Fitting Room Blues

I made the mistake of taking our two little ones in with me to try on some clothes. The youngest one is very silly. Before I took my shirt over my head, the smart part of my brain told me not to do it, but I didn't listen. I thought they were distracted enough by their own little age-appropriate conversation, not to worry about me.
The snickering started quickly.
"Wook Rissa, look at mommy's big ole belly," Myles laughed.
I put my quiet sign up (finger over the lips), but they just couldn't seem to contain their little selves.
I was hot because there were plenty of other people in the fitting rooms.
I turned my back to them and tried to hurry and try on my clothes.
Made it worse.
"Ewww! Wook at mommy's big ole butt," he said loudly to his sister.
"Rest yo' mouth!" I told him.
I had to keep my eyes sternly on them while I got my clothes back on them.
Myles put his hands over his mouth to keep himself from laughing, while his sister pretended to say something.
I was so embarrassed.
"Okay fine! That art kit I told yall I would THINK about gettin'- well I ain't gettin' it now!"
I was one up on 'em now.
As I tied my shoes and prepared to go out, my little five-year-old had the nerve to say,
"If you don't buy us that thang, then I'm gone put a wast in yo' pocketbook."
I heard someone in a fitting room say, "Uh-oh."
I thumped him in his head. (no one could hear that)
"And it's wasP, anyway," I told him.
I peeked to see if anyone else was coming out of their rooms before I finally left out of the fitting room.
While we waited in line to pay for the shirt I got, Maurissa sees one of her friends from school.
"Is that your little brother?" her friend asked.
"Oh yes, he goes to the school now. And this is my daddy's wife," she said.

Little Brother's Keeper

The world has got to meet our seven-year-old. I neglected to mention that she began second grade on Monday. She had a good day- has a great teacher who is already privy to the Oscar worthy performances our daughter could put on. A nice, new teacher wouldn't stand a chance with her. Her teacher tells me today that she was crying when they went out for recess yesterday. With Maurissa, the great, I never know if it is something serious or not.
"What was she crying for?" I asked.
"Well, she saw her little brother on the playground- his first day as a kindergartner and began crying," she answered.
"Just look at him. He is just gettin' so big and just gettin' so grown," our SEVEN-year-old cried.
"It almost tore me to pieces," the teacher added. "Then she ran over to him and pushed him on the swing. When he went forward, she wiped tears," she shook her head.
I didn't know what to say.
"What did he do?" I asked.
"Oh, well she tried giving him a kiss once he was off the swing, and he tried to punch her," she answered.
Yep those are my little babies. They just love each other.

Today was the first official day of kindergarten for our baby! I didn't cry but as I walked a few steps in front of him, smiling as he struggled to carry his bag full of supplies for his classroom- proving he is a big boy now, I thought, "Where in the world did the time go?"
Seems like last week I was snapping the little onesies on him and blowing kisses on his belly. I remember how cute it was to hear him say his sister's name, "Riffa" because the "S" just didn't come yet... now he says it clearly and can spell it.
He was so proud to come to "big school" with mommy and his big sister. I made sure I stayed busy today so I would not let the moment consume me.
He had a great day- his only complaint was that he didn't get to nap long enough.
"Can you talk to my teacher about letting me take a longer nap next time?"
I just smiled and rubbed the top of his head.
I wanted to pick him up so bad and carry him- reminiscing on the days when he wasn't walking or talking much. He depended on me so much. Back then I wished he were bigger and could be more independent. I would love to go back.
I will just have the memories now. I remember someone telling me that they (kids) grow up quick- the time flies by, but that was when our daughter was just turning two- smearing feces from her pull-up on the wall; her brother was almost one month and I was at home with them EVERYDAY! Feeling like screaming! Now I would love to go back.
"You could have another one- you are still young," a friend suggested.
"And feel like I've lost my mind all over again?" I laughed.
Right... it will all be in my new book: Diary of a Mad, Black, Dysfunctional, Mom.

Make Believe Friends

"At what age do children stop having make believe friends?" my husband whispered.
"Don't even worry about it. There is nothing wrong with our daughter- just don't give it any attention," I told him.
Yes, she is seven and a normal seven-year-old probably wouldn't still have a make believe friend but hey, we've always said she is "cut from a different cloth". She didn't have them when she was younger- when it would be easier to accept I guess.
But there isn't anything wrong with her- I would have tried to get disability. (just kidding)
Her make believe friend's name is Wilbur. She doesn't try to hide him either. Wilbur usually comes out to drive others in the house up a wall. She has talked to him while I was "blessing" her out about something she had done wrong. I popped her and Wilbur. I got him good- darn near abused him.
Wilbur also appears when she wants to make her brother mad but recently he got the upper hand.
I was just finishing up her hair- great time for her brother to come in and mess with her because she has to keep still. She began singing and her brother tried to chime in- singing the wrong words purposely.
"Stop!" she yelled.
He continued and attempted to get louder.
She really wanted to reach out and get him but I wasn't finished.
"I'm just gonna play with Wilbur then- come on Wilbur!" she said.
"I'm gonna play with Wilbur too," he teased.
"Ha! He said he doesn't want to play with you!" she smiled.
Her brother paused for a moment then said, "Take that Wilbur!" While pretending to choke Wilbur.
She let it go on for a minute then folded her arms and said, "Wilbur's not even over there anyway. That's CeeCee!"

If It Looks Like Feces and Smells Like Feces... It's Feces!

I've been taking down the wallpaper in our bathroom for the past two weeks. Today I got to the area near the commode when I noticed a brown smudge. My gut said it was definitely feces. I got a little closer before coming to the same conclusion... yes it was feces. Brown in color and looked to be smeared by someone under the age of ten!
I told my husband but that dude wanted to draw other conclusions. In denial, he went on explaining why it was not feces. I pretended to listen but by the fourth sentence, he sounded like Charlie Brown's mother off the page.
"Why would you think it was doo-doo?" he so eloquently put it. "And who would do that?" he quickly added.
"WHAT? Are you serious?" I scoffed. "Unfortunately I've seen it before and one of your two off-springs did it," I confidently answered.
The sight of it took me back to when our seven-year-old was about eighteen months. I was pregnant with our youngest.
One day after I spanked her, I smelled something foul. I waddled around trying to find the smell. It was doo-doo! Smeared on the wall in her room! I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to do. The smell was so foul that her brother, growing in my womb, was reacting to it. I had to rub my belly to get him calmed down.
Now I am weak when it comes to nasty stuff like that. Really weak. When they were smaller and would throw up, I would just throw a towel over it and wait for Dude to get home to clean it up. I felt bad when they would get stomach viruses and would want to be up under mommy. I would run away from them.
"Be a soldier! They are your babies!" Dude would scream.
Well I didn't have any experience with this one. Why would she play in her pamper?
She did this a few times for the next few months before I spoke to her pediatrician about it at one of her check-ups.
"Yes. It's a little normal for infants to do this- to play in their pampers out of curiosity, but at her age to be doing it means she is very angry about something," he explained.
My arms folded, I told him, "Uh, yes and I am angry too!"
He wanted to get to the bottom of what was making her so angry. I wanted to whip her lil nasty butt right there in that office. Or give her some extra vaccinations. ; )
Things had changed for her a little. We'd moved and I was pregnant with her brother so the doctor suggested that the changes were what was causing her to do this hideous thing.
All I knew was I was tired of our place smelling like a petting zoo!
I noticed she did it a few more times before I finally figured out something that deterred her from doing it again. I made her clean it up! Spanking her wasn't working. She wasn't yet two so I didn't want to spank her too much and when she was spanked, I found more of it smeared. I will bring this up when she is 30 and going on her first date.

Yippee That!

We (kids and I) are riding back from running errands, and they are just playing entirely too much. "STOP!!" I raise my voice. "Y'all are acting like you don't know any better. You aren't outside!"
I hear them snickering in the back seat.
Five minutes later they are back at it. It's as if they don't get spankings sometimes. I guess I don't give 'em good enough. Or they know when I am driving I can't do much.
"Okay. I was stopping at McDonald's but you can hang it up now. We are eating at home!"
"Yippee!" my seven-year-old yells.
I looked up in the mirror- shocked. No she didn't.
"And you aren't watching any TV when we get back- you're gonna get busy doing some work!" (right back at her with her little smart self)
"Yippee!" she cheered again.
I pressed my foot on that gas- couldn't wait to get home.
"And I am gonna whip your little butt- now yippee that!"
Didn't hear a sound the rest of the way home.

Those Were The Days

White boots with the orange wheels and a little pom-pom in front of the stopper! I had to have 'em. I jumped out my van.
"How much for the skates, sir?" I asked.
"Well, I think she just wants $2 for them," he replied.
It didn't dawn on me until I was pulling up in my driveway, that I hadn't checked the size. But it didn't matter- if they were too small I would just let my daughter grow into them.
Seeing those skates at that yard sale just took me back.
Back to the days when we played outside all day, until the street lights came on. A group of about 10 of us from the neighborhood would posse up and make dangerous ramps to skate off of. We'd fall, look at the scrape and get up and try it again- only higher. There was a church across the street from our apartments, just in eyesight of the older ladies who were always sitting out on the porch, watching after us (we really did have a village back then). There was a long hill behind the church. We would line up, grab each other by the sides, crouch down and skate down the hill together screaming.
When we got older, seventh or eighth grade, we were allowed to start going to the skating rink. Our moms would take turns dropping us off on Saturday nights and Wednesday nights in the summer time. It was always packed in the parking lot and inside. Don't know why we spent time grooming- as soon as we opened the door to go in every curl we had fell. I can still smell it- the smell of myriad funky socks, cheap cologne and musty armpits filling the air. It didn't matter though, it was so much fun!
We had to make sure we were outside to be picked up when our moms said to be or we got embarrassed. Once or twice we were late getting out and my mom came in to get us.
"Ah, your mom looking for yall!" someone would inform us.
By the time we pushed through to the door, there she was with her pink, dingy sponge rollers and a too small scarf. I don't know why but my mom's scarf always smelled like that popular children's medicine, Creomotion for Children.
Those were the days.