The Hook-Ups

For the last week, my house has been transcended by the plague.  A horrible cold has passed it's way through each of us and then back again putting Carter and me into a relapse that was worse than round one.  I do not do well as a sick mother.  The combination of  wanting sleep and having things needed of me are not a good mix.  It has been one of those weekends where I felt terrible and took medicine that then upset my stomach.  There is just no rest when you have a constant cough that is now compounded with the fear of that one cough that could cause loss of control resulting in a very bad day! It's bad enough to be 32 and continually keep your bladder empty in the event of a hard sneeze or cough, but this takes it to a whole new level!! 

So today I woke up (about 2 hours after everyone else, thanks to a wonderful husband) to a very healthy and energetic little man.  He pounced and jumped and dug knees and elbows into me that caused shooting pains into my already sore body.  (If you have not yet given birth, are an adoptive mother, or a man, know that the physical pain of having a child continues....seemingly forever.....through the bumps, jumps, and head butts!!)  I knew with Dain leaving for work this morning that I needed to find a way to entertain this burst of energy; this bearer of inertia; this living example of Newton's first law. So we got up and headed to the mall theater for cheap, seated entertainment.  I felt very proud of myself in timing both lunch in the food court with movie then following. We worked our way through people to get in line for food, and then a mother's nightmare came true.  

I felt a tug at my arm and I bend down to see what Carter wanted to say. I'm expecting to hear things like, "I want pizza" or "why is chick-fil-a closed" or "I don't like corn dogs , but instead it's words that send chills up my spine: "I'm gonna throw up."  I panicked! My body went numb for a minute.  How could this happen? I was not prepared for this! I'm not well enough to handle this....then, mom-mode took over.  My chills departed, my headache subsided, my cough ceased (probably because I quit breathing, but none the less).  I grabbed  him by the arm and did everything but run to the bathroom, praying and watching him as his feet only skidded every few feet like a raft bouncing behind a speeding boat.  Carter was making "the face": the, if I say a word, something might come out, face.  In an instant the hall to the bathrooms seems 10 miles long.  Like in some cliche horror film, the faster I walked, the farther my destination seemed.  We made it. I flung the door open, slung him in front of a commode, and told him it was ok and to just throw up in the bowl but don't touch anything (you know, germs!!).  He stood there for just a few seconds and then looked up at me with both perplexity and intuition and said, 

"It's ok Momma! It was just a hook-ups! (hiccups) We can go now."

So much for low-impact entertainment...

Birthdays, Spidermans, and Egos

On September 10, my angel in disguise turned 4 years old.  This year was much different on the birthday agenda than previous because of the insertion of opinions.  For the last 3 years, I have been able to plan, influence, and create the birthday party of little boys' dreams while Carter just sat back and enjoyed.  I didn't need to consult or check in with anyone and felt the freedom to plan a party that Pottery Barn would be proud of.  But this year was different; there was a smell of competition in the air... Carter felt the need to replicate his best friend's birthday party.

For several months, Carter talked about his birthday like it was only days away.  He became excited after attending his best friend Brandon's party.  Brandon had a "Spiderman Bouncy House" party, and Carter wanted one too! So we planned for months about what he wanted at his party. For Carter there were only three things on the list: Spiderman, Water-slide, and Friends; but, that just wasn't good enough for me.  I was the only child, you go all out, "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to" kid and I married the, never had a party, you got a present and cake and favorite dinner, man.  Whether he admits or not, Dain lives through his inner child with Carter, and loves going all out!! Birthdays are big; Christmas is big; Tuesdays are big! Any excuse to have fun and spoil Carter has been well planned and orchestrated to the fullest extent.  So, as you can imagine, the two of us together are sometimes over-the-top in our planning of birthdays.  We started with our lists: Spiderman theme, cool invitations, biggest water-slide appropriate for a 4 year old, cotton candy (as spiderwebs, of course), the list went on and on.  I began buying and stocking and storing and sketching and buying....did I mention buying? Then began the phase of bringing everything together. Now is where I must explain something to you: I think I can do everything myself! That's right, I said it. I'm just conceded enough to think I can do any task I want, and that everyone is staring at me in the gym when I workout! I will say, I am a wonderful copycat crafter.  I can see something I like, and begin a plan to save money and do it myself.  The problem comes in facilitating everything at the same time.

As the mother of an over-opinionated child, I find many things challenging to know when to overlook and know when to take it to heart.  It's like Kenny Rogers said, "Know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em"!!On Carter's birthday, Monday the 10th, we went as a family to Chuckee Cheese to celebrate, but Carter's birthday party was not until that Saturday.   Knowing Carter has two-cents about everything, I sat in the backseat of the truck on the way home thinking about all of the things that I needed to come together before Saturday at 3pm.  We are not the housekeeper kind of family so my list included everything from clean the toilets to make the cake.  I feel my breaths become shorter and shorter.  My head begins to hurt with anxiety as I am filled with regret in taking on so much.  Here I stood, the week of, and there was no turning back.  I began to prepare my friends and family for the much needed support and lies if everything went to hell in a hand basket. "Just lie to me and tell me it all looks great and talk about me on your way home", I would say.  But on the moonlit ride home, I realized I forgot my biggest critic.  The young man who laughed when walking in the bathroom and said, "look at that big booty." The one known for telling me I stink and refusing to eat what I have cooked.  The young man who did not hesitate to let me know that he doesn't like it when I dye my hair and that he thinks "it looks ugly."  That child of mine who responds to me saying I can't do something with "because you're too old, or you're too big?"  There he sat next to me, my New York Times critic; and I had not prepared him for my level of exhaustion that led to increased levels of sensitivity. I gently turned to him and said in my softest, most matronly voice possible, "Carter, Momma has worked so hard on your Spiderman birthday party.  So I need you to be really excited and happy on Saturday and stroke my ego a little. Ok?"

A look of confusion spread over his face that was quickly replaced with a look of pure, shitty sarcasm and he said (with his eyebrows pushed together in the middle and raised on the outside), "That's weird..... That's really, really weird...." 

A Week with My Son

Last week, my family took our annual vacation to the beach.  Carter has been dragged through the sand since he was 11 months old and up until this point, he wasn't real sure about what to think when it came to the sand and ocean.  To my greatest hope, this year was different.  He was relaxed and confident all week long, but as you all have come to expect with my stories, he was a little too relaxed and WAY TOO CONFIDENT!!  

Dain and I are laid back parents and don't fret over little things with Carter anymore.  We had our moments in the beginning, but like Carter's first year of insomnia, we got it out of our system and were on a stable track.  We have always laughed and talked about how funny he is and just how funny this age of development can be, but we also had not spent day and night with one another.  We've had our moments with Carter when we walk away knowing he won the argument. But we work to regroup and be prepared for next one. In no way were we on our game for a week's vacation together.  

I had always wanted a smart child; one that would not struggle and would have education and social situations come easy.  What I did not realize came with that wish was verbal dominance and strong-willed personality that did not allow for the occasional, parental white lie.  I was not given the child that you can say, "It's all gone" when wanting too many cookies, or "It's out of gas" when wanting to ride on the lawn mower. Nope, not Carter!  He almost laughs with disdain at our attempts to fool him with trickery!  We are met with responses like, "No, the cookies are right here in the cabinet behind the bread. (While grabbing stool and moving objects in pantry) SEE?!?" I've always said that it was like raising a 3 year old with a mind of a 30 year old.  I know what you are thinking, too, that he is just mimicking what we say, but I stand here with all honesty and integrity and say, "Not completely". I'll admit to the occasional quick-whit at Carter, but do try and watch attitude, language, and tone when addressing him.  After a week together, I realize that I need my whit to be on my toes with what this one might throw at you!

For an entire week, I cringed, corrected, and laughed at the randomness that spewed like word vomit from Carter's mouth.  He referenced my mother as "the old lady", responded to conversations and commands with "you've got to be kidding me" and "WHAAAAT?"  I was told I was "ridiculous", and that he couldn't pick up his toys because his "foot was broke like Mimi's" (my mom recently broke her foot). Every decision was a negotiation: "4 more days", "3 more minutes", "just oooone more cookie" in a dominant tone that might infer that it was not open for discussion.  Then, there came the flirting. "Flirting???" you say, "how can a 3, almost 4 year old, really be flirting?" Well, it happened, and not with age appropriate children, but 16-20 year olds! I had to pull my son back from chasing, falling in front of, Meow-ing at, and just plain hollering at girls in minimal clothing!!  By the end of the week, we entertained others, made some new friends, and creeped out some young girls.....All in all it was a great vacation!

So the next time you are in the store and hear a mother and son arguing with one another and your hear a child's voice say "You are really getting on my nerves!" followed with "You are really getting on my nerves too, but I'm not buying you a toy or candy. Now come on!" please come say hello!! 

Move Over Ms. O'Hare

For the last several weeks, I have thought about how quiet things have been around my house.  Some of that could be contributed to Mononucleosis, but overall there has not been any new "stunts".  It's summer, and we are all just a little more relaxed.  Bedtimes are not so strict; diet has been lax (for Carter, not me! I refuse to die FAT!!); swimming in the evenings; you know, the stuff memories are made of.  I began to think that maybe, just maybe, I would begin to experience the "Brady Bunch" lifestyle that we all fantasize about.  And like a bolt of lightening, I have been jolted back into reality!


Like I said, Mono hit our house.  Everything was extremely laissez faire: no interruptions, no interference, just relaxation for the ill and focus on getting better.  Carter had a rough time with a sore throat, and was subsequently cranky, but only for about a week.  Lincoln Hill Drive was quiet. Then, in a whirlwind that a tornado has nothing on, I found myself wondering what the hell happened.  All of a sudden, I was having adult conversations with Carter that he would understand and respond appropriately....and INAPPROPRIATELY!


I was under a false assumption that girls were the dramatic ones.  Drama Queens, right?  Well, I am here to tell you there is a Ying for that Yang!!  The sass-mouth that took over my son's oral cavity is one of a caliber that could hang with the big boys (or girls, so I previously thought).  The huffing and puffing, "Oh My Gosh"s, and my personal favorite "Well, Shoot!" overtook my son's vocabulary.  I couldn't ask anything of him without some level of interjection. Although they were not disrespectful, they were really becoming annoying. I really wondered where many of these sayings came from because they are not anything from our house/family.  If it were worse (my personal favorite since the age of 3 has been shit), then I might hang my head in shame, but these were just at a Scarlet O'Hare level; thankfully, no Richard Prior! I tried to overlook most of it, but we all have our breaking points.  As I began to crack, Carter and I came head to head one night with full sarcasm:


     "Why do you talk like you are 30?" - me
     "Why do Y-O-U talk like you're 30? - Carter
     "Because I AM 30!" - me
     "Well, I'm 3!" - Carter


Of course I laughed, what else was I supposed to do? Guess what.....that was NOT the right way to handle a child's dramatics.  So, this past weekend, while enjoying a visit at his Mimi's, he decided to step it up a notch.  You know, test the ground with someone else.  He arrived in Monroe, LA with his latest:


"You're getting on my last nerve!"


And to that I say, "Touché, my son. Touché!"

Purel, the god of sanitation

Weekend before last, Dain and I celebrated our 11 year anniversary.  And like all happily married couples the only way fitting to celebrate was to go somewhere without our child.  (I love my child, but know that I love him more when we have some apart time!)  We headed out to the gulf coast in hopes of getting nestled in somewhere on the beach.  All I could imagine was living out the words to some country song where my only goal for the day was to drink, tan, and watch people in bathing suits that shouldn't be made in that size.  There would be no crying, arguing, negotiating, begging, or bribing this weekend.  It was just for the two of us.  So naturally, I in no way expected to have anything for a blog about the adventures with my son.  How could I, when he was not even there? Right? WRONG.  My story this time is not one of my own, but rather one played out through someone else. 

Dain and I drove into Mobile late on Friday night with the intention of hitting the beach first thing Saturday (even before the condo was ready for us).  About 30 minutes outside of Mobile is a gas station that we seem to frequent every time we make this trip.  As I walked into the Women's bathroom, I was surprised to find that it was not as clean as I remembered. Although there were two stalls, one remained unoccupied due to the urine on the floor and pregnancy test on the back of the toilet (I'm hoping for that child's sake it was negative)! So as I waited for the one remaining stall to clear, I found myself with front row seats to a show that I had seen before. 

I could hear that there was a mother and small child in the bathroom.  Before even hearing the child, I could recognize the tone of a mother.  The firm but gentle way of trying to convince a slightly more independent being to follow instructions.  I listened as they talked, "are you finished?" "Wait just a minute, let Momma go now." "Yes, Momma's teetee'ing just like you." I smiled with a warm feeling about the relationship between mother and child and thought fondly of my child when all of a sudden the conversation shifted.  The mother gasped for air, and squealed, "Oh my God, no, stop!" I held my breath for her, as though in some mother to mother telekinesis, I supported her in her frantic state.  "Oh my God, please, Bailey, NO! STOP! DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING! OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD! THAT'S NASTY! DON'T TOUCH....OH MY GOD!" The stall rattled; her panic rang out; and there I stood, laughing my ass off! The stall door flung open and a disheveled mother and toddler emerged as she yanked him in one quick swoop to the sink to wash off what could only be imagined as the worst possible bacteria/disease lurking on the commode.  And in that moment, while trying to hide my laughter, I realized as mothers we are all the same.  We fight the same battles, have the same fears, and pray to the same god of sanitation, Purel!

I Think I've Lost My Owner's Manual

I remember as a child my mother telling me that there was no instruction manual for parenting.  She always told me that you just learned as you went.  At the same time (usually when I was busted at something) she talked to me about mother's intuition.  An instinct; a feeling; that guttural response to your child and their well-being.  It was during the time of pregnancy that I began to understand that instinct.  That feeling inside that let's you know that you would do anything for your child.  While I was pregnant, I remember thinking about all of the things that parenting would be.  I reminded myself what an enormous responsibility and read in an attempt to prepare.  I read and read and read. I read books. I read magazines. I subscribed to this crap on the Internet that sent me updates to my baby's progress.  I bought  What to Expect When You are Expecting and What to Expect the First Year.  Needless to say, after the first one scared the s*%t out of me, I have never cracked any more What to Expect.. books.  I thought, I'll just learn to expect the unexpected.  I mean how bad of a parent could I possibly be.  I don't do drugs. I don't drink too much.  I don't curse in front of others. I go to church on Easter and talk about how I need to "get back in a routine." And most importantly, I'm not crazy.....RIGHT?!? 

What I never expected was that being a mother could make me crazy.  As I sit here thinking about Mother's Day this Sunday, all I can think about is how dramatically my life has changed.  There are so many things that are different about my life in such a short time.  Things that I swore I would never say; I say.  Hearing my own mother's words exit my mouth happen quicker than I can retrieve.  Before I knew it my good son was "Carter" and bad son was instantly called by his full name, "Aiden Carter Boyd."  (I have told all of my friends that before they decide on a name, stand in the living room and yell it to see how natural it feels) There was also some confusion with his name. Yes, I forgot my child's name.  I spent months planning and choosing a name, and insisted it had to be just right. Then, when cracked out on pain meds after 20 hours of labor, weeks prior of no sleep, and recent worry with no sleep because my child was put in the NICU, some idiot thought that would be the best time to ask me to fill out paperwork.  Several months after he was brought home, I began to worry.  I came across my scratchings of name variances for Aiden and panicked!! I will not tell you whether it was right or wrong, only that his birth certificate states "Aiden"!!

Then, lastly, there have been the unexpected phrases.  Not the things that I planned NOT to say, but the things that I never dreamed I would need to say.  Here are a list of just a few for your pure entertainment:

"Is that poop or chocolate?"

"How did you poop through your clothes onto the floor, but no poop is in/on your clothes?"

"Get the dog's toys out of your mouth!"

"Spankings ARE NOT funny!"

"No, you can't go to school naked."
"Do not moon your friends at school. It's not nice. Funny, but not nice."

"Only dogs poop in the backyard, not little boys."

"Is that a Fruit Loop on your testicle?" followed with "Why is a Fruit Loop on your testicle?"

"Did you poopoo or did you just fart?"

"No, your leg is not broken. Go feed the dogs!!"

"You MUST wash your hands every time you touch your woowoo." RESPONSE: "No I don't!"

And the one I seem to be saying more and more these days....

"GET YOU HAND OUT OF YOUR BUTT!!"


So, when you begin to question your parenting abilities, or better yet, think you are ready to become a parent....know that you have been warned!

First Impressions

As a therapist and a parent I understand how impressionable children are. From the moment I found out that I was pregnant, I began planning. I thought about all of the things that I wanted my child to be.  I planned before I even knew if I was having a boy or a girl.  Then, once I realized that I was blessed with a boy, I thought about all of the things that I loved (and didn't) in my husband, father, and grandfather,  and how I wanted to raise a son just right.  I found being the mother of a son a tremendous responsibility.  I needed to teach him how to be chivalrous, respectful, kind, and romantic.  I wanted him to be the fiercest fighter and the sweetest lover.  On the other hand, I think Dain was thinking less about the "mushy part" and more about the manly things.  You know the burping, farting, peeing on things, and the ever important off-road vehicle training that would ensue.  Somewhere in this dramatic difference of procedure, we have raised Carter. I have watched for over 3 1/2 years at how Carter has followed, mimic'd, and learned from his environment. BUT, sometimes things stick that I would rather him forget.  The slipped phrases, the occasional raised voices and then, of course, his first fishing trip. 



In an attempt to make a memory, we went fishing for the first time last Saturday.  I was so excited.  Carter has a "Superman" rod and reel and is able to cast like no one's business.  He has spend many a day sitting on one side of the living room, casting clear across the room and hitting the television with the rubber fish practice piece.  I just knew that he would love the feeling of having a fish on his line that wiggled and pulled as he reeled his catch in.  The excitement; the pride; and for a scrap booking mother, THE PICTURES! I was so excited that I packed food and drinks and everything that we could possibly need to not have a disaster on the water's bank.  I know my child and know what "drugs" (Gummies and Coke Zero) can pull him out of a melt down, and I was ready!  We got to the water, and I was skeptical about the location.  After 45 minutes, no bites, and a melt down on the horizon, I was not about to surrender.  I suggested a pond next to our nephew's place and we were packing up and on our way in less than 5 minutes.  The second location was perfect.  It was secluded; there were horses; memory lane, here we come. I'm sitting in a "ballpark" chair on the water's edge and Carter is standing in-between my legs.  I cast out the first line. Without hesitation, I get a nibble.  I am so excited and all I can do is yell, "Carter, Carter! Momma has a fish biting my worm!" And in an instant, the fish bit and I did what you are supposed to do: jerk the line to sink the hook.  In one swift move I hooked a fish......and NAILED MY SON!! I hit Carter smack in the forehead with my pole full force.  I was ashamed. I felt like the worst mother in the world and could no longer care about the fish, only to console my sweet baby.  Needless to say, he was fine and I forgave myself, putting the whole incident behind me. But then just like a Pavlovian dog something happened; something stuck... From that moment on every time I announced that I had a fish on the line Carter yelled, 

"Oh my God! Oh my God! She's gonna hit me!" while running up the bank. 

Two Pees in a Shower

It is not a secret who Carter's father is.  They are as close to twins as a parent/child can get.  People often tell me that Carter looks just like me....until they meet Dain.  There are only two things that the child got from me: nose and attitude.  Carter walks step for step behind his father.  There is nothing that Dain could do wrong in the world according to Carter.  It's as if I can hear the Patty Duke theme song playing in the background, "they laugh alike, they walk alike, at times they even talk alike."  

Most people would agree that my husband is an outstanding man; an honorable idol in my son's eyes. To that I would completely agree, in most instances.  There is that one side of him that is nothing but a child himself.  Now, Dain would argue that I fell in love with that playful side, and on a good day I would agree, but dealing with two of them who feed off each other makes it less amusing. 

So, the other day when I informed Carter that it was time to shower (he really does everything his daddy does!) I expected that he and Dain had retreated to our master bath to get Carter cleaned up like they do every night.  I began my usual routine during that time of picking up toys and rounding up dirty clothes.  When I rounded the corner from my bedroom into the bath, I was in no way prepared for what I was about to see!  There stood my son and his terrible influence of a father standing side by side, stance by stance, PEEING into the shower!!  I couldn't in any stretch of imagination have expected this and was left speechless.  When I finally came to and uttered the phrase, "Excuse me?!?", I was even less prepared for the explanation:

"It was his idea!"--Dain

Back to Life, Back to Reality

I recently had a bad spell with some health issues.  As a parent you really begin to understand the magnitude of your role and responsibilities when you are "under the weather." I was so worried about Dain being able to manage the house while I was off my feet (thought only for a few days, but ended up at two weeks) but little did I realize that my focus was all wrong.  He had it completely under control. Navigated through the pantry, cleaned and picked up the house, called and chastised Doctor's (this was during the unexpected spell) all without batting an eye.  During the first week, Carter was at my mother's house living it up and getting full on attention as would be expected at Mimi's House.  What I was not prepared for was his return and reaction to me being ill.  Apparently, Carter shows concern through insubordination!! He was a beast; a force to be reckoned with.  Nothing made him happy, and NOTHING was right.  As I struggled to get better, I also struggled with not sending my child back to his Mimi's.  But, in an instant (because of God answering my prayer) I was better, and so was he! When he got home and I was in the living room and not in the bed, he was a changed kid.  I was happy to be back to myself and also happy to have my son back.  We were able to enjoy the weekend and each other before I returned to work today.

With all of that said, the fun has not stopped and I will be bringing the Carter-saga up to speed. So, when you see multiple alerts to new blogs, that's just me telling our story some more!

The Birds and The Bees and The...Pre-K 3's??

From the moment I was told that I would be the mother of a boy, I started planning.  Parents of girls are always talking about raising a lady and it seemed imperative for me to raise a gentleman.  I was blessed to be married to a man whom not only had manners, even if they got left at the backdoor when he came home, but also knew how to treat a woman.  This became my task at hand. I would not only raise a gentleman that could have manners and know how to conduct himself (still a work in progress), but also one that knew how to treat a lady!

I have known since Carter was only a few months old that he held an interest in the opposite sex.  I jokingly laughed about when "the day would come" that I would have to deal with this affliction. When I would have to fend off the girls and rope in my son.  I then began to realize that I might be doing too good of a job at the romantic part when Carter wanted to make out with me.    He came home at the age of 2 with a girlfriend, and at 3 1/2, she's still his number one.  I have been told of his escapades with girls by their mothers.  Zoe, his long-term girlfriend, told her mother that she and Carter kiss at school.  When asked where, she explained "everywhere but the chairs. We fall on the floor when we kiss in the chairs." Just this week his other girlfriend (this one more recent in the picture) told her mother that Carter was her best friend and "he needed to come with them to Disneyworld this summer." I take all of these stories in with smiles and laughs, but inside think thoughts of locking this child up in his room until he's 33. I wonder where I went wrong; where romantic is bordering on sexual at 3 years old.

After the "incident" talk at school (see previous blog), he and I went on our weekly date.  This is usually on a night that Dain works late and I don't want to cook; therefore I reframe it as a date.  This week we went to Chick-fil-A for our dinner and he was having a blast playing on the play yard.  All of a sudden I look in and see two girls violently pulling on him with each one gripping an arm.  In a flash of "OH HELL NO!", I throw on my figurative Supermom cape and charge in to save my son from these two heathen of 6 year olds.  I rush in, flinging the door open, fully ready to discipline someone else's child as they all came down the slide.  I was ready. Carter would be crying. They would be evil. And I would save... no one. Like a popped balloon, my stance was deflated in an instant. My theoretical cape went from flapping in the wind like Lynda Carter, to sagging and faded.  Carter didn't need to be rescued. These girls (again, twice his age) were flirting with him!! His grin was probably as big as I've ever seen it.  I was greeted with, "What Momma?" as two giggly girls continued to pull and hang on him right in front of me, explaining that they were chasing him!

I shuffled back to my seat, and spent the rest of the "date" watching my Carter charm those tramps! They snuck under the platforms. They hung for extended periods in the tunnels. And me, I plotted. I plotted what I would have to do to contain this; this mojo that I did not like! This swag that made me sad and angry all at the same time. This little bad ass inside of him that I knew all too well. It's what I fell for in his daddy!

"We Had An Incident"

Incident is a kind word that means "nothing good." So when I picked Carter up from school today and was told by the daycare director "we had an incident today", I held my breath.  All I could think was "Damn it, Carter. What now?" Of course I would never say that out loud, but let's be honest, that's what we think every time the word "incident" appears.  I waited; ready for anything.  I was told ever so solemnly that Carter pulled his pants down in front of other students a few times this morning and "she had to have a talk with him." I was shocked! My Carter? Of all of the stunts he's pulled, being a voyeur hasn't been on the top of the list.  I assured her that I had not seen that kind of behavior at home, and that I agreed to the idea that "it's not acceptable behavior." As I bent down and began my "Momma talk" with Carter about what I envisioned as him pulling his shorts and underwear down to show his privates, I had an epiphany.  The embarrassment overwhelms me, but I DARE not show it.  Like a rush of wind (coming over a sewer plant) it hits me like a ton of bricks.  My child was not pulling his pants/underwear all the way down.....he was MOONING them!!

As I strapped him into his seat in the car, I composed myself.  I straightened my face; hardened my gaze; looked him dead in the eye.  And while trying to be serious, I asked the looming question.  "Carter, did you show your booty-butt (his language, not mine) at school today?" He grinned. He grinned so big that it turned straight into a chuckle and he said, "Yeah Momma and it was so funny!" How can I compete with this? What I wanted to do was completely opposite of what I knew I needed to do.  The image of Carter pulling down his pants just enough to show a little crack for a laugh was absolutely hilarious to me.  But, I conceded to the moment and did my best attempt at remaining serious.  As I began to explain that "showing people our booty butt is not nice", I am met with eyes of confusion and a grand "IT'S NOT?!?".  He knew I was lying.  He knew that this was considered funny in any other situation, and truly couldn't understand what I was saying.  So with a blank stare, as if to just play along, he shrugged his shoulders and mechanically stated "ok Momma".

If Women are from Mars, then Men must be from Uranus

I have always been aware of the dramatic differences between men and women.  They range from the most subtle of things to more dramatic, almost inconceivable, ways.  I often find myself looking at the opposite sex in total confusion and despair.  At the same time, if I had a dollar for how many times my husband has uttered, "HuH?!?" with the most puzzled look as if I were talking to him in Hebrew, we would be Oprah rich.  These differences have been the discussion of psychologists and behaviorist for years.  The idea of bridging the gap between the sexes for a better relationship and understanding have plagued our society.  I am a Marriage and Family Therapist. This is a concept that I believed and trusted in during my graduate studies. And I stand here today to tell you that it is all pure BULLSHIT!!

I am an only child. Growing up there were no references for what "boys were like." We have all heard the sweet nursery rhymes that tells us that girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice and boys, on the other hand, are snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.  This should have clued us all in to the truth!! Boys are slimy, sticky, dirty..... Now, don't get me wrong, I love my boy with all of my heart. I just struggle with how to relate to him; how to get him to understand me.  Never would I have thought that potty training would be best encouraged as "pee on the grass" training.  Nor did I ever expect to hear the words, "Momma, I just pooped on the concrete." Can you imagine my horror when I realized that my beautiful, sweet, long eye lashed son dropped trouser, squatted, and pinched off a loaf on our back patio like one of the dogs!! I find myself thinking "what went wrong" "what's the matter with him" "I can't do this anymore" on a regular basis.  I have no foundation for this! I am a girly girl.  I wear heels to Wal-Mart for goodness sake! But still I try.  I shop for him in what most would be deemed the "preppy" section.  I love the GAP outlets and I pick out outfits that coordinate from the undershirt to his tennis shoes.  And I fight. I fight daily. "Where's my Lightening McQueen shirt?" "Where's my airplane shirt?" "Where's my pirate shirt." "I don't like those shoes! Where are my Spiderman shoes?" All of these garments are cheap, and like cheap clothing do, they are frayed, worn, and ragged. 

It was not until this week that I decided that the battle was useless.  That boys will be boys and girls will be girls and that we shall NEVER understand one another.  While Carter was at the dentist's office, he announced (loudly I might add) that he "needed to poopoo." As Carter and Dain emerged from the bathroom rather quickly considering the stated task at hand, I asked (first mistake) if he "took care of business." In a proud moment, Dain explained that Carter announced, "Daddy, I'm gonna poopoo fast and hard; like a MAN!!" It was as if God reached down, gently touched my shoulder and in all of his Holiness and gentleness whispered in my ear, "Give it UP."

Demons be gone!

For years I have understood the power of medicine.  With just a single dose symptoms could subside, aches could disappear, hair could regrow, erectile dysfunction could, well, function.  What I did not understand was how a single dose could somehow remove the spirit of the child I once knew and replace it with something powerful, scary, and all together evil at times. What happened in our house over the weekend was absurdly out of control and bordered on needing an exorcism.

Carter was placed on a steroid over the weekend for a respiratory illness by his doctor.  His doctor is the most loving and kind man I have ever been to.  He makes me feel competent (even when it's in question), takes his time with ALL of my questions, and tells me what a good-looking child I have (and yes, I know he tells everyone this, but I don't care!!).  He knows us.  He cares about us.  I trust.....well, trusted him.  I believe that demons were placed in a bottle of Orapred, leading me to inadvertently give them to my son.  With one teaspoon on Saturday morning the adventure started and left a path of destruction including but not limited to the following:

1-Broken Frame
3-Doses spilled medicine (one of which he flung at his mouth from
                           dose cup approximately 1 foot from said target)
Every toy removed from room- including the ones that were tucked in storage in his closet.
1-Cracked foot stool (one week old from Target)
Numerous broken toys
Sat on Jack (our 10 year old pug with morbid obesity and arthritis whom we also believe to be going blind)
Ran over Maddie (our rescue dog that is probably plotting her return to shelter)
2-skid marks
    1- on the floor from making his bike slide around the corners at a high rate of speed
    1- in his underwear from running off the toilet without alerting anyone to clean him


I might not have been prepared for the weekend, but if there is anything that my grandfather has taught me (other than "doing your homework means your man won't stray", and "no one ever died of the red ass" and the ever famous "that went over like a turd in a punchbowl") is that fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, I'll get you!!  So tonight I will return home, bible in hand.....

I'll need something to slap the shit out of him with!!

You say Tomato, I say WHAT?!?

Communication is a very delicate balance.  It is an interaction between people that requires a lot of different functions to come together.  In order for us to navigate through the world, we rely on communication.  It can build and destroy a relationship before even being defined as such. We use skills built early in life to understand language, slang, and external contexts.  When all of these skills come together it is a beautiful interaction.  When they don't, bad things can happen!


After dinner tonight, I decided that we needed to go and have an "ice cream" treat.  We loaded up and went to our local Orange Leaf Yogurt Shoppe. After enjoying our little excursion, we loaded back up in Dain's truck.  Dain was getting Carter placed into his car seat, and this in itself is a chore.  Carter is 3 years old, 43 inches tall and 43 lbs.  All of the car seats say that for his size he should just be in a booster, but again, he is only 3! Carter has the mind of a 3 year old (the smart ass of a 40 yr old) and the body of a 6 year old.  Giving him commands to do something are challenging, but physically making him can be even more so.  In being a good wife (and Southern Lady as earlier explained) I'm in the front seat with my feet hurting from wearing heels all day, and just overall tired from having a cold over the weekend.  The following conversation is what I heard:
          "Carter get in your seat. Carter, I said get in your seat. Come on."-Dain
          ***Rustling as Carter listens and does as asked***
          "I'm gonna dig in your butt."-Carter
          "You're gonna what?!?"-Dain
          "I'm gonna dig in your butt, Daddy!"-Carter
          "What did you say? Why would you say that?!?"-Dain (frantically)


What I know about this conversation but Dain does not, is that Carter is referring to the bottom of the harness in his car seat that typically is under his butt rather than between his legs like most kids.  SO, in order for us to get to it to strap together the 5-point harness, we must "dig in his butt."


Moral of the story: What seems logical to one, can shake another to their core!!

The Sum of All Fears

As parents, we all know the greatest fear that we carry from the moment our children are born.  The fear that something will happen to them and that they will be hurt or possibly the unspeakable.  Being the mother of a child who was born with heart defects, I learned this fear all too early.  I have hovered and coddled and all of the other things that us mothers do under the realm of "protection." I am constantly reminded (by people whom I excuse, due to their lack of understanding) that I must let Carter live and explore and be more strict on him.  Daily I try to remind myself all of the things that I said I "did NOT" want in a child, and attempt to raise him accordingly.  Also, let's not forget that my profession as a Marriage and Family Therapist who works with "at risk youth" to modify behavior, puts a lot of pressure on me to be perfect. With that said, tonight I was briefly faced with one of my greatest fears:


After treating ourselves to dinner at a local restaurant, we headed home with full bellies. Dain offered Carter a soft sugar mint that he had retrieved from the checkout and, like all children, Carter thought this was candy at its highest regard and went to ripping the paper and shoved it in his mouth like he does every time.  About halfway home, we heard Carter choking.  I panicked, yelling for Dain to pull over while ripping off my seat belt in an attempt to get into the back seat.  After being slung around (because Dain did exactly as instructed), the truck stopped....along with time.  I couldn't find anything in the dark.  I frantically grabbed and reached for the handle on the door, but couldn't find it! I was hollering Carter's name, expletives at the missing handle, and inside just praying that he would be ok.  Now, although we are not at a "call 911" point in the situation, I am a dramatic mother. Yeah, ok, I said it!! My name is Crystal and I am dramatic.  Us Southern Belles can't possibly have all this charm without a little drama. *and I digress*  Finally, I am able to open the door (I'm thinking the second "F" word did the trick) and I rushed to the back, snatching at everything.  It is at this point that you learn exactly how safe a 5-point harness system is for children.  If a raging "momma bear" can't get it off, then it will survive a crash. I feel as though I am fighing against a Sumo wrester while under the influence because NOTHING is working for me.  I finally get to Carter and sit him up while sternly patting and rubbing his back.  By this time his face is coming back to a deep red and he is starting to breathe at a more productive pace (unlike me who hasn't stopped to breathe since the beginning of all of this).  With tears streaming down his face, and gasping for air, he looks at Dain and says.....................




Can I have another piece of candy?

Save the Drama for Yo Momma

My son. He's intelligent, handsome, quick-witted, and DRAMATIC.  Let me introduce you to Aiden "Carter" Boyd through an glimpse into our home:

I have struggled with weight my entire life and decided that when I had a child that I would do everything possible to help him develop healthy eating habits.  Apparently, God had other things in mind when he gave me Carter.  Carter, since birth, has been the funniest eater and has taken issue with almost every food at some point.  He struggled with baby food, and then as the stages progressed, so did his ability to spit food at me! He was late in eating regular food and didn't conquer chewy foods until almost 2.  As I have watched his friends at daycare overcome the obsticles of vegtables, meats, and even gum, my sweet Carter has never tasted a doughnut.  WHAT?!?, you say! How could a child who is 3 1/2 not have enjoyed some of the more finer sweets in life? This is where I can only say "Here's Carter" in my best Ed McMahon impression!! I struggle daily to get him to eat anything other than pizza and popcorn chicken. And to all of you who's children eat what you give them, YES I have tried letting him go to bed hungry.  That's exactly what he does; goes to bed hungry!! I have tried to keep the meals as balanced as possible, mixing protiens and carbs (and yes I have justified a lunchable in this, sue me!!)

So tonight, as we get ready to cheer on the New Orleans Saints in round one of the playoffs, Dain's at work, and I cleaned and put up Christmas decorations all day, I did not want to cook (Again, sue me!). I stooped. I caved. I offered him pb&j for supper.  I don't know about you, but as a kid and adult, that's like dessert for a meal.  As I am mixing the two in a bowl to spread on his bread, he comes, ever so curious, to see what it looks like.  As I should have expected, he started crying and telling me he doesn't like that and he only wants peanut butter.  What? I know this can't be true! How can I prove him wrong? I'm sick of this non-sense! So, without hesitation, I cornered him in the kitchen, held his cheeks, and shoved the spoonful into his mouth. And.....he spit it right back at me!

All I could think is, what a rude, defiant, spoiled little.... and before I could finish my trail of thoughts that I would later have to ask God for forgiveness on, he licked his lips.  I held my breath in sheer hope that I had won this battle.  He licked them again. Then as if none of the prior battle had taken place, he said, "Yeah, I do like that! Momma, I do like that, it's good!" VICTORY IS MINE!! So, as I approach the playoffs tonight on cloud nine, I can only imagine what I can accomplish tomorrow.

A New Year, A New....

So like many, with the coming of a new year, I contemplate what 2012 will hold.  I think about my family and whether I want to expand.....or condense! Lose weight.... or just save for a tummy tuck.  Stop drinking.... or drink more often. Something feels new and fresh this year and it makes me wonder what is in store. Will I get a promotion? Will I win the lottery? Or, will it just be more of the same? More of the life that I have known and loved for many, many years. One where I have learned to expect the belly laughs after a fart, or the "my truck needed to be painted" but only the carpet seemed to get the colorings of blue, orange, purple, and green.  Carter has definitely taught me not to take things too serious.  So, here's to a new year, a new adventure, and a new habit (will let you know when I decide)!