I am Michelle D. Carter

Trusted friend, confidant, best bud, companion and pal.

Alex “built” Don at the Build-a-Dino store in the T-Rex Café just after Christmas last year. He was a bribe. I wanted to do some after Christmas shopping and told the kids that if they were good, I would take them so they could spend their Christmas money.

After lunch at the T-Rex Café, we were off to make dinosaurs. I was surprised at the price of the dinos. They averaged $5 – $8 more than the Build-a-Bears. Alex found Don and he knew that he had to have him. I tried to explain to him that he would take all of his money and he wouldn’t have any left to get him clothes or anything else. It didn’t matter. He wanted Don. Andy, on the other hand, had decided to put his back and would wait until we went to Build-a-Bear, which would be our next stop.

Don is a pteranodon. For simplicity, I suggested “Don” for his name. Real original, I know. But Alex thought it was a good name. Stuffed and bathed, Don was now ready to come home and be part of the family.

We then made our way to Build-a-Bear for Alyssa and Andy. They picked their bears and clothes. I thought this might bother Alex so I reminded him that we did have some clothes at home Don could wear. He didn’t seem to mind.

Don has been by Alex’s side since we brought him home. He won’t go to bed without Don. After playing a little rough with him one night, he developed a scrape and began to bleed stuffing around the house. It was bed time so I told Alex he would have to wait until tomorrow before I could fix him. You could see the fear build up inside of him. Go to bed without Don. NO WAY! Alex began to cry and I knew it wouldn’t wait. I performed emergency surgery and all was well.

Unlike so many other toys, Don remains a favorite. He is there for Alex all the time, still to this day. I must say, it was money well spent. I’m glad I was unable to talk him out of it.

It started at Grandma and Grandpa’s house last Thanksgiving. Alex wanted a drink or something. I was tired and didn’t want to get up and do it myself so I told Alex to ask Grandma to get it. I told him to say please and thank you and most importantly to bat his eyes at her. If you bat your eyes, she will always do what you want her to. Of course, Grandma heard the whole conversation and got him what he wanted.

Little did I know at that very moment, I had created a couple little monsters when it comes to the eye batting technique. There have been several instances where the kids have used this technique to get what they want.

Here’s how it happened last night:

Andy: “Mom, can I mail this to Jake?”

Me: “Andy, I don’t know.”

Andy: “But Mom, look at my eyes.”

I look up at him and he’s batting his big beautiful blue eyes at me. How can I say no to that?!

This technique also works on Dad:

Alyssa: “Dad, will you cut my pancakes for me?”

Tim: “Can’t you cut them?”

Alyssa: “Please, Dad.”

Tim: “Look at me and bat your eyes.”

I’ll admit I’m also guilty of asking them to bat their eyes. It’s just so cute and always brings a smile to my face.

Today the boys went to a birthday party. Alex kept asking, “Will I get a present?” He was really asking about a goodie bag.

It made me think: Why do we give goodie bags in the first place?

First let’s look at the financial aspect of it. If you are having a party at a facility, you are probably paying around $10 (if not more) for each child to attend, then it is expected that you give goodie bags on top of that. Typically goodie bags are filled with inexpensive trinkets that either break after playing with them for five minutes and/or candy. So really, junk. After you’ve paid for someone else’s kid to come swim, bowl, do gymnastics or whatever the party entails, you still have to give them stuff on top of that. Why?!

I don’t know how we got in the habit of giving goodie bags. I know that when I was a kid, I never got one when I left a party. If I were to guess, I’d have to say that it stems from making all kids feel special. Like how everyone gets a trophy for just participating in a sport. You don’t even get to be special on your own birthday anymore. You have to give your friends junk so their feelings aren’t hurt.

Have you heard about Bill Gates’ High School speech about the Eleven Rules of Life? No? You can view them here. However, they aren’t from Bill Gates. It’s really from Charles Sykes. He talks about how this feel-good, politically correct teaching has created a full generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept sets them up for failure in the real world.

This is so true. It’s just like the plot from The Incredibles. Once everyone is special, then no one is special.

Let’s get back to the basics of letting someone be special when they deserve it. Mothers of the Internet unite, NO MORE GOODIE BAGS! Who’s with me??

Each week at school, a student is picked to be “Star Stallion,” in essence, Star of the Week. Alex and Andy have been picked to be the Star for their classroom this week. Over the weekend we had to fill out a poster about them. Questions included: favorite color, favorite sport, where I live and what I want to be when I grow up.

When I asked Alex what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said, “An elf.”

I thought for a second about telling him that really isn’t a job. But I didn’t want to squash his dream. He enjoys sharing his money to help others. And who says that when he grows up, he’ll continue to be free with his earnings and help those in need. That’s basically and elf so I let him go with it.

Monday, after they got off the bus and I asked how their day went. Alex says to me, “Mom, I’m upset with my friends.”

Me: “Why?”

Alex: “Because when I said I wanted to be an elf, all my friends laughed at me.”

The rage welled up inside me. Kids can be so mean. Refraining from going on a tirade, “Well, that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

Alex: “No.”

Me: “You know what buddy, you can be whatever you want to be. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t. I’m going to support you in whatever you choose to do.”

Today I’m going to school to read; maybe I’ll give those mean kids a few dirty looks. OK, maybe not! I know kids are learning. I also have heard my kids make some mean comments. I immediately correct them. But when someone hurts your baby, you just want to protect them.

Do you remember as a youth how you got in trouble for using curse words? OK, well I did. Then, as you got older when you could say them without getting in trouble? You thought you were so cool.

Then you had kids and knew your days of cursing were over? Well, at least they should be. However, sometimes the frustration and heat of the moment get the best of you and they just slip out.

In my case, I know they flow much more freely than they should. I’ve told my kids that there is only one of me and three of them that they need to learn a little patience. However, they tend to forget that at times.

The other day we are getting in the van, Tim tells Alex to get buckled. He’s struggling and trying to get it but for some reason the belt just wasn’t cooperating.

He screeches with all the venom and anger of a 5-year-old, “Just give me a damn minute.”

Awe, yes, I’ve heard those words wail from my own mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a silent laugh, but I’m sure Alex was full aware that what he did made his Mommy laugh. Tim looks at me with the that’s your fault look.

If you’ve ever wondered what all your bad habits are, have kids. They’ll let you know.

January 4, 2000 – The day my wonderful little girl was born. Today she turned nine. NINE! OMG, how time flies!

This year’s celebration included a sleep-over with a few of her friends. It’s always hard to schedule something on her actual birthday since it’s so close to Christmas. We did the sleep-over Saturday night so when they woke up today, it would be her birthday.

The sleep-over was a big hit!! Alyssa was so happy!! They had so much fun. And they all got along so great. I heard comments like:

Oh, I’m sorry, you were there first.

It’s OK.

Are you sure?

Yeah.

Thanks.

Are you guys having fun?

YEAH!! This is the best birthday ever.

Wow! What a great group of girls! As we get closer to the teen years and the stories of all the drama, I hope that this group can remain the wonderful girls they are today.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALYSSA!! I LOVE YOU!!!

Tim said years ago, that I could handle Alyssa’s bathroom issues. I told him that he would be responsible for Alex and Andy. After several cases of severe skid-marks, I told Tim he needed to step up to the plate, or should I say toilet, and teach them the proper wiping method. Hell, I don’t care if it is proper method, as long as they get the job done.

Tim neglected his duties until…yesterday. Alex was sitting on his lap.

Tim asks: “Good gravy boy, did you toot?”

Alex: “No, it’s my butt.”

A few minutes later…

Tim: “Did you toot again?”

Alex: “No, Dad, it’s my butt.”

Tim decided he needed to do a little inspection and sure enough… chunks. After removing the, well, you know. It was time for a lesson. FINALLY!!!

The snow moved in around noon. There wasn’t much accumulation. But it was cold, THAT was the problem. It made the roads slick. I watched people pushing cars in effort to get them out of the spinning wheel hell.

Crap, there is no way I’m going to make it home in time to get the kids off the bus. No problem, Alyssa has a key to the house for just such emergencies. She knows the rules, get in the house, lock the doors and call me.

I waited until five minutes after they should have been home then called. No answer. That’s OK. The weather is bad so maybe they are just a little later.

Actually, that’s the time they had already gotten in the house and Alyssa was on the phone with the alarm company. Tim’s been setting the alarm.

I was on the phone when they called me. While in voicemail, I also missed Alyssa’s call. I called her back and learned everyone was safe inside. She said the boys wanted to go outside. I knew that was coming. I told her to stay inside, have a snack and as long as everyone had their stuff picked up when I got home, they could go out.

A couple minutes later, my Mom calls. She’s on the list of people to call should our alarm goes off. I tell her that I need to call Tim and I’ll call her back.

Me: “You need to call Brinks and let them know everything is OK. The last thing we need is to have the police show up with our children home alone.”

Tim: “OK, what’s their number?”

Me: “I DON’T KNOW. If I had the number, I’d do it myself.”

I call Mom back to let her know what is going on. I reiterate about cops, kids, no parents.

Mom: “Well, kid, that lady said they had already contacted the police.”

Me: “I need to go and call my girl back to let her know the police might be coming.”

I call the house and Alyssa answers.

Alyssa: “Hi Mom.”

Me: “Hey, sweetie. Since it took you a little bit to get to the alarm, the alarm people called the police so they might be coming to the house.”

Alyssa: “Someone called here and I didn’t know who the heck it was. He kept asking me for a password and I didn’t know who it was.”

Me: “That was the alarm company sweetie.”

Alyssa: “There’s a police car now. Mom, I’ll just tell him that I was slipping and couldn’t get to the alarm.”

Me, as my heart sinks and I see myself making appearances in court trying to get my kids back from DFS: “Alyssa, it’s OK.”

Alyssa: “He’s turning on our street… he’s in our driveway… he’s getting out of the car.”

Me: “Alyssa, I’m going to stay on the phone with you. When he gets there, let me talk to him.”

Alyssa: “OK, Mom.”

I can hear the conversation:

Police Officer: “Hi, how old are you?”

Alyssa: “Eight.”

Police Officer: “And how old are you?”

Alyssa: “They are five. My Mom is stuck in traffic and I kept slipping and didn’t get to the alarm. I just kept slipping.”

Police Officer: “Do you watch your brothers a lot.”

Alyssa: “No, just when…”

At this point I am trying to yell into the phone to get Alyssa’s attention but no avail. During this time I get a voice mail from Tim: Hey, it’s just me, I got a hold of Brinks and they called off the police.

I hang up and call back.

Police Officer: “Officer (inaudible), Lee’s Summit Police Department.”

Me: “Umm, hi, this is Mom.”

Police Officer: “Are they left home a lot?”

Me: “NO! I’m stuck in traffic and she has a key just for emergencies.”

Police Officer: “Do you have an ETA?”

Me: “I just got off the highway at View High. I should be there soon.”

Police Officer: “OK, I’m going to give the phone to your daughter. I’m not worried about them. I think they are OK. Are you guys OK? Are you going to be alright until your Mom gets home?”

I could here mumbled voices: “Yeah.”

Alyssa: “Mom?”

Me: “Hi, sweetie. I’ll be home in about five minutes.”

I arrive and they greet me at the door. I’m bombarded with questions and comments: “Mom, why were you in traffic? Did you know the police were here? Why were you in traffic?”

I gathered my purse and computer. Once inside, they had already found their snow boots and were ready to go outside. The trauma from being left alone and the police had worn off. They were ready for snow!!!!

At what age can you have your child tested to determine IQ? I’ve already mentioned here that Alex is my most difficult child, yet I also think he is most likely to be very successful. I think that because he’s my most difficult child is why he’ll be successful. I think he gets bored and pushes the envelop. Now I know a lot of you are sitting there thinking she’s lost it. Maybe I have. But what if I haven’t? What if I’m really on to something? How would I go about testing him? Should I get him tested?

I’ve convinced him that women are smarter than men. The other night he asked me if Santa knows everything. I love this time of year when I can blackmail my kids behavior with Santa won’t visit if… I, of course, told him that he did.

He looked at me very matter of fact and said, “No, Mom, he doesn’t. Remember only girls know.”

I did the only appropriate thing a Mother could do, “Well, he has Mrs. Claus to help him.”

After all the fun and games, I decided that if I truly want him to excel, I needed to tell him that boys are smart too. Here’s how it went:

Me: “Alex, did you know boys could be smart?”

Alex: “No.”

Me: “Well they can. They can be very smart. You’re a boy and you’re very smart. Did you know that?”

Alex: “Yes.”

Me: “Good! And because you are so smart you can be anything you want when you grow up. Do you know what you want to be?”

Alex: “A counter.”

Me: “Mommy’s a counter (accountant) and she doesn’t like it.” Translated this means I have high hopes for you kid, don’t mess it up.

Tim: “Alex, if you want to be a counter, you can be a counter.”

I think my reluctance is because I’m trying to change careers and am having a difficult time doing so. I know the job I want (medical sales), but I can’t get a call back from those companies. I know times are tough but it is so frustrating!!

I have big aspirations for Alex. I keep pushing him towards being a doctor. However, after he watched a little bit of Grey’s Anatomy with me last week, I don’t know if he can handle being a doctor. Whatever you decide to be, Alex, just be happy doing it.

So, seriously, should I get him tested?? What are your thoughts? I’m curious. 

Is it girlie for boys to have their toenails painted? What if the name of the polish is Girlie or Totally Tangerine? And what does it mean to be girlie anyway?

I like to have my toenails painted. It is something that I regularly do for myself. I try to hide from the kids when I’m giving myself a pedicure otherwise everyone wants their nails done. By everyone, I mean Alyssa, Alex and Andy. And yes, sometimes Tim. OK, I’m kidding about Tim or am I?

A few days ago I was unsuccessful in concealing myself from the boys. They begged and pleaded, “Mom, would you, please, paint my nails?”

“No.”

“Please, Mom. Why did you paint Alyssa’s?”

“Guys, boys don’t usually get their nails painted.”

“But you’ve done it before.”

BUSTED! I finally agreed to paint them. They wear socks and shoes to school so no one will see them anyway. Although, there was this time several months ago that Alex had to take off his socks and shoes to show his teacher his beautifully painted toenails.

I know some men that would throw an absolute fit about having their son’s toenails painted because of the stigmatism that is associated with painted nails. I’m quite sure that there isn’t some mysterious substance in nail polish that turns you into a girl or makes you gay for that matter.

Like all kids, the boys aspire to be like their parents, at least while they are young anyway. Since I am the primary caretaker, the boys want to be just like me. And that means having painted toenails, like Mom. So sometimes I break down and just do it. It truly isn’t worth the argument and gives us an opportunity to spend a little time together.  

I don’t worry about what other people think about my boys having painted toes. I do worry about them being teased and taunted about something very innocent. A pedicure is a nice luxury for me. I just don’t want it to be a continual chore for me. That’s why I don’t paint their nails all the time.