A Case of Mistaken Identity

I never know who I am going to find when I wake my kids each morning.  Will it be Anna or Ariel?  Is Wish Bear making an appearance?  Perhaps evil Sid will greet me before spending the morning torturing his toys (and us).  Today I have called them by the following names (at their request of course): Wish Bear and Wish Star (Anna and Kara respectively), Batman (Jack), Baby Captain America (Kara), Baby Darth Vader (Anna), and Darth Vader (Jack).  At the moment, I am a Rebel.  Which means one of the kids occassionally pops in, asks if I am rebel and then runs off screaming to the others that they have found the rebels. 

On the one hand I love their imaginations.  On the other, I get tired of being corrected a thousand times a day with, "I'm NOT Jack, call me Batman."  Frequently, I become a part of their games.  We were outside today, I was pulling weeds and the kids were riding bikes.  Jack was Batman.  Anna was Wish Bear and Kara was her side-kick Wish Star.  Much to the girls dismay Jack refused to be roped into a Care Bears game.  Anna tried, "welcome to Care-A-Lot, Batman."  Jack's response, "Batman does not visit Care Bears."  I, however, had to juggle being Robin and the queen of Care-A-Lot.  Fortunately, the girls let Jack off the hook without much fuss.  It doesn't always go that way when someone refuses to participate in their world of make-believe.  A couple of days ago Kara let out a blood-curdling scream. Assuming she had fallen down the stairs or something equally terrible, I ran to her aid. When she calmed down enough to talk, I learned what happened: Anna had refused to call her Belle.

When Anna or Kara is Ariel they opt not to use their legs.  Thomas is a kinder parent, he will make them a mermaid tail out of a blanket.  I just step over them, trying to remember if I am Ursula, Flouder, or King Titon.

They have no legs and since Mommy refuses to carry them from room to room, they are left with no choice but to drag themselves about.

Last week Anna was Cinderella and I was the evil stepmother.  Every few minutes she would demand a new task.  I would tell her to go wash the windows or sweep the floors.  A minute later she would return and say it was done and I would give her a new task.  This went on for a while until I heard running water.  Apparently she had decided that I was not pretending when I told her to wash the bathroom floor.  She dumped a bucket of water on it.  After that, I was careful to distinguish between real and pretend tasks.  Pictured below are real tasks of wiping counters and helping with laundry.

  





Now, I am a stormtrooper, directing them in their hunt to find Princess Leia.  Kara just threw a pillow at me and told me it was her Captain America shield.  Never a dull moment.  But on the plus side there is no way I could have sat down a year ago to write a blog while they were awake.  Now, their imaginations allow them to have all kinds of fun together, often with limited parental involvment.  They are growing fast and I am enjoying seeing their imaginations blossom. 

I had started to keep notes of all the cutes things they are doing so I could write about it.  Unfortunately, I can't find my notebook.  It was probably the prop in one of their games. 

So, in limited other news, Jack and Anna have started soccer and Thomas is their coach.  I couldn't believe how cute they all were in their soccer gear.  They have only had one practice, so I'll have to keep you posted.  Kara is progressing with the potty training.  She kept her underwear dry all day yesterday.  Today hasn't gone as well, but we're getting there.  Anna got in trouble at dance last night, apparently she was "huffing and puffing" and had to sit against the mirror.  I am not 100% sure what that means but I think she was sighing heavily and repeatedly when she was frustrated.

It looks like the troops need me, so that will have to serve as catch-up for now.  Now, where are those rebel scum???

Me, Anna & the bees

To those who know me well, this will come as no suprise: I am terrified of bees and hornets.  As in, I have jumped out of a moving car to get away from a bee.  As in, I was voted "least likely to become an entomologist" at camp.  As in, my father almost didn't let me get a driver's license because he was afraid of what would happen if I was the driver of a vehicle that contained a stinging bug.  This life-long fear began as a child.  I can't remember a time when I was not scared of the flying insects.  And, as a result of this, I got stung.  A lot.  I have been stung on my eye, neck, arm, foot, and finger.  Those are just the ones that come immediately to mind.  Oddly enough, when you turn into a bumbling imbecile anytime a bee comes near you, they tend to freak out and sting you.  I am also slightly allergic; I swell up pretty big.  We have made at least one trip to the emergency room, but benadryl seems to do the trick.

As an adult I have begun to get a handle on my outrageous behavior.  There have been hornets in the car, but I have managed to pull over without killing myself or anyone else on the road.  I have even mustered the courage to unbuckle a child in a carseat and pull them to safety while we waited for the insect to fly away.  This past summer, I enjoyed a picnic with bees flying around and was able to walk into a house surrounded by bees (without covering my ears, which is pretty much a reflex for me).  In fact, I like to think I am almost over my irrational bee fear.  Now, I would say I just have a healthy fear. 

Unfortunately, the hornet phobia is alive and well.  They are just so dang-scary looking, with those dangling leg-like things.   This time of year, they descend on our home.  One of them somehow got inside last week.  Fortunately, we had some "kill on contact" 22-foot spray.  You know the stuff that says that under no circumstance is it to be used inside?  Well, I used it inside.  Then, I opened all the windows and turned on the fan.  We all survived.  Well, not the hornet of course. 

When we had kids, I was afraid I was going to pass my fear onto them.  I have learned to somewhat mask it  but I still freak-out if I am in an enclosed space with one.  And, heaven help us if one lands on me.  I lose all control then.  Which brings me to the Anna part.  She has already been stung 3 times.  Two by hornets (or wasps, I don't know the difference) and once by a bee.  One hornet she picked up thinking it was dead and not knowing what it was.  The bee flew up her dress at the zoo and couldn't find its way out.  And, the last time, she was standing on the deck right on top of a large nest.  So, you can't blame the kid for being scared.  I am seeing a lot of myself in her behavior.  Today, she saw one on the deck.  The way she was screaming and crying, I was afraid she had been stung again.  And that was just because she saw one.  I had to guide her in an alternate door.

So, what is a phobic mother to do?  I decided to be honest.  I told her I was also scared of them and explained how it had kept me from having a lot of fun outside.  I told her that if she lets the fear dictate her behavior now, it will grow and grow and soon she won't be able to fully enjoy all the things she really enjoys, like riding her bike.  I explained how there were hornets flying around the whole time she was outside and she didn't even notice them because she was having so much fun.  So, we talked for a while and she decided she was going to be brave.  Hopefully, she will have (much) more success than I've had.  Fear is such a funny thing; I wish I could be as rational as my 4-year old is.

On a side-note, Jack came in from outside and reported that he also saw a hornet.  Then he asked, "was it looking for Anna?"