Sacramento Parent Magazine

Are we saying “good job” way too much?  I say it to my daughter for going potty, saying please and for eating a bite of broccoli.  I say it constantly and for just about anything.  Lately my daughter has been picking stuff up off the carpet (because vacuuming has become impossible) and handing it to me so the baby won’t put it in his mouth.

“good job”  I always say.

The other day, she hands me something strange.  I say “what is it?”  She says, “booger” and I say….

yep, “good job.”

Then, out of the corner of my eye I see my husband.  And I step outside of my body to witness what just took place. 

Horrifying.

We were on the North Coast this weekend so I could host a bachelorette party for my younger sister. We were planning to be away all night so of course all the hubbies and soon to be hubby had the children. My husband, another dad, my sister’s fiance and all 4 of the children ranging in ages from 2 years to 5 months decided to go out to dinner. Knowing it’s a rarity to see the men out with the little ones, a man walked up to their table and asked, “The question is, what are the women doing?”

I don’t think they want to know but I think it involved a nursing bra being waved around in a bar…

I cry because I have been a helpless spectator the last 2 days while you lay feverish, succumbing to 2 seizures and I was unable to stop them.

I cry because as I raced you to the doctor’s office, I watched for signs that your chest was still moving while your eyes remained closed, your body limp in the car seat.

I cry because when I called your preschool to let them know you were too sick to come, I found out there were other children out ill. I tried not to blame their parents.

I cry because I didn’t think twice about sleeping on your Elmo couch on the hardwood floor so I could watch you breathe on the couch until 4am.

I cry because when I take your temperature and I see the degrees rising, I want to throw the thermometer across the room in rage.

I cry because I wish I could jump inside your body as it rages against itself and take the fever away.

I cry because when I tripped walking up the stairs, you asked me if I was okay.

I cry today because you don’t realize how uncoordinated your movements are, your eyelids drooping, the side effects of having 2 seizures back to back. All this while you oblivious, chase me to tell me you love me.

I cry because I didn’t think you could see me crying, I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my tear stricken face in the freshly laundered towels I am folding or behind the pantry door as I reach for the soup.

I cry because we are going back to the Neurologist and I worry he will tell us something we don’t want to hear.

What I get to hear from my precious 2 year old:
“I love Jeni Boltshauser” without any prompting…ah, melt your heart.

What my husband hears from the same precious 2 year old:
Sniffing, he exclaimed very loudly in a very crowded parking lot, “IT STINKS! BRADY (not daddy), DO YOU HAVE GAS?”

The look on my husband’s face was priceless.

Some easy ways to beat the heat with your kids.  Buy a plastic pool.  Extra points for ones with slides and shower nozzles.  Make and eat Jello.  Eat popsicles while in the bathtub.  Visit super air-conditioned places like the mall, bounce houses, movie theatres and the grocery store.  Suck ice cubes.  And my kids personal favorite:  running around the house naked screaming “no clothes”.  Peeing on the carpet optional.

How about all us mama’s celebrating ourselves this mother’s day by doing something unexpected?  Not surprising, I have many, many good ideas, because let’s face it we probably won’t get these things from our husband or kids. 

My list goes like this: mom weekend off, one where mom leaves town literally for the weekend to do whatever she wants…find childcare for two hours on a weekday and have lunch with a friend…just once call a cleaning service and spend the day playing with kids at a park…buy yourself cute and comfortable lingerie…get non-toddler friendly, totally spicy take out and feed the kids mac-n-cheese.

Are you listening dad’s?