My Heart in Your hands

And theirs is in yours... at least for now.

Need a card for Valentines day made by your precious little angel? Here's a quick and easy one with a big warm and fuzzy factor. You can do this with kids of any age. I've made this card with babies as young as 6 weeks old. Just make sure the paint is washable and non-toxic - Crayola makes a good one.

If your child is crawling or older and you're worried about the mess, do the project in the bath (no water of course). This way you can contain the mess, clean-up is easy and they'll think you're cooler than Tinky Winky and Thomas (or whoever it is they have a passion for).

You  can do about 10 of these in under three minutes (no matter the age of your child), so if it's quantity you need, this works wonders.

The sentiment of the collaboration in the project is nice too - they do the hands, you do the heart. If Daddy is making one for Mommy, (or vice versa) it just adds to the happy tingly feelings.

Need more bling! Just add glue and glitter (not recommended for children under 2 years old).

If you're still cleaning up glitter by next November, just remember how much fun your little darling had while making this card!

Happy Valentines Day :)

Yule Be Sorry

When it comes to children I have a lot of patience. Good thing, since I am the Daycare Lady, but it turns out that this patience does not extend to Christmas trees. Yes, I know I should have taken it down well before today and there-in lies the root of my animosity toward my (ironically) fake and now very dead looking symbol of ever lasting life. But Oh my God!!! What a big giant pain in my pale British bum it was to take down.

According to the instructions: lights could be strung once and left on the tree, the tree could then be disassembled with ease and stored in the box it came in, (lights and all) ready for a very merry re-assembling for the following years' festivities.

Yeah, um well, no. Not even close. After having gone three rounds with my heftily discounted 7 foot Black Friday Blue Spruce, I was the one who ended up black and blue. My mounting frustration with the spiky monstrosity caused me to utter a string of very creative expletives; at that precise moment my lovely son decided that watching Mummy wrestling with the Christmas tree was far more entertaining than playing the drums in his room. As peals of laughter burst from my little four year old I was left trying to explain that what I just said wasn't very nice and I shouldn't say it again - ever. His reply?
"Yeah Mum, I know, but it was really funny... do it again!"

Butts Have Taken Over The World!

I knew this day would come, I just didn't think it would happen so soon. After all, my beautiful innocent little prince has only just turned four. But alas, no matter who you are, you can always count on toilet humor being part of your little one's growing-up experience.

Upon returning from his Dad's this week, my precious little guy takes my face lovingly in his hands, looks into my eyes with a wisdom far beyond his years and whispers angelically, "Mummy, I want to tell you a secret." As my heart melts into slush, I turn my ear to his tiny cherub-like lips and hear, "Mummy, I love you... poo-poo head!" My son then collapses into epileptic fits of giggles... nice!

Later that night, as he's almost ready to drift away with the fairies, (or in my son's case, the carnivorous
man-eating dinosaur fairies) I ask him to say his prayers, (the ones I taught him to assuage my guilt over not being a    church-goer), you may have heard this one: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, etc, etc, Amen. It is very, very cute, and when he says it I see images of Cherubim and Seraphim caressing him lovingly with their gossamer wings as they circle around his star kissed face, trumpeting songs of his loveliness to the heavens.

Since my child's return this week the charming prayer has taken on quite a different flavor. It now goes something like this: Now I lay me down to butts, hee-hee-hee. I pray the Lord my soul to butts, hee-ha-ha-ha-hee hee. May Angels guide my through the big giant butts, (roiling belly laughs) etc, butts, etc, (then, with surprising reverence...) Ahhhhh...butts.

How to Use T.V. Guilt Free

Whether you're a single Mom, working Mom or stay at home Mom the temptation to use T.V. is great. Before I had my son I swore I wouldn't use 'The Box' as a baby sitter. Then reality kicked in. If you are a single, working mother like I am, then you'll know that if we didn't use the T.V. we'd have gargantuan piles of laundry threatening to thrust the roof off our houses, dishes in the sink from last November and dust bunnies larger than our kids.

In short, we need the T.V. Yet there is a certain amount of guilt attached to using it. As I don't do guilt well I have managed to find a way to make T.V. watching an invaluable tool to help develop my kids language skills.

T.V. watching and language development - what a concept, and it takes little to no effort on your part!

What you'll need to know:
There are two key concepts in language development called Self Talk and Parallel Talk, both very easy concepts to grasp.

SELF TALK is talking out loud to your child about what you are doing, feeling, hearing, or seeing at that moment.

PARALLEL TALK is describing out loud what your child is doing, seeing, hearing, or feeling.

Easy right? So here are two scenarios for you to try out your new found knowledge. Scenario #1 is the no T.V. I'm the perfect mother option. Scenario #2 is the bugger it I'm using T.V. because I don't have 4 hours to clean my house, so lets get real option.

SCENARIO #1
The perfect mother: you will be doing your daily chores without the aid of T.V. or movies. Your perfect little angels will be dutifully by your side helping you wash the dishes as you use Self Talk to describe what you are doing.
"Look, Mummy is putting orange liquid in the water to get the dishes nice and clean." You will also be using Parallel Talk to describe what your child is doing.
"Oh look, you're splashing the water. You're making bubbles go all over the kitchen. Now you're pouring water all over the floor. You're having lots of fun aren't you?"

Yes, this scenario (if you have an abundance of time and patience), will afford your child a fantastic experience and lots of fun. You, on the other hand, may not be having so much fun. So, if you are like me and need an every day option, try scenario #2.

SCENARIO #2
Real world instuctions for
The T.V. using mother:

Step 1 - Bring the portable DVD in to kitchen or to a location close to where you need to be. I like to use Netflix and movies instead of T.V. It's much cheaper than cable and I have total control over what my kids are watching.

Step 2 - Position child in front of screen, you can use toys to heighten the experience, for example: toy tools for Bob the Builder or Handy Manny, musical instrument for Wiggles or Little Einsteins. We have used dinosaurs, cars, dolls you name it we've used it. With a little imagination and a show your child is interested in the possibilities are endless.

Step 3 - Talk. Go about your business, do your chores but talk. You don't have to watch the T.V. you just have to listen. Use Self Talk to talk about what the character is doing, "Tinky Winky is playing with red ball." "The blue wiggle is dancing fast." That dinosaur is roaring loudly."
Then use Parallel talk to describe what your child is doing. "You've got a ball just like Tinky Winky." "You're dancing just like the yellow Wiggle." "Wow you're roaring just like a T-Rex."

Remember, a little goes a long way. You don't have to talk all the time (although you can if you want to) you just have to engage your child enough so she or he is not zoning out or feeling neglected. If you do this regularly you'll be surprised at the results you get.

One of my favorite activities to do with my son on a a Friday night after a long exhausting week is to watch a movie with him. It gives me a chance to put up my feet, (translation: sit on my bum and do nothing) snuggle on the couch with my baby, eat popcorn and laugh, talk and giggle. I use Parallel Talk and Self Talk throughout the movie, describing what's happening and how my son is reacting to it. I do it so much that my son has started to do it too. He has just turned four but his language skills, story telling ability and flair for dramatic play are flourishing. I'm convinced that some of these talents have evolved because of the way we use T.V. as a tool.

Try it, let me know what you think.

Call Me The Poo Guru

Every mother has at least one poo story. Being both a mother and the Daycare Lady I am a veritable poo compendium. I have encountered every poo scenario you can imagine; from exploding "my baby's on insane medication" poo, to blue poo, to undigested corn poo, to the ever interesting sand box poo, and last but least forgettable, "my baby somehow miraculously figured out how to wriggle out of his diaper during his nap" poo, which of course leads us into the painting with poo, flinging poo and ultimately, the eating poo stories (always a party favorite).

As encountering mountains of poo is an unavoidable factor in my current life circumstances I have gained a certain amount of respect for it and the undeniable entertainment value it possesses on occasion.

I recently stumbled upon a site called Cake Wrecks , it helped take my appreciation for poo to an entirely new and much sweeter level. Cake Wrecks is apparently a very popular site, formerly unbeknown to me in my semi cloistered life. The Merry Misfits archived post has to be the funniest thing I've seen in a while (granted, I don't get out much), if you haven't seen it, it's well worth a visit. I am now Poo-Dolph's biggest fan and must have the T-shirt for Christmas.

I'd like to personally thank Jen at Cake Wrecks for adding to my poo lexicon, educating me that a 'poo tornado' can be something far more palatable and far funnier than a whirling toddler in leaky pampers.

First Time

I know this particular day started differently, but this is my most vivid memory of it: My husband (now my ex-husband) and I, were taking an elevator up to the 4Th floor of the court house, where our 'son's' birth mother may or may not be waiting to sign away her parental rights.

That elevator ride from the lobby to the fourth floor was the longest most painful trip I have ever taken. As I was arguing with my husband about something irrelevant, I re-experienced every moment of 'my sons' life from 6 weeks old when we took him as a foster child, to that moment at almost two.

I remembered the first time he opened his eyes and I knew the people at the children's shelter had either not known or not told us the whole truth about the birth mother's drug and alcohol problem.

I remembered hour after hour of research on drug babies and fetal alcohol syndrome. I remembered an unresponsive infant and the first time his eyes sparked. I remembered stripping him down to his diaper and playing 'on' him (as research suggested) instead of with him.

I remembered months and months of massage: up massage, down massage, stimulating massage, facial and head massage, medicinal massage. I remembered the vomiting, the smiles, the constant sometimes overwhelming medications and therapies, the laughter, the 100 plus doctors visits in 500 days, the love.

I remembered the way I felt the first time the nurse hooked him up to tubes and drips in the emergency room and how I would have given up my soul to take away his pain then and for the next four days. I remembered the many nights of 105 degree fevers that were to follow, my Mother and Father helping for much of it. But most of all I remembered the love. The unconditional, besotted, ridiculous first love kind of love that we all felt for this wonderful little boy.

Then the elevator doors opened and I stopped. I stopped thinking, I stopped moving, I stopped breathing. The head social worker from the children's shelter was standing in front of us.

"Where is he?"

"Across the the street with my parents."

"Go get him now, hurry, she's here." The rest of the day unfolded in a bizarre sort of fast forward slow motion. We knew that she, (the birth mother) might show up, and if she did she wanted to see her son before she signed the papers terminating her parental rights.

My father was convinced that if she saw him ( it would be the first time in 16 months) that she would fall in love with him too and would change her mind. Part of me was convinced that she would change her mind also, but all of me was shocked at how shocked I was that she didn't. She simply looked at him, ruffled his hair, passed him to her mother then signed the papers.

This was the first time I had felt such powerfully conflicting emotions. I hated her for not wanting him, but I was so completely grateful that she didn't. This was the first time I cried in public and didn't care. It was the first time I walked out of the court room knowing this beautiful child who I loved so much would soon be mine.

But she still had 30 days to change her mind.

She didn't.

I thanked God - truly, completely, - for the first time.

If you liked this post please vote for me in the great experiment. There are some extremely well written entries in this months contest all worth a read. Only one vote from each IP address so please vote for the one you like the best.

Directions to vote for neophyte bloggers, some of whom I know and love. Click here: http://www.thegirlwho.net/journal/2009/11/27/the-great-experiment-first-time.html#comments

Then go to the bottom of the page, type your name or Anon under 'Author', then under 'Post' type who you want to vote for. If you are voting for me type, "I vote for Daycare Lady", you can ad a comment if you want to.

Thank you all!

Voting closes Mon. Nov. 30, at 11am E.S.T.

E.S.P.

You know it is coming. You can feel it. You know exactly what is about to come out of your adorable four-year-old's mouth when the 700 lb man walks though the door of the local Wallgreens. As you are waiting in the check out line with aforementioned adorable child, you body check him into the mass of queuing patrons hoping to obscure his view, or at least divert his attention. But alas, it is all in vain (as you well know) .

"Mummy,"

All heads turn, my son has 90% American accent now (being born and raised in Florida) but the ever so British "Mummy" still remains and always gets attention.

"That man has..."

I grab his beautiful little face and whisper fervently into his tiny ear, " Yes sweetie, I know that man has a big fat tummy but we mustn't say it out loud because it will make him sad... Ooooh, look at the chocolate."

As chocolate is an every day occurrence and giant tummies are generally not, my sons head whips away from the beckoning Hershey bar and zero's in on the approaching tummy.

"Mummy," he has reverted to a surprisingly audible stage whisper, "I want to squish that man's tummy, O.K. ?"

In desperation I scoop him quickly up into my arms but is it too late. The line behind us has suddenly become an audience. Bland expressions of boredom have been transformed by sparks of anticipated uncertainty.

All eyes, now filled with embarrassed amusement are fixed upon my son. 'Will he, won't he...' I can feel the collective breath holding. The man in question labors by us and I see the look in my son's eye, it says, 'Oh look, everyone wants me to be funny, this always makes Mummy laugh, it always makes the other kids laugh, so it must be a nice thing to do.'

I make a mad dash for the exit, but my timing is off. My son thrusts forth his skinny little arm missing the man's tummy but unfortunately making contact with bits a little higher up.

"Squishy, squishy." The words were uttered with such innocent mischievousness that surely they must be forgiven.

I feel like I should apologize but as I know what's coming next, I sling child over shoulder and race for the car, dump him in his seat, buckle him in and just as he opens his mouth I shut the door.

Yes my love, I know the poor man's boobies are bigger than mine but neither of us need to hear it.