Parenting Tweens from Misery to Mermaids

There are many things about parenting that make me want to bang my head against a wall or just scream and walk away.  But, obviously the good outweighs the bad or humanity would cease to exist.  At the Dickerson house, we have many struggles and definitely don't have it all together like many of those other people with blogs and Facebook accounts.  Our daily struggles are real and real hard to appreciate and love.

One of our biggest daily struggles right now is the constant bickering and fighting among the girls.  Typically, Taylor is involved.  Yes, I posted about her mellow personality but that's only for "the real world".  At home, she can be quite the antagonizer.  And, in her defense, she is the middle child.  Kennedy is old enough to know that at her age (almost 12), it would be pretty ridiculous to argue with a 4 year old BADkid.  So, the 1147 times each day daily struggle is Kennedy vs. Taylor or Taylor vs. BADkid.

It's really amazing to m that at 6:00 A.M. each morning, when my oldest two girls have been awake for less than 45 seconds, they can find something to fight about.  Typically, it's one of them "in the way" of the other one.  They have an hour to get ready for school.  Neither of them requires more than 30 minutes total.  However, Taylor MUST be in the middle of the bathroom when Kennedy MUST be trying to put in her contacts.  Or if Taylor decides to eat breakfast first thing, she will definitely realize that Kennedy is in her seat at the table.  It doesn't matter, they are going to make sure that we leave home each morning with at least one "figure out how to get along" statement from an irritated mother.  I've grown as a parent--okay, maybe it's not growth, but growth sounds better than given up.  I just ignore them and pray that although they drive each other crazy, one day they will appreciate each other and defend each other when necessary.

And, guess what happened on Wednesday evening...

I asked Kennedy to do her chores before Chad got home from work.  In typical preteen fashion, she pretended to go through the motions.  As she was unloading the dishwasher, Taylor was reading through a Scholastic book order form.  Suddenly, they decided they could get along and share everything.  After several reminders to Kennedy that she had to do the dishes, I sent Taylor to her room to quit distracting Kennedy.  After redirecting Kennedy once again, I went out to the shop to check in with BADkid and Chad.

Upon my return to the house, I was greeted with a "Mom, look what we made up!"  Based on the excessive amount of giggles and smiles from both of them, I figured their project was probably video worthy.  And honestly, I wanted tangible proof to remind them that they DO love each other.

Amazing!  They can get along and work together when the goal is to avoid chores!  I've never truly appreciated the artistry of The Little Mermaid like I do now.

Daddy's Girls

All three of our girls have Chad wrapped around their little fingers.  Thirty little fingers.  Think about that.  That's a lot of little-girl fingers to take care of as "Chief Rule Maker" and "Heart Holder". 

I've shared with the world that I am (and always have been) a Daddy's girl.  As a mother now, I have a new respect for all the the time, energy, and commitment that my mother put into me and my brothers.  Mom did most of the work, but Dad got most of my credit--maybe it's nature, hard wiring, or likely just a gift from God.  Who knows? What I am sure of is that my relationship with my Daddy was an integral part of my "success" of getting to adulthood.  

Thinking back to those years in my life where so many young girls struggled and made poor choices regarding drugs, alcohol, promiscuity, etc., I often wonder how I made it through with relatively few, minor scars.  I've even considered my peers and their situations and outcomes.  Although none of us were perfect, my friends (from my teen years and beyond) and I made choices based on a respect and fear of disappointing the significant men in our lives.  Those of you reading this can relax, this blog is not a confessional booth.  I'll never tell when we....   

 Back to the point.

As parents to three daughters, Chad and I have had many conversations with each other and other parents with whom we respect.  We've spent countless hours discussing, thinking, and praying for wisdom and courage to raise our daughters in a way that will help them survive their childhood and teenage years without unnecessary heartache and regret.

I know that as the mother, I handle a lot of the day to day duties and running around for our girls.  Most often I get to referee the fights, clean up the messes, wipe the noses, and hand out the discipline.   However, Chad and I both know that as the Daddy, he is the first man of their lives.  That is a huge responsibility.  I can say that although I want to strangle him occasionally, he is the perfect father for our greatest blessings.   

Dads have a difficult job, but I believe that Daddies of girls have an extra tough job in today's world.  I just wanted to take the time to tell this Daddy how proud I am of what he does for each of our girls on a daily basis. 

 Here's a photo tribute to the awesome moments between the toddler girl, Blake, and Daddy over the last few weeks.  

Notice the "vomit mat" on the floor.  She was a sick little girl.

Yes, he was wearing a purple "amulet" to make her happy.

"Cratch my legs" 

"Throwed outta gear" according to the transmission mechanic.

As our girls get older, their relationships with Chad change.  This man is a genius at all of the stages we've encountered so far.  Stay tuned to see the photos of the other stages--stuck in the middle with Taylor and hormone raged tween with Kennedy.

Tough Questions from Girls

Today has been full of the most amazing conversations with my girls.  I'll get right to the point...

On the way home from school...

Kennedy:  Well, I think I'm going to break up with Mr.XYZ.
Me:  Really.  Why?
Kennedy:  Well, you know we used to be able to just talk about stuff and I could just say what I thought.  Now I kind of feel like I have to be careful because I wonder what he's going to think.  You know?  I don't want to make him mad.
Me:  Uh huh. (As I cringe because she cares what a boy thinks)  So you're worried about what he thinks about what you think?
Kennedy: Really, he said something today that I just knew was wrong.  You know when you hear someone say something that you KNOW is wrong, but you don't want to say anything because you don't want them to get mad at you?
Me:  Ohhh.  What did he say that you knew was wrong? (as I'm imagining something really philosophical and important that has me quite curious because this Mr.XYZ is a great kid from a great family that has values and beliefs very similar to ours)
Kennedy:  I heard him saying that Wylie is in the middle of town and that Middle School and High School are way out of the way.  Mom, you know that Wylie IS NOT in the middle of town.
Me:  I agree Wylie is on the edge of town, not in the middle, but do you really think that is worth breaking up about?
Kennedy:  Well, this is not the first time we've had this problem.
Me:  Really?
Kennedy:  Well, not about that exact conversation, but sometimes he says things, and I know he is wrong.  Before he was my boyfriend I would just tell him he's wrong, but now it just makes it too weird.  I think it was just easier before boyfriends.  You know, when we were all just friends and just told each other what we think?
Me:  Life is definitely easier before boyfriends.  I agree that you should take life easy in fifth grade.  But, maybe you could also consider that it's okay for your boyfriend to know what you really think?
Kennedy:  I still think I'm going to break up with him when I finally get the chance to talk to him again.
Me:  Well, you do what you think is best, but remember that he was your friend first and a real friend is nice and says things for herself, not through other kids.

We stop at the pound and see a mom dog with 5 tiny (born today) puppies.  We head on home and do homework, etc.  About an hour and a half later, we leave to take Kennedy to softball practice.

Taylor: Mom, you have to have a bull and a girl cow to make baby cows, right?
Me: Yes.
Taylor:  Mom, so if you don't have a bull and a girl cow then you won't get any calves?
Me:  That's right, Taylor
Taylor:  So, a boy bull and a girl cow can have a baby cow.
Me:  Yes, Taylor.  A boy bull can get a girl cow pregnant so that she can have a baby calf.
Taylor:  How exactly does that work, anyway?
Me:  I'll tell you exactly how that works, but not today in the car on the way to softball practice.
Taylor:  Oh.

So, I call Chad who was supposed to pick Kennedy up from softball practice on his way home from work.  I conveniently offer to meet him to let him take Taylor and Blake home while I wait for Kennedy at softball practice.  It wasn't really avoidance, but I'll admit after I had the plan I was kind of hoping that on the way home Taylor just might say, "Dad, how exactly does that work, anyway?"

On the way home from softball practice, Kennedy surprises me with some questions of her own.

Kennedy:  Mom, will you teach me how to drive?
Me:  No.  That's Daddy's deal.
Kennedy:  What do you mean?
Me:  I do bottles, diapers, and homework, but driving is Daddy's deal.
Kennedy:  So you just do bottles, diapers, and homework?
Me:  Well, I'll even do pads and tampons, but driving is Daddy's deal.
Kennedy:  You do boyfriends too.
Me:  Yes, I'll do boyfriends but driving is Daddy's deal.
Kennedy:  So, you're saying you'll do tampons and even boyfriends but you won't do driving?
Me:  Exactly (stated with great authority as I realized how ridiculous it must sound)

It's been an exhilarating, exhausting day as "Mom". 

Carseat or Toxic Landfill?

I feel like it's my job as a woman, wife, mother, and friend to share my nuggets of wisdom (when appropriate) with others to help them feel 'normal' or avoid unnecessary grief.

For example, many of my friends who had their first baby after I had Kennedy know the 'I don't even want her story'.  Similarly, Chad and I made it our mission to tell new parents that newborns sleep amazingly well in the hospital only to come home and forget how.  We seriously felt like some great people let us down by not telling us that our first night home from the hospital with a baby would be about 15 minutes on this side of the destination hades.

So, here's my newest wisdom. Those of you who figured this out and didn't let me in on the secret are on my Christmas list under 'Memaw's fruitcake'. That's not good, folks. 

Back to the nugget of wisdom...buying one of those 250 in 1 convertible carseats is a bad idea. First of all, those of us in Texas know that with the fairly recent law changes, kids need to be in a carseat until they go to high school. Well, maybe not all kids, but when you only have 1 person in 3 generations of family over 5 feet 8 inches tall, your kids can expect to take their booster seat on their first date. 

The convertible carseat seemed so obvious with child 3.  She was the last kid, so there would be no need to trade, upgrade, shuffle like we did with the older kids.  However, the seat is FILTHY. We don't typically let our kids eat in the car. It doesn't matter. Today I completely disassembled the seat. It was absolutely shameful. I hesitate to post these picture because CPS may be able to use it as evidence of unlivable conditions.  

Seriously, she's been using this seat for a little over 2 years. It has been spot cleaned a time or two. How does this happen?  Ugh. 

Here's the best part. Look at the ooey, gooey, sticky nastiness down in the seat. Biohazard is the word that came to mind as I began to scrape and scrub with disinfectant wipes.

Now for the last picture, I will say that I do take the seat out, vacuum underneath it and shake it out often. Seriously, about once a month the seat receives  what I naively thought was a decent 'shake down'. After performing said shakedown outside, this is what I dumped out in the floor while disassembling the seat. 

My thoughts are that a convertible carseat sounds great. Who doesn't love the idea of needing only 1 for all of the ages and stages?  However, the carseat becomes a toxic landfill before the child outgrows it.  

Unfortunately for me, I'm both a tightwad and a little OCD. The filth is gross, but the idea of getting rid of a perfectly safe carseat to buy a new, clean one just won't settle in my soul. Therefore, these tools and a lot of elbow grease had to suffice. 

I must say, the end product really wasn't too bad. 

Carseat looks pretty good, but I'm exhausted. All of those hooks and straps just pop right off. Not a single one just popped right back on though. I think I'll take on this project again in exactly 894 days!  

Those of you with babies and toddlers in your future, consider the reality of the toxicity of that convertible carseat over the course of 1-7 years. Might be ok to get one stage at a time and trash it when time to progress to next type of seat. 

Three

Numbers are an integral part of our daily lives.  I'm sure everyone else is just like us in the ridiculous number of numbers that you encounter every single day.  We have phone numbers, house numbers, passwords. We even have a digital lock on our house with a number to make it open so I don't have to keep up with the key. 

At least once every few weeks, one of our kids will get on a kick about "favorites".  We answer questions about favorite foods, movies, books, colors, and numbers.  The number three has a special place in the list of favorites at our house.  Dale Earnhardt drove the number three car before he was killed.  As early as February 2002, the first NASCAR race after Kennedy's birth, our kids have enjoyed (or endured) countless hours of NASCAR and conversations about Earnhardt and Junior.  Needless to say, when Kennedy was asked what number she preferred on her softball team last month, she immediately answered "three!". 

The number three is significant to Chad because of his hero and Kennedy because she adores her daddy and has been brainwashed.  Taylor is excited about third grade next month.  We do have three kids and are currently living in our third house as a family while I work my third job since college.  However, the number three is my least favorite number! 

BADkid is three.  I love that child with every fiber of my being.  However, she is three.  I can't even recall the number of times (maybe 33,333) I have thought and said, "I don't remember three being this bad before".  Is it because she is the THIRD child?  Maybe it's because I'm in my 30s?  Maybe it's a combination of all of the above? 

Blake Alayne is an affectionate, tender, loving child for about 20 minutes of each week.  Beyond that, she is wide open and will test every single thing you say to her every single time.  If you've seen her in action, you probably said something really disgusting like "she's so cute".  You probably heard me say something really honest like "only because she doesn't live at your house".  Seriously, I love her, but she is wearing me out.

Here's a tiny glimpse into my morning at the grocery store.

Get out of car and unbuckle kid who has taken off her shoes.  Tell her to put her shoes on.  Take doll and blanket away from kid and repeat that she must put her shoes on her feet.  Wait 2 minutes because she has decided to squeal "my caint!" instead of bend over and pick up her shoes.  Explain to kid that she can take either the doll or the blanket into the store, but not both.  Give up reasoning with kid.  Throw doll and blanket back in car and head for the entrance.  Hold kid's hand in a death grip across parking lot as kid tries to pull hand away and continuously repeats "I big girl.  I listen!"  Get buggy.  Explain to kid that she must hold buggy.  Kid darts off away from buggy.  Put kid in seat in buggy as kid demands "I big girl. I listen. I walk."  Pick shoes up off floor and toss into back of buggy.  Quickly zip through store and buy only the necessary items while repeating the phrase "sit down" at least once every three minutes and resorting to spanking.  Check out, open car door and let kid get in while putting groceries in the truck.  Return buggy to holder, tell kid to sit in her seat to buckle.  Kid tries to climb into front seat of car, grab kid, explain danger of playing in car, put her in seat, turn around because someone spoke, kid tries to escape, grab kid, hold into seat while buckling as she screams, "My do it my se---elf!!"

In our world with the three year old, everything takes three times as long and requires more patience than I can accumulate in three weeks.  Some days I feel like the only time I can relax my guard is when she is sleeping, which only happens briefly.  My BADkid spends so much time and energy getting into mischief and demanding things be her way that when she finally crashes, she is "throwed outta gear" like this.  (Yes, those of us living life with a transmission mechanic actually hear and use phrases such as that).

I do love this BADkid.  I sometimes even sit and chuckle as I think of all the cute, precious, funny things she says and does.  As I was finishing this post she woke up from her brief nap.  She stretched, climbed up in my chair, hugged me and said, "I wuv you sooo much."  Of course I said, "I love you soooo much too" as I silently thought "One day she will be four and "they" say I'll miss this, but right now I'm thankful we only have to endure 365 days of THREE!"

Things I hear in the car...

After getting into the hot car and having to wait about 90 seconds for me to get in and turn on the air conditioner, Taylor said, 'Man! It's so hot I think I'm going to faint!'

Naturally, BADkid had to repeat what she heard and said, 'Momma, I donna paint!'

Taylor corrected her with 'FAINT, Ffff, not Ppp'.

BADkid says, 'I donna faint!'

Thinking it was funny, I asked, 'Blake, do you even know what faint means?'

In typical 'I know she's not asking me but I'm the bigger sister and I know everything' fashion, Taylor says with attitude, 'It's when you fall down and don't wake back up!'

Kennedy very seriously says, 'Umm, no, that's dead!'

Would He Share His Jacket?

Kennedy and I had a real "heart to heart" last week about boys.  She's a little shy about the subject, but definitely interested in more information. She mentioned a certain someone who she enjoys visiting with at school.  I asked her if he liked her too.  She shrugged her shoulders, grinned, and said, "I don't know."  We've spent time discussing appropriate behavior for young ladies and young men.  Specifically, Chad and I have tried to instill in her that it is normal to like boys.  However, it is not acceptable to be aggressive with boys.  It's such a fine line.  I want her to be confident, but not "that girl".  We've tried to model and point out other examples of chivalry and proper male-female interactions.  So, after considering what we've tried to teach her, I thought the "I don't know" provided an opportunity to pick her brain.  

Me:  If it was freezing cold outside, and you didn't have on a jacket but Mr.XYZ did, would he let you wear his jacket?

K:  I don't know.  My friends who are girls would because they always have two jackets.  They're just like me.  They forget to bring one home so they always have extra jackets in their lockers.

Me:  If I was standing outside in the cold, would Daddy let me wear his jacket?

K:  Of course!

Me: Why do you think he would?

K:  Because he's your HUSBAND!

Me:  Why else?

K: Because he likes you?

Me:  Because when you care about someone, you try to help. Daddy cares about my comfort and warmth.  And, because he's my HUSBAND.  

She kind of laughed and bowed out of the conversation.  I just giggled and thanked God that she was willing to talk about boys with me.  Although it is an exciting time as a mom, it is most definitely the scariest time I can remember thus far.

The next day when I picked Kennedy up from school she closed the car door, buckled her seat belt and said, "Well, I asked him."  I had no idea what she was talking about.  I said, "Asked who? What?"  She grinned and said, "I asked Mr.XYZ if it was cold outside if he would let me wear his jacket."  I smiled and said, "Well...what did he say?"  She said, "First he said he would, but then he said he wouldn't."  I was confused and said, "What?"  She said, "Well, he said he would but then he remembered that he dropped it in the ants the night before so he wouldn't want me to get ants all over me so he didn't think he would."  I smiled and asked, "So, what do you think that means?"  She blushed and said, "He probably likes me."

Again, I thanked God that she wants to talk about this delicate subject.  Again, I asked God to protect her heart and her innocence.  Again, I took the first opportunity to call her daddy and say, "Prepare yourself!  She is growing up!"

Cupid was at work on Valentine's Day.  Kennedy met me in the hall with a huge smile and a stuffed animal. After asking several questions, I figured out that a third party was involved in the conversation, but that this special guy is officially declared as "boyfriend".  Before the third party got involved in the situation, Mr.XYZ gave Kennedy a gift.  I had to ask what he said when he gave her the stuffed animal.  She looked irritated that I asked but then said, "He just handed it to me and said this is for you.  Happy Valentine's Day."

Mr.XYZ's no nonsense explanation of the gift made me giggle.  It touched a special place in my heart.  About 14 years ago, Chad gave me a gift.  It was a diamond ring.  He opened the box, pushed it toward me and said, "What do ya think?"    

Oh my!  My sweet little 5 pound, 14 ounce baby girl has become a young lady.  It is a bitter sweet time in our lives.  We don't have all the answers to these difficult questions.  However, she does have amazing men in her life, including her Daddy, Pa, Pops, and numerous uncles and friends, to watch and learn what she can expect from a young man.  How many other mothers can look their daughter in the face and honestly say, "I hope you eventually date and marry someone like your father so that you too can experience an amazing marriage"?

Thursday was F-U-N-N-Y

Thursday afternoon was one funny comment after another on the way to gymnastics.

Taylor was telling me that they wrote poetry at school that day. She said, 'We wrote our name and then made a poem about ourselves with the letters. Here's mine. T is for thankful. A is for awesome. Y is for young. L is for lazy. O is for I forgot what o was for. R is for remembers.'

I said, 'R is for remembers but you forgot O?'

She smiled and said, 'But aren't you glad I was honest and said L is for lazy cause I am!'

Kennedy asked, 'Mom, do you know any Muslims?'

I said, 'Yes, do you?' She had to inquire about who I knew but went on to say there was a young Muslim girl in her G/T class who didn't go to lunch that day because 'she was vasting.'

Yes, she clarified it for me V-A-S-T-I-N-G and that means you don't eat or drink from sun up to sun down because your dad said it's a vasting day.

She's got it all!

I have an amazingly, awesome nine year old.  She made me a mom and Chad a dad.  I never really thought a lot about that, but that's a huge accomplishment, right? 

Kennedy and I at her first Rangers game

Kennedy is beautiful. 

Deer Lease Days

I think all of my girls are beautiful, but something about her bronzed skin and striking eyes just make me stare at her in awe sometimes.  She has a heart of gold.  She is not perfect.  Her number one struggle at this stage of life is pouting.  Although pouting makes me crazy, I know that she is going to overcome this struggle.


Kennedy is SMART. 

See.  She knows to send in someone else to check it out first!

I have always been very cautious not to label my children as "smart" because I teach kids in a public school.  Approximately 99% of parents think their kids are above average, or even brilliant.  Now, I know my kids are above average.  Seriously, DNA like mine and Chad's...what else could they be other than phenomenal?  Oh, let me reach my arm back around from patting myself on the back and get back to the point.  Kennedy.  Kennedy attended kindergarten, first grade, and second grade at the tiny school where I work.  She stood out among many of her peers.  Her teachers would rave about how well she did in school. I've heard several times, "If I had a class full of Kennedy..." or "I just love having her in class". As a teacher, I know that often the well-behaved kids are considered to be the top students.  And even more often than that, the kids who have stable home lives and parents who read to them appear to be brilliant while the under-exposed children may need a few years to catch up on life experiences.  So, I have been skeptical.

She's really just a country girl

At the beginnin of third grade, Kennedy changed schools.  She attended the school in our town rather than the school where I work.  She went from a single class of each grade (about 22 students) to about 200 third graders.  I was a nervous wreck about such a change for her.  However, within her first three days of school, the school called.  They wanted to do some testing to determine her IQ, etc.  She was subsequently placed in the G/T program.  (Disclaimer--I know that many intelligent children are not accepted into the G/T program.  I know that most of us parents consider our "over-achiever" children to be gifted.  I think Kennedy probably hoovers on the border and definitely is an over achiever.  And to be honest, research shows that on average, the over-achiever type people are more successful than the truly gifted people based on ability to maintain employment, relationships, etc.)  I was proud of Kennedy for being selected for the G/T program because it gave her a dose of confidence in a scary new school.  And for the record, she has had a phenomenal year with amazing projects in G/T.  The real point here was that in her new school with a lot of third graders, Kennedy got an award for reading.  Yes, this is brag on Kennedy blog.  I am so proud that she is able to excel "in the big pond" and not just at the tiny school.

Fashion?  Well, she was going for the 80s look!

Kennedy is definitely one of the best big sisters on the planet.  Now, she has had almost seven years to practice this most important role.  She is incredibly mature and responsible when I need her to be.  She is not immune from the day to day fussing and instigating to irritate her younger sisters.  However, when it comes right down to it, I can always count on Kennedy to take the initiative to help her sisters and keep them safe.

Our "brother"-- Digger Nascar Dickerson

Sister Stars

Kennedy is intense.  She is passionate.  When Kennedy does something, she DOES it with all of her being.  Some of her favorite things to do right now are play softball, read, and fish.  She's pretty serious about hunting as well!  She is such a great kid.  She's what I would consider to be well rounded.  One funny thing about Kennedy that many people don't realize is that she is a chicken!  She can bargain her way out of just about anything if it involves thunder, the dark, or being alone.  Remember her desperate need for her own room almost a year ago?  Well, she has her own room now and hasn't slept in it alone yet.  Poor Taylor has become the corner sleeper on the floor while Kennedy enjoys the bed. 



Serious about the game



No time to play.  We are here to FISH!

All or nothing...including the jewelry

This is one fine kid!  She's funny.  She's intuitive.  She "gets it" when others may not.  If she figures out how to deal with her disappointments approriately and always has a flashlight for the dark, she will be unstoppable in life!

Well, Poop!

This post may be TMI for some.  However, if you've had children or spent significant amounts of time with them, it's just the norm.

About a week and a half ago, I had to take Blake to the doctor.  She had an infection on her rear.  The pediatrician didn't culture it, but acknowledge that it was either staph or strep and that a 10 day regimen of antibiotic should clear it right up.  Within 48 hours, Blake was well on her way to recovery.

Obviously, that isn't exciting enough to be a post of its own, so here's be rest of the story...

After about 48 hours when the infection appeared to be healing nicely, Blake began grabbing at her bottom and whining A.LOT.  I mean constant whining.  As pitiful as she was, it made me smile (just before I began to think obscenities) each time she said, "Hut me! It hut me!"as she pulled at her crotch.  I began to investigate this situation and finally figured out that although the whining was persistent, it was definitely exaggerated each time she had to pee. 

Although she was on an antibiotic for the original infection, it seemed that maybe she had developed a urinary tract infection to go along with it.  After spending a while on the phone with the nurse and the doctor on call, he suggested that we bring her to the office the next morning. 

Naturally, they needed a urine sample from the very NOT potty-trained two year old.  After several minutes of begging, bribing, and praying for urine, they decided to cath her to get the sample.  Surprisingly, the sample was clear.  So, as the pediatrician sat and watched Blake's hiney-grabbing, whining, squirming display of discomfort, he agreed that something was going on with her.  But, he also acknowledged that he wasn't sure what the problem was because everything seemed to be normal and she did not "feel" constipated, etc. 

He assured me that within a day or so she would either get better or her problem would become obvious enough to identify.  Although I agreed, I was hesitant to leave the office without a real answer.  After all, I wasn't concerned about a life-threatening situation, but I was concerned about my sanity with all of the whining, crying, etc.  As I gathered up our things and he completed his chart notes, Blake loudly proclaimed, "I POOP!"

And, she did.  Yes, she was constipated.  Yes, she did cry.  After witnessing "the poop", the doctor said that he was glad to know the problem but didn't really suspect it because she was so well hydrated, her abdomen didn't feel "full", and her discomfort seemed to be related to urinating.

Well, the problem was identified and a solution was in progress.  And, we even had a plan to prevent the problem in the future.  But, what we don't seem to have is Blake's faith.

She has been medicated for over a week now.  She has only had soft poop in a week.  However, the kid won't poop!  Now, I know this has you thinking more about poop than you typically would in a month (unless you are my friend Jessica), but I am losing my mind!

Here's just a glimmer of our last 48 hours...

Blake:  Momma, it huts me.  Momma, up me!  Up! Me! (As she squeezes her butt cheeks together and reaches up for me to hold her)

Me: Do you need to go potty?

Blake: No!

Me:  I think you need to poop.  Let's go sit on the potty.

Blake: No!

She sits on the pot.  I read a book to her.  I ask her to poop.  I tell her to poop.  I beg her to poop.  She squirms and squeezes her butt cheeks together and tries to get off the pot.  After about 10 minutes, I surrender to the toddler, replace the diaper, and begin again.

Blake:  Up me!  Hut me!

Me:  Let's go potty

Blake: No!

I sit with her and try to talk her into pooping in the diaper.  She continues to squirm and whine and make me crazy.  She doesn't poop.  She stands up and tries to walk around, but can't walk because she's trying to hold her butt cheeks together so she won't poop.  Frustrated beyond explanation, my "super mom skills" kick in and I very affectionately grumble at her, "If you're gonna poop then do it.  No one can do it but you.  If you're not going to poop then just keep crying and whining about it.  I'm sure it will help the situation."

Yes, this is my confession.  I have ZERO patience left with this situation.  How do I convince the kid that she is cured and should poop as needed?

What was I supposed to say?

This post almost didn't make it to the live blog. I'm still not 100% sure if it's even a good idea. So, if you are offended, please tell me why and how to better go about having this conversation with my children.

Thursday afternoon on the way home from school, Kennedy, Taylor and I had the following conversation:

K: Mom, my friend's sister go run over by a Mexican!

Me: Wait, wait, wait. She got run over by whom?

K: H, got run over by a Mexican, and her mom and dad sued that Mexican and got 800 million, billion dollars from that Mexican.

Me: Kennedy, it is not polite to refer to someone as "that Mexican". Mexican refers to a person who is from Mexico. Just because a person has brown skin does not make them a Mexican.

K: Well, that's what she said.

Me: Well, I do not want to hear you refer to someone as a Mexican unless you know for sure that they are from the country Mexico. It is more polite to refer to someone as hispanic or latino.

K: Well, M is a Mexican Mutt.

Me: WHAT?

K: M is a Mexican Mutt.

Me: Is that what M said?

K: Yes, he is a Mexican Mutt because his dad is a Mexi (pause) hispanic and his mom is white.

Me: Well, if M's parents allow him to refer to himself like that, I can't do anything about it, but you may not ever refer to someone as a Mexina Mutt. That is rude. The word that you should use is biracial.

K: What?

Me: Biracial. Like your bicycle has 2 tires...biracial means 2 races. M's 2 races are hispanic and caucasian or white. Like J at school. Her mother is hispanic and her father is black. So, J is biracial.

Taylor: That's right. J is brown and her mom and dad "buyed her at the races!"

So, I'm interested in knowing how other people have had the conversation with their children. I mean, we teach our children that God made all people, and that God loves each of us the same. We also tell them that they should love all people the same. However, that teaching does not automatically make our children colorblind or answer all of their questions. Any ideas?