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My Kids are Fashionably Late (to School)

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I’m generally a punctual person; I’m never late to a meeting and get annoyed when things don’t start on time. But for some reason, I just can’t seem to care about the fact that Zana’s school starts at 9am.

Every day, I roll up to her school at 9:15 only to be met by a locked door. I have to call the school to have one of the teachers let us in. There’s always a loud sigh on the other end of the phone line and a disapproving look when they come to the door. In the weekly newsletter, there’s always a blurb about school starting promptly at 9. Over the months the text has gone from plain text to what it is now: bold, red and in all caps. I know they’re shouting at me.

Knock, knock?

At our parent-teacher conference, the teachers said they had one important thing to discuss with me: punctuality. I tried to change the topic. “How’s Zana doing at nap time? Is she eating her lunch? Playing well with friends?”

“Zana’s doing great. But it’s really important that you get here on time so she can start the day with her friends.”

I explained that we live further than the other families, that I have to drop of Lira first, and that the punctuality problem would probably persist.

Fast forward to today…

It was just another day; we were late. I could tell you that Zana was up coughing all night, which made for a slow start this morning– but, let’s be honest, we would have been late either way.

When I pulled up outside the school, though, something was different.. two other parents were standing there with their kids looking stressed out.

“Do you know the number to call to get them to open the school?” they asked. “We’re freezing out here and don’t know who to call.”

“Of course!” I said. “And if you guys would be late more often, then you’d have the number on speed dial like I do.”

And just like that, I went from zero to hero… saving the day with my standard, morning phone call.

“Hi there, it’s me.” (I don’t have to tell them my name anymore.) “Could you come open the door, please? There are a few kids waiting to come in.”

I didn’t get a sigh or a condescending look! It felt awesome… like I had won something. But what?

For the rest of the day, the “Real Men of Genius” soundtrack has been playing in my head. The ones that Bud Light used to run?

“Here’s to you Mrs. Can’t Get Your 2-Year-Old to School on Time…”

Too bad I couldn’t crack open a Bud Light to celebrate.

MomInDCity readers, are your kids ever late to school?

 

 

Potty Training and a Purse Full of Poop

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If you’re reading this, then I’m going to assume that you’re not grossed out by poop. The title sums up what you’re about to hear. I was having a hard time choosing between the one above and “Why Won’t You Poop on the G*dd&#n Toilet Instead of Everywhere Else?!” but “Purse Full of Poop” seemed catchier, no?

Zana, who turns 3 in February, still hasn’t made the decision to poop on the toilet. I say “made the decision” because I know she’s 100% capable of doing it. She pees on the potty without a problem (most of the time), but #2 has only happened on the potty a few times. Recently, we’ve started forcing the issue by having her wear underwear instead of Pull-ups.

Uh oh, about to blow?

The logic goes something like this: she’ll go all over herself a few times, not like the feeling, and then use the potty forever after. Unfortunately, our trickery hasn’t worked. Here are a couple of my favorite not-wearing-a-Pull-up moments from the past week:

1. I pick up my darling daughter at school and receive the exciting news that she didn’t have any accidents that day. Hooray! When we walk in the house, I say “Zana, let’s go to the potty.” To which she replies, “I don’t need to.”

Then, within one minute, she tells me she peed in her pants. I calmly start cleaning up the puddle of urine while she takes her clothes off and puts them in the laundry room. I don’t even get to finish the job when I hear, from the other room, “Mommy, I poopied!”

What the…???  

“Where?” I ask; it wasn’t anywhere obvious. My little girl had climbed naked on top of the brown, leather ottoman, squatted, and done her business. I was so grossed out that I wanted to wipe her little butt with the Lysol wipes, like I used on the ottoman… but I refrained.

2. Some neighborhood friends invited us over for dinner for the first time. Everything was going beautifully– the kids were playing in the basement and the grown-ups were enjoying a lovely meal and multiple bottles of wine. Zana had used the potty at least once, so I was feeling pretty good about my decision to let her wear underwear… until I heard those dreaded words: “Mommy, I made a poopie!”

Ummmmmmm  “In your pants!?”

Did I really have to ask? I tried to act casual around our gracious hosts, taking Zana into the hallway to assess the damage. It was ugly. I asked for a plastic bag and used almost an entire package of wipes cleaning her behind, legs, feet(?!), everything. Zana got dressed in the change of clothes I brought (yay for thinking ahead-ha), and put the bag of nasty-ness in my beautiful new purse that I bought last week. I’d just have to sort it out later (or throw the whole thing away at home– but they were her cute little skinny jeans and I really like those!).

I thought we’d moved on until the older girls came up the stairs carrying a dress-up skirt covered in– you guessed it– poop. “Ewwwwwwwwww,” they said as they crinkled their noses. “There’s poop on this!”

Seriously?! I can’t figure out how that happened. Did she shove the tutu down her pants? I mean, it was covered. We ended up throwing it out instead of trying to wash it, if that gives you any idea of how much poop was involved.

Our friends told us a couple bathroom stories of their own, in an effort to make us feel less-embarrassed. But all I kept thinking was “please don’t let them find any more of Zana’s poop strewn around the house.” I have a feeling they’re too nice to tell us if they did.

You’re lucky you’re cute

MomInDCity readers, you have to help me. Zana’s school says to keep her in underwear, but just today I got another bag of her soiled clothing from the teacher. Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck!

Any suggestions?

“You’re a Bad Mom” and Other Loving Remarks

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Something has happened to my beautiful, loving, caring, first-born: I think she’s possessed. It sounds extreme, I know, but I can’t think of any other reason why she’d be saying the things that are coming out of her mouth or acting the way she does.

Besides telling me I’m a “bad mom,” and screaming publicly “I don’t like you!”, she also roars and growls like a wild animal when she doesn’t get her way.

Look at this sweet, angelic face:

What’s going on behind that smile???

Can you imagine her acting like such a terror?!

I don’t think I ask for much: get yourself dressed, hold my hand when we cross a busy street, no dessert if you don’t eat any dinner. You’d think I was forcing her into the coal mines when I ask her to put away toys.

So here’s my new plan: Lira’s favorite thing in the world is her after-school Spanish program. She wants to stay until very last minute, and is upset when I pick her up any earlier. So, I told her Monday that when she doesn’t do what she is supposed to in the morning, she will get picked up early. So far, she’s gone to after care twice, got picked up early once and will be picked up early again today. 50/50 isn’t so bad, I guess?

It’s only fair to note that I was a terror of a child (surprising, I know). Not always, but definitely in my pre-teen and teenage years. And also my early 20s. And the late ones. And, well… don’t ask Dave because he’s sure to tell you that I’m still a terror of a child. But not when I was 5!

Did you or your little angels ever go through a phase like this? If so, how did you deal? I’m trying not to go Albanian on her, but if all else fails…

Reporting Live on Hurricane Sandy

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Many moons ago, in a previous lifetime I was a journalist– the kind of journalist that stands out on the beach in the middle of a hurricane and tells people to stay inside. I don’t know how many times I said things like: “we’re the only idiots out here” or “I wish I could be at home snuggled up under a blanket instead of out here.” Well, today was my big chance! Washington, DC shut down, and guess what I did…

1. Ignored all warnings about leaving the house. After going stir crazy at 9 am (yes, that’s how long it took), I packed the husband and kids into the car and didn’t come home for hours.

2. Took pictures of anything and everything:

Check out the guy covering himself with a plastic tablecloth!

3. Judged all the news coverage. If all you have to say is “Caribou is still open,” do you really need to be out there getting blown around in the rain?

4. Criticized the city. Why didn’t they clean up these leaves before the storm? Are they actually hoping for a flood caused by clogged drains? Huh, Mayor Gray? Is that what you want?

5. Put on makeup in case a real reporter needed someone to interview. But only if they need to talk to someone who really knows what they’re talking about (flips hair over shoulder).

6. Drank too much coffee. I forgot I didn’t need to be up for days on end, and now I’m all jittery.

Starbucks was closed but Caribou wasn’t!

7. Updated Facebook on area business closures. Well you were all wondering, weren’t you?!

8. Went to the airport to see if all the flights really are cancelled. They were for the most part. And while we there there, the girls ran a few laps around the terminals and then ate some lunch at the only place open: Dunkin Donuts.

“Reporting live from the airport, I’m Zana.”

9. Looked out the window every 5 minutes to see if things have gotten worse.

Still raining out there…

10. And of course… blogged about it.

I tell ya… you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the– wait that’s not the one. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t– no, that’s not it either. Oh what-the-hell-ever.

I’m sure it sucks if your power went out or if you’re roof flew off today. But since that hasn’t happened here (yet), I will continue to make light of Frankinstorm.

Keep it here for the latest. Now back to you…

Renaissance Festival: Freaks, Food and Frenzy

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Our favorite festival of the year has been in town for months and we almost missed it! Every weekend we seem to have one too many birthday parties, school festivals, soccer games and family commitments. But this Sunday it was do or die. Last day of The Renaissance Festival and we couldn’t let it pass without making our annual pilgrimage to 16th Century England.

Their wild ways are acceptable here.

Allow me to count down my favorite three Fs of the Renaissance Festival:

Freaks
Remember all those kids in high school who used to wear trench coats, smoke in the bathroom, and pierce something new each week? Well this is their reunion– and we’re all invited! From the moment you walk through the castle gates, you see everything from kings and queens to goths and goblins. And for some reason, you’ll also run into Shrek, Big Bird, and a creepy old man dressed like a baby.

But where are the binders full of women?
That was as close as they’d get (can’t blame ’em)

Oh and the boosoms. They are everywhere. Heaving. The only thing is missing is the embrace of Fabio on the cover of a romance novel. Point is: the people watching is the key reason to make the trek out to Crownsville, Maryland (about half an hour from DC).

Food
Imagine all of your favorite fair fare, only better! You will eat like King Henry VIII celebrating his seventh divorce… and Henry VIII might even join you. I’ll save you the cash and calories and help you cut to the chase: get the turkey leg.

Omnomnom

Actually, get two of them so you don’t have to share. My girls have shed tears when the turkey leg is done. Once that runs out, get the fried pickles, and finish with the cinnamon roasted pecans. You won’t be sorry. Plus, you burn so many calories walking around all day that it’s almost like you’re eating celery.

Frenzy
 There is so much to do at the Renaissance Festival that you could practically live there. I think some people actually do live there during the festival, but only the special ones. There’s a maze, a museum of unnatural history, jousting, juggling, pony rides, and actors performing everywhere you turn. It’s hard to tell who’s getting paid and who’s just there for fun. Everyone is 100% in character and loving every minute of it. The girls got their own head gear (which I proudly borrowed for part of the day), and we all got our faces painted.

Their ANTM poses

I’ve been getting my face painted at the Ren Fest since I was 1 year old, and I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of it. I’m glad the girls love it as much as I do. We ended the day dancing with ribbons at the May Pole, then hopped back into our magic time machine (silver Prius) and headed back to the 21st century.

That’s $40 worth of face paint right there.

We all learned some important life lessons at the Ren Fest this year. Zana learned that port-o-poties are gross. Lira learned the word “creeper.” Dave learned that Budweiser and Marlboro Reds were abundant in Renaissance villages. And I learned that half shirts always have been and forever will be in fashion.

Until next year, loyal readers…