Brothers in War

Henry spent some serious quality time setting up

his well thought-out War Zone.

There are good guys and bad guys and they are strategically

placed like a Quentin Tarantino coup de gras.

Why the distress, Henry?

Because Char-zilla appeared, in all

his glory, and took out half of the good guys.

Little Brothers.

Music with Charlie

Today, I joined Charlie in his music class. This is exactly 22 minutes of the strangest behavior I have ever witnessed. They had an actual music professional teaching the class and she didn’t “talk”, she “sang”. Everything.

Like this: “I’m singing…and walking…and singing and lets all put the shakers back in the plastic bin….while we are singing and now everybody sit down in a circle while we sing some more…Jasper, you need to find a tissue for your nose..lalalalala”

So, the other 2 year olds were so into this. They were dancing and jumping and clapping and squealing with delight. Charlie sat on my lap with his mouth slightly open and a crease between his eyebrows just watching. I am sure I had a very similiar look going on. It was more a look of awe…as in “what is wrong with that lady, mommy?”. Don’t get me wrong, Charlie and I let loose and have fun all of the time. But I guess I’ve never had the “Mommy & Me” Gymboree Experience before. Maybe it takes some getting used to.

So Charlie and I sat and watched and ½ participated as we watch the other kids and parents shaking their maracas (and their 'maracas', if you know what I mean), cawing like roosters and singing every little movement that their bodies made. It was strange behavior that Charlie and I couldn't look away from, nor did he want to participate.

There was a portion of the 22 minutes that was dedicated to African music and instruments. Michelle, the singing teacher, prefaced the activity with “this portion of the class requires adult supervision because the instruments are real and can be dangerous to toddlers.” Huh?

I thought the same thing, until she pulled out the instruments. Charlie chose a bracelet-like instrument that had HOOVES attached to it. HOOVES people! It made a wood windchime-like sound when you shook it. But the HOOVES were frightening! They were black/brown and curved and all toenaily and I could only think of a certain toenail fungal infection when I looked at them.

And then Charlie put one up to his mouth.

Yep. The End. This is the point when the line was just crossed. We picked up the HOOF braclet, and sang:

“This is disturbing and slightly uncomfortable and we’re putting the music makers back in the plastic bin and we are outta here! Lafrickinglalal”

Actually that was when the 22 minutes was up, so I didn’t really sing that, but we did get to end the session with a bang by lining up and walking like a choo-choo train through the daycare center as we sang a choo-choo song and blew choo-choo whistles. Good Times.

Charlie looked up at me as we stood in the choo-choo line. We read each other minds. And then he took both of his chubby little hands and shook them in front of his face (sign language) and said “All Done?” and “Home?”. I hear ya little man, I hear ya.

I, too, would prefer a wrestle/tickle session, a good round of PlayDoh mashing, and some real music lessons. But, no doubt, I’ll be back in tribal Gymboree next week if only to make sure Charlie doesn’t pick his teeth with the toenail fungi dingo hoof.

My American Idol

If you would like to vote for Henry to be the next

American Idol, please dial

1 800 Oh My Gad I'm So Freakin' Cute

Making Plans

"They're making plans."

- Henry

Sounds from Heaven

And THIS is what I hope the Afterlife sounds like.

Lots and LOTS of this:

There is a tent....

In our living room:

And some happy lil' campers to play in it.

And thats how we roll on a Sunday.

Things we do when Daddy stays home with us

We eat dirt.

Or bark, or other earthy-ish things

And we make friends and boy-handle

slimy, long, earth worms.

We also made a variety of paper airplanes,

learned how to dribble a basketball

and a soccer ball.

Now that, is some quality boy time!

Thanks Daddy!

Quarantine

With Charlie's recent Outbreak,

It's just way easier this way.

It just all washes down the drain.

Don't worry, he's got plenty of water.

Blog Vomit

Looking back over the years on this blog, it is obvious to me that B's House has "Blog Schizophrenia".

Is it a way to share photos and funny kid antidotes with family afar?
Is it a future photo album for my children?
Is it a platform for me to rant, laugh and share parenting successes and struggles?

It was originally one thing that morphed in to another and then to another and then reverted back to its original purpose, only to be confused again. My Blog is struggling.

In the end, I suppose it is whatever I make it. It is mine, for Pete's sake. By the way, who IS Pete? I always say that in lieu of more offensive phrases...but maybe Pete, himself, was offensive. Anyways. Todays blog entry is slightly out of the norm because there are no photos or funny stories. Just real life with a dose of diarrhea.

Today, we are home because Charlie contracted Impetigo from daycare. He is on antibiotics now and can return to school when all of the blisters have scabbed over. I thought 24 hours on antibiotics was the criteria to return to care. Turns out, its not. His daycare teachers subtly implied that it will be more than 24 hours when they said, "we'll hopefully see you on Monday". It's Thursday. Ok then.

Those faint of heart, need not read on. There is a little red "x" in the upper right corner of your screen. Click it now. The rest of this is like the Howard Stern of Mommy Blogging. Yea, its in your face blogging. Except for the fact that instead of being sponsored by Ashley Madison, its more like Dolly Madison, but whatever. Its raw.

When you are a parent, and you have a career outside of the home, a sick child drudges up all kinds of emotional debates. For me, at least. Of course, not the "once in the blue moon" sick day. But when you've spent the better part of the last month looking at a sick kid(s) and debating whether your child is too sick to go to school, all kinds of struggles rear their ugly head. If only it were as simple as "he doesn't feel well....I'll stay home with him today and we'll snuggle all day". Ha. Blow. Sunshine. Ass.
The reality, or my reality, is very different.

I'm working off NEGATIVE PTO (paid time off). In the NEGATIVE 20+ hour department.
It feels like I've been "lapped" by my PTO accrual. I'm accruing backwards.

Except for my little work jaunt to Florida, I haven't taken a vacation. This is all used up by covering for lack of daycare or sick children. I don't recall the last time it was used for me being sick.

So, when we have a sick kid that obviously cannot spend the day at daycare, I get the sweats.
In fact, today, when I had to email my (childless) manager that I wouldn't be in because Charlie has "impetigo", the email, frankly sounded pathetic.

"Impetigo" to someone who doesn't actually live in my stratosphere probably interprets as:

"My child cannot find anything suitable to wear to daycare today."

I see my managers shaking head and rolling eyes and imagine he is probably thinking:

"Impetigo....humph....take an aspirin and put a bandaid on it."

I'm probably not giving my manager enough credit. In fact, his response is ALWAYS :

"do what you need to do."

But in my head I hear:

"Really? Again? Maybe you should reevaluate your hygiene practices so he doesn't contract such outlandish skin rashes and then you could spend your work hours at work like all of your coworkers do."

I don't expect that he understands what horrible drama plays out in my head. Truthfully, when I am home with my kids anytime Monday thru Friday between the hours of 8 and 5, I am stressed. I can't help it. I'm stressed because I know that is the time that I am expected to be dedicated to work, like a good employee and we have LOTS of GOOD employees at my work. Its competitive like that. They hired me to work 8 - 5 every day of the week.

The problem with this is, my kids also hired me (ok, not literally, duh, they can't even dress themselves) and they are getting the shaft from me because I have so much more to offer when not overwhelmed and sidetracked. When I am home with them during work hours, my mind is racing in its guilty way that I really shouldn't be here with them, I should be at work. I realize how horrible I sound. Horrible, but honest.

I constantly think about all of the stuff I need to shuffle around at work as I flip pancakes, break up scuffles and change diahhrea diapers, my body is here at home and my mind is sitting in my cubicle. I think about how sad I am that I worked so hard to gain "street cred" on something quite important to me (in the work world) only to have to have someone else step in and "handle it" for me today, because today is the day when it all goes down and "it will just be easier" for them to do it.

When I am at work, and my kids are sick at home, or even when they aren't sick at home, my mind races in its guilty way telling me that they hired me too and I should be with them. It is a vicious, neverending circle of guilt, and I'm not even Catholic.

This is where I ask..."REALLY"? Can you really have it ALL? Because, though I am no math wizard, I just don't see how the math adds up here. And the phrase, which is used too loosely, only makes me feel like I have failed terribly.

And even worse, I have an amazing support system. I have a partner that does more than his 50%. It isn't about that. I think it is more that I've set expectations in my head that are difficult, if not impossible, to meet. I'm a pleaser by nature, which seems to have landed me smack dab in the center of a moral pickle.

Thank you UNIVERSE, I feel you loud and clear. I don't get it, but I feel you.

I just figured it out...maybe it isn't my blog that is schizophrenic, maybe it is....ME?

I have to close now (though I am full of it today) because the diarrhea that Charlie left on my PJ pant leg has now dried to my skin, and it smells horrible. Hopefully, this is an antibiotic side effect that we can look forward to for the next 7 to 10 days. Sweet. Especially sweet because kids with more than 2 loose bowel movements are excluded from care. I can almost smell the irony seeping from Charlie's dia-diaper as I type this!

And if anyone finished reading this blog vomit, you are free to go change your clothes now too.
Sorry about that.

I am sane and smart enough to know that dwelling on things that I cannot change does not do anyone any good, including those around me. However, it is my blog, and sometimes it feels really good to get it out and then I can move on.
This is me....moving on.

Now, can I get an AMEN?