At least I think my son gets it...

 I have to admit that I am a bit bothered by the rush into Christmas this year. It started the day after Halloween. The day after Thanksgiving used to feel a bit early to me, but I could handle it. This is ridiculous. Several local radio stations started their 24/7 Christmas music at midnight on November 1st. Seriously.

Before you call me a grinch, let me explain why this bothers me so much. It's not just the fact that you can't set foot in any of the stores because of the crowds. It's not just the constant ads for Christmas toys that are on all hours of the day and night. It's not just the fact that there are a limited number of Christmas carols, so stations that normally play top ten artists are forced to reach for the Barry Manilow Holiday Album and play it five times a day.

It's the fact that we seem to have skipped right over the two holidays that MEAN anything and jumped right from one gimme holiday to another. You know what I mean, right? We went from the "gimme candy" holiday to the "gimme presents" holiday. Apparently we as a society don't have time for the "thanks for serving our country" holiday or the "thanks for all our blessings" holiday.

Veteran's Day hardly got a mention this year other than a few sales at the local department stores. That is incredibly sad, especially in a time when we are at war. Whether you agree with the war or not, the men and women who fought and are fighting deserve our admiration and our thanks every day, but especially on Veteran's Day. My husband even pointed out a story about a few local schools who were bringing in conscientious objectors to speak to the students on Veteran's Day. Give me a break. When I arrived at one of my middle schools for an observation, I was thrilled to find an old-fashioned Veteran's Day assembly in full swing, complete with Veterans in uniform, teary-eyed teachers, and respectful students lined up to shake their hands and say thank you.

Maybe all is not lost. I went to pick up Little J from pre-school yesterday and noticed that the teachers had posted a sign of what each child had said they were thankful for. Pets, loveys, and favorite toys all had places of honor on the list. I searched the list for Little J's response and saw two words that warmed my heart: my mommy.

Seriously people, I could not make this stuff up!

 So life around here has been pretty stressful. Between waiting for the results from Little J's EEG and everything else, I admit that I have been feeling a bit stressed out. And when I get stressed out, my immune system pretty much shuts down, so I wasn't all that surprised when I came down with a killer cold that quickly turned into a sinus infection/infected tonsils/walking pneumonia/imminent death.

I felt pretty lousy for a few days and was starting to get my strength back today but still had a pretty nasty cough. I figured I'd take myself down to Fresh Market and grab a bunch of veggies and whip up a super healthy cold fighting soup! The sun was out, it was a gorgeous day, I was singing as I sliced my veggies for my soup - singing - yes, paying attention to what I was doing - not so much.

I sliced the end of my finger right off. No kidding.

There was that brief moment where I thought maybe it wasn't too bad, that I had just gotten the nail, but then I stuck it under the water in the sink, got a good look at it and almost passed out. I grabbed a dish towel and tried to calm myself down as I started dialing everyone I could think of who might be home: my mom, my friends, no one was around. I tried to get it to stop bleeding for over half an hour before I faced the inevitable - I needed to go to the ER. I called Big J at work and asked him to come home and get me.

We went to get Little J from pre-school and headed over to the ER where I was whisked into a room rather quickly. I was doing quite well until the nurse went to clean it off which is when I passed out for the first time. She revived me and then made small talk about how impressed she was that I was making soup from scratch and hadn't cut my hand on a soup can like most people. (Hey, at least I'm original in my injuries!)

The doctor came in shortly thereafter and proceeded to put something that looks like a very small chain link fence on the wound (passed out a second time - it hurt!!). He explained that I had cut down deep enough to have exposed the nerve which was why it hurt so freaking much and then proceeded to theorize with the nurse on how to ease the pain. I felt like I was on an episode of House. They finally decided to experiment on me by soaking my finger in an oral solution of lydocane (sp?) which worked wonders. They bandaged me up and sent me on my way with a prescription of vicodin as the lydocane was starting to wear off and my finger was starting to throb again.

Let me just say this, if I don't see the inside of another medical building ever again, it will be too soon! Want to come over for dinner tonight? We are having finger sandwiches, chicken fingers, and lady fingers for dessert. (Big J's joke for the evening - it's only funny 'cause I took the vicodin already.)

Eeeek - an EKG

 We successfully survived the EEG. Thank you so much for all of your support via comments and e-mails. It means a lot to have virtual strangers (although you don't feel like strangers) offer such kind and comforting words.

We started of with a bang when we drove to the wrong location for the procedure (true WI Mommy style!). We were about 100 blocks off and raced to make it to the appointment without being too late. Then we were informed that Little J was going to have to sleep during the appointment.

Ha-ha, yeah, right.

This is the child that does NOT sleep on demand, especially not somewhere other than his bed, especially NOT when he is overtired, and especially NOT with a million little wires hooked up to his head.

We however lucked out with the best technician EVER who managed to lull our little guy into a deep and apparently productive sleep. She got whatever readings she needed from him and we were allowed to wake him up after about twenty minutes or so. They also had plenty of readings from the half hour of him trying to fall asleep while we were with him and several minutes of a bright strobe light being flashed in front of his face.

All in all, not as traumatic an experience as I had thought it was going to be, but not one that I am in any hurry to repeat. My SIL had some extra soon to expire Disney Dollars from her credit card and had sent them over last week, so I hit the Disney store Sunday afternoon for some retail therapy and had some great toys to distract Little J during the gluing-on-of-the-electrodes portion of the morning. He was quite the little trooper and seemed to recover rather quickly from the whole event. I will feel better once I hear from the doctor and know for sure what the tests actually reveal.

I'm one freaked out mommy over here...

 So Wednesday morning, Little J had a strange falling/fainting episode where he turned pasty white and did a face plant on the carpet. He came to right away, and other than crying and being a little upset for a few minutes, bounced back to his normal self pretty quickly. I should also add in here that I passed out pretty regularly as a kid, which always added some entertainment value to those long Palm Sunday masses and school assemblies. No one really made that big a deal out of it other than to hand me a glass of orange juice and prop me back up.

So I (for once) remained relatively calm about the whole incident and even sent Little J off to preschool. I casually mentioned the episode to a few people who gave me horrified looks and said "You ARE going to call the doctor, right?". I started rethinking my calm position and dialed my pediatrician's nurse, Carla. Carla is great at putting things into perspective and never makes me feel stupid...even the time when we were new to solid foods and I rushed Little J into the office insisting that there was blood in his stools only to find out it was undigested tomato peel. But I digress. So when nurse Carla calmly suggested that I bring him in first thing the next morning, I started to get a little concerned.

So we spend yesterday morning at the pediatrician's office doing a very thorough exam, taking Little J's blood pressure in a variety of positions (which he thought was hysterical), and setting up appointments for a bunch of -ologists. We will be having a sleep deprived EEG on Monday morning...doesn't that sound like fun? Anything sleep deprived and a three year old has got to be a great experience.

So, basically, I am now sufficiently freaked out about the whole thing and very grateful for any prayers, positive vibes, or any good thoughts you would be so kind as to send our way!!

Thank you for riding with me on the emotional rollercoaster that is my life.

 So I got a phone call yesterday afternoon...turns out the school district was having a heck of a time tracking down ANY of the principals that I have worked for. Not only have I driven most of them out of teaching, I apparently drove a few of them out of the state as well. Interestingly enough, in eight years of teaching (at only two schools!), I had no less than five different principals and only one of them is still a principal, just at a different school.

SO once I was able to point them in the right direction to track him down, they called and offered me the position. YEAH!!!! The official title is "instructional coach". Basically I will be supervising eight or nine new teachers initial educators (I need to get with the new lingo!). It's very part time - about one morning a week - so I will still have plenty of time with Little J. After being out of education for three years, the idea of actually using my rather expensive degree again is quite appealing.

Thank you for all of your words of support and your patience with my pity posts. I guess it was meant to be.

If you don't have something sympathetic to say...

 don't say anything at all.

I am all for the belief that things happen for a reason. Really. It is rather comforting to think that there is some sort of master plan and that the painful things we go through have some sort of meaning in the end.

But that doesn't mean that you have to completely forgo the understanding pat on the arm and the sympathetic "That sucks!" that lets people know that you understand their feelings.

When I tell you bad news, I don't want to hear It wasn't meant to be or It means something better is coming along. It may be true, but I want to hear Yeah, I know you really wanted that job...they were stupid to hire someone else...their loss...and, hey, let's go egg their offices!
(Just kidding - I don't condone egging of any kind.)

To me, the casually tossed out it wasn't meant to be is equivalent to telling a grieving relative They're in a better place. Might be true, but again, I don't want to hear it. Tell me you know I'm hurting, tell me that the person will be missed, but don't try to turn it into a positive thing.

So, anyways, I never did get a call about the job one way or the other....which pretty much tells me that they hired the other person. So I shall go back to soothing myself with a vente, full sugar, full fat latte and the knowledge that it wasn't meant to be.

If there is any truth to The Secret, I'm in big trouble!

 **updated below

You've heard of The Secret, right? No???? Let me summarize WI Mommy style:

You create your own opportunities with your thoughts. If you want it bad enough (and buy the book to learn how to want it in the right way), you will get it. The power of positive thinking, yada, yada, yada.

Now, don't let my sarcastic tone fool you...I am big on the power of positive thinking. I do believe that having a positive attitude shows and can even affect your health. But can I wish myself a million big ones?? I wish! He-he.

But every once in a while, that voice whispers in my ear...what if it's true??? The answer: then I am screwed!! I am the WORST at talking myself out of my own success. For example, there is this job that I want. I mean REALLY want. It's perfect for me, I'm perfect for it. I could DO this job and do it really well. So an opening came along and I applied. And immediately started preparing myself for not getting it. Wouldn't want to be too disappointed or anything, better start cushioning that blow right now.

The days went by and no call from the HR department and the voices started getting louder. Eh, the job probably wasn't THAT great anyways...the commute is a little on the long side...there isn't much room to grow in the position...blah,blah,blah. You know what? If The Secret is right, I'm in big trouble and I'd better start learning how to have a more positive attitude, like, yesterday.

But - guess what? Tonight they called me for an interview for Thursday. Which I'll probably blow do great on and they will probably laugh at hire me on the spot, right????

I survived my interview without spontaniously combusting. It was not the ideal interview at all...I wound up parking on the wrong side of the building and had to hike almost all the way around in the 95 degree heat. I think I resembled a wet noodle by the time I found an open door. I answered most of the 18 interview questions without much hesitation. I was, however, stumped by one but tried to BS my way out of it (still not sure if this was the best move). I was given a full job description on my way out, and it appears that the question I BS-ed was a pretty integral part of the job. Damn that trendy educator lingo!! It's amazing how out of touch four years in a Catholic School (not very good at keeping up with the latest educational trends) and three years at home can make you. All is not lost yet, I haven't gotten the kiss-off call, but as the hours go by, I am less and less hopeful. I was led to believe that they were making a decision today, so I am guessing that they offered it to someone else and are waiting for them to accept before they call and say I didn't get it.

Those Annoying Adenoids

 Little J went under the knife this morning. He thought it was a cool adventure (at least in the beginning), I was a nervous wreck. We had gone to the surgical center on Wednesday for the tour. The nurses were wonderful and really made Little J feel at home. They basically walked him through what was going to happen, what he would be seeing and feeling, and who would be where.

We arrived at 6:45 this morning and checked in. The nurses all remembered him and stopped by to say hi. They let us dress him in his gown and stay with him for a while. They gave him some medication that would help calm him down for the big separation. At first, all it did was make him incredibly hyper. He was bouncing off the walls and singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at the top of his lungs. We got him to sit still by taking his picture numerous times. Once the medication really started to work, the anesthesiologist came to get him and he let the doctor carry him off without even blinking an eye. That was the last we saw of him for about 45 minutes.

When we went to recovery, he was screaming his head off and trying to simultaneously pull out his IV and head for the door. He had decided that anyone in scrubs was the enemy and was letting them know it. He screamed for about half an hour until they finally let us take him home. He started calming down as soon as we went out the door.

When we got home, he was a little weepy and clingy for about an hour and then announced that he was all better. He started bouncing off the walls and that lasted until we put him down for the night at 6:30 pm (since he didn't nap, he was exhausted). He had some difficulty keeping lunch down but snacked and ate dinner with no problems.

Now that he is sleeping, our only issue is that he keeps coughing. His throat must hurt because he starts crying each time he coughs. I have a feeling that it might be a long night.

The Sounds of Silence

 So, last Friday night Big J and I went to the Brewers game at Miller Park. We had great seats, first level behind home plate, and had a great time. I cheered for the Brewers who won despite not playing their best game. I am a fairly calm fan...I cheer when something exciting happens, stand up occasionally, but pretty much keep it in control.

Imagine my surprise after the game when I went to say something to my husband in the parking lot and....nothing came out. I had no voice. None. When I was able to squeak out a word or two, I sounded like a young boy in the height of adolescence.

I woke up the next morning with little improvement. I called my mother who didn't know who I was until she looked at her caller ID. She suggested resting my voice. At that point, I had rested it the ten hours I had been asleep and it hadn't helped any. Besides, Big J was having a ball coming up with all kinds of silly questions just to hear me try to answer them.

It's been almost a week now, and I still do not sound right at all. While I can make myself heard, nobody can identify my voice as mine unless they are looking at me. It was a little amusing in the beginning, but it is downright annoying now. I have no other cold symptoms (thank goodness since Little J is having his adenoids out tomorrow and I'd hate to give him a cold!).

Maybe the universe is sending me a message?? A psychotherapist would probably say that I feel like I am not being heard. I'm guessing the message is to keep my opinion to myself for a while. Hmmmmmm....I don't think that applies to my blog, right?

Women Carry Purses...

 Little J is coming up on his third birthday next month. Apparently, he has chosen age two years and eleven months for a new developmental milestone, namely figuring out the differences between men and women.

We passed through the “enamored with my own anatomy” phase quite a few months ago. Now, Little J is fascinated with trying to find rules that apply to only men or only women.
For example:
Little J: What color is Daddy’s car?
Me: Silver.
Little J: Oh, what color is your car?
Me: Black.
(Keep in mind, Little J knows his colors. He just likes to play the “what color is your fill in the blank here” game with everyone he sees. I guess it is revenge for us trying to teach him his colors by constantly asking him what color everything was. Turnabout is fair play.)
Little J: So men have silver cars and mommies have black cars?

Then follows a pathetic attempt by me to explain that men and women can drive any color cars they want. And, by the way, not all women are mommies. I’m really going to screw this kid up, aren’t I?

Yesterday, he developed a new fascination with who exactly carries purses. We went through a litany of family members, identifying if each carries a purse or not. Little J seemed to grasp that women carry purses and men don’t (with a noted exception for diaper bags). I figured that the subject was closed and that we would move onto our next obsession. Wrong.

Today, we stopped at Starbucks to get our daily fixes: caffeine for me and vanilla milk for him. He always enjoys chatting up the barristas who oooh and aaah over him to his delight. Except for this morning when the following conversation took place.

Starbucks barrista girl: How are you this morning, cutie?
Little J: Good. Do you have a purse?
SB: Yes I do.
Little J: I not have a purse – I a boy.
SB: Oh? Boys don’t carry a purse, do they?
Little J: No, they carry a penis.

Cue shocked look on barrista’s face.
I think I’ll use the drive through for a while.

Eight random facts about me...

I've been tagged for my first meme....thanks mammacheryl (a fellow Wisconsinite). This will be a hard one for me...I'll have to give it some serious consideration! So here goes...

1. I can't sleep with the closet door open even a little bit. This also includes the master bath door.

2. I have to wear socks when I go to bed, no matter how hot it is. I can't sleep with bare feet.

3. I have an irrational fear of birds landing on my head. This always made me uneasy, but ever since I had some one's pet bird actually do it, the thought of it really freaks me out. It's too much like a rodent crawling on me. (No offense to any hamster/gerbil fans out there.)

4. My birthday and my husband's birthday are two days apart. We briefly considered getting married on the day in between so that we (he) would always remember our anniversary.

5. I still have nightmares about showing up to teach a class and being totally unprepared.

6. I now have no live plants in my house after having killed my last ivy plant. I have a great herb garden outside and am pretty good about keeping up with my outdoor plants, but can't keep a house plant alive at all. Maybe I should get a cactus?

7. I have a serious Starbucks addiction. I need my latte each morning or I am a bear (and it has to be from Starbucks). I am convinced that there is some sort of drug in the beans.

8. When I was in college, I had a HUGE crush on a visiting professor (a PhD candidate from Harvard). Once my class with him was over, all my friends urged me to ask him out. I was too chicken and have always regretted it, just to know what he would have said.

Well, there's my 8...hope they weren't too boring! I'm still feeling a bit new to tag people, but feel free to consider yourself tagged if you would like to participate.

Catching the Fever

I have discovered an interesting sport that grips Wisconsin every spring. It involves patience, stamina, and a sharp eye. No, I am not talking about baseball (even though this could be the year for the Brewers!). I am talking about rummaging.

Now, I have to admit that for most of my formative years (spent mainly in Connecticut and Massachusetts) rummage was a word you didn't hear unless it was in reference to what a raccoon had done to your garbage. We had our garage sales and our tags sales, but they were few and far between. Then I moved to Wisconsin. (I will add that I am not sure if this phenomenon grips the entire state, or if it is confined to just the greater Milwaukee area.)

It starts on Wednesday, when the signs begin appearing on each corner. "HUGE RUMMAGE" they scream. Blue, red, neon green, they dot the landscape like spring tulips, arrows pointing to the hidden treasures. The frenzy continues, sometimes through Sunday, although Thursday through Saturday seems to be prime rummaging time.

At first I chuckled at the hoards of people willing to spend their time sifting through other people's junk. I would slow down, cast an eye towards the tables full of glass knick-knacks, and speed away shaking my head in wonder.

Then I happened upon a rummage boasting tables full of boys clothing. Old Navy, Polo, GYMBOREE???? For a dollar a piece?? I was hooked! Soon I found myself driving aimlessly on Thursday mornings, looking for those signs. I even combed the paper on Wednesday night, looking for ads and plotting my route. I was a woman obsessed. Those expensive outdoor toys I had been buying Little J - foolish me. The $60 Little Tikes picnic table? $5 thank you very much. The $70 Step 2 art desk? $10.

And what will I do with all of these treasures when Little J has outgrown them? Stop by my HUGE RUMMAGE sale and see!

Spring has sprung...all over my head.

Spring in Wisconsin can be a beautiful thing...the tulips and daffodils seem to have survived our early spring snowstorm with a minimum amount of damage. Our magnolia tree is finally in full bloom and the leaves on the bushes are beginning to show their light green selves.

It's beautiful...unless you have allergies. Which I do. And, apparently, so does Little J. He has always been a noisy breather. When he was an infant, I never had the experience of running and checking if he was still breathing like so many of my friends because I could hear him breathing over the monitor at night. Lately, it has been getting much worse. Now he snores loudly both when sleeping and when awake and sitting in certain positions. I had huge adenoids as a child and had them removed at age 3. I'm guessing that Little J has inherited my adenoids and that the allergies are making the situation worse.

After numerous sinus infections, we are on our third allergy medication, and still no relief, so we will be off to visit the ENT in the near future. I am anticipating the news that we will need to take out Little J's adenoids and am trying to prepare myself. I realize that this is a minor procedure, and that it is no big deal compared with the things that some moms are faced with. But this is my little boy. And having him go under general anesthesia scares me.

So, in addition to the sinus pain and headaches that come with season allergies, I have this nagging fear that has taken up residence in the pit of my stomach. But at least the flowers are pretty.

Oh what a tangled web we weave...

When I was growing up, the worst sin you could commit in our family was to lie. I remember numerous occasions where I was caught in a lie and was given the speech. You know, the "we're more upset that you lied than that you (insert crime of the day here)" speech. Lying was a big deal - it eroded away the trust of others and cast serious doubt on your character.

I am continually amazed at the ease with which some people can lie. Whether it is a politician (*cough*Jim Doyle*cough*), a student, or a friend, the casual way that people put forth blatant untruths can floor me. But my biggest shock comes from the honesty of my own son. Seriously, this kid rats himself out on a regular basis.

Just today, Little J proceeded to smack me in the head with a badminton racket. (I don't know how he got his hands on it - yeah, I'm a bad mom. Before the hitting started, he was using it as a guitar and looked pretty cute!) Of course I took it away from him and the predictable tantrum followed. In between screams and while dodging flying limbs, I asked Little J if I gave him the racket back, was he going to hit me with it? He answered "yes". Thanks for the info kid, I think I'll put it away now. This was not an isolated incident - you can ask him anything and he will give you an honest answer.

WM: Little J, if I let you play with the ball, are you going to throw it in the house?
Little J: Yes I am.
WM: If your friends come over, are you going to share your Thomas toys?
Little J: No I not.

It even extends to notifying me of any misbehavior I might have missed. Anytime a conversation starts with "Mommy, look what I did/have", I have to brace myself for the worst. Crayon covered walls, ketchup on the rug, my make-up all over the bathroom.

It makes me wonder if this is a normal part of child development, this honesty. At what age do we learn to deceive? At what age does the desire for self-preservation or self-gratification take over? Hopefully, not too soon. In the meantime, I'll enjoy having that heads-up before I get whacked with a racket.

News Nausea

If you are a Wisconsin resident, you are painfully aware of the Brendan Dassey trial that went to the jury today. For those of you visiting from other states, you can get the back-story here. His trial (and that of his uncle, Steven Avery) has led every news report for what seems like an eternity.

I admit to being a bit of a trial junkie. Perhaps because I had once considered becoming a lawyer, I grew up watching LA Law and still love shows like Law and Order. When I have the opportunity to see snippets of a real trial, I sit spellbound in front of my TV. But not this time. I have found both of the trials that have resulted from this unimaginable crime some of the most disturbing footage I have ever seen. The descriptions of the horrific acts that these men perpetrated against their victim are graphic and upsetting enough on their own. But it’s not the graphic testimony that is giving me nightmares and makes me physically nauseous. It’s the embodiment of pure evil that is being exhibited in the form of these two defendants.

I grew up Catholic. We went to CCD – our church’s version of Sunday School except it was on Saturday morning. We learned the basics about evil – the whole Devil banished from Heaven story. But there was not a lot of depth to it – even as we got older. I took a few classes in college that addressed evil, specifically ones relating to the Holocaust and Salem Witch Trails, but those left me with more questions than answers. My first teaching job was for a principal who, for sport I guess, would choose a couple of new teachers each year and make their lives hell. She would single them out and ridicule them in staff meetings, give them bad reviews, not support them with parents, you name it. She would keep it up until they either quit or she could gather enough “evidence” to fire them. I can remember the art teacher telling me that her experience with this principal had resulted in her doing quite a bit of reading on the subject of evil because she couldn’t come up with another explanation for why someone would be so cruel.

I realize my principal example pales in comparison to the acts being described in the Avery/Dassey trials or the atrocities perpetrated in the Holocaust. But all of these leave me desperately wanting to understand WHY? HOW? Is there such a figure as the devil? For me, that would be the preferable answer. Someone to blame, someone to battle. Someone who takes a person over and makes them do horrible things. But I fear that is too easy of an answer. More difficult to accept is the notion that this kind of evil is possible in any person. Possibly in every person. Even in the heart of a teenage boy like Brendan Dassey. To me, that is more chilling than anything any horror movie could come up with. It haunts my dreams. And it makes me turn the channel, so I don’t have to acknowledge that I have no clue how to protect my little boy from something that I don’t even understand myself.

Perhaps a career in fire-fighting is in the cards.

After a tour of the local fire station today, Little J was invited to take a turn "driving" the fire engine. It made his day, big time.

An open letter to my friends and family...

Dear Friends and Family,

Please stop asking me when I am going to have another baby. I currently have my hands full, no make that MORE than full, with the last child I squeezed out. I am just beginning to have a life (well, sort of) again, my two broken ribs (from an especially hard in-utero kick) have stopped predicting when it will rain, and I think I can safely say that the PPD hell has finally subsided. Frankly, I'm just not itching to jump back into all that again.

And when you start making disparaging comments about only children in an effort to guilt me into having another, please stop and remember that I AM AN ONLY CHILD. Or are you trying to send a whole other message there?

Besides, I find it a rather personal issue and don't feel like discussing my reproductive plans in line at the Pick-n-Save. Unless you are planning on offering me free nanny services - back off on this issue - for your own safety if nothing else.

Sincerely,
Wisconsin Mommy

PS - My mother, who takes care of little J several times a week, totally understands what a challenge another baby would pose right now and recently told me that she would think I was nuts if I got pregnant right now. Words of wisdom.

April??? It's April already???

I didn't realize how long I had been MIA until I noticed the date of my last post! My apologies to anyone who has dropped by WM only to be greeted with the same post over and over again.

The last month has flown by - we've weathered two bouts of stomach flu (little J's and mine), numerous sinus infections that are apparently of the antibiotic-resistant type, and will be visiting the ENT (ear, nose, and throat) doctor shortly to discuss tubes and possible adenoid removal. Little J has quite a bit of fluid in his ears and noisy nose breathing, so I'm guessing he inherited my humongo adenoids and tiny Eustachian tubes. Poor kid. I hope recovery does not require a quiet stint on the couch as I haven't been able to keep little J down for a rest even when he is feeling at his worst.

We have also completed the transition to the BBB - Big Boy Bed. This was a HUGE deal, as little J is not very fond of change. Gone are the cute little blue and green frogs and the crib. Now little J has a room full of boats and a huge looking twin bed. For a child who could completely fill his crib, he sure does look small in his bed!

Schizophrenia or A Great Imagination?

Little J has been bitten by the Toy Story bug. He insists on watching it at least once a day. AND he actually watches it. This from a child who has trouble sitting still for a 3 minute Go Baby episode. Not only does he love the movie, but he has decided that he is Woody and his father is Buzz. He refuses to call Daddy ANYTHING but Buzz. Everyday I am peppered with questions about when Buzz will be home and where Buzz is right now. Once Buzz, um, Daddy is home, Little J follows him around the house for hours (not an exaggeration) yelling “Buzz? You my Buzz?” until his father acknowledges that he is indeed Buzz. This satisfies Little J for about two minutes before the whole thing starts again.

At least I’m not Bo Peep.

Confessions of a Former Sanctimommy

Yes, I admit it. I used to be a *gasp* sanctimommy. What’s even worse, I was a sanctimommy without children.

Seriously. I was (am?) an elementary school teacher for eight years and I was the queen of “my-child-will-neverland”. MY child will never act like that in public, I just won’t have it, MY child will never go to school dressed like that, etc. You can pretty much fill in the rest, maybe you’ve even said it yourself. I can remember cataloging what the parents were doing wrong with each of my most challenging students. Hopefully, my thoughts were not evident to these parents. If they were, I greatly admire them for not decking me during parent teacher conferences. Maybe it was a form of protection – as long as I could place blame with the parents, I could ensure that I would never face the same problem with my child. I let this belief drive me to be the perfect mom. Because, if I was the perfect mom (unlike the parents of the children in my class), then I would have the perfect child. Okay – I never actually thought I would be perfect, but I set my standards impossibly high.

Then I had little J. And I learned. Children have a mind of their own and you can’t make them do anything. It started with his refusal to nap (it is a myth that all newborns sleep most of the day) and has just gone downhill from there. Not that I think I am a horrible mommy: I feed him, he usually has the right shoes on the right feet, and I have never hit him. But I am far from the mommy I had pictured in my head. The no TV mommy. The only eat organic good for you food mommy. The don’t have a meltdown in the middle of Target mommy. I am now the watch Playhouse Disney so I can take a shower mommy. The it’s okay to have hotdogs for lunch again as long as you are eating something mommy. The I will bribe you with the Dollar Spot to get you to stop screaming mommy. And most days I think I’m doing okay.

I don’t know if I will ever go back to teaching full time again, but if I do, I know that I will be more patient, more understanding and better able to support the parents of my students. Having a child will make me a better teacher, even before that child is school-aged. I guess it was one big lesson the teacher could only learn through hands-on experience, but it is a most valuable lesson at that.

The new kid

Okay people, I am coming out….
“My name is Wisconsin Mommy, and I am a lurker.”
“ Hello Wisconsin Mommy.”
I have been lurking around the blogosphere for over a year now. Yet I am just now starting my own blog. Why so long, you ask? One simple four letter word….fear. Starting a blog felt a lot like lunchtime at a new high school. You enter the cafeteria and spot the cool kids all sitting at one table across the room. They are laughing, having fun, looking like they own the joint. You nervously take your tray of inedible slop and weigh your options. You could walk over to the table and try to join the group but…..it’s the but that always stops you….
But what if you are rejected right off the bat? You’ll be left standing there with your tray in hand, the whole cafeteria witness to your dismissal.
But what if you are allowed to sit down but make a fool out of yourself by saying the wrong thing?
But what if you are not clever enough, witty enough?
But what if you are not privy to the unwritten rules of the group and make a heinous faux pas?
All of these scenarios have flooded my head every time I considered starting a blog. You all have such insightful things to say. I admire your wit and candor. I’ve related to you and what you’ve shared – I want to join. I’ve decided it’s time to face the fear. I’m not in high school anymore. And, you know what? Those cool kids were never as perfect as I made them out to be in my head.
So, as I step timidly into the cafeteria that is the blogosphere, I may approach your table, tray in hand. I may violate an unwritten blogger rule or two. Be gentle with me please, I’m new at this school.