Category Archives: motherhood

It’s A Girl!

No, I’m not pregnant.  If you thought so, you’re either nuts or a new reader.  If it’s the latter, welcome to The Runaway Mama!  Where two kids are plenty!

I’m not having a baby, but I am a New Mama!  Introducing Gertrude Glenn (a.k.a. Gertie)!

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Gertrude was my girl name.  You know, the name I would’ve given a human girl.  I know what you’re thinking.  GERTRUDE?  It’s a grandmother’s name!  It’s dated!  It’s dreary!  For your information, I also love the name Agnes, and before we decided on Dylan, Oscar and Henry were on our short list for boys.  So there.  I’m an old-fashioned name kind of girl.  (Somehow, I ended up with a Dylan and a Riley – which I love, by the way – but such is life!)

As well as being classic and beautiful (if I do say so myself), Gertrude is also a family name (on both sides of the family), and Glenn is after my Great Aunt Glenna, a firecracker of a woman whose style, whit, sharp-tongue, and big heart I admired greatly.

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Gertie Glenn is teen-tiny bundle of deliciousness (and a peeing pooping mess!), and it was totally and completely love at first sight for the whole family.  Before we met her, I feared her presence would be a painful reminder of Harry.  I’m happy to report that it’s been just the opposite.  In fact, it feels a lot like Gertie was a gift from Harry.

I see so much of him in her.  Like when she twitches her front legs in her sleep or tries to drag a palm frond three time her size across the yard or chews grass with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.  In these moments, I feel like Harry is talking to me, and I’m a Grateful Mama for the connection.

Whereas my theme song was  “Say Something” by A Great Big World

Say something, I’m giving up on you

I’ll be the one, if you want me to

Anywhere I would’ve followed you

Say something, I’m giving up on you

…it’s now “You’ll Be Okay” by the same band…

You’ll be okay

You’ll be okay

The sun will rise

To better days

 

And change will come

It’s on its way

Just close your eyes

And let it rain

 

‘Cause you’re never alone

I will always be there

You just carry on

You will understand

After one full day with Gertrude Glenn a.k.a. Gertie Glenn a.k.a Flirty Gertie a.k.a. Gertie McShmertie, I’ve developed a highly complicated, uber-complex hypothesis about parenting human and canine babies: There’s little difference between the two.

Case in point, the following happened (or didn’t happen) during my first 24 hours with Gertie:

1. I forgot to eat.

2. I felt guilty.

3. I cried.

4. I accomplished one half of one task on my 50-item to do list.

5. I did the one half of one task during naptime.

6. I cleaned pee and poop all day.

7. I talked about pee and poop all day.

8. Because of the aforementioned pee and poop, I did a lot of laundry.

9. Exhaustion-induced clumsiness resulted in several bumps and bruises, including a doozy on my left leg that happened when I moved “baby equipment” (the crate) from the kitchen to the bathroom where…

10. I finally took a shower at 4:30pm.

Five o’clock has new meaning, my friends.  All over again.  And just like with human babies, this too shall pass.

A toast to New Mamas of all kinds!  Cheers!

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Filed under babies, Grateful Mama, guilt, Harry, list, motherhood, pets

Sharp

So, we’re sitting at ground zero (i.e. the kitchen table).  My four-year-old son is deeply involved in an epic battle between two Superhero Squinkies, and I’m on my iPad researching hockey-themed birthday party supplies when he says, “Mommy, when are you going to clean this?”

This.

He’s referring to the Sharpie marks that now stain our kitchen table in several spots.  Supposedly, there’s a miracle product out there that cleans up these unfortunate blemishes, but I haven’t yet reached page eighty of my busiest time of the year to-do list where “#473: Deal with permanent marker mess” resides.  That, and I’ve enjoyed having him live with the evidence as a kind of self-punishment.  Given his accusatory tone, though, he’s clearly not losing sleep over it.

“If you must know,” I say with the same amount of amount of sass he has just whipped at me, “I haven’t cleaned it yet, because it requires a very special cleaning solution that We. Don’t. Have.”

Because this remarkable child of mine likes to have the last word, he responds whilst shaking his head in disappointment, “Mommy, you really need to clean it up.”

I honestly don’t know how the tables turned on this one.  I mean, he’s the one who went hog wild with the Sharpie to which I explicitly denied access.  Yet, I’m the one being schooled at the kitchen table because the mess hasn’t been eradicated.

I provide unlimited pencils and WASHABLE crayons, markers, and paint to both of my children for their creative pursuits.  I do not, however, provide pens and Sharpies, because when the writing instrument inevitably lands outside the border of their works of art, I – like most parents I know – want to be able to clean the mess.  My “No Sharpies until you’re old enough to live elsewhere” rule is a no-brainer.  That is, until you insert my curious and stubborn child for whom “no” means “Hell, yes!” into the equation.

I wasn’t out of town when This happened.  I wasn’t even out of the house.  In all honesty, I was probably in the room with him, yet I don’t know anything about how he reached the Sharpie from its high perch or how he did it without anyone knowing and without hurting himself.  What I do know is this: I was shocked.

The idea that either one of my children did This was hard to believe.  I say this not because I have perfect children (hardly), but because even though kids will be kids and kids are messy, my kids – generally speaking – are neat.  Actually, “careful” might be a better word to describe them.  In other words, I’ve never found one of them drawing on walls, eating chalk, or standing in the middle of a flour explosion.  Never.

Despite their cautious disposition, I knew who the culprit was immediately.  It was the little one who’s always at my desk chirping, “Can I please use this?  Can I?  Can I?  Can I, PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!” about all of my colorful, non-washable pens and permanent markers.

When I confronted my Sharpie bandit head on about the permanent marker all over the kitchen table, he looked me right in the eye and said, “Mommy, when I grow up and I’m a Daddy, I will never let my kids draw with a Sharpie.”  Receiving this invaluable nugget of parenting advice from my four-year-old stung more than you might think.  My quick – but not nearly as clever as I’d hoped – response was, “Oh yeah, THEY’LL DO IT ANYWAY!!”

So, we’re sitting at the kitchen table with This between us.  He’s back to his Squinkie battle, and I’m pretending to be back to my hockey-themed birthday party supplies research, but what I’m really doing is thinking of a really sharp response for this remarkable child of mine because I want – no, I need – to have the last word on this one.

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Runaway Mama Disclaimer:  I wrote this post because (1) it happened and (2) I wanted to, and (3) I was inspired by a blogging challenge to share a story about a missed moment at home.  The “Life’s Mysteries” Campaign is hosted by a company called Dropcam.  Dropcam is a cloud-based Wi-Fi video monitoring service with free live streaming, two-way talk and remote viewing, and it might just be the coolest baby/kid/pet/nanny/husband monitor ever.  Perhaps there’s some additional legal mumbo jumbo I should write here to tell you that I’m not endorsing their products nor am I a paid sponsor.  I’m  just a girl who likes to write about stuff and wishes someone would pay me for it.  Anyhow, anyone can participate in the “Life’s Mysteries” Campaign.  For more information and instructions, please click right —> here <—.

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Filed under mess, motherhood, parenting, Uncategorized