Remembering bix

Dear Andrew & Abby,

I found something in an old notebook today. It took me a minute, but I finally remembered that this was part of my big Birthday Newsletter plan. I envisioned a newsletter layout full of short news-blurb articles about all the things you two had been doing over the year. It would look great, and be sent out at exactly half-way between your birthdays (Februay 4th). That was just before Abby turned one and Andrew turned six. You are three and eight now. I guess I missed that target date by a little bit. Maybe I should start planning now for your high school graduations, so that I have enough time.

Interview with Andrew, Regarding His Upcoming Birthday

Mommy: How do you feel about turning six?
Andrew: Good.
M: What new things will you learn this year?
A: No pushing, no kicking, no bad stuff; crafts and projects and to make paper airplanes.
M: What were your favorite things about being five?
A: Learning to read the words at the bottom of my Yu-Gi-Oh cards. Taking care of Abby. That was my most favorite thing. And playing with Abby was my most favorite FAVORITE thing.
M: Did you do any fun things?
A: Where?
M: Did you go anywhere?
A: To Grandma Jamie's, opening presents (note from Mommy - that was for Grandma Jamie's 50th birthday). To Grandma Dottie's. I like to play Sorry with her. And to Michael's - you know him, the neighbor? I like playing with him and eating popsicles and watching TV. Can I tell you the poem yet?
M: Almost. Where else did you go that was fun? (whispering: Canoeing)
A: The frog swimming pool with Grandma Dottie. I'm so excited for my birthday party - it's almost here!
M: Yes. Where else did you go?
A: The zoo!
M: We didn't go to the zoo this year.
A: A long time ago!
M: But did you go anywhere fun with Mom and Dad?
A: No.
M: Did you go canoeing?
A: You don't have to tell me! I can think!
M: Okay.
A: The store! I went to the store with Mom and Dad! That was fun. Can I tell you my poem now?
M: Okay.
A:

When I was one, I just begun.
When I was two, I was nearly new.
When I was three, I was nearly me.
When I was four, I was just before.
When I was five, I just be five.
When I was six, I was nearly bix.

M: What is bix?
A: It's a name you can just name things. You know, I named one of my show-and-tell things B-B-Bix. You can name things that. Are we done?
M: Yes.
A: Am I still five?
M: Yes.
A: Okay, but just for a little while, right?
M: Right.

Love,
the Star Reporter of Your Lives, Mommy

As if there was really any doubt

Dear Andrew and Abigail,

My life as your Mommy is full of many things. I am full of hope for your future, full of laughter at the things you say and do, full of love for your little mushy squishy faces, full of prayer for peaceful bedtimes. What it is not full of is accuracy. Or awesome displays of my parenting skills. Or, oh I dunno, remembering things.

I have a planner. Daddy actually referred to it as the bible the other day. I thought I was the only one who did that. So, this planner - Franklin Covey, by the way, live above the line, kids (do as I say, not as I do)! - this planner holds all of our activities. Everything from doctor appointments to baseball games to school vacations to grown up nights out. And when we signed Abby up for ballet class, I promptly wrote down on each and every Thursday "Abby ballet 5:30." As the first day of ballet class approached, we talked a LOT about ballet class in our house. Abby has been practicing dancing on her toes and waving her arms like a butterfly since the first day we went and watched our friend Autumn at her dance class, and that was over a month ago.

Thursday was the big day. I left work a little early (but not quite as early as I had planned), rushed home to get the special ballet clothes and shoes, then back to the baseball field to pick up Abby from while Daddy stayed with Andrew at practice. We got up to the ballet studio and I changed Abby into her beautiful pink ballet clothes in the van before we went inside.

When we got in the studio, I noticed that a lot of the kids waiting looked like they were there for the tap dance class, not ballet. I thought that was just a little odd, since tap class didn't start until after ballet. As we went upstairs, I got a few odd looks from mothers. When we got to the top of the stairs, things finally started to click into place in the dilapidated shack I call my brain. There was a cluster of small ballerinas - all dressed in pink, looking like a flock of peeps, all squishy and sweet. They were, um...finishing up the class.

Yep, Mommy blew it. We were 25 minutes LATE to ballet class, which started at 5:00pm not 5:30. I quickly shoved Abby's ballet shoes on her feet and shoved her out onto the floor so she could "leap over the pond" with the other girls. And I looked for a place to hide. Happily, since Abby is three and doesn't yet have much concept of time, and Andrew wasn't there to rat me out by explaining how much of class she missed, I don't think she noticed that she was lacking anything much at all. On the up side, there are about 25 mothers in our town who are feeling a WHOLE lot better about their parenting skills this week.

Daddy and Fairy Godmother Jody will be taking care of ballet class this week. I know I told you that Mommy will be out of town for work, but the truth is that I had to call in some experts to manage this ballet project. Let's hope they do a better job. It shouldn't be too hard, since I've set the bar nice and low. Your mommy is nothing if not supportive of helping other people feel good about their accomplishments.

Love,
Your clock-challenged Mommy

It's come to this

Dear Andrew & Abigail,

Tonight, we reached a turning point. I have said frequently (usually at bedtime) in the last months that I have seriously considered locking one or both of you in your rooms. Your aunt Audra reached that point with cousin Georgia. To be honest, I judged her for it. Well I am paying the price for that judging now. I tried to understand then how things could possibly reach the point where the only way to control a three-year-old child was to lock her in her room, but I just could not imagine the level of frustration and desperation that would lead to that. It seemed so extreme. NOW I understand. I understand the temper tantrums. The hitting. The kicking. The screaming like a caged wild animal. You think I exaggerate. If I could load audio and video here - and had a camera person from Super Nanny's crew to film it all so I could still have hands free to ward off the blows - I would find a way, just so I could have a record later of what happens on an all too regular basis in this house.

And so here we are.

I know that the reason we are here on this specific evening is because of our weekend. As fun as it was to see our friends in Tennessee, I know that the repercussions of disrupting your schedule so drastically are these fits from both of you, but more fiercely from Sweet Abigail. For Andrew, everything is hard, frustrating, unfair. We're hearing a lot of exasperated pre-teen "GAWD!!!" (ooh, I HATE that!). For Abby, living and breathing is just pure torture. The tiredness possesses her little body like a demon, turning my Sweet Abigail into Screaming Mimi. There is nothing to do but wait it out. But an audience of any kind feeds the demon. Isolation is our exorcist. And so, the lock.

I would much rather be talking about how much fun we had this weekend visiting Patrick and Ainsley and the Dinosaur Bounce House. You both did so much better on the drive than I had hoped for -- thanks to our pre-travel purchase:

You had fun swimming, bouncing, digging, sliding...all the things summer should be about. Bedtime in the hotel was okay each night, with only one major fit-throwing incident when we passed the point of no return with Abby. But mostly, you two snuggled in with Mom, Dad, or sibling and fell asleep on your own without major drama. A blessed change of pace. And Mommy and Daddy got to spend some time with our long lost friends. It was one of the most wonderful Memorial Day Weekends ever. But then we came home to reality. And now our reality includes a lock on Abby's door to keep the demon contained. I am sad, and I'm wishing for a Super Nanny fairy to come and fix this. Clearly, your parents are not having any luck. I feel like a bad mommy. That I am failing you both. That I should be able to make this work. But I have resorted to locking Abby's door. And it makes me sad.

Why can't every day be like vacation?

love,

Mommy

Updated: Daddy wasn't home when I put up the lock. He is not happy with Mommy, but I think he's mostly angry that I put a hole in the door. He is not seeing the problem. And that is making me even more sad. love, Mommy

Yo yo yo check it out - it be yo Mama's day!

(5/15: edited to insert pictures)

Dear Andrew & Abby,

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I know that the gifts you give me now while you're young are going to be by far the best ever. I am treasuring these gifts now so that later, when you're teenagers and you give me a piece of gum or worse, an oven mitt, I won't break down into the sobs of a broken woman. Well, I might, but at least it won't be because of the gifts.

From Abby, I got a hand print in Plaster of Paris

and a calendar with original Art by Abby.

From Andrew, I got a beautiful mug

and this awesome Top Ten list (did you know that David Letterman is from Indianapolis?!):

Andrew's been working on his cursive! But that picture is pretty hard to see, so here's the list (the underlined parts are what Andrew filled in himself):

Top 10 Reasons Why I Love My MOM, by Andrew
10. I love my Mom because she reads me a book.
9. I love my Mom because she helps me fix stuff.
8. I love my Mom when she makes me laugh by saying funny things. (Apparently, "It's bedtime" is one of those funny things)
7. I love my Mom because she taught me how to ride my bike.
6. I love to hear my Mom sing rap.
5. I love my Mom because she finds time to play a game.
4. I know my Mom cares because she is nice to me.
3. I know my Mom is smart because she knows lots of things.
2. I love my Mom because she works so hard at home.
1. I love my Mom because she's the BEST MOM EVER!

Wait. Did you catch #6? Read that one again. I'll wait.

Yes, Andrew is letting out all of my secrets. Your mommy is a closet rapper. The coat closet, to be exact. That's where I go to let out my mad rap skilz. I keep my bling in there, too. It's big. And blingy. My bling. Blinga bling bling. See, I can barely keep myself from rapping right now.

love,
the Big Mac Mommy (although I really prefer the fries over the Big Mac)

Because I said so!

Dear Andrew & Abby,

This is Mommy's list of Things That Must Stop Immediately:

1. "Is it hot in here..." (Yes, I know Daddy does it, too. But he's bigger than me and you're not. So stop it.)
2. Accidentally-on-purpose wetting the bed while you are still awake but trying to prolong the torture of sleep.
3. Encouraging your sister to be the one to go ask for another drink of water or to come and climb in your bed after you've both been told No more getting up!
4. All. The. Spilling. How do you manage to make even just spilled water sticky?!
5. All allergic, lethargic, dramatic, and horrific responses to bedtimes and baths.
6. The tunnel-vision request for nothing but macaroni and cheese to eat. I'm afraid that if I told you that you will turn in to a macaroni noodle if you don't eat something else, it would only supply you with a new goal for which to strive.
7. The cutting. Yesterday, Daddy found the Discover card bill cut into a few pieces. Of course, he blamed Mommy for trying to hide those new purchases. Maybe you were trying to do Mommy a favor, but this must stop. Or at least do a better job of cleaning up all the evidence.
8. Getting up no later than 6:30am on Saturdays - the ONLY day we don't have to get up early - and resisting all attempts to pull you to the land of the awake before 7:30am on any other day (when you are supposed to be up at 6:30).
9. The pre-adolescent response of "GAWD!!" to any request, demand, or reprimand delivered by your parental units. And yes, Abby, this means you, too.
10. Being so stinking cute that I forgive you for all of the above and so much more.

Maybe the Mother-of-the-Year Award is still in my future, after all

Dear Andrew & Abby,

There are many times when I feel like one of the worst parents in the entire world. I think it's a pretty common side-effect of motherhood. I have spoken to other women who have had the same thoughts. Of course, we can't all be the worst parent in the world. At least not at the same time. Occasionally, I like to indulge in watching SuperNanny (when I can sneak in a few minutes between Daddy's Sports Center and World Poker Tour) because it helps to prove that there really are other parents out there struggling with bigger discipline issues than we have in our house. But sometimes I doubt the truth of SuperNanny. After all, it is television - reality television. And how real can that be, when Rob and Amber have been kicked off the Amazing Race?

Luckily, I need look no further than our local news for solid proof that your mommy is at least not the worst parent in Indiana. Several months ago, this happened in Indianapolis. See? At least your mommy always makes sure you put on a hat when you go for your daily walk down the interstate. And then just this week, there were two more stories meant to help reassure parents all through the great Hoosier state that, in the race for last, we aren't even in the running. Do I need to remind you that Mommy makes sure that you are wearing your helmet and knee pads before throwing you from the car window? And the feces - hey, Mommy always wipes up the poo after we have finger poo-painting time.

Okay, clearly, I joke. But my first reaction to the latest story about the boy who was stabbed was a phrase that is abbreviated WTF - and one of those words is definitely a word you two should not be hearing or saying. So I joke to avoid thinking about the kind of parents who consider some of these home situations normal and acceptable for their children. And really, based on a couple of other stories in the news recently - the father in Pennsylvania who knocked his child unconscious and left her outside to die, the Michigan father who strangled and then dismembered the mother of his two children while they slept down the hall - Indiana isn't the only one with parenting issues.

In all seriousness, stories like these make me want to go crawl into bed with both of you and cuddle and kiss you and promise you that I will never leave you in filth, let you walk down the interstate in just your undies, or associate with anyone who would ever stab you and throw you from the car window. And then I want to lock you in your plastic bubbles so you will never be exposed to this kind of insanity - so you never even know it exists. But since I've managed to catch whatever bug you and Daddy have had, I guess for tonight I'd better just take my ibuprofen and climb in bed. Right after I set the timer to record SuperNanny.

love,
Not the Worst Mommy in Indiana, or even the Mid-West, at least not this week

I'll take my super-sized order of guilt to go, please

Dear Andrew & Abby,

Wow. Where to start? I have been gone to a conference for work in San Diego since Saturday and got home very late last night. While I was gone, Daddy got sick. He ran a fever from Sunday on, had a very sore throat, and was generally pretty miserable. When I called Monday to check on everyone, Daddy told me that Andrew had been great. He cooked dinner several times - you two ate a lot of Spaghettio's - and kept Abby playing quietly in his room so Daddy could rest. He was such a grown up - a Big Brother. I was very, very proud. Plus, now we know he is capable of such behavior. Hah hah!

Abby missed Mommy and asked every day if I was home yet. I left the van in Indy before I left and when you guys picked it up, Abby was even more convinced that, every day when you got home from day care, Mommy was home.

On Tuesday when I talked to you both, I told Andrew that I would take him to a special dinner at Chuck E. Cheese as a big thank you for being such a good helper while I was gone. After that, when Daddy tried to take you guys out to grab some food, Abby refused. She said she only wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese so she could see her mommy. I maybe should have waited to tell you about Chuck E. until I got home.

San Diego was beautiful and the weather was perfect. My conference was good and interesting. I learned a lot and got to see a couple of friends I hadn't seen for years. But knowing that Daddy was pulling all the weight while he was sick and Andrew was having to step up and help out, boy did I feel guilty. But it was San Diego, after all, so it's not like I didn't still have fun. I got to go to Sea World for our Tuesday night event and I thought about you guys the whole time I watched Shamu and friends. And I did spend over $80 in the gift shop in guilt gifts. That counts for something, right?

And besides, I think I have been paying for my absence pretty much non-stop since I got home. First, I climbed in bed with Abby when I got home at 1 am - I didn't want to catch anything from Daddy. She peed on me some time before 2 am, so we were up changing sheets. I couldn't get a corner of the pillow for my own, so my already stiff neck screamed everytime I moved. Let's just say there wasn't much sleep for Mommy. And the house. Oh. My. Goodness. I don't remember the last time I saw our house looking in such a state of disaster. And considering the normal state our house is in, that is saying something. Pieces of paper from a cutting craft of some kind. Used Kleenexes STUCK to the floor. A counter overflowing with empty water bottles. Another overflowing with dirty dishes. Clothes every where. It was bad. Super bad. So far, I have the living room in a more presentable state, have done a bit of grocery shopping (you know, we were low on Spaghettio's), started the laundry, made dinner, waited on everyone, and put both of you to bed. The dishes are waiting. Daddy is feeling a little better, but his improved health has only helped him focus on the March Madness which has begun in our house.

So my guilt is starting to ease up some. While I was away, someone accused me of being high maintenance. After being home again, I'm thinking that she doesn't know from high maintenance until she meets you guys! I love you and I am so glad to be home. But next time I leave and Daddy gets sick, I'm hiring a professional nurse/maid to come and take care of things until I get back.

Love,
NurseMaid Mommy

The second rule is money found in the dryer belongs to Mommy

Dear Andrew & Abby,

It's confession time. Mommy is struggling. We've been having a rough time lately, and I am running out of ideas. The Mother of the Year Award is a long abandoned dream now (see trying to kill you with applesauce) and now I am concentrating on just trying to stay out of Mommy Hell and/or avoid having someone take you away from me and Daddy and give you to someone who actually knows what to do with little child people.

Before we had kids, we talked some about what it would be like. I thought about it a lot. I was ready. Ha ha ha ha ha. If you EVER hear anyone tell you they were ready when they had kids, they are LYING! No one is ever ready. No matter how many books you read or people you talk to, you just can't know what it's like until it's your turn. I didn't know it then, but there is a secret parent society. The first rule of Parent Club is - you don't talk about Parent Club. Oh, sure, you let other people THINK you are talking about it, but you're not. You're saving all the really gory details for the members-only discussions. And even then, there are some things you just don't share with anyone. For example - and I'm about to let out a big Parent Club secret here, so I'm taking a big risk to tell you this - your dad and I have only discussed a particular incident with Baby Andrew a couple of times since it happened. The incident when Baby Andrew was so constipated that he had a poop of clay that got stuck. Yes, stuck. Half-way. Apparently, based on the wailing and the very red and angry face that Baby Andrew made, there was a good deal of pain and discomfort associated with a poop of clay sticking half in and half out of your pooper. Mommy freaked out and called the nurse, but before I could bring myself to explain the situation, Daddy was busy solving the problem (you are so lucky to have him as your dad). We - no, HE - had tried to pull the clay poop out and that didn't work. So he PUSHED IT BACK IN. And then Baby Andrew was able to get some momentum behind the effort and get things worked out within a few minutes. Now, I tell you this at risk, not only of my Parent Club membership, but that I have successfully given you all the reasons for birth control you'll ever need and I will never have grandchildren. It's a risk I'm willing to take because I need you to understand just how far I am feeling in over my head with you both right now.

Another thing Parent Clubbers don't tell outsiders about is what happens when you add more kids. In the case of raising children, 1 + 1 does not equal 2. Sometimes it feels closer to 20. At 3 and 8, you have figured out how to work together, and your tag team efforts to resist sleep and rules and routines and in general anything your dad and I want you to do have created an exponential, synergistic (in the evil kind of way) force that just might kill me.

Bed time has become Hell on Earth. Worse than dealing with clay poop every hour of every day. At least clay poop doesn't get out of bed 500 million times a night after it's supposed to be asleep. Or scream and cry. Or jump on the bed. Or sneak out of its room to pilfer drinks of water which lead to bed-wetting to the point where Mommy's newest addition to the bedtime ritual is to remove any kind of water-holding vessel from the bathroom. No, clay poop just sits there. Half in, half out, being its clay little self. There are times - usually about 9:30pm when we have been in the "going to bed" mode for two hours and you are both still getting up out of your beds to laugh and play in the hallway or Abby is screaming and Andrew is whining for more book time - I long for the return of the clay poop days. I've come to realize that - another Parents Club secret - babies are easy. Yes, there is the whole lack-of-sleep thing, and the eating all the time, and the fragile you-might-break-them issues. But for the most part, a baby's life is a simple one. Eat. Sleep. Poop. Repeat. Babies stay where you put them. They don't talk back. They don't get out of their beds. They don't play in the bathroom when they are supposed to be brushing their teeth and make a big mess with the water. They don't scream and kick when you're trying to put their pajamas on. Okay, I'll give you the last one. But baby kicks don't have the same impact that three-year-old kicks do. Or the same anger. Woo! Do they have anger management classes for toddlers? Because "use your words" doesn't seem to be working too well in our house.

Now, I know that there are all kinds of people out there who have a lot of advice they could offer your Mommy. And they'd all be happy to, if only I would ask. Or publish this post on a parenting support site. The trouble is that I already know what I'm supposed to do. I know you both need a routine. And we have one. Of course, we (and by that I mean Mommy and Daddy) haven't been very good at enforcing it or even reminding you of it on a very consistent basis. We're tired. Work wears us out. Truthfully, life wears us out. The rush to get home, get you from daycare, make dinner, eat dinner, make sure Andrew does his homework, run off to any functions we might have...it's a lot. And since we don’t get you two picked up and home until almost 6pm and bedtime is at 8pm, we only have a couple of hours to get it all done each night during the week. So by the time we need to put you to bed, we’re tired. Our last ounces of energy have been sucked from our bodies like a cowboy sucks barbecue sauce from a slab of ribs. And we had gotten to a certain comfort level with Andrew before Abby was born - and even for a while after - that we could let him have some independence from us during the bedtime routine and he could and would do some things on his own. But now that we are dealing with the Power of Two, we can't do that anymore, and neither of us has adjusted well to that new truth. In fact, I'm not sure your daddy has even acknowledged that it IS truth yet.

I'd like to think that it would be better if I was a SAHM (that's Stay-At-Home-Mom), but I don't think I can believe that, either. I'm afraid that if I was at home all day, I would still be this worn out and frustrated and unorganized and not as good of a mom as I want to be. I'd just have a little more time at home to think about it all.

So, my little ones, loves of my life, Mommy needs a little help. I'm on my way to San Diego for a work conference right now and I won't be back until late Wednesday night. But when I get back, I want to start a new day in the House That Chaos Built. It will only work if you help. It's become quite apparent that I can not cope under the current environment. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to convince Daddy that the point of no return is upon us. So for a while, until he faces reality, it might just be us. You help Mommy keep her sanity, and Mommy will try not to look and sound like a crazy scary banshee mom. It's a good trade-off, right?

Love you still, but even more once you give it up and GO TO SLEEP already,
Mommy

Think he can make me a set of balloon earplugs?

Dear Andrew & Abby,

Often, when someone is pregnant for the first time, they like to ask for parenting tips. Okay, so they don't always ask, but people sure like to give them. Oh, they tell them all kinds of things about diapers and bottle-feeding versus breast-feeding and co-sleeping and on and on. And do you know what I tell them? Here it is: Go to the movies. Right now, before the baby is born. Once the baby is here, movies will be on hold for awhile. Going out to eat, that's a piece of cake - don't worry about that! You can totally take a baby out to eat. And I mean it. We did it when Andrew was a baby. It was great. He slept in his little carrier and Steve and I enjoyed a nice meal just like we used to. No problem.

But as I was reminded tonight...well, things have changed. You two aren't babies any more and that whole going out to eat thing...you sure don't sit quietly in your carriers any more.

Tonight, your dad and I lost our minds again and took you both out to eat. We are SO CRAZY! TGIFriday's, Friday night, 7pm, Indianapolis. You two were non-stop through the 40 minute wait (Andrew: "This is taking forEEVVVEERRRR!!"), the waiting for our drinks (Abby: "I want CHOCOLATE milk! Where's my MILK?"). Then we got your food and there was about two minutes of quiet while you put food into your mouths. Andrew actually ate really well - a whole grilled cheese sandwich, all the mandarin oranges, half of Abby's spaghetti, and the breadstick from my salad. Abby, not so much. After yelling at me that she did not want to eat her spaghetti with a fork and ordering me to CUT IT UP! she ate about two bites. The rest of the time was spent bouncing, dancing, wiggling, and sliding around on the seat, and getting the contents of her spoon on my sleeve. Thank goodness for the balloon man - that offered another three minutes of relative peace. Of course then there was the fighting with the balloon animals later: Andrew's dangling lure hat and blue wiener dog and Abby's black giraffe (she picked the color - that's my girly girl!). I'm not sure how it is that a booth that can hold six adults can barely contain our family of four.

Through it all, I did manage to eat a salad, a few bites of my fish, avoid two bones in the fish, and enjoy most of my angel mousse cake (yummy!). Not to bash TGIF's, but other than the cake, it was a pretty horrible experience all the way around. I'm not sure the $30 gift card we were spending was really worth the hassle. But that's what happens when Mommy & Daddy lose their minds. At least we got some lovely balloon animals out of the deal.

Once we left, for about the first half of the ride home, you both talked non-stop and over the top of each other, mostly to me, mostly starting with "Mom? Mom? Mom!" You are both incapable of continuing a sentence or thought until I respond to my name. There are days I wish I could change my name from Mom to something - anything - else. But then, Abby fell asleep and Andrew zoned out...ahhh...quiet.

Love,
Mommy

Another day in Cell Block A

Dear Andrew & Abby,

This time, I have a story to tell on Andrew...

Andrew, for a while now, you've been testing the waters and trying to figure out how to sneak things out of the house and in to day care and/or school without being caught. I wouldn't be telling you now how it was that I always ALWAYS knew, but I sense it won't matter for much longer. You are getting sneakier. In the past, you have given yourself away by your behavior when we arrive at day care. On normal days, you trudge along, usually follow me to Abby's room first, then wander to wherever you are supposed to be until your bus leaves. However, on mornings when you have contraband, you fly from the van, race into the building, and make a grand gesture of "I'll just kiss you here, Mom, so you don't have to come down to my room. Really, it's okay." Or something along those lines. Since you are also a poker fiend (a topic for another time), I'll use a poker analogy: it's your tell. But this morning, something new happened.

You have some new Yu-Gi-Oh cards that you got from McDonald's (wow, THANKS, Day Care, for feeding my kids Happy Meals for lunch - Seriously, don't they know they are supposed to be BETTER care givers than I am and not feed you guys that crap?!?!) and I saw you leaving your room with them hung slyly by your side. I reminded you that you would not be taking those to day care (we have a rule: No toys go to day care/school. A rule instituted after the Great GameBoy Debacle of 2006) and you said you just wanted to play with them until we left. Ooookay...So I informed you that I would be giving your pockets a pat-down (yes, prison guard style) before we left.

Later, when we were leaving, I noticed you in your room, putting on your stocking cap. This was a little odd, since your hat wasn't in your room to start with and you didn't have your coat on or with you, but I think I might have let it slide if it had just been that. But then you said this while pointing to the Yu-Gi-Oh cards stacked at the end of your bed: "See, Mom, all my Yu-Gi-Oh cards, right there." See what I mean, it's your tell. So when you walked over to me, I just put my hand on top of your hat and gently squeezed. Amazingly, your hair felt flat and cardboard-like, much like a Yu-Gi-Oh card tucked into your hat might feel. Oh, wait! Those ARE Yu-Gi-Oh cards tucked into your hat!! You crack me up. And the fact that you were SO MAD at me for catching you was just priceless. You didn't speak much to me for the rest of the morning, but I still had to stifle a laugh at this latest attempt. I could just see you thinking: 'She said she was going to check my pockets. Fine. I won't put them in a pocket! That will fool her. BWAHAHAHA!!!' After I dropped you off, I immediately called your dad and told him we're going to have to reinstitute the daily prison-guard pat-downs and be even more vigilant - you are starting to figure out this whole sneaky thing. Let's hope we don't have to escalate these to strip searches. That will really mess with our morning schedule.

love,
The Prison Guard (Mommy)