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Making Up Some Play Ground

How ironic is it that sometimes I have to look up how to play? Isn’t that just an intrinsic pleasure that we’re all supposed to know how to take part in? But once you become a parent, it’s difficult to feign interest in certain things again like dollies, fake tools and tiny racecars. I’ve always loved making forts and playing with building blocks, but thinking about new activities stumps me sometimes. Isn’t that just wrong, that we lose that sense of playfulness in our adulthood? And that we can actually lose our pleasure for it?

I took the kiddos, my son and nephew, to the library recently and found a book that lists 200 activities for children. As I perused the pages, my sense of wonder was aroused. How could I have forgotten sidewalk chalk and skipping rope (for purposes other than cardio benefits) and beachcombing and flower pressing?Remember those parachute things in gym class? Everyone holds a piece, fans it in the air, then lifts it up and sits under it? I want that excitement again!

A few nights earlier, one of our copies of Scooby Doo did the “babysitting” (you know we have to do this once in awhile) while I occupied myself with dishes and other menial tasks of adulthood. I was pondering adulthood, particularly parenthood, and how the extracurricular could become curricular again. How could it be that I needed to research this? I also had to look up the lyrics to some of those old musical favorites like Hush Little Baby. What the heck comes after that diamond ring momma was gonna buy anyway? I remember mom telling us about how dad used to sing us to sleep by Silent Night because that was the only song he could think of. And sometimes I’m at a loss too. After hearing myself sing Twinkle Twinkle for the 820th time, I need me some new material.
I started with fingerplays. I printed off a pattern for felt finger puppets and found a book with fingerplays in it. Since I vowed to train my brain to toddler level activity, I now find myself devising little children’s story plots and painting primary-colored illustrations in my head.

Here’s a little fingerplay you can enjoy with your baby or toddler. It’s a touchy-feely game that keeps them guessing, plays with rhythm and rhyme, introduces them to a few body parts and types of touch. Completely hands-on, no material required. Just wiggle your fingers in front of them and do what the lyrics say:

These 10 fingers they tap tap tap. These 10 fingers they snap snap snap. These 10 fingers they clap clap clap. These 10 fingers they fold in your lap.


These 10 fingers they squeeze squeeze squeeze. These 10 fingers they tease, tease, tease. These 10 fingers they tap your knees. These 10 fingers they freeze!


These 10 fingers they tickle your toes. These 10 fingers they open and close. These 10 fingers they touch your nose. These 10 fingers they put on your clothes.

Two Opposite Weekends in Wisconsin

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Last weekend looked like this:

It was actually a really fun night. After what seemed like 8 inches of snow had fallen, I decided to go outside and start shovelling. I was soon joined by my big, little and four-legged boys. Once the sidewalk and driveway were all clear, we decided to take advantage of the highly-packable snow. We haven’t seen much of the white stuff this season (I can’t even begin to tell you how supremely odd this is unless you live here). It was 9 o’ clock at night, but we were having too much fun.
This weekend, it doesn’t feel like we’re in the same state. Today’s high was a mild 65, and Wednesday’s prediction is 73. Ahhhh. In all my 28 years, I’ve never seen a March in Wisconsin as beautiful as this one. Usually by March, we’re all pulling our hair out waiting for some green, warmth, and hint of life.
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But we found our first bugs of the season, usually not seen until at least May.

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And we had our first outdoor picnic of the year. I told hubster that I wasn’t coming inside all day, and he couldn’t make me. And I totally did. I might have even skipped church and Bible study (Dear God, please forgive me). I really felt like nothing could’ve made me feel more of God’s presence than a day like today. I grabbed another munchkin’ (Peanut’s cousin), and we played outside until the clouds started rolling in. I may have even gotten a little sun-kissed. Truly amazing!

Children Pick up on Everything

Those tiny people in your life pick up on everything…

That’s why I make a conscious choice to:

1. Take him with me to our polling place when we vote, to get into the habit.
2. Work out in front of him several times a week, so it’s part of his daily routine.
3. Make sure he knows there are so many things to do away from the TV, so he stays productive.
4. Introduced animals from the beginning, so they’re “no big deal.”
5. Let him “clean” and “cook” things, with supervision, so he’s well-rounded in domestic duties.
6. Read in front of and to him constantly, so he becomes a reader.
7. Stifle the swearing, so he doesn’t sound like a thug.
8. Talk about “love” so he knows what to value.
9. Celebrate the holidays in meaningful ways, so he has beautiful memories.
10. Take him outside as much as possible, so he values the Earth.
11. Make teeth brushing and dentist visits fun, so his choppers and heart stay healthy.
12. Have him pay for his own new toys from monies earned, so he achieves a sense of accomplishment.
13. Hug and squeeze him many times daily, so he understands love in tangible ways.
14. Have him say “sorry,” so he knows when to apologize.
15. Dance around in his underwear, so he doesn’t take everything too seriously.

Toddler chest presses

A Crafty Sunday Evening

This past Sunday, I had a surge of motivation that led me on a crafting frenzy. I sewed four spit-up rags for my brand-new baby nephew, whipped up one pair of super-adorable infant pants (that were supposed to be toddler pants, but oops), put together a sewn yo-yo garland, finished up a “happy birthday” banner for a work friend, ironed some wrinkly things that had been laying around, and put the finishing touches on a few other projects. I hooked up the embroidery hoop and am now dreaming of designs for a way-too-cute little onesie. Boats keep coming to mind, because his daddy’s in the Navy. Maybe an anchor. We shall see.

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This has got to be the best kind of therapy around. Nothing can beat me when I’m a-workin’. And there’s nothing like that feeling afterwards when you look in awe at all you did and wonder how you did it. I’m going to try and remember this feeling so that next time I’m feeling down, I can replay this little trick. I’m also going to remember a few little projects that I can slip in during those 10 minute increments I keep talking about. I just love spending my time productively.

My Peanut, meanwhile, was completely engrossed in pretend play behind me. When I was done at the sewing table, he climbed his little legs up there and pretended to sew, cut, fold and perfect his little sewing craft. He brought in his two “babies” and taught them too! Those four little spit-up rags we put together are sure wrapped in a lot of love.

It’s a Pleasure to be Your Momma

Our daily indoor trampoline date: I swore we wouldn’t keep it in the house

He calls out “momma!” at least 16 times per minute. Look at this. Try this. I’m thirsty. Follow me. Let’s be ghosts. Hide! I want one.

Yesterday it bothered me, to the point that I started to mimic him. Oh heavens, please forgive me. But today, I decided to be a little bit more contemplative and deliberate about embracing it. After all, I know that before I know it, there will come a time when he’ll be more inclined to talk to a garbage can than his own mother. That little tiny high-pitched voice will turn into a manly grumble. And I know I’ll miss these days and all that “momma”-ing.

So today, I’m going to embrace it. I’m going to wrap my arms around him and listen to everything he has to say, complete with eye contact and legitimate interest in his words. I’m not too jaded to hear what’s all been said before, because it hasn’t been said by this particular little human. Because there’s something truly thrilling about watching my boy learn all these new things for the first time himself.

There’s this magical glue that we mommas have that keeps our little ones at our sides and fuses our souls. There will be times when our children will be so far away, even if in the next room, but that momma bond is one tough cookie. It can survive the utmost tragedies and coldness (a la Gone With the Wind). And if anything is truly worth celebrating, it is this mother/child connection.

I know firsthand how much mommas mean, because I know what mine means to me. It’s enough to make a grown person cry. That sublime connection alone makes it such a pleasure to be this little man’s momma.

P.S. Speaking of little Peanuts: my husband told me today that our son knows the words to the Walker Texas Ranger theme song. Oh brother! Not sure I can embrace that one. Haha!

Make the World Lovely

I believe in dining room tablecloths
I believe in hair bows and nice socks
I believe in pretty ribbons wrapped around keys on the pegboard
I believe in a feather tucked behind the ear
I believe in doodled love notes tucked inside pockets
I believe in a sparkly swipe of eyeshadow on date night
I believe in caving to that urge to jump in a puddle
I believe in tucking pretty rocks in with the books on the shelf
I believe in tucking extra treats into gift wrapping
I believe in holding hands while watching TV
I believe in spoiling a tiny boy with “campouts” every weekend because we love it too
I believe in one cupcake at midnight
I believe in dancing while you sweep
I believe in coloring inside the letters in work meetings
I believe in keeping an extra picnic blanket in the car
I believe in anything that can make life just a little prettier.

It’s not about materialism or whittling away time on meaningless things, it’s about finding and adding beauty a little here and a little there.

Peanut Picnics #6

Our sixth picnic ended faster than it started. But hey, at least we got to eat before we left.

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Those boys no longer cooperate with the camera either. Ha! Nice milk mustache, man.

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This was probably one of the most random outings we’ve had yet. There was a squirrel checking us out.
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The boys insisted I take a picture of a floating bottle.
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But the water always brings an extra sense of wonder to those playful pups. And the weather was unseasonably warm for an October day in Wisconsin.
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See the watch on his arm? I guess this could be considered foreshadowing to what happened, but that is actually a “potty timer.” Thanks Pull-Ups!

The boys did get to play for a few minutes though.

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We got to play for about 5 minutes. Momma included. They put me on one of those spinny playground chairs. But my feet couldn’t even reach the ground. And those things are engineered to keep spinning to infinity. I had to cry out between fits of laughter for them to stop me.

That’s when I noticed the wet spot down the legs of the boy who insisted on wearing real underwear to the park. And that was the short end of that. Thank goodness I had an extra Pull-Up in the car.

Moms Criticizing Other Moms

I don’t mean to interfere or anything” Really? You could’ve fooled me. “You know, there’s a strong undertow right next to this island.” A woman drove past, reversed, got out of her car, and crossed a foot bridge just to tell me this.

Um, no. I didn’t know that.” I reply, trying not to roll my eyes like an irresponsible teenager.

I wouldn’t let those kids climb those rocks like that. If they fall in, you’re never going to see them again.”

Well, of course, I’m not letting them go past a certain point” (And I’m sitting right here within arm’s reach of them. And there’s at least 20 feet of slowly-sloping rocks they’d have to climb down and forcefully throw themselves in to actually make it in the water. And you can see the water is completely still at the bottom of the ledge. And I want these kids to experience nature, to climb, to explore, to practice their agility, to grow stronger, etc. I refuse to shelter them from every single imagined danger there is. Believe me, my stomach already does cartwheels every time my son climbs a ladder at a simple playground.)

Yeah, but they could fall in and that current would pull them right under.”

I assure you, I’m not going to let anything happen to these boys.” I say with as much conviction as I’ve ever had in my life.

“Well, I hope so.” She says, as though there’s even a chance that this might not be so.

What is the deal with moms criticizing other moms as though we’re all hapless waifs trying everything we can do to purposefully hurt our children? Please, stop! My love for my child runs deeper than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I would, without a second thought, put my body in front of a bullet for him. If fact, I would McGuyver whatever I could within reach and contort my body into impossible positions to stop anything from hurting my child. This I assure you with my entire heart, body and soul.

In spite of this, I could list numerous incidents where other moms (strangers) have come up to me to tell me that I was doing something wrong. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m a younger mom (no one has EVER dared to say anything to my husband or mom) or because mothers just feel a certain entitlement-of-the-wise to interfere, but several people have offered their “input” about my parenting skills. And it makes my blood boil every time. I probably shouldn’t take it so personally, but the entire issue of moms criticizing other moms seems to be trending. It’s not just me. It’s other moms I know and even moms I don’t know.

I mean, does our utmost devotion to our beautiful creations mean nothing? Does our obsessive tending, nurturing, directing, teaching, minding, worrying, and guiding count for nothing? Don’t our overly-obsessive thoughts about what’s best for our children count for anyting? If they sneeze once, we stay awake at night watching them, making sure they’re breathing. We shape our entire existences around our children. Our life goals are centered around their care and wellbeing.

Please, unless you have good reason to believe that someone is physically or emotionally abusing a child (which makes me sick to my stomach), or unless she explicitely requests your input, refrain from criticizing another woman about how she’s raising her child. Be assured that she is doing the best that she can and her mother-in-law is probably already on her case about it anyway. Maybe instead you could give her a pat on the back and a compliment. Those displays of motherly affection are, ironically, all-too-rare.