One of a Kind

My youngest son, Danny is seven. Danny lives a world of his own. I like to refer to it as Dannyland.

In Dannyland, Danny is the king of our house. His queen is Libby, a girl that was in his class last year. Danny came home early in September and announced that he was engaged.

"Congratulations!" I said, "Does she know?"

"No," he replied. "But I told Donny, and Donny is going to tell her."

"Usually you have to ask the girl if she wants to marry you." I tried to convince him.

"Mom, she likes me too. We both wear glasses, and she's nice to me."

"Well, as long as you're nice to her too." I decided this fight wasn't one I needed to have with a first grader. If he was fifteen years older, we'd have to have a talk.

Libby is often referred to in Dannyland as his fiance or girlfriend, and we are suppose to know who he is talking about. She is a cute little girl and I have to say someday many years from now, they would make a cute couple. However, it's first grade.

In Dannyland, Danny is the smartest kid in his class. Danny made this proclamation while standing on our dining room bench, during dinner.

"My teacher said I am the smartest kid in my class." He told us. Unexpected news, since he had been staying after school everyday since early in the school year to complete his daily homework. He couldn't or wouldn't concentrate at home in the evenings to write his spellling words five times each.

"I'm sure you are. Now please sit down and eat your peas." Was the only response I could muster. I didn't want to bust his bubble.

In Dannyland, Danny is always right. Don't argue, it's rarely worth it. Screaming matches occur, especially when it's Justin and Danny arguing.

"Mom, Justin said that I'm wrong.""Really? What about?"

"Well, I told him that I can hit a ball further then him, and he said no. But I did it once and he doesn't remember. I'm right!"

"I'll talk with him. I don't remember when you hit the ball further then Justin. Can you tell me the story?"

"Remember, Dad took us down to the field to do batting practice and Justin couldn't hit the ball, but I did." Okay, Justin is a year and a half older then Danny and about twice Danny's size. Justin is a good baseball player, and I know in my mind that Danny has not to this day hit a ball further then Justin. It might happen, someday, in the future. Can I convince him of that? NO! However, they take after their dad, who also is always right. I've finally, after many years and headaches, have convinced my family that it's okay sometimes to let Danny think he's right. If you know you are right and it's not something that it going to harm him, just let it go. If he comes to someone and says "Hey, Mom said I can run in the middle of the street." Then, we have an issue that needs to be argued, but if he thinks he's the best in school, sports or whatever, let him think it for now.

Dannyland gives Danny a happiness that other kids don't have. In his world he's the best at everything, and who wouldn't be happy if they were the best.

The computer teacher at school told me she wondered about Danny. "No one can be THAT happy." She told me that he made her feel like a super star. She walked across the playground one day while his class was at recess, and he noticed her. "HI MRS. KRIST!" He yelled at her from across the playground. Then a few days later we attended the Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts and he did the same thing to her. She loved it!

Danny is a very smart and creative little boy, although a little immature for seven. Most of his friends are preschool or kindergarten, and while other boys his age have given up on Thomas the Tank Engine, he's still one of Danny's favorites. I haven't fought this, though. He is my baby and when he decides that it's time to give up Thomas that's up to him.

I hope that Danny keeps part of Dannyland in him. I worry that it will soon go away. He is repeating first grade this coming school year, his first realization that he wasn't the smartest kid in his class. He took the news really well. One other student will be repeating with him, which helped. He'll have the same teacher, and I'm sure will find a new fiance. Maybe this time he'll remember to ask.

Commitments

Katie, our 13 year old daughter tried out for a summer production of The Prince and The Pauper in May. She was cast in the Court Ensemble. Rehearsals started the first week of June, and they have practiced three hours a night, five nights a week since then.

Being part of an emsemble isn't where Katie thought she'd be cast. However, when she auditioned we knew she'd miss a mininum of 2 weeks of rehearsal. I'm sure the directors had to take that information into consideration when casting. She was a little disappointed when she first found out when they posted the cast list. However, she was happy that some of her friends were in the play as well, and she'd get to hang out with them for most of the summer.

Then, one friend quit before the rehearsals even started. So we were down to Katie and one other friend. Still, it was one of her best friends since first grade. I've spend several evenings picking up the girls after rehearsals. They are so silly together, it's been a lot of fun. They remind me of myself and a friend when we were in high school.

After several weeks of rehearsals the play is opening next Wednesday. Last night Katie came home and announced that she wanted to quit!

"Not an option." I told her. "You made this commitment and you can't back out now."

"It's so boring, Mom." She really thought she had a chance!

With a little bit of digging she finally came out with why she wanted to quit. See, there's a HUGE concert in the teen girl world here in Omaha on Monday night. The Jonas Brothers perform at the Qwest Center, and "ALL" her friends are going, or that's what she'd like me to believe.

See, Katie was actually invited to go, but not until this past Tuesday, and I said no without even telling her about the invite. I know my daughter, if it sounds like it would be more fun, she'd much rather drop the work and play. I really hoped and begged that she not find out about the invite. Of course, that didn't happen, and she found out on Thursday night.

My mom is the one who invited her. My neice had called and wanted Grandma to take her, and so she looked into getting tickets and they were actually still available. She offered to take the girls and I had to say no. So when Katie talked to Hannah on Thursday night, Hannah let it "slip" by asking Grandma, while Katie was on the other end of the phone, if Katie knew about the concert.

Sitting in the other room, I hear "What concert?" OH NO!!! I'm thinking. "Hannah, tell me, what concert. It's the Jonas Brothers isn't it?" DARN! She's a smart girl, I knew she'd figure it out.

I could have made it easy on me, and let her think that Grandma was the one who didn't invite her. I didn't though, no silly me, I told her. I figured that I had one daughter who wasn't even invited at all, so that was enough to be mad at Grandma, we need to spread the anger.

Poutting insued, in fact, I'm still waiting for it to end. That's one of Katie's many talents. She's mastered it, too.

Friday night when she went to rehearsal there were several girls who dropped it on the director that they wouldn't be there on Monday night because they were going to this concert. Not a shock, the director wasn't all that happy. After all, the concert had been announced around the same time as auditions. They asked for a list of dates that they couldn't be there at audition, and again the first week of rehearsals. This is a high school drama teacher, who is use to kids a little more committed to their performances.

These are junior high kids. Most could care less. It was something that they are doing to hang out with friends most of the summer. So, when you threaten that they'll be kicked out of the play if they don't show up for the remaining rehearsals, you get the wrong reaction.

This morning Katie started again. "I want to quit." What a lovely breakfast conversation. I tried to ignore it.

"I really want to quit," she said again.

"Didn't you like that movie last night?" I tried to change the subject.

"Courtney gets to choose." Her friend was one of the girls who told him last night.

"I really enjoyed the music. And who knew that one actor could sing?" Sometimes I feel like we're having two different conversations.

"I really want to quit." Fine, she wins, we'll talk again.

"Katie, you can't quit. You made this commitment and it's WAY to late to quit. People have bought tickets and are planning on seeing you on stage." Then Alycia, our 10 year old daughter jumped in to help.

"It would be like quiting on your cell phone." What? I didn't get the connection, but it broke the tension.

Somehow the subject was mostly dropped by that one statement. Why hadn't I thought of that? Of course, the cell phone is always the connection. It can somehow be linked to the total exsistance of the teenage girl. . . or so she thinks. Way to go Alycia!

Mom's Padded Room

I think it first occurred to me that I possibly could need a padded room when my son Justin was about three years old. Justin is my third child of four. The younger three kids were born within 35 months of each other. When he turned 3 the other kids were 8, 4 1/2 and 1 1/2. You don't need to tell me my life was busy. I vividly remember something my mom had told me at Justin's third birthday party.

"Oh Julie, you'll love the threes," she told me. "Three year old boys are perfect!"
I trust my mom so, when she told me this, I believed her. I really needed a quieter year. A year that I felt the kids didn't out smarted me on most days. I misunderstood though, and thought it would be like a switch on him.

Instead, ten days after his third birthday, I was lying on the bathroom floor, door locked and curled into a ball. Not only had he out smarted me again, he had done it repeatedly in those ten days.

The first "incident" came just a few days after his birthday. I had gotten Katie, our oldest out the door to school and jumped in to take my 7 minute shower. I knew how much time I had before serious damage could be done. In the 12 minutes that I showered and dressed Justin pushed my glider from the living room to the kitchen, used it as a step stool to get up onto the stove and get into the cabinet above the stove. He found the cinnamon and proceeded to violently shake the full cinnamon container all over the cream colored kitchen carpet.

Let me first say that we did not put carpet in that kitchen, we bought the house with carpet in the kitchen, and bathroom by the way. Why people put carpet in those two rooms I will never know. They are the hardest rooms to keep carpet clean, and I refuse to ever have carpet in those rooms again. Also, you can NEVER get cinnamon out of cream colored carpet. I tried, and tried, until finally I gave up and we eventually tore out the carpet.

I still remember walking down the stairs and thinking the house smelled really good. "Wow," I thought to myself, "Julie, you're really doing a great job cleaning!" Then Justin came around the corner from the kitchen, saw me and ran, giggling all the way back into the kitchen. Alycia, my second child, and always the little mommy of her younger brothers was quick on the draw.
"Mommy, you don't want to go in the kitchen," she told me. "I told him not to do it, but he didn't listen." She almost had me convinced of the later statement, but her past history led me to totally not trust that comment. He had a long timeout for that one, and I really hoped that he would learn his lesson. Then a few nights later he struck again.

Once my children slept through the night I slept like a rock. As any mom knows, those years are some of the longest in her life. So when you hear a child in the middle of the night run to the bathroom and back to their room, you don't think much of it. In fact, you're happy to hear those feet go to the bathroom, less chance of a mess to clean up in the morning. . .or so you think.

I heard those little feet run, not walk, back and forth to the bathroom one night. I laid in bed too tired to move and see what was happening, not that I really could have stopped it by then. Soon, the feet stopped and he went back to sleep. It wasn't until morning that I would know what he had done.

When I entered the kids room that morning, I rubbed Danny's back to try to get him moving. He was 1 1/2 and he and Justin had a set of bunk beds, although they both slept on the bottom bunk. As I leaned over the bed, I put my hand down in something gooey. I smelled my hand, hoping that it would be a good smell. Moms, you know what I mean. It smelled good, familiar, like my shampoo, conditioner AND body wash all mixed together. Yes, he had gone into the bathroom, taken every bottle out of the tub and dumped it onto his mattress. Not the blankets or sheets, the mattress.

As a note to any parent whose child might try this at home, it is IMPOSSIBLE to get these soap like items out of a mattress. They simply turn in to suds when water is applied.

Three is old enough to answer for your actions sometimes, especially when they are reoccurring. I thought I wanted to know what the thought process was for this event, so I asked.

"Justin, can you please tell Mommy why you poured all the soaps on your bed?" I tried to be nice, I thought maybe I would get a better response.

"My trucks were board, and they wanted to play in mud." He said, with a sparkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

I have to give him this, he knew better then going outside in the middle of the night. We had to have a long talk about when it's sleepy time for trucks and when it's mud playing time for trucks. I believe there was even pleading on my part that he become the perfect three old that his grandma promised me. Not my finest parenting moment I admit. Yes, the mattress had to be replaced.

One would hope that this would help him turn the corner, but no. The final event happened on a Saturday. It was this event that solidified the practice of throwing out any and all kids meals toys before entering the house. You see, when flushed down the toilet it isn't good. In fact, when you only have one bathroom and your husband works on Saturdays, it really isn't good.

See, Justin found a Spider man squeeze toy from a kids meal and thought it would be fun to flush it down the toilet. It didn't go though and of course the toilet overflowed. All of the towels in the house had to be used to mop up that mess. The toilet had to be removed and the toy had to be fished out of the bottom of the toilet.

It was there, on the bathroom floor, in tears that I realized that I had to share my stories with others. Maybe out there somewhere are moms who have similar experiences, or if nothing else there may be people out there who can find humor in my stories. That is were this blog comes from, my heart. I will try to keep this fun. Writing is my passion, and sometimes my release.

As for Justin, he is now a sweet, loving, active, well behaved 8 year old. He loves baseball, NASCAR and riding his bike. He survived, and actually after those 10 days he really did turn into a great three year old.