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<channel>
<title>Adventures in Motherhood</title>
<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</link>
<description>Miami Valley moms dish about the wonderful, often humorous and always challenging role of being a mother including: families, kids, babies, pregnancy and things to do with kids in the Dayton and Springfield area.

Lucy Baker (a copy editor at the Dayton Daily News) is a mom of three.

Darci Jordan (a columnist for the Dayton Daily News and Springfield News-Sun) is the mom of two boys with a girl on the way</description>
<dc:language>en-us</dc:language>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
<dc:date>2012-05-21T06:59:09-05:00</dc:date>
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<item>
<title>Every  parent, one goal: keeping our kids safe and healthy. Tips from the experts at Dayton Children&apos;s Hospital</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/05/21/every_parent_on.html</link>
<description>I had the privilege of spending some time with an array of people from Dayton Children&amp;#8217;s Hospital recently. Thankfully, my visit wasn&amp;#8217;t because one of my kids was sick or injured, but I was invited because I&amp;#8217;m a mom and...</description>
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I had the privilege of spending some time with an array of people from Dayton Children&amp;#8217;s Hospital recently.

Thankfully, my visit wasn&amp;#8217;t because one of my kids was sick or injured, but I was invited because I&amp;#8217;m a mom and I write about it.

Yes, in fact there is an army of us who write/blog/vent about motherhood.

We were joined by Dayton Children&amp;#8217;s bloggers: Dr. Gregory Ramey a child psychologist who also writes a parenting column printed weekly in the Dayton Daily News; &amp;#8220;Dr. Mom&amp;#8221; Melissa King, a pediatrician in the Children&amp;#8217;s Clinic and Mommy Safety expert, Jessica Saunders.

As a mom who struggles with anxiety, my first thought was, &amp;#8220;Uh-Oh. What symptoms am I going to have to watch for - constantly - in my kids now?&amp;#8221;

While I did walk away from the panel with a few new things to worry about, I also found that this group helped to dispel fears of things that are often exaggerated. They each touched on some Hot Topics for the coming summer season.

For example: ticks (the creepy, crawly, biting kind).
Dr. Mom explained that while there is concern for the spread of disease by ticks, it is rare. Most symptoms of illness spread by ticks appear within 48 to 72 hours following the bite.
And - here&amp;#8217;s a tip - ticks can be removed by using a cotton ball soaked in soapy water.

Dr. Ramey shared his Secrets of Effective Parenting.
&amp;#8220;Work the problem rather than whine about it,&amp;#8221; he said.

Ramey suggests having a sit-down dinner with your family at least four times each week making the rules clear: no electronic distractions. No TV, no cell phones, etc.

&amp;#8220;Work for the rewarding payoff.&amp;#8221;

Summer is right around the corner so, Mommy Safety expert Jessica Saunders stressed the urgency of making sure you do not leave your child in a hot car.

As of May 7, when this panel was held, two children in the United States had already died of hyperthermia because they were left in a hot car.

&amp;#8220;It can happen to anyone,&amp;#8221; said Saunders.

A campaign - ACT: Avoid. Create reminders. Take Action. - has been launched to give parents tips on avoiding this tragedy.

Saunders suggests simple things: put your purse or briefcase in the backseat with your child or set an alarm on your cell phone to remind you of any change in your routine.

While you are setting the alarm on your phone, you might want to also consider removing the batteries from your bathroom scale and tossing the musical children&amp;#8217;s books.
Not because the bathroom scale is a known enemy, but the battery it runs on is.
A coin-sized lithium battery - if ingested - can kill a child. Not from choking, but by burning through the esophagus.

Now that my daughter is being weaned from her pacifier, she has unfortunately taken to putting everything else in her mouth.
Consequently, our car key fobs no longer work and we have to walk up to the TV to change the channel.

For more information - on pretty much all things related to kids health - or to follow these three bloggers visit childrensdayton.org.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-05-21T06:59:09-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>An unwelcome visit from the Ear-Infection-Fairy ... again</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/05/14/an_unwelcome_vi.html</link>
<description>It has been one of those weeks. You know the kind; when Murphy shows up and says, &amp;#8220;Hey! I make the law!&amp;#8221; The Hub was on a business trip, my parents had the nerve to be on vacation (leaving me...</description>
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It has been one of those weeks. You know the kind; when Murphy shows up and says, &amp;#8220;Hey! I make the law!&amp;#8221;

The Hub was on a business trip, my parents had the nerve to be on vacation (leaving me completely and utterly alone) and the Infection Fairy paid a harsh visit to my daughter.

I jinxed us again, having just said out-loud that the kids hadn&amp;#8217;t been sick much this year. My oldest even received a Perfect Attendance certificate for the winter period at school. Of course, he was absent - home sick - the day the certificate was presented.

Soon after my son&amp;#8217;s brief tummy ailment, my daughter developed a nasty hack. 
She ran a low-grade fever, too: &amp;#8220;Probably viral,&amp;#8221; I reasoned.

But soon she was pulling on her ear, saying &amp;#8220;My ear hurts.&amp;#8221; And she was coughing so hard she &amp;#133; well, lost her dinner in the car (Parenting Rule # 1: always, always have a barf-bag in the car). 

So, off to see the pediatrician we went.

The Princess had an ear infection worthy of treatment. 
She was put on an antibiotic - the thick, chalky pink stuff - and we were sent home. However, this girl was done with swallowing anything from a syringe-dropper.

Forcing the medicine into her mouth became a cruel kind of &amp;#8220;How dare you get sick!&amp;#8221; punishment for both of us.

Just when I thought she was feeling better, she took a turn for the worse. 
She became lethargic and spiked a temperature of 104.3. 

My Worry-Meter was off the charts. I couldn&amp;#8217;t even enjoy my nightly (huge, heaping) bowl of ice-cream after the kids went to bed (because then I don&amp;#8217;t have to share).
Instead, I monitored her all night and sped off to the doctor again first thing in the morning. 

Apparently, if you spit out your antibiotic it does not work. Who knew?

An antibiotic shot (in two doses) was administered - painfully - into my baby girl&amp;#8217;s thigh. This scenario was repeated for three (yes, tthhhrreeeeee) days. Her thighs looked like pin-cushions and the Band-Aid people all got a pay raise.

As a result, Operation Binky-Be-Gone was aborted. 

But we got by - with a little help from a friend - who brought dinner, watched my neglected sons while I made another trip to the pharmacy and offered encouraging words after my sick child then threw-up dinner, &amp;#8220;It&amp;#8217;s OK. We&amp;#8217;re moms now!&amp;#8221;

And to think I felt so &amp;#8220;alone.&amp;#8221;

I&amp;#8217;m happy to report that the Princess is on the mend - naturally - because Daddy is back in town and Grandpa and Memaw are now home from vacation.

Their travel agent, however, has gone missing. Hmm&amp;#133;

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-05-14T08:42:30-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Pulling the plug: Day 2</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/05/07/pulling_the_plu_1.html</link>
<description>The Binky Diaries Continued &amp;#8230; What is the best way to break your child of the pacifier habit? I wish I knew. But, I can tell you this: 1) Pacifiers are highly addictive; possibly even more so than Words With...</description>
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The Binky Diaries Continued &amp;#8230;

What is the best way to break your child of the pacifier habit? I wish I knew. But, I can tell you this:
1)  Pacifiers are highly addictive; possibly even more so than Words With Friends.

2)  If your child uses a pacifier, try breaking the habit before he/she is old enough to realize how cruel you are being by abruptly taking it away; thus avoiding him/her yelling, &amp;#8220;I don&amp;#8217;t like you anymore!&amp;#8221; followed by an ear-piercing scream.

3)  Keep the coffee warm &amp;#133; ALL day. You are going to need it because you will not sleep through your child&amp;#8217;s cries in the night for, &amp;#8220;Biiiinnkkky, please, bbiinnkkyy&amp;#133;&amp;#8221; or her stumbling sleepily into your room begging you for mercy.

4)  Have a sponsor available to take your calls at all times: &amp;#8220;Oh-my-word, Mother. I just can&amp;#8217;t take it. I am SO tired. She&amp;#8217;s even moving the chairs so she can stand on them to look for her binky in the cabinet.
&amp;#8220;Yes, I&amp;#8217;m brewing more coffee.&amp;#8221;

5)  Said child will wear you down.

And wear me down is exactly what my little Princess Persistent did. We made it through nap time on day two of Operation: Binky-Be-Gone.

By the time bedtime rolled around that next day I could take no more. The toothpicks holding my eyelids open were failing and my temper was, too.

So, we compromised. 

Nothing says, &amp;#8220;Parenting Fail!&amp;#8221; like compromising with a 2-year-old.

We are now on day four of the pacifier compromise and it&amp;#8217;s going surprisingly well.

Perhaps baby-steps is the better way to go with her (at least that is what I&amp;#8217;m telling myself so I don&amp;#8217;t feel like a failure).

After my daughter got out of bed for the 12th (no kidding) time on day two, I gave in. I went to the secret hiding place and pulled out one of her beloved pacifiers.

I picked her up, exhausted and stumbling down the hall, and placed her back in her bed. I presented her with the prize binky in my hand.
Her eyes widened with hope, and then closed immediately into slumber when I placed it in her mouth.

She didn&amp;#8217;t even have time to ask for that second binky she is so accustomed to having in her hand before she was out.

And then so was I.

My shoulders slumped; I breathed a sigh of relief and crash landed into my own bed. 

The next morning, feeling refreshed, I took her binky from her and put it away. It only comes out now at nap time and bedtime.

One day at a time and one step at a time, although I&amp;#8217;m not ruling out a visit from the Binky Fairy in the near future.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17408236@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-05-07T07:28:20-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Pulling the plug: day 1</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/04/23/pulling_the_plu.html</link>
<description>I don&amp;#8217;t really know what made me do it, but I did. I pulled the plug - with no warning - on my 2-year-old daughter&amp;#8217;s pacifier habit. She refused to go to sleep without at least two pacifiers (one in...</description>
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I don&amp;#8217;t really know what made me do it, but I did. I pulled the plug - with no warning - on my 2-year-old daughter&amp;#8217;s pacifier habit.

She refused to go to sleep without at least two pacifiers (one in mouth and one in hand) and if she found one during playtime, she always popped it into her mouth. 

I admit, as a mom of three - and her being my third - I was more inclined to pop a pacifier into her mouth myself.

It was the easy solution to a tired/crabby/whiny/persistent toddler.

It was time to hold an intervention; for her sake and mine.

She&amp;#8217;s been aching for her beloved Binky like an addict for more than a full day now.
It&amp;#8217;s not been without difficulty&amp;#133;

Day One: On that unexpected morn, the Princess woke from her slumber before the sun came up. Maybe it was because she woke me so early, too, that I decided to suddenly impose this cruel, torturous Behavior Modification Plan.

No, let&amp;#8217;s be honest: I did it because my husband (the Princess&amp;#8217; personal servant) was super busy with work and would not be around to undermine my intervention attempt.

My son was more than 3-years-old when the Binky Fairy came to exchange his pacifier(s) for a new pair of Big Boy preschool shoes. It wasn&amp;#8217;t a cake-walk, but at least he was old enough to understand what happened.

My daughter? She just thinks her pacifiers disappeared. Except for the one she found in her brother&amp;#8217;s room &amp;#133; and in the sink (I really thought I had found them all!).

I quickly took the discovered hidden treasures from her and instead gave her a Lollipop (no, not really, but I did take them).

But soon, nap-time was upon us.

I tucked her in bed - bracing myself against her cries for, &amp;#8220;Biiiinky!&amp;#8221; - and left the room.
Then she left the room, too. Again and again and again &amp;#133; 

I almost gave in, &amp;#8220;Maybe I should start slow and just let her have one, and only when she&amp;#8217;s sleeping. No. No! Be strong. No binky!&amp;#8221;

I carried her back to her bed over and over and over - not speaking a word to her, just placing her back in bed and leaving the room quietly (Super Nanny Style).

After eight brisk walks down the hall with her, she finally went to sleep.

But not for long, and she didn&amp;#8217;t sleep well; I thought, come night time, she&amp;#8217;d be exhausted and wouldn&amp;#8217;t care if she had her binky.

Wrong. What a long night it was &amp;#133;

(Next week: Day Two.)

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

</content>
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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-04-23T08:05:36-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Because that&apos;s what Gram would do ...</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/04/17/because_thats_w.html</link>
<description>It&amp;#8217;s a uniquely quiet afternoon this day - the Eve of Easter. My daughter is napping and my husband and sons are out-and-about visiting family. After a chaotic family vacation - er, &amp;#8220;trip&amp;#8221; rather - during Spring Break week, this...</description>
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It&amp;#8217;s a uniquely quiet afternoon this day - the Eve of Easter.
My daughter is napping and my husband and sons are out-and-about visiting family.

After a chaotic family vacation - er, &amp;#8220;trip&amp;#8221; rather - during Spring Break week, this quiet time is welcome, but for me it is also reflective.

The plastic Easter eggs are stuffed with candy, the Easter baskets are filled and the eggs are ready to be colored this evening.

This Easter will be different though. We lost a wonderful lady just a few weeks ago: my grandmother or &amp;#8220;Mamaw&amp;#8221; as she was fondly called by her Greats.

I recall my own childhood Easters attending church with Gram and Grandpa; wearing an Easter Bonnet and singing &amp;#8220;In my Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it &amp;#133;&amp;#8221;

There are pictures of more than 30 Easter celebrations at my Gram&amp;#8217;s house; every year a picture of her traditional bunny cake being decorated by the grand-kids.

There will still be a bunny cake on Easter day; the tradition being passed forward to her daughter, my aunt.

She was never a complainer, though she suffered with severe rheumatoid arthritis. 

&amp;#8220;How are you today, Gram?&amp;#8221;

Her answer - even through her final days - was always, &amp;#8220;I&amp;#8217;m fine.&amp;#8221;

Faith and prayers have carried my family through these last few weeks (thanks, all). 

I miss my Gram. I hated telling my sons and daughter that she was no longer with us. My heart aches for my grandfather who after 64-years of marriage is now on his own.
Sad times, but also enlightening times.

I find myself asking, &amp;#8220;What would Gram say or do?&amp;#8221;

I hear her voice calling to my daughter, &amp;#8220;There&amp;#8217;s my little sweetie!&amp;#8221;

And when I just can&amp;#8217;t hang on to those memories and keep it together I&amp;#8217;m reminded that in the end, things are going to be OK.

It&amp;#8217;s my own daughter who brings me to this peaceful state.
Being that she is a 2-year-old, I hear the irony in that statement.

Things in life happen that are difficult, trying and sad. I&amp;#8217;m guilty of taking my many blessings for granted. And when my kids are acting like heathens, it&amp;#8217;s not easy to consider them a &amp;#8220;blessing.&amp;#8221;

But they are. And oh, to have that child-like mind again. 

My daughter now sleeps in a Big Girl Bed, meaning, she can climb out.
And climb out she does - more often then I&amp;#8217;d like. 

At my wits end, she climbs out one last time and pleads for me to sit with her in the rocking chair.
I&amp;#8217;m exhausted - physically and emotionally - but, I give in. I sit with her for those few serene moments and think, &amp;#8220;This is what Gram would do for her. She loved her - and all of us - so much.&amp;#8221;

And then my daughter asks me to sing to her. 
&amp;#8220;Sing &amp;#8216;Jesus Loves Me&amp;#8217;&amp;#8221; she says.

Her request gives me pause: yes, He does; I just needed a reminder.

So I sing, because that is what Gram would do; and my daughter sings along with me.
I think we&amp;#8217;re going to be just &amp;#8220;fine.&amp;#8221;

Happy Easter.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.

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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-04-17T07:07:40-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Spring break is over! I need a vacation ...</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/04/09/spring_break_is.html</link>
<description>So, Spring Break week has come and gone. We had no plans to go veg on the beach somewhere warm, but we didn&amp;#8217;t want to keep the kids cooped up at home for a week either. So we decided to...</description>
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So, Spring Break week has come and gone. We had no plans to go veg on the beach somewhere warm, but we didn&amp;#8217;t want to keep the kids cooped up at home for a week either. So we decided to tag along on a business trip with my husband to the Windy City.

We loaded into the Family Wagon for the six-hour-drive to Chicago.
Other than my 2-year-old handing me a booger the size of Texas (guess who forgot to bring tissues?), the ride was fairly smooth.

When we arrived at the hotel our kids were bursting with energy and the family chaos began.

&amp;#8220;I wanna go swimming!&amp;#8221; 
&amp;#8220;Can we watch a movie?&amp;#8221;
&amp;#8220;When are we going to Lego Land?&amp;#8221;

In the midst of this barrage of questions, said 2-year-old (who is gradually being potty-trained) decided to change her own diaper thus resulting in a &amp;#133; well, we&amp;#8217;ll just call it a &amp;#8220;mess&amp;#8221; on the floor (a reminder as to why this germ-phobic mom cringes in hotel rooms).

Next up? Dinner.
We opted for a small, local Italian joint. More importantly, it was close.

My husband - who is trilingual - was speaking to the restaurant owner in his native tongue of Italian. My kids - who think they are able to speak other languages correctly - decided to order their dinner in Spanish.

&amp;#8220;Quesadilla, por favor!&amp;#8221; they said giggling between their many bickering sessions.

&amp;#8220;&amp;#133; and Mommy will have a vino, please,&amp;#8221; I added.

Later, my husband took the kids to the pool - (for a &amp;#8220;bath&amp;#8221; of course) - while I set up the room and disinfected all surfaces.

After the conference the next day we met up with friends and ventured to the aquarium.

Call me Small Town Spoiled, but we lost an hour in traffic, another hour waiting in line, $20 on parking and $35 on hotdogs and snacks because we missed lunchtime.

It was total chaos in the aquarium so we moved on to dinner - at a Brazilian steakhouse - and we were outnumbered: four adults and six tired kids with knives. Enough said.

But did we learn? Of course not (otherwise, what would I write about?).

&amp;#8220;Let&amp;#8217;s all go to the conference trade-show with Daddy!&amp;#8221; we decided early the next day.

This was like trick-or-treat for the boys who paraded around the event with their &amp;#8220;shopping bags&amp;#8221; loading up on free loot: ink pens, stress balls, key chains, candy.

However, it was the end-of-the-line for our exhausted toddler. Cat-naps in the car/stroller just weren&amp;#8217;t cutting it. She collapsed onto the floor, screaming her protests. I scooped her up and carried her - flailing all the way - to the car.

On our way out she targeted an innocent businessman and - before I could stop her - threw her binky at him as hard as she possibly could. 

I apologized profusely, shrugged off the gasps from the room, gathered my child - and myself - and bolted from the building.

And to think it was only noon on day two &amp;#133; (should have gone to the beach).

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-04-09T21:24:14-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>The Tooth Fairy hates me ... and now my kids, too</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/04/02/the_tooth_fairy.html</link>
<description>This is beginning to sound repetitive, but I had to take my kid to the dentist this week; again. There were no embarrassing moments or news-worthy stories this time, but my 2-year-old daughter did promptly march into the office and...</description>
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This is beginning to sound repetitive, but I had to take my kid to the dentist this week; again.

There were no embarrassing moments or news-worthy stories this time, but my 2-year-old daughter did promptly march into the office and immediately announce, &amp;#8220;That dog is going to eat me!&amp;#8221; (&amp;#8220;That Dog&amp;#8221; is Rascal the Chihuahua who visits patients).

The employees in our dental office must think I make appointments because I need a topic for my next column.

But, no; it&amp;#8217;s because the Tooth Fairy hates me.
She has always hated me.

How do I know this? Because she only left me a Quarter for each of my baby teeth. Kids these days are getting upwards of twenty-bucks per tooth.

Back in the day $20 would have bought at least six My Little Ponies; today it will buy maybe two.

I held on to my baby teeth until - no kidding - the age of 14

My first two baby teeth were pulled by the dentist and my last two baby teeth were pulled by the dentist.

And now, the same goes for my sons - at least for the first two teeth.

I like to think that it&amp;#8217;s because my boys inherited my super-strong, cavity-free chompers (although they also got the crooked-gappy chompers of my day, too).

It never crossed my mind that my 6-year-old would be sprouting permanent teeth, but he was. And it was right behind his baby tooth.

&amp;#8220;Mom,&amp;#8221; he said with his finger in his mouth. &amp;#8220;I feel something stuck in my teeth.&amp;#8221;

I grabbed the floss and said, &amp;#8220;Let me see.&amp;#8221;

There it was, a brand new Big-Person Tooth.
Needless-to-say, the floss didn&amp;#8217;t work.

I poked around in my son&amp;#8217;s mouth trying to wiggle his baby tooth but it wouldn&amp;#8217;t budge.
We poked, prodded and wiggled - did everything short of tying a string from his tooth to the doorknob - for another two weeks to no avail.

That is when it hit me: the Tooth Fairy hates me and now, my kids, too.

Even my oldest son, at 8-years-old, has lost only two teeth - because they were pulled - just last summer. He&amp;#8217;s &amp;#8220;dentally immature&amp;#8221; by several months.

There is hope though, as he has two top teeth that are loose (they have been loose since before last Christmas).

Maybe the Tooth Fairy will come to our house next time without any coaxing from the dentist.
But, I&amp;#8217;m pretty sure she won&amp;#8217;t be leaving $20.

(As for my daughter; this is my new saving grace when it comes to convincing a toddler that oral care is fun: http://www.fireflytoothbrush.com/products/)

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or Facebook.com/MotherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17406697@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-04-02T21:08:18-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Yay for spring! Boo for Daylight Savings Time!</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/03/26/yay_for_spring.html</link>
<description>Dear Daylight Savings Time, I despise you. You come early now, wreaking havoc on my kids&amp;#8217; circadian rhythms. They go to bed at &amp;#8220;8 p.m.&amp;#8221; and lay there, sun shining through the blinds, eyes open, wide awake for another hour....</description>
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Dear Daylight Savings Time,

I despise you.

You come early now, wreaking havoc on my kids&amp;#8217; circadian rhythms. They go to bed at &amp;#8220;8 p.m.&amp;#8221; and lay there, sun shining through the blinds, eyes open, wide awake for another hour.

The next morning, the neighbor girl who catches the bus at our home stands banging on the front door in the dark, wiping sleep from her eyes while I snooze through the alarm clock.

I let her in and apologize to her mother for sleeping through my responsibilities like a teenager.
Then I stumble to the couch, and &amp;#8220;rest my eyes&amp;#8221; until it is time to wake the boys; my brain not yet wanting to function properly (I can&amp;#8217;t even find the power button on the coffee maker).

The boys unwillingly open their eyes when I go into their rooms; glaring at me like I am their worst enemy - and I am - &amp;#8220;Good morning to you, good morning to you &amp;#133;&amp;#8221; I sing, while fumbling for the light switch.

20 minutes later I am physically dragging them from their beds. They mope around while I force feed them a breakfast their bodies don&amp;#8217;t yet want to eat.

Now they - uh, we - are running late. The bus rounds the final turn, heading for our house. The boys, with hair in disarray and mismatched socks, heft on their backpacks and stroll lazily to the end of the driveway.

This routine continues for several days.

Compile the time-change with this gorgeous, early spring weather and getting the children into bed at a decent hour becomes even more challenging.

As I write this, the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, the grass is green. I could really get used to weather like this year round.

But again at 8 p.m., I have to drag the kids into the house, protesting all the way to the shower.
&amp;#8220;But it&amp;#8217;s still light out! I don&amp;#8217;t want to take a shower!&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;You were digging up worms in the dirt and have sweat caked to every limb. You WILL get clean!&amp;#8221; I tell them.

&amp;#8220;AND it&amp;#8217;s a school night! It just happens to feel like June.&amp;#8221;

More daylight is a wonderful thing. The warm weather is a wonderful thing. 
And we have about eight months until we have to adapt to the new time again.
Wonderful.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17406607@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-03-26T21:46:13-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Toddler, M&amp;M&apos;s shaking it on the dance floor</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/03/20/toddler_mms_sha.html</link>
<description>My kids love to dance. When cooped up in the house for days on end (which thankfully didn&amp;#8217;t happen much this winter); when energy levels are exceedingly high, I often crank up the satellite radio and my kids (and yes,...</description>
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<![CDATA[My kids love to dance.

When cooped up in the house for days on end (which thankfully didn&#8217;t happen much this winter); when energy levels are exceedingly high, I often crank up the satellite radio and my kids (and yes, me, too) bust a move in the living room.

We shake our groove-things shamelessly, until we are exhausted.

The downside of this, if there has to be one, is I tend not to censor the music.

Oops.

While we aren&#8217;t listening to hard-core hip-hop, thrash metal or intentionally to songs that contain four-letter words, I did take notice when my 6-year-old son was showing off his &#8220;Moves Like Jagger.&#8221;

And again when my 8-year-old son was quoting Eminem lyrics (edited, thankfully).

But, when my daughter - who also loves to boogie - went from singing &#8220;Twinkle, twinkle little star&#8221; and &#8220;Jesus loves me&#8221; to &#8220;I&#8217;m Sexy and I know it!&#8221; while sitting at the dinner table (at my parents house, of course) my jaw hit the floor.

Uh-oh.

Have you ever tried to ignore a 2-year-old so he or she would stop a particular behavior?
It makes my eye twitch. It also makes my mother&#8217;s eye twitch.

Try as we might to ignore the words coming out of my daughter&#8217;s mouth over and over and over &#133; we failed.

The futile attempts to &#8220;show no reaction&#8221; gave way to giggles which then gave way to more singing.

Now she sings that song every day. 

I must give thanks again to the same M&amp;M candies that crashed onto my head in a potty training incident just last week.

You&#8217;ve seen the commercial; it first aired during the Super Bowl.
The brown M&amp;M is perceived as being naked at a party, thus the red M&amp;M strips off his candy shell and shouts, &#8220;Hit it!&#8221;

The song, &#8220;I&#8217;m sexy and I know it!&#8221; by LMFAO begins to play and the red - now brown (naked) - M&amp;M begins to dance. And so do my kids, toddler included.

My daughter has figured out the DVR remote and if the M&amp;M commercial comes on she rewinds it and plays it over and over and over.

I realize she doesn&#8217;t know what it means, but it does sound &#8230; uh, inappropriate coming from the mouth of a toddler.

But, it is funny. I&#8217;m aware though, it won&#8217;t be so funny when she&#8217;s 18.
(To see the video, visit my Motherhood Facebook page).

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
]]>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17406363@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-03-20T08:03:01-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
</item>
<item>
<title>Potty Training: the third and final season (who knew M&amp;M&apos;s could be dangerous?)</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/03/12/potty_training_2.html</link>
<description>I realize Christmas seems like it was just yesterday and that baseball season is on the near horizon, but in our house &amp;#8216;tis the season of another kind: Potty Training. It&amp;#8217;s a bitter-sweet, yet joyful, season. It&amp;#8217;s my third -...</description>
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<![CDATA[I realize Christmas seems like it was just yesterday and that baseball season is on the near horizon, but in our house &#8216;tis the season of another kind: Potty Training.

It&#8217;s a bitter-sweet, yet joyful, season. It&#8217;s my third - and final - Potty Training Season.

Bittersweet because my baby girl isn&#8217;t so much a &#8220;baby&#8221; anymore and joyful because, &#8220;Woohoo! No more diapers! No more wipes!&#8221;

I admit though, I failed my friend Dr. John Rosemond because at 18-months-old I was still changing my daughter&#8217;s diapers. Not because she wasn&#8217;t interested (she officially used the potty for the first time before her second birthday), but because I was lazy.

No more being lazy, she&#8217;s going to turn three this summer, but I&#8217;m trying not to stress out about getting her potty trained. 

We&#8217;re going one step at a time: First, she received new undies from Santa decorated with her favorite character, Dora. How exciting!
Her baby dolls are all now wearing them.

Then we gradually transitioned from diapers to pull-ups - which I said I wouldn&#8217;t do this time - but this has helped her with learning to dress (and unfortunately, undress) herself. 

And, of course, we are rewarding her for those few times she actually goes on the potty.
She gets one - sometimes two, depending on her, ahem, &#8220;achievement&#8221; in the bathroom -  M&amp;M candy.

She has a toy M&amp;M candy machine up high on the tall dresser in her room. It&#8217;s unreachable to your average 2-year-old, but our daughter has learned to climb on the furniture, so it is pushed even further back on the shelf. 

I was so excited about her first Bathroom Achievement I danced into her room, stretched, reached and finally grasped the M&amp;M machine which - surprise! - had a loose lid. 

In my bubbling excitement the M&amp;M machine tipped forward and showered me with the little chocolate candies.

My daughter stared at me from her little perch in the washroom, eyes wide and probably wondering if (or hoping) she was going to get a chocolate candy shower, too.

Really, having M&amp;M&#8217;s rained down upon my head wasn&#8217;t the worst thing that&#8217;s ever happened to me. It was kind of like a little glimpse of heaven, until the machine also crashed into my skull.

Feeling wonky and with candy down my shirt, in my hair and falling out of my pants-legs I made my way to my daughter, offering her praise - and an M&amp;M from my ear - for being a Big Girl.

She was quite pleased with herself and with her chocolate covered mother. 
I&#8217;m just thankful we didn&#8217;t decide to reward her with jaw-breakers.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
]]>
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<guid isPermaLink="false">17405974@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-03-12T20:58:22-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Yo no hablo Espanol, but my daughter does!</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/03/05/no_hablo_espano.html</link>
<description>When my two-year-old daughter speaks, I don&amp;#8217;t always understand what she says. It often sounds like gibberish or baby talk. I can say the same for my husband. But in his defense, he speaks three languages fluently and Spanish is...</description>
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When my two-year-old daughter speaks, I don&amp;#8217;t always understand what she says. It often sounds like gibberish or baby talk. 

I can say the same for my husband. 
But in his defense, he speaks three languages fluently and Spanish is what he learned first.

We wanted our children to learn a second language right from the start: Parenting Fail.
Our boys are now eight and six-years-old; they can count to 10 in Spanish and that&amp;#8217;s about it.

Mi esposo claims that if I had in fact bothered to learn conversational Spanish, then we would be speaking it in the house with each other, thus the kids would have picked it up.
(I majored in Agriculture Communications in college; the running joke is that I may not speak Spanish, but I can understand horses perfectly.)

So, since it is my fault our hijos and hija are not talking to each other or their relatives in Spanish, I went for the next best thing.

No, not Rosetta Stone; Dora.

You know, &amp;#8220;Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorer!&amp;#8221; (Now you can sing that tune in your head all day, too! You&amp;#8217;re welcome!)

Dora is our daughter&amp;#8217;s favorite cartoon amiga. And she is actually learning Spanish from her.

I have heard her repeat words while watching Dora on television, but repeating it is one things, to actually speak Spanish is another.

And speak it, she did.

While packing a diaper bag for her baby doll, she started struggling and tugging at the zipper closure.

Her frustration was mounting.

&amp;#8220;Mama!&amp;#8221; she said while she thrust the bag at me.
&amp;#8220;Mama, ayudame!&amp;#8221;

I was taken aback, &amp;#8220;What did you say?&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;Ayudame, Mommy!&amp;#8221; 

It wasn&amp;#8217;t gibberish or baby talk, it was Spanish. My daughter had just asked me to help her - in Spanish!

Whether she asked me correctly, I&amp;#8217;m not sure but I knew what she meant. I understood. 

Hhmm, maybe, I&amp;#8217;ve picked up a little Spanish from being around my husband for more than a decade; but don&amp;#8217;t tell him, por favor. 
I don&amp;#8217;t want him to know I actually do understand him when he says, &amp;#8220;Pañal sucio. Tu turno.&amp;#8221; (&amp;#8220;Dirty diaper. Your turn.&amp;#8221;)

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17405509@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-03-05T21:17:18-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Dear Dentist (&amp; Vet): We&apos;ll be back this summer. Be ready.</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/02/28/dear_dentist_ve.html</link>
<description>The adventures with our two-year-old daughter continue. Honestly, I do not remember my boys being quite so &amp;#133; uh &amp;#133; precocious. Of course, her shenanigans began while at the dentist&amp;#8217;s office. At home, behind closed doors, she is a perfect...</description>
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The adventures with our two-year-old daughter continue. Honestly, I do not remember my boys being quite so &amp;#133; uh &amp;#133; precocious.

Of course, her shenanigans began while at the dentist&amp;#8217;s office. At home, behind closed doors, she is a perfect little angel (ahem); in public she begins her rants.

My oldest son had been complaining of pain in his mouth for several days. I didn&amp;#8217;t see anything alarming and just assumed some of his baby teeth were finally coming loose. 

I warned him, &amp;#8220;If you keep complaining, you will have to go to the dentist.&amp;#8221; (Not that the dentist is a bad guy.)

So, to visit the dentist we went; myself with all three kids. I saw the trouble coming. We never leave the dentist&amp;#8217;s office without a story. Never.

My son popped into a chair for his exam while my six-year-old son entertained Rascal, the dental therapy dog (yes, really). 

My daughter decided Rascal - a Chihuahua - was vicious, frightening and would attack her at any given moment.

Her fight-or-flight mode kicked in and oh how I wish she had opted for &amp;#8220;flight.&amp;#8221;

But, no; she backed herself into a corner of the room and when Rascal came in for a sniff &amp;#133; she kicked him.

And then she kicked at him again - and again - yelling, &amp;#8220;Nnnoo!!&amp;#8221;

Our 75-pound Labrador at home: never been kicked. The tiny dental-dog: victim of a predictably unpredictable toddler.

I gasped, swooped her up into the chair with me (&amp;#8220;You do NOT kick the dog!&amp;#8221;) and Rascal tottered off, unfazed and unharmed.

When my son&amp;#8217;s exam was complete the kids were all directed to the prize drawer for behaving so well (two out of three isn&amp;#8217;t bad).

The boys quickly selected their prizes and then lead Sissy, who was concerned by Rascal now guarding the front office, to the drawer of goodies.

Naturally, she opted for a little bouncy-ball. Could I trust her not to eat it, a bouncy-ball would 
have been fine.

I lead her back to the drawer and began showing her the other things.
&amp;#8220;Oh, look! A purple monkey!&amp;#8221; I said handing her the toy.

&amp;#8220;No!&amp;#8221; she responded and promptly threw the monkey across the room.

The pink monkey also went a-flying; as did my temper.

I felt a don&amp;#8217;t-scream!-smile stretch across my face, thanked the office staff and herded my tribe and a purple monkey (for myself) out the door &amp;#133; with yet another fond memory.

(Note to dental office and veterinarian: we&amp;#8217;ll be back in July.)

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17405175@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-02-28T07:23:53-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Family is about love, not blood</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/02/21/family_is_about.html</link>
<description>So - notoriously - my son asked one of those questions I wasn&amp;#8217;t prepared to answer again. Nothing raunchy, nothing prefaced with &amp;#8220;Uh, mom &amp;#133; (long pause)&amp;#8221; and thankfully not, &amp;#8220;Well so-and-so said if you eat watermelon seeds one will...</description>
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So - notoriously - my son asked one of those questions I wasn&amp;#8217;t prepared to answer again.

Nothing raunchy, nothing prefaced with &amp;#8220;Uh, mom &amp;#133; (long pause)&amp;#8221; and thankfully not, &amp;#8220;Well so-and-so said if you eat watermelon seeds one will grow in your tummy. Is that how mommies get babies in there?&amp;#8221;

But it was close.

&amp;#8220;Mom, why are some kids adopted?&amp;#8221;

My turn for a long pause; there are so many reason. Where do I begin?

My favorite aunt and uncle adopted two children, and are very open and honest about it. I saw them go through the highs-and-lows of the adoption process; saw the emotional commitment they made years ago for their now 12 and 8 year old children.

I was there when they brought them each home for the first time. 

The children have never been anything but a gift, members of the family, the way things were - and are - supposed to be.

Adoption isn&amp;#8217;t a topic I&amp;#8217;m unfamiliar with, but I&amp;#8217;m no expert, and I was unsure how to explain it to my son.

I kept it simple (he&amp;#8217;s eight), explaining some couples are maybe unable to have children or want to provide a loving home to a child who needs one; and sometimes other parents feel they are not prepared to care for a child so they choose to allow him to be adopted.

&amp;#8220;You know your cousins are adopted, right?&amp;#8221; I asked him.

He looked at me in awe, &amp;#8220;Do they know?&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;Yes, they do.&amp;#8221; I said. They have known since they were able to understand it.

&amp;#8220;Are they still my cousins?&amp;#8221; he asked.

&amp;#8220;Yes, of course. They will always be your family.&amp;#8221;

I know there is so much more to tell him, but I&amp;#8217;m not sure he&amp;#8217;d understand yet.

&amp;#8220;Another way to explain adoption to children is that instead of growing the baby in a tummy, adoptive moms grow their babies in their hearts,&amp;#8221; said Marin Smith.

Marin and Jerid are parents of a 5-year-old daughter adopted from Taiwan in 2007.
They picked her up on Valentine&amp;#8217;s Day, or as they call it: &amp;#8220;Gotcha Day.&amp;#8221;

&amp;#8220;I think Gotcha Day being on Valentine&amp;#8217;s Day makes it super-special. Valentine&amp;#8217;s Day is all about love, and Jerid and I received the love of our lives that day,&amp;#8221; said Marin.
&amp;#8220;We always have a cake with three candles on it: one for Taiwan, one for the U.S. and one for family.&amp;#8221;

While in Taiwan, Marin purchased 21 special, hand-made items from a local market.

&amp;#8220;Every year on Family (Gotcha) Day she gets a gift. They are her 21 Gifts,&amp;#8221; said Marin.

What a wonderful way to celebrate the culmination of a loving family and what a blessing adoption can be.

I hope my children grow to understand that family isn&amp;#8217;t all about blood (or watermelon seeds), but it is always about love.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17404867@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-02-21T07:22:21-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Toddler an aspiring choir director</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/02/14/toddler_an_aspi.html</link>
<description>Some kids have meltdowns. Some kids bite. Some kids are hitters and others are feisty. Then there is our two-year-old: there are no words. Ornery maybe? Curious? It seems there is a new story to tell about her every day....</description>
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Some kids have meltdowns. Some kids bite. Some kids are hitters and others are feisty.
Then there is our two-year-old: there are no words. Ornery maybe? Curious? It seems there is a new story to tell about her every day. 

If you have been reading Motherhood lately, then you know.
But the fun hasn&amp;#8217;t ended.

We attended a Baptism for a friend&amp;#8217;s son with all three of our children in-tow. It just so happened that the Wittenberg choir was performing during the service that morning.

The Witt choir is a lovely bunch of students who sing absolutely beautifully.

The choir performed from the back of the church where patrons sat, necks cricked, to listen and watch.

Our kids were enthralled and really, behaved quite well during the service.

The Princess, however, wore her crown proudly. Once discovering her playmate was in the pew in front of her she had to be relocated to sit beside her. No one likes a screaming kid in church, after all, and keeping her still was like hanging onto a large blob of Jell-o.

She even walked up for the Communion blessing with her little friend&amp;#8217;s family, not ours.

But when the time came for the baptism my husband and I, who were sponsors for the child, had to go to the front of the church.

Well, Princess wasn&amp;#8217;t going to let us - or her friend - go up there without her. So, to the font she came. And she stayed (mostly) quiet.

We returned to our seats for the remainder of the service; our little Angel propped on Daddy&amp;#8217;s knee at the end of the pew.

The Wittenberg choir made their way to the front of the church for their final hymn. The director stood between the front couple of pews.

He began the gentle motions of coaxing the beautiful voices into rhythmic harmony. 
&amp;#8220;This little light of mine &amp;#133;&amp;#8221;

All was calm, peaceful &amp;#133; then, commotion. From the corner of my eye I saw my husband pop up off of the end of the pew and nearly fall into the aisle, reaching.

He missed.

The choir members - still smoothly singing - were smiling and stifling giggles between stanzas.

My daughter was now standing in front of the director, right under his waving hands. She stared up him and then looked at us both motioning and hissing, &amp;#8220;Get back here!&amp;#8221;

The director never missed a beat. He smiled and moved to the side allowing her to slip past and go back to her seat.

As we exited the church people said, &amp;#8220;Is she the one who wanted to conduct the choir?&amp;#8221; 

Rather than us complimenting the choir members, they said to us, &amp;#8220;That was so funny!&amp;#8221; 

A sense of humor was the real blessing that day.

As for her next performance, see the Wittenberg choir schedule.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC

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<guid isPermaLink="false">17404573@http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/</guid>
<dc:subject>Motherhood Column</dc:subject>
<dc:date>2012-02-14T08:53:38-05:00</dc:date>
<dc:creator>motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com</dc:creator>
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<item>
<title>Ready or not, a broken crib means Big Kid Bed for toddler</title>

    

    


<link>http://www.daytondailynews.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/dayton/mommy/entries/2012/02/13/ready_or_not_a.html</link>
<description>Ready or not, kids grow up. Before our very eyes they reach milestones: using the potty, dressing themselves (or undressing themselves at inopportune times), using a tissue instead of their finger, graduating to a big-kid bed. Our youngest is 2-years-old....</description>
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Ready or not, kids grow up.

Before our very eyes they reach milestones: using the potty, dressing themselves (or undressing themselves at inopportune times), using a tissue instead of their finger, graduating to a big-kid bed.

Our youngest is 2-years-old. She&amp;#8217;s a willful child but I was determined to keep her a baby as long as possible.

Because of her willfulness, I was certain that by moving her into a big-girl bed, the little Socialite would end up on the couch watching CSI: and having a night-cap with me.

We&amp;#8217;ve been fortunate - or lucky - as all three of our kids are good sleepers. Very seldom have we had bedtime woes (sick days/nights excluded).

Having been jumped in, climbed upon, once relocated, rearranged and kicked (the relentless &amp;#8220;I&amp;#8217;m not tired!&amp;#8221; or &amp;#8220;I&amp;#8217;m awake!&amp;#8221; thumping on the crib slats) for eight years, our crib, though, finally gave in.

Horror spread through my veins when I went to lift the drop-side of the crib and a &amp;#8220;safety slat&amp;#8221; snapped off in my hand.

&amp;#8220;Oh-no &amp;#133; now where will she sleep?&amp;#8221;

A sharp, wood edge protruded from the crib side; repairing the broken slat was not an option. Even Duck Tape was out of the equation.

My only remaining solution: move her into a big-girl bed.

Reluctantly, I began removing the drop-side from the convertible crib with a screwdriver. 

Preoccupied by using a tool and wondering where I put the Elmo safety-sides, I failed to notice my daughter had managed to cram her head and shoulders through the new wide space in the crib slats. And she was stuck (last week her leg, this week her head).

I wiggled her free with minimal screaming and no blood, but I knew there was no turning back; a big girl bed she would have.

I braced myself that first night; ready to Super-Nanny her back to her converted toddler bed every five minutes.

But, she did surprisingly well. She didn&amp;#8217;t come out of her room until the next morning. 

Not that it has been smooth sailing ever since, she&amp;#8217;s attempted to sneak out of her room a couple of times, but I think she has been ready for this milestone for a while. 

It&amp;#8217;s me who wasn&amp;#8217;t ready. Nor am I ready to tackle potty training or to revoke her pacifier privilege yet.

One thing at a time &amp;#133; and right now she&amp;#8217;s still my baby.

Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.

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<dc:date>2012-02-13T07:51:48-05:00</dc:date>
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