Wednesdays are for Wusses

Yesterday was one traumatic event after another for Ben. Thank goodness we weathered it with 4-year-old big kid Ben because I can't even imagine the bad day hangover we'd both have today had it happened with 3-year-old Ben.

We headed to Tae-Kwon-Do (about 25 minutes away) ON TIME! only to find a dark and locked studio. Another mom and I waited with our very eager boys for someone to arrive. Finally, we decided to call our houses to check our answering machines. Oops. I missed the message from Miss Pamela that there would be no classes this week because she dislocated her knee. TRAUMA #1. Sad, mournful crying soothed only by Ben listening to the message from Miss Pamela in which she said several times to tell Ben that she would miss him and that she was so sorry they wouldn't have class this week. That, combined with a drive-thru Starbucks.

In the afternoon, Ben went to school. Miss Becky told the class she won't be there on Friday, but Miss Annye (a former teacher that Ben loves) would be there instead. Ben said, "Aww. Miss Becky I will miss you so much." Later in the day, Ben reconsidered. TRAUMA #2.
B: (puts his arm around Becky) Miss Becky, you know what?
MB: What Ben?
B: I'm not going to be here on Friday, either.
MB: Really? Why not?
B: Well. I'm going to be sick. I'm going to have a tummy ache and I'm going to have to go to the "not-shot" doctor. So I won't be here either.
Somehow, I think this trauma may resurface tomorrow when he finds out that Mommy's illness policy requires fever, vomiting, and bleeding out of his eyes to stay home from school on Mommy's day off.

Finally, the most traumatic event of the day. Still feeling the effects of trauma #1, Ben felt that he would make a complete recovery if Riley could come over and play after school. The boys were having such a great time playing inside and outside in the sandbox, then inside for cookies, then outside in the sand, then in Ben's room, then in the family room... you get the idea. After Baby Linus went home, the boys asked to have a Power Ranger sword fight in the front yard. That's when Ben experienced TRAUMA #3. I'll let him tell you in his own words:

Yes, Internet. He got stung by a wuss. Not just one wuss, but two wusses. Those darn wusses built a nest in an empty bird feeder in the big tree in the front yard. Ben and Riley are also convinced that the wusses (or "wops" as Riley calls them) also ate the birds that used to eat the bird food. Those are some killer wusses.

Weekly Gert

After a long day, Gertie likes to relax with a nice glass (or bottle) of Chardonnay. Then she passes out in the dryer.

Tae Kwon Do Update

After I posted the last entry, I picked Ben up from class. Miss Pamela said, "That Mr. Ben. He says the funniest things." Oh dear.

Yesterday at the beginning of class:
P: Did you bring your muscles?
B: No, I but I have skills.
(Who needs muscle when you have "skills"?)

Tae Kwon Do Ben

Yesterday was Ben's first Tae Kwon Do class. After a quick dash to the mall on Tuesday night for tidy whities (his Tae Kwon Do uniform is all white and I didn't want the red Power Ranger on his underwear peeking through his pants all through class), we were all set.

To say that Ben had a great time is an understatement. He loved everything about it. After class he was full of "Mommy, do you know what?"'s followed by tales of running like a cheetah, kicking the bricks, STAMPS! (Mommy-- Tae Kwon Do guy stamps! On my FEET! Look! 'Cause I have powerful feet.), stickers, and a stripe on his Tae Kwon Do belt. Yes. My little yellow belt is now a little yellow belt with a stripe. if I knew anything about the progression of martial arts and belt colors/belt stripes, I'm sure I'd be even more proud.

His teacher, Miss Pamela, is all about business. As he came in the room, she prompted him to bow and say, "Good morning, Ma'am." There is no waiting area, so I went down to the bakery at the other end of the shopping center and hid out. At the end of class, she said he did very well. For the rest of the day, everything was, "Yes, Ma'am." "Please, Ma'am." "Thank you, Ma'am." how great is that? Except, in true Ben fashion, they were all yelled in a very martial-arts-get-in-touch-with-your-inner-power fashion.

Today, I'm sitting in the car with my fully charged laptop and EVDO card (Internet access) watching class through the window. Call me a skeptical mom, but I was having a hard time believing that Ben was able to control his need to run, punch, kick, and be super ninja in class. But, guess what? He's awesome. I can tell he's having a great time and that he's following directions. Right now, they are standing in a line (quietly. 6 little boys with their hands at their sides. Patiently waiting.) to side kick a bean bag off of some sort of padded sword looking thing. Now they are standing with their legs shoulder width apart and "breaking" foam bricks. When their turn is over, they collect their bricks and bring them back to Miss Pamela (with a bow--- and I'm sure a "ma'am.").

I think I'm having as much fun watching Ben in class and Ben is having in class. Now the only bummer is that there are 6 whole days until he gets to go to Tae Kwon Do again.

Super Nanny kicked me...

...right in the seat of my pants. While I was innocently watching Super Nanny last week (and by "watching" I mean judgementally making snide comments about other peoples' inability to effectively parent their children while simultaneously patting myself on the back for my far superior skill) when THWAP! Nanny's proper British, sensibly-shoed foot came flying through the TV and kicked me right between the denim pockets.

The family on last week's show had 6-year-old twins (boys), a 4-year-old (girl), and a 1-year-old (boy). The issues were plentiful. I was just snuggling under the warm blanket of "smug" as the 4-year-old had a 1 1/2 hour stand off about brushing her teeth as her parents pleaded, begged, and caved when Jo (the Super Nanny) bugged her eyes out at the camera when the children (6 year-olds!!!) paged their mom to help them, ah, wipe their "bottoms." Even better, at dinner the children were still all drinking out of sippy cups.

During a commercial, I started thinking about my sweet, darling child. Then I realized. Oh. My child is 4 now. He isn't the most reliable bum-wiper. He can (but won't) dress himself. Is that the smug blanket I feel unraveling? Crap!

So, thanks to Jo/Super Nanny's kick, I have made it my mission to make sure I won't be on the show in two years. I also came up with a theory. This stay-at-home-mom thing has an interesting effect. Based upon an informal survey of moms I know who work vs. those who "stay home", it occurs to me that working moms have independent children much earlier than the homers. Maybe because we're home and have time to "help" longer. Maybe because children who go to daycare/school learn to be independent because their teachers don't have time to wipe 40 butts an hour. Whatever. I'm just glad Ben has been dressing himself, tending to his "personal issues", and becoming an I-can-do-it-myself guy.

Everyone's a Critic

On Friday, I sat down to get a haircut and decided to do more than the usual "just barely trim the split ends". By the end, I had a brand new look 2-3 inches shorter than before I arrived. It's a not-quite-Posh-Spice and not-as-blonde-as-Jenny-McCarthy bob.

Little did I know that my haircut was going to cause such a disturbance in the force.

Picking up Ben from school:
B: (looks me up and down) Uhh.. Mommy? You look weird.

A few minutes later:
B: Mom, you just look like someone I don't know. Put your real hair back on.