What moms do (according to my 8 yr-old daughter)

Posted on April 10, 2012 by FoBaM-Jamie

Today’s guest post comes from a very special, first-time author: my eight year-old daughter, Meghan. Having spent much of the holiday weekend and all of Monday toiling in what my friend and colleague likes to call the “word mines,” I was a little short on inspiration when I sat down to write something for all you lovely moms. I decided to call in the reinforcements by asking my daughter to collaborate with me on a post about What moms do. When my daughter asked if she could type, I had the brilliant idea to let her write the post herself. (Let’s not call this child labor, let’s call it bring-your-daughter-to-work-day-and-(since she’s here)-let-her-do-some-work (because that’s all very educational and such). I must say that I was very impressed with the results (said the proud mom with a slight catch in her throat). We hope you enjoy it and that you’ll share your own kids’ answers to some of these questions.

What moms do (according to my daughter, Meghan) … all written by Meghan K W

My mom TALKS AND TALKS AND TALKS!
And she also works her ass of all day long. (Editor’s note: I told her she could say that only if it meant I was working my donkey off. We don’t actually have a donkey, but that’s okay … we’re going with it.)
If my mom won the lottery she would DANCE AND DANCE AND SCREAM!
I think all moms are hard working! (Editor’s note: I swear, I didn’t tell her to write that.)
If moms could take over the world it would probably be a little scary as well as cool. (Editor’s note: Really – she came up with this all on her own.)

At this point, my budding author started to lose interest in her writing career and had – while I was running through the shower – strayed from her assignment into the ever-alluring land of Club Penguin. I coaxed her back to the task at hand by offering some prompts:

When I’m sick, my mom treats me with care.
When she’s sad, my mom tries not to cry.
When she’s tired, my mom … puts on her pjs and puts her head down on her desk.
When she’s mad, my mom …I don’t really remember because it was that long ago
When she’s being silly, my mom … she laughs.
When she gets a day off, my mom … she plays with me J “Yay”!
After I go to bed, my mom … WORKS – boring :/
When I’m sad, my mom …TELLS ME to stop crying and makes me feel better
When I ask for a hamster, my mom … says “NO!”
When my mom wants to look extra pretty, she … asks her INCREDIBLY fashionable daughter (me) for advice on what to wear
My mom’s mom’s name is JANNIE. She is a writer just like me and my mom. It is just a generation

Meghan Wallace is a smart, savvy, and stylish second grader who loves dogs, cats, birds, fish, lizards, snakes, horses, hamsters … well, all animals really … and thinks she might grow up to be a dog walker, a famous singer, or maybe an FBI agent. (She’s the one on the right … with the better smile.)

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Did my kid just say what I think he said?

Posted on March 20, 2012 by FoBaM-Jamie

This guest post is the first chosen from the many reader submissions that we received. This one made us laugh as we recalled the linguistic mishaps of our own kids. We hope you enjoy it as much as we did and share your own most embarrassing and bewildering “what did my kid just say?!?” moments.

The other day I realized that I am fluent in two languages. My first language is English. No surprise there. But I am sad to say that after taking five years of Spanish in high school and college, I don’t remember much other than “hello,” “good-bye,” “Where’s the bathroom?” and that “embarazada” means pregnant, NOT embarrassed (as my high school Spanish teacher made sure to warn us about due to her own unfortunate tale of trying to tell someone she was embarrassed but instead telling them she was pregnant). So obviously Spanish isn’t my second language.

My second language is one that I learned in under three years. I can speak it almost as well as English, and I understand it most of the time as well. My second language is “Toddler.” While you may not consider “Toddler” to be an actual language, I am willing to bet that most people talking to a 3-year-old understand the toddler about as much as I understand Spanish now.

I have had the joy of watching my oldest son Alec go from a babbling baby to a story-telling 4-year-old, and I am now watching my younger son Chase begin to go through the same learning experience. My boys have provided me with lots of practice in the language of “Toddler.” And in the process, they have also caused me a decent amount of embarrassment and created some pretty wide-eyed stares from strangers (and even family) with some of their toddler words. Here are a few examples:

A kid who loves his fruit can be easily mistaken for a 3-year-old with his mind in the gutter:

Alec: Can I have some more boobies?

Translation: Can I have some more blueberries?

To this day, one of Alec’s favorite foods is blueberries. He can say “blueberry” perfectly fine now, but this was not the case about a year ago. I’m pretty sure I scared some other moms off at the park when I took blueberries for Alec to snack on. I can’t say I blame them though – I think I would casually back away from a family too if their young boy was demanding “more boobies.”

A 23-month-old learning new words every day can be mistaken for a swearing toddler:

Let’s just say that Chase has conveniently chosen to leave letters out of words that he is learning. His most recent omission is the letter “r” in the word “fork.” So when he happens to drop his fork at the dinner table, the word that comes out of his mouth sounds an awful lot like a different 4-letter-word. And of course he doesn’t just casually let me know that he dropped his fork. It comes with a very loud declaration.

He has also chosen to insert random letters into other words. For example, Chase’s version of the word “sit” contains the letter “h” in a very inappropriate place, making yet another 4-letter-word that he says on a regular basis.

Apparently “r” was a hard letter for both of my kids to master:

Alec: Mommy, Daddy’s shirt is gay.

Translation: Mommy, Daddy’s shirt is gray.

Trust me – we worked really hard to correct this one.

At one point last year I started to question what Alec was really learning at preschool:

Alec: Mommy, my friend told me about seeping booty.

Translation: Mommy, my friend told me about Sleeping Beauty.

This one took me a while to figure out, and until I figured it out I really began to wonder about some of the kids he’s been playing with!

My experiences with my own children have made me pretty fluent in the language of “Toddler.” I am even able to understand many of the dialects of this language with my friends’ young children, even ones who can’t talk yet. For example, a “da” combined with a finger point tells me that a child wants Cheerios (or whatever he happens to be pointing at). A cry followed by thumb sucking or eye rubbing tells me that a child is tired. A grunt while standing perfectly still and looking around to see who is watching tells me that a child is working on… well, you can figure that one out.

Fortunately, Alec is pretty much past the stage of learning how to talk. Most of his words are much clearer now, and I can once again safely take blueberries to the park. But there were definitely a few awkward moments when he was learning to talk.

I’m sure Chase will also have his share of mispronounced words that land me in some interesting situations over the next year or two, so who knows what stories I’ll have to tell next year at this time. Maybe by then I’ll at least be able to go to a restaurant without the fear that Chase will drop his fork.

Kim Barger is just another mom trying to survive the world of parenting one day at a time. Her experiences with her two young sons, combined with her background in writing, have inspired her to start her own blog, Mommy’s Always Write. Here she shares funny, sad, touching, frustrating and embarrassing stories about what she has learned since becoming a mother. When she isn’t blogging, changing diapers, playing Candy Land or having a pillow fight with her boys, she enjoys volunteering for a local theatre, yoga, cheering on the Pittsburgh Steelers and traveling. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, sons and dachshund-terrier pup.

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You’re wrong, Mom

Posted on November 15, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie

It’s official. My daughter no longer hangs on my every word. The other day she asked me, “Mom, why do pine cones fall from the trees?” I was giddy to venture into a seemingly mature discussion about plant reproduction. And then, before I’d barely gotten the first sentence out, she turned into an irrational know-it-all. “Mom, that’s NOT TRUE! Pine cones fall off trees because ants use them as shovels! Hmph!”

Um… seriously?

I gave up this conversation quickly because a) I found her explanation to be creative and hilarious, and b) I remembered a line from one of my childhood development books: Not even a Supreme Court judge can effectively win a debate with a 4 year-old.

As I sat there, unable to craft an appropriate comeback, I realized that this same scenario had played out before. In fact, I’d been in the same position about a million times in the last few weeks! Could it be true? My sweet little maiden no longer thinks I’m the smartest person in the world?

“You got it, Mom.”

Sadly for me, it is true. After descending into these arguments over and over, I‘m finally getting it — I do not, at the moment, hold the key to life’s mysteries, minor trivia or well-known facts of record. And despite my argumentative nature and inability to let incorrect assumptions slide, I’m quickly learning that in the case of the great debate with the preschool set, it’s really not worth it.

Here’s why.

Preschoolers have no problem contradicting the obvious.

Explaining the origins of things like maple syrup, grape jam, and ketchup is trickier than you might think. “What’s ketchup made of Mom?” Despite, the picture of a red, dew-drenched tomato on the bottle, the response is, “No, Mom, ketchup is definitely not made from tomatoes. I hate tomatoes!” Despite more proof (a recipe, the Wikipedia “ketchup” page, and a tomato paste taste test) my daughter remains unflappable. “Sorry, Mom. You’re WRONG! I would NEVER eat ketchup if it was made of tomatoes, and it’s one of my favorite things!”

Let them think what they think. They’ll figure it out later.

My daughter’s current passion is letters. As a writer and word-lover, it pains me that she thinks “C” always sounds like “S.” I’ve tried to set her straight—reading is important! But there’s no messing with my mini expert. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that she’ll eventually figure it out on her own. She’ll come racing to me one day with an epiphany about words like “calico” and “curlicue,” and I’ll do a happy dance in the middle of the library for all to see. But, for now, I just have to accept defeat.

The KISS approach is brilliant in many situations.

Experts tell you discipline should be quick: don’t show emotion, limit your words, hold eye contact. I think the same holds true for answers to complex questions. A good answer to, “Mom, why don’t dandelions have a smell,” is “Oh, honey, just because.” Or I pitch the question back to her, “I’m not sure. What do you think?” Sometimes the best offense is keeping a stupidly simple defense.

I suppose what I’m really meant to learn through this stage is that her thoughts about the world – although sometimes fantastical, inaccurate, and completely opposite to my own – are valuable simply because they matter to her. She will eventually “get it” and accept the harsh truth about ketchup. I shouldn’t worry. (No child was ever kicked out of preschool for such misconceptions, right?) More importantly, she is learning to be a strong person – capable of expressing her ideas, processing information, and reaching conclusions all by herself.

It’s not about who’s right and who’s wrong. It’s not about me. It’s about her gaining the confidence to make a statement about something she finds interesting. And when the day comes that she is truly ready to hear my thoughts on the scientific functions of the conifer’s most important asset, well, that will be a sweet piece of motherhood pie.

Does your child disagree with your answers to their questions? Do you debate with them, or let it go?

Sarah Daily is a writer, marketing professional, and owner of a hyper-local social network for mothers in Bend, Oregon. She believes strongly that when mothers get together behind matters of good for the world and their children, amazing things can happen. She is the mother of one almost 5 year-old girl who has the innate ability to sense the moment she tiptoes out of the room to catch a phone call, but also blesses her with laughter and joy making most of the interruptions a welcome blessing.

Image Credit: Caselet

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Motherhood-Induced ADD

Posted on October 12, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie

This guest post is from Sarah Daily. We’re so pleased to have her with us today and hope you enjoy this post on a topic every mom can relate to – that particular brand of crazy that accompanies motherhood and our attempts to be everything to everyone all the time.

I have a vision of my mother when I was a little girl. No matter her location or the time of day, she had a cup of black coffee close at-hand. I always thought she was a complete caffeine addict and drank cup after cup all day long. All of my friends assumed the same. She was a NICU nurse by night and mom by day, so the image made sense.

Thing was, she never actually got to drink that coffee except for a sip or two. My mom’s method of operation included moving from task to task with us kids, the house, patient files, and all that comes in between. Every once in a while she’d remember that she never had a chance to finish her coffee. She’d throw it in the microwave for a quick reheat, anticipating a quiet moment of rejuvenation.

However, before 60 seconds had passed, she would inevitably be called to another emergency task like picking me up after a roller-skating crash (a near daily affair) and the mug would be abandoned once again.

As I contemplate my own unfinished cups of coffee, half-eaten bowls of granola, sheets that made it to the laundry room but not the washer, bills that simply need a stamp and walk to the mailbox, and ceaselessly buzzing and blinking smart phone … oh, how the list goes on. I’m beginning to think that what my mother and now I suffer from, is Motherhood-Induced Attention Deficit Disorder.

No matter how hard I try to carve out dedicated chunks of time to devote to a certain task, even breakfast, I’m interrupted by something that needs attention NOW. One quick shift, and my focus is gone.

It’s a typical scenario: “I’m really going to sit down and focus on putting away the summer clothes until it’s D-O-N-E!” And then my cell rings and it’s the doctor with a last-minute opening for my 4 year-old who needs an immunization update by tomorrow before being thrown out of preschool. Of course I drop what I’m doing, grab her (and a few treats to con her into the car) and race out the door.

Although I try to tell myself that this is all part of the “gift of motherhood,” and that the ability to multitask that comes along with said occupation will eventually become an asset, I’m over it. I want my focus back. I want to savor and finish my cup of coffee, no matter the chaos that might ensue around me. I want to work on something with dedicated, uninterrupted intention. I want to live by the words of my daughter’s Montessori teacher, “Do one thing at a time and do it well,” (Note to self: Cancel therapy sessions and talk to preschool teacher more often!)

I must learn that it’s okay to set priorities and let the rest go. Let a call go to voicemail. Learn to say NO. Be a few minutes late for preschool pick-up. Lock my office door when my daughter is in the care of her father or our sitter. Throw away the laundry list of to-dos and start the day with a few focused goals. Expect less of myself. It’s okay.

It will be a struggle. Things will inevitably pop up and wreak havoc with even my most modest plans. But if I start out expecting just a bit less of myself, maybe I’ll be able to make time to nourish myself, my skills, my goals. Maybe I’ll come out at the end of the day a more intentional and loving woman and mother who has, at the very least, made time to enjoy her cup of fresh, steaming coffee – without a microwave reheat. And, hopefully, my daughter will learn to do the same.

Have you experienced Motherhood-Induced Attention Deficit Disorder? What helps you focus and find a real sense of accomplishment at the end of the day?

Image Credit: Daniel Go

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Mommy Prayers – we all need them

Posted on April 26, 2011 by FoBaM-Jamie

There are few life experiences that test us the way motherhood does. Though it is the source of much joy, discovery, and personal growth, it also has a way of knocking us off our feet when we least expect it. It’s during those moments of complete exhaustion, confusion, and desperation that we quietly murmur our mommy prayers – calling upon something bigger than ourselves to pull us through to the next day, the next minute. Tracy Mayor has captured a hysterically comforting collection of such prayers in her aptly titled book, Mommy Prayers: For the missing binkie, the late preschool pickup, the birthday party from hell…and other everyday absurdities. We are so pleased to have her here with us on the blog and delighted that she’s offered to give away three signed copies of this book. Even if you don’t win the giveaway, we highly recommend snagging a copy – it’s just the thing to get you through the darker moments of motherhood with a smile and even an outright guffaw. It makes a perfect Mother’s Day gift, too. We’re just saying.

When I was a little girl, I used to pray. A lot. I was a secret worrier, and at night I’d lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling and think of all of the bad things that could happen to me or my three brothers or my parents or our cat or my friends or poor orphans in Ireland or the fate of the Earth.

Our church wasn’t that big on praying — their message was, “Say thank you and move along; don’t bother God with your petty concerns.” So I’d pray very quickly, but very intensely.

I somehow survived junior high and high school — never a picnic for any girl — and went off to college, all grownup and put together and “over” stuff like praying. Oh, I still thought about God, and I still worried, but none of it had the same sense of helplessness and urgency it’d had when I was young. You can do things when you’re an adult rather than just worrying about them. I liked that, and I really do believe that “God helps those who help themselves…and others.”

Then I became a mom — and boom, suddenly I was right back where I’d been as a little girl, feeling scared and helpless and praying by the day — the hour — the minute. From the instant when they pulled my son from me, as purple as a grape from wearing his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck for eight hours of labor, the prayer went something like “Please God, keep my baby alive, please please pleasepleaseplease.”

Eventually, like all moms, I settled down a bit and gained some confidence in my abilities as a parent, and started praying for other stuff, most of which made it into my book Mommy Prayers.

Some of the prayers are poignant — like Prayer for My Grandmother or Prayer for My Baby’s First Step — but lots are funny, because if I’ve learned anything it’s that moms make it through those early years best if they have a great sense of humor — or a well-developed sense of the absurd.

So alongside those sweet prayers, you’ll also find Prayer for My Five-Minute Shower, Prayer on the Fifth Day of Rain, Prayer before the Home Pregnancy Kit, Prayer for My Wild Child, Prayer for Multitasking at the Playground and Prayer for a Girl’s Night Out (that one is essential!).

What’s the craziest thing you’ve prayed for as a frazzled mom? Tell us below, and you be entered into a drawing to win one of three signed copies of Mommy Prayers, perfect for gifting this Mother’s Day or just keeping all to yourself. What can you say to an offer like that besides “Amen!”

Editor Update: Comments must be entered below by midnight Wednesday, April 27th to be eligible for the giveaway drawing. Thanks!

Tracy Mayor is a contributing editor at Brain,Child Magazine and author of Mommy Prayers: For the missing binkie, the late preschool pickup, the birthday party from hell…and other everyday absurdities (Hyperion, 2010). Follow her on Twitter @mommyprayers or “Like” Mommy Prayers on Facebook.

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