The Queen's Rambles

We have a new eating regime around here. It starts with low and ends with fat. Or cholesterol.

Mike finally had a physical. He was not aware of the turn your head and cough jokes or what that entailed, poor man.

End result: he has high cholesterol. At first I was really peeved with the doctor because I was under the impression that his total number was 170 and that’s not all that bad. I have since been informed that the total is 210 and the bad number is 170. Totally different ballgame.

The doc wants him on Crestor and has told him that diet and exercise aren’t going to help him unless “maybe” he goes on a totally vegan diet. That ain’t happening, but I am going to try my best to change my cooking habits. I’ve cooked from a low-fat, low-cholesterol perspective before and it won’t be that bad. A lot of the things I cook are already there, but I am going to be more careful about certain things.

According to FB friends, he shouldn’t start the drugs. I agree. Aren’t we FB people way better than a doctor? Seriously, though, I think it will be much better to at least see if he can change his numbers through diet and lifestyle changes before committing to take a drug for life. I don’t exactly trust doctors around here. This is the same doctor who basically told me I was imagining the pain in my side, which we now know is a dermoid cyst.

Speaking of the cyst.

Ugh.

It hurts in the week leading up to ovulation. At least that’s only once in a while? I guess? I don’t want to have surgery, but last week I was seriously contemplating it.

I find small town doctors to be much more effective than these big city doctors. In my hometown there just weren’t specialists. Your family doctor did just about everything and if he couldn’t do it you had to make a long trip “over the hill” (an hour and a half trip over a mountain, which could be treacherous in the winter) to see a specialist. Your family doctor would deliver your babies, remove your moles, perform your surgeries, do well child checks and all of that. If you had a problem they would have to figure it out. The buck stopped there.
An “I don’t know” wasn’t acceptable. I’m sure the overall quality of care is probably better out here if you are willing to jump through hoops and see lots of specialists. I’ve gotten to the point where I won’t even go to our family doctor for anything but the basics. Luckily our insurance does not require referrals.

In other news. . .

My back isn’t hurting nearly as bad these days now that I have the laptop. I have also switched Elsa to my right side when I carry her, which is very unnatural and has led to a very sore shoulder. It feels like it is going to pop right out of joint, but when I put her on the more natural left hip my back burns like crazy. The shoulder pain feels normal and natural and tolerable. The back pain feels like a demon is trying to suck out my marrow. I’ll take the shoulder pain.

Mike is going to Spain for a week and I want to run away to Oregon, but I don’t think there is any way I could sit on the plane for several hours. My back starts burning as soon as I sit down at Erik’s karate class. The airplane seats aren’t cushioned much better than the karate seats. When did I get so old and decrepit?

Granted, Elsa is one giant baby. I swear you take one look at her and want to ask when I had a rendezvous with Hagrid. She’s wearing pajamas that Erik wore when he was two. She’s proportional now that she’s walking, but she’s just BIG. I hope she’s like Erik and will refuse to be carried once she can walk, but I don’t have that much hope. Don’t most kids like to be carried? Yesterday I was thinking “If only I had some sort of contraption to load her in and push her around in, it would be so much easier.” I envisioned some kind of rack think with her dangling from it while I pushed it around. Then I realized strollers are actually better designed and safer and I have three of them. I guess I really want something that can be used to carry her up and down the stairs.

I did a bit of a fail with my new no shopping today, but too bad. I’m still being way better than I was. We don’t have a wall clock in the basement and I need a wall clock. If I’m watching a DVD or Netflix while Elsa is napping I have no way to tell what time it is (our TV remote doesn’t work). I HAVE to know what time it is or I might be late in picking Erik up. I’ll be a lot less panic-y with a clock.

I also bought a couple of birthday presents. I thought we were birthday free this month, but so far we have three birthday party invitations. One has been refused (I don’t want Erik to associated with the kid) but the other two are for very good friends of the family who always get Erik a nice gift. Not buying anything is a good goal and all, but it would be plain rude not to reciprocate with decent gifts. Usually I have a store of stuff in my closet, but the store has been emptied out, at least enough so that there is really nothing appropriate for these two boys.

I am glad to hear stories of your babies that were not eating a lot of chunky stuff by their 9 month birthday. I am not worried, but it is just so different from what I remember of Erik’s babyhood that I was wondering if there was something to be concerned about. I guess I’ll hear an official doctor opinion on Thursday.

My mom just called and it about gave me a heart attack. It’s only 8 am over in Oregon so I thought she was calling to say my dad or sister was in the hospital or dead. Thankfully that wasn’t the case.

She had an amazingly bizarre conversation with my old best friend and she had to report it immediately.

Growing up, there were very few children in our neighborhood. Once I entered first grade I met Ron, a boy who lived seven houses down. Through the years we went through phases of being best friends and not speaking to each other. His next youngest sister was my sister’s age, so they also become best friends. Our families were linked together through and through and we all knew each other’s business. Our parents still live down the street from each other, though all the children have scattered.

Apparently my friend, Ron, and his wife are back! My mom is not sure of the story, but they seem to be living with his parents while they sort out the paperwork to move to Germany.

Ron has always been an attention whore. He wants to shock people. He wants to be different. He wants everything focused on him and he is willing to tell any tale to make that happen. In school he was the first ever male mascot for our high school. We were Vikings and we’d always have some popular girl dressed up like a Viking as our elected mascot. I don’t know how he ever won that election, but it suited him perfectly. Lots of attention!

He did all kinds of weird things like drink almond extract and pretend he was drunk, tattoo his whole lower part of his leg, pretend he had split personalities. You get the idea. Strange, yet pretty typical of an adolescent seeking attention. Nothing harmful.

Being a Mormon, he went on his mission and came home ready to be married. Those boys are promised they’ll be married six months after returning home and they usually are. As far as I can tell the church basically arranges a marriage if there isn’t already a girl waiting at home. That seems to be the case with him. He and his wife have been married 15 years, which is fairly shocking since they didn’t even seem to like each other. They don’t have any children, though they both say they want kids.

A few years back they moved to Hawaii to pursue his dream of living in Hawaii. As far as anyone could tell he never got a job and his wife supported them by working as a nurse in a PICU. They don’t communicate with anyone very often and when he does communicate it’s hard to know what’s really going on.

So now they’re back in Oregon just waiting to move to Germany.

All my friends who have moved to another country are probably scratching their heads going “whaaaa?” I don’t know about Germany, but I assume it is like most countries. You don’t just decide one day that you’re going to move to a new country. You have to get approval. That approval is generally not given unless you have a very, very good reason for moving. I don’t know the German laws but I have a feeling they may be in for a long wait.

Why did my mom call? Because the story he told her was so amazing she couldn’t contain herself.

They’re moving to Germany because they don’t want their son drafted into the military. In his words “you know how it is, wink wink.” Ummmm. . what son? “The son we’re getting.” Ooooookkkkk. Now, it wouldn’t be crazy to think they might be adopting, except that doesn’t seem to be the case. I guess this son is just going to drop out of the sky? Fifteen years of marriage and no children leads on to suspect someone may be infertile. With a registered nurse for a wife, one also suspects they are either not interested in pursuing treatments or treatments have been unsuccessful.

Next up, the service dog. He now has a service dog (the reason he was out so early–he was walking the dog and my mom was out doing who-knows-what). He needs the service dog because he has tumors. Tumors that float. Like. . . float around his body. They go from his brain to his stomach and cause him to lose weight and have convulsions.

So what will he be doing in Germany? His new profession, of course! He’s going to write novels! And with that, my friends list gets a big chuckle. A very promising career, eh? I remember in high school the boy couldn’t put two words together, but thought he was an awesome writer. He is the reason I basically refuse to proof or critique anyone’s work.

My head is reeling and I’m still going “whhhaaaaaa?” My mom promises to fill me in on the details as they become available. I feel sorry for him. He obviously needs serious medical treatment. I wonder if that is why his wife agreed to move in with his parents? Maybe she plans to dump him off there so she is no longer responsible for him? I don’t know. The whole situation sounds pretty crazy. I always thought he would grow out of his la-la-land dreams, but apparently they’ve reached whole new levels of crazy. I really shouldn’t be making light of it. Someone needs to get him some serious meds and therapy. It’s all just so bizarre, though. How can I not share? Probably if I was there and seeing this first hand I would be horrified about how this former best friend has turned into someone who is obviously mentally ill. In fact, I am sort of horrified. I don’t know. I should shut up now.

I have heard of Amalah, the blogger, before. Of course I have. Bethany reminded me of her existence, and put forth the theory(fact?) that she lives somewhere near us. I have some kind of ingrained resistance to reading big name bloggers with the exception of Julie and Julia (two ladies of infertility fame, not the cooking blog).

But now I have a laptop! And I need things to read one-handed. I clicked my feed reader’s recommendation button and Amalah’s Alphamom Advice Smackdown came up.

I fear I’m hooked. Totally hooked. I don’t want to be hooked, but I am sitting here reading everything, even posts about bridal shower etiquette and the pros and cons of having children attend your wedding. Do you have any idea how much I HATE the name Alphamom for a site? I won’t even look at it, just on princicple.

And here I am. And Amalah gives excellent advice. Basically, she gives the exact same advice I would give, only words it in a nicer way that makes it feel warm and loving instead of “oh my god, you are so stupid.”

Now I need some smackdown advice. Am I really going to e-mail her? I’m giddy with the thought!

But not really. I doubt I will e-mail her, but I do have an issue that is concerning me and her posts about what 8 and 9 months old eat is making me even more concerned.

Elsa will hardly eat solids. Amalah is recommending things like pieces of well cooked pasta, little bits of shredded meat, bread spread with fruit puree, waffles, and so forth. I’m nodding my head going “yes, that’s what I was feeding Erik at this stage” and I have even tried some of these things with Elsa, but it won’t go down the hatch. She is more than happy to pick anything up and gum it around, but everything gags her and she spits it out. The only things she’ll actually swallow, and that only is very literal, is jarred applesauce and a few varieties of the thinner jarred mixes of applesauce and fruit purees.

I never even considered this until reading some of the posts, but there could be a sensory issue at work. I have considered that her tonsils might be too big. I don’t know. I asked at the six month check-up and the PA was not at all concerned and said by the time I came in for the ninth month check-up I’d be saying that she was eating everything in sight.

Yeah. Gotta schedule that nine month check-up. For next week! So I’m thinking there is a reason to be concerned.

One of my friends was over here today (she bought the baby swing! Yay! Also: she’s pregnant! Yay! She’s been working the past two years because her husband told her she could either go back to work or have another baby and she opted to work. I love her and her kids and her kids love me and Erik and Erik loves them so it will be great to get to spend more time with them. As it is, we usually manage to eek out a visit every couple of weeks.) and we were talking about it. She knows a couple of people who have had children with eating disorders that sound the same as Elsa and they had to have food therapy. Luckily we live in a county with an excellent Infant and Toddler’s program so I think the problem, if there is one, will be addressed swiftly and with great professionalism. I don’t want to say it will be taken care of easily. Who knows where a sensory issue might lead? Heck, in some ways I would say I have sensory issues, though they don’t impact the quality of my life.

I hope the doctor has some answers for me at our check-up next week. I think I’ll see if I can get a sitter for Erik so I can really concentrate and not have him interfering/listening in. Elsa obviously takes after my side of the family and we have big tonsils, so I’m hoping it is more a matter of them being in the way than sensory issues. Of course, I’m really hoping I’m being a crazy nut-ball worry wart and nothing is wrong (I wouldn’t say I’m worried. More watchfully concerned. )

I’ve always said that if I had a child with serious issues I would change peds. I think our peds are adequate for small things, but I don’t have a lot of confidence that they would capably handle something big. I hope I don’t have to put it to the test!

Maybe I’ll be sending in a question to the advice smackdown after all.

1) Mike, wise man that he is, always has the ability to calm me down. I know most of you are going to say “DUH!” when I tell you this, but after my post about being so irritated with Erik at the end of the day, Mike pointed out that he just loves his mommy so much that he needs my comfort so the angrier I get the more he needs me. Makes total sense from a five year old perspective. I would prefer him to figure out that he needs to leave me alone so I can calm down but that’s obviously not going to happen.

Yesterday I took this new information into account and things went a lot better. It also helped that Erik had karate and Mike came home early. Why can’t he have karate every day? He needs to get that energy out.

2) I already did a bad thing with my “no new buying in January.” I bought another night diaper for Elsa. I decided it would make more sense to go ahead and buy another night diaper* so we wouldn’t have to be doing diaper laundry as often. I refuse to buy used diapers, so that option was out.

Other than that, I haven’t bought anything new in the past seven days. Whoa. I didn’t realize I was such a compulsive shopper. I’ve gotten rid of all the deal-a-day websites in my home tabs so that eliminates a lot of temptation.

I always have ideas for projects and then I rarely follow through. I got the idea to recover my chairs in oilcloth (they are in major need of recovering) but luckily I can’t find any decent, affordable oilcloth so it is easy to table that idea. I’d never considered oilcloth before until SAJ mentioned it. Once I figured out what she meant I was all about it. Wipeable! With no cracking! We may have to plan a trip to Sweden just so I can get some!

Or not.

Unless we stay at a hotel, I’m not going over there. I actually have found a few that I like in the UK, but they are no where near affordable. If I still have the urge to recover the chairs in February maybe I’ll get a plain ol’ solid.

My only other major temptation: a book. The Soul Mirror by Carol Berg. I’ve been waiting for this book forever, so I guess I can wait another month. My library doesn’t have a good stock of fantasy books, so I don’t have that option. I got The Seer of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marrilier for Christmas and gobbled it up. Reading a good book m made me long for more good books and Berg is my favorite author.

3) Remember when I went cloth diaper laundry rebel and started using Tide Free and Gentle? Big mistake. Poor Elsa ended up with a major diaper rash. I’m still using the Tide for our clothing and I’m much happier. My new routine involves soaking my diapers in the washer overnight with plenty of Rockin’ Green. Since I’ve started doing that I’ve eliminated the stink. I guess they need that soak to really get the urine out of the inserts. The inserts are made to absorb so it’s tough to get all that liquid out of them. At the moment I am happy with our routine and don’t have any residual laundry stress. No one should have laundry stress in this day and age.

*For the curious, we use Blueberry Minky diapers as our night diapers. I guess the minky kind of helps hold the pee in? I don’t know, but they’re the only diaper in our stash that seems to work at night. Sized Fuzzibunz are our preferred day diaper.

The last two days have been so weird around here. Erik was having nightmares in the early morning about a giant slug in our chimney. He was up a few hours, so when he finally went back to sleep he slept hard until 11 am. We had to be at school at 12. It threw my whole day off, mainly because I like to be in a predictable location when he wakes up. We’re in a three story townhouse and if I stray too far and he can’t find me he freaks out.

I wasn’t able to take a shower, either, because he has become an integral part of my showering freedom. Either I set Elsa in her crib and make him do a puzzle and eat his breakfast on her floor or I put Elsa in her excersaucer and turn on a baby movie and have him “watch” her while playing on my computer. I am not comfortable leaving her alone way down in the basement when I am upstairs and she’s old enough now that I don’t feel like he is going to accidentally kill her. So far those two options have worked really well.

This morning I had to resort to having her in the bathroom on the floor while I showered. Problem: She is one tall baby. She can pull up onto the tub edge and starts leaning over and it looks like she’ll flip right over the edge and land in the tub. Not good. Plus she got soaked. Not that she minded. She loves the water. Maybe I’ll have to start putting her in the tub with me while I shower. I know I did that with Erik, but I think he was older. I’m not really sure.

Anyway, all that to say “weird day.” I was off kilter and Elsa’s sleep has been off kilter.

She is in the throes of separation anxiety and won’t let anyone hold her, not even Mike, except for my friend that we see at karate. That’s a start, I guess. It is breaking my heart to listen to her cry and cry and cry when I am not within arm’s reach, but sometimes a mommy has needs to attend to. Poor, sad baby.

Erik’s karate teacher moved to New York so the owner of the place is training a new guy. All the little ninja boys were jumping around saying “can you do this? Can you do this? I bet you can’t do this!” The old teacher never really showed any karate moves, but this new guy? He said “Can you do this?” Then did a high kick way over his head, did a 360 spin and did another high kick over his head. There was a moment of stunned silence before the boys (all ages 4-6) started chattering at once that they COULD do that and they all started jumping around. I think he should do a cool move every session. Not only is it neat to watch, I think it would really motivate the kids and convince them they want to be black belts.

Everything else I want to talk about is too snarky to put in a public blog. And there you have it. The reason blogging is no longer “the thing.” Once you go snarky in public you can’t take it back. People find it. You’re screwed. What you write on the internet is there forever (unless you had a Diary-X). So no snarkiness from me. It would be so much more fun if I could give you the low-down on some things, but if the people ever found out they would be hurt and I would be out a few friends. Dag-nabbit all. I guess gossip is bad, so I should be happy that I’m forced to be a better person.

Why is it my son, my dear sweet son who I love more than anything, makes me want to become a child abuser? I would never hurt him, but man oh man, I see how people with less self-control and more anger issues can start whaling on their kids. He is so sweet, so funny, so charming. But then he decides to push my buttons and he just Will. Not. Stop.

He stands less than an inch away from me and starts jumping up and down and flailing his hands. Or I’m cooking dinner and he decides to try to crawl between my legs. Or he runs up right behind me and yells as loud as he can. Or he finds something to make noise and he does it and does it and does it and does it and does it.

Of course I ask him to stop. Of course I try to distract him. Of course I tell him “You can do that, but only if you go in the dining room.” Of course I tell him that I’m about to get really mad and “remember, you hate it when mommy is really mad?” Of course I give him time outs, warnings, all that super special parental jazz that is supposed to work. But some days he is just determined to make me lash out, I guess. I don’t know. He doesn’t like it when I yell at him. I know he needs and wants attention. Sometimes I feel like he is in my lap more than Elsa is (she is very good at finding a little toy to play with and playing with it for a long, long time. She is not very cuddly). I love him. I want the best for him. When he starts doing that shit I can barely stay my hand from lashing out and whapping him.

I guess that’s what love is? Not beating the tarnation out of him even if I want go nuts? Of course, I’d probably hit him one time then start crying. I can’t stand to see him hurt.

Generally I can be calm, cool and collected until 5 or 5:30, then I am just d-o-n-e and he’s just getting started and Mike won’t be home for hours (sometimes he gets home at 6, but lately it is more like 7) and I have to get dinner cooked and Elsa starts low level fussing and it is not good at all.

Mike might disagree with the above statement. He probably thinks I’m a hideous ogre. By the time he walks in the door at night I’m usually wild-eyed, tensed up, covered in various baby goop, with my hair standing on end, most likely yelling at Erik and making him cry.

Today I tried a new approach and gave Erik a big hug several of the times I wanted to beat him, but that didn’t seem to have much of an effect on anything. I will be very, very glad when the days lengthen and warm up so I can send him outside and he can get rid of some of his energy. If it is at all nice out I bundle Elsa up in her fleece bag thing and we all go out on a walk around the lake, but it was too cold for that today.

The boy just has too much energy. This weekend he kept begging me to take him somewhere with a bunch of other little kids and they would all get in a big circle and fight. He always wants to wrestle and fight, but he doesn’t ever want to be hurt or have his opponent hit him. I think he’d be very surprised by what happens in a real fight. I think he’d be quickly dropping out of the preschool fight club, but that doesn’t stop him from longing for one. What is it with boys and the need to fight and rough house?

Why is it babies love to chew on anything electronic (remote control, anyone?) when there are perfectly babyish, hideously bright, safe baby teethers scattered all over my house?

The dear is teething, but it’s not as bad as it could be. She doesn’t really get grouchy, just a tiny bit fussy. Still, I feel bad for her. She won’t take any meds (projectile vomit, anyone?) and they no longer sell Hyland’s teething tabs so I’m sort of at a loss.

I do give her frozen waffles to gnaw on and that helps some. I did the same with Erik and it was a perfect solution. He’d gobble them up, providing himself with cool pain relief and a tasty treat at the same time. Elsa, on the other hand, is not so fond of them. She doesn’t want to touch them because they’re cold. When she does finally decide to gnaw on them they do seem to provide some relief, but she doesn’t view them as a tasty treat. She still won’t swallow anything but the thinnest puree (I can’t believe I am buying baby food! I can’t make homemade puree thin enough for her), so she ends up spitting out the chewed up waffle. It’s lovely, as you can imagine.

She would really like to gnaw on my nipple but that isn’t going to happen. She’s already learned that mama is serious when she says “no biting” but that doesn’t stop her from giving me a questioning look and then trying out a tiny nibble. She’s immediately reprimanded and removed from the breast and even though she is only 8 months old I can tell she knows she’s not supposed to do it but she can’t help herself.

Erik, valiant big brother, rushes to her defense and tells me I’m not allowed to “talk even an inch!” to his baby. I don’t know if it’s good that he’ll be away at college for most of her teen years or not. He’s sure to scare away all the boys, but maybe she would like a nice boy? Nice being the operative word.

In other news, I’ve decided to add a couple more goals to my New Year’s list. I saw an Ask Moxie post that said goals should be SMART: Specific, Measurable, Actionable, Reasonable, and Time-Based. In that spirit, I have three things I want to do.

1) Use at least $2 worth of coupons every time I go shopping for groceries/consumables. I know that is laughable to you crazy coupon ladies, but it would be a start for me. The main rule is that I can’t buy something with coupons just to meet my goal. It has to be something I would buy anyway.

2) Walk around one of the lakes at least 4 times a week. That can be one walk four days a week or 2 laps twice a week–whatever ends up working. One lake is 1.13 miles and the other is 1.34, so it is reasonable to walk around twice in one go.

3) Buy nothing new (except food and consumables) for the month of January. Our bank account will be very happy if I manage this one. I have a fistfull of Gymbucks to spend at Gymboree later this month so if I do need something for Elsa I’ll be able to get it. Otherwise, it is off to Salvation Army for me. I know some of you love thrifting, but I hate it. Hate hate hate it. Hate the smell. Hate the hunt. Hate the dinginess. Hate the careful looking over of each item. Hate everything about it.

I can’t think of anything I need to buy this month. No birthdays coming up, Elsa seems to have plenty of clothes, we aren’t in need of anything else that I can think of. I think I can do it if I just stop buying crap because it’s on sale.

Before having children I imagined one of the most exciting things about having kids would be the trips to the library, the shared love of reading, the stories. . . oh, the stories!

Then I had a boy.

Not saying boys can’t love stories, but in my experience as an English teacher and mother a lot of boys don’t really enjoy things that aren’t true. The boys usually head straight for the non-fiction section and disdain stories. I still don’t understand how, in this modern world, men are still considered the holders of “real” literature. Yes, yes. Blame the patriarchy. All that. I weep for all the lost historical literature that never was thanks to a society that didn’t teach women to read or encourage them to write.

Anyway, we’ve struggled since Erik’s birth to get him interested in books and reading. I have basically given up on trips to the library because the effort was scorned. The only good part of the library? The fish tank. You think me, Ms. Fish Phobic, really wants to take a special trip so I can look at a gigantic koi that’s likely to jump out of the tank and. . . touch. . .me at any moment? I just about barf every time we walk by the tank. The koi is well over 12 inches long. I’m shuddering just thinking of it.

My friend is a scientist and as such her friends by her kid all kind of sciency types of books. I’m an English major. I don’t often delve into the world of science books. If there’s not a princess what’s the point?

My friend knows about Erik’s love of numbers (last night he went to sleep while trying to figure out Santa’s secret phone number. To make it even funnier than it already was, he said all the numbers in English except seven. Seven is sju to him.) so she got him a couple of non-fiction books. One is about the biggest number, googol, and the other is about planet Earth. She also got him a crazy book that is basically one gigantic geometry story problem.

The kid loves them. Ate them right up. Wants more.

I guess it is time for me to delve into the murky waters of non-fiction and forget about rhyming ducks and knights in shining armor.

He is so excited about books that he is currently writing and illustrating a book that he intends to donate to the library. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled and give it a place of honor. Surprisingly, it seems to be a work of fiction. There doesn’t seem to be much math involved. I’ve been helping him spell words for it. The title you ask? Because you care oh-so-much about my special snowflake five year old. You don’t have enough special snowflakeness of your own. Title: The Rolling Burrito who Kept Rolling and Rolling Away.

I just can’t believe this kid is sitting here, drawing and writing. I never thought I would see that happen.

In other news, he’s getting a pet bird. Mike even bought him some bird seed. Now, he just has a couple of steps left in this bird acquisition: catch one and fashion a cage for it.

Long ago I heard about some crazy people who don’t believe they should ever tell their children no. I am not down with that philosophy at all and can’t even imagine what kind of adults will result from this method of child raising. However, I did take away a few things that have stuck with me. Sometimes you can say yes even when the answer is really no because there is no way the thing will happen anyway. Example: Erik begged me for a talking dog. I told him he could have one just as soon as he found one. There was no argument. There was a happy kid. And heck, if he manages to find a talking dog he can keep it!

So he decided yesterday he wanted a pet cardinal or blue jay and that he was going to catch one. At first I tried to tell him no, but then I remembered the “why say no when the answer can’t be yes” theory and put it to the test. I told him he was very welcome to have a pet bird if he could catch one and figure out a way to keep it.

He spent a goodly amount of time building a nest and filling it with bird seed. He made it “cozy and snuggly and perfect for a bird.” He is sure he will have a pet soon.

And me? I know it’s never going to happen. But no arguments! No sadness! No mean momminess! I am liking this plan.

I am breathing deep and hoping this doesn’t bite me in the butt. It just isn’t possible for a five year old to catch a bird. It’s not. Right? RIGHT?????