Dalton Misplaced His Superpowers

What do you get when you have a two year old, mini legs running full momentum with arms up stretched overhead, and a swing straight ahead? Superman! Unfortunately, our little super hero either forgot his Wheaties that morning or his super powers just gave out, because the Superman plan went very wrong. So, back to the original question.
What do you get with a two year old running full board toward a swing? A poorly calculated outcome which includes taking the skin off ones entire nose.
Hang on, mama. This just a taste of times to come.

What's a "Stay At Home" Mom?

I'm wondering something...how is it we have moved so far as a country to be politically correct, but we still call a woman who raises her children full time a "stay at home" mom?

We can't even call a cockpit a cockpit anymore...its the "flight deck". And my children can't sit Indian style at school - its "pretzel legs" or "criss cross applesauce". My old mascot at my high school, which was the ultimate symbol of pride, the "Chiefs" has been changed to a bird of prey or something.


So, why, are women okay with the 1950's title of "stay at home" mom??? I wish I could even for a day do what this phrase insinuates. Fluttering about the house in my knee length skirt with my pies baking in the oven while my children read books on the floor and request with their best manners "more Ovaltine please mommy". The fact of the matter is, I'm a mom "on the go".

Here's a sample morning...first kid up pre-dawn and pre-coffee. Have you gone to the bathroom? No. Starts immediate pee-pee dance and runs to nearest toilet throwing up lid and turning on light all the while I'm anxiously awaiting the sound of water hitting water, which means I know the stream has made it in the toilet and not all over the floor which immediately would mean I'm already behind, before I'm 5 minutes into my day. FLUSH. Of course this is the toilet that shares a wall with the crib. Again, I hold my breath and hope the baby sleeps through the whooosh. Back to my bedside. Where's my DS. Where's my this. Where's my that. Can I wake up Dalton? Can I watch a show? I need milk! Go put your ear to the door and listen for your brother. But, DO NOT go in there! Click. Flick. Running back in. Dalton's up! Groan, creak, sit up. Okay. Go play with him (yes, heaping 30 million toys in his crib is okay as long as he's quiet and is not climbing out). I'll be right there.
Shuffle to bathroom. Tip-toe by Dalton's room straight for coffee maker hoping I'll miss every squeaky floorboard that would immediately announce me. Grind coffee. (I can't be stopped now). Save Dalton from crib. Change diaper. Change wet clothes he wet through. Back to kitchen. Check on coffee. Let dogs out. Scarlett runs off. Bandit requires full hind-end assistance down the stairs. Turn around. Dalton filling dog water bowl with food. No! Out! Scarlett back at door. Bandit nowhere to be seen. It's freezing! We need milk! Watch our show! Is that damn coffee done dripping yet? Why is the coffee off? Who pushed the button? Did anyone feed Mr. Freddy? Dalton, the fish eats a small pinch not half a can! I don't know how to Heimlich a fish. Scarlett is now eating Bandit's bowl. Give up on the back door and goto the front. Standing outside in my pj's. Where's the dog!? I need more milk! I don't want to watch Diego! I Diego! Mommy, you're princess Leia, I'm Captain Rex, and Dalton's Yoda. I, Yoda! Where's the dog?
Dogs eating, coffee drinking, kids settled on Tom and Jerry with milk. Take small breath. Time to eat. Make pancakes. Need dip-dip. Need juice. Need wet towel. I all done. No you're not. You didn't eat anything. I want cookie. We're not eating cookies for breakfast. Wails and crocodile tears. Here's a cookie. I need to brush my teeth...I'll be right back. Throw on clothes, brush teeth, put up hair, put in contacts...what's a shower? Check on kids. Locked on Curious George. If you don't eat, I will turn this off. Pleeeease eat! You have 3 minutes and we have to go! All done. Brush teeth. Spray water all over sink and floor. Mental note...clean this later. Get dressed. Find your shoes! Where's your coat?! Pack snack. Pack diaper. Let's go! Get in the car! Who opened the garage door? Where's the dog? Get in the car! We're gonna be late! What's that smell? Oh for crying out loud! Back in the house. Change the diaper. Change the pants. Wash the hands that touched the diaper while "helping". Gross...this is really gross. Throw stinky diaper out the door. Get in the car! Now we're late! Belted in. Run back in and throw now cold coffee into to-go mug and jump in car. Here we go! And this is only the first hour of my day...

So, women of the world, (and the few men who get this), let's all band together and lose the terminology "stay at home" mom. It's very offensive and I'm appalled we've let it go on this long. Now, the politically correct term for a woman (or man) who stays home full time with children is _____________________. I'll have to think about this one... ; )

How OLD is Dalton?

I'm beginning to wonder how old Dalton is. He is physically two. I know this, because I have a birth certificate that says he was born in 2006. But, some of the things that comes out of his mouth is wise beyond his years. He also keeps lying about his age. For a while, he claimed three. Then it was five. Now, its seven. He's three years older than is older brother. The only way this is possible, is if he is in fact really older than his brother. Hmmm...But, then, he pouts, he cries, and he can throw one hell of a tantrum in the middle of Target. So, he must be two...I've attached some video proof...enjoy.

The Boy Mommy

Okay, so what prompted this? So many words, actions, gestures, you name it, had left me laughing, crying, puzzled and stunned raising two boys, that I figured I just had to start sharing.

So, what makes me an expert in the art of raising boys you might ask? Well, my credentials look a little like this. I was raised with ballet slippers and ice skates strapped to my feet. I had play dolls, collectible dolls, and Barbie dolls. I had felt dolls and porcelain dolls and even a fake Cabbage Patch doll that my mom never finished sewing, so she had one normal foot complete with toes and one club foot (never mind no belly button or adoption papers). I had a big stuffed bear, a giant stuffed swan, a big stuffed horse, and hundreds of others animals all that were stuffed. I was horse crazy with horse stuff everywhere (and for the record, this doesn't go away no matter the age of the woman). I had a canopy bed with pastel colored bedding complete with a matching blanket folded at the foot my grandmother had knitted for me. I was all girl.

But...I have a brother. He showed me that Slinky's are not made to "walk" peacefully down the stairs one at a time. They are more fun to have your friend hold one end as you run down the stairs with the other end and see just how far slinky can stretch. For the record, slinky never goes back. He showed me how to hold down a termite and tear off his wings so he can't fly anymore. He taught me how to take a good punch to the gut when I'm trying to tell on him, and mom turns her back for a split second. He taught me that gathering the household trash can actually be fun. He taught me how to ride my bike for the first time in true boy style - by taking off my training wheels, pulling my banana seat bicycle up a small hill, and then letting go and yelling "pedal!". He showed me how mow the lawn. He showed me that too much black makeup and listening to Iron Maiden in my wanna-be-goth faze may not be cool to attract future suitors. (Although I do still love some good hard rock - betcha didn't know that about me huh?) He showed me the boy side of things...and for the record...thanks (and big hug).

So, while I girly girl with my ice skating and ballet, dolls and horses, I also was a little prepared when almost 5 years ago they announced "it's a boy!" And then, 2 years ago, they said it again...