Little Dude, Big Dreams

"Bonjour, Mama!"

"Bonjour."

"How do you say 'Mister' in French?"

"Monsieur."

"So it's 'Bonjour, Monsieur?'"

"Oui."

"Oh, that's 'yes' in French!"

"Yes."

"Oui, oui!"

This morning, Little Dude told me, "When I'm Daddy's age, I'm going to live in Paris." Clearly he's thought this out because then he told me that he'll need to learn French to do so, to which I replied, "Maybe we can learn French together." And he excitedly replied, "Oui, oui!"

I'm never really sure where Little Dude's big ideas come from. Sometimes I swear he has a secret life that I am not privy to, or maybe he's a reincarnated Ernest Hemingway. He'll tell us fantastic stories that we have never heard before. He'll express his disapproval by saying things like "that's inappropriate." He is suddenly in love with playing chess. And I wouldn't be surprised to come home one day and find him typing away at an old typewriter while smoking a pipe.

Seriously. Who's kid is this?

So this morning, I wasn't even shocked when he announced his plans to move to France in 30 years. I didn't even bother to ask him why or how or any of those tough questions. After all... he's has plenty of time to figure out the details. But right now, he's a dreamer.

And honestly... that's the best part about being a kid. Dreaming.

Remember the dreams you had as a kid? Before someone came along and told you they were impossible or too hard to achieve. I do. And maybe it's bad parenting, but I don't want to squash Little Dude's dreams. Maybe he will live in France one day. Maybe he will become a rock star-missionary-teacher-veterinarian-astronaut. Who to say he can't? Maybe if he keeps dreaming, he'll become the next Ernest Hemingway and achieve all those dreams in his books.

In the meantime, I'll support him as he figures out who he is and where he's going. Even if it means I have to learn how to say more than "Bonjour, Monsieur" in French!

Fighting strep throat, ninjas and dust bunnies

My little guy spent the beginning of last week at home with strep throat. He'd only been in school for two weeks before the bug hit. Ugh!

So after staying home for part of Monday toting him to the doctor, I thought I could easily work from home while he continued on his road to recovery Tuesday. It should have been easy. Because sick kids just stay in bed all day, right?

Sure.

Little Dude and I congregated in the office/"fun room" Tuesday morning. He had toys. I had files. He played on the iPad. I typed on the computer. I was in the middle of some paperwork when I noticed a flurry of movement from the corner of my eye. I turned to see Little Dude jumping up and down, doing karate chops and kicks. He quickly moved from one corner of the room to the other and back again. It was like watching the Tasmanian Devil do a Karate Kid impression after drinking a Red Bull.

Which spurred me to use one of the most commonly repeated mom questions: "What are you doing?"

"I'm fighting ninjas."

"Ninjas?"

"Yeah. But you can't see them only I can."

"Because they're ninjas?"

"Yeah."

Apparently I have failed in my mothering by never teaching my child how to "act sick." Didn't he know he should sit in bed all day whining that he was too sick to do anything? Didn't he know that if he whined enough about being sick that I would eventually cave in and let him watch cartoons or movies all day long? Didn't he know the rewards to be reaped for brilliantly exploited the slightest fever? Sheesh!

I'm not sure he truly appreciated what he had. Other kids have to go through the effort of faking a fever and cough.

If it wasn't for the fever, you would never have known this child was ever sick. He was a little worn down on Sunday afternoon when he first had a fever. But by Monday he acted like nothing was wrong. If it wasn't for the fever, the doctor wasn't sure she would have ordered a strep test. By Tuesday, he was a rambunctious ball of energy once again!

So I decided to put that energy to use.

"Since you have so much energy, why don't you dust?" I figured this would slow him down. Who really ever wants to dust even when they're well? I figured he'd plop down on the couch and finally start complaining that he doesn't feel well.

But no, not this ninja-fighting superhero. He was up for the challenge. It's on his list of chores anyway. And since he was sick, he negotiated the steep price of $.25 per floor.

So he grabbed his fluffy dusting wand and set off to fight dust bunnies.

Yes, there's an actual game called "Attack of the Dust
Bunnies." I need to find this for Little Dude!

Just as I was on a conference call (which is always the best time, isn't it?) Little Dude finished his battle against the nefarious dust bunnies of doom and came running into the room to tell me he had a completed his mission.

I can happily report that my house is now ninja and dust bunny free.

Oh, and strep throat free too. I just wish I have that much energy the next time I'm sick!!!

My Little Big Boy

Last night I tucked a 5-year-old into bed. A few minutes later I heard a little voice softly calling, "Mom... Mo---om." I came upstairs and asked, "What's going on?"

"I don't want to turn 6 tomorrow," he replied with big tears in his eyes.

"Oh, kiddo. But turning 6 is going to be fun. Why don't you want to be 6?"

"Because then I'll have to turn 7 and then 8. And then I won't be able to go on the slide at school anymore. And I won't get to play. I'll be just like Gabriella's brother who just has to sit in school and learn and he can't do anything else."

Wow. If he thinks being 8 years old is dreadful, I wonder what he thinks about my age!

I countered, "But when you get to 4th Grade, you get to play sports after school with the other big kids. And you get to do a lot of really fun clubs."

"But I won't be your little boy anymore."

"No matter how big you get, you'll always be my little boy."

He eventually fell asleep and awoke in a much happier mood this morning! He got his first birthday phone call from his Papa whom he shares a birthday with. (I overheard Little Dude telling Papa that he was glad they share a birthday.) And then he fielded several other calls from other family members in between bites of the surprise birthday donuts his Auntie and cousin brought over late last night.

We spent the morning reading cards and postcards. (Little Dude can even read most of Grandma's half-cursive handwriting!) While reading one postcard from Papa and Grandma, I apparently mispronounced "Alabama." I pronounced it Al-uh-bam-uh. But Little Dude schooled me by saying that it must always be pronounced Al-uh-BAM-uh "with a little sass in it." (No, I don't know where he learns these things from.) And I realized he is growing up with a great sense of humor.

I listened to him pepper his conversation with words like "literally," "age-appropriate," and "excellent" -- all used correctly. And I realized how smart and capable he has become.

I watched him tie his shoes with his long fingers and stretch his long legs. And I realized how big he is growing.

After loading his birthday cupcakes into the car to take to his day care, I told him what an awesome, charming, funny, smart, handsome and talented man he is. He told me I forgot to add "adorable" to the list. And I realized how confident he is.

So cheers to the birthday boy. These last 6 years have been amazing. I can't wait to see what's to come!

The Kiss of Guilt

Last week I was about to step into a meeting at work when my cell phone rang. The caller ID caused my stomach to clench... It was the school.

Calls from school are not usually a good thing. It usually means either you're child is sick or hurt or your child did something terrible. This call was the former.

"[Little Dude] fell on the basketball court and bit into his lip. His top lip looks pretty bad and it looks like his bottom lip is hurt too. There's a lot of swelling and blood so it's hard to tell how bad it is. Do you want to come check him out?"

Now, if you ever think moms sometimes seem distracted, it's because we are busy doing a hundred calculations in our brains. As soon as the school receptionist asked if I wanted to come down there, my head was filled with all the variables...

He busts his lips all the time and it may not be too bad, but on the other hand he could have bitten all the way through his lip and that is bad, but if I go down there he'll have to come home with me because he won't want me to leave him especially after the trauma of biting his lips, but if it's not really that bad then he doesn't need to have me upset him emotionally by showing up and leaving, but  then again he may need me to rush him to urgent care, but he used to fall and hit bust his lips all the time at preschool and he always recovered and if I rush to school the first time he gets hurt and it's not truly serious then I might besetting a precedence that I'll always come to swoop in and rescue him, but he needs to learn to be a big boy and cope when he's not seriously hurt, but I really want to skip this meeting and go grab my baby boy and hug him and make sure he's ok, and maybe this is one of those times when he really needs mommy to come get him and hang out with him the rest of the day.

The debate in my head took all of 3 seconds before I said, "Put a bag of ice on his lips for about 20 minutes and then call me to tell me how they look."

Then I took my cell phone into the meeting, explained I may have to leave early and sat there thinking about my kid's bloody lips the whole time: It's before lunch and even if he stays at school he may need me to bring him something soft to eat. Maybe I can at least bring him a yogurt or a milkshake. Yeah, a milkshake would be good. The cold might be good for his mouth right now. Why hasn't the school called yet? Why didn't I just go down there? Maybe I should have gone down there. Now I'm not just the crazy mom who constantly calls the office to find out every detail for everything that's going on and bugs them about whether he's learning at the right level, but I'm also one of those moms who doesn't care when her kid is sick or hurt. What must they think of me? I'm definitely not winning any Mother of the Year awards for this. Why haven't they called me yet? Which urgent care is closest to the school?

After about 40 minutes of this, I excused myself from the meeting and called the school to find out his status.

"One of the teachers used to be a nurse and she took care of him and got him calmed down. The swelling stopped and he went back to class."

Ah, relief and the justifying knowledge that I DID make the right decision.

Of course, I spent the rest of the day imagining my kid sitting in class with tears and ice packs and blood down the front of his shirt. When my husband picked him up, he brought another flood of relief by telling me it wasn't bad at all. Just some scrapes. He was even well enough to kiss us goodnight later.

Ah, motherhood.

Talk about an imagination running wild!

Biology and the Kindergartner

Poor Little Dude had a case of croup, so I spent the last few days working from home and taking care of the small sickie. I love spending extra time with him - even when he's sick. It's always interesting hearing what comes out of his mouth.

For instance, he used to end every thrilling story with, "just like that." Now he starts each exciting story with, "This is going to blow... your... mind." Sometimes he breaks out in the latest pop song. Sometimes he makes up his own songs. Sometimes he'll just randomly walk up to me, offer his hand and ask, "May I have this dance, milady." And sometimes he'll make some odd observation.

Yesterday was one of those odd observations.

He was laying on the couch eating an Otter pop and watching TV when he piped up, "Mom, my legs are growing!"

"Right now?"

"Yeah! They can reach the other end of the couch and they didn't used to do that! You gotta see this!"

"Honey, I know. Your whole body is growing."

This was quite a surprise to him. "What?!? My whole body? I cannot believe that! Are my arms growing?"

"Yes."

"Are my feet growing?"

"Yes."

"Are my ears growing?"

"Yes."

"Are my bones growing?"

"Yes. Your entire body is growing."

"Wow! I never knew that!"

And that's how you teach basic biology to a Kindergartner!

Yes, Jesus Loves Me

Little Dude has always been the inquisitive type. He doesn't just want to know Why... he wants to know Who, What, Where, When, and How. One of the topics that he has asked about since he could form a question is Jesus and Heaven. He would look up in the sky and ask, "Can I visit Jesus in Heaven?"

"No, it's not like visiting Grandma's house."

"But I want to see Him. Can't we just fly up there? Please?"

Then the questions started getting deeper. "Did Jesus really die?" "Does everyone who dies go to Heaven?" "Are you going to Heaven?" "Is Furry Dude going to Heaven?"

At first the questions occasionally popped up at random moments. But in the last six months or so, they became more frequent -- often peppering our regular conversations.

Last month, a week before Easter, Big Dude and I thought it might be a good idea to explain why we celebrate Easter. We asked Little Dude if he knew what Easter was about. He started talking about decorating eggs and seeing the Easter bunny (who visits his preschool every year). He was so focused on his school Easter party that we shrugged our shoulders and figured he wasn't ready yet. Maybe next year.

However, on Easter morning, his Sunday School teachers must have given a really good lesson because by Tuesday afternoon, I found myself in quite the theological discussion with my child.

"I want to have Jesus in my heart really, really bad."

OK, even after all the questions in the past, I wasn't quite prepared for this. Is he really ready? I thought. Does he really understand? I'll admit that I was excited, but nervous at the same time. As a Christian, of course I want my child to understand and to make that decision for himself. And even though I accepted Christ when I was only 5, I didn't expect Little Dude to get there so soon.


So I did what any unprepared mother would do... I tried to pawn it off on his teachers. "Well, tomorrow night is AWANA and you can ask Miss Kim about how to have Jesus in your heart." There. If he's not ready, then someone else who I'm sure is much better equipped to talking to children about such things can handle it.

But he was insistent. He started asking about Heaven again. And this time he started talking about Jesus dying on the cross. My mommy-sense started tingling. I asked, "Are you talking about Easter?"

"Yeah. Easter." Then he explained the entire Easter story to me. Jesus died on the cross for our sins. He was buried. He rose again. And now He's in Heaven, and one day we'll be in Heaven with Him. He understood more than some adults do! For an hour (which is about 7 hours in kid-time), we talked about God's love, sin, grace, and WHY Jesus died on the cross. He would ask questions and when I answered, he seemed to think about it before asking another question.

We wrapped up our conversation just in time for a nap. I told Little Dude that we would talk to his teachers tomorrow at church so they could explain more. He seemed pretty happy as he fell asleep.

That evening, everything was normal. And the next morning, everything flowed along as usual. But just before we were about to leave for preschool, Little Dude said it again. "I really want to have Jesus in my heart."

Obviously, what he had learned was sticking with him. So this time, I did what any semi-prepared mother would do... I sat down on the floor with him and led him in a prayer.

That's a moment I'll never forget!

Little Dude was so excited. He called his Daddy, his Papa, and both of his Grandmas on the way to preschool. That evening we told his teachers at church (and I think he told his teachers at preschool too!). Everyone was excited. Oh, yeah, and I'm sure I heard a few angels sing! ;-)

Why Super Heroes Take Showers

My kid loves a good, long bath. Who doesn't? You can sit back and relax. You can fill it with bubbles. You can play with your tub toys and pretend to swim across the ocean.

But we don't always have time to indulge in an hour-long bath. That's when a quick shower is convenient. But Little Dude is not a fan of showers.

So this morning, I braced myself as I prepared Little Dude for a shower. Turned on the water and made sure it was the right temperature. Had the towels and a change of clothes nearby. Had the shampoo and soap ready for action. Little Dude was about to step into the shower when he stopped. "Can I take a bath instead?"

Now, there are a few options to get a little kid to do something he doesn't want. The first is physical force. However, as I ran through the scenario in my mind, it pretty much ended with my getting soaked. So I went with another option...

"You know, Super Heroes take showers."

"Who?" This kid was not going to be fooled.

"Aquaman."

"Aquaman is always in the water. He doesn't need a shower."

"OK, well Aquaman probably prefers baths anyways, but Superman takes showers."

"Superman?"

I was rolling now! "Yes, Superman. He has to clean off all the bugs that get all over him while he's flying around."

"Oh. Who else?"

I could see this kid was going to need further proof before he was convinced.

"Batman. Batman takes a shower. And Spiderman. He gets all the dirt and grime from the buildings on him and he gets bugs on him too from swinging around the city."

"What about the Green Lantern?"

"Sure. The Green Lantern takes showers too."

"Does he get dirty?"

"He takes showers simply because he likes them. Some people like taking showers."

I could see Little Dude pondering what he had just learned. It seemed to have convinced him. As he was stepping into the shower he finally said, "But Aquaman doesn't take showers. He likes baths."

My 4-year-old the Dentist

One of the things I really enjoy about my son's daycare/preschool is that they often bring in what I call "guest teachers" at least once a month. There's the library lady who reads new and exciting books, the music man who teaches them new fun songs, and the dental hygienist who makes sure they're brushing and flossing right.
Yes... flossing.

So my boy came home from school the other day with his dental "prize package." It was the same kind of bag he gets from the dentist twice a year. You know what I'm talking about... the one containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, a sticker, and that little sample of floss that just never seems to make it very far.

Usually, the floss samples get tossed into the travel items where they can be properly ignored until needed for some travel emergency like reattaching a button, hanging a wet swimsuit to dry, or tying a package together. It's not that I don't floss, but I'll admit that I don't floss every day.

But my precious boy with the beautiful, white smile was determined to use his floss.

That night, while getting ready for bed he informed me that he had to floss. And then with all the confidence of a well-trained and experienced dental hygienist, he proceeded to lecture me on the right way to floss.

"Mommy, you have to floss every day. But only once a day. You should floss at night."

"Oh, thank you for letting me know."

"And Mommy, you have to floss before you brush your teeth at night."

"Before?"

"Yes, before. You have to put the floss between your teeth and hug the teeth and then pull it."

Then he demonstrated the correct flossing technique that he had already become an expert at.

(By the way... he made sure I got a good picture of it. So he actually flossed several times until he was satisfied that I had taken a good picture!)

After flossing and brushing his teeth, I tucked him into bed. And then went into my bathroom and flossed!

Who says parent's always have to set the example? Sometimes it's the other way around!

The Bedside Manners of Child Nurses

Aren't mothers supposed to inherit some sort of immunibility gene when they give birth? Wasn't there something in the contract about never getting sick again, if only to attend to the needs of your family while they are sick? Isn't motherhood supposed to give you a super-strength immune system?

When I was growing up, it seemed like my mom hardly ever got sick... other than seasonal allergies. There are very few times I remember her actually being ill. In fact, nobody's mom seemed to ever get sick. It was like they were in another category of their own. Some sort of super hero power kept them from getting the flu or catching cold.

So when I became a mom myself, I thought I would suddenly be blessed with an inhuman ability to ward off all disease.

Boy, was I wrong.

Within the last month I had severe allergies, a cold, and full-body hives. Luckily the hives didn't last long. But the allergies almost made my head explode on a flight back from Florida. The sinus congestion moved to my chest, and you know the rest of that story.

Mothers are expected to be sympathetic when their families are ill. But what happens when Momma doesn't feel well?

Let me tell you...

Nada.

I realized this when I had an unavoidable coughing fit and my son scolded me.

"No, mommy, don't cough into your hands. You'll cough the germs into your hands and then touch other stuff and the germs will go everywhere and get everyone sick. Cough into your elbow like this." Then he proceeded to demonstrate a fake cough into his sleeve.

I had tears in my eyes - not because I was so impressed with the preventative medical instruction I had just received from a 4-year-old, but because my throat felt like sandpaper rubbing against a cheese grater set on fire.

Immune to my pain and the fact that I was stifling another coughing fit in order to pay attention to my petite nurse, my son continued, "Or you can cough into your shirt like this." And he did exactly that.

The icing on the cake was being told by the same child nurse to immediately go wash my hands... so I don't get everyone else sick.

Wow.

A few days later, hives broke out all over my body. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as I've had before, but it was still painful. I heard my husband on the phone telling someone about my unfortunate condition and stating, "but she's a trooper. She doesn't let it bother her."

That's when I finally had my aha moment. It's not that moms don't get sick. It's that we often have no choice but to suck it up and carry on. All those mothers I watched never get sick while I was growing up probably did have the flu or bronchitis or colds. But they had families to take care of and jobs to do so they just sucked it up and carried on.

So I'll just grab my vitamin C and box of Kleenex and fight off my own infirmities so I can be ready for when my family is stricken with illness. Because, after all... I didn't cough into my elbow!


Just a Note: To be honest, my family is usually pretty healthy. We hardly ever have to visit a doctor. And that includes me. :-)

A bug in the hand is worth two in the bush!

Yesterday morning, I was watering my potted plants on our back porch when I noticed something green fly through the air. I looked down and saw a little green grasshopper sitting in the puddle of water.

Since my son had so much fun catching giant grasshoppers in Florida, I called for him to come check out the new creature in our backyard.

When we were in Florida this summer, Papa bravely caught giant lubber grasshoppers for Little Dude to touch and hold. At first, I was a nervous Mama and screeched when I saw my child reaching a precious fingertip toward what looked to be a ferocious man-eating bug the size of a small bird. But Papa convinced me it was an important "boy thing" to do - a critical milestone in his development. So I acquiesced and let Little Dude hold, prod, poke, and chase all the grasshoppers Papa could find.

In Florida, the grasshoppers were the size of his hand!

But now in our backyard, Little Dude nervously hovered over the bug and asked, "Is it going to jump?"

"Probably."

"Is it going to jump on me?"

I could tell he really wanted to touch the bug, but he was clearly nervous about it jumping on him. Just as he was about to reach down, the little thing jumped into the grass where his perfect green exoskeleton camouflaged him.

Without a pause, I did the unthinkable... I reached down and caught the dang thing!

Yep... my hands held a squirming, moving critter.

Thoughts were wildly running through my head: It's just a grasshopper, get over it. Ewww, that feels weird crawling in my hands. What if it poops on me?

Little Dude was super excited. But just as I was about to settled the grasshopper into his hands, it jumped onto the leaves of my potted plants.

We spent the next several minutes played "seek and touch" with the bug. I helped Little Dude stretch his hand across the plants to where the grasshopper was so he could touch it. It would jump to another plant and I would do the same thing over again.

He giggled and hopped around every time the grasshopper jumped to another plant. And I smiled because it was actually fun!

Yep, playing with bugs can be fun!

Eventually the bug caught on to what we were doing and hid under a planter. But it was definitely a great morning moment that I got to share with my son.

On the way to school, Little Dude and I called Papa to tell him about grasshopper. He was proud of me for catching it... because he knows that was definitely not something I wanted to do. Oh, the things we do for love!

Later, during a break at work, I wanted to see what kind of grasshopper it was, and I found out that it was...

...a cricket.

Shudder.

Grasshoppers are one thing, but knowing that I held a cricket... well, what's done it done. At least I have a face to put with the chirping!

Playdate with Destiny

It finally happened. My little boy had his first playdate!

Yesterday, we celebrated Memorial Day with Little Dude's best friend Lily and her mom at the zoo. Lily's mom and I had spent the last couple of weeks talking on the phone and letting Lily and Little Dude talk on the phone to each other (he had the biggest grin on his face during their brief phone conversations). Finally, we were able to find a day to get everyone together!

Little Dude was so excited about his playdate that he woke up at 4:30am asking, "Is the zoo open yet?" To which Daddy (I was barely conscious) replied, "No, go back to sleep." About 5:00am we heard a little voice at the edge of our bed, "Is the zoo open now?" "Not yet." Daddy was awake at this time (he's an early riser) and told our son to go ahead and lay down on our bed with me. After half hour of tiny feet messaging my spine like gentle, little jackhammers, I heard the same question: "Is the zoo open?" This went on every 15 minutes like a crazy alarm clock. "Is Lily at the zoo yet?"

Finally, we got to the zoo and waited out front for our guests to arrive. Little Dude watched the parking lot like a hawk. He inspected every car that drove through the park lot: "No, that's not Lily." He watched every kid that walked past: "Is Lily here yet?" He paced the sidewalk: "When's Lily going to get here?"

Finally, he spotted Lily. They ran to each other and hugged. It was as cute as a Disney movie!

A few days ago, we bought Little Dude red and pink Power Rangers, and he brought them to the zoo so he and Lily could play with them. (After all, their friendship started with playing Power Rangers at school!) He immediately gave the pink one to Lily. How sweet! What girl would ever want a bouquet of flowers when there are Power Ranger action figures to be had?

I was glad to finally meet Lily's mom face-to-face. I hope she liked us as much as we liked her. She's quite a few years young than I am so I was a little nervous that she would think I was too old to hang out with all day. But we had a good time chatting. Plus, it was mostly about getting our kids together.

The whole "playdate" thing is almost like co-dating with your kids. This is a whole new world of "dating" for me. (Playdates, romantic dates, couple dates, and then playdates again. Where does it end?) At least it went well. The kids had a great time.

Little Dude beckoned his friend over to the strange blue frog with a "Ribbit. Ribbit!"

The kids raced each other to different exhibits to see who could get there first. Then they tried to stay in front of each other and proclaim themselves "leader." Finally, we told them they could share and both be leaders. This led to some seriously cute hand-holding as they walked around. Lily's mom said, "Now they're really going to be BFFs at school!"

Just before they decided to be goofy, they were holding hands.

At least they have silliness in common!

Little Dude took his BFF to his favorite place in the zoo... the camel rides!

Then she took him to her favorite spot... the water park!

They stuck by each other's side from ape to zebra. And we all stayed a lot longer than we thought they would last. But alas, all good things must come to an end.

After we said our goodbyes and got in the car, a little voice in the backseat said, "I miss Lily." Then he drifted off to sleep.

Perfect playdate!

Sisterly Love

My sister moved back to town last year and we love that we live in the same city now. We see each other at least once a week (usually more). Our boys love each other. (Little Dude calls his cuz "my best friend cousin.") And we call each other almost every day.

This is all strange if you consider that when we lived in different states we hardly spoke to each other at all. Pretty much all our updates were funneled through our Mom. And if you knew us when we were kids, you are probably shocked right now.

Our relationship was always extreme. We either were best friends or bitter enemies - either drove our mom nuts. And when I moved to LA after college, we hardly talked. Mom really kept our relationship going by sending her (and a friend) to visit me during their spring breaks. It wasn't just the miles that kept our relationship distant.

But something happened before my li'l sis moved back. She got pregnant and had a kid. And although we were states apart from each other, it bonded us. She actually called me for advice. I actually flew out there to visit her and her newborn. Somehow, motherhood bonded us in a way that nothing else could.

When I found out that my sis was moving back, I was excited. But I was a little nervous too. Would our relationship go back to the way it was before? Would all that sibling rivalry come back?

Luckily, when she moved back, we became even closer. We talk more, we see each other more, we share more. She joined the gospel vocal group my mom and I were in. She has my family over for dinner each week. I spend much more time with her than any of my other friends.

Yep, I said other friends... meaning I consider her to be one.

In fact, last night she showed me once again how much she loves me. She's been encouraging (that's the nice way of saying "pushing") me to join her step-aerobics class. I called her midday to tell her I was going to try it after work. She wasn't sure she could, or would, go with me because she had already been to the same class earlier that day. However, who showed up for the class and even showed me some of the instructor's favorite moves before class started? That's right! My sister!

Nothing says love quite like sacrificing yourself at the gym!

Love ya, sis!

Mother's Day Mayhem

Today, I really wanted to write about how wonderfully perfect my Mother's Day was. I wanted to say that it was relaxing and my child was a perfect angel and everything was beautiful. And I could say that. How would you know? But that's not what happened. My Mother's Day was much more memorable! This Mother's Day will always be remembered as the one with nudity at church!

After the perfect Friday morning Mommy-and-Me breakfast at Little Dude's school, I had high expectations for the rest of the weekend. Apparently, I should never set expectations any taller than my child.

To start, let me give you a brief review of the weekend. When I picked up my little angel from school on Friday, he threw a massive tantrum. He didn't want to leave and screamed all the way down the hall. Once outside, he proceeded to have a 30-minute meltdown while doing everything physically possible to keep from getting into the car. Precious Hubby called to find out what was taking so long, and after hearing the commotion, was ready to come to my rescue. But somehow I managed to reform the wild creature before me into a humanlike being and strap him into the carseat. Luckily, the rest of the evening was much better, although my self-confidence as a mother was completely shot.

Saturday, we went to the zoo where I picked up a sunburn. Ouch! And later at home I felt uggy because I didn't drink enough water. (I wanted to make sure my kid had enough to drink, so I just sipped.) Then Hubby sent me to the store to buy something to grill at a BYOM BBQ that night. But Hubby didn't like what I picked out so I made sandwiches before we loaded up our grill to take to the BBQ. (Yes, we grilled for everyone else.) Back at home, I helped Hubby move the grill back into the backyard and somehow managed to filled my wrist with a hundred tiny splinters. My son watched me tweeze out most of the splinters and then he kissed it to make it feel better. After the boys went to bed, I stayed up to do some laundry and clean before my mother-in-law came over the next day.

So Sunday morning, I woke up sunburned, sore, splintered, and tired. But it was Mother's Day and I was looking forward to it.

The day started well. Hubby made waffles for our son and eggs and toast for me. Nice! I opened my cards (Little Dude personally picked out the one he gave me) and the little guy gave me a great big hug! We all got ready for church and headed out as one big happy family.

On the way to church, Hubby stopped to get us all drinks. Red Bull for him, orange juice for me, and apple juice for Little Dude. Just before we got to church, Little Dude wanted a drink. So we opened the juice and Big Dude reached back to hand it off to Little Dude. Suddenly, I felt something wet rolling down the back of my hair and my shirt. Big Dude had unfortunately hit the ceiling with the bottle of juice spilling some on me and my seat.

Did I mention that I had to sing a special in church and had to stand up in front of everyone?

OK. The juice wasn't really too big of a deal. After all, it was the back of my hair, and most people wouldn't really notice. After band practice, I brushed out the crunchy parts and everything looked fine. Plus, who doesn't enjoy smelling like apples?

So I headed off to Bible study where I found my guys. Hubby greeted me with, "Since it's Mother's Day, you can take him [Little Dude] to class. And make sure he goes to the bathroom." No problem. I headed off with Little Dude and we stopped at the toddler bathroom, which is a small lavatory just a few feet outside our Bible study door.

Here's where things went haywire. I was standing in the bathroom with my son who had his pants around his ankles and was pitching a fit. He didn't want to pee. And he didn't want to pull up his pants. He didn't want to calm down. He didn't want me to pull up his pants for him. I tried every trick I could think of. Then I started thinking that my husband must have set me up. Seriously! When he said, "Make sure he goes to the bathroom," I thought that meant Little Dude hadn't peed yet and needed to. But I realized that was not going to happen.

The screaming started to get louder and I was losing patience. Actually I'm pretty sure I lost my patience earlier that weekend. I told Little Dude to stay in the bathroom while I marched back up to my dear precious Hubby and said, "It's Mother's Day. YOU deal with him!" Clearly, he didn't hear me.

So I grabbed all my stuff (I wasn't going to stay in class) and headed back to the toddler bathroom. As I turned, I saw that my son had waddled into class crying. He still had his pants around his ankles and was naked from the waist down. (My husband later told me, "I was pretty embarrassed to see my son's pen** in the middle of Sunday school.")

I didn't even turn to see if anyone saw. I just grabbed his arm, pulled him into the bathroom and tried to get him to calm down and pull up his pants. When Big Dude knocked on the door, I let him in and I walked out.

I needed to calm down, so I went to the car for a quick pity party. Deep breath. 1...2...3...4...5... That was when I realized how much I missed my mom. A few months ago, she moved to the other side of the country. Having her three time zones away was really hard to get used to. We sang in a gospel vocal group together for the last several years and usually had plenty of events to sing at around Mother's Day. But this year, I was pretty lonely without her. So after crying on the phone to her, I sucked up just enough dignity to be able to go back inside... where I proceeded to spill my orange juice down the front of my hair and shirt.

Eau de apples and oranges. Who doesn't want to smell like fruit salad?

After cleaning myself off, wiping my tears away, and having heartfelt chats with a couple friends, I realized that it's ok to miss my mom. And it's ok to have a bad day now and then... even if that day is on Mother's Day.

The day went on. I survived. My in-laws came over after church and we had a good time. And that night I received a totally awesome Mother's Day gift from my son. He once again become my sweet angel as he held my head between his little hands and said, "I want to give you kisses everywhere." He then gave me dozens of kisses all over my face and hands.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Sweetie."