I'm not sure at what point this weekend I declared Scotty a terrorist, but his behavior had worn me down to the point of cranky, exhausted, grouchy Mom. Otherwise known as "Mount Kimmy" -- and she's about to blow.

I think it was when he decided to sit on my head while I was laying on the couch. The whole family had been inflicted with a nasty head cold, with Brian and I operating at about half-capacity and Scotty grumbling and coughing through the day. My attempt at a tiny bit of rest was disturbed by the Bear placing a large decorative pillow on my head. "I am going to sit on you, Momma," he informed calmly, like this was an everyday occurrence. "No, Scotty, don't sit there. You are going to smush me." "No, I'm going to sit on you." "No, Scott, you are hurting me." "No, Mommy, stay still. I want to sit on your head." "No, Scott! Stop. Stop! STOP!"

And then I erupted off the couch like an angry bear, growling at my cub. He looked at me defiantly and promptly started screaming.

Really?

This was the straw that broke the camel's back. This power struggle, this ridiculous interplay between parent and child, is so freaking annoying. Yes, I know they are "practicing" life skills on us, but I only have so much patience. And with both ears plugged, a sore throat and mucus running freely from my face, my patience was waning, to say the least.

It also didn't help that I read a blog entry from another mommy blogger about how she stopped yelling at her kids. I read it with mixed feelings. I don't consider myself much of a yeller (or maybe I am and totally not aware?), but I think sometimes...(big gasp)...yelling is necessary. We are not gracious hostesses to our children. We are not tour guides in their lives, quietly pointing out landmarks with a half-smile. We are their parents, and if a major message needs to be conveyed (like, "DON'T RUN IN THE PARKING LOT!" or "DO NOT TAKE THAT BOY'S TOY!"), well, I'm going to shout it. If it's a dangerous or egregious situation, it's my job - and only my job - to make sure that message gets across as effectively and quickly as possible. (Let it be known, I was also a little confused as to what defined "yelling" - a raised tone, blame, anger, hurtful words, name-calling, shame, defensiveness, not to mention all of the non-verbal ways you can put a kid down. I know I'm being really annoying right now, but this is also the same person who spent a semester in graduate school watching therapy tapes and quantifying the degree of "negativity" in the first session as a predictor of outcome success. Fascinating stuff. Like watching paint dry. But it's just the way my brain works). I give the author lots of credit and wish her the best - it was a well-written piece and certainly got me thinking.

So anyways, I've got this blog entry swirling in my little brain, a child sitting on my head, and the feeling that this behavior must end. We cannot keep highlighting all of the negative things Scotty is doing. Although I reserve my right to raise my voice when I deem necessary, it's clear what I'm doing is having little impact. Quite frankly, it's not fun for any of us.

So I broke out a random hybrid of a rock jar/sticker chart.

The rules:

1.) There are two jars on the counter. The goal is to get as many rocks into the empty jar by the end of the day.

2.) Rocks are earned by doing excellent, wonderful things. When you are three, this may include a.) remembering to cover your mouth when you cough, b.) picking up your toys when asked and c.) putting on your socks all by yourself.

3.) There are no rocks earned for doing what it expected - using a polite tone, saying "please" and "thank you," carrying your dishes to the counter after a meal.

4.) Rocks are taken away as a result of egregious behavior (Second time I've used the word "egregious" in this entry. I must really be stressed out.) This includes name calling, naughty words, not following directions, and talking back.

5.) At the end of the day, we count the number of rocks earned. If it is greater than 10, he earns a sticker. The sticker goes on a chart, and if he accrues 5 or more stickers in a week, he earns whatever reward he'd like. Right now, the hot commodity in our house is a Saturday ice cream date with Dad. (Mom is lactose-intolerant). Didn't earn 10 rocks? No sticker. But we start fresh everyday. Everyday is a new chance for rocks!

How is it going?

DAY 1: Scotty LOVED the green rocks (which, by the way, were from a flower arrangement from my 28th birthday. I think it was a giant flower margarita. Thanks, Dad). He, like all toddlers, loves shiny things. AND - he loved the idea of being able to move the rocks himself. It's a perfect physical representation of "good" and "progress" for a very concrete thinker.

By the afternoon, he had earned 8 rocks. Like potty training, I got the distinct feeling he caught on quickly and then started mocking us. After all, at lunch, he told Brian he earned "only 2 rocks for being kind of a good Daddy" while I earned "10 rocks, for being an great Mommy!" (Weee! I love winning!) He cleaned up his toys, was polite, lovely, and an all-around joy. We finally got through story hour at the library. He made it through swimming lessons without screaming like a banshee, and even reported that "despite being scared, I wanted my rock." And with that, we now have a little Bear who puts his face in the water. (progress!)

When he chose to throw a squishy ball in my face (ow), I didn't say a word - I just marched over to the jar and removed one rock. The look on his face said it all. He was horrified. And regretful. He didn't throw the ball at me again.

DAY 2: He's already earned four rocks and he was only up for approximately 25 minutes before rushing off to school. I may need to rethink these numbers. But I guess if he's behaving himself, it's win-win, right?  And cutest thing ever - he told me he "dreamed about golden rocks." I guess we are getting to him.

If this doesn't work, we'll just leave him unattended at the library. I snapped this photo yesterday because it literally made me laugh out loud. Looks like those librarians have it all figured out.

10.) All that sweating = unintentional weight loss

9.) Everyday feels like you are camping

8.) Showering takes on a whole new level of amazement

7.) You get a better understanding of the feral cat problem in your neighborhood based on listening to those amorous cats at 3am

6.) Keeping the shades and curtains draw at all times makes you appear mysterious and slightly dangerous

5.) You get to ask yourself fun questions like, "Does my child get to attend private school for another year, or do we get A/C this summer?"

4.) All of a sudden, 97 degrees doesn't seem so hot. It's the pending 112-degree forecast that makes you (blessedly) break out into a cold sweat.

3.) You develop an entirely new vocabulary as a result of speaking to each repair man. You start to feel really smart. "The compressor is grounded and the capacitor is operating at an 80+5x440. Are we looking at an 18 SEER or 13? And tell me about your AFEUs..."

2.) You have a new thing to wish on your worst enemy.

and the #1 perk of living without air conditioning...

1.) You feel a little like the Bachlorette every time you interview a new repair man. Only one will get the final rose in the end, so you better put on a good show to get there.

Editor's note: I'm happy to report our "final rose winner" is currently installing the new unit as I type. I'm even happier to report we might actually sleep tonight. Hooray for cold air!

After my entry on Friday, Brian felt compelled to respond to my post entitled "Like Father, Like Son." I'm happy about this for two reasons: 1.) Brian reads my blog and 2.) you, the reader, get to hear a voice that is not just me, blathering on about toddlers, running, random TV shows and Junior League. I have a husband and he has an opinion! And I think it's really cute how much he loves sports, even when it interferes with major milestones in our lives together. So, thank you Brian for this great essay. I'm starting to feel more and more like the Sports Gal, and I'm happy my Sports Guy has his very own Sports Kid. 

                                                    ********
       I had several comments in response to the 5/17/13 blog entry, so I asked Kim if I could simply write my own blog entry.  This is coming a little later in the day than I had hoped because we have had some air conditioning drama (which, when you live in the desert, is no small thing), but here are some comments in response to Kim’s blog about Scotty and sports.

            First, I very much enjoy playing sports.  I don’t play as much as I did when I was younger, but I’ve always enjoyed playing sports.  Where Kim and I differ is that I hate running.  If I have to run (i.e. to play basketball or catch a fly ball) to compete in a sporting event, that’s fine.  But I have never been a fan of running just to run.  That’s one of the reasons I was never in track or cross country.  You run so that the next day you can come back and run the exact same distance a little faster.  And that goes on for months.  No thanks!

            Having said that, I will confess that I have always enjoyed watching sports.  For me, the best part about sports is the drama of the competition.  When someone hits a 20-foot putt to win his first major championship, and he jumps around and hugs anyone he can find because he knows that this moment just changed his life, that’s pretty cool to watch.  When you see young men and women literally giving everything they have to try to achieve something that most people will never have an opportunity to even attempt, that’s pretty compelling.

            Most of the reasons that I love sports developed at an early age.  Not surprisingly, my father was a big sports fan as well, and I can still remember watching the 1980 Olympic Hockey game against the Soviets, or watching Magic Johnson start at center out of necessity and then lead the Lakers to the title, or watching Fernando Valenzuela pitch for the Dodgers in 1981, coming out of nowhere to lead them to the World Series.  I was young, but those memories have stuck with me my entire life. 

            But sports are not all championships and great feelings.  For every Kirk Gibson home run in the World Series, there are corresponding rough moments.  I’ll never forget where I was when Magic Johnson retired and told the world that he had HIV.  That was a rough day, because he was one of my heroes growing up.  I’ll never forget the disillusionment I felt about Brett Favre, not when he decided to come back necessarily, but when he decided to play for the Vikings and came back to Lambeau Field in a rival uniform. 

      Then there are the “normal” losses.  Most of the time, the teams I root for do not win the championship.  I’ve been fortunate that I attended a school (Duke) that seemingly is in contention every year, but that also makes it that much more disappointing when they do not win.  Same for the Packers, Dodgers, Lakers (especially this year, ugh!) and NY Rangers.  For context, I root for the Packers because I was born in Green Bay, I obviously went to Duke, I’ve been a Dodgers and Lakers fan since the aforementioned games in the early 80’s (I also tend to be pretty loyal once I start rooting for a team, thus why I’m languishing with the Dodgers…), and I became a Rangers fan after they hired US Olympic Hockey coach Herb Brooks in 1981 (and yes, I do know the speech he gave the 1980 Olympic Hockey team by heart…).

            But really, what keeps me hooked and what I believe is the real beauty of sports is the moments that sports produce.  I like to think that’s what has gotten Scotty’s attention as well.  Nothing else in life produces great moments in the same way.  As a Duke fan and alum, there’s nothing that can replicate Laettner’s shot to beat Kentucky in 1992.  The Nate Poole catch that Kim referenced in her blog was the last play of the season, and a couple of players who barely had a cup of coffee in the NFL made a play in a game that had no impact on their season (the Cardinals finished 5-11 after that win).  But, the play saved Green Bay’s season, just days after Brett Favre’s father passed away, and that moment, even in a season that did not see the Packers win the Super Bowl, was perfect.  This is ultimately the reason why people love the NCAA Basketball tournament so much.  Most people have a pretty good idea which of 4-5 teams is going to win, but the tournament produces so many great moments that it becomes must-see television every March.

            We don't know if Scotty will be good at sports, but he’s going to play because I believe that sports teach life lessons and provide experiences that you cannot get anywhere else.  When he’s older, I’ll probably see if he wants to get season tickets to local college basketball or football or maybe even the AAA baseball team (if they get the new stadium everyone is talking about).  I hope he enjoys sports as much as I do, but if not, that’s OK too, but either way, it’ll be pretty cool to have a little guy to share some of the great moments sports can produce with. 

            Anyway, thanks for reading my minor contribution to my wife’s blog.  Hopefully, it provides a little flavor for why I enjoy sports as much as I do.  A lot of authors like to close with a quote, and since I already teased you with it a couple of paragraphs ago, here is one of the very best:

Great moments are born from great opportunity.

And that's what you have here tonight, boys.

That's what you've earned here, tonight.

One game.

If we played 'em ten times, they might win nine.

But not this game. Not tonight.

Tonight, we skate with 'em.

Tonight, we stay with 'em, and we shut them down because we can!

Tonight, we are the greatest hockey team in the world.

You were born to be hockey players -- every one of ya.

And you were meant to be here tonight.

This is your time.

Their time -- is done. It's over.

I'm sick and tired of hearin' about what a great hockey team the Soviets have.

Screw 'em!

This is your time!!

Now go out there and take it!

Brian loves sports. I hate them.

This makes for a very interesting dynamic in our marriage. We are alike in so many ways, but when it comes to everyday interests...we are miles apart. I like to play sports (now that I'm in this very "sporty" phase of my life); Brian likes to watch sports. He's a good coach, I'm a good player. Maybe that's how it works?

Either way, we got married in the month of May for a reason: it was the only time we could find when there were no major sporting events on television. College basketball had wrapped up; pro basketball was not yet in the finals. Football was still in off season and the Masters was a week away. Baseball was just in its early stages, but lets face it: as Cubs/Dodgers fans, we could have safely married in October with no notable consequences. Brian hasn't missed a Packer game since the Carter administration.

I've only seen Brian cry three times. When he proposed to me, when Emma died, and when Nate Poole caught a last-minute touchdown for the Cardinals in 2004, eliminating the Vikings from the playoffs, thus giving the Packers a coveted spot. Yup. Not joking.

Brett Favre signed with the Vikings the same day Scotty was born. At one point during that day, I actually took Brian's phone away and requested he stop talking to his friends about football and acknowledge the fact I just had a baby. He did...for a few minutes. But it was like asking a zebra to not be striped. He just can't help himself; that's who he is.

I shouldn't know who Mel Kiper is. I shouldn't receive phone calls about breaking sports news. I shouldn't cringe at the sound of Bob Costa's voice or that silly piano music they play during golf. I shouldn't...but I do.

When Scotty joined us, we both had the same feeling: which way is this kid going to swing? Be like Mommy, who only attends sporting events because soft pretzels are served, or like Daddy, who can "catch up" with an old friend for 45 minutes and talk about nothing but draft potentials and whether or not Tiger did, in fact, cheat. (Let me help you with that: he did).  Scotty didn't appear to be the most coordinated child at first; he didn't crawl until ten months, and he rarely attempted to climb. Now, he enjoys standing at the base of the structure on the playground, helpfully telling other children to be careful. Whenever he struggles with something or flails around in a bounce house, I usually turn to the mom next to me and comment, "We're hoping for an academic scholarship."

So last night, as Brian sat with his eyes glued to the Ranger game, our little Bear, who has shown little athletic prowess and even less interest in watching professional sports, out of nowhere, just declared, "Daddy, you know what we haven't watched in awhile? Football. Let's watch some football."

Brian's face practically melted. You could see the wheels turning in his head - well, it's the off season, but I can start talking to him about the defensive line and the Packer's prospects for next year - while joy blossomed in his heart. That's my boy!

I sighed heavily. Two-thirds of my household is football crazy. I  just hope Scotty's future spouse is okay with a May wedding.

We made it through the Bossy Phase.

You come down here right now and play with me! No, on the floor. With my Leggos. No, not like that, like this. Okay, good. Now sit there and play. Good Mom.

We made it through the Specific Phase.

Can I have cheesy crackers on the couch in a plastic bowl while watching the Grumpy Owl on 'Peter Rabbit'? Can I have some water in my orange big-boy cup with a blue straw and three ice cubes? Thank you, Mom!

And now, we enter...::scary music::...

The Question Phase.

Mom, are those mean storm clouds?
Are knights nice?
Why do knights carry shields?
Do dragons breath hot lava?
Do dragons breath cold lava?
What is cold lava?
Are snakes nice?
Do snakes bite? Or sting?
Do butterflies bite? Or sting?
Is that a wasp?
Are all wasps mean?
Do some wasps sting?
Do all wasps sting?
Why do wasps sting?
Is that a rain cloud?
Are rain clouds nice?
At Christmas, will there be snow?

It's adorable for about the first five hours. And then, the questions really start to grate. Brian usually comes home to find me curled up on the couch, humming loudly, while the boy stands there, hurling question after question at me. Why do you have a pillow over your head, Mommy?

I texted Brian a few weeks ago while he was at chicken wings that said, "We have been talking about wasps for the last 45 min." Brian replied, "What's there to say?" Me: "So much. Size, shape, color, nice, not nice..."

And then 20 minutes later, he got another text:

"Kill me now. Still wasps."

He came home shortly. No one should ever be subjected to an hour-long discussion about wasps, unless he is a budding entomologist. Scotty is still pretty set on becoming the Guy Who Drives the Recycling Truck, so this interest in bugs is a bit surprising.

The questions are hard to answer, too. Are snakes nice? Well, kind of. Ask my mom and she'll wax poetic about the functionality of snakes in nature. Ask just about anyone else and they will say no, kill it! Rain clouds? Again, needed but not good if you are going to a picnic. How do you explain "grey area" to a three-year old?

And, just in case you are curious...my answers.

No
Yes
Yes; it protects them
No
No
Rocks
Ask your grandmother
Some snakes bite; they don't sting. But don't get too close to any    
    snakes. If you see a snake, go find your father. But don't kill it
    because that would make your grandmother sad.
No, butterflies are nice
No
Yes
Yes
Yes
Wasps sting you if you bother them
No
Yes, water is needed to make the grass and flowers grow. Too much
    rain, however, is a bad thing. Then things flood. Flooding is bad.
We live in a desert. There will likely be no snow at Christmas. The last
    time it snowed here was December 18, 2008. The whole city
    shut down for two days. Mommy and Daddy couldn't go to work, and
    all the schools shut down.
Do the math one day, and you'll figure out
    how Mom and Dad stayed occupied.

Let me just say, it feels downright luxurious to sit down at the ole computer and type out a blog entry. All of my time recently has been taken up with physical therapy - 2+ hours, three times a week. It's great, don't get me wrong, and my back is feeling much better, but the sheer time suck is creating logistical issues for me. And as we all know, the blog suffers when there is not enough time.

We had plenty of time, however, yesterday to watch Scotty's spring program at his preschool. Preschool has been an interesting ball of wax -- from the new schedule, to the homework (yes, homework at age 3), to learning how to socialize with your peers (Mommy has learned quite a bit, too). And yesterday, after months and months of hard work, we sat down to a riveting performance titled "Cows of Characters."

Next stop: Broadway.

I'll be honest, Preschool B looked a little worse for wear as they entered stage right. Apparently, one kid started crying right before they walked on "stage" (I use that term loosely, since the show was held on the gym floor), which in turn, triggered tears from the rest of them. I could tell by Scotty's taunt jaw and staunch gaze he was not a happy cow.

The little girl next to him was struggling with her headband. Scott was dead-eyed, trying to wish himself out of this wretched gymnasium. There were a lot of nerves and a few cases of "the sillies."

He flashed the camera a fake smile. I'm queen of the polite smile, so I recognize one when I see one. This is Scotty saying, "I'm showing my teeth and looking at you, but I don't really mean it." Marley had finally fixed her headband and the other children were warming up slowly.

Oh no! Headband down!

It's back up! And we are lookin' good.

By the third song, Scott started to finally shake his little hips and really got into it. I can't say the same for the other two kids who wailed in the back for the duration of the entire show (oh, those poor parents), but that will make an endearing story when they are older.

We were treated to several songs, including "A-E-I-O-Mooo!" and "The Island of Ber-mooo-da." There was a song about ice cream scoops but I had trouble understanding the words. The children were clearly coached to project their voices, and when 60+ 3- and 4-year olds are all screaming words at you, it's really tough to recognize anything as the English language. Still, adorable.

Scotty's beloved baby-sitter Sierra graciously attended. I thought Scotty's little blond head was going to pop off from sheer joy. We all love Sie-va-va.

Speaking of heads popping off, Brian and I grinned like fools. You would have thought the kid just completed a soliloquy of Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales." Nope, no Aprill shoures soote...just some silly cow jokes and we can barely hold back the tears.

Scott had a chance to take a few pics with his leading ladies. Here, he and Kate (yes, the Kate) mug for the camera.

And his other bestie, Ilyana. He likes to say she has "rings" in her hair.

And finally, he got to take a picture with his main gal, his teacher Mrs. G. It's been such a fun, exciting, roller coaster of a year. Nothing quite like your first year of school, ever!

So there you have it: Cows of Character -- it was udderly entertaining.