A five year old

The leader of the Mom's Group I attend used to often comment that the thing about kids is they are always changing. Once you finally get something down and working, the kid changes again, and there you are, with a new situation you have to learn to deal with. Think the first 3 months were tough? Finally got the baby sleeping through the night? BAM!! Something changes, and you are back to square one, trying to figure out this thing we do as parents. It is both frustrating and satisfying to see your kids grow and change, learn new things, and bring new challenges. This is all a fancy way of me saying that Bishop's 5th year has not been my favorite so far. Yeah, we are only 3-ish months in, but I am ready to throw in the towel. Or maybe just throw the towel AT him. 

Yeah, that might work to...if the towel was more like a shoe...or a ball. 

Not unlike every other year along the way, there is a magical transformation that happens around Bishop's birthday where he matures a bit more, learns new things, or starts a new behavior.

This year, we have picked up a few delightful ones, like lying to get out of trouble, and being amazingly disobedient. I know all kids have their disobedient moments, and this is a kiddo who is typically VERY cooperative and usually just flows along with things. 

Not so much at 5. 

Yesterday was a perfect example. 

As I was making dinner, Cadence and Bishop were running around outside, with Zach *mostly* monitoring them in the front yard. Now, when the kids are running around in the backyard, I am way more willing to just let them be, and not check every few minutes. But the front yard is a whole other animal. We do live on a nice street, with several families of kids who all play well together, and we all keep an eye on each others kids, so that's nice. I am more worried that someone could just grab my children off the sidewalk, or they will go too far down the street and fall into traffic on the INCREDIBLY busy Kimberly Rd. 

So, after a couple of minutes, I decide to poke me head outside, and sure enough, there is Cadence, happily playing with her toys in the grass, and no Bishop. So I yell for him, expecting him to come around the side of the house, or down the sidewalk.

And I yell again. And again. And no Bishop. So I tell Zach that I can't find Bishop, and to come help me look. So I jog down to Kimberly Rd, planning on murdering him if he is wandering that far, and still, no sign of him. Zach heads the opposite way down the street towards Bishop's buddy's house. Which, honestly, I should have gone to first. Sure enough, I head down there as well, and Bishop is happily playing in his bud's backyard. 

Now, the rule is, if Bishop is going to JB's house, he has to ask first if he is going anywhere but the front yard where I can see him from our porch. So we send Bishop home, and come to find out from Zach, Bishop had asked if he could go to JB's and Zach had told him no. And he decided to go anyways.

As B get's older, we have had to change our parenting style and have to get more creative. 

So after B spent some time in his room, we had him come talk to us. He very honestly told us that he knew he wasn't supposed to go to JB's house, and wanted to play, so he went over anyways.

We had him tell us what he thought the consequence should be. Which...was not helpful, because he first thought that he should get to go play again (yeah, right), then he decided he should get to be in time-out for a couple of minutes (uh...totally not fitting the crime and heart attack you gave me). Then he thought going to his room for a while would be fitting (uh, yeah, cause all his toys are in there...no). 

So since he wasn't really coming up with anything we felt fitting, and was mostly whining, we decided that he could go clean his room until dinner (which was now burned, thanks to the search), and for the next week, he isn't allowed to play in the front yard. Which doesn't seem like such a big deal, but that includes no bike, and no playing with neighbor friends. Which are two of his favorite things. But, if I can't trust him to tell me when he is going somewhere, then he can't be outside by himself. 

Oh 5...you are not my favorite.

A "It Sucks to be Me" Moment

I am fairly sure that we all have them. Or maybe I just have them. But it is that moment when you realize that it really sucks to be me (you) right then. I happened to have one of these awesome moments yesterday. But, instead of lingering in the suck-i-ness, I chose to rise above, and uh, go hide in a book. But for real, that's what I did.

It all started when my alarm didn't wake me up on time. By all chances, my alarm probably went off like it's supposed to, and I just turned it off, and went back to sleep. The part that you need to understand here is that on Mondays, I am a bus monitor for my job, and have to leave my house at 6:10 at the latest to meet the bus on time. So, when I realized that it was, you know, 10 minutes until 6:00, and I needed to leave the house asap, I maybe had a rushed feeling...for the rest of the day.

To top it off, because that's not fun enough, Mondays are my 11 1/2 hour work days. I know that sounds as fun as it is, because I have to do it. Every Monday. Anyways, I made it to the bus, jumped on, and started my day like most days....and the 11 1/2 hours at work went about how you would expect them to, slowly and full of less caffiene than Monday really requires.

Anyways, the day did finally end, and as I was wrapping up, I got an email from my boss asking me to come chat with her about an event that's coming up that I happen to be in charge of. So I grabbed my paperwork, ran down to her office, had a great meeting...at least, until I realized that I was, once again, late to get on the bus. And really, I can't just tell my boss, "Please stop talking, I need to leave" so I wrapped up as fast as I could, ran by my office, grabbed my purse, left my jacket, because, meh, it's warm enough outside, and ran to the bus. The ride back was uneventful, parents came on time (which never happens) to get their kiddos, and I decided that the day was ending strong. The last kiddo got off the bus, I followed him out, and started the dig through my purse for my car keys. Only to realize that they were in my jacket pocket. In my office. In Gooding.

It SUCKS to be me.

I ended up calling Zach so that he would pick up the kids and come get me.
This was the point that I went and hid in a book in the CSI library until Zach came and got me.

Luckily, one of my co-workers happened to be coming into Twin and could grab my keys before she left, so I was later able to go back to the college and get my car, thus being able to drive myself to work.

Good times....

I will be the first to tell you that having kids is both amazing and challenging. I have recently started to really feel the baby itch, especially since Cadence is potty-trained and solidly a toddler now. Makes me sad and nostalgic. If I could afford to stay home, I would totally go for another baby or two. Anyways, that is a side note, because Bishop has entered a new phase in life. One that is awesome, and incredibly embarrassing.

He has started to really notice things about other people. Which is normal, and totally fine, and actually a great learning experience for him. The part that is a little wonky is that he generally just announces the things he notices to anyone who wants to hear. Much to my embarrassment. Usually it is just harmless little things, but every now and then, it is something that we 'politely' don't mention we notice. But almost 5 year olds don't really get the whole 'polite' conversation thing. They are just 100% honest about what they see and feel.

So it really wasn't too surprising to me when Bishop announced to Pastor Lynn a few weeks back that his hair is white. He was just being observant, going around the table, tell everyone what color their hair is, and it just so happens that Pastor Lynn's hair is white. Was it polite? No, but it was his honest observation. And because Pastor Lynn is gracious enough, it wasn't too bad.

The problem came the following Friday as we were in Macy's shopping, and B announced to the store that, "That ladies hair is white just like Pastor Lynn's!!"

Now. I have read many parenting books, some good, some not so much. Listened to podcasts about parenting and discipline. And one of the biggies that I really feel strongly about is to never give an 'ultimatum' or a consequence that you can't follow through with. However, in the moment, my brain stopped working. And I gave B a consequence that was both unfitting for the crime, and one that I could never back up.

I got down on this level, and whispered fervently, "Bishop Ivey, if you can't not talk nicely, you won't be allowed to talk."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I mentally took a step back, and thought "Whhhaaaattt?" But in the moment, I couldn't really take it back, or change it, so I just added to it, and told B how it was not nice to talk about ladies hair.

Which I also realize makes no sense to him.

So I ended it with the time honored, "Don't say a single thing as we walk by her. Or Else."

What the "Or Else" is was never tested, since the boy has a functioning brain, and kept his mouth shut as we walked by the nice elderly lady who was staring at us. I did consider having Bishop say sorry, though really, that also doesn't make much sense, since he had no idea what he did wrong.

That, however, was nothing in comparison to what he had done several weeks previously at the grocery store.

Whenever I go grocery shopping, I try to plan it around a time that I can go alone and just get it done without my kiddos. Schedules being what they are, that doesn't always happen. So I was in the store with both kids, Cadence in the cart being her normal cute self, and Bishop being my 'big helper' putting things in the cart as I got them off the shelf. So, there we stood, in the cracker aisle, as I contemplated which brand to get for what I needed. I was looking at my list,  looking at my options, contemplating number of people...all that fun stuff that goes into planning. Anyways, Bishop pats my leg to get my attention and says, "Mom, that guy is really little. Like a kid little. But he's a big kid."

Being otherwise distracted, I answered with, "Yeah, I am sure he is a kid, Bishop."

"No Mom, he's not a kid, but he's little like one."

Still not really paying attention (the peril of any parent) I say, "Ok, Bishop, I am sure he is little like a kid because he IS a kid, now hang on, let me get what we need." So I grab my choice and turn, only to see down the aisle, at the other end, 2 midgets.

Real ones. Not kids. Oh man.

Again, I lost brain function, as they were staring at us, clearly listening to what Bishop had been saying. I am pretty sure the blood drains out of my brain and into my cheeks, and I lose both brain function and suddenly make a convincing impersonation of a lobster.

Regardless. So I pick up my son, put him on the handle of the cart, and again whisper fervently, "Bishop Ivey, when we walk by those people you are not to say a single word. NOT a SINGLE WORD!"

"But Mom, they are lit..."
"SHHHHHHHH, Bishop! Enough! We will talk about it later, but right now, you need to stop talking!"

And being the good boy that he is, he did stop talking, again not really understanding what was going on, or why the little adults were glaring at us. I swear I almost fainted walking past them.

I do wonder how long this will last. Probably until he really starts to get the whole 'social politeness' thing, so I am pretty sure I have a solid 5 more years of this. Dear Lord.

What has my life become?

For all of you that know, today is Cadence's 2nd birthday. And though you might imagine this post would be dedicated to her, there is a larger problem facing the Ivey family that I feel must be spoken of...

Tonight, while putting away things from my afternoon shopping trip, I found a frog on one of the bags.
A real, live one.

At first, I thought it was one of Bishop toy plastic ones, because it was about the same size and color as one he has had for a while, so I mostly ignored it. Then I bumped the bag it was on, and it moved. Upon a closer (not physically, just longer) inspection, I realized that it was, indeed, a real frog, happily sitting on my Target bag. I promptly left, went into the kitchen, grabbed a cheap Tupperware, punched holes in the lid, and went back to catch the frog (I am the only adult home, and my children need protected). Clearly, I am a caring person, since I punched holes in the lid of a perfectly usable Tupperware for the darn thing.

As I decide how to go about catching it, I decide it needs to get off the bag, so I nudge the bag a bit, and it jumps off, and under my couch. That's right. Under my couch.

It is time to call in reinforcements.
So I call Zach.
And this is where things get hairy.

Because it is Zach's frog.
That he lost over a MONTH AGO! AND DIDN'T TELL ME HE HAD LOST IT!

He claims he did so to prevent me from freaking out like I am now, and I feel that I may have been better prepared to come face to face with a frog if I had know it had existed. I am now rethinking every time I just stuck my foot in my shoe, or ran my hand under the couch to check for spare toys gone astray.

So, my couch and I have been having a stare down for the last couple hours, where I stand at a safe distance and monitor it for any frog movement. So far, none.

And according to Zach, he sort of forgot the frog was loose in our house, and thought it would have turned up in the bathroom. Uh, even worse. If I was taking a shower and the frog hopped in for a little drink, I may have acted less humanely. More in the form of screaming and slapping/throwing things at it.

If I had know it was missing, we would have FOUND IT LONG BEFORE NOW!!
And for all who are wondering, the frog will be found before he comes to bed tonight.

The end.

Missing

I lost a child for the first time today. I feel like 4 1/2 years is a pretty solid amount of time to have kept an eye on him. The worst part was that it was at 6am. At home. While I was sleeping.

So really, none of this was my fault, and I am still claiming to have never lost a child. Because I totally found him. Eventually.

Basically what happened is Zach went in to Bishop's room to wake him up like we do ever morning for school, and he wasn't in bed. So Zach calls out for me, and asks me if I have seen him. To which I answer, no. So we then commence a search the included tearing apart his bed, looking in the living room, bathroom, my bedroom (he often sneaks in during the night. And by often, I mean every night). But no Bishop. So we go into Cadence's room, turn on her light, and no Bishop. Cadence, of course, is sprawled out in bed like she doesn't realize that someone snuck into the house while we all slept and stole her older brother.

Which is what I was imagining had happened at this point.

So I start yelling for him, and low and behold, a little pj clad bottom wiggles itself out from under Cadence's crib, and soon enough, a head pops up.

First relief, then the panicked anger hits.

Why was he sleeping under her crib? He didn't know.
What was he even doing in her room? He was scared.
But why under the crib? No idea.

I do wonder if he meant to come into our room and just got lost. Or if he was wandering to our room and heard the heater turn on and just found the closest vent and laid down by it. Which is his favorite thing to do. Even when it's not all that cold.

A guy I work with suggested we get him the pillow pet night light thingy that will turn on for 20 minutes or so, then fade out. I think a night light might be a good investment.

So, no one broke in and stole my child, who was mostly missing for under 5 minutes, but who almost scared me to death. Love being a mom.

Most days.

The writing on the wall

This morning, while getting ready for the day, I noticed something on our bathroon wall that hadn't been there previously. I was trying to decide what it exactly it could be, thinking that Bishop had possibly brought food in the bathroom and then wiped his fingers on the wall when I realized, nope, it's poop. On my wall. Wiped there by my sweet 4 year old.

I am pretty sure I know how it got there, I mean, why he had poop on his fingers to begin with. What I am more concerned about is that he has done this before. And we had a talk then, too. I think this time around, I am going to make him clean it himself.

So just for future reference, if you are over visiting and it looks like someone drew on the wall, don't taste test it. Chances are pretty solid it could be poop. No pun intented there, of course.

On an completly different note, I have decided to clean up my diet. I have tossed out coffee (guh) and sweets, sugar, things that are highly processed. I am really just trying to reset my digestive system, which has been off for a few months. Today is the first day, and really, the coffee thing hasn't been so bad as the no snacking/no sugar thing has been. I now know that I need to pack other things with me tomorrow for work because, whew...rough.

Hopefully it works though, and I can get all reset and then maybe reintroduce some of the foods into my diet, but maybe not. I really struggle with processed foods, and need to get on an even keel digestively before I start trying to add things again. *Sigh* Sad day indeed. But coffee might just have to be gone forever :/

Are you adopted?

Ok, this week has been crazy, and frankly felt about 2 weeks long. I need a recharge day!! But before that happens (hopefully tomorrow, since it for sure won't on Sunday) I had something pretty funny happen to me.

So, this is week 2 of school and we are still getting settled into classes and all that. I happen to be in a middle school PE class, which is fine because I don't really know the middle school kiddos very well. I am mostly secluded on my end of the building, but not this year!! Anyways, so in this middle school class, the teacher is a Deaf man, and there are actually 3 new students, none of whom sign, which makes communicating a bit tricky. Well, for them, anyways. Of the new students in that class, 2 are girls, and 1 is a boy. Well, they tend to depend on me to better explain whatever is being asked of them, since they have a level of hearing loss (obviously, if they come to ISDB) and the teacher doesn't always speak clearly. Since, you know, he is Deaf. 

Anyways, on Tuesday this week, the students were running around and the new young man came up to me, very nonchalantly, leans in, and asks, "Are you adopted?" 

Which was not at all what I was expecting to hear, and I responded poorly with, "No. Are you?" Which is none of my business and slightly inappropriate for me to ask.

"Yes" He responded. "You look like my sister."

"Oh" I replied, slightly dazed.

Which, if this was all you knew about him, you might think a few different things...but first, you need to know that this young man is black. And my first thought in response was something like 'Uh...I'm not black' which of course I didn't say. But as he wandered off, I was mostly puzzled and slightly amused. And I kinda wanted to ask if he had ever looking in a mirror, because, yeah...I look NOTHING like him. In any way. 

Then it occurred to me that maybe he means his adopted sister? Like the family he was adopted into? Maybe I look like that girl? Because surely he doesn't know what his biological sister looks like, and thinks I look like her. 

Anyways, he asked me again today, so I must actually look like someone in his life. Apparently she is 21, which he then asked how old I am (ahem...not 21). 

Anyways, that is the only time I have ever been told I look like a black kid. So this one had to be written down.