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Posts Tagged ‘Big Brother’

I’ll bet any Mom readers out there have undoubtedly heard (or even entered) the debate about whether or not to tell your children the “real truth” or to give a white lie here and there.  Little white lies such as  “Wow!  GREAT job, honey!” when they hit a ball off a T and it dribbles two inches from home plate.  Or, “NO, your ears aren’t too big”  as you struggle to find a hat that fits.  Or even “That spaceship/hot lava/invisible spider picture you drew is sooooo good!”

Regardless of the truth in the matter, one should certainly always encourage a child’s creativity, no?  Clearly, we show plenty of enthusiasm around here for the things our boys proudly bring home from school.    We hang things up in the kitchen, wear our handmade necklaces like Cartier, take pictures and email their masterpieces around to relatives, take videos of sing-alongs and praise, praise, praise.

But, today we have an issue.  Big Brother came home with four lovingly handmade bracelets.

“For you, Mom” — I’m easy.
“For Little Brother” — Thoroughly delighted when Big Brother so much as glances his direction, Little Brother squealed with joy at the bracelet presentation and has now commenced napping with it tucked beneath his covers.
“For Daddy” — It awaits Dad’s homecoming at the front door.  Dad, not much of a jewelry wearer, will slip it right on his wrist with a smile and an enthusiastic pat on the back for his son, the artiste.

The fourth, however, has created a bit of a situation.   Because Bernie, in all his brilliant yellow lab-ness, is totally confused.   And, Big Brother just continues to follow Bernie around — presenting his gift over and over again in hopes that Bernie will….what exactly?  Who knows.  But the dog best come up with something soon or this bracelet’s going to be served up with his Purina One tonight.

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…to get with the program again after two long weeks of not Watching my Weight. This includes but is not limited to refusing any and all invitations from my sweet children to “have some, Mommy?” when the item in question comes from the frozen foods section or comes with a packet of bright orange powder.

…to get out all of my thank-you notes all my non-family thank-you notes by the end of this week. Firstly, this includes the friends who love me best and do not give my children presents with 750-easy to assemble pieces or anything with sand, doh or marbles in the packaging. Secondly, I suppose, it will also include the friends who my children love best because they didn’t give a damn what I thought about the mess their awesome gifts would create. To those devil woman friends of mine who fall in the latter category…just wait ’til next year when your kid gets a drum set from Aunt Swooper.
…to hug more, yell less. There were many, many crazy moments over the last two weeks in which my boys were racing around the house like whirling dervishes, chanting synchronized nonsense at the top of their lungs together. Together. And, much of the time I was shushing them or telling them to stop touching each other. Touching each other. And when it got really “bad”, I was even threatening time-outs to separate them. Separate them?   No.  Perspective.  Deep breaths.  Perspective.
…to wear lingerie, matching, prettier under garments.  ‘Nuff said.
…to do something other than home chores on my child-free Tuesday and Thursday morning. Ideally, something at the gym that involves sweat, my iPod and sneakers. Where are those things, anyway?
…to host a party little get together.  Because we owe people and because I’m social. Best start working on Husband now about that. (see resolution listed two up from here)
…to forgive. And realize that people are rarely capable of dramatic personality change (particularly those of an older generation). Faced with too many untimely deaths of late, it’s time I get a clue and take the hint. It may not be the conventional relationship but he loves me. He does. And, I him.
…to stop giving a hoot about Facebook, Farmville, Fish World and Cafe World and pretending that Big Brother is the one most interested in them.  “Hey, Big Brother!  It’s almost bedtime!  Have you harvested the watermelons?!”   Really, Swooper?

…to be more grateful for the life I’ve been given.  To look my husband in the eye every day more often and let him know how much I love being a stay at home Mom and how much I appreciate how hard he works to make this life for us.   To look at my boys and really see them.  Their innocent faces, their tiny hands, their boundless energy and their completely distinct and loving, little personalities.   To embrace them longer, close my eyes and really feel them in my arms.   It won’t be long before they decide I’m totally so uncool.

Happy 2010, everyone.   I wish you all the best.

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Alright, I admit it. I take my kids go to McDonald’s. They worship at the gates of the Golden Arches, imbibe in a Happy Meal or two and play with the insanely cheap, plastic, light up toys. The nuggets that claim to be chicken and the fries that soak in grease do, in fact, enter the small and sacred temples of my offsprings’ bodies. A trip to Mickey Dees is an event they look forward to and I dare confess to you here that I indulge them in the pleasure roughly once a week. Usually after swim classes at the Y on Fridays.

But, last week, I called an audible on the whole swim class idea for the foreseeable future and we became “Y-Pool Drop-Outs” (a story for another day). And while they didn’t much miss the swim classes, they were pretty bummed that there would be no processed lunch served on plastic trays.
So, on Saturday, as lunchtime rolled around, Big Brother decided we owed him one. And, before we could really think about it, Husband said ok.
Woooooohoooooooo! Lunch out! With Dad! McDonald’s!
Clearly delighted, Big Brother bolted for his coat. Then, our reality set in. We’d just had a half cord of wood delivered and dropped in our driveway leaving just one car accessible until we stacked it all behind the house. And, Bernie had a vet appointment at noon. And the vet is no where near a McDonald’s. And, it just wasn’t going to work.
“Sorry, bud. Lunch at home, I guess.”
So, as I clipped the leash on Bernie and said I’d be back soon, I could see the disappointment in Big Brother’s eyes. Poor kid. It may be mystery meat and HandiWipes to us but to him it was a special opportunity to feel like a big kid with his own special meal, a new toy for dessert and (even better) a seat next to Dad.
I thought about Big Brother when I was at the vet and knew, of course, that he’d be fine. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, maybe an episode of the Berenstain Bears on Dad’s lap. I knew Husband would turn it around with his usual grace and the special attention that only Dad can give. I knew Husband was good.
But, when I came home and saw the remnants of Big Brother’s lunch, I realized that Husband is more than good. Sometimes, in fact, he’s great.

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A couple days ago, Big Brother and I are in the car on a special “Mom & me” outing. I love these time and so does he. Just time spent away from the rugrat brother, with my undivided attention.

From the backseat of the car, he surprised me with this one:
“Hey, Mom?” As I’ve said before, he always waits for me to reply no matter what our proximity to each other.
“Yes?”
“How come you don’t love Daddy as much as you used to?”
What? Did he really just say that? I must have it wrong.

“What was that you just asked, sweetie?”
“You and Daddy? Why don’t you love each other like you did when you had me and Little Brother?”
What in the world?
“But, we do, honey. We love each other as much as we always have. Why would you think that?”
“Well, you told me that babies come from when two people love each other very much…”
“Yes.”
“And, then, you also told me that you and Daddy are done having babies.”
“Uh…huh.”
“So, you must not love each other very much anymore. Right?”
Logical little sucker, isn’t he?

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And, not the fluffy, cold, wet stuff. In fact, I more or less hate that kind of snow, despite being raised a Vermonter. Or maybe, I guess, because I was raised a Vermonter. But, I digress.

“Snow” in our household is an 8-inch tall, red elf with bendable legs and hat (he was named by Big Brother last year). He arrives the morning after Thanksgiving and he sticks around until Christmas Eve. His sole job, as Santa’s helper, is to WATCH each day and make sure the Schieffer boys are behaving themselves. Each night, after they go to bed, he flies to the North Pole and gives Santa his report of the day. And, each morning, they wake to find that he has relocated himself to a new perch in our house to commence the watch again.
Orwellian? Perhaps.
Ominous? Perhaps.
Threatening scare tactics? Perhaps.
Does it work? Damn straight.
My boys are perfect angels, most of the time, in Snow’s company. And, if they forget he’s there for a moment and lapse into pushing, shoving, shouting, whining, shrieking, complaining, pouting and other such regular behaviors, its pretty nice to simply get their attention, put a finger to my lips and say “Shhhhh….” and point to the little Man on the mantle.
This morning (a morning after what is becoming a nightly “eat your dinner” stand-off with Big Brother) I came into the kitchen to discover him having a little conversation mano-a-mano with the elf.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Just talking to Snow.”
“What about?”
“Well….ravioli.”
Ahhhh. Let it Snow, let it Snow, let it Snow.

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Big Brother’s recent class assignment: bring in a copy of a favorite recipe from home. Big Brother reported to me today that he told them he planned to bring in “my Mom’s delicious cookie recipe.”

Hmmm…
My cookie recipe? K.
Open package
Break apart
Throw onto cookie sheet
Bake
PTA, here I come.

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So, it’s become clear to me that yes, I am, in fact, a screamer. I’ve become one of those Moms that I never really thought I’d be or at least I hoped I wouldn’t be. But, nonetheless, the fact is that, when push comes to shove and the rubber hits the road and all hell is breaking loose (look at that, three coloquialisms in a row) I am…in fact…a screamer.

And, apparently you know you have entered the inner sanctum of my life when I allow you to witness the full mental breakdown that leads to the event of my banshee-esque screaming. Today, for example…
My beloved almost-five-year old (he long ago stopped calling himself four) had been out of the house almost literally all day long. School, extended for lunch and play with a new “girlfriend” (she’s from Norway and Big Brother apparently takes after his father), no afternoon nap, home for about 20 minutes then off to a swimming playdate at the Y and dinner with his best friend, C. And C’s nanny who is a-w-e-s-o-m-e. I adore her. And I have total envy of my new and wonderful friend M., who employs said Nanny’s services and, therefore, exposes her children to DELIGHTFUL play on a regular basis. (As an example, Big Brother made a pickle pizza last time he was at C’s house. How cool is that?)
Anyway, Nanny is kind enough to allow the ours to be family #2 and she helps us out as much as she can. We do regular play-dates at the park. My boys love her and can’t wait for the next time we go out but they hope we DONT go out with C’s Mommy and Daddy because that means they can’t have Nanny all to themselves.
Now, fast forward to 6:45 this evening when Big Brother arrives home. I haven’t seen the kid in what seems like weeks and, as I rush to the door to greet him with visions of hugs and kisses, I realize quickly that he could, clearly, care less. Instead, he saunters past me on his way to, no doubt, ensure that his pesky little brother hasn’t had any fun while he was gone and to make DAMN sure that said fun stops…now. Up the stairs goes Big Brother. I greet Nanny who wants to discuss (god bless her) when she can take him off my hands YET AGAIN for a sleepover with C.
30 seconds go by. Max. Little Brother wails loudly from upstairs.
Me (medium voice): Hey guys? Play nice, ok?
Conversation continues with Nanny.
10 seconds later.
Big Brother: NO, Little Brother, that’s my Bakugan!
Little Brother wails yet again. I picture the hands on the shoulders shake Big is undoubtedly giving Little.
F-ing Bakugans.
Me: Big Brother! Stop!

Smile at Nanny. “Sorry.” She understands, of course.

12 seconds? Maybe?

More cries. Louder now. Conversation with Nanny is drawing to a close. But not before she hears the quiet fraying sound of…what was that? Oh yes, my last nerve.
Me: Big Brother, I swear if you don’t keep your hands to yourself this second I’m going to come up there and you. will. be. SORRY!

Nanny: Ok, well let’s chat tomorrow.

Sometimes I wonder what differentiates the good Moms from the bad. I sure as hell hope it isn’t volume.

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So, I’ve recently learned that some nincompoop parents decided to sue the Baby Einstein company because they were angry that the videos did not, in fact, make their children smarter. And these idiots won. And now we lucky parents can walk right back into our local Walmart and return these “worthless” videos for a full refund. Are you kidding me?!

I get it that, yes, the company certainly should not make such claims if they are not going to be true in all cases. The parents who decide to drop their child down in front of Baby Einstein so that they can sneak a cigarette on the back porch, share a few extra vodkas with their spouse or catch the tail end of Judge Judy will be sadly disappointed when little Charlie doesn’t finish up his forty-two minutes with Baby Monet and head out to paint the next “Water Lillies.” So, I’ll give you that the company’s claims were baseless and that perhaps there are, sadly, thousands of parents out there foolish enough to really believe that they could cross “educate” off their childcare to-do list for the day with a video. The company should never have said such things as the videos alone clearly can not teach. And, I suppose, that makes it worthy of a lawsuit.
Sigh.
But those parents who actually remain in the same room with their child while they watch and actually talk about it now and then? I believe that those parents, more likely than not, do see that these videos can expand little minds even if just a bit. I absolutely love it that when my 2-year old hears classical music he smiles and says “Einstein!” So, he doesn’t recognize that it’s Bach versus Beethoven, he loves it. It makes him smile.

Big Brother picked up some sign language from Marlee Matalin on Baby Wordsworth. He gave me some giant belly laughs when we’d do “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” to Baby Da Vinci. I also got some of my best educational (yes, educational) toy ideas from these videos. Toys that were Will’s that have become Little Brother’s that they regularly play and enjoy together.
So, I’m pissed me off. It makes me crazy that Julie Clark now has to give back any portion of her multi-millions to these lazy-ass, lawsuit-toting morons who go after a company like Baby Einstein and call themselves good parents for doing so.
And, frankly, I hope Julie is sitting back in the palatial mansion she likely bought a few years ago (when a little, know-nothing company named Disney bought the majority stake in Baby Einstein) and laughing it all off.
Have a drink on me, Julie. I’m keeping my videos.

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Much to my dismay, Big Brother is determined to wear a nylon/poly-blend Spiderman costume for Halloween this year. Which bums me out because I’ve managed to get him into some pretty adorable Winnie the Pooh and Clifford full-fluffy, high-quality costumes in the past.

= cute

= not cute

My snob-meter is just off the charts on this one.
So, now I felt extra pressure for Little Brother’s costume and refused to spend any additional money on cheap-o ugly polyester Target costumes. I’ve been asking around for ideas and can’t believe it took me as long as it did to find someone to suggest that Little Brother be a spider to Big Brother’s Spiderman. Of course!
Found this.

Thank you, D.C., for saving my Halloween.

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Bought Big Brother a new book today…

Because Dori has recently mastered the art of swimming sideways. And she does a lot of lying around on the bottom of the tank.

Wish us luck.

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