28 January 2005

Terroristic?

I'm an editor; I admit it, I'm a bit more, shall we say, annoyed, about the butchering of the English language than your typical person on the street.

But the local television news channels butcher it, stuff it in sausage casings, and hang it out to dry.

Tonight, for example, I heard a T.V. reporter state that the accused had threatened a "terroristic" act.

Terroristic?

Exactly in what dictionary would one find that word? Its definition, please?

Think before you speak. Reread what you write. Please, people, stop tormenting the rest of us.

25 January 2005

23 January 2005

Two into Three

The year from age two to age three is the year a baby changes into a little person.

At two, they can barely communicate. Grunts, points, and crying; not so many words. They physically look closer to babies than older kids.

As the months pass, and my little boy moves closer to three, the signs of the baby he was are quickly disappearing.

He speaks in full sentences, with adjectives and adverbs. You can understand what he is saying--no baby gibberish for my boy.

He even looks like a preschooler. Those loving baby eyes have transformed into pools of impish devilment, sparkling with life.

Hugs and kisses are fewer and further apart; sometimes those signs of love are sprinkled with the spice of mommy manipulation.

It's a rough year, from two into three. Temper tantrums abound as he learns limits.

It's a bittersweet one for me.

19 January 2005

Sleep, or lack thereof

There once was a time, not all that long ago, when I thought it was a great thing to stay up all night. Sleep seemed unnecessary.

Those days are past. Sleep is very necessary.

Nights like last night make me long for the days when sleep came uninterrupted. One small, crying, inconsolable child up for all hours of the wee sma' hours can drive a human to the pits of desperation. Anything for five minutes to rest. Even if it means a somewhat supine, semi-slumbering state while a small child noshes on you.

So here I sit, working on less than five hours rest for the second day in a row, longing for the days of eight uninterrupted hours of slumber.

Oh, to sleep, to dream . . .

17 January 2005

Success at Last!

She took a bottle today.

At four months old, that shouldn't be huge news. But it is. For you see, Mommyhood blinded me to the eternal fact: Not all children are alike.

I blithely planned my return to work when she was two months old: Expensive breast pump-check; La Leche League-approved bottles that worked for her brother-check; test runs with bottles fed by Daddy- not check, but hey, it worked before.

My other children took bottles without any problem. One preferred them.

But as the days at daycare progressed, something was wrong.

She wouldn't take a bottle.

She'd hold out for me, no matter how long it would take.

The daycare workers were worried. I was frantic. I had to leave for 10 days in March; she had to eat. Something had to give.

After multiple bottle hunts, sippy cup attempts, cajoling, force-feeding, she held firm. Mommy or nothing.

On a whim, one caregiver tried the el-cheapo bottles they keep for emergencies.

She took a bottle today.

13 January 2005

Addiction

My husband and I are hopelessly addicted to caffeine.

My preferred mode of consumption is coffee.

The kids need their lovie fixes.

For those not of the parenting ilk, lovies would be those ratty stuffed animals or blankets you see short people lugging around.

My eight-year-old daughter cried the day we told her this summer that her threadbare stuffed rabbit really had to go on the shelf if it was to live another day.

My two-year-old son can't live without his gankie. The world literally ends for him if it is lost. My husband once frantically called me on my cell as I was driving to K.C. because he'd turned the house upside down and couldn't find it.

And the newest addict I discovered today: My four-month-old munchkin has discovered that sleep will not come unless she rubs her tiny face in the soft, satin-lined blanket that Grandma gave her.

A small word to the folks at Carter's: For the love of God, stop changing the blanket styles. Small toddlers (and even smaller kids) don't care about trendy. They want what they want.

This mom is tired of frantically searching shelves looking for a replica of the precious object that you've heartlessly discontinued.

You can't tell a bankie junkie that the fix isn't there anymore.

12 January 2005

Do-over

That's what today should have been--a do-over.

One well-child appointment in the morning, followed by a phone call on my cell from the daycare center. One frazzled call to husband to cover sick kid at home while I sat through a two-hour meeting. One pile of work left behind to go care for ill child. One more visit to the doctor's office. One slightly confused doctor's office staff at seeing me back a mere five hours after the first trip.

One drive by Walgreens. One search for lost bankie. One tired, ear-infected two-year-old.

One blog created to test my skill at this before one frazzled, exhausted mom and editor sets one up at work tomorrow for one writer.

One of those days. Should'a been a do-over.