just for the record

I am now somewhat obligated to post on our My Growing Season blog so lately the two blogs have had duplicate entries.  I will post some more personal entries here which I wouldn't post there.

Who invented hair, anyway?

Aren't there so many things about motherhood that you never knew or even suspected before you signed up for the program? Like how you have about 1 1/2 minutes to shower and get ready for the day before an army is dispatched to see why mom hasn't responded to the demand to COME HERE NOW AND HOOK MY WAGON BACK ON MY TRACTOR . Have you found that as you meander down motherhood lane your acceptance and tolerance levels get to an all time low even though you swore you would NEVER do so before actually being in the situation? Yes, I'm famous for that. I will NEVER [fill in the blank] and then you do it to an even worse degree than you could possibly ever imagine. Preparing myself for the day and doing my hair falls into that will NEVER let things slide category. Yet here I sit, not even showering today because I saw a chance to get out early before the kids were awake and I'm willing to forego the primping to get home earlier tonight and have more time with them. Aside from my sleeping hours, I feel like I've allocated more time to hair do's than any other waking activity. Ok, maybe that's a little stretch but definitely more true when I was a teenager and before I was old and married. It's all I can do some days to provide clean underwear and dinner let alone shampoo, condition, add product, blow dry, add more product, get out straight iron. . . And we shouldn't even discuss the countless times that I've now been spotted at the grocery store when I was positive I wouldn't run into anyone I knew because I was going in the off-hours (but then doesn't every other mother from the neighborhood?) Let's not go any deeper because it hurts too much and suffice it to say I probably had spit up on me too.

Enter my sweet little C. Get a load of that hair. Even at 18 months the poor little dear is already having "do" issues. When she gets up in the morning she channels the cutest bride of Frankenstein that you ever did see. Despite what some people think, the grass is not greener on the other side. Curly hair is no picnic. I know. I deal with it every day. If we have no one we need to impress there are days I just don't bother even attempting to do C or S's hair. (They both have the curly-q's which is an inheritance present from their father and me.) The hair is usually sticking up, out, and starting to grow all manner of dreadlocks complete with last night's leftovers tucked deep inside.

When I was a little girl I remember crying and fussing as my mom attempted to brush through my rat's nest. Then she discovered this lovely new product called No More Tangles which revolutionized my hair brushing experience. Imagine my delight when I came across my old friend at Fresh Market. I am so thrilled that this product has stood the test of forty years! That is the sign of a great invention. (My six year old gets a kick out of asking if such-and-such was around when I was a little girl--kind of like I used to be amazed that my parents were around for the first TV) Little C no longer is growing dreadlocks and although she is still not a fan of the brush, we're on the right path. No More Tangles makes her little curls as tight as the best perm. Does anyone get perms anymore? I don't know. I'm just thrilled because I can now have my kids looking respectable, even if I don't. That's part of the motherhood sacrificial pact. Perhaps I should try a little No More Tangles for myself. If it worked then, why wouldn't it work now, I ask? Maybe there is hope for me after all.

Bye, Bye Bottles!

My unsolicited mothering advice for the day is this: listen to your mother when she tells you that your child (3 1/2) needs to be off the bottle (and sleep in his own bed but that's another story).

Yes, Spencer (age 3 1/2) has been on the bottle since birth. It's now a security thing and honestly, he used it as a prop for lack of eating. I should have put the hammer down more than two years ago but I've been tired and lazy--truth be told--and I wasn't up for the bottle battle. It takes a lot of fortitude to engage in change.  I've been building my courage arsenal for a few months but lying in wait for the perfect moment to pounce. I figured that it was ideal timing to let Santa take the heat. So for the weeks leading up to Christmas, I prepped S by telling him that Santa needed bottles for babies who did not have any. After the mice were done stirring on Christmas Eve, I placed the bottles in a Walmart bag and tucked them out of site on a garage shelf. I'm not sure why I fizzled out before making it the whole way to the garbage can. Perhaps I needed to allow myself an out in case things got really ugly.

Like clockwork, S awoke in the night and demanded his big bottle with the top. He added the "with top" instruction after we became really low on nipples since he bit holes in the majority. I then explained, as enthusiastically as possible at 3:00 a.m., that Santa had come and left him presents but had taken the bottles for the babies. Weeping, wailing, and the like. He despised Santa and was NOT interested in the new shiny red sippy cup left in his stocking. Finally, I coaxed him downstairs to see the presents and the wave of Santa hatred was soon replaced with sheer glee and professed love for a man none of us have ever met. He was happy to return to bed with a sippy and await the morning thrill.

Unfortunately the delight seemed to fade on Christmas night as he once again demanded his security. This time I was instructed to drive to the North Pole to retrieve his bottles. The next night I was told to drive all over the world to find the bottles. And so went the nightly roller coaster. We are still not out of the woods but it's getting ever so slightly more manageable. Watching him deal with the withdraw I think it's more of a control thing than it is the liquid inside. So what does that mean . . . that I've been "had" for the last two years by honoring his demands? Probably. And so it goes, growth is messy.

On the upside, Caroline also had her bottles donated to Santa's cause and hasn't missed a beat. At least I got it down on the last one.