A Mother's Anxiety

As you all know, W. was born with a heart defect. At only five days old, he needed to undergo a heart operation.

It was a life changing experience for me.

We spent two weeks in the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. We searched the faces of the doctors and nurses for answers. Did our baby have a future? As we listened to machines beep, we watched our baby fight for his life.

And he did just that. He battled through it like a heavy weight champ.

We went home, only to return two weeks later. He had developed an infection in the wound. He needed to be opened back up.

When I left CHOP the first time, I did so thinking (praying?) that I would never return. Yet, there I was again.

From that point on, for a very long time, if W. so much as sniffled, I would begin to panic. What's wrong? Is he okay? Do we have to go back there?!

It was irrational thinking, I know. But with time and biannual checkups, my worries faded.

He is now almost twelve years old and we've never been back. We are truly blessed, as W. is living a healthy life.

He is so healthy that he has decided to join the track team at school. Of course, due to his medical history, the school physician needs clearance from W.'s cardiologist, Dr. A.

Dr. A. has strongly recommended that W. take some tests to permanently clear him for all sports in school. An MRI and a Nuclear Stress Test were ordered to be performed at CHOP. He'll most likely need anesthesia for the MRI. He'll most definitely need IV's for both.

I could picture the ICU in my mind. I could hear the beeps of the machines. I could smell the hand soap that I used so many times that my hands became raw.

The familiar knot returned to my chest.

As I type this, Mr. Schmitty and W. are on their way to Philadelphia. I needed to stay here to care for my other two children.

It is killing me not to be there. But I'm thinking, they are probably better off without me.

I Wonder If Our Insurance Will Cover That

My boys can be somewhat obsessive at times.

When their minds lock on to something, you'd better go run and hide because they are going to drive you completely batty.

They will talk incessantly about it. They will ask over and over and over again if they can have it, do it, see it, touch it, eat it, buy it, or use it.

It's enough to drive me to drink. Not that I need an excuse for that.

A friend of W.'s recently got glasses. All of a sudden, my boys went blind. They begged and pleaded for me to take them to get glasses, "RIGHT AWAY!"

T. feigned headaches. W. began squinting at the television.

"Your eyes are totally fine!" I informed them. "T., you just had yours checked at the pediatrician. And didn't you, W., just have the school nurse perform eye exams?"

They looked at each other and then back to me, in unison they whined, "Moooommmm! Our eyes are bad now!"

I rolled mine and walked away.

For the next three days they pestered me. "Did you make us appointments with the eye doctor yet?" and "When are we going to get our glasses?"

W. must have gotten tired of me telling him that the doctor was out of the country because on the fourth day, the school nurse called.

"Hi, Mrs. Schmitty? I have W. here. He's saying that he's having problems seeing the board in class and that he's been having headaches."

Oooooohhhh, that little booger!

I asked the nurse if they had just recently given the eye exams. She told me they had and he had done fine.

Ummmm hmmmm.

I explained the situation to her and asked her to send his ass him back to class and that I would beat speak to him when he got home.

About thirty minutes after I hung up with the nurse, the phone rang again. I saw the school's number on the caller id.

"Mrs. Schmitty? I just gave W. another eye exam. I'm going to send home a letter that recommends he be examined by his doctor. His vision is 20/50 in both eyes."

I burst out laughing.

"Thank you, I'll take care of everything."

Upon arriving home, W. handed me the letter from the nurse. "Did you make my appointment?"

"Don't worry honey, I'll handle it."

It's been two weeks since I received the nurses recommendation letter. Both boys have moved on to obsessing about the new flavor of gum they want to try. Their headaches are gone. The squinting has stopped.

At dinner last night I said to W., "Wow! It was truly amazing how you read that small print on the television last night! I guess your eyesight has been restored! It's a miracle!"

He grinned his special, I can't lie to mom because she knows me too well grin.

"W., I am going to make an appointment for you with a doctor."

"You are?" He questioned.

"Sure, you need to go see a proctologist to get an enema because you are full of poop!"

They Can't Possibly Make A Display Case Large Enough

Anyone with children knows the importance of teaching about "stranger danger" and "improper touching".

We try not to scare our offspring too much, though, we basically tell them that there are monsters lurking around every corner of the playground.

We quiz them on what they should do in certain situations. We reinforce that NO one should touch the body parts that would be covered by a bathing suit.

We do tell them that there are only a few exceptions. We tell them it's okay for mommy and daddy to help them bathe. And we explain that it may be necessary for their pediatrician to touch them during an examination, but that's okay too, and we will be right there with them to keep them safe.

As parents and protectors of the young, we strive to cover all of our bases.

But sometimes you might do too good of a job. And in doing so, you might forget to pass along some eensy winsy bit of information.

W. came home from school on Monday a little later than usual. He had taken the late bus home after signing up for spring sports. He is in 6th grade now and can finally have a crack at something new and exciting. He wants to be a track star.

The day before, I had completed the necessary health forms for the school nurse. The students were to have their physicals after school, which would be performed by the school physician.

Upon W.'s arrival home, I asked him how everything had gone. His expression suddenly changed to a scowl and he said, "Oh, greeeeeat!"

I looked at him, quite puzzled.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Um...you forgot to tell me that the doctor was going to make me....um...cough!"

Oh shit.

I immediately imagined the scenario. The doctor walks in, snaps a rubber glove on his hand, tells my 11 year old to drop his drawers, grabs his junk, and tells him to cough. The look on my son's face must have been priceless.

I'm just so grateful that he didn't slug him.

I bit my lip and tried not to giggle, "W.! I am sooooo sorry!"

He smirked, "I was like, whaaaaaat?!"

I laughed and quickly turned on Mr. Schmitty, "This is your fault! You should have told the poor boy. I mean I'm not equipped with those parts, how would I think to tell him?!"

Pass the buck, I always say.

So, to Mr. Schmitty, I present you with this Parent of the Year Award!

For Sale: Two Boys

The boys have been driving me crazy lately.

I'm sure it's their age. I'm sure it's this stage of their development. But seriously? Military school has been in the forefront of my mind these days. Either that or I'm auctioning them off on Ebay.

W. has been having focusing issues. Again. His homework that should take an hour, is taking HOURS. His grades are all over the place. We've crawled up his ass again, so we are more aware of when he has tests. We study, study, study with him and yet, though he seems to know the material, he'll still sometimes come home with a low grade. And then the next time, he'll ace it.

It's confusing the hell out of me.

T. has been going through a rebellious, obnoxious, whiny, "I hate you" stage. Quite honestly, I believe that the child that has always been my easiest, has been abducted by aliens.

And the roughhousing! Oy!

That is ALL they do. It is constant. And without fail, T. will get hurt. He engages in it, laughing away, and within minutes, the crying starts.

There is a four and a half year age difference and never mind the fact that W. doesn't always know how to stop the wheels in motion. Sometimes he doesn't get when enough is enough.

Please someone tell me that they are going to grow out of this. Tell me this too shall pass.

Mama needs a cocktail.

Like A Scene From A Cartoon

Back in September, I wrote about W. and his studying, or lack thereof. I took some of your advice and backed off. Because as much as my controlling ways fought me, I know, deep down, that I must let him take control of his own school work.

If I didn't he'd never get through it.

So, reluctantly I took a backseat. I still question him to make sure his homework is done. I still ask if he has any quizzes or tests coming up that he needs to study for. But I let him be responsible for it all.

It's tough.

I started to see his grades falter. He still had passing grades for the most part, but I did see a few that were not quite up to par. I was given papers to sign and return. The teacher wanted proof that I knew of the substandard grade.

I told W. he needed to get a grip and take his work more seriously. I explained that the year would get harder, not easier. He needed to study for his tests. And better yet, he needed to KNOW when those tests were being given.

Apparently, THAT was a problem.

I became aware of THAT when I went through his papers and found a Science quiz that he never told me he had coming up.

Did you ever see the Spongebob episode entitled "No Free Rides"? Here's a clip:



Now, watch the episode again and imagine W. as Spongebob and Mrs. Puff as his Science teacher. Next replace Spongebob's boating test with W.'s quiz. And finally instead of a 6, think of a 4, as in 4%.

Yes, my son got a 4% on a quiz. How is that even possible?

The Older Woman

"Mom, J. and I met two girls today. They want to be our girlfriends!" W. informed me.

I smiled and asked, "Oh really? What are their names?"

"I don't know.....but they are 7th graders!!" He gushed.

Ah. Older women.

I figured he'd probably never see these girls again. And if they did cross paths in school, I was pretty sure he'd be ignored. I mean, he's ONLY in 6th grade and those girls are practically teenagers!

Heh.

A few days later, I got the dreaded phone call from the nurse's office. Ever since the media freaked America out with news of the Swine Flu, I've been waiting for the shoe to drop in the Schmitty household.

"Mrs. Schmitty, I've got W. here and he isn't feeling well...blah, blah, blah." I heard the nurse say as my mind drifted off into thoughts of vomit, fevers, and quarantine.

"I'll be right there."

The nurse's office was packed to the rafters. There were children EVERYWHERE. I motioned for W. to come along and noticed that he had a ginormous, shit-eating grin on his face. I also noticed there was a blond-haired girl, sitting in a chair, with a similar expression.

As we walked into the hallway, I said, "Who is that?"

"The girl I told you about, the one I met this weekend!"

So begins my son's wooing of this girl, whose name, unfortunately sounds exactly like that of a stripper.

He has "friended" her on Facebook; an account he has only used, thus far, to play Bejeweled Blitz. He also, and I quote, "Sees her EVERY.SINGLE.MORNING!"

"Have you spoken to her yet?" I asked, quite amused at how smitten he is with her.

"No."

"Has she spoken to you?"

"No."

"Do you just ignore each other?"

"No. we just smile at each other!"

That's it baby, take your time.

PG Should Stand For "PLEASE GETMEOUTTAHERE"!

My oldest son, W., has gotten hooked on reruns of the television show Malcolm In The Middle. I had never seen the show before and only knew that it was a comedy. The IMDb (Internet Movie Database) lists it's plot as: "A gifted young teen tries to survive with his dimwitted, dysfunctional family".

I really had no idea that there was a sitcom based on our family. I might as well scrap that script. Heh.

Okay, back to my story. So, W. has been using the DVR to record his new favorite show. He watches episodes every chance he gets. He asked me to sit with him a few times and I must say, I do find it pretty funny. But I'm sure you're not surprised, as I do have the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy.

The mom on the show, Lois, is my hero. The way she whips those boys into shape; I find her inspiring. And as I take notes on ways to torment my own offspring, I can see the wheels turning in their heads. They too are mentally recording new ways to torture me as they watch the Wilkerson boys wreak havoc.

It's family fun for all!

Now, this show is rated PG. A few TV appropriate cuss words are randomly thrown out. I think this is one of the appealing factors for my son. At his age, cuss words rule! There is also some sexual innuendo at times. Nothing too risqué, mostly parental kissing and such. Most of it just disgusts my boys, which in turn, adds to my amusement.

Last night we were watching an episode which involved Malcom's nasty, evil grandmother. The family was rushing grandma out the door, on the way to the airport, after an apparently LONG visit. She slipped on a leaf and fell. The old bitty then hired a lawyer so she could sue her own daughter. In the same day, Lois finds out she is pregnant again and screams, "WE CAN'T EVEN AFFORD THE ONES WE HAVE!!"

Lois approaches her mother, convinced her mom will do the right thing, and drop the lawsuit. She tells her she is having another child and that they can barely get by as it is. The grandmother agrees that this new development changes everything.

"You should settle!" She exclaims.

"WHAT?!!" Lois cries.

"It's not my fault you can't keep your legs closed!" She shoots back.

"What does that mean?" W. inquired.

My eyes got big. I was sure that would have gone completely over his head. I looked to Mr. Schmitty. The expression on his face told me that he'd be absolutely no help.

I opened my mouth to say, well, I have no idea what. I kind of just stammered.

"Mom, tell me! What does settle mean?"

I practically fell off my chair laughing!!!

Kleptomania Is Not Necessarily Hereditary

When I was about ten or eleven years old, I got caught shoplifting. I know, I KNOW, I hear your gasps.

My parents were not the type to buy something for you, "Just Because". Unless it was your birthday or Christmas, you didn't even THINK to ask my dad for an item in a store. You kept your mouth shut.

One day, there I was, browsing the make-up counter at JCPenney, when a shiny, pink lip gloss caught my eye. I had no money. I knew pops wouldn't spring for it. And I really, really NEEDED it. What was a preteen girl to do?

I looked around, I'm sure in a completely obvious fashion, and cupped that lovely tube of beauty in my hand. It fit perfectly and it didn't even look like I had anything in my hand!!

Then I did what any normal girl would do, I waltzed out of the store with my grandma, brother, sister, and parents acting as though I didn't have a care in the world.

Can you say, "STOOOOOOOPID?!!"

You should have seen the look on my grandma's face when a security guard grabbed my arm and then hers. "Ma'am is the child with you?!"

Long story short, I was in BIIIIIG trouble.

I was reminded of this moment in my life yesterday. I took W. to Staples to drop a load of cash on some school supplies. While I was waiting on the checkout line, that was about eleventy-hundred people deep, with a thousand ton shopping basket digging into my already bruising arm, he walked up with a handful of markers.

"Mom, can I get these?"

"No." I answered. I had been adding his supplies in my head and wasn't even sure if I had enough money for them. I certainly wasn't going to add nonessentials to my basket.

"PLEEEEEEASE?!" He begged.

They were the kind of markers that are in a display. The ones that are sold individually. The ones that probably cost about $4.99 EACH. I think he had about eight of them in his greedy little mitts.

"NO! Please put them back where you found them."

My mind flashed back to me at his age.

"Oh, No He'd better NOT!" I thought to myself.

I looked around the store. Half of the people from our town were walking around with their own supply lists . I stood there and imagined what kind of scene that would be! We'd have to move. Change our names........

W. came back and stood on line with me. I stared at him. My eyes bore holes in his flesh. I tried to see if he showed any signs of stress. I looked down at his pockets to see if they were bulging at all.

"Did you put them back?" I asked, almost accusingly.

"Yea."

"Where you found them?"

"Yea, mom."

I was skeptical.

As we were paying, a lady walked through the exit doors. The alarm went off because the cashier forgot to deactivate that little thingy they put on large ticket items.

I started to sweat. My thoughts raced in my head, "That's going to be us isn't it? The whole town will think I'm a bad mother!"

As we went through the exit doors, I winced.

And because I can't let anything go, I turned to W. and said, "You put those markers back, right? They aren't in your pocket or anything, RIGHT?!"

He looked at me like I was the freak that I am and said, "Yea, mom! I wouldn't do that! Besides that alarm would have gone off if I did!"

Heh.

You keep fearing that alarm, baby....FEAR IT!

A Spirited Child and The Doctor's Office

My son, W., is what you might call a "Spirited Child". I actually read a book a few years ago entitled, "Raising Your Spirited Child". It was as though the book had been specifically written about him.

Spirited children seem to be more intense in almost every area of their being. More energetic. More sensitive. More insightful. Just plain MORE.

I always say that W., will make a wonderful adult some day. But dealing with him as a child, well, it's not always easy. Actually, many times it's downright exhausting; mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Which brings us to yesterday's installment.

I decided to celebrate the kid's first half day schedule, before school lets out on Tuesday, with a trip to the Pediatrician's office. Because I'm a thoughtful, generous mom, I had made an appointment for their well-checks, as well as R.'s mandatory Kindergarten exam.

I'm so awesome.

The physicals went great, except that W. was already in panic mode about whether or not he would be receiving any shots. He asked the nurse, who had come in to take vitals, over and over again. The minute the doctor came in, he began asking. Each time he was told that the doctor needed to look over their records first.

Right before Dr. M. left the room, he informed me that all three children would be receiving vaccines.

Wonderful.

He left the room and I broke the news to W. He immediately headed for the door. As most parents of spirited children will tell you; it's important to know your child and be at least one step ahead of them. I reached the door first, knowing that before I even spoke, he'd try to make a break for it.

He flew himself into a corner and crouched down.

"I'm NOT getting shots!!!" He yelled at me.

I decided to stroke his ego. I needed him to calm down so he didn't affect T. and R., who were already showing signs of getting upset.

I told him that he had been through SO much worse as a baby. He survived an open heart surgery! A shot was nothing; a piece of cake!

It seemed to be doing the trick. He agreed to go first to get it over with.

The nurse came in and he sat on the table, all ready to go. He asked how many shots he and his siblings were going to get.

"Well, T. needs one. R., honey, you need three. And W., you will also need three."

That's when W. freaked the frack out.

He began screaming at the top of his lungs, "NO!!!!" and he bolted for the door. I tried to get him to sit and he clawed at me and told me to get away.

He completely lost his shit.

T. and R. bravely offered to get their shots done first. They wanted to show their big brother that it was okay. Bless their little hearts. They sat like brave mini-soldiers. W. watched from the safety of the floor, between the examination table and a chair.

The nurse proceeded to vaccinate the younger children. Neither of them so much as uttered, "Ouch".

Unfortunately, W. was too far gone. He had completely psyched himself out. And no matter what, this was NOT going to be easy for anyone.

So, mommy had to spring into action. I needed to sit in a chair, hold both of his arms, and wrap my legs around his. Thankfully, I have the weight factor. I was never so glad to be overweight. But holding onto an eleven year old boy, that is entirely overwrought, is no easy task.

He kicked. He flailed. He got a leg free and pushed the poor nurse out of the way by her butt. Two nurses stuck their heads in to offer their help. Obviously the entire office had heard the commotion. I got my leg around his again and shook my head.

Poor T. was on the examination table with his hands over his ears. R. was walking toward me saying, "Mommy, mommy, mommy." She looked so scared.

I felt like the world's worst mother in the world. I buried my face in the back of his neck and the nurse quickly administered the vaccinations. I released my grip.

I then lost MY shit.

I began to cry while I hugged my daughter and rubbed my middle child's back. W. had fled from my lap and was huddled in the corner. I got up to check on him and he was practically hyperventilating.

Like his brother and sister, he hadn't even said, "Ouch."

He had worked himself up into a tizzy for nothing.

Part of me was pissed. Part of me was sad that he can be so challenging. Part of me felt so badly for him. And part of me was feeling that dreaded mommy guilt, a thousand times over.

All of me, as you would expect, was grateful that it was OVER.

I'll Send In The Popcorn

Today is W.'s eleventh birthday. As he gets older, I seem to spend less and less time with him. He's been given a bit more freedom to come and go and he takes those liberties as often as possible. He is always on the go; riding bikes with this friend or playing basketball with that friend.

He is seldom home during the day, as the umbilical cord is slooooowly being stretched.

I miss hanging out with him. I sometimes feel like I'm losing my baby. So, I got an idea. When he got off the bus the other day, I asked him if he'd like for me to pick him up early from school on his birthday. His eyes lit up.

"REALLY?!" He asked excitedly.

"We could go to lunch and maybe get some ice cream to celebrate your birthday. Just you and me. I'll pick you up after I drop off the little ones to school. How does that sound?" I asked him.

"Greeeaa....wait a second. What time are you picking me up?"

"Around 1 o'clock, why? You only have gym and health."

"We can't mom. I can't miss health. We are going to see a movie."

Ahhhhh. I thought. "THE" MOVIE.

It was finally time. There had been much talk amongst the neighborhood moms. We've all been awaiting the day.

But did it have to fall on his birthday? Am I seriously being snubbed because of an overhyped sex education movie? All I wanted was a little one on one time with my oldest son on his birthday. The son that caused me to grow a few gray hairs over a decade ago; was now denying me this?

{stomps feet}

sigh.

Well, I suppose nothing brings a mother more joy than seeing their child happy, especially on their birthday. So, if he'd rather see "THE" MOVIE, so be it.

But if it's anything like "THE" MOVIE I saw in middle school, he's going to be HIGHLY disappointed.

Call Me Overprotective

But I don't care.

I find it difficult to cut the cord with my kids. I'm a self-proclaimed worrywart. I wholeheartedly admit it. I don't watch the news and I don't read the paper often; hearing about children being abducted or harmed does me in. I can't stomach it.

I try not to wig my kids out too much. I don't want them growing up into paranoid adults. But I do emphasize caution in letting them too far out of my sight. Sorry, if you don't agree, and think I'm smothering them. I'd rather my child be safe.

Lately, Mr. Schmitty and I have been stretching that cord a bit where W. is concerned. We have been letting him venture out, further than our block, on his bike. There are rules to abide by; boundaries have been discussed, he must be with a friend, and he must have his cell phone turned on.

I MUST be able to contact him.

Our cell phones are equipped with the Chaperone application. We can log on and locate him within seconds. It does a lot to ease my mind.

On Saturday he was with his friend Morgan and they were riding to and from our house, to hers, to the local park. About mid-afternoon, I gave him a call to see what he was up to and to tell him what time to be home for dinner. His phone went right to voicemail. I logged on to the GPS system and was told it was unavailable.

As he isn't the greatest at making sure his phone is charged, the logical answer was that his battery was dead. Or he simply forgot to turn it on. Neither would be a surprise.

Yet, I still had that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I grabbed my keys and drove the few blocks towards the park. "It was a gorgeous day," I told myself, "I'm sure they are there having fun."

I glanced up and down the streets as I drove, looking for children riding their bikes. I arrived at the park and saw my friend Stephanie. I asked her if she had seen W. She shook her head and asked if I was checking up on him. She laughed because she was doing the same with her girls.

I guess I'm not alone.

I continued on to Morgan's house. There on the front lawn, tangled with others, was W.'s red bike. I knocked on the door and he came out.

"Um, W., your cell phone only works if you have it ON," I said to him.

"It is on!" He exclaimed.

"Could you check it, please," I said more as a statement than a question.

He pulled it out of his pocket and grinned, "Ooooppsss!"

I gave him "the look" and told him that with more privileges came more responsibility. He apologized and promised he wouldn't forget again.

"I hope so!" I said as I walked back to the car. I was proud of myself. I hadn't yelled, I hadn't lectured, I hadn't freaked out.

I took a deep breath and let out a huge sigh of relief. This parenting gig was SO MUCH easier when they were babies.

And yet, I have only just begun.

What Is A Mom To Do?

No matter what happens in the Schmitty house, I try to find a little humor in most situations. If not for my own sanity, it at least makes for decent blog fodder.

But yesterday, as hard as I tried, I couldn't find an ounce of amusement anywhere. Not one stinking speck.

So my friends, if you are looking for a laugh today, please move on because you aren't going to find it here.

Here goes:

I won't talk about the first half of the day, as that would take a REALLY long time. I'll save that for another time as it is totally irrelevant to this post anyway.

Instead, I will begin at about 3:00 pm.

W. got off the bus. I could tell from his obnoxious behavior that he was in a less than cooperative mood. He can have a tendency to not know when to stop. He thinks he's being funny, but in reality he's being highly annoying and when in public, quite embarrassing. And to make a long story short, because I really don't want to rehash the entire night, he then proceeded to take a five hour long meltdown.

FIVE.HOURS.LONG!

He couldn't focus on his homework. He was all over the place. He was defiant, nasty, and out of control. I got so pissed I had to leave the house and go for a ten minute drive to cool off. It was either do that or throw him in the bath, clothes and all, to cool him off in an ice cold shower. Which at one point, I came quite close to doing.

The night finally ended with Mr. Schmitty shipping him off to bed at 9:00 pm and telling him that he better get sleep because he would be getting up at 5:00 am to finish his homework.

W. has been in this frame of mind A LOT lately. Unfortunately, since he's been small, it's been a way of life with him. He'll have bouts of this behavior from time to time. As a matter of fact, I went back through my archives to see if I had touched on this subject before. March is apparently "the month". I could basically copy and paste that post here.

Could his behavior stem from his health history and his heart defect? The frustrating thing is, no one knows. It could. He does not have A.D.H.D. according to everyone we have spoken to. He does, however, at times, have those symptoms. They just seem to crop up out of nowhere.

I used to think that he just had an attitude problem and that, combined with his immaturity, caused him to act out. But we noticed about a year ago, that when he is going through these periods, his eyes dilate. It's clearly evident and the first thing we look for now. Of course, the doctors have no clue as to why this happens. All we know is that the behavior and the eyes go hand in hand. So seeing a physical manifestation makes me think it's more than just his demeanor.

So, can he help himself? Is this something he and the rest of us have to live with? I don't know. The doctors don't know. It's frustrating as hell. My nerves are shot and I'm emotionally drained today.

Is 8:00 am too early for a drink?

If He Only Knew What He Said

The kids are sick with congestion and coughs. Last night T. woke me up at midnight, he was crying that his ear hurt. Great. Why does this stuff always happen during the night?

I took him downstairs with me to sleep in the spare bedroom, as I was afraid he would wake up everyone in the house. My poor baby. I felt awful for him.

While we waited for the Motrin I gave him to kick in, I tried everything I could think of to help relieve the pain; I had him blow his nose, I sprayed saline in his nostrils to help, I then used a bulb syringe to suck out the boogers when he didn't WANT to blow anymore, I gave him more decongestant, I placed Debrox drops in to clear his ear canal (he gets horrible wax build-up), and I held a hot compress against the ear. Finally something worked and he fell back asleep....

...for about two more hours. And then he was up again. It was like that way for the entire night.

This morning I took the three of them to the Pediatrician, who after examining them, filled out three prescriptions for antibiotics. W. and R. for sinus infections and T. for a double ear infection. All the infections were just beginning, so hopefully the Amoxicillian will nip it in the bud.

When we were through, we of course stopped at the front desk, you know, for the good behavior sticker. After rifling through the entire basket, a dozen or so times, they each picked a sticker of a different breed of dog.

W. showed me his sticker on the way out of the office. It was a picture of a Burmese Sheepdog.

I said to him, "That's a beautiful dog. When I was young, I had a dog with the same color markings."

"What kind of dog was it?" My son asked.

"Well, she was a mix breed and she looked like both of her parents. Her body looked like a Collie and her head looked like a Beagle."

"So, you had a Kegel!" He enthusiastically replied.

I almost fell down the steps as I went into hysterics.

THE Talk

Well, it is done. W. was FINALLY enlightened about the birds and the bees.

I wasn't ready way back then. Mr. Schmitty wussed out here. And though this got the ball rolling, W. seemed to lose interest before the actual sit down took place.

Then yesterday came. Mr. Schmitty and I were talking and for some reason R. walked up to me and lifted up my shirt. On my stomach is a small scar from having my gallbladder removed.

W. asked, "Is that your scar from having us?"

"No, I didn't have an operation to have you," I replied.

Puzzled, he then asked, "Well, how were we born then?"

I looked at Mr. Schmitty. "Dude, you SO should have had this conversation already!"

He looked panicked.

"W. do you really want to know about babies? Are you REALLY ready for the answers?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Let's go in the other room then and sit down, " I told him as I escorted him through the doorway and flipped Mr. Schmitty the bird before I followed.

I proceeded to give W. the basic information on how a baby is made. His eyes got big and, of course, he started to giggle. So did I. It helped relieve some of the tension. I couldn't believe how innocent and clueless my son was. I know, from other moms, that a lot of kids his age are in the know.

The conversation went well. He asked a few questions and I kept it as simple as possible.

He then asked, "So, if you didn't have an operation, how was I born?"

"Well, I pushed you out."

He brought both of his hands around to his butt and said, "From here?"

I shook my head, "No, not there."

He grabbed at his chest like he had breasts, "Here?"

I laughed, "Honey, how do you think a baby would come out of there?"

"Did I come out of your belly button?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Well, where then?"

"What's left?" I asked.

His eyes got as big as saucers. His face broke out in a grin. "From your Bergina?"

"First of all, it's vagina and yes."

His mouth dropped open. He laughed out loud. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes, some. Especially you because you were first. I actually had to have a few stitches." [nervous banter]

He thought for a moment.

"Can I see your stitches?"

"Grrrreaaaat, no more questions? Good, good, talk over. Thanks for coming, dad can take it from here."

Who Stepped On The Cat?

I can't carry a tune to save my life. I know this. I don't sing in the shower. I will not partake in karaoke.

Hell, I don't even like to sing Happy Birthday to anyone before they blow out their candles. Seriously, you will always find me standing next to the light switch, in the dark, mouthing the words.

I really believe I am that horrible. I refuse to subject anyone to my vocal inadequacies.

Okay, except for my children. Upon their insistence, I will sing them a song before bed. But only if they ask. Nicely. And I will sing with them in the car. With the music loud enough that they can't really hear me anyway. And with the windows rolled up. Tightly.

I knew from a young age that I sucked. I never, EVER, joined any of the school choruses. In fourth grade when the choir went to practice in the lunchroom, I stayed behind with the other tunefully challenged kids. Which really was fine with me because I did have a crush on the new boy in class. Who wound up being my boyfriend all through high school, but that's another story. Entirely.

Where was I? Oh yea. So I, at only nine years old, recognized my limitations. I, my friends, am a realist.

So, how can it be, that my child, the fruit of my loins, who apparently has been cursed with a male version of my voice, acts like he's in line to be the next King of Rock 'n Roll? W. has been serenading us, frequently, with his crooning. At.The.Top.Of.His.Lungs. Believe me boy, we can hear you. There's really no need to shout.

I love my son, with all of my being. I don't want to hurt his feelings. I can't crush his self-esteem. But do I really have to lie when he asks how he sounds? I mean, how do you sugar coat, "Like nails on a chalkboard?"

When he is in the shower, it's worse. For some reason he has been singing the same five or six lines from two different songs. Two completely different types of songs. He mixes them together and sings them over, and over, and over, and....well, you get the picture.

Tonight I was folding laundry. The downstairs bathroom is right next to the laundry room. W. jumped in the shower and immediately burst into song. I felt my eyes roll and my shoulders tighten a bit.

He begins, "This could be the start of something new, it feels so right to be here with you!" from High School Musical. Those must be the only words he knows from the song because he then switches it up and I hear Lips Of An Angel by Hinder.

I continue to fold the towels from the dryer and I hear, in a very nasally tone, "Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay? I gotta whisper cause I can't be too looooouuuuuud."

And lightning strike me down, I think, "No! Everything is not okay, she's crying because you won't stop singing to her!!! And that's NOT a whisper!!!"

I'm a terrible mother and person.

I just hope that American Idol is off the air by the time he's old enough to try out. I really couldn't bear seeing him on the bloopers show.

Don't Make Me Shake It!

Okay, first my daughter gets all silly over her first crush. And by the way, you should see the two love birds after school. As "Zaaaaacaaaary's" mom and I wait for the older kids to get dismissed, the two of them swoon over one another. It's SO cute!

Remember how W. came home from school back in June and declared that he had a girlfriend? He didn't even have to wait until 5th grade! Well, said girlfriend wasn't seen all summer. One day I asked him if M. was still his girlfriend and he said, "Well, mom, she felt kind of weird dating, so we're just friends now."

So adorable. Giggle.

Today he came home from school and told me that he has a NEW girlfriend.

"Oh yea? What's her name?"

"O. And two other boys in my class asked her to be their girlfriend and she said no. I said to her, If I ask you to be my girlfriend what would you say? And she said YES!"

"Wow! You go boy!" He's so competitive. Giggle.

A while later he asked to use the phone.

"Um, no, you are grounded." I said.

"But I want to call my girlfriend." The cuteness is starting to wear off.

"Listen bud, first of all you are grounded, second of all, you don't need to be chatting away on the phone with O. You saw her all day in school, you'll see her Monday."

He got a silly grin on his face. "Mom, we are getting to the kissing part."

HUH?! Okay, not cute at all.

"No, you aren't! Quite honestly you are too young for a girlfriend and more importantly you are too young for kissing!"

"Only on the cheek mom!"

"NO! I'm sure her parents wouldn't appreciate it. Do you understand?" [feeling faint at the thought]

"Okay!"

He turned and started up the stairs. "Oh, and I asked her to the 5th grade Social next week. She's my date!" And he ran to his room before I could answer.

Well, that's okay, I'm chaperoning! I've already got him nervous because I told him that when a good song comes on I'm going to yell from across the gym, "Hey sweetie, come dance with MAMA!!" as I shake my big old bum toward the dance floor.

All I'll have to do is remind him of that and he'll be on his BEST behavior!

Like Nails On A Chalkboard

W. is permitted to take up playing an instrument this year in school. Yea For Me! Yea For Him!

He decided on the clarinet. Okay, I can deal with that. I really thought he'd go for the drums. Had he, I would probably be living elsewhere.

Yesterday he came home from school and said that his teacher wants him to practice at least fifteen minutes everyday.

I said, "Well, get too it. Let me hear!"

He assembled his instrument and started licking the reed.

"W., are you suppose to do that?"

"Yup!" He answered enthusiastically.

He was taking this very seriously. I had to stifle my laugh because he looked like an overly thirsty lizard with the way his tongue was darting in and out of his mouth.

"This is a G note."

Blow....OH HOLY HELL! My body tightened up like I had just gotten an electric shock treatment.

"Wait, let me try again."

I braced myself this time.

Blow....Okay not as bad, but he definitely needs work because his playing reminds me a little of Squidward Tentacles. Only it was worse because he is practically screeching those sounds into my FRACKING EARS!!!

He continued to practice for a few minutes while the dog hid at my feet, R. buried her head in my lap, and T. announced, "THAT'S HORRIBLE!!"

I think I may have to set up a special place for him to practice. Like the shed. You know, so he'll be able to concentrate and not be interrupted. I'm such a great mom that way, always thinking of his best interests.

Big, Bad, Middle School

I just watched my oldest baby get on the bus heading off to his first day of middle school.

[wiping away tears] [quivering in fear]

The bus scares the daylights out of me. Hell, the whole idea of middle school does. It would scare you too if you had to deal with rumors like this.

W. was extremely excited about embarking on this new journey. He couldn't fall asleep last night and ended up in my bed. I rubbed his back and sang him lullabies, per his request.

He woke up all through the night checking the time on the alarm clock. Of course he couldn't just LOOK and go back to sleep, he had to ASK what time it was. Needless to say, I'm a tad exhausted this morning.

I think my boy is turning a corner. He's always been somewhat immature, however, Mr. Schmitty and I have noticed the last few weeks that this is changing. He's been less combative and more cooperative. Instead of being dramatic when something doesn't quite go his way, he's shaking it off and moving on. He's even being HELPFUL and doing things the.first.time.he.is.asked!

Thank You LORD!

Last night we joked and laughed as I asked him, "Who are you and what have you done with my kid?"

My son is growing up. Such a bittersweet statement.

My Future Olympian

Did you see Michael Phelps yesterday? Wasn't that the most awesome, on the edge of your seat, display of athletic greatness, you've ever seen? Congratulations to him for winning his 7th Gold Medal!

And what about the Women's Gymnastics Individual All-Around? Did you see the 1-2 punch from Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson? Gold AND Silver, respectively. Those girls are amazing.

Mr. Schmitty has always been a big fan of the Olympics. He set the DVR to record at 8:00 pm every night. I love the Olympics too and watch when I can. We enjoy watching our favorites together; gymnastics, swimming, diving, and beach volleyball.

W. has taken a huge interest in watching the Olympics, as well. I was pleasantly surprised, as usually the only thing he is interested in using the television for, is video games.

Wii, Wii, Wii!

When he's not battling his friends, as he plays Super Smash Bros. Brawl, he's rooting for the American Olympians.

"Mom, when I'm older, maybe I can be in the Olympics! I could do running and pole vault!"

"You might want to start practicing that pole vault thing."

"I bet I could win as many, no MORE, Gold Medals than Michael Phelps!"

"You could, but you have to work really, REALLY hard."

He then yelled out to his brother to follow him up to their room. When W. gets a thought into his head, he becomes somewhat obsessed. I smiled and figured he was going upstairs to change into his running shorts and sneakers to begin his training.

When he didn't come back down, I went upstairs to peek in his room. There my boys were, playing Wii, more specifically Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Games.

"Oh hey mom, T. and I are going to win more Gold Medals than Michael Phelps!"

And that, my friends, is the reality of technology.

Proof That I Am A Reincarnated Adolescent Boy

Two nights ago, W. asked what SEX was. Flat.out.asked. *cringe*

Last year when I had this close call, and then when my niece almost started the ball rolling, and then when I really thought the "talk" was inevitable, I swore Mr. Schmitty was going to have to have a sit down and soon.

Nothing ever transpired. It was swept under the rug because W. dropped the subject. But really, we chickened out.

He's starting middle school in three weeks. I don't think we can ignore a point blank question. I quickly sent a text to Mr. Schmitty, "The time has come."

He told me he would talk to W. in the morning. Good idea. Yea, YOU talk to him. In the morning.

I slept in the next morning, or at least I pretended to, and when I got up Mr. Schmitty pulled me aside. He informed me that he had talked to W.

"How did it go? Did he have any questions?" I was very curious to know how my baby had reacted.

"It went fine. He didn't have any questions, but I told him that if he should think of some, I was here to answer them. Mr. Schmitty seemed quite proud of his parenting.

I raised an eyebrow. "So, exactly what did you say?"

I'm not going to type verbatim the conversation, however, I will tell you this; My son will NEVER EVER HAVE SEX. Not when he is a hormonal teen. Not even if his guys turn blue. Not even when he gets married. He won't touch his wife, except maybe for a handshake. Even then he may need antibacterial lotion.

I know we have to warn our children about disease. I know unprotected sex can kill. However, when that's the only part of sex you relay to your son, well, let's just say he might as well join a Monastery today. Oh wait, that won't work.

My bad.

I asked Mr. Schmitty if he explained that sex is something grown-ups, who LOVE.EACH.OTHER, do. Did he explain that sex can make a baby? Or did he just make sure that our son would go screaming from the first girl who wants to hold his hand?

SHEESH. Men.

"I am going to the book store. YOU need a book."

Last night my best friend and I went to Barnes and Noble. We began seeking out sex education books. She looked in the Child Care section, while I searched the Children's section.

Eureka! I hit the mother lode. I grabbed more than a half dozen or so books and went to find my friend.

"LOOOOOK!"

"Wow, let's check them out and see what will work best."

We started flipping through the pages. No, too scientific. Next. No, this one is more about girls. Next.

"Hee Hee. Look this cartoon has a boner."

"Snort. This one is masturbating."

"I AM NOT showing that one to W. He'll go blind when he discovers that."

"BWWAAAHHHAAA!"

"Or get hairy palms."

I looked up at the camera in the ceiling.

"You do know that security is thinking we are complete juveniles. What are we twelve? OH MY GOD THIS SAYS SCROTUM!!"

"I think I just peed myself!"