Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick...Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!!!! - All the Ways I Love My Timer

I love my Big Timer. Its uses go beyond the typical timeout session or cooking project. Our timer is a motivator, a time-saver, and a non-negotiator. I've decided it's a device I simply can't live without! I also have a Timex digital watch with a timer...it's great, too!

Here are a few ways we use the timer around here:

1. Bathroom Monitor: I've mentioned our son's propensity to linger in the bathroom, water running, for upwards of an hour. To curtail these little bathroom binges, I brought the timer into the bathroom, set it for 5 minutes, and invited him to "race the timer!" He loves a challenge, so this worked great. Some kids may need additional incentive to beat the clock (M&Ms, stickers, extra time at the park) or consequences (timeout, lose some playtime, do a job - the bathroom usually needs straightening after they've been in there too long, so let them clean it up!) A timer can also help during teeth-brushing. I'm considering getting a timer dedicated to the kids' bathroom!


2. Cleanup Countdown: The kids love racing the timer during cleanup. I set the timer for 3 minutes and we race around, putting things away and picking up trash. If they are good workers, at the end of 3 minutes they earn one M&M and we set the timer again. Even our 2-year-old loves this method of cleaning!


3. Centertime Sentry: I often set the timer during playtime for 15-20 minutes. At the end of that time, the kids clean up their area and find something else to do. If they're really playing nicely and want more time, I give it to them, but more often than not, they're ready to try something new when the timer rings. It's really just a reminder to clean up their mess before moving on.
4. Quiet Time: I set my digital timer for 55 minutes every day for our 5-year-old's quiet time. He doesn't take a regular nap anymore, but we all need a break from each other after lunch and storytime. Our 2-year-old naps, I like to put my feet up and read or sometimes nap, and our 5-year-old is required to lay still and quiet until his timer beeps. He usually prepares a huge stack of books for his quiet time, but only gets about halfway through them before he's snoozing! If he's still awake when the timer beeps, he can get up and play quietly.
5. Computer Timer: For those of you with kids old enough to play on the computer or video gaming systems, the timer can help you set limits for your child and stick to them.
6. Potty Training Timer: I love my Timex digital watch. It reminds me to get my toddler to the bathroom. I call it my "potty watch." I'm very forgetful and it's so easy to simply forget that my toddler is wearing underwear and needs to go potty. While they're learning, they don't always identify their urge to go, so getting them to sit on the potty every 25 minutes or so can help in the early stages of potty training. This is another good use for a bathroom timer, especially for the resistant toddler: set it for 2 minutes. If she hasn't done anything after 2 minutes, but you know it should be about time for her to go, let her try again in 10-15 minutes.

Any other great uses for your timer?

Bi-Polar Me

I'm not really bi-polar. And I'm not making fun of those who are. I just feel like a crazy manic-depressive sometimes. Seriously. I go from high to low in a matter of seconds. The other day at MOPS a friend was talking about her daughters and how they are so dramatic - how they'll be laughing and playing happily one minute and in the depths of despair 10 seconds later. I laughed, thought about how happy I am to have boys because they're not quite so dramatic (yeah, right), then thought, "Oh, God, she just described me!" And I'm not a 4- or 6-year-old girl! In fact, I've always prided myself on NOT being a Drama Queen or a high-maintenance woman. I'm not easily offended (one of my favorite jokes is, "What do you do when the dishwasher quits? Slap her!"), I rarely cry, I don't like shopping, I would rather watch UFC than "American Idol." I'm not a "girly girl." But, as it turns out, I am extremely emotional and you would think I would've been clued into this years ago when I started taking MEDICATION to keep me at an even keel. But no, I kept on with the delusion that I am strong, tough, intelligent, and above silly womanish emotionalism. To illustrate how wrong I was, a typical conversation in my house:

"Ethan, it's time to go potty."

"Nooooooooooo!"

"Come one, let's go potty."

We go into the bathroom, Ethan stands in front of the toilet. "Ethan, pull your pants down and go pee."

"Noooo! They're not pants! They're shorts!"

"Okay. Pull your shorts down." He does, he pees, he puts the seat down. All is well. I am a good mom, I didn't lose it with him, he did what I asked.

"Ethan, pull your shorts up."

"Nooooo! It's not shorts! It's a Pull-Up!" I roll my eyes. He finally pulls them up, steps on the stool to wash his hands. Only, he doesn't wash his hands. He plays in the water, refuses to get soap. Yelling ensues. Smacks on the hiney. Threats of a time-out. 10 minutes later we leave the bathroom, he's crying, my blood pressure is somewhere around 200/180. This is what I'm thinking: I hate my life, I'm the worst mother ever, I shouldn't yell at him, Oh, God, forgive me for sometimes not liking my child, I'm a horrible mother, etc., etc., etc. 

Cut to 4 hours later. Both boys have napped. Ethan and I have "played Play-Doh" in the kitchen together for 30 minutes. We go to Walgreens to pick up aforementioned medication. We have to sit in line for a while, but that's okay because the boys are in the backseat, cracking each other up. This is what I'm thinking: You know, I am so blessed. My children are healthy, happy, cute, and fun. My husband is a good man. We have a house, 2 cars, plenty of food, a great church. I am livin' the life!

Give me 5 more minutes in line at Walgreens, though, and I'm inconsolable.

So, yeah, my cover is blown. I'm emotional. There. I said it. I may not cry or love shopping, but I can be reduced to screaming or elation by 32 pounds of preschooler. 

Milestones

My Oxford American Dictionary defines a milestone as:
1. a stone set up beside a road to show the distance in miles to a given place
2. a significant event or stage in life or history

My life as a mom is filled with milestones of both kinds. Using MapQuest I can get the exact mileage from my home to the pediatrician's office, but it's better measured by time it takes to actually drive there once your sick child is strapped into the car seat with an appropriate comfort toy, pacifier, dose of Tylenol, and sometimes a DVD cranked up for viewing. A distance could also be measured by the amount of stress and anxiety the length of the trip might produce in relation to timing it to coincide with a toddler's nap time. This measurement means more to me than actual miles to my destination.

The other kinds of milestones are significant in the life and history of my child as she grows and develops. Early on I couldn't wait for her to sleep through the night. That milestone couldn't come fast enough. Other milestones have included: standing, crawling, walking and now climbing everything in sight; drinking formula every 3 hours to eating baby food and now getting her to eat anything at a given meal; sleeping in her pack-n-play's bassinette, to her crib, and now to her toddler bed; and cooing, crying, babbling, sounding out a word or two to full blown phrases and declaratory sentences often given in an imperious tone then sweetly adding please when prompted.

As a first-time mom I have often found myself voraciously reading parenting books and magazines to see when these milestones "should" occur, asking experienced moms when their children reached them, and praying my child was reaching each one "on time". However, two years into this parenting thing, I've finally come to grips with two facts: each child is unique and reaches a given milestone when he/she is ready and able and that I shouldn't wish away the time it takes for each one to occur because as they are reached my responsibilities change and often increase. For example, when she was not walking yet, I longed for that time so I wouldn't have to carry her around so much. Once she began walking, I had to step up my vigilance and child proof the house.

Now I'm trying to simply enjoy each milestone as it happens and journaling it as her unique history.

Not-So-Guilty Pleasures

What do you like to do when you have "Me Time"?
Do you watch TV?
Listen to music?
Eat?
Exercise?
All of the Above?

Well, lately I've been working out. It's been a lot of fun actually because it's when I get to watch one of my favorite shows in peace. I just walk/jog on the treadmill for about 45 minutes and that's about when the show ends. Perfect. It makes me laugh like crazy and that's what the other people at the gym probably think of me - crazy. Since I have those ear phones in, I can't hear if I'm laughing out loud or not. Do you think I care anyway? Not really.

I really don't feel guilty at all because I'm doing lots of cardio (which is a healthy thing to do). Now if I was sitting at home eating Bon Bons and watching TV, I would feel pretty yuck about that. I'd think, "Shouldn't I be doing something productive instead of just sitting here watching junk?". So the exercise thing is the absolute best thing in the world to me right now.

Now, I know this is just a phase and I'll get sick of it after a while, but for now, I'll just go with it.

Oh yeah, the other thing that is really cool is the Pandora application on my iphone. Every song is a total surprise, and great. I love that.

I suppose all of this is just another example of how I like to escape reality for just awhile.

The Standoff

My hubby and I get along most of the time. We do not see eye to eye on the laundry, however. He believes the following things about laundry:

1. There is only one load, everything. Sorting is irrelevant.
2. Everything should be washed with hot water and lots of bleach. The more bleach the better.
3. Folding and putting away clothes is a waste of time.

And, he doesn't want to change. He doesn't care if he has a pink shirt or bleach stains on his pants. I, on the other hand, don't particularly like these "side effects" on my own clothes.

Luckily, I don't mind doing laundry. And because I am mildly OCD about organization, I like to have separate baskets of white and colored laundry. I don't mind carrying it downstairs, washing it, drying it (or hanging it out to dry when I have time), taking it back upstairs, folding it and putting it away. In fact, normally it doesn't faze me at all to do this. As long as I carry something every time I go up or down, the laundry pretty much stays caught up.

That is until I put my husband's clothes away. Our room has a very small closet. Seriously small. So we have a couple of wardrobes for our clothes. I put the clothes away, folded, and stacked. And my husband roots through his and makes a huge mess. Some fall on the floor. Now, being that he is freaky over germs, he feels that these clothes must be washed again or left on the floor until they are dirty enough to wash again. Which means, immediately.

This has made putting his clothes away, quite frustrating for me. I asked him to at least try not to unfold and make such a mess. I begged. I may have yelled. Okay, I yelled. And, nothing happened.

So, last summer, I stopped. We had reached a standoff.

I started stacking all his folded clothes in our Pack-N-Play. To my chagrin, he actually liked this. He could root around and nothing would hit the floor. I even stopped folding them. (Really, what is the point when he just messes them up?) My folding time was cut in half, at least.

For awhile, we were both happy. Until, he started to drop clothes all over the floor when he was looking for something. I then moved the Pack-N-Play into the hallway so I didn't have to look at it. This, too, seemed better. Out of sight, out of mind. It wasn't a mess I could see, so I felt much less annoyed by it.

But, by last month, it was all I could take. Clothes were everywhere. I was constantly being asked were this pair of pants were or that shirt was. I was finding clean clothes in the laundry all the time. Clean as in they had just been washed. Dirty because they hit the carpet during his daily search for clothes. There were no matched socks.

I stopped letting people go upstairs. I was embarrassed of the mess. Not my husband, he didn't care! In fact, I debated about taking a picture of the Pack-N-Play filled with clothes. But, frankly, it put me over the edge. I started thinking that I was going to need powerful drugs just to be able to write about this situation.

So I gave in and I ended up sorting, hanging, and folding all the clothes and putting them away properly.

I thought I would teach him a lesson. Make him see the error of his ways. And do you know the only comment I heard after everything was neat and clean was, "Hey, what did you do with the Pack-N-Play? I liked that thing!"

I thought about taking my own life at that point. Seriously.

Anything ever backfire on you?

Happy Casimir Pulaski Day or Why is Everyone in School?

OK - the following information was copied directly from Wikipedia:

Casimir Pulaski Day is a holiday observed in Illinois on the first Monday of every March to commemorate Casimir Pulaski, a Revolutionary War cavalry officer born March 4, 1747 in Poland as Kazimierz Pułaski. He is known for his contributions to the U.S. military in the American Revolution by training its soldiers and cavalry.

The day is celebrated mainly in areas that have large Polish populations. Chicago has the largest Polish population of any city in the world, save for Warsaw.[1] This is a separate holiday from the federal holiday, General Pulaski Memorial Day, which commemorates Pulaski's death at the Siege of Savannah on October 11, 1779.

Illinois enacted a law on June 20, 1977 to celebrate the birthday of Casimir Pulaski and held the first official Pulaski Day celebrations in 1978. The bill was introduced by Senator Leroy W. Lemke, a Democrat from Chicago. Chicago celebrates Pulaski Day on the first Monday in March with an annual parade. Cook County government (which includes Chicago) and the Chicago Public Library also close on this holiday.

I thought about paraphrasing it into my own words, but I really don't have the energy. I love Camimir Pulaski Day! I loved getting out of school when I was a kid, and I loved having my husband home with us. I know it says we started celebrating in 1978, but I don't remember getting out of school for this until I was in high school. I wonder if it just took that long for the memo to make it to down-state Illinois? In case you were wondering, there is a Fort Pulaski in Savannah which is pretty cool to visit, and is named after our hero. To quote Paul Harvey, "Now you know the rest of the story."

So simple...so effective!

So many days I feel like I'm barely treading water in this sea of motherhood, and some days I feel like I'm definitely drowning. But there are days when the stars align, all of the pieces fall into place, and I think, if only for a brief and fleeting moment, wow--maybe I'm getting the hang of this mommy thing after all.

When it comes to discipline and our two-year-old, most days I am hanging out at the bottom of the pool, but this week something changed. We had a new addition to our household: a timer. Not a digital beep...beep...beep...timer, but a ticktickticktickRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGG timer. I've used digital timers for a while now to help me keep track of, well, time, but I felt compelled to grab one of the rotary models while on a trip to Wal-Mart the other day. I believe it was divine intervention.

Time-outs are often laughable around here. I won't go into detail, but imagine those episodes of Super Nanny that involve time-outs, and it's not too far from our reality. There is something about the ticking timer, however, that has revolutionized the time-out in our household. We've used digital timers before, but most of the time we forget what's going on before the cute little beeps begin. Our son wasn't too impressed with it, either. Two days ago, we had a time-out worthy situation, and my son ran to the corner wailing. I wound the dial on our new timer, placed it on the bookshelf, and continued what I had been doing. After two minutes of high-pitched crying, a resounding RIIIIIINNNNNGGGG filled the air. My son abruptly stopped what he was doing and turned to look at me. I gave him the post-time-out talk and went into the other room. He followed me, a confused look on his face. "Mommy, time out?" He said. I responded, "Your time-out is done. The bell means it is done." He had a little conversation about the bells with himself, then seemed content to accept what had happened.

The remarkable thing happened the next day when we found ourselves in the corner again. I set the timer, he did his usual, and when the bell rang, he turned to me quietly, listened to me, and conversed with me about his actions. He then hugged me, apologized, and went off to play. Most importantly, he didn't repeat his time-out worthy behavior for the rest of the day. To quote Pam's friend Jody, "Holy Chicken Cacciatore!" This thing works!

But it doesn't just work for punishment discipline--at one point I needed our son to wait, and that is not something he is fond of doing. I set the timer, it ticked, then the bells rang. He waited. No whining, no taking matters into his own hands...he just waited. This little white plastic box of dials and gears is amazing.

So, I am happy to report that I have a new tool to use in my quest to train our son in the way he should go. Now if I could just figure out how to carry the ticking device around in my purse without attracting too much suspicious attention...

What about you? Do you have any amazing tools? I would love to hear about them!