.)
There is no doubt in my mind that my child is normal with his questions and his ideas. I just hope that I am going to get the answers right.

You'll never guess who is pregnant...me!

Oh yes folks, it is that time again. I, in my crazy life plan, am ready for another baby. (I actually want two more, but just one at a time). I found out I was pregnant two weeks ago. I took the test to my husband, woke him up, and made him look at it. His response? “Congratulations, Anna.”
--No sweetheart, this is a shared thing. Congrats to both of us.—
So with that being said, Matt and I are expecting our third bundle of joy in September 2009. Here are some tidbits about my third pregnancy so far:
1. When we asked Will what we should name this baby, he looked at us puzzled. He thought for a bit and replied, “umm, Abby.” His tone reflected that he thought this was a dumb question for his parents to ask him. Of course, we name ALL babies that come to our house “Abby.” We should know this by now!
2. I have decided that this will be my “healthy” pregnancy. I celebrated that decision with french fries at chick-fil-a. At least I didn’t get the large.
3. Apple Butter is disgusting. I had to throw up at work (embarrassing) after smelling it.
4. Kids don’t care if you are nauseous. They won’t share their waffles either, even if you tell them the waffle will make mommy feel better.

French Toast

Two Saturdays ago I got the idea to make French toast with the kids. William is getting to be a pretty good egg breaker so I put him in charge of that. He likes to help so I am prepared with six extra towels and a bunch of patience. Will’s job was to break the eggs, mix in the milk and then dip the bread. He had fun but wasn’t so sure about eating what he made. I never thought I would be talking someone into TRYING french toast! Will is not an adventurous eater…a lot like his father. So what did I do? Bust out the Syrup. Yes, I know it is not good for him but who eats french toast plain?
On the other hand, Abby was just a trooper. She didn’t care that she didn’t get to help, she was just ready for food. She liked it even better that she didn’t have to wear her shirt while she ate.
Here are a few pictures of Will and Abby enjoying the spoils of their hard work. After they were done eating I had to hold them over the sink and scrub to get them clean and de-syruped. I love

Saturday mornings.

A Mom's Christmas List

You may have all seen this but I thought it was great. --Anna

Dear Santa,
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my own doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out -- over several Christmases.

Since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles; and who knows when I'll find any more free time in the next 18 years, so now - -

*** Here are my Christmas wishes***

* I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (-in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

* I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

* If you're hauling big-ticket items this year, I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

* On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, 'Yes, Mommy' to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

* I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, 'Don't eat in the living room' and 'Take your hands off your brother,' because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

* If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

*If you don't mind, I could also use a few miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.


*It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing, and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his red crayon back. Have a safe trip Santa, and remember to leave your wet boots by the door, and come in and dry off, so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table, but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours always with love and appreciation,

A Mom
P.S. One more thing . . You can cancel all my requests, if you can keep my children 'young' enough to believe in Santa.

The second child

I often think about birth order as I watch my two growing children and notice the differences between them. I am completely bought into the idea that birth order profoundly influences our individual personalities. After looking up 'birth order' on Wikipedia (what DOESN’T that site know), it turns out that birth order is widely unaccepted by psychologist. What do they mean, unaccepted?
With that being said, please take a look at the two pictures here of my second child and only daughter, Abby. In the first picture, she is cheesing in her girly pink shirt. In the second picture, the true story comes out.

Yes, that would be my little girl with her same pink shirt wearing a pair of Will’s hand-me-down jeans. In addition to the boy pants, you can also see Abby’s toys of choice are the cleaning supplies under my sink. She had deftly removed the child safety lock so she could play with the chemicals. When I found her, she was not ashamed or surprised; really she was proud of her ability to get into the locked cabinet. I laughed so hard that I had to take a picture before I locked the cabinet back and steered her back to the toys (some girly toys, but mostly trucks and light sabers).
No matter what is accepted regarding birth order, I know that birth order will have a profound effect on both Abby and Will. My first child never had enough unsupervised time for him to even try to get into a locked cabinet. My first child did not have hand-me-down clothes and he would certainly NOT wear clothes from a different gender group (Matt is kinda crazy about that).
Maybe it is the gender. Maybe it is my parenting style that has changed. Whatever it is, I am watching Abby grown into a little person who has different experiences and a different attitude than Will. Abby is going to be great no matter what birth order does or doesn’t do to her. She already is.

I can be crafty too, you know.

So in general, I am not gifted in the crafting area. Sure, sure I get excited and energized when I go into Michael’s, however my finished products never truly live up my ideas. Take for example my some of good friends who are excellent crafters. When they make a piece of jewelry, it looks like an exquisite piece of art that people remark as “unbelievable.” My homemade jewelry is very believable. While I plan something beautiful, it seems to more closely resemble macaroni/plastic bead necklaces that 4 year old could make.
With that being said, I still do get a wild hair every once in a while to do something crafty. Most recently, I wanted to make Thanksgiving aprons. I wanted to do something nice for all the ladies who were going to help me cook the Thanksgiving meal. I love hosting Thanksgiving because everyone is together in the kitchen working and having a great time. It is loud; there are kids running in and out, and usually a few glasses of wine. Aprons would be the PERFECT little gift.
Here is the pattern that I found online. http://www.marthastewart.com/good-things/marthas-dish-towel-apron
The day I found this, I went home super excited. This won’t be that hard, right? (I seem to always say that before a craft project.) I pulled out my sewing machine that I haven’t used in six years. I measured out my ribbon and pinned my fabric. I started sewing and….it looked like a 4 year old got a hold of some cloth and some ribbon. Darn! Not again!

So here I am with 10 dishcloths, lots of ribbon and a broken craft-loving heart. What’s a girl to do? I called my sister. Rebecca came up the day before Thanksgiving and cranked out TEN great looking aprons, including one for my 18 month old daughter. Next time I will just call her first when the crafting bug bites me.

How quickly you forget...

Yesterday, Abigail was playing sweetly in the sink with two measuring cups. She was having the best time putting water in the cups and then dumping it out.
I was using this time to arrange Christmas outfits, clean up our dinner dishes and charge the camera for the pending Christmas program at William’s school. Matt got William dressed and now it was Abigail’s turn. In my mommy sing-song voice, I told her it was time to get down and get dressed. My 18th month old is a child of few words (she really only about 10 or so words right now) and she simply replied “no.” I told her again it was time to get down. She didn’t even look at me to answer a firm “no.” I asserted my mommy authority and removed her from the kitchen stool were she was playing in the sink.
At this point, my adorable, easy going little girl started a tantrum that would make any toddler proud. She let out a great screech, arched her little back and made herself floppy when I tried to hold her. She DID NOT want her little Christmas dress or a new diaper or her cute shoes.
How soon I forgot about this age. William went through this but I had easily wiped it from my memory once he grew out of it. Sure, we still butt heads, but I have seen very few tantrums in the last year.
In the end, Abby did get dressed, got a hair bow, and was back playing in the sink before it was time to go. I, however, was sweating and out of breath from wrestling the flailing and angry baby into the prissy Christmas attire. I sat back to catch my breath and was very amused how Abby went from zero to mach 10 hissy fit and then back in such a short time. Here is the photo of the face that gave me when it was all over. Don’t let kids fool you, they know what they are doing…