Keep in mind that I WORK at the school in question!  And it is a great preschool.  And, I LOVE working there.

He plays dress up every single day, why would he not dress as a Native American?   It is not like they painted his face red or anything!

Plus, see how cute?

And it really is about being thankful to God, and teaching the kids to acknowledge their blessings. And the preschool does that very well.

So this was his last year, next year it will be off to Kindergarten.  I think he will get a Pilgrim hat then.   Now his ancestors REALLY were Pilgrims (on the Mayflower and everything!)  so I know no one can get upset about that.   Right?

Why super heroes? I love this article on the subject, it is more than just feeling big when you usually feel small.

” That’s part of the appeal of superheroes. It’s a big world and kids are just little things.”

Even simpler, says Rubin, “superheroes can be very appealing at a sensory level. They wear primary colors, they are fast and stimulating. Kids want speed and color and cool gadgets. Superheroes literally take them on flights of fancy.”

More than just security, superheroes also provide an avenue for growth. “Kids are always looking to expand themselves, always exploring their own abilities and possibilities,” Rubin says. “As they get older, they begin to entertain abstract ideals like good and bad, strong and weak, justice and fairness. They also begin to identify with and understand the torment of some superheroes, always doing their rescue-the-world thing and then coming back and trying to fit in.”

So when I am sick to death of playing one more superhero pretend game, or of zipping up yet another raggedy costume, or of hearing all about why the Hulk was so angry…I remember that I have a super special kid who his learning how to make it in this scary world while feeling confident, brave, and mighty cute in a cape.

I take pills for that.   A lot of pills.  I am trying to balance out Crazy Clomid Sarah with Happy Go Lucky Lexapro Sarah.     I dropped the 20mg of Lexapro down to 10mg so any potential baby is being exposed only half as much to this class C drug.    That means I have SOME anxiety, SOME obsessing, but not as much as I would be with nothing.     Clomid starts at 50mg, you take it for five days and then hopefully you spit out some nice juicy eggs in the middle of the month.   Only on 50mg I only had some lame little late eggs.  That means this month I got to take DOUBLE that, 100mg. Those five days you are on taking Clomid?  Cuh-RAZY lady.   Hot flashes, no patience, anger at the smallest thing.  Perfect for a preschool teacher, right?   The middle of the month when you are hopefully ovulating?  A jittery, blurry eyed, dizzy mess.   Sexy, yes?

I seem to be walking the fine line between nutso and normal pretty well, just a few slip ups here and there.  I gotta be honest, I hope that I do not have to take the Clomid much longer, well actually I can’t take it for very long, something about my liver being important.

If I do get pregnant, I am going to stay on 10mg of Lexapro,  I know.   I know.  Less than ideal, but a useless or worse mother is not going to do any kids any good, so I am willing to take that risk.  No one forward me any articles about it okay?    After that maybe baby I am going to go back to 20mg of Lexapro faster than they can say “It’s a Boy!”  (I have no delusions of a daughter.)   Hopefully it will keep PPD at bay, even though I will have a hormone crash the size of the Hindenburg.

Do you have any advice?  Have you been through anything similar?  Does your body still say babybabybabybaby?

Against my better judgment, I took IH to the local zombie walk the Saturday before Halloween.   We went with my brother, and a couple of friends –  remember Baby A?    Not so much a baby anymore!

Anyway, I was a farmer who got kicked in the head by a horse, IH was a  farmer who got ran over by a lawnmower.  It was pretty awesome actually.    Disorganized, but what do you expect from zombies?

The real zombie issue is Plants versus Zombies on our iPhones.   We are all three totally addicted.  KH and I have both beat the basic level, and now are working our way through the achievements.  IH, mostly just loves the zombie bowling and Whack a Zombie.    You know, good clean family fun.  Right?

So, that is what I did tonight instead of writing a heartwarming and thought provoking post.   Fighting Zombies!

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

Great. Okay so what did you think?

This was posted by no less then seven of my friends yesterday on facebook, all with notes like “this mom is awesome!”  and “this kid is so lucky!”  And you know what?  I disagree.

You obviously know that I feel strongly that any kind of violence or discrimination towards homosexuals ( or anyone) is wrong. You KNOW that I love people who are gay and that I am for gay rights. But, may I play the devil’s advocate for a moment? My problem with this is that the boy changed his mind, and said several times he did not want to go through with it. He had a real sense of self preservation. Is it sad that he had to? YES. Was it a valid concern? YES.

If he had never wavered, if he was 100% sure he wanted to be Daphne at his school program then I would understand better, but that is not the case. This kid changed his mind and the mom pushed him to do something he was uncomfortable with. So while this article has some great points, and some awesome one liners….I disagree with the mom. Not because she let her kid dress like a girl, but because she pushed him to do something that he was uncomfortable with.  I could be wrong, I do not know this woman obviously, but this seems to be a case of her pushing her son to make a statement, kind of look how cool and accepting I am!

So would I let my son dress up like a female character for Halloween at a Christian preschool?  No.  I would not.   Not even if he begged, pleaded, and honestly identified himself as a girl.  I am sorry if that makes me sound cruel or homophobic–I consider myself to be neither- but it is a mothers first and primary purpose to protect our children, and while I realize that I can not do this forever, I think five is too young to have to stand up for a belief system. If the same scenario happened at seventeen, I would make the costume for him myself.

What do you think?

On a cold and dark night, on the eve of Halloween, a young mother dared to drive alone with her child to Capital City for a huge Halloween carnival.  The terrors started as soon as she hit the exit ramp for her destination….and it was backed up in both directions.  Horror upon horror, in the back seat sat a four year old who had not had a nap, and had no patience for traffic jams.  The carnival was packed; parking was obscene!  It had been years since the young woman had braved such chaos.   She curiously paid a large sum of money to enter this house of atrocities, and then proceeded to walk around and reject one activity after another because the lines were too long.   Then the whining started. ” Mama, I want to do this.  Mama, I want to do that.  Mama, I need a pummel cake.   Mama, why is that man dressed like that?”  It was Halloween eve, perhaps he had been possessed?  No, he was just four.  The night wore on.  Scary things were seen and little fun was had.  The young lady was prepared to call the night a wash and refuse to come back to this place ever again.

And then, and then the small child pointed out that there were tickets, tickets that had been purchased and not used.  Five of them.  The young lady tried to get her money back, but no.  The evil witches at the ticket booth would not refund her money.  She looked around for a quick something without a seven mile long line.  That is when he saw it.  The small child had seen what he wanted to do, what he wanted to spend his tickets on.  A THIRTY FOOT ROCK CLIMBING WALL.  Now this kid is pretty small.  Forty pounds and forty inches tall actually–waaaay too small to do this kind of X-TREME sport.   The young lady walked over to the man running this abomination, and inquired, “How old do you have to be?”

The man glanced at her precious child carelessly and said the little boy could try if he wanted to .  We hate this man.  The lady and child stood in line and waited and waited, the five red tickets growing moist clutched in the child’s pudgy little palm.  It was still the palm of a baby!  Why could the man in charge not see that?  While in line the lady tried to talk the kid baby out of it.  They watched as a dozen kids six and seven years older than the little boy burst in to tears midway up.  The mom said a hundred times that he could change his mind, that if he got up there and was scared, just  let go and the man will bring you down.

Then they heard a BUZZZZZZZZ.

“What is that, Mama?”

“Well, if someone reaches the top, then they push that red button and it makes that noise.”

“I am going to do that.”

“Um.  Okay.  But! If you get scared at any point just let go, and the man will lower you down.”

“I am not going to be scared.”

As the baby and his mother inched closer in line, people started to ask how old the boy was.  “Just turned four!” she repeated over and over.  The next youngest kid to do it was seven they replied.

Then they were next.  The man in charge strapped in the tiny child.  He glowed in his orange astronaut suit as the lights hit him.  The lady again offered him an out, and reminded him to not be scared, just let go when he wanted off.

And the kid climbed.

And he climbed. And he climbed.  He had to jump to some of the footholds because his legs were too short.  His mother was shaking on the ground.  She imagined how mad her husband would be if he knew.   She took pictures and shouted encouragement.  The child climbed on.  Well past the point 90% of the older kids had stopped and he was still going.   He never fell.  He never even needed that harness his mom was praying for.  “Please let it be strong!  Please let it not be too loose!”

And then……BUZZZZZZZZ.

That stinking kid climbed the whole way, and hit the red buzzer.

(You will think the next part is an exaggeration, but it is real.  The lady even has witnesses.)

Then the entire crowd around this multistory rock wall burst into applause cheering for this little boy.

The mama burst into tears.

And the mother had a heart attack took her child home and swaddled him and nursed him and put him in his crib gave him a piece of string cheese, told him to brush his teeth, and tucked him in his bed.

The End

Me:   Hey sweet boy!  How was school?

Him:  Hi, Mama! I saw birds today!

Me:  Birds?!  Oh, did the bird man from the zoo come today?

Him: YES!  It was Awesome!

Me:  Good!  I am glad you  liked it.  What was your favorite bird?

Him:  My favorite bird was the owl.  She was beautiful and she pooped on the floor and the man stepped in it and it was so funny and I laughed.  Like this! (insert maniacal laughing here.)

Me:  That sounds funny!  What else did you learn today?

Him:  Well,  that is pretty much it Mama.  Just about owl poop.

Me:  Huh.  I hope that is on the SATs then.

Him:  We are home!  Can I have some yellow cheese and a donut with sprinkles?

BONUS! Overheard at the Kroger check-out line.

Her (strange old lady standing behind us): Hi young man!  What is your name?

Him (in a cart): —-

Her:  Are you shy? How old are you?

Him:  —

Her:  Why will you not talk to me?  I am your friend.

Him:   You are strange!

Me:  STRANGER!  He means you are a STRANGER, not strange, so sorry.

Him:   No Mama, I–

Me:    HERE, put some candy in your mouth.

Her:   Hmmph.

2.  I not only wore my fuzzy warm jammie bottoms to preschool drop off but, to pick-up as well.  And also for the rest of the day. TRUE.  Three days.  I spent three days only leaving the house for drive-throughs and drop offs and such, and um only wearing things bought originally for sleepwear.   It was COLD!  And I never get cold, so you know it was really, really cold.

3.  All my child ingested today was Cheetos, water, and a hungry hungry hippo marble. FALSE. First of all, he has not put toys in his mouth for about a year now.  Secondly–as a rule he only gets junk food if he has had something semi healthyish first.  If I remember correctly, that day he had whole wheat toast with sugar free jam for breakfast, sliced chicken breast and cheese roll ups, fruit, pizza, milk, water, and yes–Cheetos.

4.  The Son fell asleep during his stories tonight.  The Husband and I finished the book. TRUE. See below.  No nap.  He was wiped out and fell asleep mid-story–and it was a good story!  Just to make sure he was really out, and because The Husband wanted to see what happened, we finished the book.

5.  One person in this house took a nap today.  It was not the three year old. TRUE. It was me.  I fell asleep and the kiddo sat next to me “reading” for a good forty-five minutes.

That was fun! Now you tell me your truths and lies!

PS.  JHJ! For crying out loud.  I am TRYING to give you a PRESENT!  Not a jab in the eye!  Here is a hint.  It has to do with Belgian Surrealism.

Today  (using that term loosely since it is now 1:12 am) he:  Threw a fit because I would not let him DRIVE MY TRUCK.  Ran away from me in a crowded restaurant.  Cried when I made him wear pants outside…in 30 degree weather.  Absolutely LOST HIS MIND when I told him he had to wear a hat and gloves to help Daddy hang Christmas lights.   Told me I was mean because I would not let him buy the 359$ train set at the hardware store.  Steadfastly refused to take a much needed (for me) nap.  Had not one, but TWO, potty related accidents–one of which he removed his underwear for so he could pee on the futon in his room and then put back on his Lighting McQueen underoos–the other less than three seconds after his Daddy asked him if he needed to go.   Purposely stuck his fingers in his mouth to make himself gag.  Screamed at the top of his lungs when the light was turned off for bed.

Someone tell me that whole this too passing thing again?

He inherited a head full of crazy cowlicks from The Husband’s side of the family, and a thick head full of independent and stubborn hair from mine.   Buzz cuts are just not my style, and short, short little boy hair is cute on other little boys….but, I like MY kiddo to have as long of hair as my hubby will allow.  If it were just up to me he would be sporting a shaggy skater do.

This kid just needed a teeny, teeny, itsy bit taken off of his bangs.   Our usual and most wonderful stylist K had a baby one week exactly before this one.  I reasoned that there was no need to drive 25 minutes and bother K just for a teeny little bang trim.   Surely anybody who is a licensed stylist could handle that, right?

Wrong.  I told her to just trim them to his eyebrows.  First snip of the scissors saw three inches of hair on the cape. I literally gasped.  Calm down, calm down.  It is just a little short.   Snip. Snip. Snip.  Fourth cut.  ACK!  FOUR INCHES right off the front.  “Your kid is moving! He needs to mind me and hold still.”  “I am standing right here!  He is holding perfectly still.”  “Well, he is making me nervous.”  “You are making ME nervous.”

I picked him up, removed his cape, and walked out, not paying,  four cuts  into the worst hair massacre ever.  WAY worse than this.  You think I am exaggerating?

And it looked even crazier in real life.

I called K in tears.  I felt like I was confessing to cheating on her.  She graciously invited us to her home, let me cuddle her babies, and calmed me down.

She is awesome–but she is not God, and cannot magically grow hair, so the end result is still A LOT shorter than this pseudohippy would like, but it is much better.

Lesson learned: if you love who cuts your hair–NEVER EVER go somewhere else, even for a teeny trim.   Oh, and also?  K said she would have cried too.