How Much is a Red Firetruck Mall Stroller Worth to YOU?

Because I was wondering the same thing myself the other day when I passed by the red firetrucks of love that you can rent at the mall that my two little mens ogled over.

They gushed. They begged. They believed this was a slice of heaven on earth. They didn't say it. But I knew.

Then I looked at the $5 price tag as I walked by.

Five bucks to rent this germ trap? Really? Because they see a fantastic shiny red firetruck but all I see is a place where zillions of children have drooled before them and a vast empty space for germs to live and breed. No chance. No chance in hell. Sorry guys.

But then I found myself in a "situation." And my tune changed just a bit.

I was at the mall yesterday (again) to go to the Disney Store for a present, but I was with the two mens. And I had forgotten my stroller.

*Gasp*

This was not good.

So I thought about it.

I weighed my options.

And I came up with the answer.

$5 for the germ trap stroller? Or $1,000,000 in Disney Store damages?

Hmmmm.

Stroller it is.

Well the kids of course were over the moon, so we walked to the only place where the double-decker germ traps were located, which was across the mall at the entire other end and level than I had parked (of course) and I went to pay. And it didn't take my $5.

What?! Come on! 

I couldn't understand why.

Until I saw that it wasn't $5. It was 7! 7 bucks! Because it's $5 for the single and $7 for the double!

Ugh.

OK, fine. So then I bit my tongue and made an executive decision and put the damn card in already and rented it and as I pulled out the firetruck from its holder, I thought, "OK, this doesn't look so bad."

Because not only was there a HUGE basket underneath for my giant purse, there was a DOUBLE cup holder for a mommy beverage! Or two!

Things are looking up!  Hooray!

I wiped it down with a bunch of wipes and put the kids in and everyone was happy. Smiles everywhere! And mommy's going to get in and out of the Disney Store without incident!

Of course, then I find myself standing in line at the place that offers these delectable mommy beverages because I have to, since there are cup holders staring at me and I must put something in them. It would be practically rude not to.

But when all is said and done, we are now $11 into the mall trip and I hadn't even gotten to the Disney Store yet.

Yes, they're looking inside longingly. Sooo the point of the firetruck.

We finally get inside the Disney Store for what we went for, which was a Tinkerbell backpack for my cousin's daughter and some little trinkets for my kids who are about to go on back-to-back road trips. So I am in cohorts with the Disney Store lady and I'm handing her things to put behind the register so my children don't see them and I zip around one of the displays with my giant firetruck and CRASH!

I hear the lady gasp as this giant firetruck wheel smashes into the display's bottom shelf, which of course is glass, and all of the plastic princess dishes fall over. I lose all color in my face and the kids comment about the mess I just made. And then I begin to hate the firetruck again. This thing has a huge wingspan! I can't move anywhere! Its turning radius is ridiculous!

Have I mentioned that it is now past lunchtime and even the golden firetruck of love can't keep two toddlers from starving and yelling and begging for everything in the store? Again, I am sweating. And I have just destroyed a display. And I overhear the lady say to the other lady something about remembering about how "fun" it was to have a 3 year old. I'm pretty sure it was because I, with my firetruck and two screaming toddlers, jarred some spectacular memories.

The lady assures me it's all OK and she'll clean it up but I still feel like a jerk and think to myself that maybe if there were a super-giant firetruck that would fit all three of us that maybe we could have gotten out of there without breaking anything.

But let's face it. The firetruck was extremely useful for the two of them and for keeping them from destroying anything at least, which was its entire purpose after all and for that, I am grateful. Especially since we spent probably an hour in there and the only damage done was make a lot of noise and wreck a display and that wasn't even their fault, it was mine. Right?

Well, I learned on this day that a) this particular firetruck model should not be wheeled around in tight places; b) $7 is a small price to pay in certain situations like this one, where the emotional + physical toll could possibly be much greater and c) don't forget your stroller.

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How Much is a Red Firetruck Mall Stroller Worth to YOU?

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2010/07/how-much-is-red-firetruck-mall-stroller.html

I Have Tornadoes Tearing Through My Life

One day, I'll remember my two little mens swirling into a store yelping, flailing about and yelling in their squealy, loud, high-pitched and definitely not "indoor" voices and I'll think it was cute.

One day, I'll remember standing outside a Hallmark store with them, scared to death because I am about to unleash two bulls in a china shop, explaining pleading  to them not to touch anything because it is mostly glass and I will wonder why I forgot the darned stroller in the first place. And I'll find it all very funny.

One day, I'll remember how everyone in the world knew we have just entered the room because we didn't "enter" the room, we blew right through it. And I'll think it's hilarious.

One day, I'll remember in hindsight that they were spirited little boys with active imaginations and strong personalities and I'll think it was actually a good thing they weren't two little mens who sat with their hands folded in silence.

One day, I won't have to hold my breath before I turn and close the door and turn the key after leaving the house, wondering what the heck I am doing taking them out of the house and into the public and hoping for the best.

One day, I won't have to literally run in and run out of somewhere because they have a "good behavior" expiration and it's about to run out.

One day, I won't have to stand up and yell things like, "No spitting!" or "Be NICE!" or "Stop pinching your brother!" or "That's a train track, NOT A GUN!"

One day, I'll think about how I thought I wouldn't have to say all those things one day, but they'll be 13 and 15 and I will still be saying those things and I'll think that's funny too.

One day, going into a store or a restaurant with them won't entail me profusely sweating.

One day, because I am persistent, they will hear the word, "No," understand the word, "No," and listen to the word, "No."

One day, I will remember how I thought that one day they'd listen to the word, "No" and I will be 84 and they will still not listen and I'll laugh about that while rocking away in my housecoat and my dentures.

One day, I won't have to ask someone who was watching them how they behaved without cowering in fear of the answer.

One day, I will understand why boys are so rough and make everything into guns.

One day, a long car ride will entail annoying repetitive questions like, "Are we there yet?" rather than high-pitched screaming and wailing for hours upon hours upon hours.

One day, I will be able to carry a purse without a diaper in it and without an entire first-aid kit and vending machine in it, too.

One day, I will be able to have a phone conversation. While they're awake.

One day, I will be able to walk into another room for more than a second without fearing that they will destroy the house or each other.

One day my little tornadoes will instead be little rainshowers and enter a room nicely and quietly instead of tearing through it.

And one day, I will remember that I was a nervous wreck 90% of the time. That I sweated a lot. That I stopped caring about getting that look from other disapproving parents, (because I had to for survival.) That I would sometimes close my eyes and listen to their tiny chipmunk voices because one day they will have manvoices and they won't be quite as cute.

I will remember that they were also quite adorable and when they slept. And when they farted and giggled afterward.

And I'll remember that they often surprised me at odd times with little cutenesses like stopping in the mall play area to kiss my knees and offering to help the other one get onto the toilet to potty train.

And I will think it's all very funny.

And I will actually miss it.

One day.

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I Have Tornadoes Tearing Through My Life

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-have-tornadoes-tearing-through-my.html

My Brow and its Furrow.

Monday night as I was tucking in my 4 year old, we were recapping the day and the terrible tantrum that he threw after swim lessons (the screaming and the hitting because he wanted to stay longer to swim in the kiddie pool, meantime I was of course, completely embarrassed and wanting to run away and hide in a bush), and I put in my early request to him that we try to do better Tuesday.

I explained (again) that we will be having swim lessons again tomorrow, but this time, when swim lessons are over and Mommy says it's time to go, it's time to go. Even if we are sad about leaving. "OK? There is no hitting and yelling, do you understand?" I asked. "Can we do that?" 

And he nodded and said, "Yes." (Of course it didn't quite go that way on Tuesday, but the tantrum was at least down to just a mere 30 seconds this time around, which is something anyway. I can at least hope for 5 seconds and then no seconds the days after, right?)

Anyway, then I said, "OK then. We'll try to do better tomorrow." And as I leaned in to kiss him goodnight, he started wiping my head with his blanket. And I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Wiping the mad off your forehead."

Sigh.


Darned cuteness.

* * *

Weighed in at the Sisterhood today here. Just in case you're interested.

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My Brow and its Furrow.

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-brow-and-its-furrow.html

Scream Free, That's Me!

I DON'T WANT TO YELL ANYMORE!

There. I said it.
Have you found that after you get to a certain age or have children, everything becomes so much more annoying? Stop that tapping! You're charging me for using my pin number? Are you seriously not going to take back this water bottle belt that I haven't used even though I'm upgrading and giving you more money for the more expensive one????

It's like how old people start not caring about what they do or how they drive, they just back out of the driveway without looking and say, "Look out! Here I come!" They don't even pray that you stop, they just plow on out with complete faith that you will, because they're old and they can.

Recently, I've approached that first step of elderly, where I have noticed that I, too, have stopped caring in certain scenarios. It's like you get to a certain age and you don't wanna take any more crap from anyone. Because that's what I've done all my life. I've been the one who just sat aside idly while someone completely took advantage of my niceness.

Whenever this happens and I'm in the midst of someone actively taking advantage of my niceness, I think back to 8th grade basketball. I had fallen down on the court and was hugging the ball and an entire gaggle of girls from the other team came stomping over, trampling me, ripping the ball away and from the stands I hear a mom call out, "That's right, girls, step all over her! Get that ball!"

Bitch.

But that's the type of person I was. I was too nice to get up and go stand up for myself and plow back over and knock them down for revenge. And my basketball career ended that year to be honest. I was just not aggressive that way. I was the passive aggressive type. I would be aggressive, but only from my side of the court or the field, i.e. softball or volleyball. Not in a contact sport type of way. And in life and career, although I was a leader in my job, I respected authority just a little too much and I would always, always get ripped off at the car dealership.

When I had children, a variety of things changed, like, for instance, my ability to take crap and the amount of shame I carried around with me. Now I didn't care anymore what people thought about me (or my underwear in the middle of the gym floor), and I wasn't afraid to go into a store and demand something and/or write a strongly worded letter if I wasn't happy with the results.

But I also began to yell more, too, and mostly at home. I would lose my cool and be the one throwing the tantrum right alongside my 4 and 2 year olds. How cool am I?

Aaaand I really wanna stop doing that. So I'm issuing you a challenge for 30 days. I am becoming a scream-free zone. Even though it is really, really, really, really, really, really, really hard to not yell when you're the mother of two toddler boys who are 19 months apart.

But here are some of the ways I have done this (I explained this a little for our May Monday Project at the Sisterhood of the Shrinking Jeans). And so far I have been successful.

• I ask questions. Do you think that's a good choice? Do you like it when people hit you? Can you try asking again in your indoor voice? Can you use your words? Was that a nice thing to say? Can you try that again?
• Change the subject. Look at that shiny object over there!
• I try to offer two mom-approved choices so they're under the illusion they have a choice.
• I've stopped saying "no" and instead say what we can do or offer an alternative. I.E. Him: "Can we climb a giant ladder and stand on the roof and jump off?" Me: "We can go outside and make sand birthday cakes, how about that?" Him: "Can we have cake?" Me: "It's time for breakfast, but maybe after dinner."
• Spell out the consequences nicely. "Hitting is not ok. You will not be allowed to play at the spray park if you hit." And then promptly remove him and follow through with the consequence. Although that does not net a pretty reaction from the child, so remaining scream-free in this instance is extra-difficult. Mommy may need a huge reward beer, wine, chocolate cake for keeping her cool in this scenario. 
• I have tried diffusing situations way before they brew. For instance, now if we leave for school at 8:55, I get us ready at 8 because it takes about a half-hour to decide which shoes we want to wear and because for some reason, they slow down to a stop when we have to get ready to go somewhere, so this gives us time to do all that toddler dilly-dallying.
• I give them a head's up before we change activities. (One more go down the slide and we're leaving! We're going to put on pajamas right after dinner, watch one Noddy and then it's storytime!)
• Finally, if I really, truly get pissed off, I whisper angrily. I get quieter rather than louder. And it has become so much more effective than yelling! They know I mean business when I'm whispering.

So we'll see how it goes. So far it has really been a lot more zenful in the house. And everyone is yelling a little less. I'll update here next Friday with my progress and if you wanna join in my little Scream-Free Project, feel free to post about it and link up down in the comments, or just tell me how you're going to be scream-free too. Because I can use all the suggestions you have!! Safety in numbers, I always say!

* * *

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Scream Free, That's Me!

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2010/05/scream-free-thats-me.html

O'Christmas

You may have noticed my sporadic postings lately but I have to say, in the O'House, we're having the best.time.ever this season. The kids are finally at the age now where they "get" it and it's so much stinkin' fun!

So here's what we've been up to in a post best told by pictures.

I'll start at the beginning where we made O'history here by getting our tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. Turns out it totally beats getting it the week before Christmas (who knew!?) Though I have to say, watering it and keeping it from being kindling/and/or a fire hazard has been a challenge. Ya know, because of my extensive history of neglecting foliage and starving it to death and all...

Me and my little mens decorated.

But I should really take an updated picture of the tree because it now has only ornaments on the top half. The ones on the bottom half have been destroyed by a certain two-year-old with an affinity for glass Christmas bulbs. The rest of the bulbs I intend to keep have been moved out of reach.

So then we had two birthdays. One child turned 2 and the other turned 30-something (oh, I kid, husband, I kid!) and he requested we take the kids to Disney for his birthday so we did.

Where I promptly learned that Florida, though normally above 70, can turn 40 and rainy in 1.2 seconds and only on the one particular day you want to actually do something. I also re-learned the importance of restocking the diaper bag snacks. Because above is the face you get when a 3 year old is at Disney in desperate need of breakfast and it's now approaching 9 o'clock in the morning and you're hoping to scootch in to have breakfast with the characters without reservations.

Then, we did (hurrah!) and I learned that someone loves the characters...

And someone doesn't.

(I know, you'd think I'd have been a little more consoling and less paparazzi here, right? Mom of the year.)

Then, a day later, everyone was sick. Probably from waiting in lines at the theme park where Sherm the Germ hangs out on all those metal rails and whatnots, and well, despite the amount of hand sanitizer used, made it into a nose or a mouth anyway via thumb or forefinger I'm sure.

Yeah, that was a great couple days.My kids were like caged animals. I did my best.

After that was done, we went back to Disney because we had tickets to the Christmas parade the week before but it was too cold and rainy. Turned out pretty cold and rainy this night too, but it was fun anyway. And honestly, Disney at Christmas at night is just simply magical.

Seriously. Beautiful. We loved every minute of it and the kids who normally go to bed at 7, lasted the whole night long without crankiness even.

Plus we got to see one snowflake. Mr. Disney made it. It wasn't real. Shhh. Don't tell.

(I also learned that my son is afraid of automatic flushing toilets and will refuse to go, even if he's busting at the seams and hasn't gone for 8 hours and has had water, juice, chocolate milk and several cups of hot chocolate, until we find a regular DIY flushy toilet at a random Hess station at midnight.)

Then one night, Santa came through our neighborhood riding around on a firetruck. (Boy with all that work to do, that guy really seems to have a lot of time on his hands.)

Then another night, we got our jammies on, put hot chocolate in our sippy cups and went driving around to look at Christmas lights.

And then we saw Santa again where someone wasn't so sure about him and was caught giving him the stink eye.

And I learned that the automatic flushy toilets at the mall were just as bad as the ones at Disney. We thought it might spell trouble for Santa because of the pee-pee dancing I saw in the line, but Santa made it out ok and we found a DIY toilet at Dillards. FYI on the DIY.

Then, the coolest thing ever happened. A couple of elves popped in for a visit from the North Pole! Turns out they like to get into trouble at night.

They TP'ed the place one night.

And made forts.

They also had a "snowball" fight in which the living room was covered in big and little marshmallows that were subsequently attacked by a 2 and 3year old and devoured before I could take a picture. OK, they didn't eat all of them. But close.

The elves will be returning to the North Pole on Christmas Eve. We'll be sad to see them go, they've been a lot of fun to have around and the kids wake up every morning wanting to know what mischief they've gotten into.

All of this of course is in addition to the shopping and the baking and the getting up at 5:30 in the morning to get to Toys R Us for a Zhu Zhu Pet or 3 (which I totally scored) and two more family birthdays and whatnots.

But we've truly been having a great time. The best part about this year is proclaiming myself "stress-free." I promised I'd slow it down this year and even though December has gone by in a blink, we all took time to stop and smell the poinsettias. So far.

Did you have a holiday "philosophy" this season? Did you stick to it??

Whatever happened, I hope you have or had a happy holiday everyone, whichever you celebrate!

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O'Christmas

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/12/ochristmas.html

Christmas at 3

Do you remember how intense everything was at three years old?

I try to put myself back there sometimes. It's the only way I can deal with the tragedies that occur at my house on a daily basis. Because everything is a tragedy.

Because I don't remember much. Just the important stuff. Like my cousin getting the black patent leather shoes that I really wanted, and how tragic it was that I got the white ones. Because tap-dancing shoes weren't white! They were black, MOM! And these black patent leather shoes that my cousin got were not regular shoes in my tiny head, they were the shoes of a future dance star! They were tap shoes! Because I was a female Gene Kelly. And white shoes were not going to cut it. I was pretty broken up about that. That, I remember.

This afternoon, I sat down at the computer for the first time all day after baking cookies. The kids had just gotten up from their naps and were riding around the house (like lunatics) on their motorcycles that my parents had given them thank you so much! When all of a sudden I heard the loudest scream EVER. It was the scream of a broken body part. It was blood-curdling and I was scared out of my mind and I leapt from my chair and fled to the scene of whatever ailment/slash/crisis was upon me!

And in my panickymother voice asked, "What's wrong, are you ok? What happened! Where are you hurt! WHAT'S WRONG??!!!!"

To which my screaming three-year-old held up a broken candy cane and sobbed, "My candy (sniff) cane (sniff) is BROKENNNNNNN!!!!

I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but you must know, it was very important for me to relay just how awful that scream was and how it must never be screamed (scrum? scram?) again EVER.

So I said the following:

"Wait a minute. You're mad about a candy cane?"

And he sniffed real big to stop the big stream of snot flowing from his crying nose and wailed, "Yeahhhhh!"

And I asked, "So you're not hurt, then?"

And he said, "No." (sniff.) Still holding up his candy cane that was once one candy cane but is now two for me to see.

And I said, real calm-like, "Honey? I want you to know, that THAT is not the 'I broke my candy cane' scream. That is the 'my arm is broken' scream. Or the 'I'm bleeding from my neck' scream. Or the 'I'm pinned under something very heavy' scream. Not the 'I broke my candy cane' scream. OK? Do you understand what I am saying?"

He nods, still crying.

And I went on, "Because Mommy has just had a heart attack. In the split-second that it took me to leap up from my chair and get to you, I visualized very terrible things that you might be screaming about and I had a heart attack. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

And he said, "But my (SNIFF) CANDY CANE (BIGHUGE-SNIFF) IS BROKEN!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!!" Followed by more crying and then running into his room and slamming the door.

Yes, I have a tendency to launch into these monologues that my children don't understand.

I like to talk things out. They are not quite there yet.

Until then I will continue my full belief that motherhood is a string of tiny heart attacks because you feel like you're protecting this tiny little egg like you did in Home Ec and you just want to put it in bubble wrap. There is all this leaping up and rushing to and trying to stop.

Sigh.

I know I should be glad that the veryterriblescream was just over a broken candy cane and not something worse.

Of course, to a three-year-old, what could possibly be worse than a broken candy cane?

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Christmas at 3

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/12/christmas-at-3.html

The Candy Reward, Oh the Slippery Slope

I'm trying to un-do some bad behavior.


Not theirs.


Mine.


Remember how I did a little thing called, give a child candy for going poop in the potty?


Well he's long past potty trained now. And he's still asking for candy. He's not getting candy, but he's still asking for it.


So now we're on the path of the whole "doing good is it's own reward" thing.

Because it's such a slippery slope between the "reward" and the "bribe" anyway and I'm noticing now that he wants "something" for even doing normal things that we expect of him, like cleaning his room and not hitting! What have I done! And now I have to totally un-do this thought process!


I've actually heard him say, "If I do this.. can I get something?"


And I've said, "No honey, you can have a great feeling of accomplishment instead." Which is the perfect way to elicit a glossed-over look in a three-year-old.


In fact I've already heard some of my great monologues and by that I mean that these monologues come out of my mouth and I see his eyes gloss over and I'm still talking and even I am finding myself saying,"What on earth are you saying?!"

The first crazy talk about doing good came earlier this week when we got an empty brown bag from his school with a little note attached to it. I recognized the bag, it is the same kind of brown bag we filled up with turkey dinner and fixins for needy families last year. His school does this every year and I think it's the coolest thing ever. They literally fill the gym with food for families. It's awesome.

Well, I, of course, in my excitement, began telling him what the bag was for and how we are going to use it to help families who have no food.

"Why, Mommy?"

"Because they don't have enough money. Do you know when you're hungry and you ask for something and Mommy gives you some food? Well, some families don't have food when they're hungry."

"Why!"

"Because! And we have to help them, we have to give them some food! They're starving!" Then I started describing how we have food in our pantry and some people don't, trying to make him have a visual of what I mean and all I got was that same glossed over look where he completely hasn't a clue of what I'm talking about because I tend to use bigger words than I should with a 3year old anyway and he says,

"But I'M STARVING, MOMMY!"

And then he wants candy because he's starving.

Oh this talk is all going terribly wrong.

Now every time he's hungry, he says he's hungry because he's starving. And even if he's not hungry he says he's hungry because he's starving.

There's always next year. Maybe.

My latest monologue was with a tiny superhero who was out saving the world this morning and it actually kind of went well and went like this.

Him: I put the mean man in jail, can I have some candy????
Me: No, honey. Besides, it's 8 in the morning.
Him: But I saved someone! And I put the mean guy in jail! Now can I have candy??
Me: No, honey. Doing good things is its own reward.
Him: (blank stare.)
Me: (inner monologue yelling 'hurry before you lose him!') Do you feel good about yourself?
Him: Um..
Me: Are you proud of yourself?
Him: (proudly sticks chest out like chicken) YES!
Me: Are you happy that you did something good?
Him: YES!
Me: See? That's the best part of doing something good! That feeling of accomplishment!
Him: (rides off on motorcycle. I always lose him on the word "accomplishment." Must find synonym.)


It looked like he got it, anyway. Until the next round of rounding up villains and saving people anyway.

Then of course he rode up and yelled, "I'M STARVING!"

Maybe not.

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The Candy Reward, Oh the Slippery Slope

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/11/candy-reward-oh-slippery-slope.html

Questions from Domesticadia

Motherhood and a permanent residence in Domestic-adia raises more questions than answers. And I almost never ever feel like I know what I'm doing. (Do you have this problem?)

Among the questions I've asked this week are:

1. What happens if a child eats cat poo? (Don't ask.)
2. What is the difference in symptoms between the stomach bug my other son had last week and what happens after eating cat poo? (Updated: Whatever it was, it's gone now.)
3. If the stuffed animals are a casualty of said result of the above, can they be washed in the washing machine, even if it says not to?
4. What will happen to them? (Update: Best friend talked me into playing "stuffed animal roulette". Whoever makes it out of the washer alive gets to stay. And I have to tell you, a little of myself went in the washer with them. I was really worried and found myself really pulling for them. THANK GOODNESS! THEY MADE IT! All of them! George, Winnie the Pooh, Baby Bear and Elmo, guess what? You get to stay!
5. Now. If you wash them in the washer, does it follow too that you can dry them in the dryer?
6. What will happen to them? (Update #2: Yes! I used the "almost no heat" option. They are clean, germ-free, and surrounding my son on the couch as we speak.)

OK. New round of questions.

7. Is it weird if I buy a bottle of wine with a coupon?
8. Isn't it weird that coupons for wine exist?
9. Is it weird for me to buy a Twilight Edward doll?
10. What if it's for myself?
11. What is the difference between roasting a turkey in one of those slow roaster things that are on sale at Target and K-Mart instead of roasting it in the oven? Is it a skin crispyness issue?
12. Where are my hair ties and camera chargers?
13. How did I allow my e-mail inbox to hit 5000?
14. Should I throw a party? That's a pretty big milestone.
15. Do I have A.D.D. or do I just have an uncanny ability to multitask? Because I have been bouncing from this post to the one I started previously, and in between I'm doing laundry and cutting coupons (while wondering also why my favorite craft store even bothers offering 55% off "custom framing" because it still costs at least $150 every time I have them "custom frame" something.)
16. How much caffeine is too much?
17. Didn't I read somewhere that you should NOT pay attention to tantrums and they will eventually stop throwing them?
18. Why haven't they stopped?
19. Should I stop before I get to 20 questions?
20. Nahhh.... Why do I put on children's programming only to have them walk away, leaving me stuck watching Curious George or Martha? Like right now?...

PS. This is exhausting.

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Questions from Domesticadia

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/11/questions-from-domesticadia.html

The Music Truck

I caught myself humbugging the Ice Cream man today.

I look at him so much differently now that I have toddlers.

I heard him driving through our neighborhood exactly 5 minutes into naptime and cursed him under my breath.

"Damn Ice Cream Truck!"

I felt bad sounding so bitter. But I can't help it! I knew what was going to happen! I had just settled into a peaceful house, that is, until I heard the faintness of the music and knew it was going to be over. Because my three year old was going to run out of bed and run to the window to listen to the Music Truck go by. And that would be it. Naptime over.

Yes, around here we call it a "music truck". My 3 and almost-two-year-old still believe it's just a truck that drives around playing music. They haven't a clue it also serves ice cream (and how absurd it would be that a truck would drive around for the sole purpose of playing circus music). But I am going to keep it that way as long as possible until the jig is up. But for now it's not, so it's a "music truck."

But the music truck always comes exactly 5 minutes into naptime and then again about 30 minutes after the kids have gone to bed.

So that my children hear it, wake up, want to go see it and then do not want to return to bed. Because all they want to do is listen to the music while it drives around our neighborhood, and the neighborhood next to us and the one behind us and the one over there, where the music is still faint, but a little three-year-old's ears can still hear it. He will listen until it has completely disappeared and gone away and if ears could squint, that's what he'd be doing just to listen until its very last second.

I realize that after lunch around 1, and after dinner between 7 and 8 p.m. might be a better time for the Ice Cream Man to, perhaps, sell some ice-cream and I sympathize with the fact that he's a business on wheels in probably a very difficult economy for ice cream trucks and probably even more difficult as it'll be cold out soon and no one will want ice cream because they'll be busy drinking hot chocolate, but still. These times really don't work for me. And forget about it when the kids realize it serves ice cream!

And when I see you at the park at whatever event my city is throwing, I have to physically hold my legs to keep them from walking over to you and yelling at you for driving by my house after naptime and bedtime because I already have to get up and lead my son back to bed a hundredty times a night and that other few just because of the music truck makes me a very special kind of crazy. The kind of crazy where you think you have a hold on things and then some unnecessary disruption in the force happens to make it so that you, indeed, do not have a hold on things.

!!!!!!

(Pulling hair out!)

I remember in my 20's I had a party at my apartment and the parents of a toddler came to my door and knocked and asked us to be quiet. And we didn't. Because we ruled the world. And they came up again and pleaded, because their toddler couldn't sleep. And then they called the police.

I so get that now. This may, indeed, be a musical karma driving around.

When I have to lay in my toddler's bed on a random Friday night in which there is no holiday whatsoever but for some reason there are fireworks and it sounds like World War Two outside and I have to snuggle with him until it's over while we listen to it, I get it. Loud cars with their radios pumping and the bass thumping, driving by my house waking up my kids. Believe me, I get it now. Unusually early landscapers... Oh yes. I get it now.

And I'm so sorry, parents of toddler, for being such a jerk. I promise, I really do get it now. So much so that I actually curse the sweet little innocent Ice Cream man and his tiny circus-song-playing truck.

But Ice Cream Man, if you're reading this, do you understand why I might be annoyed? Yes? So could you just do me a favor and skip our neighborhood for, oh, the next 6-8 years? It's mostly old people anyway! And they don't really like ice cream from ice cream trucks anymore. I never ever see the old people lining up outside waiting for the Ice Cream Truck. So, head over back to the park where all the kids are and where you can hang out and play music at all times of day and night. Thank you. I appreciate it.

And have a nice day!

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The Music Truck

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/11/music-truck.html

Mommy, Where DO Babies Come From???

We ordered out last week for some Chinese food.

My son was sick, so he wasn't up for eating much. Except for, of course, the fortune cookie. And I have a pretty liberal "sick" policy around here; pretty much anything goes (especially when they are struggling to keep anything down). So fortune cookie you want? Fortune cookie you get.

He opens it up and wants me to read the tiny paper.

It says something about a drunk man's fortune or something like that and since I'm really not up for explaining "drunk" to a three-year-old, I need to think quickly. Motherhood is perfect training for Jeopardy by the way.

I hold up the paper and say, "Um, Superheroes are wise and kind." Yeah. That's it.

Sometimes I surprise even myself.

This look washes over his face like I have just paid him the biggest compliment in the world, he can't even comprehend this statement or wrap his mind around it or contain himself. His eyes get real big and a smile literally bursts forth and he is now gleaming. Because of course, he is a superhero and this fortune is exactly about him. It is for him. He's usually Batman, but a superhero nonetheless and the fortune cookie was about him. And he repeats the fortune over and over again. "Wise and kind, Mommy!" "Wise and kind!" Gosh I'm great.

Now, "kind" he knows. But wise is a little different. I had to explain "wise." And it was almost easy because we had already been talking about "smart" and "brain" earlier in the day.

Because the questions have been rolling in. I thought I was at least a year out from this by they way, but they're coming in fast, one after another, I barely have time to answer them before he's on to the next one. Earlier that day, he wanted to know how his brain worked.

So I said that the brain contains lots of answers and it always wants to know more answers. I asked him questions as an example. "What's that color?" He said, "Red." I said, "See? Your brain had the answer and told your mouth to say it. What are we sitting on?" (Don't say 'brain'.) "The couch," he says. "That's right. Your brain knew that too!" I could see in his face that on some three-year-old level, he was getting it.

Well now I've created a monster because when he realizes his brain doesn't know something, he realizes he needs to give it all the answers and now it seems like his brain won't stop telling his mouth to ask questions!

"How does a frog jump, Mommy?" (He uses his legs.) "How does a car go?" (It uses its wheels.) "But how?" (It has a motor that makes the wheels spin.) "But how?" (It eats gasoline that makes the motor run which makes the wheels spin.) "Why does the fan spin, Mommy?" (It uses electricity from the wires that come in through the top of the fan.) "How?" All of our houses are connected by wires and electricity is in the wires and the electricity in the wires turns the fan on, the lights on, the tv on, all of that."

Blank stare.

Sometimes I think it's funny to overexplain things to see what his reaction is.

On the flip side, there are times where I wish to completely underexplain as much as I can. Like, that particular question that we mothers are not quite ready for once it is asked. You know the one.

You think you have plenty of time to drum up some genius, but no. It comes out when you least expect it. The one and only. THE question.

"Mommy, how do you have a baby?" Or "Where does the baby come from?" Or "How does it get there?" Or "How does it come out?"

He's three-and-a-half. I so wasn't ready for this.

They all came rapidfire, too, one after the other.

And as I began to sift through the questions, I answered each one, thoughtfully divulging just enough information but refraining from too much. I was almost even proud! I was on a roll!

But by the third question, it turned into my mouth answering questions and my mind turning to look at my mouth, saying, "What are you saying TURNIT OFF!" I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the big ol' hole I was digging for myself and there was nothing I could do. By the end, there was something to do with God having a magic wand and pointing it at my belly and saying "Alacabam!"

Oh boy.

(He's three-and-a-half, he'll forget this by naptime, right?)

I embarrass even myself sometimes. And really, come on. I'm a creative girl. That's the best I could come up with? God has a magic wand?

Sigh.

I swear it all started off so well! I thought I was acing this!

By the end I wanted to turn and run.

And maybe say something supergenius like, "Let's ask your father when he gets home." Which, let's face it would probably go straight back to me in the end anyway.

I hope I have a chance to start over and re-splain. But for now I'll ask you. He's three-and-a-half and I'm interested in the less is more philosophy. While also being somewhat honest. (This sounds like a Craigs List ad). Actually, I would like to say the exact opposite of what I've already said so far. So. Help a mama out. Any tips?

PS. We opened up a second fortune cookie the next day, one that was left over. It said, "Eat your vegetable and you'll grow up big and strong like Popeye."

I swear. I'm not even making that one up.

Thank you, dear fortune cookie people. Thank you.

* * *

I'm over at Shrinking Jeans today too, giving away a pair of running pants from One More Mile! Contest ends today!

Mommy, Where DO Babies Come From???

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/11/mommy-where-babies-come-from.html

Just Sitting Here Drinking a Juice Box

I just opened the fridge and thought, with the day I've had, I could really use some Motts for Tots.

Nothin' like a nice, cool, Fruit Punch Motts for Tots juice box to wash your worries away.

I was going to begin the day's post with this:

Someone or someone-times-two got a hold of chalk and made my coffee table a chalkboard.

Nice.

Not a big deal.

Except for the scratches. Sweet.

Hang on. I'm gettin to the bottom of my juice box and the straw won't get it all and I'm having to slurp. This could take a second.

Boy there really isn't a lot of juice in this thing.

Anyhoo. I tried to take a picture of the chalk but my camera battery was dead. So I left the chalk sitting there on the table until the battery charged nice and good and I could take a picture of it.

Somewhere in between the chalk and now, I dropped my son off at school and went to Home Depot to procure some fall gardening supplies. I'm batting about a 50-50 in sustaining plant life now, I guess now is as good a time as ever to bring that up.

I'm known as the Grim Reaper of plants.

My husband says the plants in the garden sections cower when I walk in.

He calls my hanging baskets, "hanging CASKETS".

I guess he wonders why I kill them and keep buying them, because I am a gardening failure. I guess each time I get more plants, it is with a renewed hope and faith within myself that I will turn my inner gardener around.

But he's probably right. Either I should hire a gardener (after we hit Power Ball) or just buy some pretty stones.

Because I'm real good at buying plants and planting plants and watering them. For about the first week. Then I walk by them and think "uh oh, I really should water that guy, he's looking a little sad." And then I don't. And eventually my son brings it up. "Mommy, why is he sad?" And then I feel bad. So today, one of my projects was to nurse two hanging plants back to life by repotting them. The two very same that are flowery and leafy in this picture right here.

Unfortunately they do not look like that anymore.

In fact, looking at how beautiful they once were made me feel like a big giant jerk just now.

Hang on. Finishing the juice box. May have to crack open another.

Well, the soil on my poor plants was all old anyway because even when I'd try to water it, the water would go straight through the pot and right out, so what I really needed to do was repot them. And this is a pretty big deal. Normally they'd die before I get a chance to repot them. So we're getting somewhere.

See? I'm working on it.

But as I'm wandering out of Home Depot with Mini, I get to the car and the car won't start.

And as luck would have it, I forgot to plug in my cell phone last night and there was barely a charge.

Batting 0 in the battery department today.

I eeked out a call to AAA and the fine gentleman was there to rescue me within 15 minutes and my husband was quick to respond as well. Oh it's nice being a damsel in distress once in a while! Husband and AAA guy to the rescue!!

The AAA guy put in a new battery and I was on my way. I put my phone on my charger and now it's fulla juice. Kinda like me, come to think of it. And my camera is charged. Gosh life stinks when nothing's charged.

Piece of advice: if phone is not charged, don't forget car charger. However, car charger won't work if battery is dead anyway, so just make sure phone is charged.

Mini and I gardened for the rest of the morning, nursing my plants back to life and putting up some belatedly fall decorations and remulching. When my other son got home, we finished up the gardening and by we I mean me, in between chasing them back to our yard from our neighbors or from the street or breaking up fights over who gets to ride the tricycle or use the bubble mower or wear the helmet. They probably both should be wearing helmets at all times, who are we kidding.

Ps. Is it bad for kids to dig into Miracle Grow potting soil? Don't answer that.

So now I'm sitting here drinking a juice box and the kids are in bed after taking long hot baths because we were all hot messes from the dirt and fertilizer.

Off for more juice now, and a shower. Good day.

* * *

We're sharing birth stories and pictures for the virtual babyshower! Click here to read and share, one lucky sharer gets a "Serenity Now" gift package! Not a mommy? Share any story and or picture of a family member/friend! Link it up, you have till Thursday!!

The winner of a necklace from my Etsy shop is Mendie at The Little Ladybug That Could! Go browse around and e-mail me your choice and your snail mail! (christieo_7 at msn.com)

Just Sitting Here Drinking a Juice Box

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/10/just-sitting-here-drinking-juice-box.html

Toothbrush Song

The Toothbrush Song

(to the tune of the ABC song)

(and as referred to in yesterday's post).

Lyrics by Christie O.

A-B-C-D-E-F-G!

This is how we brush our teeth.

Front to back and side to siiiiiiiide.......

TOOTHBRUSH ON A WILD RIIIIDE!!!

A-B-C-D-E-F-G,

This is how we brush our teeth!

(Helpful hint: You really gotta draw out the "side" and "ride" in the song if you want to sing it right.)

Use as necessary. rinse and repeat. the end.

Toothbrush Song

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/10/toothbrush-song.html

A Mother's Prayer

Dear Lord,
So far today I've done all right. I haven't gossiped, I haven't lost my temper, I haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish or very indulgent. I'm very grateful for that. But in a few minutes, Lord, I'm going to get out of bed, and from then on, I'm going to need a lot more help. Amen.

* * *

Saw that in a book I have. I love it. I said it today. 3 times.

A Mother's Prayer

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/10/mothers-prayer.html

Playdate Violence or Man Boot Camp?

Once upon a time, playdates were sweet. Where sugarplums danced around and mommies (donning nursing bras and frumpy clothing and smelling of spoiled milk but wearing lip gloss because we needed one thing to make us feel glamorous) got together for a little girlie time to talk while their little bundles sat quietly sleeping in their infant carriers or nursed or ate.

Sure there was some crying, but the infants remained separated from each other except for when the mommies took them out occasionally and did the whole, "Look, baby, here's your friend, this other baby!" And the babies had no idea what was going on and they reached out at each other and it was all cute and fluffy and we were all proud at how well our little angels played together and we patted each other on the back for what wonderful mommies we were. Our children were going to grow up with manners, with the built in resolve to share and keep their hands to themselves and be giving and happy and pleasant. All the time. Because we were great mommies.

And for a long while our children were happy, for the most part, in between feedings and diaper changes. Ahh, there was a certain amount of wonderful curiosity and peacefulness to these playdates.

And then all of a sudden, there wasn't.

I don't know what happened.

In fact, it's become the polar opposite of peacefulness.

Now there is runningandscreamingandhittingandchasingandinjuries. All in about a one-second span of time and then that turns into one big chain of runningandscreamingandhittingandchasingandinjuries, separated only by timeouts.

I don't know. Is it because they're all boys? Do 1, 2, and 3 year old girls have nice, quiet princess dressup tea parties? What are girl playdates like?? (It is very likely I will never know this, the number of friends/family who have two boys and have gone on to have a third boy is overwhelming, so please, do share.)

Because the last playdate at my house turned into an something of an all-out brawl. Four out of five children left with a head bump/bite mark/and/or emotional scarring.

Sure. We intervened when necessary. Of course we did. Remember, we're good moms. And we made the offenders fess up and/or apologize and/or face punishment for said behavior. Except for the younger ones because, well, they were the targets of said behavior mostly. Poor guys. But the rough 'n tumble, smacking non-sharing chaos jubilee was complete and utter madness. In my life, it went from peaceful babyness to toddler chaos in one-point-two seconds. At least it feels like it anyway.

And you can just forget getting a word edgewise in with the other mommies.

The playdates are becoming increasingly less fun for mommies. In fact, it's almost cruel to go to a playdate with other mommies you actually want to talk to because you can't! It's torturous! All you're doing is breaking up brawls and tangles ("Please share that! Find something else to play with! No hitting!" in between the constant, "Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy!" breath. "Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy!") We barely get caught up when oh. It's lunchtime or naptime. And/or the system begins to break down. You can always tell when this happens by the degree of crying involved. It increases exponentially when the children begin to expire, secretly longing for lunch or naps but completely unable to express or accept this.

Plus, now there are places I won't even go anymore until I can either corral or convince my children to stay together because chasing two children in opposite directions isn't really an option at these places and it could just turn disastrous. The beach is one of these places.

It's hard to tell just when the playdates turned a corner and became violent. I think it was sometime around the time that the children began to walk and claim ownership over their Elmos and ride-along vehicles. Basically when the word, "Mine!" (my personal favorite) made its appearance. But it's all a blur now. All I know is that it was nice once and now it isn't.

The good part is that none of us mommies judged each other or our children's behavior because we're cool like that (I think? Fingers crossed. I guess I'll find out when I host another playdate!) We were all in agreement that a little bit of roughing up is actually good for them. I mean, they're going to be men one day for Pete's sake! We have to toughen them up! We can't have wimpy men running around crying because Pauly took his astronaut pen that writes upside down or Joe got a promotion over him, right?? This is training here! It's like Man Boot Camp!

Ah, but such a fine line, right?

Be sensitive. But not too sensitive. No hitting! But stick up for yourself! Share! Except for when your playing soccer and you have to take the ball without asking!

It's all so confusing.

No wonder they're getting violent.

It's funny I ended up with boys. Ya know, what with being a girl and all. I know girls. This boy thing is all very new to me. I just hope I can get good at it before I screw someone up.

Playdate Violence or Man Boot Camp?

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/10/playdate-violence-or-man-boot-camp.html

Lying 101

I heard music to my ears this morning at the wee hours of 5 a.m.

I heard my three-year-old get out of bed and open his bedroom door and close it. I then heard another door open (the bathroom) and then I heard nothing for about two minutes, and then I heard his bedroom door open again and then close and then I heard him rustling around in his bed again.

Besides the fact that no door that was opening in this scenario was mine, do you know what this means people????

We've turned a corner! There was pottying happening on own initiative, in the dark, and a mommy was not involved in any way shape or form! There I continue to lay, listening to the monitor and then being comforted by the lull of his return to his bed! Now of course, I stayed awake because I couldn't stop thinking about how wonderful and musical and magical this actually is!

And there are countless implications here, too, I mean, this means he is actually not going to walk down the aisle one day in a diaper.

Hurrah!

I've done my job.

I mean we do have the occasional accident still but we really are on our way safely and happily, with, and I won't lie here, a little help from the Tootsie Roll, (yes, that is my secret, I used candy and I don't care, judge away) which many people have wondered out loud if that is a fitting reward for this milestone (and/or coincidental) and not because it is candy. I don't know really why I chose the Tootsie Roll, actually, and yes, I do see how my mind could have subconsciously drawn some parallel and if so, my mind really is kind of weird and warped without telling me. But I have since drawn the conclusion (and you can file this away for your own personal records) that it is not really a spectacular reward only for the time it takes in consuming it, because he sits there and chews and chews and chews for this ridiculous amount of time, and at bedtime this could really get a bit annoying, so I think I'm going to move on to the M&M, something much smaller, and then eventually, nothing, except his own pride.

(The bigger secret here and I'll reveal it to you, where he also began to turn the corner in potty training when, was a couple weeks after an accident in the middle of the night, he said to me point blank, "Clean me." And I responded happily with, "Well actually, honey, you're going to clean yourself today!" And then had him do it all, put the contents of undie in potty, go and get his new undie and then clean up the spill with a towel. It sounds kind of gross, but if he is smart enough to think that mommy is going to do all the cleaning here, he is big enough to start doing it himself. This did not appeal to him. He started going in the potty almost immediately after that. Lesson learned for both of us.)

Well now that this job is done (almost), I have found myself charged with a new task: How to explain to a three-year-old how to not tell lies.

Does this really happen this early? And are they deliberate? I have to read up on this immediately.

Because I have found that our little "reward," (for a candyholic) has become kind of double-edged sword here. He is taking the initiative to potty all by himself. However, I caught him just yesterday telling me he went (and that he flushed!) and afterward making his case for a treat.

The only problem was that I knew he didn't go, and I knew he didn't flush either. I was standing right there (he did not know this.)

Little boogie.

So. I went into my "mom" mode, explaining to him that when we say we did something and we really didn't, that is called a lie. When we say we did something and we really did do that, that's called "the truth." And you need to tell the truth. Because it's not ok to tell lies. And then I started to go into "trust" and the disappointment that comes from not trusting people, but as it was all coming out of my mouth, I was confusing even myself and I'm pretty sure he had already tuned out by the time I even said the word "lie" because his eyes were glazed over (so were mine, who am I kidding) and he was likely already onto the next thing, thinking "CANDYCANDYCANDY IWANT CANDY HOWDOIGETCANDY".

So that was that. I've been testing him a little to find out if he learned anything about the truth, because it is out there, I have retained at least that much from X-Files and I do plan to pass that on to him in some shape or form, I just really don't know how to convey it in a toddler-type language.

The concept of truth isn't really like holding up a card and asking him what color it is. Or is it? Hmm. Any ideas here? Some useful toddler lingo you have used?

Because, I mean, lying is a very slippery slope! Today it's just about whether or not he flushed, but tomorrow, it's about whether or not he took the car out in the middle of the night and robbed a 7/11 for a carton of Marlboro Lights.

Any help saving my son from juvie is appreciated.

Lying 101

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/09/lying-101.html

Mr. Crab

Nothing like a four-inch long sea creature to make you wanna do the right thing.

I met Mr. Crab at the beach on Tuesday. He was awfully cute, a little hermit crab in his perfect little shell. So why is he in a red bowl, you ask?

Silly, silly mommy who wasn't paying attention. Or thinking. Or something, I don't even know. I completely spaced. Momnesia, probably.

We went to the beach (as stated previously) and the tide was out. Wayyy out. And Poops took a liking to a little girl and when she and her mom took off running toward the water to see a school of dolphins playing, he took off right after them. Which meant a mommy running in a bathing suit yelling after him, of course. And when I caught up with him and we were all ooh-ing and ahhh-ing over the dolphins, I got to talking to the mom. Who happened to have two little hermit crabs.

She gave me one.

I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Look! A hermit crab! Let's watch him come out of his shell and go back in and come back out! It was fun and Poops was getting to watch this little creature do things up close!

So we played at the beach for the day and I had the hermit crab up near our blanket, and somehow when we packed up, he made it into the little red wagon and then into the back of the car.

It started to storm on our drive home, so when we got back to my mom's house, I unloaded the kids but not much else, and got them inside.

Two hours later...

A lightbulb goes off and I remember that there is still a hermit crab in a wagon in my hundredty-thousand-degree car.

Mom of the year.

So I run out and get him and he's fine. I think. I mean, I blow into his shell and there is movement, so that means it's ok, right? And then it dawns on me.

Well, what on earth now?
What does one do with this now that it's home and officially removed from his natural habitat?

So I google away. And promptly realize that I will need the following supplies to sustain a hermit crab. And FYI too.

-A fish tank, and a pretty large one so he can move around

-With a heater so you can keep it humid

-And some humidity thermometer so you know just how humid it is

-Two water dishes, one for salt water, one for un-chlorinated fresh water (there are ways to remove the chlorine if you must use tap, but you can use spring water)
-Some dirt or sand or something to dig in

-Other hermit crabs because they like to socialize. But sometimes they eat each other.

-More shells because they grow out of theirs and like to move

-I am serious.

And then things go wrong with hermit crabs and there is a web site dedicated to the woes of hermit crab ownership and upon reading some of these things, quite like reading about your pregnancy on BabyCenter, I panicked about things being wrong with the hermit crab simply because I removed him from his natural home like a jerk. Oh no, is that the brown stuff they're talking about? Is he oozing? Is he out of his shell for too long? Because it's bad if they're out of their shell for too long! Is he too cold? Shoot! I just put tap water in there, I have to switch bowls and give him a dry one, did I almost kill him with the chlorine? Crap crap crap!

I Googled myself into feeling like a complete terrible person, and realized if I didn't get this hermit crab back to his home, he was not going to survive at all and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. The terror of this thought weighed on my conscience.

So after dinner, my dad agreed to go with me to drop him off at a nearby waterway with brackish water. But there was no sand and I wasn't convinced that he was going to survive here because it wasn't the full-on saltwater and beach that I had stolen him from.

So we went the 20 extra minutes to the beach from whence we got him and I put him back.

And then decided that he wasn't close enough to the water. Yes, I panicked about that too. A 10 minute conversation with my dad about whether or not to put him in or just close to the water. Because I did read that they can drown.
So I moved him closer-ish. I didn't want to put him in the water but I figured he has legs, so if he wants that water, I have put him close enough for him to move toward it if he decides that's what he wants to do. You know, even hermit crabs have choices and free will. Sort of. Except for when a giant human steals you from your home. Anyway, a few minutes after I put him there, it appeared that he was comfortable enough to come out of his shell. Which made me happy and settled my conscience.

My three-year-old asked me if he was happy and I said, "Yes. He's happy now that he's home and he's home just in time for dinner!"

I do hope Mr. Crab is ok and didn't suffer too much from the transport in the little red bowl and the lack of hermit crab food (whatever that would be) and any stress I may have caused (I also read that they get very stressed out). Maybe I should have left my name and phone number on his shell and offered to pay for the years of therapy I may have caused him to seek out.

I know. I stressed out for this little guy. But after a while, he kind of started to grow on me! He even developed a little personality and I grew to like him! And then Poops named him Mr. Crab and it was all over. Once you name something, you're attached. Period.

Anyway, he's back at home now. Probably watching Jeopardy with the family as we speak. And now I can sleep at night knowing I did the right thing.

Mr. Crab

https://babytealeaves.blogspot.com/2009/08/mr-crab.html