That Time I Almost Impaled My Son With a Knife

When I was a child, I had a pretty healthy fear of knives and scissors.  I'm pretty sure it stems from the time my little sister cut my mother's finger with a pair of sewing scissors.  She was a baby at the time and I guess she reached over while my mother was cutting something and closed them on her finger.  All I really remember about it is my mother returning from the ER with a giant gauze bandage on her finger.  It made a pretty big impact on me.  What I understood, at about the age of 4, was that my sister had cut off my mom's finger and the doctor sewed it back on.  I guess that's what I made of the idea of stitches.

We no longer trust my sister with anything sharp or hot!  (Love you sister!!!)

As an adult that fear of sharp objects remains.  No, I am not afraid to use knives or scissors.  Instead, I am pretty well convinced that if my kids ever get their hands on them, they will manage to cut me, each other, or themselves.  Terrified.

I have managed to successfully pass down that terror to my son.  From the time he was born, I stopped calling the sharp instruments, knives or scissors.  Rather, they were the owie scissors and owie knives.  I wanted it clear that anything sharp = pain!

I should add here that I have no qualms whatsoever of passing on my own fears to my children.  Especially when it's a rational fear.  (Yes, fear of escalators is totally rational!!!)

My daughter knows no fear.  Especially when it comes to playing with dangerous objects.

Recently she climbed up on top of the kitchen counter and retrieved the kitchen scissors.  She brought them to me along with her pet tissue box, "boxy."  "I can't cut this.  Can you help me cut this?"

Needless to say I freaked out.  And that's putting it mildly.  As I took the scissors away from her she said, "but I wanted to cut my toenails with them."

Sharp "Owie" Scissors

One of us is going to end up in the ER one of these days.  Either for a toe reattachment or heart attack!

The knife block has been relocated to the top of the fridge.  I am holding my breath that she doesn't figure out how to climb up there.

The other day, I made my son a sandwich.  I put the plate on the table and he asked me to cut the sandwich for him.

Wordless Wednesday: Rainy Day

"Tut-tut, it looks like rain."

Fun in the rain.

Is that thunder?

Time to go back in.

Catholic Procrastination

On Thursday we did something I have been promising my kids we would do all year.

Dye Easter eggs!

Now, I know what you're thinking.

Wasn't Easter over a month ago?

No.

That was simply the beginning of the Easter season.

See, my friends.  The Catholic Church in her infinite wisdom set the Easter season to last from Easter Sunday through Pentecost Sunday.  Pentecost Sunday is this Sunday.

That's right.  Catholics get to enjoy not just one day of Easter but an entire season!  50 whole days to celebrate Christ's glorious Resurrection.

The Church did this for a couple of reasons.  One being that Easter is the highest feast of our faith.  Easter was the pinnacle and fulfillment of Christ's ministry.  His defeat of death.  Our salvation.

After all, even Christ extended his ministry past Easter Sunday.  He could have told his apostles everything they needed to know before his death, but instead he stayed after his Resurrection.  He could have appeared once, said "Hey, I'm alive." and gone right up into Heaven.  Then the Holy Spirit could have arrived and just given everyone whatever knowledge and understanding they needed.  Instead, Jesus hung out for awhile.  Let it all sink in.  "No really, I'm alive."

The other reason, obviously, is so that I can procrastinate.

Tantrums

The Peanut.

He is the king of fit pitchers.  When he really gets going he will screech louder than any horror movie victim.  He can go for hours and never tire.  When he was still a tiny lil guy he would sometimes fight bedtime so hard that he would still be screaming 4 hours after he was put in bed.  I would think, surely he will pass out from sheer exhaustion at any moment.  No.  Never.  It was enough to drive me over the edge.  I would literally have to force myself to stay away from him because I was seeing red and there was no telling what I might do.  Somehow we both lived to tell the tale.  He has outgrown his fits for the most part.  Sometimes we still see glimpses of the little Hulk but they are pretty rare now.  And they never last longer than about twenty minutes or so!

The Princess.

She tries to throw little tantrums sometimes.  Something upsets her and she drops down to the floor crying.  She always does the little, peer out to see if anyone is watching her, maneuver.  Unfortunately for her, her older brother ruined me.  When she lets out her tiny squeals, that normally last for all of two and a half minutes, I can't help myself.  I laugh.  I try not to let her see it.  But it's so darn funny.  Like that little display is going to budge me!  I have lived through WAY worse.  When I send her to her room to cry it out she is usually done before she makes it to the room.

All this has me wondering.

Me.

When I pitch my fits, does God see red?  Does He throw His hands up in exasperation that I never learn?  Or does He laugh at me?

I like to think he laughs at me.  After all, He is infinitely more patient that I could ever be.  And I sure do need that patience.

Hopefully, as I have gotten older and wiser, my fits are less like my son's and more like my daughter's.  Because, in all honesty, I know better.

When something doesn't go according to MY plans, I know that I should put my trust in Him.  He knows what's going on.  He has a better plan than mine ever could be.  Like I said, I KNOW all that.  I'm just not always happy about it.

Recently, when things didn't go according to my plans, I managed not to throw a monster fit.  I refrained from shaking my fists at the heavens.  I even admitted that God probably knew what he was doing.  Didn't mean I liked it.  Oh, I pouted.  I whined.  "This better be good!"  I sulkily warned Him.

Mother's Day Memories

Yesterday morning I woke up at 7:30am to the frantic cries of the Princess.  ...have to go potty!!!  I struggled to drag myself out of bed.  My husband rolled over and muttered something about waking him up after she was done.

Mother's Day had begun.

We got to the bathroom and my daughter kept walking past it.  "I thought you had to go potty."  I yawned.  "No, my brother has to go potty."

We went into the bedroom and found him wiggling in the bed, still half asleep.  I roused him and he staggered out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

"Thank you for telling me he had to go potty.  You can go back to bed now."

"But it's good mornin time.  The sun is awake.  I hungwy.  I want bweakfast."

It was worth a try.

We made our way into the kitchen, Zombie Mom style, and I put some waffles in the toaster.

At this point the baby was apparently squeezing my bladder with a vice so I went to check on the Peanut.  As it turns out, he had long finished and was checking out his handsome self in the mirror.

Our conversation awoke my husband who told me to go back to bed and he would take over.

A couple of hours later my husband woke me up to tell me he had gotten breakfast.  "Come eat before it gets cold."

Refreshed after my nice sleep in, I made my way into the living room.

As I rounded the corner, I was greeted with one of the sweetest sights I have ever seen.

7 Quick Takes Friday: Tiaras, Chalk Teeth & Freezers

--- 1 --- 

The Peanut has been pampering me today.  I'm not sure where he got the idea.  Perhaps all the Mother's Day commercials?  He started off by doing my hair.  He pretty much used all his sister's hair dealies.  

Don't be jealous.  We can't all be this beautiful!

There have been frequent fixes because it keeps coming untwisted.

That pink thing on top is a tiara.

Possibly he was just tired of my hair looking like this. 

--- 2 --- 

Later he gave me a back massage.  Not even sure where he ever even heard of back massages.  He had to ask me how to do it.  It pretty much consisted of him softly rubbing my back.  I will be sure to encourage this type of behavior!

Just Like Mama

A few weeks ago my son made a little story on his Leap Pad.  It was a story all about his sister.  When he finished it he took it over to my husband.  They started watching it together.  From where I was sitting, I could hear it but not see it.

When the story got to the section that said, "When I grow up I want to be" my son had recorded, "She wants to be just like Mama."  Awe.  How sweet.  Even though I know she didn't make the story, it was still sweet of him to think that.

My husband started laughing hysterically.

I was clearly missing something.  Or, maybe he was just laughing at the cute sweetness of it all?

"Show this to your mom!"

7 Quick Takes Friday: Rocking Chairs, the Baby & Bruce Campbell

--- 1 ---
Yesterday I did housework.

I know!

Not sure what is wrong with me.  I would claim to be nesting but I don't think that happens until the third trimester.  Can't really say for sure because even pregnancy has never prompted me to clean like a crazy woman.  So, maybe it's a virus?  Like some kind of clean freak parasite taking over my body?

I actually unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher.  Washed the Crockpot.  Got dinner in and cooking with plenty of time to spare.  All before 10am!  Dinner finished cooking at exactly 5pm on the dot.

Which is exactly when my husband declared it was time to take the kids swimming in the still too cold pool.  So, we kept dinner on warm and I watched my crazy shivering family splash around for an hour.  They had a blast!

This morning I realized that somehow, during the course of the day yesterday, half the dining room table was mysteriously cleaned off.  I have no memory of these events.  This leads me to conclude that the parasite theory is indeed valid.

--- 2 ---
You will be happy to know that today I am fully recovered and back to my usual housecleaning avoidance at all costs ways.  

Though I really do need to do a load of laundry.  We have a busy weekend ahead of us full of going places that require suitable attire and not superhero feety pajamas.  

Where can I find that parasite?

--- 3 ---
See this rocking chair?

It was mine when I was a wee one.  Then my naive generous parents thought they would give it to my children so they could enjoy it and someday pass it down to their own children.  

Unfortunately, I was a much better behaved child than my own children are.  I chalk that up to the good parenting I received.  

My kids?  

Might as well have been raised in a barn.  

They have yet to grasp the concept of sitting in chairs.  Rather, they seem to believe that all furniture was created to be their own personal jungle gym.  Every day I hear the creak of my favorite little rocker, threatening to give out and crumble into sawdust.  I turn to see my son standing in it while attempting to rock hard enough to launch into orbit.  I begin to have convulsions.  

It also doesn't help that the chair has become the favorite item to use in a "friendly" game of tug of war.  See, now both kids love the chair.  Even though they have several other child sized chairs and adult sized couch, loveseat, recliner at their disposal, only the rocker will do.  

Finally a compromise is reached.  

First Crush

As we left church on Sunday, my husband told my son to point her out to us if he saw her.

"Who?"  I asked.

"He met a little girl.  He thinks she's cute."

We made it to the car without catching sight of her.

My son, distraught, slumped into his car-seat.

"I really wanted you guys to meet her.  I want her to be my friend."

My husband cast me a sideways glance.

Clearly he was reading way too much into this whole thing.  I mean the Peanut is only 5.  Way too young to be thinking like that!  He has no older siblings and doesn't go to school so how would that idea even enter his head?