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."