©Lisa Barker
Living with a toddler that talks non-stop is fun. No, seriously.
Mine sounds like an auctioneer. “Momma, can I have candy, candy, candy? Do I hear ice cream, ice cream, ice cream? TOYS! Do I hear toys, toys, toys? GUM! No, make that crayons, no I want bubbles, no let’s walk, walk, walk. I want to go to the park, park, park. Do I hear grocery store? Ride, ride, ride, I wanna ride the ride. Please can I ride the ride? I NEED to ride the ride! Can I sit in the basket, basket, basket? GRAPES! Can I have grapes, grapes, grapes?
I have so much sensory overload that when the older children come home from school I practically dance for joy. The meltdown of their brains can now begin while I scoop what’s left of mine up off the floor because it has melted and oozed out of my ear.
Why does he have to repeat everything he says three times? Right now he wants lunch so he asks, “Momma, can I have a potato for lunch? Potato for lunch? Potato for lunch?”
It’s like living with a self-manufactured echo.
Recently we had to visit the pediatrician. We get in the van and my son starts bellowing: “MOMMA, DO I GET TO SEE THE DOCTOR, TOO?”
I suspect two things. One, he has inherited the “screeching eagle” gene from my side of the family. He sounds just like my youngest sister whose nickname was Loud Mouth Lime.
Secondly, I should NOT have given him that itty, bitty lollipop before we got in the van. That was too much sugar.
If we were ever in a hostage situation I’m positive that the hostage taker would surrender immediately. How many times have I looked desperately out my van window as a policeman cruises by and I mouth the words: “HELP ME!”? They never stop. They know better.
Once a policeman came to our house and my son practically attached himself to his side. “Are you a policeman? You ARE a policeman! I see your badge. Is that a real badge? I see your police car outside! Is that YOUR police car? Do you catch bad guys? Hey, you have a stick and a gun! Can I have the stick? Do you like to be a policeman? Can I talk on your walkie-talkie? Are you going to arrest us? Are those handcuffs?”
I have to tiptoe into his bedroom at night when he is sleeping just so I can catch a glimpse of his cherubic little face. He looks so sweet and innocent and my energy restores easily. Until…
“Momma? Is that you? Can I have a drink? Is it time to get up?”
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
If The Shoe Fits, Hide It
©Lisa Barker
I said good-bye to the floor in my daughters’ room a few years ago and I don’t expect to see it again until they turn 21.
Occasionally they have friends over and that means at least two or three times a month there is some semblance of order in the tween zone at the end of the hall. But it’s not long lasting. Ten minutes after company leaves a clothing bomb goes off in their bedroom. It boggles the mind.
“What happened in here? It looks like Goodwill blew up in your room.”
“Those aren’t my clothes. They’re Nicole’s.”
“Those aren’t mine. They’re John Daniel’s.”
I take a closer look and discover MY clothes. “What is this room – the Bermuda Triangle of clothing?” Why does everything end up in the girls’ room like there’s some sort of clothing magnet at the end of the hall? If I need a dishtowel I don’t look in the kitchen. I look in the mountain of clothing in the girls’ room.
“Mom, we need new clothes.”
“For what? You have clothes hanging off the lampshade and I can’t even see the floor.”
“Ha, ha, Momma. Those are our old clothes. They’re too small.”
“Then you need to pack them up so I can pass them on.”
“But we can’t do that until we get new clothes or we’ll have nothing to wear.”
“Nothing to wear.” They have no idea what meaning that phrase will assume and how often they’ll use it from here on out no matter how many clothes they have that fit perfectly.
So we go to the store. “How does this look, Mom?”
“It fits. Can’t you get something bigger so I don’t have to take you shopping again in three months?” They won’t let me buy them things that are a size too big like I did when they were toddlers. And they certainly won’t buy ten of something that fits when they find it. I can still do that with the boys...who are also growing at the speed of light.
Sometimes I think my only purpose in life is to feed the kids and then buy them more clothes because they keep outgrowing the ones I just got them.
That’s the trouble with tweens. They grow too fast. And now they’re almost as tall as I am. They almost wear the same size shoe. The writing is on the wall. Now is the time to start stashing away my boots, my leather jacket, those few shoes and clothes I have that may appeal to them.
My clothes and shoes are on the verge of extinction. I’ve got to save them. If the shoe fits, hide it.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom™, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
I said good-bye to the floor in my daughters’ room a few years ago and I don’t expect to see it again until they turn 21.
Occasionally they have friends over and that means at least two or three times a month there is some semblance of order in the tween zone at the end of the hall. But it’s not long lasting. Ten minutes after company leaves a clothing bomb goes off in their bedroom. It boggles the mind.
“What happened in here? It looks like Goodwill blew up in your room.”
“Those aren’t my clothes. They’re Nicole’s.”
“Those aren’t mine. They’re John Daniel’s.”
I take a closer look and discover MY clothes. “What is this room – the Bermuda Triangle of clothing?” Why does everything end up in the girls’ room like there’s some sort of clothing magnet at the end of the hall? If I need a dishtowel I don’t look in the kitchen. I look in the mountain of clothing in the girls’ room.
“Mom, we need new clothes.”
“For what? You have clothes hanging off the lampshade and I can’t even see the floor.”
“Ha, ha, Momma. Those are our old clothes. They’re too small.”
“Then you need to pack them up so I can pass them on.”
“But we can’t do that until we get new clothes or we’ll have nothing to wear.”
“Nothing to wear.” They have no idea what meaning that phrase will assume and how often they’ll use it from here on out no matter how many clothes they have that fit perfectly.
So we go to the store. “How does this look, Mom?”
“It fits. Can’t you get something bigger so I don’t have to take you shopping again in three months?” They won’t let me buy them things that are a size too big like I did when they were toddlers. And they certainly won’t buy ten of something that fits when they find it. I can still do that with the boys...who are also growing at the speed of light.
Sometimes I think my only purpose in life is to feed the kids and then buy them more clothes because they keep outgrowing the ones I just got them.
That’s the trouble with tweens. They grow too fast. And now they’re almost as tall as I am. They almost wear the same size shoe. The writing is on the wall. Now is the time to start stashing away my boots, my leather jacket, those few shoes and clothes I have that may appeal to them.
My clothes and shoes are on the verge of extinction. I’ve got to save them. If the shoe fits, hide it.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom™, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
Catching up on columns....
It seems like the hurrier I go, the behinder I get.
I posted some of the latest columns from the month of May below. Enjoy!
I posted some of the latest columns from the month of May below. Enjoy!
Homemaking Hijinks
©Lisa Barker
My house is decidedly a ‘deconstruction zone’ where each child and pet tries to outdo the other in wrecking the place. “Mom, I slid on the floor and accidentally put my knee through the wall.”
My dinners are done when at least three smoke detectors go off and my sheets haven’t been washed in so long they don’t need to be ironed.
If you show me a list of things to do, I’ll show you how to make a paper airplane.
I don’t sit around the house all day eating bon-bons and watching the soaps. I’m not a soccer mom. I haven’t joined the P. T. O. I don’t even homeschool my kids!
Here’s the real scoop on what this homemaker does all day.
My eldest son (age ten) and I went for a drive. Whenever I get this child alone with me I am sure to learn every intimate detail of the happenings at school and in the neighborhood.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. “Did you know that if you drink soda and then hold your breath and pinch your nose that it will come out the other end?”
I’d never heard such a thing, but my son exclaimed that it was true. Do you see where I am going with this? A more mature woman would have either ignored this tidbit of information or asked her child to stop the potty talk. Not me.
As soon as my kids were gone to school for the day and the little one was happily busy with his toys in another room, I tested the soda story.
And wouldn’t you know it the results had the same effect on my three-year old as does the crinkle of a candy wrapper—he was at my side in no time. And he informed me that somebody had just tooted. Bright boy.
“Don’t you have something to do in the other room, like play with your trucks or something?”
He just stood there grinning because all boys secretly take great pleasure when Mom, a GIRL, does something gross. He wanted to bond.
“Momma, I can burp my A, B, Cs!”
“That’s great. Why don’t you go do that with your toy dog.” Off he skipped burping all the way.
I needed a moment to myself. My twentieth high school reunion looms in the not so distant future and I have been taking stock of my life as a homemaker. Just what have I achieved?
Besides bringing five loving and compassionate human beings into the world, I write this column and tell the truth about 21st century stay-at-home moms.
And it makes me proud to know that at least one person will test the soda story after reading this.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Martin-Ola Press/Parent To Parent. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
My house is decidedly a ‘deconstruction zone’ where each child and pet tries to outdo the other in wrecking the place. “Mom, I slid on the floor and accidentally put my knee through the wall.”
My dinners are done when at least three smoke detectors go off and my sheets haven’t been washed in so long they don’t need to be ironed.
If you show me a list of things to do, I’ll show you how to make a paper airplane.
I don’t sit around the house all day eating bon-bons and watching the soaps. I’m not a soccer mom. I haven’t joined the P. T. O. I don’t even homeschool my kids!
Here’s the real scoop on what this homemaker does all day.
My eldest son (age ten) and I went for a drive. Whenever I get this child alone with me I am sure to learn every intimate detail of the happenings at school and in the neighborhood.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. “Did you know that if you drink soda and then hold your breath and pinch your nose that it will come out the other end?”
I’d never heard such a thing, but my son exclaimed that it was true. Do you see where I am going with this? A more mature woman would have either ignored this tidbit of information or asked her child to stop the potty talk. Not me.
As soon as my kids were gone to school for the day and the little one was happily busy with his toys in another room, I tested the soda story.
And wouldn’t you know it the results had the same effect on my three-year old as does the crinkle of a candy wrapper—he was at my side in no time. And he informed me that somebody had just tooted. Bright boy.
“Don’t you have something to do in the other room, like play with your trucks or something?”
He just stood there grinning because all boys secretly take great pleasure when Mom, a GIRL, does something gross. He wanted to bond.
“Momma, I can burp my A, B, Cs!”
“That’s great. Why don’t you go do that with your toy dog.” Off he skipped burping all the way.
I needed a moment to myself. My twentieth high school reunion looms in the not so distant future and I have been taking stock of my life as a homemaker. Just what have I achieved?
Besides bringing five loving and compassionate human beings into the world, I write this column and tell the truth about 21st century stay-at-home moms.
And it makes me proud to know that at least one person will test the soda story after reading this.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Martin-Ola Press/Parent To Parent. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
The Unbearable Un-coolness of Being Mom
©Lisa Barker
My middle school-aged daughters recently talked me into going shopping. Our second stop was the music store.
At first they stood there like lumps of clay, girding themselves for what they anticipated would be a long, boring wait while mom sifted through hundreds of CDs. Eventually, they started looking around for themselves and tried to convince me to buy a CD by one of the newest pop stars.
What a disappointment when mom picked artists they hardly recognized. Blondie? Rick Springfield? The Bangles? “Fine Mom. Whatever.”
I played the CDs in the van on the way home. Before we even got there, they were claiming the CDs for themselves. Apparently, mom’s taste in music isn’t as bad as they thought it was. Of course, I was welcome to sit outside their closed bedroom door and listen if I wanted.
And so it has happened. The coolness of the teen years is settling in between my daughters and me like fog over the moors of England. What strange land is this? I expect to hear the call of a werewolf at any given moment. One moment, there will be two girls that adore me as their mother. The next moment there will be the curl of a lip and a snarl.
The girls think I am silly, but I have assured them that the growing desire for them to separate themselves from me is normal. Especially when I can’t find them in the store and I have the girls paged over the intercom. I’m sure they’d like to put at least several planets between us then.
“Why did you page us?”
“I couldn’t find you. I called everywhere.”
“I heard you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Vague look, roll eyes.
I try to remember what it was like for me at their age. I remember hanging on to the joys of my youth and reaching for the interests of my near future. I wanted to be both a child and an adult. I wanted toys, and hugs and homemade cookies. I wanted to be left alone with my best friends, my books and my records.
I absolutely did NOT want to hear from my mom that she knew just what I was going through and why. Please.
I’ll try not to embarrass them too much. I mean it’s not like I’m going to get to drive the Weenie-mobile like Dave Barry did and show up at their school, tooting the horn and yelling for my kids to hop in.
The girls have it easy. As long as I don’t show up in my Spongebob pajama bottoms and holler like Roseanne in front of their friends, we ought to get along just fine.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
My middle school-aged daughters recently talked me into going shopping. Our second stop was the music store.
At first they stood there like lumps of clay, girding themselves for what they anticipated would be a long, boring wait while mom sifted through hundreds of CDs. Eventually, they started looking around for themselves and tried to convince me to buy a CD by one of the newest pop stars.
What a disappointment when mom picked artists they hardly recognized. Blondie? Rick Springfield? The Bangles? “Fine Mom. Whatever.”
I played the CDs in the van on the way home. Before we even got there, they were claiming the CDs for themselves. Apparently, mom’s taste in music isn’t as bad as they thought it was. Of course, I was welcome to sit outside their closed bedroom door and listen if I wanted.
And so it has happened. The coolness of the teen years is settling in between my daughters and me like fog over the moors of England. What strange land is this? I expect to hear the call of a werewolf at any given moment. One moment, there will be two girls that adore me as their mother. The next moment there will be the curl of a lip and a snarl.
The girls think I am silly, but I have assured them that the growing desire for them to separate themselves from me is normal. Especially when I can’t find them in the store and I have the girls paged over the intercom. I’m sure they’d like to put at least several planets between us then.
“Why did you page us?”
“I couldn’t find you. I called everywhere.”
“I heard you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Vague look, roll eyes.
I try to remember what it was like for me at their age. I remember hanging on to the joys of my youth and reaching for the interests of my near future. I wanted to be both a child and an adult. I wanted toys, and hugs and homemade cookies. I wanted to be left alone with my best friends, my books and my records.
I absolutely did NOT want to hear from my mom that she knew just what I was going through and why. Please.
I’ll try not to embarrass them too much. I mean it’s not like I’m going to get to drive the Weenie-mobile like Dave Barry did and show up at their school, tooting the horn and yelling for my kids to hop in.
The girls have it easy. As long as I don’t show up in my Spongebob pajama bottoms and holler like Roseanne in front of their friends, we ought to get along just fine.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
The Unfit Mother
©Lisa Barker
Day One. I awake to the doorbell. My toddler son has not yet crawled into bed with me to snuggle as he usually does, so I shuffled quietly down the hall to answer the door.
To my great shock, it’s my son—in just his boxers and t-shirt—with a big grin on his face. I profusely thank the two women that have brought him home. As soon as I get my son inside, I ask him what he thinks he was doing.
“I ran away!” he informs me jubilantly.
We talk about him leaving the house without an adult and I give him his first lecture on strangers. I’m pretty satisfied that he won’t do that again, and why not? It worked with his brother and sisters.
So later, while he is happily snacking at the table and watching his favorite show, I slip off to quickly dress for the day. Less than a minute later, at the exact moment I am down to my birthday suit, the doorbell rings. Fearing that my son will answer it, I rush to make myself decent.
AGAIN I find my child outside in the company of the same women that had helped earlier.
This second episode kicks my mom-guilt into overdrive. How stupid am I? What kind of mother am I? Have I finally won the Darwin award?
I march my son down the hall to my room and make him sit on a time-out while I dress. I now have a reluctant and sullen but permanent shadow.
Day Two. My son uses the potty all by himself. He announces that he has to go, runs down the hall and does his business. USUALLY he skips back to announce his achievement. This does not happen today.
I discover that the bathroom door is closed and locked.
“Open this door RIGHT NOW.”
“No!” He’s laughing.
I demand. He opens the door. He takes a time-out.
Later, I step out front to let the dog in and my son rushes to close the door behind me. And locks it.
“Open this door right now!”
“No, no, noo-ooo-o!”
This is about the time when a mother realizes her worst fear. The child is in charge…and he knows it. Thank goodness I have my “I mean it” voice down pat. A wary little boy opens the door and thus begins the wailing and gnashing of teeth as he is sent to his room indefinitely.
“But I sorry, Momma!”
“You better believe it.”
It might take a few deadbolts and a key on a chain around my neck, but I’m going to survive this twerp and live to see the day he has kids just like him.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
Day One. I awake to the doorbell. My toddler son has not yet crawled into bed with me to snuggle as he usually does, so I shuffled quietly down the hall to answer the door.
To my great shock, it’s my son—in just his boxers and t-shirt—with a big grin on his face. I profusely thank the two women that have brought him home. As soon as I get my son inside, I ask him what he thinks he was doing.
“I ran away!” he informs me jubilantly.
We talk about him leaving the house without an adult and I give him his first lecture on strangers. I’m pretty satisfied that he won’t do that again, and why not? It worked with his brother and sisters.
So later, while he is happily snacking at the table and watching his favorite show, I slip off to quickly dress for the day. Less than a minute later, at the exact moment I am down to my birthday suit, the doorbell rings. Fearing that my son will answer it, I rush to make myself decent.
AGAIN I find my child outside in the company of the same women that had helped earlier.
This second episode kicks my mom-guilt into overdrive. How stupid am I? What kind of mother am I? Have I finally won the Darwin award?
I march my son down the hall to my room and make him sit on a time-out while I dress. I now have a reluctant and sullen but permanent shadow.
Day Two. My son uses the potty all by himself. He announces that he has to go, runs down the hall and does his business. USUALLY he skips back to announce his achievement. This does not happen today.
I discover that the bathroom door is closed and locked.
“Open this door RIGHT NOW.”
“No!” He’s laughing.
I demand. He opens the door. He takes a time-out.
Later, I step out front to let the dog in and my son rushes to close the door behind me. And locks it.
“Open this door right now!”
“No, no, noo-ooo-o!”
This is about the time when a mother realizes her worst fear. The child is in charge…and he knows it. Thank goodness I have my “I mean it” voice down pat. A wary little boy opens the door and thus begins the wailing and gnashing of teeth as he is sent to his room indefinitely.
“But I sorry, Momma!”
“You better believe it.”
It might take a few deadbolts and a key on a chain around my neck, but I’m going to survive this twerp and live to see the day he has kids just like him.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane... Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
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