"You Know You're A Parent When..." & IWSG Wednesday

Aloha,

Before the latest chapter in my real-world WIP (What Improbable Parenting), this Wednesday is Insecure Writers Support Group (known by many as an anagram similar to ISWG :)

Along with the jolly old chap called Cavanaugh, I’ll be co-hosting with Nancy Thompson and Heather Gardner.
Hope to see you there :)


###

(Older chapters in my You Know When You're A Parent... series are here.

And now, ay, caramba!  My poor children…


You know you're a parent when...

 

...you forget to check expiration dates on some of the stuff in the pantry...

 ...which makes you slightly more understanding after the Sons said the chicken "tasted funny."

You're not sure, but it may have been the seven-year-old lemon spices you added as an afterthought...

 

 

...you watch No. 1 Son playing with some sticks and wonder what is he doing?

 

 

"It's a big letter 'I' and a small letter 'I,'" he said.

"That's awesome," you say.

... and then look behind you - it's too quiet...

 

                          ...only to see No. 2 Son absolutely enjoying the fruits of No. 3 Son's labor.

You know you're blessed to be a parent in Hawaii when...

 

No. 1 Son hands you a long piece of blue fabric, about twelve feet long, with tassles on both sides.

"What's this, Papa?"

"It's a scarf."

"What's a scarf?"

"Well, it has many uses. For example, it can keep your neck or head warm in winter."

"Can I use it as a lasso?"

"Sure..."

(Postscript: I've followed the local papers, but to date have read no reports of ex-rustled cattle found suffering from heat exhaustion of the neck or head.) 

 ...you realize your initial retirement plan (that all three Sons make it to the Big Leagues) may need a little work.

...you pat yourself on the back for coming up with a one-bowl solution to the regular Movie Night requests Popcorn and Lucky Charms:

 

                                                       (Ha! Mrs. Koopmans raised no fools!!!)

 



                      ...only to later remember why you *hate* popcorn and messy charms :)

You know you're a parent in a nice restaurant when... you take satisfaction in hearing other children screaming louder than yours. (Much louder, he smirked.)

(This is quickly followed by a silent prayer of forgiveness when that table suddenly leaves (hence the screaming) and you are now that table with the three ravenous and upset kids...

...you need to give the boys a sticker for listening to what the lady had to say - no matter her age :)

...you're a Soccer Papa when, as the new volunteer head coach, you arrange a Parents' Meeting  ahead of the upcoming Under-6 soccer season.

You've thought about this for days.

The handouts are printed.

The practice/drill binders are made - two of them, in case one gets lost!

The game plan is ready.

 

IT'S ON!!!

 

You will stride confidently into the meeting - wearing clean, pressed athletic gear (synonymous with your idea of a Soccer Coach with a plan!)

You will not forget your new stopwatch and whistle (complete with yellow fluorescent cord.)

 

Unfortunately, you're held up for more than an hour at No. 1 Son's new school, filling out triplicate forms in pen (and pencil!)

This unscheduled stop results in you leaving your first impression outfit at home while you lead a short, scatter-brained and emotionally drained meeting (pencils?) in a sweaty green T-shirt and an orange ball cap.

 (The kids had fun though, which of course, is the point :)

And finally..... you know you are one terrified, OUT-OF-YOUR-MIND with worry parent...

...until you realize (thank you, Lord Jesus!) that No. 3 Son is *not* the newest extra on a very popular AMC show.

He just really, really likes chowing down on red markers :)

PS... no children were harmed in the making of this chapter - but no joke, I *nearly* needed an adult diaper when I came around the patio corner and saw the above-mentioned No. 3. Son :)

You Know You're a Parent When...(#11)

Aloha,

What, Papa?

When you’re raising three boys under the age of six, time flyeth before ye knoweth. Wow… Here’s the eleventh installment of my monthly “You Know You’re A Parent When…” series.

You can find the most recent here and here – and I promise everything happened, and it’s all based on my daily life as a happily married stay-at-home Dad J

 

 

 

Quick! Grab on, here we go....You know you’re a parent when…

·         You decide to write a 15-part weekly series on how training for a marathon can be like writing a book. Great idea, but where exactly is this extra writing time coming from – your arse?

·         You master the power of patience. This Zen-level of awareness was recently achieved when No. 1 Son said he, “peed on the toilet.”

“No, Son,” said you, the Dad/Writer, putting a pen behind your ear in a mad-professorial way, “It’s not on the toilet, it’s in the toilet.”

“Nuh uh, I pee-peed on the toilet, Papa.”

You smile at the child, [still] enjoying this teaching moment.

“Think about it, Son. You pee inside the toilet because the lid is up and the pee-pee goes inside,” you say, crouching down like (old) sitting tiger, “the only way you could pee on the toilet is when both lids are down.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Papa. I peed on the toilet!”

Oh.

 ##########

·         The kids are sleeping.

The laundry is piling

The Elmo sheets are a-foldin’

(And it’s all good, ‘cos)

The ‘80s are a-rockin’

 

Cover of Dark Tower: The Gunslinger by Jae Lee.

·         You finish changing the baby and bound downstairs with a spare diaper in your side pocket.

As you traverse the dangerous Pocoyo and Lego-strewn “walkway” to the kitchen, you realize that while you may never be Roland the Gunslinger, you can, by gosh, claim rights to Papa the Kidslinger as No. 3 Son moves from hip to hip or side to side with nary a cry or squeal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

·         You [nearly] poop your pants while at the weekly Moms (and Dad) morning playroom event at the community center.

Scanning the room to verify presence of all three sons, No. 2 Son (who is two-and-a-half) is nary to be found.

It’s a *large* open room, so he can’t be hiding, so where is he?

Putting the smartphone down… (oh yeah, you feel smart now checking your blog… smart as a wet paper bag) you stand up as the Papa Kidslinger instincts fire up.

Slowly, you scan the room again… he’s wearing solid red… there’s about thirty kids, twenty parents… take your time…

Oh gosh, (I may have said a stronger word…) where is he?

No. 1 Son is painting, No. 3 is sleeping…

OK… move toward the front door…. Scanning, turning… out into the lobby…

There is a meeting going on…open door… you barge right in there… “sorry, looking for my son…”

He’s not there.

You look at the door to THE OUTSIDE and there is no way

(is there??)

that he could have gotten OUTSIDE…

You turn around, back into the main, open area… walking slowly… dry mouth…

Real panic starts to bubbliciously announce its arrival when one of the moms opposite where you sat waves.

“He’s over here – in the little (dollhouse-style play) tent.”

He was not on the tent, he was in the tent… the flat-on-the-ground tent where he had crawled into (less than twenty feet from me) to play with some plastic dinosaurs.

(Thank you, Lord.)

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“No problem. I noticed him crawling in the tent, and when I saw the look on your face, I put two and two together.”

I lifted the flat opening of the flat tent…

“Son, what... where, what are you doing in there?”

“Dinosayers! In the tunnel, rook Papa. Rook at my dinosayers. In the tunnel!

 

Moral of the story: We ain’t buyin’ no stinkin’ dollhouse tents in this house J

Papa? Where's my tent, Papa?



 

You Know You're a Parent When...(#10)

Aloha,

Well, when you’re raising three boys under the age of six, time doth fly.

Wow… Here’s the tenth installment of my monthly “You Know You’re A Parent When…” series.

Like previous editions – you can find the most recent here and here – it all happened and is based on my daily adventures as a happily married stay-at-home Dad J

 You know you’re a parent when…

·         Instead of the usual frustrated feelings when told your expected wait is “fifteen minutes – but your call is really important –” you decide to accept the mission (that no one gave you.)

Can you change, wash, dress and get the baby to sleep before the cheery, tinny out-sourced voice comes back on the line?

Yes, I'm in the laundry basket. Papa was multi-tasking:)

And, wouldn’t you know?

Score!

“Hah, I’d like to see Michael Phelps do that water move,” you say to sleeping No. 3 Son while rocking [him in] the hallways.

Your mood is brighter, your step lighter – until reading Phelps won his 22^nd Olympic medal.

The tagline from Wayne’s World pop into your head as you ponder this awesome achievement :)

·         Your heart skips a beat and the boys’ college funds receive a major boost (if only for a second) when you read the following email:
“An ATM Card Donation of $4Million US Dollars has been accredited to you from online draw. Contact Mr.Barnet Catford for claims.”

Sigh… if onlyJ

·         Speaking of sleeping babies, you lay the little beauty down for his nap.

...Then spend the next ten minutes extracting your fingers from between the pillow and the head of No. 3 Son

… one false move and it’s all over…

Sweat beats down your brow as you listen to Twinkle, Twinkle (You’re Killing Me) Star… nine times in a row.

Once the extraction is complete (and you switch the "repeat one" button off,) you make a mental note to ask the local Bomb Squad how they do what they do…

·         When No. 2 Son suffers from an unknown bug/illness, the after effects result in you coming up with a revised version of a Christmas classic (even though it’s July.)

Sung to the tune of 12 Days of Christmas, your version goes something like:

"Seven pukes a puking,

Six white towels,

Five. Changed. Outfits

Four hot showers,

Three new sheets,

Two year-old boy

And one too many glasses of milk."

·         Proudly, and with pride, you hold the new, $10 nightlight up in the air as if it was Excalibur. Tired of No. 2 Son destroying the “normal” nightlights, you review the packaging again:

“Guaranteed for 10,000 hours! Break resistant!”

Sadly, this Super Nightlight never had the pleasure of officially meeting No. 2 Son.

Seventy-two hours later, it lay at the bottom of the stairs, its resistance (and everything else) broken.

Later that evening, you switch on the laundry room light and leave the door open a crack.

·         And finally, I always tell the one about me before I had kids.

I had hair that would make a 80s rocker proud, and now look at me: As bald as the eagle.

It’s tough being a parent. It really is, but I’d rather be in an empty room screaming through frustration, than frustrated and screaming because our home is empty.

This post is dedicated to the wonderful, loving couples who are all too familiar with Clomid, timed shots and unromantic rendezvous.

(Hang in there… my wife and I have walked in your shoes.

No. 1 Son and No. 2 Son arrived via God’s blessings – and fertility treatments – so Don’t. Ever. Quit.)

You Know You're A Parent When... (#9)

Aloha,

Haven't you always wondered how the Seven Dwarfs met and why Cinderella didn't run away with the local baker?

If so, you need to check out our “What If?” Blogfest, and thanks to the many dozens who've already signed up.

This is going to be a Beauty... yikes....does than mean I'm the beast :) 

My co-hosts, Cassie Mae, Leigh and Morgan and I appreciate everyone signing up – and if you want to, add your name to the Linky List here J

The Dream Team... and me, the Nightmare :)

In other news, (I've always wanted to say that:) here's my ninth and latest installment of “You Know You’re A Parent When…” an ongoing series that makes single people cringe and roll their eyes J

If you’re new to my blog (thanks), I've included some recent YKYA posts here and here.

You Know You’re A Parent When…

·         You go for dinner at an outdoor restaurant with another couple (with multiple kids), and when they act as frazzled as you live, a bonding moment occurs.

The adults each help manage the controlled chaos to where you enjoy some downtime talking to your spouse – using “big” words – and sentences that don’t end in “STOP IT! or SIT DOWN!!

Inventory Check... How Many Kids Should We Have?

As you leave, you realize in a weird sort of way that you’ve had a (not-so-quiet) date night. Wow… imagine that...

### 
·         No. 1 Son covers his lower face and chin with a grey, washable marker... and when you ask why, he says, ‘cos I want my face to look like Papa’s scratchy bumpy face.”

###  
·         You treasure the small collection of “sleep-maker” DVDs and love the moments when you catch No. 1 Son losing the battle to keep his eyes open. (Thank you, Baby Einstein – Lullaby Time J)

Look Papa... it's the Six :)

·         You turn the corner and remember why you don’t want an e-reader – try recreating this memory with a Kindle.
Then, you start hoping James Patterson or John Grisham won’t be upset with this new-look “book display.”

###
·         Cleaning the table after dinner includes removing the following:

o   Large Salad Spoons

o   Placemats

o   Various Matchbox Cars

o   Salt and Pepper Shakers

o   Plate Warmers

o   Large Foam Letter “U”

o   A Steel Cowbell

o   Removal of 4-foot-long grey dolphin from underneath table

###

 ·         Trying for just one nice picture of your independent two-year-old, you find yourself sweating, leaning over, falling backward, all the while hooting and hollering a bunch of complete and utter gibberish as you strive to earn No. 2 Son’s attention.

And then, just like that, he looks up and you snap the “money shot” you never saw coming.

Of course, you scuttle back to the other parents and show off the image, all the while saying that *this* was the so easy-to-get shot you intended all along.

Look, Papa... it's the Sun :)

...It's only now that you remember that these same parents follow your blog and the secret is out....

...oops :)

You Know You're A Parent When... (#8)

Aloha,

In case you're new... I write an often-monthly post called “You Know You’re A Parent When…”

(You can find the most recent posts here and here.)

YKYA #8 is dedicated to all you writing Moms and Dads :)

                                                       ###

You Know You’re A Parent When…

·         No. 1 Son wanders over from his bedroom, “forcing” you and The Missus to switch from the exciting new Blue Bloods, to a much-watched Blue’s Clues.

(During that same night, same Son expresses his desire to finish watching the last “Grey’s Anthony.”)

...Which is when you remember there were many valid reason why you didn’t want a television in the bedroom :)

·         Washing hands in the downstairs bathroom… you rinse, wash and rinse… all the while looking down (and moving) a very soapy, soggy parrot.

Leaving the bathroom, you stop suddenly in the hallway to ask the simple, but obvious question: How did a stuffed Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville parrot end in the sink?

You mull the question while starting a load of laundry; wiping two noses; changing a level IV stinkometer diaper and figure what’s for dinner. (Curry is removed from menu.) However, the answer eludes you – as do the two sons in the back yard.

  

·         Later that week, as Mama and No. 3 Son (infant) leave for evening Bible study, you promise to hold the fort, and send them off with a wink, and a jolly old I’ll-be-fine wave.

Peace and Quiet.

On both levels of the home.

Everywhere.

Why Does He Need fingers To Keep The Truck In One Spot?

You start in on the book, your work-in-progress, (the WIP.)

An hour later, No. 1 Son wanders over (again :) Quick negotiations result in a glass of water (already waiting in the fridge) and a cleared spot on the couch – with the Cars comforter.

All is well.

You return to WIP.

·         Out of nowhere, No. 2 Son closes your sphincter with a huge scream… Rushing upstairs – with a highly dangerous universal remote control in hand – you prepare to assault the ninja intruders…

Entering with the stealth of a blind rhino, No. 2 Son’s room is quiet and he’s re-asleep in his crib – with nary a swish or a sway in the blinds denoting the departure of said ninjas.

As soon as your blood pressure drops below “pounding,” you holster the remote on the coffee table and...

You return to WIP.

·         Fifteen minutes later, a quick review of the troops confirms No. 2 is asleep and No. 1 hasn’t yet fallen off the couch. (Suh-weet!)

All. Is. Well.

Heading to the kitchen for a long-awaited snack, your clod-hopping foot unfortunately punts (“kick” is too small a word) the LARGE fire truck-transformer thing that sat *quietly* on the floor.

All. Night. Long.

In the millisecond before the thing lights up and springs to life with abundant and vibrating glee, you remember stepping over the darn truck – twice – while saying “Ohhh, I should move that (less than five feet over) to the side.”

(Italicized words added to emphasis current level of moronic status.)

The four wheelmen of the toy-pocalypse announce themselves with klaxons blaring: WHOO! WHOO!
Then shouts of: “GET THE ENGINE STARTED!!!”

Another klaxon (in case kids were still sleeping…WHOO WHOO!!)

"I'll Be Back..."

And more dialogue for neighbors who missed the first round… “DRIVER, LET’S GET GOING!!”

Transfixed in the middle of the floor, with evil, evil punting leg still stuck in the air, you cringe and wait for the non-toy screaming to begin.

Kiddos stir, but after two sets of up-and-down-the-stairs to make sure – the truth sets you free: They sleep. Still.

Following an impromptu white-man-can’t-dance to a hummed, instrumental version of “Joy To The World,” the adrenalin dissipates, and the fire-truck thingy is moved to the yard – the far yard.

Of course, the On/Off button is nowhere to be found. Instead, you run CAUTION – DO NOT CROSS tape around, above and under the Red Monster.

You slide the lanai doors closed, wash your hands (removing parrot) and then dry your hands (dropping parrot back in sink.)

You return to WIP.

     ·         …Just as The Missus opens the door and walks into the room.

“Hi, Sweetie, we had a wonderful night. How was your evening watching the two boys?”

Throwing a throw over much of No. 1 Son, you cover the rest of the little lad and nonchalantly say:

       “Oh, you know. Fine. Everything was quiet over here.”

"You'll Never Take Me Alive, Coppers!!"