Is It a Condition or Boy-Syndrome?

I'm not sure if it's because my first child was a girl that perhaps I grew a deluded idea of what children were like, but now, 7 years later, I'm still flabbergasted daily by my son and his need for constant reminders. It's to the point that I'm wondering if there's an underlying medical condition going on in which a memory muncher gobbles up the info the moment he says, "Okay, Mom!" and then munch, crunch, swallow the info is quickly disposed of.

We decided on Monday that Ayden, the 7-yr-old in question, does not need to play Wii before school in the mornings, due to the reaction he has when it's time to shut it off. I worry about gaming addiction and I'm pretty sure he's a prime candidate for it. He gets very emotional about his gaming time and could probably play - literally - all day, foregoing food and drink. I have woken up at 5:30 a.m. to him already up and playing, which is concerning considering that he takes after his dad and I generally have to drag him out of bed.

That being said, and getting back to my original topic, the first words out of his mouth on Tuesday were, "Can I play Wii this morning?" His bright blue eyes hopeful until I answered and popped his dreams, his eyes filling instantly with tears. Today he tried a different tactic: "Did you mean that I couldn't play Wii yesterday morning, but that today it's okay?" Uh, no, what I said was, "You are not allowed to play Wii in the mornings before school. Period." Again with the disappointed reaction. He's been warned that he's now at risk now of losing it for an extended period of time...like until next summer.

So that's one example of his forgetfulness, but what really throws me for a loop is the, "Ayden, go wash your breakfast off your face," and off he runs to accomplish this goal. Minutes later I discover that his face is just as dirty as it was before he ran off. "Ayden, why didn't you wash your face?" A quick look of startled remembrance occurs and off he runs again. Really? You forgot in your run to the bathroom the very reason why you were running there? Look, I might end up looking around a room totally lost and confused about why I'm in the room, but I'm 33 with 3 kids, a husband and tons of responsibility...besides this blog isn't about me.

This morning he dressed himself in camouflage pants and a lime green shirt. "Go change into shorts," I said, "you don't match." He came out wearing khaki pants, but since they matched I held my tongue because I'm very aware of how many times I correct the poor kid and I don't want to give him a complex. Yesterday he had to change his socks THREE times - first tall black ones, then tall white ones and then finally ankle socks (you know, the appropriate kind when you're wearing shorts).

This constant forgetfulness happens with putting shoes on, picking up toys, washing hands, brushing teeth, eating breakfast...just about any instructions I give him are at risk of being forgotten the moment it enters his mind. We've even loaded into the car with NO SHOES on him before and his defense is a quick shoulder shrug and a quiet, "I forgot."

This morning all the kids had a dentist appointments so they were late for school. We unloaded at the school and are walking up the sidewalk and my oldest says to Ayden, "Get your backpack!" Sure enough, his sisters each have their backpacks on but he left his in the car. Granted, I didn't tell him to get it, I figured it was kind of obvious that he would need it.

So is this just a "boy thing"? I've endured the ER visits, the extra-watchful eye to ensure he doesn't jump from the highest point of the swing set and the need for speed, but is this forgetfulness a trademark condition of boyhood or is it something I need to pay closer attention to, that perhaps it does mean that something isn't connecting in that mind of his?

Being a mom is the best job I've ever had, though I live with the certainty that I'm not qualified for this task of raising children to become self-sufficient adults. After all, if I can't properly relay to my child that he has chocolate smeared all over his face that he needs to go wash off, how can I think that one day he'll be able to drive a car, use a grill (oh my word, what a terrifying thought!!!) and raise a family of his own?

Love 'em while they'll still let you and thanks for reading!

Say Thank You (or else)

*Disclaimer: sometimes women must get things off their chest before they explode. The words spoken, while true, are often harsher than originally intended because they've been fermenting for days, months, weeks, heck, even years.

Husbands. Oh, yes, husbands.

I don't believe in whining and complaining with a bunch of girlfriends about my husband, because each of us will leave with our teeth bared and a list of "he doesn't do this OR that," with which we hunt our husbands down and use like a whip. However, there are times when I must ascertain that I am not alone with my feelings and that they are also completely normal.

I want to do all the nice things for my family - cook, clean, wash, fold, plan, organize, file - however when it becomes an expectation, I grow cold. I mean frigidly cold. First off, I don't get paid for this job. My currency is appreciation and thank-you's and when that bank runs dry I get nothing and I think, "Why the heck am I going through all this trouble??"

• I could live for a month off cereal and sandwiches. I wonder how my family would feel about that?

• I could probably splurge and buy enough paper plates, bowls and disposable silverware to last me for a month. Without buying dishwasher detergent, it would be a cost-wash.

• I wonder what it's like just to wash and fold my own clothes?

• Why file papers? I can just shred them and be done with it.

• Who needs a clean toilet if we never have company?

The threats are fun to come up with, but I rarely follow through with any of them. The one time I did, I told my husband that if he couldn't at least put away the clothes that I sorted, washed, dried and folded then I would stop folding them. The deal was if the clothes were still in a folded pile by the next time I did laundry, his clean clothes would be left in the basket. I only had to do it twice before he realized I wasn't kidding, but it was so hard to actually follow through on. The teenager-type punishment felt spiteful. Besides, the lesson didn't last long.

It's difficult when your husband's a great guy who's easy to love. He works hard, provides well, wrestles with the kids, and surprises you with his generosity, but why can't he put forth the little extra effort to show that he really appreciates the work you do on the home front? I just don't get it. The lack of direct appreciation makes me feel like a servant who does a bad job.

Is this just a guy thing or have I enabled my man to get off so easily? I don't have the cut throat personalities of some ladies I know whose husbands' wouldn't even consider not putting in their fair share of the workload. I think it comes down to personality. I have a quirk of either we get along all the way or we don't get along at all. I can't be a little mad at somebody and still want to talk to them. I'm all or none. I don't know what created the personality glitch, but I've had it for as long as I can remember. So when I'm mad at my husband he will usually have no clue what he's done, only that he's getting the full-on silent treatment (remember, won't talk if I'm mad) and then I finally get over it and everything's fine again (all or none.) It's unfair to both of us really.

My reality has been coming in little comments from my 6-year-old son. A couple months ago he said to his dad, "Girls cook and clean for us and we work outside." Fury, fury, red alert!!! That's because that is what he sees! Then last night, my little boy said, "Mom, you're kind of like our waitress." That did it. For my son to see me in that role made me see stars. I had just finished making a rather elaborate, involved meal that I knew I would have to clean up solo (husband working night shift) and as soon as I was done in the kitchen, I fired an unloading email off to my husband. The poor guy.

I woke up to a spotless kitchen and the small, ever present pile of folded clothes were put away too. Did this make me feel better? No!! Why? Because I had to ask to get it. It's only the result of me being pissed off enough to say something. Men, look around your house and do something. Even if it's small, your wife will notice. If she doesn't comment on it - she still notices! Think about all the chores she does around your house and ask yourself, "Do I thank her for each and every time she sweeps/cooks/folds/wipes??" The answer, most assuredly, will be "NO," so don't do what all wives hate and point out your grand accomplishment and expect a standing ovation.

Men and women will forever be different, as we are chemically, physically, emotionally, and mentally different. However, we must learn to co-exist (especially if we're married!) and I don't believe co-existing means one of us learns to "put up with" doing the majority.

To my darling husband, I love you so.

The Doctor Says So

Dr. Sarda isn't much bigger than my kids. She has bright blue eyes, quick wit and a no-nonsense way about her. I think she comes to my shoulder. Maybe.

Shaylah's asthma has been acting up and I couldn't get her wheezing until control, so I had to go in and get her some steroids on Monday. Me and the three kids packed up and headed to base. I let them pick their toys - the two youngest chose a coloring book and colors, Shaylah opted for her DS.

I didn't even get a chance to complete my paperwork before they called us back. The kids groaned as I pulled them away from SpongeBob and within minutes we were in the patient room with the doctor. Not bad, eh?

Then it started. Vanessa and Ayden sat in two chairs next to each other. Or we supposed to sit. Vanessa began taking her shoes off and jumping up on the table with Shaylah. I would get on her to get back to the chair and put her shoes back on. I told them both to color in their books, but the toys were left abandoned on the floor. I was trying to answer the doctors questions, but soon both Ayden and Vanessa had their shoes off and were jumping in the middle of the room. I told them firmly to go sit back down; ignored once again. Or I shouldn't say ignored, they listen as I watched, but the second my attention drifted back to the doctor, they did what they wanted to do - jumping around, being nosy, giggling, etc.

It infuriates me when my kids don't listen. It's a horrible reflection on my parenting and shows an inability to control my charges. The doctor even commented, "You look like a mom who's in the middle of summer vacation with her kids." I know she didn't say it to be nasty, but it hurt. I want to enjoy my kids, but how in the world do you enjoy disobedient little monkeys?

Then, as our ability to talk and listen got shorter and shorter, she turned to my two youngest and said, "Get your shoes on and sit down now! I can't talk to your mom when she's distracted by you, because then it distracts me. Now sit there quietly and count to 200 in your head. We'll be down soon." My kids immediately obeyed, I mumbled a thanks and we finished our conversation.

The minute we left my face began burning as the humiliation rose up. Did a doctor truly have to get control of my children for me?? Why don't my kids listen to me? I set my jaw and said, "You're both getting spankings when we get home and then I'm telling your dad about what happened and I hope he spanks you again."

We had three other sit-and-wait excursions that followed (pharmacy, lab, barber shop) and my kids were little angels in the waiting rooms, sitting silently in their chairs in hopes that the Fanny Whacker would not be removed from it's place on the wall.

Their silent obedience did not work.

Foggy Instructions

Every once in a while I am hit with the realization that I don't explain enough to my kids. I have a few friends who flourish in step-by-step instructions, but it's not a natural reaction for me and I have to remind myself to do so. For instance, telling my kids to simply "get ready," is usually not enough. I will find them with morning breath, tangled hair and barefooted laying on the floor watching Noggin. Beyond exchanging their pj's for daytime clothes, nothing else has been done.

Twice in the last month, I have found my 8-yr-old daughter dressed for a play-date in a floor length, crushed velvet skirt with a matching long-sleeved shirt. Really? Must I reiterate what a play-date is to her? Apparently so, and not just once, but twice!

I am convinced that my 5-yr-old son changes his underwear multiple times a day. At folding time, I always have an enormous pile of his underwear, in comparison to the rest of the family. So either we aren't changing often enough, or he changes them for breakfast, lunch and maybe even after dinner. I have a laundry basket brimming with Scooby-Doo, Cars, and Transformers underwear sitting in my room at the foot of my bed next to an oscillating fan. This morning as I dried my hair, he came into my bathroom stark naked and complaining that, "I don't have any underwear."

"It's next to the fan," I said, seeing the fan easily from where I stood. I didn't see him grab any, so I hollered again, thinking he must not have heard me. He wandered back minutes later still naked. I pointed to the basket, "See, Ayden, it's next to the fan."

"Oh, that fan. I thought it was the other fan."

I was startled by his response. "The one on the ceiling?"

He nodded, grabbed his drawers and was gone. I stared after him, flabbergasted that my child thought I would direct him to a laundry basket sitting next to a ceiling fan.

Tonight the kids and I we went for a short walk after dinner. About 8 months ago we were notified that one of our closer neighbors was convicted of a sex crime against a minor and, in turn, we warned the children about him. We did our best to explain that he did a bad thing to a child, called molestation, which is when a grown-up touches a child in their private parts. It's such a difficult crime to explain to innocent children, but I've done my best. Or so I thought.

As we walked, Ayden pointed to the house and said, "We can't go there because that man pinches kids in their private parts." I was certain I misunderstood him, but bit back a laugh because what I thought I heard was pretty darn funny. Later, when we passed by again, Ayden repeated it loud and clear. "Yup. He pinches little kids in their private parts."

Honestly, I still think it's really funny that my son's innocent mind processed the abuse in this way. And why wouldn't he? In a child's mind, how else could a grown man possibly hurt a kids' private parts besides pinching them? Still, I know I need to explain further to my son and talk about the "ick" factor.

One story that sticks clearly in my mind is one my mom shared about her friend. When her friend was twelve, she was in a new foster home and her foster mom criticized her for not washing herself properly. She then realized that this poor child had never been shown how to wash her hair and body, nor how to put on deodorant and use proper hygiene. She had to teach this prepubescent child the right way to clean herself, because she had never been shown how to, just told to do it.

From how to get dressed, where to find things, how to wash your body, to serious warnings about molestation, kids need clear explanations in order to learn. I have to constantly remind myself that they are little and are dependent on me to teach them the basics and build from there. As I carried my babies in my womb, never did I consider some of the bizarre teachings I would have to give and I have this sinking suspicion that I haven't even scratched the surface yet. Good luck to all you, Mommy's. We are in this thing together!!

Taking My First Step

Hello world. I've been considering blogging for way too long without taking any action. It's similar to how I feel about college. I keep thinking it's a good idea, yet I have multiple reasons why I haven't signed up yet (though I did speak to a counselor and thought I was going to barf as butterflies took flight in my gut - why is school so scary?)

I named my blog Life's Not a Fairytale because I think it adequately sums up how I felt when a) I got married, b) when I had my children and c) now, as I'm raising my children. The media really does humanity a disservice by painting on the picture of "happily ever after" images, both with a spouse and with children. Don't misquote me please, I love my family. Absolutely, positively think they're fabulous, but they certainly surprised me when we all did not mesh the way I assumed we would.

So that you have all the info, I am a 32-year-old, stay-at-home mother of 3 children (ages 8, 5, and 4) and I have been married for 13 years to a military man. Life may not be a fairytale, but I assure you that it's more exciting. Who wants to be so certain of their future anyway?

I hope you enjoy my future blogs.