Fourth Child Syndrome

This morning I had a coffee date with a friend. We'd scheduled and re-scheduled a dozen times already. I refused to change plans again.

Of course, this would be the morning Samuel, my youngest, wasn't feeling well.

When my first child was a baby, I jumped at the first sign of sniffles. I had the doctor's office number on speed dial, right after my mother's. I was on a first-name basis with all of the office staff, knew their favorite TV shows, sent them Christmas cards and shared recipes.

Fast forward almost twenty years. We have a different pediatrician and I can't even remember her name. I don't think our youngest has seen the inside of a doctor's office since his last round of shots before kindergarten.

I've earned my medical degree by now, right? I can patch up a bloody knee with an old paper towel and some scotch tape-with the speed of a gazelle. Burns and bumps are minor distractions. Daily diagnosis are my specialty.

A clear sign of 4th Child Syndrome.

Samuel woke up with pain on the side of his face. Holding his cheek he told me, "My face hurts."

"Let me feel your forehead. Why, you're as cool as a cucumber." I smiled.

Visions of girlfriend-time danced in my head.

"But, Mom, my face really hurts."

I listened to his chest, peeked in his mouth and checked his ears. "No fever. You slept fine last night. No blood. You haven't barfed. Yep, you're okay."

Paul walked in, bending down to examine our son. Apparently, Samuel needed a second opinion. "Well, maybe we should take him to the doctor's, Joanne."

A sliver of mom-guilt crept in. I smothered it. "Okay. I'll give him some ibuprofen and we can take him in. But, not until after I get back."

Samuel's doctor's appointment confirmed I was right. Nothing was wrong, except maybe some sinus pressure from a former cold. We received no medication and ended up taking him to run errands and then out to a sit-down lunch. Something I would've never done if my oldest child had been home sick.

Parenting looks a lot different after twenty-years.


4th-Child-Syndrome: Anything you now find cute, humorous, or indifferent, that you would have had a fit over with your first born.

Call the Police. I'm an Ornament-Felon.

Call 911. I want to turn myself in. My name is Joanne and I am an ornament-felon. My children will be including this sordid chapter of their childhood in their autobiography one day.

It's a tradition in our home that each child hangs their own special ornaments. The older you get, the more ornaments you have made and collected over the years. So, it is very important to our younger children that they have their own to hang too.

Samuel is our youngest. When it came time to hand him one of his special ornaments he savored the moment. Carefully he walked to the tree, not wanting to drop the treasure he gently carried. Turning it over in his hand he read aloud, "Baby's 1st Christmas" He softly said, then immediately blurted out, "Hey Mom, this isn't me!?"

He was right, and for seven years mommy has yet to  print a teeny tiny picture to put in Samuel's ornament. I tried to convince him, "Oh, honey...are you sure that isn't you? It sure does look like you." It looks nothing like him.

Am I the only one who has pictures of complete strangers adorned in ornaments on her tree?  Am I the only mother trying to convince her blonde-haired green-eyed son that he used to be a Hispanic, brown-eyed baby? Am I the only ornament-felon at-large?

In case you happen to know who this darling little boy is in the picture ornament above, please let his family know he will be spending his seventh Christmas at our house.







Originally posted December 2008

How cool are you?

Our son Samuel is seven years old.

He's in the second grade.


I found this in his backpack...

...quite the over-achiever, don't ya think?

Am I the only one?!?

It's a tradition in our home that each child hangs their own special ornaments. The older you get, the more ornaments you have made and collected over the years. So it is very important to our younger children that they have their own to hang too.

Samuel is our youngest so when it came time to hand him one of his special ornaments he savored the moment. Turning it over in his hand he read it out loud, "Baby's 1st Christmas" He softly said, then immediately blurted out, "Hey Mom, this isn't me!?"

He was right, and for seven years mommy has yet to find or even print a teeny tiny picture to put in Samuel's ornament. When I tried to convince him, "Oh, honey...are you sure that isn't you? It sure does look like you." (It looks nothing like him) The kids busted up laughing, including Samuel.

Am I the only one who has pictures of complete strangers adorned in ornaments on her Christmas tree?

In case you happen to know who this darling little boy is in the picture ornament above, please let his family know that he will be spending his seventh Christmas at our house.

WANTED!

Make a Smilebox greeting

A Moment In Our Life.

My children had just walked in the door from school today. Half listening to them tell me about their day, I was working on an article that I wanted to finish polishing up. All of a sudden I heard a large yell combined with a groaning, coming from Samuel our seven year old...

Samuel: OOOHHHHHH, HHRRRRMPPPHHHAAAAAHHHHH!

Me: (Startled, my head jerked up from my work.) What...what is it Samuel? Are you hurt?

Samuel: (Looking at me as he walks into the other room) Yeah, I'm fine mom. I just smelled my socks. They stink!

The secret language of seven year old boys...

Words have power. It doesn't take long for a woman to realize that. Words like fat, ugly or even nag, can change our moods rather quickly. But what words can a woman hear to make her move immediately into a Homeland Security red alert mode and take action? Are there words that can make us gals do things that we would never in a million years think of doing? Even being called fat won't make me get up and put on my exercise bra and walk on a treadmill.

To be quite honest, I can't think of any word that would motivate me to take action. Maybe because I am forty years old, there are no words that have the power to make me do things I don't want to do. Words like this don't exist for a forty year old mother of four, but...



these words do exist for seven year olds.



My son Samuel experienced the power of these words this week.

While on recess his first grade buddy Jordan said the words that moved my angelic son into action. "Samuel, I dare you..." You would have thought my son was a robot, he immediately engaged and headed out to accomplish what Jordan had dared him to do. "Samuel, I dare you to push Grace's face into the water fountain when she goes to take a drink." Like a mindless zombie, Samuel followed through with his order, mission accomplished.

When Samuel came home and walked through the front door, I knew immediately that he had gotten into trouble at school. His father and I happened to be sitting and talking when he walked in, poor kid never had a chance...

Samuel: His lip quivering before he even reached us...

Me: "You turned a card today in class didn't you?" (Us moms' always know, don't we?)

Samuel: Backpack and jacket still on, note from teacher in hand, he slowly nodded, "Yes."

Dad: "Why did you pull a card Samuel? What did you do?"

Samuel: Lip still quivering, trying hard not to cry, he immediately went guns blazing, into his defense. He spoke as fast as that little boy from the Christmas Story movie did, when he asks Santa for his Red Ryder BB gun. "Dad, Jordan dared me to push Grace's face into the water fountain while she was taking a drink. I didn't want to Dad, I really didn't, but he dared me Dad..."

Dad: Interrupting Samuel mid sentence, Paul asked him, "Samuel, what have I told you that a dare means?"

Samuel: Sighing, our youngest child looked down and recited back to his father the definition that he knew by heart, "You told me that a dare means, "Am I dumb enough to do it?" His head quickly jerked back up to begin his defense again, "But Dad, Jordan didn't just dare me, he fireball dared me, and you can't go back on a fireball dare!"

Dad: "Oh, I see son...it was a fireball dare..." He feigned understanding, then shot back, "Samuel, whether it's a dare, a double dog dare or a fireball dare, you don't do it." He went on, "Dares' have no power son, they are just words."

I almost interrupted, "Try telling that to the little girl with the wet face!"

I thought I'd better just keep my mouth shut this time and let Paul handle this one. My husband set down some harsh consequences for our seven year old. Our sweet little robot-zombie boy is without video games for ten days. On top of that, he had to write the little girl a letter of apology and give it to her when he went to school the next day. You would have thought his father had asked him to eat dirt, Samuel did not want to do this at all.


I guess we should have fireball dared him.

When the school nurse calls...

No matter where you are or what you are doing, when you receive a call from the school nurse, she has the supernatural power to make time stand still.

"Hello, is this Samuel's mother?" the voice in the phone asks me. "Yes, it is." I say hesitantly. "Hi, this is Dori the school nurse from the grammar school..."

Time for me has now offically stopped.

You would think that after four children and quite a few of these phone calls in my lifetime I would be a pro at this. You would think that being a 911 emergency dispatcher, that I would be well trained to handle emergencies in my own life. You would think that I could think much more clearly than the average person, since emergencies are what I handle on a weekly basis.

You would think...

"Samuel had a little accident." The time-stopping nurse continues.

My mind is already running way ahead of her...little accident? Did he fall? Is he unconscious? Does he need stitches?

This is where my prior emergency experiences can make things even worse. The unimaginable is exactly what I am imagining.

"It seems that Samuel and his friend Nicky bumped heads and then Samuel bumped his head into a tree." She tells me. "I thought he may need stitches but it looks like the cut under his eye wasn't as deep a cut as I originally thought."

"Thank you Lord!" I silently pray.

Big sigh of relief on my end and time begins to move again...until the next time.

A Question from a Son to His Father...

While cuddling with his father, our six year old son Samuel had a pressing question come to mind.

Samuel: Dad, if you could only pick one son and had to choose between me and God, who would you pick?

Dad: Why that's an easy one Samuel.

Samuel: It is? Who would you pick Dad?

Dad: I would pick you son.

Samuel: You would?!? You'd pick me over God?

Dad: Of course I would. It wouldn't be any fun having God as a son. He already knows everything. I couldn't teach him to throw a ball or teach him how to play baseball like I get to teach you. I would definitely pick you Samuel.

Samuel: (Toothless grin from ear to ear)

It is never the one that you think...

Our youngest son came home in tears today. His dad and I were both in the office, we could hear him crying as he walked down the hall to give us his bad news. He had pulled a ‘blue’ card today. For those of you who may be out of the loop when it comes to 1st grade discipline in school, a card is something that the teacher pulls to make a point that the child has misbehaved. Pulling a card usually comes in the form of progression in the way of a primary color scheme. Yellow is a warning, blue is a mandatory 5 minutes in from recess and red is a call home. Our son is an overachiever, he went from 0-100 in about 10 seconds flat. Samuel never got a yellow card, he went right to blue, not even a warning. His crime?

He wouldn’t finish his coloring project.

With that said, our oldest son David, we almost expected these types of schoolwork misdemeanors from. David made it clear that school was not his cup of tea and every teacher in every conference we ever had, confirmed the same. He was more than smart enough to do the work, but just didn’t ever get around to fitting it into his schedule.

Just when I start to think that I have bragging rights as a mom, just when I think I have some wisdom to share with the free world, in walks our youngest. The sweet and quiet one that is a clone of my overly-intelligent husband, the one who should be gleaning from our parenting expertise, walks in to share that he is being incarcerated in class tomorrow for the first five minutes of recess.

It is never the one that you think…

Warning: Blogging Can Cause Pruning

While blogging last night I made the mistake of not waiting until all of our children were in bed first. At 7:50pm I absent mindedly sent one child into the shower, helped one with a spelling test, while unconsciously saying prayers with yet another. 8:00pm is bedtime in our home and I thought ALL of our kids were in bed.

I was still blogging at 8:16pm, when I heard my youngest, Samuel(age 6) scream, "MMMMAAAWWWMMMMM!" My world quickly came into focus as I realized that the shower was still going...with him still in it! I ran into our bedroom and pulled him out of our shower. Soaking wet and wrinkled like a little prune, he curiously looked up at me as I threw a towel around him. My mom guilt was at an all time high as I apologized to my sweet boy, and kissed his cheeks over and over while drying him off. When out of one squinted eye, he looked up and asked, "How long were you going to keep me in there?" I started laughing and hugged him tightly to my chest. He squeezed out of my grasp and with a worried little smile, emphasizing each word, he asked "No, really mom, how...long... were...you...going...to...keep...me...in...there?"

Mother of the Year 2007? Not a chance...