M’ijo « Artificially Sweetened

Two Years Ago…

July 13, 2009 at 8:43 pm | In M'ijo, On the road again... | 5 Comments

… today, we landed at the Atlanta airport with P’ito.

We celebrated today with ice cream, a family swim, and oh, by getting fingerprinted for adoption v. 2.0.

Plane Talk with P’ito (updated for KB)

June 29, 2009 at 10:22 pm | In M'ijo | 2 Comments

Pili: Where is your airplane going?
P’ito: (zooming airplane overhead) Guatamale!

AS: Where’s that plane going?
P’ito: That not a plane, that a helicopter! (puts down copter, picks up plane) This a plane, Mama!

Empathy

June 25, 2009 at 8:00 pm | In M'ijo | 5 Comments

Writing this mostly for myself, to remember it, and also to remind me that there is so much more to m’ijo than his mindblowing tantrums.

This morning I bumped my funny bone while walking with P’ito. He asked “You get a boo-boo on your elbow Mama?” and when I said yes, he very sweetly rubbed it and said Sana Sana all the way through. “You feel better Mama?”

After school today, we went to the library. The librarian was super nice and helped us locate P’ito’s beloved Red Truck even though it was about two minutes after closing. I prompted P’ito to thank her, but he was sulky – no! no say thank you! He read Red Truck to himself in the car and when I came around to get him out of the car he seemed very quiet and then said: Library lady help me – I no say thank you. I asked him if he wished he had said thank you, and he said yes, that he felt sad about it. He asked if we could go back and say thank you and agreed that we would do it tomorrow.

I’m so bad at remembering the exact words of these exchanges, at capturing the tone of voice that makes it clear to me that he’s really thinking and caring about how other people feel. But moments like these make me feel like we’re on the right path.

The Myth of Fingerprints

June 22, 2009 at 9:10 am | In AdoptThis!, M'ijo | 4 Comments

One of the mixed blessings of biological parenthood, it seems to me, from my non-biological parent perspective, is seeing your own traits or your partner’s traits emerge in your child. Your smile, your stubborness, your depression or diabetes, your eyes, hair nose anger.

Today was one of Those Mornings. Mornings (or afternoons, or evenings) that leave me worn out and weepy from a series of violent tantrums that seem impossible to predict and that frighten me with their intense physical ferocity – throwing, pinching, hitting, biting…

I find myself wondering Where It Comes From (Probable but not Satisfying Answer: Mostly being 2.5). Who are P’ito’s biological parents and does this propensity to physical aggression come from them? That’s the nightmare adoption myth isn’t it? You don’t know who those people are.

I handle that thought gingerly, aware of my own tendency to turn there when I’m at a loss, aware that I don’t go there as often as I should when P’ito awes me with an act of tenderness, a clever thought, or his amazing athletic grace and self-awareness. That’s as much of a possible inheritance as is aggression, but how often do we think – I wonder from where his gifts come? Why do I so often go there when I’m worrying about the parts of him that are hard to parent? If he had come from me, would I more easily see both the positive and negative possibilities of genetics?

Fun with Potty Training, part 1 of many

June 10, 2009 at 9:04 pm | In M'ijo | 9 Comments

P’ito will do almost anything for sweets.

We know he CAN pee in the potty, he just doesn’t usually want to.

So the other day, Pili made a bargain with him: 1 m&m for #1 in the potty, 2 m&m’s for #2 in the potty.

He immediately and unsuccesfully tried to up the ante to 2 for #1 and 4 for #2.

This morning, Pili noticed him hiding in the corner and making his poop-face. She asked him if he wanted to try and go on the potty… 2 m&ms…

With great ceremony, he sat upon the can and demanded Privacy.

We turned our backs and heard some promising sounds, however upon inspection the bowl was empty.

Pili asked if he had gone, and he replied “No, just a fart. M&ms? You tell me m&ms.”

We explained that m&m’s were for actual, um, production. In order to stave off the looming meltdown, I offered him a sticker for all his hard work trying.

……..

When we got to daycare, we ran into “Sally” – the daycare director – in the front vestibule. “Sally,” P’ito informed her “I got a sticker!”

“Did you go to the doctor?”

“No, I farted.”

P’ito Needs a Penpal (and a response to a question)

June 4, 2009 at 11:31 am | In M'ijo, Political Animal, We are Family | 2 Comments

I have gotten sucked into doing this stupid My First Chain Letter thing with P’ito, wherein you send a pack of stickers to one person and a letter to six and then eventually you are supposed to wind up with 36 packs of stickers.

If you have already done this and your kid didn’t get any stickers and got their poor itty bitty heart broken, please shut up remain discreetly silent. If your kid you are willing to give it a shot, would you please send me an email with your address: artsweets AT gmail DOT com. I need four more victims participants.

On a totally different note, Sarah asked:

Here’s a question for you: what is good etiquette for going to a gay pride parade if you’re straight? I’ve got a hand-tie-dyed rainbow shirt and a need to do something positive for gay rights – any suggestions? I’ve only recently (last couple of years) moved to [midsized Midwestern city] and haven’t made many friends yet gay or straight.

First of all, thanks Sarah, for being a friend and ally to the gays

It sucks trying to make new friends in a new place.

I think that just going and clapping and cheering and pumping your fist in the air when the gay vets go by adds to the supportive ambiance. You don’t need to haul out the rainbow tie-dye, although if you wear your I heart Sarah Palin shirt, you may get some strange glances.

The one thing that straight people at gay pride do that gets on my nerves is to make out all over the place. It’s pride – shouldn’t I get a break from your conspicuous display of heterosexuality for one day? That, and holding up protest signs, but somehow I don’t think you’re going down that route.

If you want to you, you can make yourself a sign that says something like “one more straight person for gay rights” – it’s nice to know that we have allies amongst the general public (it also makes you less likely to get hit on, if you’re concerned about that, although honestly, I’ve never been hit on at Pride, even when I um, wanted to be.)

Anyone else have any advice for Sarah?

Crawling out from under my rock

May 28, 2009 at 11:00 pm | In Bringing Home the Bacon, M'ijo, The Other D (Better Living Through Chemistry) | 16 Comments

I keep meaning to post. But there are so many things in my head, and so many of them are unbloggable. I work at a small non-profit, and we are just barely surviving this economy and may very well not make it. Which would be stressful enough without the partner of one of my colleagues suddenly learning (as in four days later he was having brain surgery) that he has stage 4 glioblastoma. Which means that she is barely present at work and when she is, she isn’t. Her family is her first priority, I truly believe that, but at the same time, it puts even more pressure on the rest of us.

So the past two months I’ve been dealing with this, and trying to fight off the demons in my head that threaten to suffocate me in anxiety and depression that paralyzes me and makes the smallest decision agonizing. And then of course, I think, I need to work, I need to get stuff done, and it is even worse because I cannot. I’ve gone back to therapy (good) and gotten some new head meds (also good, although the first ones my doctor put me on caused me to eat insatiably and I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of those ten pounds on top of all the other stress eating ones…) and in general am Hanging In There, You Go Girl and all that jazz.

So that’s where I’ve been.

That and trying to keep up with this whirlwind, whose smile puts it all in perspective for me.

He’s 2 1/2 and so full of ideas, opinions, and questions. “Cause why, Mama? Cause why?” His head spins around on his neck whenever anything wheeled goes by. He is polite (for a toddler) – melting hearts with his spontaneous thank-yous. He is incredibly physical – last weekend he climbed up a steep and rocky trail described as “not suitable for young children” – and he loves nothing more than to play endless games of chase, catch me! catch me!

And as long as that continues, everything else is ultimately gravy (but don’t tell me that when I’m pulling my hair out at work…)

The world’s most tolerant cat

March 10, 2009 at 11:21 pm | In M'ijo, Meows | 16 Comments

Donut entered our lives on a cold and windy night in early December. I found him in a strip mall parking lot. I went to see if he had a collar on, since he looked way too fat to be a stray.

Turns out he was a stray. A stray who was living on hand-outs from Dunkin’ Donuts. Believe it or not, he’s still a kitten, which means he may be larger than your average golden retriever by the time he’s done.

He’s obnoxious to the other cats, has almost taken my hand off when I tried to keep him from getting outside again, has a purr that could melt glaciers, and tolerates P’ito’s abuse without blinking. Behold.

Snapshots from a day

January 26, 2009 at 10:59 pm | In Blogging about Blogging, M'ijo, The Sweet Life | 6 Comments

Leaving for work: bag, keys, lunch, check. Eat the kid’s animal crackers in car, yum yum. Will bolus when I get to a red light, lights are all green. Get to work, okay now must bolus. Pump? Pump?

Oh crap. Wonderful Pili brings me pump at work. Blood sugar has been on a roller coaster ever since. SIGH.

At daycare: Kiddo runs to me, throws arms around legs, I am the happiest mama in the world.

Yep, he’s my kid: P’ito are you poopy? No Mama just fart.

Dinner: Tofu khan, peas, and ravioli. Peas and tofu apparently taste better dipped in water. I think I eat more ravi than he does, but I’m not really eating them and so I don’t really bolus and see above.

Bathtime cannot happen without his bus. I tell him to go downstairs, get his bus, come right back up. Amazingly he does.

Bedtime: Read Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus twice. He doesn’t really seem to get it – he always says yes when the pigeon asks to drive the bus, but he still really likes it. Not sure why. Shit, library book, needs to be returned.

Would purchase our own copy if Mother-Talk would ever pay me my amazon gift card or at least return my emails (three and counting, FYI). Realize I will probably never get offered another Mother-Talk gig again for writing this, but do I really want one anyway since they don’t seem to be interested in paying me? Hope potential Mother-Talk clients are reading this…

Sing songs. Kiddo does not want to be sung to. Put down in crib. Go downstairs. Finish eating non-dinner of leftover ravioli.

Hear: Mama Mama Mama Mama – ignore until volume increases. Go upstairs. Door knob to kiddo’s room is rattling. Open door to find child pleased as punch with himself for defeating crib. Crap. See pleasant evenings of grown up time slipping away before my eyes. Sit down on the floor and sob. Pick kid up and inform him that it is sleeping time and staying in crib time.

Kiddo is holding A Lot of Otters. Read, Mama? Read twice. Mama, me moonlet. Melt. Put in crib, rub back, say silent prayers. Rustling, banging, singing (Twinkle twinkle little… grandma. A B C D E F P. Up above sky so high. ) for an hour and a half on the monitor, but no more calls. Sneak upstairs once monitor is silent. Asleep. In crib. Thank you g-d.

And now? To write letter to go in holiday groundhog’s day cards.

On deck post: CGMS, the really cool technology that could be so so much cooler with a little bit of market testing. And Medtronic Minimed, the company that is single-handedly destroying the planet with over packaging.

Talk to me about the Two

December 9, 2008 at 1:54 pm | In M'ijo | 19 Comments

I keep reading all these websites where people say, oh two, two was nothing. It’s three that really bites.

If that is the case, I am SO screwed. Two year old P’ito is alternating between aren’t you adorable and boy-I-understand-why-people-smack-their-kids. Last night he:

- refused to sit down in his booster seat to eat dinner
- once confined to said booster seat, poured his milk into his pasta and then threw said mixture all over the kitchen table and on my head
- pulled my hair whilst I was trying to clean up said pasta
- took my glasses off the counter and almost broke them while I was doing the I’m not going to pay attention to you thing in response to the above
- laughed maniacally in my face when I told him in my fiercest voice to STOP. RIGHT. NOW.

In retrospect he was tired and I probably should have just bagged the whole dinner concept and sent him straight to bed. But then he would have woken up at two am starving…

Bring on the assvice. Please.

Responding…

Mia – it’s not really the booster that’s the problem. When he’s feeling compliant (gawd, I hate that word) enough to sit, he sits happily in the booster. When he’s not… the booster limits the circumference in which food can be thrown and the number of innocent bystanding objects that can be hurled to the ground. And I hear you on the “you can’t always get what you want” tantrums…

Liz & hd – I’m not ready to try in-your-room timeouts. I don’t feel like he’s cognitively able to understand the connection between “you broke mama’s glasses” and “I’m shutting you in your room.” We do do “time-ins” – in which I hold him still on my lap for a minute without talking. I’m not sure they work, but they make me feel like I’m doing something. And pajamanate is an awesome word.

Kerri, Jenny & Major B – do they make luxury padded suites for all of us?

Carrie & e. – PLEASE – I am clinging to the illusion that at least three will inject a modicum more self-control into the picture. Don’t burst my bubble.

Floreska, Susan, Erin: You give me hope.

Michelle – … but what if I already am?