Trust me.

Seriously, just trust me. I am almost always right. In fact I am so often right, we might as well say I am always right. People could just make life so much easier if they didn't argue and did what I said right off the bat. Really.

People, despite ample evidence to support my assertion, continue to have their own opinions. What folly. At work most days I am left to argue with those who have not learned. In the end, they almost always see my point and come around, but on those rare occasions they choose to go their own way, they usually live to regret it. And all of this could be avoided if they just accepted the fact that I am always right.

Even at home there seems to be a disconnect. My word should just be taken as a rule of law. It would simplify life. I say it, they do it, we all live happily ever after. But, nooooo. We have to talk everything over, the boys have opinions as does Mr. Dog. And they think I should hear them out. Very democratic. I think I'd prefer a dictatorship, as long as I am the supreme ruler. Still, I try to be the good, fair and sympathetic mom. I let them say their piece before I overrule it, and sometimes, I even let them have their way (if it falls in line with my own opinion of how things should work). And life here is generally pretty good.

So, when I say "Trust me." it isn't one of those "let's give it a go and hope for the best" kind of reassurances. It means "TRUST ME! I know what I'm doing." Really, I kind of do this for a living. And should things not go right, should my plan fail, it is probably because one of you failed to really follow my instructions. Or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Growing Pains (No, not the bad Alan Thicke sitcom)

Big changes are afoot in the Followthatdog household. Starting next week, Big Dog will be attending a new preschool two days a week. After this month, he’ll be transitioned to three days a week at the new school and be out of his current school completely. Right now he’s pretty excited. In part because he has himself convinced that Mamikaze’s Fluffy will be at his new school. (I say she won’t, he replies “We’ll see.”) and in part because many of his friends are going on to Kindergarten and he sees this as the same big move. I’ve allowed him to keep hold on that fantasy, but have gently reminded him it is Pre-K, and he has one more year before he gets to go for the full school bus and recess adventure.

So while my big boy is excited about the first day of his new school, mommy is beginning to freak out a little big. I know he needs a change. I’ve been disenchanted with his current preschool for a while. He does great there, or I would have moved him before now, and when I think about this I kind of questions my decision to move him now. The tiny devil on my shoulder says he hates change. He is timid in new situations and he’s already settled in at his current school. So what if a lot of his friends are moving on, there will still be a couple of his current playmates in the classroom. Isn’t that less traumatic that a total upheaval?

At the same time, the good mommy angel is sitting on my other shoulder telling me to remember how excited I was by the curriculum of this new school, how engaged the teachers were, how they provide daily feedback, a portfolio of your child’s progress, child guided lesson planning and a new environment in which he can explore and grow. It is also a great transition to help him prepare for the day he does go on to Kindergarten if he really has issues with big changes, this will help soften that blow.

And my bitchy mom self reminds me of the more personal reasons I want to move him. His current school is just poorly managed. The director is mostly absent and fails to consider that she is providing a service that parents and families rely on. They close frequently with little notice. Getting a receipt for your payment only recently became a reality. Any conversation about policy turns into a flurry of accusations of trouble making and ends with “Well, you knew the policy when you started here.” And the director’s attitude seems to flow down to some of the teachers. One teacher in particular seems to take great joy in throwing her power around with the classroom of 3 and 4-year-olds. And as a parent, I feel like I am viewed as a necessary evil, not a partner in my child’s education. I want more for Big Dog than this. I want him to really thrive.

So while I juggle all of these emotions, and balance Big Dog’s real feelings with my own projected insecurity and fear of change, I try to keep trudging forward. We have a playdate with a boy who will be in Big Dog’s new class on Monday. I’m hoping that having a familiar face in the room will help cushion his landing when I bring him in for his first day on Tuesday.

Now who’s going to remind me to breathe once I drop him off that first day?

An apple a day? No thanks.

I hate going to the doctor, I always have. Part of it comes from having a string of cranky, smugly superior doctors as a kid. Luckily Big Dog does not have that problem. As long as he gets to reassure the doctor "No shots!" right up front, he's pretty happy to go chat with the doctors. Part of that is the lollipop and sticker he gets at the end of the visit. Part of it is the fact that the pediatricians at this practice are freaking amazing. Not a bad one in the lot.

Since he has been old enough to more fully participate in the exchange of information, he's been chatting about symptoms and treatment options. Well, as soon as he gets the "no shots" assurance that is. And the doctors have been fantastic, they really work to make him comfortable and even though he is only 4, they want him to understand, as much as he can at his age, about what they are doing and why. All in all, it makes the visit not at all intimidating, and since Big Dog is so social, it is something he kind of gets into.

Today Big Dog woke up with a sore knee. So sore he couldn't walk on it. Being the overprotective and well insured mother I am, I made an appointment. I'm medically hyperactive like that. So late this morning, we headed off for a visit with his medical buddies. We've been seeing one doctor in particular a lot lately and I really like her. She talks to the children directly, she is friendly and animated and does a lot to put both child and parent at ease. Big Dog adores her.

Right away she helped him feel comfortable. Instead of asking about his reason for the visit, she asked about what decorations he had on his Crocs. (A lady bug) After the brief setting in chat, she asked all of the proper questions about his knee, and Big Dog filled her in on the details. He woke up and it hurt. Maybe there were bugs in there biting him. He couldn't walk on it when he got out of bed, but he could now. He had a dream about fire last night, maybe some of that fire is in his knee, he wasn't sure, but he offered that as a possibility. She listened, reassured him that there were no bugs or fire in his joint, then she examined him. After thoroughly evaluating him, she said it was likely that he had just overdone it the night before. Big Dog had told her about running around and jumping off of the bed and such, so that might have done it. Or maybe he had his leg twisted in his sleep and it was a little strained from that. In any event it was no big deal. He should take it easy, but if he felt up to running or jumping or climbing, that was all OK.

After answering all of the nervous mother questions, she looked at Big Dog and asked, "Do you have any questions?"
Big Dog nodded, the paused, thinking hard about his question. After a moment he asked, "What's your favorite color?"
"Oooh, good question. I think it changes. Right now it is a bright red. What's your favorite color?" she replied.
"Today it is blue!" Big Dog said as though offering his opinion on a weighty medical matter.
"Oh, that's a really good color. Blue, like your Crocs."
"Yes, like my Crocs." And with that, Big Dog decided we had conversed enough, it was time to go get his lollipop.

As we headed out of the office Big Dog looked up at me and said with total sincerity, "That was fun!" Well maybe we have different definitions of fun, but I can confidently say it wasn't at all painful. Thanks Dr. M!

All we need are the $12 cocktails

Sometimes I feel like I am the straight man for the boys' comedy. I set them up and they serve up a big punchline. Maybe I get to be the butt of the jokes because I have a "humongous bottom," but that's another post. All we need to make this comedy act complete is a rim shot and a big round of applause.

Take for example this weekend. Little Dog had raided the toys at Grandma and Grandpa's house and was running around "fixing" things with the toy drill. He was having one hell of a time, but many of the things he wanted fix were things I had previously said were hands off for little boys. (Yeah, he's working the system, big time) So instead of continuing to say "no" for the 674th time, I changed tactics. Those parenting experts always tell frazzled parents to try diverting attention from what you don't want them to do and point them in the direction of something that you do want them to do, or at least don't care if they do, right? So I throw out a suggestion, "Hey Little Dog, my foot is broken, can you fix my foot?"
He runs right over, and with a little encouragement, mostly in the form of funny noises and silly faces while he repairs my imaginary damage, he gets into my alternative game. First he fixes the foot, then my wrist, my knees, my ear, my nose. You get the idea. We're giggling and for once those child rearing experts seem to have hit on something with this diversion concept.

After a bit we're making so much noise with our giggles and repair sounds, Big Dog decides to check out the action. With Hot Wheels in hand, he surveys the scene. "Little Dog is fixing your broken down mama," I explain. Then Big Dog, feeling the need to get in on the act, runs his car across my collar bones. "Here mommy, I'm going to fix you too!" After the car runs back and forth a few times, he sits back, satisfied with his work and exclaims, "See mommy, I fixed your boobs!"

Ba-Dum-BUM! Thank you, thank you. Don't forget to tip your servers!
Maybe I should self-impose a two drink minimum.

Dog Ownership 101 Poll.

Say you had a large but immature Great Dane who was well known for shredding things (diapers, plastic bags, paper and such) when left unattended. And say you were planning to be outside all day working on a project that did not allow the dog to roam free in the yard with you and also kept you so occupied you would be unable to check in on the dog frequently to check up on the gnawing, chewing and shredding master left in the house. And say your wife and children had been sent off to Portland for the weekend so the dog had no other oversight while you were out. Which option makes more sense to you while you worked outside?

A. Leave the large and destructive dog loose in the house with all sorts of shreddable clutter within easy reach.

B. Keep him in his crate where he would eat then crash out for a long happy nap with his snuggly blankets and favorite soft toy until you let him out and could supervise him.

If you answered A and are 1) not my husband 2) not under some sort of psych hold at a hospital 3) not a dog hater who left the dog to roam free in hopes he would choke on something, please explain this answer. I want to understand what in the name of all that is good and holy possessed my fabulously smart husband to do just this so I got to come home to a "confetti" filled house after my trip to Portland. Anyone? Anyone? Yeah, I thought not.

And then there's the alternate personality...

Lately Little Dog has been expanding his rich internal world to include a few new personalities. He's already been a fireman, a naked dog, a member of the Backyardigans, a monster, a monkey and a tree house (yeah, I don't really understand that last one either). My very own pirate greeted me in the yard after work, yelling from his pirate ship/climber, "What you doing here, maties?" Followed up with a very authentic sounding "Arrr!" I have a baker, complete with toque who yells "Pie-ya" at the least provocation and a viking who routinely pillages my purse for "monies". I have to watch out for my own Kung Fu Tiger displaying elaborate kicks and jumps. All very cute, and funny, but for the most part these characters have been lifted from a TV show that struck him the right way or inspired by a hat or costume from the dress up box.
In the last week or so, he has started coming up with more complete characters, created on his own, complete with made up names. One day he was a bunny named "Tuk", the next he was a frog named "Captain Movie". A couple of days later, Captain Movie returned, but instead of being a frog he was a growling Snow Man. Interesting. So, at what point do I start setting aside money for therapy?

What's in a Name

"You're a boomhead!" says Big Dog.
Uh, ok, whatever the hell that is. It sounds like it is meant to be mean, and the fact I am being called a boomhead after telling him "no" kind of reinforces my initial reaction. Turns out he learned it at school. We've been bringing home a lot of choice names from school lately. I guess name calling is in with the under 5 set. At least boomhead isn't that bad.

Unfortunately it isn't the only name we've picked up. Poopyhead has also been going around. And worse than boomhead, Little Dog decided poopyhead was just about the best name he's ever heard. Now, whenever he is frustrated, grouchy or just plain feisty, he will tell you "You like a poopyhead!" and you have to try hard not to laugh 'cause once you do, it is all downhill.

I managed to circumvent this for a while, I got him calling me a "mama-head" instead, and for a short while we all became "our name+ head" which wasn't so bad. He got over that quickly and is now back to poopyhead. And this poopyhead/mama-head is not pleased.

I guess name calling just comes with the territory and I'll be fighting this battle for years to come. They seem to have a knack for it. The latest name is a new one. NE told me that Big Dog called Little Dog a "penis head". When asked where he learned it, he looked at with wide eyes and said "I didn't learn it, I just said it!" Great, just great.

AM Timeline

Yesterday, Little Dog, who had crashed out at an unheard of early bedtime of 6:30pm the night before, decided the he needed some one on one mommy bonding time. Awwww, sweet, right? Well, it would have been, if said bonding didn't happen at 4:00am and the one on one nature of it arise from the fact that I was the only person in the house insane enough to get out of bed when I heard his first soft cries of "Mama! Poppa! Big Dog!"
At first I thought I would use my superior rocking chair skills to get him back to sleep, but he helped me see that was a pipe dream.

Here's how I spent the wee morning hours:
4:00 am Hear soft voice calling "Mama! Poppa! Big Dog!"
4:05 am Cuddle up in rocking chair to soothe Little Dog back to sleep. For some reason his eyes remain wide open despite my best rocker moves.
4:15 am "Need to poop on the potty," says Little Dog, so we take a trip down the hall, potty, change diaper, return to rocking chair with some slight hope we can now doze off.
4:30 am "Need milk, mama," says Little dog, so I prep a sippy cup to soothe him back to sleep, but when I return his now alert reaction puts a damper on my hopes of more sleep.
4:45 am "Hi mama!" says my bright eyed child, obviously nowhere near sleep.
4:50 am Little Dog climbs off my lap and starts heading for the bedroom door.
4:55 am I put Little Dog in his bed, tell him it is time to sleep and that Mama is tired and going back to bed.
5:00 am Mommy goes back to bed and hopes for the best.
5:05 am Tiny hands at grab mommy from the side of her bed like a scene from some third rate monster movie. I ignore them in hopes he'll go back to bed.
5:10 am The sounds of tiny feet leaving my bedroom make me think I have won the battle! Woo hoo!
5:11 am Little Dog returns with his beloved orange Crocs. "Mama, need my cwocks!"
5:15 am Resign myself to the fact that there will be no more sleeping for either of us. We head off to the living room where I hope to distract him with Backyardigans while I get as close to sleep as possible while still awake.
5:20 am Little Dog finds his beloved fireman hat and declares he is a firefighter. Soon after decides he is not a firefighter, he is in fact a panda.
5:35 am Little Dog strips off his clothes for some early morning "naked time" I debate the merits of struggling to get him to put on a diaper and opt for the path of least resistance. Let him be naked, just remind him not to pee on the floor.
5:55 am Manage to get him dressed again as the prospect of floor peeing looms.
6:00 am Little Dog begins throwing toys, attempting to taunt me into giving him a time out, or at very least wake up a bit. When I look over I notice his hair is now sticking up in two places like small horns. Coincidence? I think not.
6:05 am His throwing finally results in a time out, as well as a scratch in my beloved art deco cabinet.
6:10 am Out of his time out, Little Dog resumes his "charmer" status. He decides to dance along with the Backyardigans. His dance involves significantly more booty shaking than the dance he is following. That's my boy!
6:20 am Little Dog strips off his clothes again and runs away as I try to chase him down with the diaper.
6:25 am Find Little Dog has worked his way up on the big potty and is continuing his self-potty training. What a great kid, even if he prefers me to be seriously sleep deprived.
6:30 am Finished with the potty, Little Dog continues to refuse clothing. I decide, mostly out of exhaustion, that I'm ok with his nudist leanings.
6:35 am Little Dog is crawling around, still naked, now barking. I'm still ok with it.
6:45 am Toys come out of the toy box. Some kind of town is created. Town police arrest a large soft bunny after run in with race car.
6:50 am Bunny escapes police custody with help from a large red rooster.
7:00 am Little Dog demands Crocs be located and puts them back on.
7:05 am Naked apart from his Crocs, Little Dog demands we go outside.
7:10 am We negotiate an agreement. We can go outside if Little Dog agrees to put some clothes on.
7:15 am Sitting outside on the porch while my contented child plays with slide and sandbox, I am happier than ever that we have finished the play area for the kids. It is fenced, free of dog poop and easily supervised from a comfortable sitting position.
7:30 am I call into my first meeting of the day. In the background Little Dog repeatedly screams "SWIPER NO SWIPING!" I wonder what the engineers in India think about the ruckus.
8:00 am I wake up the remaining sleeping members of our family. They've had enough rest, and I need reinforcements!

Happy Father's Day Mr. Dog

Yesterday I was too busy actually celebrating Father's Day with Mr. Dog to blog about it. So this post may appear to be a day late, but when you have a father like Mr. Dog in the house, every day is Father's Day.

Dear Mr. Dog,
The boys and I adore you. You are the kindest, most loving dad in the history of kind and loving dads. I know you feel like you have to be the heavy at times, but remember, you are also the Tickle Monster, the Climber and the one who kisses the boo boos away.
You wonder why it is impossible for you to get a bit of peace when you lay down, well I can explain that. Your bond to the boys draws them to you like alley cats to rotting tuna cans, (or if you prefer something less stomach turning, like bees to honey) and they feel the need to jump all over their big strong poppa. Can you blame them?
And if you are ever in doubt about your va-voom factor, let me just say this, there is nothing in this world sexier than a big handsome man getting all sweet and goofy with his own children. Nothing. Mark my word.
And so, to you my partner in parenthood, I say "Rock On!"
We love you.
Followthatdog, Big Dog and Little Dog

Humor from Brutality.

It was a landmark day in the Dog house, for the first time, of what I'm sure will be many, Big Dog gave Little Dog a bloody nose. I stepped out of the room for a moment to get the boys a snack and returned to screaming and a bloody faced toddler.
I cleaned him up, punished the guilty and life returned to normal. But a few minutes later, I noticed that there was a small crimson spot between Little Dog's eyes. I told him
"Come over here, I'll clean up your blood bindi."
After I wiped him clean, little Dog looked in the mirror and says "Wook! My blend-y all gone!"
Cool, we have another new word. I'm assuming it is a mix of blood and bindi, but I could be giving him too much credit.

Like English, Only Cuter

Some of their mistakes are so cute I don't want to correct them.

Marsh-fellows=Marshmallows
Grabby-oli= Ravioli
Neerer= Mirror
Keek-el=Tickle
Ee-gal-loo= Igloo
Beeps=Grapes
Hell-em-it=Helmet
DVDV=DVD
X-spear-gus=Asparagus
Re-nock-u-lers=Binoculars
Fie-yar=Firefighter
Sponge Bob Skwore Pants= I think you can figure this one out.

What about yours?

Are you trying to tell me something?

This morning Little Dog decided to join me in the bathroom as I prepped for work. The decision to join me came shortly after seeing me in the living room with my make up bag. He immediately decided he needed to get in the action.

"Mama, I neeeeed make up." he croons in his best mommy-manipulating sing song.

So I quickly dusted his face with the big brush I use to put on my fancy mineral foundation (ok, the cut-rate mineral foundation I got at Target after running out of the 2x expensive stuff)
It wasn't enough. He asked for more.

"Need more make up, mama"

I comply and give him a twistable cheap-o make up brush of his own with which he begins enthusiastically brushing his own face. The sheer bliss in his smile brightened my morning.

After I finish my morning beautification process, we both go back to the living room where Little Dog shows off his new "make up" to Mr. Dog.

"Why do you think you need make up, Little Dog?" Mr. Dog asks, mildly disturbed by his younger son's new enthusiasm for cosmetics.

"'Cause I a monster," he replies, still brushing his face.

"Well I can get behind that reason" said Mr. Dog with some unappreciated chuckles in my direction.

"Hey now! I wear make up," says a mildly offended me.

Quickly little dog turns to smile up at me (still brushing his face). "You a monster."

Well then give me back my damn make up brush, I must not be done.

Love in the time of Crayola

Being a loving wife can be hard when you are simultaneously trying to be a devoted mother and a over-achieving employee. Or at least it is hard for me. In recent weeks I've been more or less a walk on role when it comes to my marriage. He gets to see me come home from work, play mommy to the kids and pass out dead exhausted at the end of the day. If he's lucky, he may catch a glimpse of me on my way out the door in the morning too. Does he complain? No. He's that kind of guy, the kind, sweet and supportive balance for my frenetic internal machine. And I am the luckiest woman in the world.

I say that not just because Mr. Dog still digs me, but because my parents are equally amazing. I'm sure there is a way I could get them sainted in some minor religion. (note to self: check that out) I mean when did Mother Theresa ever watch her grandkids so her overworked and exhausted daughter and son-in-law could go have a grown up weekend away. Well, I guess that's not a fair comparison. You have to consider the fact she was a nun after all, so no daughter, no grandkids...minor technicality. But I certainly won't let that stop me from rambling on here.

After a week of non-stop early mornings and late nights, parenting fatigue and too little time to hug and snuggle, my parents sent us off for the weekend. We holed up in a hotel downtown. A hotel with blackout curtains, housekeeping and a nice big bed. We did great grown up things, ate fancy dinners out, had happy hour with our grown up friends, slept in uninterrupted and crossed busy streets without trying to keep an "I do it myself" 2-year-old's hand firmly in ours. We generally reset and recharged. On Sunday, after two nights away, despite the original plans to stay "on vacation" until late afternoon, we ate breakfast then were stumped for other things to do sans kids. And we missed them. We were home by noon, but man did it feel like I'd had a week off.

Sure, Monday managed to roll around and wipe out much of the relaxation, but I think Mr. Dog would agree, we are probably on a firmer footing now with each other than we were last week.