Today Daddy put little dude on the bus for school with a back pack full of paper work for the school district's psychologist. She will be observing him today and deciding if he qualifies for an individualized education plan (I.E.P.). And if I know my boy like I think I do, he will charm the hell out of her. And I am also certain that she will be side eyed, sauntered to and spoken to in Panstinese. There was a time when testing made me insane with worry. What if they think something is wrong with him? What if they think I'm a crappy parent. What if they find out that he still sleeps with us and try to tell us that he's too big for that? What if they judge him for still needing a bubba to get to sleep?

There's something super awesome about not caring about that stuff anymore. As I filled out the seven hundred and fifty million questions about my kid, Daddy and I couldn't help but laugh. "When you say 'seven, two', does your child repeat the sequence back to you?". Ummm, no. He looked at me like I was from Mars as if to say, "Mom, you are so wrong. It's seven, eight". "When you look in the mirror and say 'Where's Mr. Pants?', does your child point to his image in the mirror?". Ummmm, no. He points to his car and says, "CAR!".
"When you ask your child, 'Are you a boy or a girl', does he respond correctly". Bwahahaha! Um, no. He stared at me blankly and proclaimed himself a robot. And on and on and on.

Daddy and I ended up laughing so hard about some of the questions that we actually cried. Our kid cracks us the eff up. I mean, he saunters around here like he's the king of the place and he kind of is. What a world away that is from how we felt about all the other testing. How we were so nervous and scared that our boy was different. That in some way he would be treated differently by the world. By his peers. Because he is different.

But he has taught us something that I now will apply to his entire life. He taught me to trust him. He taught me to stop being such an adult and just let go of his reins a bit. That he had a plan. And I can see his plan so clearly now. His plan is to just be himself. With an astounding amount of confidence. To saunter around and do his thing. And you know what? Things are happening for him. He's made a friend. A kid his age that he chose to be his friend. A little boy at school. Apparently they've been considering friendship for seven months now. Watching each other. Studying each other. And recently they took the big step of becoming friends. And now they can not be seperated. I can not even express what that does to me. It makes my face hurt from smiling about it. There was a time when I was unsure that he could make friends outside of his family (and his best friend cousin, A). But as it turns out, I just had to let him do his thing. And he is most definitely doing his thing.

So bring it on, new testing! Mr. Pants is more than ready. He's blossomed so much in this last  year. He's come into his own. In his own time. With a little help from his family and his awesome teachers. But mostly it's all him. He's got this in the bag. And sure, he probably needs this I.E.P. for a little bit, but it aint no thing. It just means he will have a chance to keep kicking ass at pre-school. It means that he will have the speech and occupational therapy help he needs and the social interaction that has pulled him out of his solitary man (Neil Diamond!) shell. He believes in himself. I can see it. And as his mama, I can not think of anything I want more for him than that. He really believes in himself. Hot damn, that is awesome.

Saunter on, little man. Saunter on. Mama and Daddy are cheering for you. Now go show that psychologist how it's done in your world. I have a feeling she's gonna get a kick out of you. It's kind of impossible not to.

Don't let this happen to you. Practice taking pictures of yourself in the mirror. Because no matter how bad you want to take a good picture of yourself because you have a new haircut and aren't wearing a t-shirt and are even wearing jewelry and are out to dinner with your lady friends, you won't get a good shot without practice. And you certainly won't get a good shot while in the bathroom because you will be afraid that someone is going to come in and see you taking pictures of yourself and think you are a douche. So practice practice practice. Because nothing say's, "I'm getting my fancy back" more than looking like I just did a line off the toilet seat. 

I love spring. I love it so much I would make out with it if I could. I would even marry spring if humans could marry seasons. But there are a few things about spring that I do not love. Which is important in a healthy relationship. You can't be everything to each other. You're gonna have some disagreements and some traits that the other doesn't appreciate. Like, I'm sure that spring isn't too fond of my tendancy to kill plants and flowers. Or that spring might get a little offended when I let Ms. Plum rip grass from the earth because she thinks it's the coolest. Sorry 'bout that, Spring. But I have some bones to pick with you too. And here they are...

First, dammit, Spring! Why do we need bugs? I mean I know why but seriously, WHY? There was a centipede in my house today, man. A friggin centipede. Right next to Ms. Plum's lil leg. And frankly, I am surprised that I was able to pull it together long enough to save her. Because my track record with that sort of thing is pretty flimsy. 

Second, these temps are just nuts. I enjoyed them for a day or two but you kept climbing. Mr. Pants can get a heat rash living in a refrigerator. The poor kid is hot prickly mess. Plum is pretty miffed that we do not have an air conditioner right now. That's pretty clear. And me? I want to die. It's too hot in my house in the afternoon and I can only open one window and the front door for various Mr. Pants related reasons that I don't need to go into right now or we'll be here forever. Daddy's the only one not complaining. But I think he's jut trying to be a bigger person about this whole thing. Anyhoo, don't be a hero, Spring. Summer isn't better than you. We need you and your mild temperment. Maybe tone it down on the crazy high temps ok?

Thirdly, you know, these bugs are still pissing me off. ANTS!

Fourthly (is 'fourthly' a word?), I am not a fan of your muddiness. But because I love trees and flowers, I will concede that it is a necessary evil. But see, I am really new at cleaning floors regularly and holy cheeseballs, there are dirt footprints all over my clean floors. I hate that, Spring. I just hate it. It makes me feel crazy inside.

And finally, every year a creature decides right about now to build it's home behind the driver side mirror of my car and every year I stare terrified at it through the glass. What if I need a coffee through the drive thru? I can not roll down my window when this happens. So if I get pulled over by a cop and I have to roll down my window and that creature tries to make a run for the inside of my car and I freak out and run leaving my children in the car with the nice cop, it's gonna be all your fault, Spring. Because I've run screaming to save myself before. I'm not proud of that, but it happened. I can't change it.  

But that's it. Those are my grievances. I feel better now that I've aired them.The rest of you, I love. I love that every morning I hear woodpeckers going hog wild on trees in my yard. I love that the breeze at night is just crisp enough to make me grab a cardi before stepping outside. I love that windows everywhere are all open, all the time. I love that daylight is abundant and I love dew on the grass. I love to see hundreds of birds, squirrels and chipmunks canvasing our yard every morning for worms and bugs (ok, so I know why, but ugh!). I love that the bats are back at night. I really dig the bats. I love that just a few days ago a tree frog clung to our sliding glass door prepping for the coming storm. And even though it's a tad annoying, it cracks me up that the moths think our 1970's globe lights are the moon. Pretty soon our sliding glass door will be covered in them if we leave the kitchen light on for too long. Silly moths. But mostly I love that my kids can walk barefoot in the cool grass. Or sit down on the ground for some ice cream or play time. I really really love that. We've been cooped up too long.

I love you, Spring. I really do.

Back when I was a college freshman I took a trip with my main gay, J. My first time in the big city. I was more than excited and more than ready to take New York City by her cheeks and kiss her on the lips. Dressed as glamour mechanics in matching grease monkey jumpsuits, painted makeup, red bandanas and silver lace up boots, we boarded the plane. On our first night there I learned never to trust anyone named Neko near your open nostrils (close call) and we met the most amazing drag queen I've ever met named Jaqueline who taught me how to properly eat a bagel with cream cheese. She shreiked as though being killed when she saw me get the butter knife out to spread the cheese. "Oh honey, no no no no no. Give that to me. Let me show you. Like a sandwich." I loved her.

But mostly I learned that I was a brave girl. I ruled NYC for four days and five nights dressed as a psycho soccer baby or in my shimmering silver mini dress. I came home with not a single picture from that maiden voyage to the city I love. Not one. We were too busy eating up the scenery dressed in our finest club gear, slipping into club after club and pretending like we lived there. But what I did come home with was an electric blue see through polyurethane jacket. That I opened a credit card for. And spent way too much on. But when you are on Christopher St. for the first time in your life, it's magical. Between sex shops and shops about sex and peep shows and bondage stores, you just might discover a shop filled with polyurethane clothing (and cages) calling to your 21 year old self like a siren in the night.  That jacket was a dream.

The jacket never really worked back in my home town. It was a city jacket. It was never meant for small town America. It was hot and made me sweat bullets everytime I put it on. It made an appearance at a few clubs but mostly it stayed in my closet as a reminder of four days in my life where I felt larger than life.

The jacket has been lost for years. It lives only in my memory now. And when I think about it, it glows. I miss it.

I have been trying to regain my fanciness. I am taking baby steps. I cut my hair. I shower many times a week and I have been trying to put on a little make up recently too. I've started to make some shopping trips to build up a wardrobe that includes more than t shirts and yoga pants. It's slow going and I have to be very frugal as money is tight but I'm determined to keep on. And when I walked into the local discount clothing store recently, I had a moment. Turning the sunglasses display, I saw them. I think a light may have shone down on them. Enormous and electric blue. Instanly I thought of the jacket. I hadn't thought of her in a very long time. My heart lept for minute and I knew I had to have them. The $3.99 price tag didn't hurt. I put them on and instantly felt fancy. And a pang of sadness. I missed feeling like this. It has been a long time.  Becoming a mom is my greatest dream come true. But I can not lose sight of that fancy girl in New York City. Because she is also me. We are both me.

So that night I wore my new sunglasses out to dinner with Daddy, Pants and Plum. Both kids stared at me with eyes of wonder as if to say, "Whoa mom, what's up with your face?". I'd peer out from behind the glasses and say "Hi!" to remind them that their mama was behind the giant blue orbs. Sitting down to dinner, I push the glasses up to my head. Mr. Pants stares at them for awhile. Hops down. Saunters over and begins jabbering to me in Pantsinese. Clearly English words were failing him in light of this amazing discovery he had made. Slowly his hand reaches up to my new sunglasses. "ud-go?", he says as he cautiously takes them from atop my head. "ud-go?", he says again as he gingerly slips them onto his own face, hops down and heads back to his seat. The mom in me loving him like crazy for finishing his dinner with my gigantic glasses on. The mom in me can't fault the kid for wanting some fanciness too. And the fancy girl in me making a plan to head back to that store to buy up the other four pairs of those glasses. So that both parts of me can breathe easy.

Children are individuals. They have their own ideas and personalities. But there are times when they are exactly like you. Times when you completely understand their joy or pain because it was at one time yours. You were there. You went through it. This happened to me this week. Plum showed me my child self and made me feel proud and a lot scared all at once. Because It occured to me that this girl has the drama in her. I instantly recognized this level of drama as my own. I was transported back to moments in my closet as a child lamenting, yearning for whatever it was that day that forced me into my retreat for some quiet reflection and drama. Often after I put on a dance costume for effect. Even though no one would see. It was just me and my pain. Dressed in lycra and sequins. Alone. In the closet or pearing through the window. 

So last week, Ms. Plum got stuck under the sink. I had been three steps away switching laundry over when I heard her moan. I look around the wall to find my girl having a moment. Lamenting her current situation. The drama just pouring from her pores as she cried out into the Universe for assistance. Softly but with great power.  And this is the moment when it occured to me that I might actually be raising myself. As much as I believe that children are their own unique selves, it's getting harder and harder to deny that Ms. Plum is in fact a tiny and thunderous junior Mama Pants. And that makes me feel equal parts heart bursting love and pride and waves of terror.

So my Pearl this week is really a shout out and a high five to this awesome post by Kim about relating to your kids.
So here's the Pearl...

Children are not mirrors of you as a child. Except for when they most certainly are. Look in that mirror they are holding up to you and think about how you felt. Proceed with compassion for your  baby and your little kid self. And help that poor baby out from under the sink.

Well, kind of. So do you see that cute little punkin over there to your right? She's an advertisement! A true blue ad for a cute lil online shopping business. She's my first true blue ad and I love her.

Here's the thing. I'm not gonna start doing product reviews, giveaways, plugs or anything like that. But I am gonna start having some ads on my site. Why? Because being a stay at home mama pays in poop and hugs. This might bring in a bit of green to feed these crazy babies or maybe even pay for a date with my man. All good things.

Here's my promise though. I get to choose the ads that I use. That means that you won't find ads that are bogus or one for counseling services for dogs. Well, you might find one for that last one because that would be so awesome if dog counseling contacted me and wanted to place an ad here. I don't know if I'd be strong enough to decline something so great. But I will be choosing ads that I think you will like to check out. Like if they have a company that sells IV drips of coffee. I might put that ad here too. Because I know you'd like to learn more about that (dream come true).

Where was I? Oh yeah, dog counseling. No wait, advertising. Yes. What will happen is that I will continue to blog and write about our goings on and my random PSA's and opinions. Everything will stay the same. The only change is that now, you're gonna see some extra stuff over in the margins. I hope you are cool with that.
 

Mucho Love,
Mama Pants

I'm a housewife. It happened a few weeks ago. For the last six months I have thrown myself and all of my energies into being a stay at home mom. I am getting really really good at it. Even though sometimes I am really really bad at it. I mean, I just said to myself out loud " I can't WIN today!" in a moment of pure self pity because Mr. Pants is having a tantrum to tantrum kind of day and well...I came pretty  close to tantruming my dang self. But I digress. So, I am a stay at home mom but I have flat out rejected the idea of being a housewife. Eff that. I'm a feminist. It isn't uncommon to hear me say things like, "make your own dinner" or "What do you even clean floors with?" or "I'm raising the children, dammit. The laundry isn't going to sprout arms and change this poop diaper, I am". And so on.

I come by my resistance from a long and awesome stretch of years not giving a crap about housework. Then I had babies. When you have a new baby people give some great (and also awful but that's a different post) advice. My absolute favorite one is that baby won't be small forever, the dishes and cleaning can wait. Take a nap with your baby instead. This is obviously the best piece of advice ever and one that I ran with. For almost 3 years (Don't judge me!). But now, here I sit planning my cleaning plan for the day. A housewife. I blame Plum. Because she's the one crawling about trying to eat everything off the floor. Silly baby.

So now that I'm two weeks into being a straight up domestic goddess, I reflect on the lessons that I have learned. Like it is better to leave the rice all over the floor under the highchair to dry. Trying to wipe up sticky rice from linoleum is like being attacked by tiny pieces of glue (if glue sprouted legs and attacked you). Instead, get up early and get a broom. It will come up in one swoop. Also, it turns out that doing seven dishes is way easier than doing seventy dishes. Interesting. Or that children who do not wear clothes, have two pieces of laundry a week. But that babies make up for it by have three outfits a day (what with all the food smearing and peeing all over themselves). Also, it has crossed my mind that my new found love of cleaning could be a sign of the coming apocolypse. Because I have favorite cleaners now too. And if you know me in real life, then you know that that is just ridiculous.

But when the man gets home, I revert back to my old self because I have been a flippin rock star all day long. If it isn't done when he gets home then it can wait til the next day. Unless of coarse he decides that he wants to do it ( He does clean. I know, I bagged a cleaner. Don't hate me.). Cause I am off the clock. I'll punch back in in the a.m. And it would seem that we like each other better now too. Admittedly, life goes smoother when things are clean and we aren't spending our much anticipated family time cleaning house. Shiz, I'm doing it again. Promoting housewifishness. Shazbot. My twenty something self is shriveling up and dying.  

Well, I better get off the computer and get the dishes done before Plum wakes up. Oh balls. Did I really just type that? Good grief. I gotta go.

 

I was grocery shopping with Plum today when we encountered a gentleman in the frozen aisle. He looked confused and a little stressed. I said hello. He told me that he was trying to read the ingredients of the ice cream bars he had in his hands because his grandson was just diagnosed with a nut allergy. But he'd forgotten his glasses. I asked him if he'd like me to check and he smiled. "Would you?". "Totally", I said. Now I would be lying if I told you that it didn't cross my mind that this guy might be a serial killer waiting to snatch my baby when I wasn't looking. So I hooked my foot under the cart and kept one hand on Plum while I checked the ingredients. I handed the box back and reported that those sandwiches were safe for his granson. He smiled, thanked me and then began talking to me about how his freezer was a treasure trove for his grandchildren. They would give him a high five or a "Hey grandpa!" as they ran by him to investigate the freezers offerings that day. He needed to stock up with safe treats now that they had to be careful with his youngest grandchild. We chatted like that for maybe ten whole minutes. I told him about how my grandparents always had popcicles and how my mom kept a closet of goodies locked up so that entire boxes of Litte Debbies didn't disappear in an hour. It was a fun talk. He was a nice guy. And we both went on our way.

A few minutes later I am in the baby section because I simply have to look. Even if I know I'm not buying. I love the smell of the diaper aisle, even though we don't use disposables. The smell reminds me of brand new fresh baked baby. I love it. We are just arriving when I hear a familiar sound. A child is losing their shit. Bad. I round the corner to find a mama looking stressed as her two-ish year old child throws an award worthy tantrum in the cart. Complete with red face, purple lips, shaking cart and flying snot. This kid is pissed. And mom is looking like she could use a stiff drink. For two seconds I thought, "Get out of here before Plum catches wind that a tantrum is possible". I didn't have to be there, I'd come for the pleasant baby powder smells. I could jet the other way.  But then I changed my mind. So I manuvered my cart so that Plum was practically side by side to this lil shrieking angel and it gets her attention. Plum begins to laugh at the little girl (this is her go to "WTF?" response). And the little girl smiles at Plum. The two begin to giggle at eachother. The little girl says, "baby!".  I look to the mom and say, "wanna borrow my baby for the rest of your shopping?" and we both laugh. I start telling the mom the story of last week when Mr. Pants bum rushed the tax preperation stands at Walmart and tried to rip the curtains from their shoddy frames. I told her that I simply wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. Her face relaxes, she laughs and we start talking. Just for a few minutes. Just enough to help. She tells me that she gets so embarressed when her child acts this way in public and I tell her that even though some people will glare and be awful, most people have been there. Kids are crazy. It's in their job description to go apeshit at the store at least once a week. And she laughs. Plum and I get back to business and I didn't here that girl cry again. And if her original performance was any indication, I would have.

Now I'm off to grab some produce on my way to the checkout when Plum has had enough because I have dawdled and apparently chatted with everyone and she is no longer cool with it. She has decided that she will try to jump from the seat. See Plum is a juicy girl and I am completely serious when I tell you that those belts in the carts? They don't fit her. So I stuff things around her and never turn my back on the cart. Because I knew this revelation would eventually come to her. "I can jump!". So I am trying to man handle my baby back into the seat and keep her there for the last leg of our trip when she loses it. She is now officially pissed at me. When a little girl, maybe ten walks over and says "Oh what's wrong, baby?" and distracts my little baby Knievel long enough for me to get some yellow squash and pears. Thanks little girl, I'm so glad you were on spring break today. I owe you one.

At the check out we run into the frozen aisle grandpa. We exchange hellos like old friends. And genuine smiles. Not those "I'm smiling because you are smiling" ones. And as he heads out he says, "Thank you for your help. Your baby is an angel". And I think, "Well yes, she is. But you also didn't see her go to her crazy place and sprout a snaggle tooth by the apples. But you're right, she sure is"

I left the store smiling. With a reminder to not jump to conclusions about people. And to try and conciously stop my mind from going to the "are you a baby snatcher?" place so quickly. People are good. I've said it before. But today I was reminded to practice that thinking a little more. And I am grateful for that.