My son recently turned 5. While everyone else was distracted with birthday gifts and party planning, all I could think was, “How did this happen?” How did my son zoom through 5 years of life to become the (fairly) independent boy he is now? He dresses himself, feeds himself, buckles his own seatbelt (which he calls a belt-seat), and rarely needs extended hugging and snuggling time like he used to.

I started thinking about the time passing and how it seemed to go excruciatingly slowly while simultaneously fast-forwarding us at the speed of light to a fifth birthday. And then I came up with my new pet theory: Kid Years.

Kid Years run at rabbit speed and also at turtle speed. Sometimes the speed alternates. Like in the newborn stage, a calendar day can last three or four days in Kid Years. In fact, most individual calendar days seem to pass at turtle speed, especially when your child is a screaming colicky infant.

It’s only when you look back, say at birthdays and holidays and family gatherings, you realize that somehow, even though the days are turtles, the years pass by like rabbits. They also seem to multiply like rabbits. One year your kid is 2, and then somehow, he zooms forward to 5.

Meanwhile, your own life is passing at breakneck speed, which is a new sensation for you because before you had kids, the days lasted forever. It took me at least twenty years to get from the age of 20 to the age of 30, but it took about 5 years to get from age 30 to age 40. Weird. And now that I’m in my forties, I feel fifty coming on like a freight train.

Looking ahead, I can’t imagine my sweet little five-year-old turning into a pimply, sullen teenager. But I know it’s coming. So I’m slowing down time as much as possible, soaking up every minute of five-year-old time before it’s gone.

And then maybe I can just bypass the teenage years and go straight to the day when my son has graduated from college with honors and is about to become a CEO of a major company or the inventor of the new Twitter or Facebook, thus ensuring that I’ll never have to work again as long as I live.

I’ve signed up for several weekly e-newsletters that tell me what my child should be doing as a five-year-old. Mostly they tell me stuff I have already figured out on my own. Here are a few things I’ve learned about five-year-olds, followed by my comments.

Reading
Kids can start to read any time between the ages of 4 and 7. My son, being a brilliant child, started reading a few months before he turned five. We were shocked when he started reading as we hadn’t really been teaching him, just reading to him a lot and talking about words. I guess that’s all it takes. (Self-congratulatory pat here.)

Dressing
Five-year-olds should be able to dress themselves. My son has been dressing himself seemingly for years. We’ve got this covered.

Music Appreciation
Kids like music. Duh!

Independence
Kids are not old enough to walk or bike alone until they are 10 years of age. Finally, a rule of thumb I find useful. I have been struggling with this with my son. “Can I stay in the car?” he asks me as I get ready to pop into the dry cleaners. So far, I’ve been saying no, which I feel is the right choice for us. But when it comes to playing outside, he usually asks a parent to “watch” him. I’m thankful he doesn’t feel the need to sneak away to prove his independence (like I did when I was his age).

Sense of Humor
Five-year-olds have simplistic senses of humor. Really? All I have to do is say the words “poop” or “fart” and my son falls on the ground laughing. I don’t need an expert to tell me this.

Money
Five-year-olds are starting to understand money and what it’s used for. My son is right on track with this. He gets an allowance of $2 per week. One dollar is placed in the “Save” envelope and one dollar is placed in the “Spend” envelope. When enough money accumulates in the “Save” envelope, he can buy the toy of his choice. He likes handing over his own money to the cashier at the store but he still doesn’t have any concept of actual costs. He also thinks the Wawa just gives out money to anyone.

Subject Obsessions
Five-year-olds tend to become obsessed with a particular subject. No kidding. I’ve watched my son go through trains to dinosaurs to sharks to superheroes.

I’m sure there is much more I need to know about my child that is not listed here. So I’ll be adding to this list as time goes on. In the meantime, if you have anything to add to this list, please comment and let me know!

Other than the fact that I wish I had invented it, I don’t really have much of an opinion on Facebook. I joined last year because someone sent me an invitation to be his Friend and I didn’t want to be rude by ignoring him. Plus, I was curious about this whole Facebook thing. It seemed like something for twenty-somethings and I’m in my forties. But I signed up and accepted the Friend invitation. I looked at my new Friend’s wall and saw comments from his Friends. It seemed interesting. I signed off and didn’t log back in for at least a year. Then about a month or two ago I got another Friend invitation so I went back on the site. Since then I’ve accumulated 40 Friends.

All of a sudden all my friends are signing up for it. Even people much older than me seem to be using Facebook now. What gives? My guess is that Facebook is just the absolute easiest way to keep track of family and friends. Everybody these days is busy with work, family, and homelife, and it’s tough to keep tabs on loved ones. But Facebook makes it simple. Just log in and take a look at your wall. You’ll see brief updates on what people are doing and thinking.

Unfortunately, sometimes these updates devolve into inappropriate or too personal comments that I would rather not know about. My husband’s religious, conservative relatives enjoy posting personal opinions about politics that reveal an agenda that I cannot get on board with. Others Friends post personal information about their health, including talk about medications they are taking! For me, Facebook is more valuable when someone posts an interesting story from their day, posts a cute picture, or provides a meaty update about their life events.

My husband, who was anti-Facebook for ever so long, finally broke down after an invitation to view someone’s profile. He has since become a Facebook freak, checking in every day and immersing himself in hiding Easter eggs on people’s profiles and playing Vampire Wars. He also pokes and throws beads at people. Huh? I don’t exactly get the point of these activities but he seems to be enjoying himself. And there is the danger of Facebook: to become so immersed in the various applications available that you forget the root purpose of the site, to stay in touch with Friends.

So go ahead and Facebook if you have to, but keep your posts interesting and meaty. And please remember that everything you write will show up on the walls of ALL your Friends, so make it something worth reading!

Wow, imagine how honored we felt when we got an email from a publicist for Real Simple magazine asking us to blog about their latest story, “Can Facebook Be Your Friend?” She wrote,

“I follow your blog and thought you might be interested in a fun story that we have coming up in our April issue, which hits newsstands next Monday, March 23rd! With Facebook being a hot networking tool, we take a look at the popular online community in our story, “Can Facebook Be Your Friend?” Some say Facebook is the perfect tool to stay in touch. Others call it an invasion of privacy and a time-waster. If you’re unsure whether to venture into unseen territory, we share the pros and cons of today’s most popular online networking tool.”

Well! Someone from the totally awesome Real Simple magazine asking the opinion of the humble bloggers here at Any-Mom? Too cool! Of course, we can’t pass up this opportunity to be the Go-To-Bloggers for Real Simple. Look for our posts on this subject to be published this week.

We are pleased to announce that MoltoMom gave birth to a healthy baby boy on March 16th. We don’t have many details yet but we do know that the baby weighed in at 10 lbs. 7 oz. and was 21 1/2 inches long. Wow, what a big boy! Congratulations to MoltoMom! We hope to hear from her soon, but not too soon. We’ll give her some time to recover before we storm over there and prop her up at the computer and get her fingers moving over that keyboard!

What I’m fretting about today is talking to my son about sexual abuse. There are a few reasons why this is becoming a concern for me:

1. My son is 5 1/2 and is starting to go on play dates at the homes of preschool friends
2. My son left the house on Sunday and stood in the driveway talking to an old man with a little fluffy white dog
3. My son is very self-confident and will respond to adults who speak to him

Two weeks ago my son went on his second only playdate without me. The first one took place a few months ago at the home of a very trusted couple. We left our son and their two kids with a babysitter and went out to dinner. This was my son’s first babysitter experience. Yes, that’s right, in the whole entire 5 1/2 years of his life we have never hired a babysitter (pathetic, I know). We have left him with my mother on a few evenings but mostly we take him with us or we stay home. I was a little freaked out about leaving him with a babysitter I didn’t know but she had been taking care of our friends’ kids for a few years and I figured it would be okay. And it was. The only one with a problem was me.

The second play date took place at the home of a preschool friend. I don’t really know this family very well, but the mother took the time to introduce herself in the halls and suggested we get the boys together some time. So we set up a play date and I took my son over there, scouted out the place, and left him for a few hours. I was a little freaked out about this experience, as well. I mean, the other couple seemed nice enough, but how do you really know what goes on behind closed doors? There are lots of sick people out there in the world, and the worst part is, they can look totally normal. Well, the play date went fine, I guess. I mean, I didn’t have the nerve to ask my son, “Hey, sweetie, did anyone molest you while you were over there?” But I did take some action: I told my husband he would have to figure out a way to bring up this topic with our son. How’s that for taking charge!

Then, this past weekend, I suddenly realized my son had left the house. I heard talking outside so I went to the door. A disreputable looking old man with a small fluffy white dog was standing near the entrance to our carport, speaking to my son. I almost had a heart attack! I know for a fact that there are several sexual predators living in our area – they all have to be registered and you can find them in an online database. Well, I stood beside the door and watched until my son came back in. Then we went into the office where my husband was working and we all had a little chat about strangers. My husband did most of the talking and he handled it really well. Still, my son looked a little upset. It’s a fine line we walk between cautioning our kids to be careful and scaring the living crap out of them.

I later decided that this conversation would be an ongoing one – not just a one-time thing. So last night when my son was dancing around naked after his shower, I asked him if anyone is allowed to touch his penis. He said no. Then I asked what he would do if someone tried to touch his penis. He said he would tell a teacher. I quickly said that he should also tell Mommy and Daddy. And then Mommy will go beat the crap out of whoever did it. Okay, I didn’t say the last part, but I sure thought it. Nothing turns me into a violent tigress more than the thought of someone harming my son.

So I guess we are on the right track with talking about this subject. It kills me to have to end my son’s innocence with talk about the nasty motives of adults, but what choice do I have? He’s growing up, slipping out of my grasp, and getting out in the world. I think I owe it to him to prepare him in a realistic way for potential dangers. I’d love to know what other people have done about talking to their kids about sexual abuse. Please leave comments!

Last night at bedtime my son wanted to give me a kiss on the lips. He grabbed my face and dove in, lips pursed, a maniacal expression on his face.

“No way!” I screeched in alarm, turning my face away and pinning down his octopus hands.

“Why not, mommy?” He gave me his best Cute Puppy Dog Look. “People kiss on the lips. They do.”

“Because for one thing I have a cold and I don’t want you to get it and for another thing, we are not kiss-on-the-mouth people,” I say, feeling pretty darn good about this explanation. “Now lie down and go to sleep.”

He put his head down on the pillow but popped right back up and exclaimed, “But I really want to kiss you on the lips. I just want to. I do.” This accompanied by a little tilt and nod of the head with an earnest expression on his face, always a sure-fire combo that typically gets him whatever he wants.

This night, though, I wasn’t budging. Normally I would let him give me a little peck on the mouth to satisfy his stubborn nature, but there was no way I was going to infect him and then spend the next 5 days suffering with Sick Kid. Sick Mommy taking care of Well Kid is bad enough but Sick Mommy taking care of Sick Kid is unbearable. Any mom will tell you that.

We went through this kissing phase last year, where for several weeks he would insist on kissing both me and my husband on the lips. We indulged him because there was really no reason not to and because he was insistent and because it was easier to accept a quick smooch than to try to reason with a preschooler.

“Kissing on the mouth is for adults,” I told him repeatedly, trying to reason with a preschooler.

“But Rohan at school kisses his mommy on the lips,” my son argued.

“Well,” I backtrack quickly. “Some people kiss on the lips but we don’t do that.”

I suppose I should be grateful that my son still loves me enough to want to give me hugs and kisses. I’m sure when he gets to be 10 or so, he won’t want to have anything to do with me. Still, I just can’t bring myself to kiss him on the lips. First off, kids are mini germ factories. They put strange things in their mouths, they don’t wash very well, they gather up bacteria like nobody’s business. Secondly, it just reminds me of having to kiss my grandmother on the lips. Yes, she was a Lip Kisser. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandmother, but that just didn’t extend to kissing on the lips. I don’t think I even liked kissing her on the cheek.

Thankfully, my son does not pursue the line of questioning about why we are Cheek Kissers and not Lip Kissers. That would lead to an entirely uncomfortable discussion about bodily boundaries and appropriate touching that I am just not ready to get into.

What about your family? Are you Lip Kissers or Cheek Kissers? How have you handled your young child’s questions about kissing?

After reading Mommy Confessions Michelle Wolfson’s lists of “Things I Could Do Before I Had Kids That I Can’t Do Now” and “Things I Can Do Now That I Couldn’t Do Before I Became a Mom”, I decided to take her up on her invitation and create my own. So here they are…

Things I Could Do Before I Had Kids That I Can’t Do Now…

Wear a bikini.

Stay up past 11pm without an afternoon nap.

Talk on the phone without being interrupted.

Leave the house empty-handed with nothing but keys and a wallet.

Eat cookies or candy openly in the middle of the day (although not doing this could be a real positive for my waistline).

Finish a meal at a restaurant without a visit (or three) to the potty.

Things I Can Do Now That I Couldn’t Do Before I Became a Mom…

Board a plane first.

Spend an afternoon playing with trains.

Have a really good excuse for leaving boring parties early (or not even attending at all).

Notice little, beautiful things around me that I never stopped to look at before.

Wake up to hearing the word “Mommy”.

See pieces of myself in someone else.

Hear “I love you” a hundred times a day.

This was such a fun exercise – thanks to Michelle! I would love to read your lists too so feel free to post in the comment section.

My son had his first legitimate beef with me last weekend. Don’t get me wrong, he has boldly proclaimed, “I’m mad”, when I’ve given him a timeout or told him he couldn’t watch TV, but this was the first time that he had a real case against me.

My husband had taken him to his swim lesson on Saturday morning and then they picked up lunch. I was getting a haircut and by the time I came home, they had already eaten and my son was taking a nap. So, I fixed myself something to eat and noticed a half-eaten bag of chips on the counter, which I finished off, not thinking twice about it.

An hour later, my son woke up and the three of us were in the kitchen chatting. And that’s when the conversation went sour.

Son: Can I have more chips?

Me: Well…there aren’t any more chips. I ate the rest of them.

Son: (Looks incredulously at me) But I picked them out with Daddy. They weren’t yours.

(Pauses)

I’m mad at you. (Juts out his bottom lip and makes a very stern face)

My husband and I tried desperately not to laugh in his face, but our attempts failed miserably, and he went storming – arms crossed – out of the kitchen and into the living room. I eventually smoothed it over with him by acting silly and making him laugh, but I have to say, it took awhile!

And while I would like to blame the eating of the chips to the pregnancy and my voracious appetite that just won’t quit, I have to be honest and admit that I probably would have inhaled them even if I wasn’t pregnant.

Something tells me that this won’t be the last time my son and I fight over food. Perhaps this would have been a great opportunity to teach a lesson about sharing – but my heart just wasn’t in it. I felt like I was in the wrong on this one. I guess I could have asked before I pounced on the chips. They certainly would have gotten an earful if either one of them ate something I was saving for later.

So now I’m thinking ahead to my future, with another boy on the way, I’ll have to start putting names on everyone’s food and hoarding my own private stash of goodies under my bed.

I’d really like a report card.

I’d love a quarterly review.

I’d do almost anything for a tiny bit of FEEDBACK.

I just want someone with a little authority to tell me if I am, or if I am not, doing a good job as a mom. And my husband doesn’t count.

As soon as the kids are in bed, I look for solid evidence – anything I can use to prove my excellence as a mother. Is the house clean? Are books and educational games not only slightly worn from over use, are they piled neatly in a corner after a long day of play? And does the kitchen say “home of creative nutritional cooking” and “smart snacks only?”

I hardly ever find this so called “evidence of excellent mothering.” I see toys where they don’t belong, piles of unwashed clothes that need attention and as usual, I see my nemesis, the front glass door. It doesn’t matter how many times I Windex the door there are still fingerprints and smudges on it at days end.
So…..most times…when I find myself frantically searching for some redeeming remnant of the day, all I can come up with is – Hey, at least no one actually drank the Windex today.

Failing to find real feedback inside the house, I look forward to doctor well-visits and school conferences. Certainly pediatricians and teachers have enough authority to tell me that “thanks to excellent parenting skills, my kids are healthy and smart.” And hearing it from them makes it official, right? Maybe, but based on our last doctor visit, I’m guessing our insurance doesn’t cover praise.

Recently, I took my daughter to her 4 year well visit. She had had her school conference a week earlier and I was still on a high from a few accolades she received, so naturally, I hoped more would be coming. But all said and done, I was totally underwhelmed, and felt like I’d had Mickey D drive thru exchanges with more give-and-take.

Accolades, zero. Pats on the back, zero.

My daughter, elated to pick TWO princess stickers out of the sticker box, was happy to be done with it, but I just sat there, wondering what happened. Hey, where was MY sticker? Then I got to thinking…

Allow me to introduce the “Sticker Chart for Moms.” A few examples of goals:

• Looking poised and in control when your child throws a Brittany fit on the floor at Target.

• Coming up with a reasonable answer when your child says “Look at that Man mommy!” while pointing to the woman next to you.

• Brushing your teeth in daylight, not just before bed.

• Sitting down and really playing with your kids and not thinking about the 101 other things that you HAVE to get done today.

• Reaching for the fruit and not the chips when they ask for a snack.

• Getting out a book instead of changing the channel to NOGGIN when they’re bored.

Add your own, but the idea is this: designate X number of gold stickers per accomplishment, then redeem however you see fit. For example, 5 stickers buys you a trip to the bathroom, ALONE. Twenty lets you go to bed guilt-free after saying NO to sex. Fifty, and your husband (or mother or housemate or whoever) has to tour the house noting all you do, complimenting every step of the way. 75 stickers and you get to enjoy dinner without 1) anyone eating off of your plate and 2) you feeding anyone else. The mother load, 100 stickers, (no pun intended), and you receive… drum roll please… a bona fide report card. One precious and official piece of paper detailing all you have done right – and wrong – this month in parenting. Signed, sealed and delivered by your pediatrician, your child’s teacher, or whomever you deem worthy of the label, “Parenting Authority.”

Finding confidence as a Mom is a hard task when there’s no praise, tangible reward or ongoing advice. You have to trust your gut. You don’t get feedback and you don’t have a boss to report to and/or guide you. For some reason, it’s been pre-determined that parents must walk blindly, and lead the future of this planet on gut instinct alone.

The next time I begin to question and doubt my ability as a mother, the next time I find myself daydreaming of sticker charts and report cards, I think I’ll just pour myself a nice glass of wine instead. Tomorrow is always a new day. And If I am still not 100% confident by then, I plan to fake it. At least the kids won’t know.