Daddy Talk: Patience

On this Mother's Day I think my son has gone nuts. As nuts as any 2-year-old on a sugar rush can be. I see the patience that his mom has and also see the lack of it that comes from dealing with a rambunctious 2-year-old. This is her third Mother's Day and I still think she is doing a splendid job.

There are plenty of times when our patience is tested, but it is a learning experience for both Milo and Pam. It is hard not to be short or impatient but I think we all do it well because at the end of the day we aren't still mad at each other. It's hard not to love both of them all the time.

Friday Flashback

AKA "I swipe a Mother's Day post from my other now-defunct blog"

 

 Remembering the Cake Lady

Mom was always "the cake lady." Whether she was making cakes for her own kids' birthdays, graduations or weddings or creating elaborate cake concoctions for the celebrations of friends, neighbors and friends of friends, for several years there, it seemed like she was baking and decorating cakes 24 hours a day, seven days a week (she probably was!).

Sometimes the cakes were a source of fun and creativity. A lot of times, they were a source of headaches and annoyance. But everyone who knew Mom knew she was "the cake lady." And everyone always commented on how beautiful her cakes were.

This was long before Ace of Cakes and the dearth of fondant on cakes. Mom created scenes -- from roses to critters -- for the most part using butter cream frosting. Sometimes she would use royal icing, chocolate molds or marzipan when it was absolutely necessary.

Like so many of her talents, I didn't inherit the cake gene. I can bake a cake, but I can't make it look the way she did. She once made a cake that looked like a huge basket of strawberries -- the basket was "woven" with butter cream frosting, the handle was royal icing over wire, and the berries were made of marzipan. It was amazing.

Update: Since taking a cake decorating class, I feel better about making cakes for Milo and/or the S.O. but I'll never match Mom's talent. I sure do miss her.

Pride and Joy

Several times over the past couple of weeks, the folks at VillaKids (my gym's kids' club/day care) have told me Milo earned a star and a treat for being a good helper. They tell me he is quiet and well behaved. My initial reaction is, "Well, of course he is." On the heels of that comes the reaction of, "Wait. You mean MY Milo?" They tell me he is such a good boy, they wish all their 2-year-olds were like him. Again, I have to wonder where that kid goes when they bring my kid out to me.

First of all, I'm so proud of him for being well-behaved and helpful. And I'm really happy that he is good for them. I wouldn't want him to be the kid that makes people cringe. And he isn't a bad kid at home. He's actually pretty well behaved most of the time. But when he isn't. Well, let's just say he can be challenging, energetic and a little bit deaf, I think. Really, how many times can you say no to a kid and he just ignores you?

My mom used to tell me that my brother's teachers would tell her how polite and well-behaved he was -- at school. At home he was a holy terror. I know. I lived with him. (Those of you close to me know which brother I mean.) Milo is nowhere near that bad. Maybe because he doesn't have brothers and a sister to tease constantly. My brother grew up to be a responsible adult, a good husband and father. So I guess it all works out in the end.

And I know, for every 5:30 a.m. wake-up call from my boy, for every gallon of water splashed out of the tub, for every random toy chucked at my head -- or the dog -- there is a hug, a kiss, a "Hi, Mama" that melts my heart and reminds me that he is my pride and joy.

But maybe he could save some of the quiet for home too.

Daddy Talk: Helpers

You know what I like about being a dad?

When Milo asks for help, I help him. When I ask him for help, he helps me.

40-something, schmorty-something

As a 40-something mom of a 2-year-old, I sometimes worry that people will think I'm Milo's grandma. Some days are definitely better than others. I know it's vanity that makes me want to look younger than my 40-something years, but something deeper than vanity makes me want to feel younger.

Backyard bubbles

I suppose every mother worries about not being around for her child -- heck, I'm sure fathers feel that too -- but when you start out later than lots of other moms, you probably worry more. My family has mixed results when it comes to longevity. My paternal grandpa lived to be 98. My paternal grandma was in her mid-80s, having fought Parkinson's disease for many, many years. My mother's parents were both in their 70s, and Mom was just 70 when we lost her.

Active Mom does active stuff (at Milo's birthday party).

I try really hard to eat right (ish) and exercise on a regular basis. All with the hopes of living long enough to see grandchildren one day. Yes, I know he's only 2 and I don't want him to be a teenage father. So, I'll have to live well into my 90s to get the most out of grandparenthood. And I'll need to keep active so my grandkids don't remember me as tottering (or worse, invalid) old Grandma Pammeey. I also want Milo to remember his childhood as active, with a youthful-seeming mom.

It would be great to look like a 30-something mom, but the more important objective for me is to act and feel like a much younger person. Lucky for me, my high-energy toddler keeps me active, and I have a really good gym membership. And, in 30 or so years, I hope I can be an active granny too.