Jelly Mom™

Down(time) but not out!

2009-04-28T23:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

I just wanted you to let you know that you can keep posted on Boo's health and the rest of the clan as well as any further writing I do here: http://www.jellymom.blogspot.com

If your kids are avid readers like mine, you'll want to check out the Childrens' Book Reviews blog I keep: http://www.jellymom-bookreviews.blogspot.com

A sampler of columns from the archives can be found here: http://www.jellymom.com/columns2.php

And for more great humor and laughs look for my two books, Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent! and Before I Had Kids I Was A Size 9 online at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble and Borders.

Talk to you soon!

Lisa

The end of Jelly Mom. Thank you!

2009-04-15T15:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for reading Jelly Mom. Writing for so many of you over the last five years has been a great pleasure.

As you know, one of my kiddos is terminally ill and I have been on sabbatical for the last six months, sending out reprints. Thank you for so generously continuing to receive Jelly Mom. The downtime has allowed me to discern that stepping back from Jelly Mom is the right thing to do and I am writing you today to let you know that I will no longer be writing new Jelly Mom columns or sending out reprints.

Thank you for the coveted space you allowed me in your inbox and for sharing Jelly Mom with your friends and family. I am so happy that I was able to share the antics of the kids I love so much with other parents who treasure their darlings much the same and for everyone else that also read, related and rolled on the floor laughing.

The books will continue to be available through Amazon.com as well as online through Borders and Barnes & Noble. They make wonderful gifts, especially for Mother's Day and birthdays and for those moms currently chasing little ones.

Very sincerely and warmly yours,
Lisa Barker
www.JellyMom.com

Toddler-Proofing Your Home In The New Millennium

2009-03-30T10:21:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

My home looks like the typical baby-proofed home: guards on the electrical outlets, covers on the doorknobs, latches on the cupboards, and gates strategically set up to keep knee-high explorers safe. Which they don't. All they do is make life more challenging for the adults in the household.

These gadgets are outdated and no match for the baby of the new millennium. It only took two months before both toddlers understood how to get around these impediments to their curiosity. (Even the kittens know how to take out the little plastic pieces that plug into the outlet.)

Needless to say, the gates are all looking haggard and bent and they are pretty much useless due to little ones either running full speed into them to crash them down or wearing them down by scaling them.

The dilemma? How to keep the little ones out of rooms they don’t belong in. The solution? Animatronics.

No kidding. I have one toddler that is scared to death of a dancing musical chicken I have (it clucks to the ever-popular 'Chicken Dance' song) and another that is terrified of the cute blue fuzzy monster made famous by Disney’s "Monsters Inc."

So I have placed these motion sensory activated toys EXACTLY where I don’t want the kids to tread. The results? Success!

Now I have both the pleasure of warding off children and hearing their screams so I know exactly where they are in the house. (In my childhood my mother and grandmother had eyes behind their backs. Now, as a parent, I have dancing toys that look possessed.)

“ROWWWWWWWRRRR!” says the blue monster. “EEEEEEEEEEEK!” says my one-year-old.

“Get away from the computer!” I warn from across the house.

“Pu-cock, PU-COCK!” pipes up the chicken. “Shrieeeeek!” screams my three-year-old.

“Get out of the kitchen!” I call out from another room.

So I've stocked up on animated toys…and now my home looks like an exhibit at Disneyland. And the toddlers sit quietly with unblinking eyes and severe facial tics…but let me point out that they are QUIET and not getting into everything.

And all this I do, not for some sense of retribution (to pay the little goobers back for constantly eking away at my own nerves)--oh, no! No, not at all, no siree, Bob. I'm doing this for their safety. Yeah, that's it.

Heaven knows I love these little ones and wouldn't want a thing to happen to them. Now pass me the remote. There's this talk show I want to catch while somewhere down the hall a chicken dances and a monster growls....

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

The Hazards of Working At Home

2009-03-15T23:00:00.000-07:00

© Lisa Barker

Moms that choose to run a home-based business are utterly out of their minds. I should know. I am one of those women.

Here’s a list of things you can count on happening, so be prepared.

1) You’ll buy 12 reams of paper for the printer and fax. Yet the very minute you need that paper there’s only one sheet left and a colossal collection of artwork tacked to the dining room wall thanks to the kids.

2) You’ll teach the kids to answer the phone professionally—because you never know who will call. Family, friends and colleagues all remark how well-trained your kids are when answering the phone. Then, a key person for the success of your business calls and gets “Yeah, what?” from a child with a mouthful of peanut butter.

3) Yes, you CAN work in your pajamas from home...if you don’t mind being surprised by UPS or FED EX when you’re the least glamorous.

4) When it comes to Word documents save, save, save as you go because the minute you’re pleased with your work somebody’s chubby little fingers are either going to pull the plug or somehow magically erase the entire document that just took you hours to create.

5) The minute a customer needs to fax you is the precise minute you discover the kids have used up all the ink and while trying to fix the matter it ‘blows up,’ singeing your hair and awing the kids who all chant, “Do that again, Mom!” And then UPS shows up....

6) There is no working through lunch or dinner EVEN if the project you are working on needs to be done YESTERDAY. Just ask a brood of kids to wait ‘just a few more minutes’ and you’ll soon feel like the only caribou among a pack of starving wolves.

7) As soon as your toddler has a diaper blow-out, the phone will ring, your older child will answer promptly and professionally and then hand you the phone. And then UPS shows up....

8) Your husband won’t understand why you must leave the house as soon as he returns from his away-from-home job…but the singed hair, trail of copier paper and smoking diaper should be enough clues for him to figure it out.

9) Be prepared to type with one hand while hugging up a clingy toddler who wants you to look HIM in the eye and not the monitor.

10) Your business cards will make great confetti for toddlers and the perfect ‘tickets’ for the older kids when playing make-believe circus outside...and you'll be running to collect them all right when UPS shows up.

Working at home will be the toughest job you’ll ever have, but quite possibly the one you’ll love the most precisely because of the kids.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Good-bye Mattel And Company

2009-03-11T01:01:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

Dear Mattel and Company,

Our Momma is going to give away all our toys. She means it. We don’t care a whit about all the cars, blocks, stuffed animals and battery operated noisemakers that we have. So Momma is giving them all away to charity and leaving only our favorite playthings around the house.

Things like:

Clean laundry. We love to strew it all over the floor and roll in it before Momma can fold it.

The television remote. This is so much more fun than any noisemaker because it changes the channel and makes Daddy make noise!

Momma’s glass of orange juice. Whee! The itsy bitsy spider went up the garden wall. Down came the OJ and washed the spider down.

The com*put3r k3yb0ar/d. It+s su/ch gr3at fu/n t0 h3lp m0mma typ3!

Dog food. Not only does dog food kibble instantly cover the maximum square footage of floor space, it’s fun to watch Momma fall on her behind as she comes running.

Sofa cushions. How inconvenient to have them tucked in properly. They are much more fun on the floor where we can hop from one to the other like frogs.

Throw rugs. There’s nothing like dragging each other through the house on Momma’s carefully placed throw rugs.

Pencils and crayons. The doors in our house used to be such a boring plain old white. Now they are much more colorful!

The mouse pad. Who’s ingenious idea was it to make such a fun and floppy Frisbee?

Toilet paper. Oh, the uses are endless! We are so good at grabbing the end and running through the house weaving a delicate pattern around the furniture.

It’s MUCH more fun to dump laundry detergent up and down the hall than it is to ride a tricycle.

It’s much more fun to flush items down the toilet than it is to put blocks in a talking container.

It’s so much more fun to mash banana on the laminate floor and slip around than to roller skate.

Thanks for all the time you have taken to research our age group and scientifically define our developmental stages and TRY to invent toys that will please and delight and even educate. But we have learned so much about gravity simply by dropping our food all over the floor. We have learned to count by watching Momma’s red face as she counts to ten. We already know how to do buttons, zippers and ties as we undress ourselves at least three times a day.

Now we need to close this letter and get busy taking all the folded sheets and towels out of the linen closet. SOMEBODY keeps folding them and putting them back. Our work is never done!

Best regards,

Becca (age 3) and Aiden (age 2)

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Glass of Water For A Drowning Mom

2009-03-04T00:27:00.000-08:00

©Lisa Barker

My son is a big complainer when it comes to folding laundry. He’s only seven, but I think he’s capable and this will be a good skill for him as an adult.

Nevertheless, I am constantly thinking of new ways to present this chore without his getting into histrionics. Recently, I called him to my room and showed him my five heaping baskets of clothes. His eyes bugged out. I asked him if he would like to fold these or his own. He very cheerfully volunteered to do his own.

But being the stickler he is for 'fairness' he soon returned with half the basket full of clothes. "These are not mine."

From the center of the mounds of towels I was folding, I asked him if he could fold the extra clothes anyway.

"But they aren't mine."

So I tried guilt. "Fine. Thanks for letting me know I can't count on you."

He didn't crack.

So, I tried philosophy. "Son, if I were drowning in a lake, would you give me a glass of water?"

"What?"

"If I were drowning, would you give me water?"

"Oh," he said, and left the room with me feeling rather smug. I'd successfully avoided a heated confrontation with philosophy! Who says stay-at-home-moms don't use their college education? I congratulated myself on how smart I am and how smart my kids are. And while I was glowing with these thoughts, my son returned...with a glass of water. He had a gleam in his eye, too.

That's how it is with kids. You have to possess the faculties of a lawyer just to stay one step ahead of these munchkins. When you succeed you gloat and enjoy the moment because you're going to fail the next seven moments in a row.

For instance, while I was folding clothes I heard the sound of the lid on the cookie jar being removed. "Who's in the cookie jar?" I yelled down the hall.

"Nobody!"

"Who is nobody?"

"Nicole."

"What are you doing in the cookie jar?"

"Counting them." Suddenly, the nobody that was doing nothing in the cookie jar was taking a census.

"That’s the worst attempt at lying I have ever heard."

"But I'm not lying."

"That's another lie and if you keep this up," I warned, "you might end up being President of the United States someday."

Meanwhile, my son returns with a glass of milk.

"What’s this for?"

"You said you can't drink water if you're drowning," he says with a further gleam in his eye.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. My kids are so bright they know how to feign stupidity. Just hand me another glass of water. It makes perfect sense to me.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Exercising With Toddlers

2009-02-25T12:38:00.000-08:00

©Lisa Barker

I’ve been exercising to some of Richard Simmons' exercise videos.

Let me tell you. I thought I had it all worked out. I’d wait until anyone old enough to laugh at me had gone to school or work for the day, but nooo. Were all my problems solved by that little strategy? Not on your life.

At first the toddlers happily plunked themselves on the sofa. I guess they thought we were going to watch a new movie.

Then the action started and they looked agog, then bewildered by my strange movements. What in the world is mom doing?

And then they started throwing obstacles in my path: sofa cushions, toys and the remote. It was as if to say, "Change the channel!" They even attacked my legs and tried to hold me still.

So being the devoted mom that I am, I put them in their room to play with a billion toys so I could do this little thing for myself for thirty minutes. Oh, the protests and the wails! What a terrible mom am I!

But I jiggled on (that’s what happens after you have a few kids and don’t exercise) ignoring their pitiful cries and even the phone.

And when I was done, I’d successfully sweat buckets and had the old heart pumping nicely.

The next day I tried again. Immediately, the kids cried out when they saw the little man with the puffy 'do.' He was not as motivating to my toddlers as he apparently was to the group exercising with him. My one-year-old quickly turned off the television.

I turned it back on.

"Spob," I was told, which translates to SpongeBob.

"No Spob. Momma needs to exercise."

So the other grabbed the remote and managed to change the channel to The Wiggles. And then THEY started dancing around in front of the television. "Move over, Mom. This is how it's done!"

Gee, I bet Richard Simmons never thought of his exercise routine as outdated. But, it's true. Next to The Wiggles, who can really work up a sweat of their own, Richard is an oldie.

So much for the video, Mr. Simmons! Today we're going to "point our fingers and do the twist...then we're gonna go up and back down, get back up and turn around...can you point your fingers and do the twist?"

Yes, I can! Apparently, if Momma wants to exercise while the Wiggles play, then she can exercise all she wants.

So now the toddlers and I are in sync. And it's working into our daily routine pretty well. I'd write more, but right now I have to 'do the monkey, elephant and tiger,' right after I dance with hot potatoes, mashed bananas and cold spaghetti.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Can’t Be Shy Around little Brother

2009-02-16T10:29:00.000-08:00

©Lisa Barker

My oldest daughter is shy. Writing this column probably won’t help things either, but you know parents just can’t resist telling a great story no matter what.

So there we were at church on Sunday, visitors just passing through. We chose a neutral seat somewhere in the middle and my youngest, the wiggle-worm, proceeded to wiggle right on down the pew. The family in front of us immediately got up and moved ahead a few rows and my daughter remarked, “That can’t be a good sign.”

She was right, so I thought it prudent to move my little one to the ‘cry room’ that wonderful room they seal you in while kids scream and tear around at breakneck speed. Usually the room is soundproof, the service is piped in and one wall is made of glass so desperate parents can see what is going on. At this particular parish it was directly behind the altar.

I hadn’t intended the older kids to follow me in, but they did, and to her horror, my shy one found herself face to face with the entire congregation. While she tried to pray quietly in the shadows the wiggle worm ran straight up to the glass wall and launched himself at it, sticking like a bug on a windshield.

Father prayed as if a million sticky little children had hit that window before. He didn’t miss a beat. My son, nose and open mouth pressed up against the window imitated with hands held high in praise. I furtively snapped my fingers and growled under my breath, catching his attention, and the wiggle worm hopped over to me then hopped in place for the next twenty minutes.

My daughter wept silently letting her long hair fall forward and hide her face.

“Hey, Rachel!” Wiggle Worm whispered as loudly as a whisper can go. He waved at her, he waved at the whole congregation, but little by little he coaxed a smile and a giggle from his shy stricken sister. It’s hard to stay angry with him especially when he tries so hard to do the right thing. And he was trying.

He waited patiently for the collection basket to come our way and when we were overlooked, he yelled out, “Over here!” The acoustics are marvelous at this particular parish, and with the door to the cry room open his little voice ricocheted from stained glass window to stained glass window.

My shy one may regret this column. She may regret the antics of her little brother in public, but someday this daughter is going to be a great leader. My youngest is just breaking her in to the public life one humiliation at a time.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Love Is In The Air

2009-02-09T09:21:00.001-08:00

©Lisa Barker

My youngest son has fallen in love hard. He is completely infatuated with one of his older sisters. No doubt the treats she shares with him, the trips to the park, the piggy back rides and the stories she reads him has all made her the light in his eyes.

He informed her twin the other day of his devotion. “I dreamed I was in love with Nicole and I made her a delicious dinner!”

Rachel was heartbroken. I understand how she feels. Not long ago, I was his princess!

He’s been a laugh a minute with some of the things that come out of his mouth lately. And here I thought that the funniest times with him were over now that he is in kindergarten this year.

The other day he cleared his place at the table without being asked. “Wow! That’s so nice of you to do that all by yourself!” I praised him.

That’s because I like the color purple,” he informed me. What? Sometimes I can’t follow his thinking.

Another time he came running into the kitchen to tell me, in the throws of a hearty fit of laughter, the best joke in the world. “Tubby the motorboat!” he shouted, while doubled over, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Pbbbbfft! Pbbbbfft!” he said, and ran off.

Apparently, our cat Tubby would make a great motorboat and the sounds she would make are just hilarious.

He’s cute. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him? I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with him minus those who know that his nickname is ‘Leprechaun.’ He’s a trickster with the ire of the Irish. The boy can pitch a fit that makes that makes a hurricane look like a gentle breeze. But as soon as it starts, it’s over.

So now he’s in love with his older sister. The rest of us are chopped liver – or so it would seem. On the sly he gives us a smile or a hug, but not if the love of his life is in the room. He must defend his love for her ever gallantly. “No, I love only Nicole!”

But the true measure of his love was lately discovered. Like the pets in the house, it’s only ‘tummy love.’ He found his favorite sister’s stash of chocolate, corn nuts and gummy worms and ate his fill.

“Mommmmm! Keep him OUT of my room!”

The little one marches out of the room undeterred and quickly sidles up to his other sister. Is it true love this time? “Rachel, you can buy me an ice cream from the ice cream man.” I swear that kid batted his eyes.

Such is the love of a baby brother.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Telemarketers Save Mom’s Sanity

2009-02-01T20:06:00.001-08:00

©Lisa Barker

Why is it that when you want to talk on the phone, the kids show up in droves and make enough noise to drown out a marching band but when a telemarketer calls not one child can be found?

Ten minutes into the call a child strolls by. You motion fervently for him to start squawking and a miracle happens. He starts to get along with his brother who also happens to enter the room and then the two proceed to be nice to each other and share.

“Start bickering!” you whisper harshly at them so you have a good excuse to get off the phone quickly. They give you blank stares as if chaos and calamity are foreign concepts to them.

To encourage them you toss one child a cookie and ignore the other, hoping they will go at one another’s throats and provide you with a great excuse to get off the phone. Amazingly, they split it evenly in half. So an idea begins to form. You realize now that you will never get off the phone and will end up sending the Society to Stop Some Abomination a check for fifty dollars, but you’re on to something.

What if you pretend to be speaking to a telemarketer the next time the kids start bickering? You can call yourself by using your cell phone to dial your landline. Then, you can sit there looking bored out of your mind and desperate whenever the kids start at it. The trick is to look like you want to get off the phone as soon as possible.

These are the machinations of a mother gone truly mad.

“He stole my car!”

“I did not!”

“Give it back!”

Rrrring! “Hello? Firefighters For Smokey The Bear’s Retirement Fund? Can I send you $100?” And suddenly peace descends on your household.

It’s either that (pulling a ruse the children might see through especially if the catch you with two phones in your hands) or signing yourself up to be called by as many telemarketers, pollsters and solicitors as possible. Do you think they actually have lists with times of day to call haggard moms? If not, what if we started one? I could post it on the Jelly Mom website.

Free phone numbers for people too cheap to pay for advertising. Just call these numbers and make your pitch, PLEASE. I know I could really use a call just before all the kids arrive home, hungry and raring to pick an argument. They’d come home, see me with a phone stuck to my ear and my eyes rolled back, not saying anything, and they’d tip-toe about hushing one another.

At last, there's a reason to welcome calls from hell.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Antelopes in the Mail

2009-01-26T00:21:00.000-08:00

©Lisa Barker

It's antelope season at my house again. Another child has reached the age where he can print and sound out some words so writing letters to Grammy and Auntie are high on his list. So are antelopes.

"Momma, I need an antelope for my letter."

Aw. It takes me back. Little does he know that his older siblings needed antelopes as well or the even more rare ombilope a direct cousin of the antelope.

Antelopes are fascinating. They have a strip of glue on them that, when wet, makes a perfect seal securing the letter safely inside. Unless you're a five-year old and drool like a Saint Bernard.

"Don't worry. Momma's got a hair dryer and lots of tape. It'll dry completely before it reaches Grammy's."

The next step is to cover the back of the antelope with stickers. It doesn't matter if they are from the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes or if they are Mom's special stationery stickers, each antelope needs at least three stickers. The more stickers you find on the back of an antelope, the more love there is inside.

The card inside harkens back to caveman days. There are hieroglyphics of square people with stick legs and a message written in a strange language that, if read from left to write reads:

I LOV
EYOU FROm
A TO GRAmmY
IDEN

The best part is running to the mailbox and stuffing your antelopes inside. Now begins the slow agony. Every day for the next week it will be, "Did I get an antelope?"

"No, not today. Maybe by Friday."

"What's today?"

"Monday."

"Is tomorrow Friday?"

Sigh. Antelopes come and go. Most of them are from Bill. Why does he keep writing to Momma? She doesn't like his antelopes very much.

At last an antelope arrives with my son's name on it. But he doesn't tear right in. An antelope from Grammy or Auntie Jenny requires careful dissecting with mom's antelope opener because we don't want to accidentally tear any stickers.

Older Brother enters the room. "What did you get?"

"I got an antelope from Grammy. If you send antelopes to people, they send antelopes back!"

"It's not 'antelope.' It's 'EMBALOPE.' It's the illiterate leading the illiterate.

Still this is all good practice. Soon enough the children will be writing letters to Santa again. The older ones will ask for world peace, the middle ones will ask for every high priced item ever conceived by the elves and the youngest will still ask for a lollipop, some cake and a book.

"If you behave, Santa might send you a letter back."

"Does Santa have antelopes?" I can just hear the youngest ask innocently only to be swiftly corrected by an older sibling: "No, Santa has reindeer."

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. See www.JellyMom.com for details.

The Miracle of The Tack

2009-01-19T14:58:00.001-08:00

©Lisa Barker

My eleven-year old son is given to outrageous temper tantrums and will stop at nothing to up the ante. One day he swallowed a tack to spite me. I showed great concern.

"Why, what will happen?" he asked.

"I just saw a show where this guy was scraping tacks off a ceiling and accidentally swallowed one. Later when he was eating dinner he started throwing up blood." (This is true. It was on one of those medical mystery shows.)

On and off over the next couple of days my son asked what could happen. I didn't think much of it, but my attitude remained unchanged. “It’s would be a pretty stupid thing to do because you can tear your esophagus, puncture a lung or tear your intestines,” I told him.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you will have blood come up out of your mouth or out the ‘other way.’"

I soon discovered that the boy does have a conscience and it worked on him real good for two days until he couldn’t take it anymore and came running to me in a panic. “Momma, I swallowed a tack and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be mad, but now I just don’t want to die!”

Something clicked inside my head. Without missing a beat, I said, "No, no! Don't do that! You don't want to tense up, you could cause a tear!" He immediately calmed himself—a miracle.

So my husband and I decided to milk this for a while. As far as my son knew it would take up to two weeks to pass anything. Meanwhile, he was to tell us as soon as he saw any signs of blood from anywhere and no matter what, “DO NOT TENSE UP. Because the tack might catch and tear you somewhere."

He said, "I think I can do that. I don't want to die!"

"Yeah," I said. "You don't want major surgery either."

Now I know it was a calculated risk, but I had questioned him in great detail. It wasn't a pushpin; it was a metal tack that was bent in two. Of course, I panicked inside because if something terrible did happen to him it would all be my fault, yet it was a stupid thing for him to do, and I didn’t want to spend $800 taking him to the emergency room for x-rays for nothing. Sounds terrible, doesn’t it?

So I prayed for his safety and the chance to prove to himself that he can get through life without the histrionics. He made it three weeks. I am calling this the miracle of the tack. God works in mysterious ways.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Give Me Peace And Quiet

2009-01-05T23:22:00.000-08:00

©Lisa Barker

A reader introduced me to a quote recently that completely expresses my point of view. “Raising children is like being pecked to death by a chicken.” Amen!

Little by little, day-by-day, they wear you down. “Momma, she’s touching me. Momma, he looked at me. I don’t like sauce on my noodles! How come HE gets to stay up late and I don’t? I don’t want to pick up my toys.”

I used to try to reason with them. “Don’t sit so close to each other and then you won’t touch. You look out the left window and you look out the right and then you won’t look at each other. Okay, if you don’t want sauce on your noodles, just move them over to the side of your plate. Etc., etc.”

Now I just say: “Shut up.”

I know, real mature of me. But I don’t care about fairness anymore. I don’t care about setting a good example. I don’t care about teaching them something. I just want peace and quiet.

Now this has nothing to do with the number of kids I have. It has everything to do with the fact that these people think it’s their job to break me. They won’t let up until I am a bent old woman, with hazy eyes and silver hair. That’s how they know it’s time to stop picking on me and start having grandchildren.

Thank God for osteoporosis. I know that when I start slumping over my torture is complete. Until then, I must endure.

“I don’t want to pick up my toys. It’s too hard. I don’t want to eat my dinner. I’m allergic to it. I don’t want to fold my clothes. It takes too long.”

If they’d just do what I ask of them, we’d all get along much better. But my expectations place restrictions on their pleasure and yet when I leave them to themselves all I hear is how bored they are.

“There’s nothing to do!”

“This basket of clothes needs to be folded.”

In my day this was my cue to leave the house immediately and find something else to do beyond the scope of my mother’s radar so that I would not have to do any chores. The logic is simple. If she can’t see me, she can’t think of something for me to do that I don’t want to do.

My kids don’t get that. In fact, they think I’m making humorous suggestions. My son laughs and counter suggests that I take him to the store and buy him some snacks.

“Hello? No, son, really. Fold these.”

“But it takes too long!”

“And so does raising you. Now hop to it.”

Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. Here's all the info you need to publish Jelly Mom™.

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NEW JM BOOK AVAILABLE NOW

2008-11-03T12:17:00.001-08:00

HOT OFF THE PRESS!

BUY IT ON AMAZON....

Jelly Mom Column on Hiatus

2008-11-02T22:13:00.001-08:00

©Lisa Barker

Dear Readers,

At this time Jelly Mom is on hold while I care for my daughter, Rebecca, who has been in hospital since October 23rd.

When we return home I will continue to post Jelly Mom columns on Mondays but they will be reprints from earlier years.

I will continue to post reprints until October 2009. The hiatus is necessary as my family needs my extra attention at this time.

The newsletter will continue with reprints as will the column-blog. The "behind the scenes" blog will be updated with news about the family.

I will still be writing, entering contests and working on new books and I look forward to sharing those books with you.

Thanks for reading Jelly Mom & for all your prayers for my kiddos.

-Lisa

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

I Blame Reading For His Delinquency

2008-10-20T12:34:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

My five-year old is learning to read. This is NOT a good thing. He’s reading Calvin and Hobbes.

You may recall that this is the child that recently took a ride on the back bumper of the UPS truck. This is also the child that escaped from home for most of his third and fourth years of life; the same child that once scaled bookcases and dressers; the one who now thinks he’s old enough to drive.

“Momma, you just passed a stop sign.”

“Yes, I did but...”

“Stop! You have to stop!”

“I did stop! You’re supposed to stop and then you go!” Now I’m screaming, too. It doesn’t faze him. He points out that I just ran a red light. Er....

So now he reads Calvin and Hobbes. Calvin is a very imaginative little boy and Hobbes is his stuffed tiger. Calvin is Dennis the Menace to the 100th power. My son worships Calvin. Can you see where I am going with this?

He walked by me the other day on his way out the door with a pair of pants on his head and a shirt on his legs. “Uh, son?”

He very succinctly explained that he had done that on purpose. “I WANT TO DRESS THIS WAY!”

“Okay, fine.” I figured the neighbors could use a good laugh and sooner or later my son’s gene for embarrassment will kick in.

Then, he wanted to take all my pots and pans outside and bang on them. Next he had on a cape and a pair of underwear on his head and was headed for the fence to jump off. It finally donned on me that I might have to censor his reading material.

So we read Calvin and Hobbes together and I point out how the pictures change to show silly things that Calvin is pretending. I thought maybe he wouldn’t take Calvin so literally if he understood that it was just pretend. Ha.

Now he springs off the sofa and tackles his brother just like Hobbes the tiger tackles Calvin. This causes three things to happen. His brother goes into histrionics, I start yelling, and he bursts into a fit of laughter...because he just loves it when Calvin and Hobbes get in trouble like that.

So now I’m stuck. I don’t want to kill his love for reading, but he’s memorizing Calvin’s every move. Like how to lock the babysitter out of the house, how to destroy the furniture as if he were a dinosaur and how to cause tidal waves in the bathtub.

I’m pretty sure Bill Watterson didn’t intend to make delinquents out of kindergartners, but Aiden is studying Calvin and Hobbes and I’m afraid. Very afraid.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

It Gets Their Attention

2008-10-13T12:47:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

I’ve said it before and I will say it again. If you want your kids’ attention either sit down with a good book, make a phone call or put on some headphones. Sure enough, they’ll be at your elbow hollering at the top of their lungs in no time.

It never fails. I’m on the phone and calamity strikes.

“Is this a good time for you to talk?” the caller asks, as what sounds like a stack of dishes dropped on the floor thunders through the house.

“Just as good as any,” I reply. She proceeds while I interrupt several times asking her to repeat what she said.

Finally, I bark, “Go to your room now!” right into her ear. I wonder why so many people hang up on me.

Recently I discovered a new way to get my kids’ attention. Try sleeping in. It’s still summer vacation so I don’t have to get up early and rouse everyone out of bed. You would think they’d appreciate an extra hour in bed, but no.

From the first week or two the two boys were up at the crack of dawn, drawing swords and launching right into the battle they’d suspended the night before when I sent them to bed bickering and screaming at each other.

“QUIET!” I yell down the hall. I might as well be a substitute teacher in an band class. It ain’t happening.

Finally, I trod down the hall and read them the riot act. I go back to bed. There is no way I am going to get up to that noise so I pray for just twenty minutes of quiet. Five minutes later they’re at it again.

Did you know that cussing in children is proportionate to sleep deprivation for their parents? I just don’t know where they get their potty mouths.

At last they learn what I mean by reading quietly until I tell them they can get up. It’s a new morning and no one has uttered one word. Then the door slams open and my oldest son screeches in his nasally high-pitched pre-pubescent voice, “Momma, am I doing a good job today?”

The odds in favor of spontaneous human combustion are directly related to the number of kids one has, especially if they have kids that are prime candidates for the Darwin award. Even the teens have had enough. What’s worse? Hearing your little brothers shouting at each other like they’re in a wind tunnel or your mother going off like a sonic boom?

I’ll tell you what’s worse. It’s finally getting that extra twenty minutes I wanted and the phone rings. The bedroom door slams open again. “Momma, it’s for you!”

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Weird Eats

2008-10-10T17:38:00.000-07:00

©Lisa Barker

Have you ever wondered who the first person was to eat a certain food...and why? Like chicken eggs. Think about where they come from. Who thought that would be a good thing to taste? What about fish eggs? How does one even find fish eggs to begin with? Oh, look, something gelatinous and sticky. Let me put it in my mouth.

I know the answer. It was a toddler. Just follow one around. June bugs look pretty fascinating - crunchy on the outside with a soft center.

Crayons are another favorite. My youngest is five and he still ends up with green and purple teeth whenever he colors.

Little ones are scientists when it comes to discovering the world around them and one of the best ways to experience something is to taste it. My twins waited with great anticipation for their first little brother to arrive. Five months after his birth one of them asked if we could take him back to the hospital.

“Why?” I asked, thinking that perhaps it was a case of sibling rivalry. “Don’t you like your little brother?”

“He slobbers on everything!”

It’s true. Everything from the waist down belongs to those who crawl and toddle. Once an item is slimed up, who really wants to reclaim it?

“Hey, that’s my ball! Oh, yuck! Here. You can have it.”

The only other way I can imagine that man discovered certain foods was when he watched what the dog ate. If the dog didn’t die, it was a good sign.

If you have a toddler and a dog, then you’ve witnessed them in action, both of them on all fours sampling various odd objects around the house and sharing each other’s treats.

With the first child, you’re horrified when the dog licks his Popsicle. You throw that one out and get a new one. When it happens to the second child, you cut off the tainted portion. You quickly rinse it for the third child, but when it comes to the fourth child...well, the dog drinks clean water, right? There can’t be that many germs on his tongue.

They might sample the dog food, repeatedly, no matter how many times you try to discourage them, but make a mess of one Hamburger Helper meal and blurt out that it looks like dog food and they won’t touch it.

“Girls, what’s wrong? Don’t you like your pasta?”

They burst into tears. “We don’t want to eat dog food!”

Now, they get it.

Might as well set up a video camera in your kitchen and go live and call it Weird Eats. Have bowls of bugs, burnt matches and boogers on hand. Just don’t make a real dinner. You’ll turn people’s stomachs.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

I’ve Created A Monster

2008-09-25T13:20:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

I have another theory about why my youngest is so brash and demanding. He’s a celebrity.

I thought he couldn’t read, but he must have discovered his starring role in the Jelly Mom column and now he treats the whole family like we’re dim-witted assistants that he can just order around and fire at will.

“Here’s your breakfast, kiddo.”

“I said I want eggs!”

Oh, don’t worry. I don’t fry him eggs. I just take away his only option for breakfast. It makes him a little more courteous at lunch.

“Here’s a tuna sandwich.”

“I said!”

“Yes?”

“That I want peanut butter. Please.”

It’s a token please, tacked on the end after great personal struggle with himself, but now we’re finally getting somewhere.

Just about the time I think I’ve civilized him again and think he might actually ask for his snack in a more polite tone, his older brother comes home from summer school bearing gifts he earned for behaving all day. I can just read the youngest one’s mind: See ya, Mom, and all your stupid rules about courtesy. Big Brother brought me toys!

Well, soon enough the two boys are fighting. Big Brother has repossessed Little Brother’s toys because he can. He says Little Brother was rude to him, but I know that Big Brother giveth and Big Brother taketh. (Sometimes I wish he wasn’t so generous in the first place.)

Yet I take Big Brother’s side when Little Brother pops off with rapid-fire demands: You give me the toys! You play with me out back! You stupid idiot!!

He comes crying to me for justice. “Momma, no one will play with me.”

It’s not easy being the youngest in the family. All those promises about how great it is to be a big boy and you still don’t get your own way, still can’t make people do what you want them to do, still can’t do nothing!

He thought that when he turned five-years old he would start going to school the very next day. He packed his backpack, carried a book and told me he needed a lunch to go. But I said he had to wait until the fall, some mysterious other time that is still too difficult for him to fathom, sometime after an equally puzzling thing called ‘summer vacation.’

He gets up at the crack of dawn every day, just in case that’s the morning school starts. He can’t be late for the bus! He packs his backpack again and I tell him to wait some more.

I almost pity him. But when I give him grapes for his snack and he screams at me, “I wanted apples!” I pity the kindergarten teacher he will get.

For now, someone needs a nap.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Not Big Enough

2008-09-18T23:41:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

I thought we had gone through the dictator phase with my youngest son when he was two-years old. He’s five now. There’s no more ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ It’s ‘Now!’ ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ and ‘You stupid idiot! You’re not the boss of me anymore!’

You see that’s the problem. Everybody is the boss of him. He’s got four older siblings and two parents. Add to that some grandparents, aunts, an uncle and a few cousins and everyone in his world is the boss of him.

He’s railing at life. It’s not fair. He’s five-years old now; he’s a big boy. But he’s still not big enough.

“How come I can’t go to the park by myself?”

“You’re not eleven-years old like your brother.”

“How come I can’t play next door?”

“Because she’s fifteen-years old and friends with your fourteen-year old sisters.

Can you just see the black cloud that follows my son everywhere? It’s the great big boss cloud raining on the fun he wants to have.

So I extended his boundaries on our street. But he has no sense of stranger danger. He comes home with bags of chips and juice packs that people we don’t know give him. Why?

“I’m five-years old.”

“Yes, but these are strangers, kiddo.”

Oh, don’t call him that. It reminds him that he is small and the youngest. “I am NOT your kiddo!”

Ugh. That’s right. He’s five-years old.

Well, Mr. Five-Year Old decided to take a little ride on the bumper of the UPS truck as it left our street. Now he has no more front yard privileges. So he takes it out on his older brother, vainly trying to dominate him. He’s the runt of the litter trying to take on one of the bigger members. It’s futile and his demands fall on deaf ears.

“You watch me on the swing! You watch me play cars! You play pirates with me now!” Then, he cries, “Momma, no one will play with me....”

He is so hyped up trying to get all his Big Boy Rights fulfilled. Maybe I sold this age to him too well. Sure he’s not wearing diapers anymore, but he’s like a kid at a birthday party high on sugar. He’s a demanding, sassy brat.

He just wants to be like all the other big boys on the street, even if some of them are seventeen. And some days I think he will wear me down and I’ll actually give in and hand him the keys to the car. “Sure, you’re five now. Go for it.”

Which brings me to my next and most crucial point. I’ll put it succinctly. Someone make it stop.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Chores Are A Chore

2008-09-11T23:02:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

Does it make any sense to you why a child that's been responsible for a certain chore for, say, seven years suddenly can't remember how to do it?

Here and there I'd find a dirty dish in the cupboard, some crumbs on the floor or a cup on the breadboard that was forgotten. No big deal. Now, the garbage is overflowing and recyclable items are stacking up around the receptacle they go in which is also at maximum capacity. The stove looks like something blew up and died on it. Come on!

'Doing the dishes' mainly involves loading and unloading the dishwasher. But I also expect the sink to be cleaned, the counters wiped down and the floor swept. That's total child slavery, I know.

Does it get done? No. Not unless I tell them every single night that I expect these things to get done.

So now the kitchen and the rest of the house have this general 'scuzziness' feel to it because this laziness has bred and all chores by children have been infected.

'Pick up after yourself when you get up from the table' now means only pick up your plate, utensils and cup but go ahead and leave food and crumbs on the table and floor. In fact, ground it in. Then move one chair over for your next meal and repeat.

'Tidy your room' means create a large pile of dirty clothes and stuff the toys under the bed perhaps hoping that Momma will faint at the site of the laundry and not see the cat digging his way out from beneath the bed where you inadvertently buried him.

'Clean the bathroom' means.... I don't know what it means anymore unless it's code for go in there and stare at yourself in the mirror for thirty minutes, flush the toilet and then come out.

"You cleaned this?"

"Yes?" a forlorn child asks.

"With what? A sweaty undershirt?"

And then, every single child when held accountable gives me this completely blank stare. We just look at each other for a few moments not saying anything. And then I get, "Can I go now?"

"Newsflash! You actually have to use cleaning products and water to clean things in here and toothpaste is not a sink cleanser even if you can make bubbles with it. And you people out there rotating dirty dishes! I want them cleaned or I will take every single dish out of every single cupboard and you will wash them all by hand.

"And you, Crumb Boy. Here's a broom and dustpan. Get to it."

"But it's too hard!"

"So was giving birth to you. Now get busy."

Man, it's a chore getting these kids to do their chores.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Mom Desperate For a Break

2008-09-04T15:59:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

A reader sent me a tip recently. She said, when she is ‘eating healthy’ she allows herself to have a spoonful of chocolate syrup each day as a treat. It staves off that chocolate monster without breaking your diet.

This sounded like a great idea to me. I asked her if I could use a serving spoon, though I’m positive a soup ladle or shovel would be even better.

Then I started thinking about those days when my youngest child really ages me. I can see me drinking straight from the bottle. In fact, knowing me, I’d get a paper sack to hide the bottle and carry it with me at all times.

When people do this with wine, they’re called winos. Does this make me a choco?

“Hello, my name is Lisa and I am a chocoholic.”

It’s true. When my most special child starts acting up, I need a hit—just a piece of dark, dark chocolate. It goes right to the brain. It restores calm. The trouble is, eating chocolate adds calories to my daily diet, and with this kiddo I’ll weigh three hundred pounds before he leaves home.

So I tried weaning myself off by hugging my cats whenever I am stressed instead of popping chocolate in my mouth. My poor cats’ eyes are all bugging out now and they flee whenever they hear the ‘special one’ screaming. They know I’ll be coming around for a squeeze and soon their eyes will be bulging again.

So now I’m working on just petting the poor creatures. They could deal with that just fine at first...until they stared to develop bald spots. Poor things. They all look like they’ve been given reverse Mohawks.

They must have placed an urgent call because now there’s this wonderful group stepping in to give me some respite care. They take my little headache makers out for the day and I get to relax and live a normal life for a few hours.

When they interviewed me for these services it took little persuasion to convince me I needed them. I told them that I was fine turning my kids over to someone else so I could catch a break...because I am now at the point where I will gladly gnaw off my own leg to break free and I truly understand why some animals eat their young.

I’m tired of being held hostage in my own home. Bring on the babysitters! Momma is ready to fly the coop like lazy Mayzie who left poor Horton alone with her egg. I used to think she was a cruel self-centered mother bird. But now, I really understand.

And I’ll bet she had a bottle of chocolate syrup stashed in her purse, too.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

Someone Needs a Time-Out

2008-09-01T22:48:00.000-07:00

©Lisa Barker

I took my son to the post office today. Little did I know that we had somehow stepped into a parallel universe. Apparently, the same scene was taking place at the University of Florida.

My son didn't want to abide by the rules. A number of times I had to pull him to my side and remind him what they are.

He didn't like it. He didn't like the rules. He didn't like that mom said "Enough," and that was to be the end of it. He had his own agenda and he wasn't about to abandon it.

So I grabbed his arm to keep him from running off and into traffic and he started screaming. He wrestled with me. He cried out. I had to restrain him. People gave me looks...especially when he started howling.

And I told him to be quiet. That's right. I revoked his freedom of speech because he wasn't following the rules, he was out of line and he was making a scene.

No kid of mine is ever going to grow up and get tasered by the police.

That's where the parallel ended because some people have made it to adulthood and they still don't get it.

What mother didn't cringe when she heard Andrew Meyer screaming "Ow, ow, ow, ow!" on the radio and television when police tasered him after he wrestled with them and refused to cooperate? Meyer ("Don't tase me , bro!") stole the show on September 19, 2007 at the University of Florida where John Kerry was speaking...by throwing a tantrum.

Mothers around the world have now lost a bit of power over their children whom they had, until this point, been carefully molding into responsible men and women. It used to be that a mother could use a bit of guilt. There was shame in making such a scene.

But thanks to the indiscretion of the media, children are bound to hear this guy and he'll sound just like they do when they don't want to do what their parents say. How will that encourage them to obey their parents? I can see mine now, waving picket signs in the front yard claiming I have killed their freedom of speech. "What did we do? What did we do?"

But if children don't respect their parents and the house rules, how will they respect the police and the rules of society when they grow up?

After our trip to the post office my son went to his room (in-house arrest). Then we talked.

"I didn't behave."

"What are the rules?"

"No running around."

"And?"

"Listen to Momma."

"And?"

"No talking back."

"That's right."

My four-year old gets it. Why doesn't Andrew Meyer?

Somebody needs a time-out.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

No Pitter-Patter of Little Feet In This House

2008-08-26T14:50:00.001-07:00

©Lisa Barker

Why is it that my sons can’t whisper when they wake up? Why must they leap from bed, yelling at the top of their lungs, bickering with each other? Isn’t that bad for them? Doesn’t it give them a headache? I know it gives me one.

The thing is, even if I am well rested and could get up, I can’t wake up and deal with this nonsense. So I have been training them to get up and read quietly in bed until I come to get them for breakfast. We’re making small progress. It sounds something like this.

“JOHN DANIEL, MOMMA SAYS WE HAVE TO STAY IN OUR ROOM!”

“I KNOW THAT!”

Then, my bedroom door bursts open. “MOMMA, ARE WE DOING A GOOD JOB? WE’RE STAYING IN OUR ROOM LIKE YOU ASKED US TO DO!”

Finally, they did it. Not a peep sounded in their room, but the phone had to ring every fifteen minutes before the alarm went off. Four calls in one hour. I think my brain is scared to slip into REM sleep. No wonder I lie awake at night, scared to drift off. Who knows what I might wake up to?

I thought I’d outsmart the boys one day and snooze on the sofa while they had breakfast. I thought I could wake up gradually...until the doorbell rang. It was a police officer with the five-year old. He’d been running down the middle of the street like an escaped dog.

It’s enough to make me want to get up early and bust into their room and start bickering and screaming to see how they like it.

Even the teens are sick of it and it takes a lot to wake up a teenager. Now I wake up to people shouting for the boys to SHUT UP.

Why do I bother? And when will I be completely deaf? I look forward to the day that I can turn off my hearing aid. What bliss.

My husband and I have been debating recently who has the harder day. Apparently, he does. With great effort he gets up every morning, slips into his car ALONE, drives to work ALONE, and works all day without children screaming at him in his office. Man, I’d love to have it so rough.

He says I have it easy because I can sleep in. I’d like him to define ‘sleeping in’. If that means lying in bed while my temples throb and I envision the boys tearing down the house, oh, yeah. I’m in seventh heaven. Just like he is when he comes home from work and one hour later he’s pulling out his hair.

Forget the pitter-patter of little feet. You’ll never hear it over the dull roar.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit

http://www.jellymom.com

. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

No More Momma’s Boy

2008-08-14T10:04:00.000-07:00

©Lisa Barker

My sister and I share the same dilemma. Both of us have boys that are no longer Mommy’s Little Love Dumpling. Hers turned seven and mine turned five.

Hers has a crush now. He floats on air...while my sister and her broken heart bob in the surf and get smashed on the rocks. She’s no longer the only woman in his life.

Mine informs me, very loudly in the grocery store parking lot, “Momma, I don’t need to hold your hand now! I’m FIVE years old.”

Hers used to do all his schoolwork, very carefully and neatly. He started hiding his homework in his dresser drawer. If he can’t see it, and if no one else can, then it doesn’t exist and he doesn’t have to do it.

Mine used to ask to help me do things around the house. Now I ask him to tidy his room and all I hear is how it will take FOREVER. And it does because he has to bellyache about it all day long first.

Hers used to have an immaculate room. He took pride in putting his things away. Now it’s books, toys and underwear all over the floor.

Mine used to like getting his hair cut. Now he informs me that I stink as a barber and that he was much cuter with his hair long.

What happened? We doted on them, kissed their boo-boos, scared away the monsters, baked them cookies and now they don’t need us?

We read them stories, helped them find their lost cars, decorated their rooms in cute hotrod themes and ocean themes and now we can just serve them meals and a clean change of clothes, thank you very much.

I asked my son to pick up his toys in the living room. He said, “No, thank you.” This caught my attention because he was actually being polite.

“What do you mean, ‘No, thank you’?”

“I don’t want to pick up my toys.”

“Okay, then pick up the ones you want to keep.” This didn’t work. He just lounged on the sofa like the toy fairy would be making a new delivery sooner or later so why bother with these? And there were too many toys for me to bother scooping them up and placing them in storage.

“Son, you need to pick up these toys NOW.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want--”

“Pick up the toys or stand in the corner.”

“I said, I don’t--”

“Corner.”

He stomped to the corner. “You’re not the boss of me anymore!”

Yeah, this was Mommy’s Little Love Dumpling not too long ago. Breaks my heart. I think I’ll call my sister and commiserate.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and syndicated through Martin-Ola Press/Parent To Parent. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com.