Look, Kids, a Backhoe!

“So we need to run to Target to get a birthday present, and don’t let me forget to – look, guys, an excavator! Ooh, and a big crane, you see it?”

It’s like I have a strange form of Tourette’s. I’ll be in the middle of a conversation and I’ll randomly shout out things like “Police car!” “Ambulance!” “Big red dump truck!”

As the mother of 2 boys, these sightings have become par for the course. Reflexively, I point out things of interest to them wherever we go, and they do the same.

“LOOK, MOM! A cement mixer!”

“Gah-bage tuck!”

I have to admit, I was almost excited as they were the time we passed a trailer on the highway that was carrying 2 tractors with wheels the size of a VW bug. You don’t see that every day. And while I find the endless readings of books about construction vehicles and farm equipment mind-numbingly boring, it IS sort of interesting to see them in action in real life.

What’s embarrassing is when my kids are not around and I lapse into truck-spotting-lady in front of other adults. My friends look at me like I’m crazy if we’re, say, having coffee on the patio at Starbucks and I go nuts pointing and waving when a helicopter flies overhead. Unless they have small boys, too, in which case they probably don’t even notice my weird tic.

Usually my random shout-outs are limited to large vehicles, but sometimes I like to point out wildlife, too. I was beside myself yesterday when I looked over at a stop sign and there was a family of little brown rabbits munching grass right next to me. And no one was in the car to share it with!!

Really, anything is worth pointing out to small kids, especially if they’re stuck in the car on a long trip or a round of boring errands. Look, kids! Balloons at the car dealership! A giant American flag on the roof of the bank! An electronic billboard advertising Hooter’s! Well, that’s just inappropriate...

So if you ever happen to be having a conversation with me and I cut you off to point out a dog wearing a sweater or one of those SmartCars that look like something Lowly Worm might drive, just ignore me. I’ll grow out of it eventually.

Backseat Parenting

4yo: “Riley, if you go pee on the potty, you can have a special treat.”

2yo: “ ’Pecial teat!”

Me: “Miles! You are not his parent; *I* am. He just brushed his teeth and no one’s getting any more treats tonight, got it?”

You might see him as an encouraging big-brother. But I see a preschooler on a power trip. I have to remind my 4yo DAILY that he is not the one who makes the rules and calls the shots – especially for his little brother.

Every time I turn my back Miles is promising Riley treats and snacks, "helping" him open presents, and trying to bribe him into trading his best toys. He’ll even threaten, “Riley, stop bothering me or you’re going to bed early!” Wishful thinking.

I’ve heard other moms complain that their kids try to parent their siblings, too. Even funnier is when the LITTLE ones do it to the BIG ones. A friend’s 2yo was sternly lecturing her older brother, “No cookies! Mama said no.” Just what he needs, another mom.

Of course, I have to admit having a Mommy’s Little Helper DOES occasionally pay off. Like when I was getting ready the other morning and I heard Big Bro say to Little Bro: “Don’t throw your toys on the floor, Riley. Gram and Grandpa are coming today and we want to keep the house clean.” Wonder where he heard THAT?

And if I’m being honest, an extra little parent is quite helpful when it comes to that most odious of parenting tasks – potty training. Bribery with treats notwithstanding, my 4yo is quite an effective bathroom coach to his little brother. Not only do they have the same anatomy, but it was not so long ago that the older one was learning the drill himself.

However, Miles is what you might call an experimental educator. Some of his questionable toilet-training “techniques” include tickling his little brother on the potty. You know, to make him laugh so hard he’ll …? You get the idea. I can’t say it’s actually worked yet, but I give my eldest son props for trying. Funny, though. He has no interest in being the parent when it comes time to change his little brother’s diaper. Believe me, I’ve tried.

Too Much Togetherness

I have a request: can everyone just please stop touching me? Stop poking me when I’m sleeping, stop head-butting me in the back of the knees when I’m making your toast, stop climbing up my leg when I’m trying to drink my coffee.

Look, I’m all for affection and togetherness. I love hugs, kisses, and snuggles. Lord knows I smooch my kids a million times a day. But enough’s enough! Sometimes I just want to sit on the couch and read a magazine without someone dive-bombing me, pinching me, or sitting pressed up so close to me that when he sneezes, we both need a tissue.

And honestly? Sometimes I don’t know if it’s storytime or a rugby scrum. Can’t we sit NEXT to each other and read a book? Does everyone really need to be on top of each other like a litter of newborn puppies? Because you guys are wiggly. And elbowy. We rarely get through an entire story without someone getting kneed in the face or another tender area.

There are some days when I feel like I’ve been probed by aliens from head to toe. From someone inspecting my nostrils when he’s squirming next to me in bed in footie PJs, to someone poking every freckle and spot while I’m getting dressed, to someone pulling on my arm to come turn on the TV, find the Spongebob toothpaste, or poke the straw into a juicebox. Today Riley was grabbing my toes to inspect my new pedicure. (It DOES look nice, but does he have to touch it?)

BTW, funny how both boys will jump on my back for a piggyback ride and fight over who gets to sit in my lap, but when it comes time to hold hands to cross the street, no one wants to come near me.

And if anyone’s tempted to leave me a comment about how someday I’ll be desperate to get eye contact from my kids, let alone a hug? Don’t. NOT THE TIME.

Right now I just want to be left alone. Keep your hands to yourself and walk away from Mommy. I love you just as much at arm’s length. Maybe more.

On Breakups and Being Yourself

I’m going to a conference next week and I’m a little nervous. One, because it’s the first time I’ll be away from my boys (all 3 of ’em) for 3 days. And two, because I won’t know anyone else at the conference. Not one person. Now, I’ve flown solo at conferences before and ended up making friends, like the divine @themadmom, for one. But I’m still nervous.

“Be yourself,” is the most common advice. At conferences and in life, it seems. (Just click through this Wisdom from Mom Bloggers and you’ll start to sense a theme.) So on that note, let me tell you a little story – 2, actually -- about being yourself.

In my teens I went out on a couple of dates with a boy who was a lifeguard at the beach I went to. Let’s call him “Isaac.” One time, we were strolling along the boardwalk eating ice cream, and I noticed he was wearing a necklace. “What does that mean?” I asked him, pointing to the little gold symbol around his neck.

Looking puzzled, he said, “You don’t know? But you’re Jewish!”

“Um, no, I’m not. I go to Catholic school,” I replied, equally puzzled.

“But you sit on the Jewish part of the beach!” he blurted.

This was news to me, since I didn’t even know there WAS a Jewish part of the beach. But that was it for Isaac and me. The next time I saw him, he was with another redheaded girl who was wearing a star of David around her neck.

Fast-forward to one summer during college. “Jin” and I were both counselors at a sleep-away camp. We took a liking to each other, and our romance progressed to the point where, after we returned to our respective colleges several states apart, he came to visit me for a long weekend. In the middle of that weekend, he abruptly broke up with me. He realized, he said, that we had no long-term potential because he came from a traditional Chinese family and was going to marry a Chinese girl – which I’m not.

Now, this breakup struck me as cruel and unfair. First of all, he’d known all along that I was not Chinese. It’s not like I tried to put one over on him and then suddenly morphed into a WASP. And second, there was nothing I could do to change the fact that I was not Chinese. Or Jewish. (At 16, converting was not on my radar.)

Looking back on these breakups now, I’m actually glad they happened the way they did. Had these guys said they wanted a girl who dressed differently, read Russian novels, or had dark hair, for instance, I might have tried to change myself. But Jewish and Chinese? Sorry, I’m out.

Not to mention that if I’d settled down with either of these guys, I would never have met my husband, a guy who loves me for being myself. (Although he might argue that I am sometimes TOO MUCH myself.) Besides, the college guy would probably have been on board with the whole Chinese mother thing, which would be a total dealbreaker.

So what can you learn from these stories, besides that I don’t have a type when it comes to guys? It’s not “Be yourself and everyone will love you.” It’s not “Be yourself and you’ll have everything you ever wanted.” I guess the lesson is, be yourself because it’s impossible – not to mention exhausting – to be anything but. At age 36, with 2 kids, a great husband, and a lot more confidence than I had in my teens and 20’s, I’ll be taking that lesson with me to my conference. Wish me luck!

Snakes and Snails and Puppy-Dog Tails

Every once in a while I'll see a kid who looks like this and think, "Holy Guacamole! I'm going to have a teenage boy someday! TWO teenage boys!" It's a scary thought.

Sure, teenage girls are frightening in a different way, but boys do things like ride their dirt bikes off the roof of the garage into the pool when their parents aren't home. I know because my husband told me so. It's a wonder he and his brothers are still alive today.

Find out what else I've learned so far as the mother of boys on TheBump.com: