Thursday, June 25, 2009
...being in your hubby's bachelor buddy's bathroom, pants pooled around your ankles and squatting precariously over the bachelor toilet, and suddenly realizing there was a second door leading to the bathroom that you did not close upon entering, and then hearing male voices in the next room and willing yourself to pee faster, faster, faster before one of them accidentally pops their head in and sees more than either of you ever wanted.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
LM and I had an interesting conversation earlier today. He asked me a series of questions that were entirely new to me-- things I'd never thought of before. Little boys have a way of helping you to think outside the box.
For instance, he asked me to think about whether I would like to live life as a dead dinosaur or a snake. That, actually, was a very difficult decision to make. Being dead doesn't sound all that great, but I mean, who wants to be a snake? (I eventually chose dead dinosaur.) I was also able to make some fairly easy decisions. Like, would I rather be a human or a dog? Well, I'm rather attached to my opposable thumbs and wouldn't dream of giving them up-- even in exchange for the ability to lick my own butt. So, naturally, I chose humanity.
But I think the most difficult decision I made was whether I would like to be poop or pee. You see, both have their advantages and disadvantages. Poop offers that glorious feeling of relief-- but it's messy and it reeks. Pee, on the other hand, is much more sanitary-- but can you say boring? Yet in the end I had to choose pee because, well, I'm not typically a very adventurous person-- and poop just has "adventure" written all over it, know what I mean?
Having a son has opened up an entirely new universe of topics, feelings, thoughts, and activities. I can honestly say I would never have asked myself any of these deep, soul-searching questions had LM not broached them. I learned a lot about myself today...er, maybe more than I actually wanted to know....
Friday, June 19, 2009
Hubby doesn't get me. I often catch him staring at me with an uncomprehending gaze, mouth slightly agape, head shaking unconsciously. I simply smile back sweetly with a "sorry, you're stuck with me, mister" look. Like tonight, for instance. Tonight is a perfect example.
I should have suspected an eventful ride home when LM started gagging in the far back seat of our minivan...but being a "glass half full" type of person, I assumed it was nothing significant. I turned around and shouted, "you okay, bud?". His reply helped confirm that the situation was not serious. Odd, yes-- but not serious. "Yeah," he said, "I'm having a little trouble chewing grass. I need to work on my grass-chewing, right Mom?" Ummm...how exactly do I answer that question? It seemed I was headed for uncharted territory. (Hubby offered a very unhelpful, "give him a drink or something!" as if I could conjure a juice box from thin air as we drove along. I think he thinks I'm magic.)
I was aware of the fact that just moments before we got in the car, LM had been partaking of the front lawn at my parents' house (when I say that he was pretending to be a Triceratops does that aid in your understanding?). But apparently little boys do not have the necessary tools to ingest grass properly-- at least my particular child lacks the skill. So there he was in the very back of the car, out of my reach, and gagging with increasing urgency. At this point hubby was getting a little frantic ("Do something! Give him some gum!") and that's when the first giggles struck.
Then LM puked all over the back seat.
With this, my giggles turned into raucous laughter. Hubby snorted at me disgustedly-- as if somehow I could have prevented the cookie tossing if only I had administered the gum. LM groaned in an "oh brother, not again!" way (he is no stranger to vomit). And then Ruby Jane began to gag. Upon hearing all this, my raucous laughter turned into uncontrolled hilarity and tears. And as the smell began to waft up to the front of the van, forcing us to roll down the windows for fresh air, I honestly tried to reign myself in. But it was useless. Hubby thought he'd try and help me get a grip by throwing out the sobering demand, "you get to clean this up!". But, for whatever reason, this too was funny, as empty threats often are....
Finally, finally, I managed a few deep cleansing breaths. I got a hold of myself, threw some napkins in the general vicinity of the back seat, and told everyone to hold on until we got home. And upon returning home, I surprised myself by helping LM get out of his spewed-on clothing and into the bathtub. I even removed his booster seat cover and tossed it into the washing machine. (Hubby, bless his heart, cleaned up the overflow in the car.)
But, the fact remains that hubby doesn't even remotely understand what I thought was so funny about the whole situation. I, on the other hand, cannot comprehend how in the heck he was able to keep such a stoic face the entire time. I mean, our son choked on grass for gosh sake! Grass! Normal people don't even eat grass. At least, not the kind you have to mow....
Anyway, like I said, hubby is stuck with me. And there's something absolutely hilarious about that. :)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I haven't been as consistent about gathering quotes lately, but it usually doesn't take me long to get a few good ones....
LM: "Auna says I need to get a Nana."
Me: "A Nana?"
LM: "Yeah, it's a person who says yes to everything."
(Honey, we all need a Nana!)
Me: (seeing LM's shirt soaked with water) "Hey bud, let's get your shirt off."
LM: "Oh, alright, if you insist."
Ruby Jane: "I wish I were made of books, then I could read myself."
Ruby Jane: "Mom, your hips are HUGE, trust me! I think I like it, though...."
Me: (giving a bear hug to LM) "When you're all grown-up will you still let me hug you?"
LM: "Yeah, I think I'll marry you."
(Hmmmm, not exactly what I had in mind!)
The Bopper: (patting my belly) "You got a baby in there?"
Bonus: (I'm throwing this one in here to counteract the huge hips and pregnant belly comments.)
LM: (after dragging me out to meet the solicitor he'd invited to our front door) "Here's my mom. She's little."
Friday, June 12, 2009
Just so you know, soaking an entire load of laundry in OxyClean for 2 and a half hours before washing it on the heavy load setting (with more OxyClean) and giving it an extra rinse will, in fact, take the crayon out that had been melted and dispersed (unbeknownst) in the dryer and spread on every piece of clothing.
However, it is much more difficult to remove the melted crayon from the dryer itself. This requires heavy scraping and lots of elbow grease as well as cleaner. And, when done at midnight (because you had been out late watching "The Fashion Show" at your mother's house and only checked the dryer upon your return home) it makes for a rather bemusing evening.
So, the lesson is this: always check your children's pockets for crayons before washing their clothes with your clothes. And don't wait until midnight to find out what happened in the dryer while you weren't paying attention....
But, this is probably old information for most of you, isn't it?
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Yesterday we went out for dinner. It was hubby's birthday earlier this week but he was gone and we didn't get to celebrate. And since I didn't feel like cooking yesterday, I figured it was as good a time as any to take the family out for his "birthday" dinner. (Love it when there's an excuse!)
We were seated on the outdoor patio and were enjoying the near-perfect day. Next to our table was a couple also enjoying their meal al fresco. LM kept looking over at them. I figured he was having "dessert envy" since we were in the midst of dinner and they had already moved on to the next stage (involving whipped cream and cherries). But I should have known his pondering wasn't as benign as that.
Suddenly, the man got up from his table, and when he returned LM decided it was the right time to address him, to share what had been on his mind.
LM: (yelling across to the other table) "Well, I'm glad I'm not you! 'Cause I wouldn't want to have a big...."
Me: "LM!" (What do I say now? Sound natural. Sound natural.... Ignore the man now staring at us) "Eat your dinner!"
LM: "But Mom, I wouldn't want to...."
Me: "LM!" (Divert! Redirect! Pretend the man doesn't exist!) "LM, finish your macaroni and cheese!"
LM: "But Mom...."
Me: (lowering my voice to a harsh whisper, realizing LM won't be deterred indirectly) "LM, if you're not going to say something nice, don't say it!"
LM: (lowering his voice to a whisper as well) "I'm glad I'm not that man, 'cause he has a really big belly."
Me: (sighing with relief that these words had not been spoken to the man) "LM, don't tell the man that-- it's rude. Please, just eat!"
I thought he'd been adequately trained in this area. But that only proves I'm an idiot. Why, just fifteen minutes prior he'd asked our waitress what happened to her eyebrow. (She pierced it.) And he wondered aloud why she'd ever do such a thing. I'm realizing right at this moment that perhaps this explains the terrible service we received throughout dinner, and then her outright refusal to get LM a small styrofoam to-go box for his dinosaur. (Way to save the restaurant 10 cents, lady.)
Anyway, clearly we have more work to do! And by the way, just a warning, speak to my son at your own risk. I cannot be responsible for anything that comes out of his mouth, as I did not have access to his brain while he was forming the thought. A good rule of thumb is: don't take it personally-- he's 6, for Pete's sake. In the meantime, I believe I will be investing in duct-tape.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Okay, so it's been a while since I've posted. I can explain.... Actually, it's due to several factors, but the most serious one, the one I'd like to discuss today, is a deep sickness that has affected three-quarters of our household (and countless other households, I'm sure). I know I'm striking rather a somber tone as opposed to my usual posts, but this is a serious issue that needs to be addressed. No more skeletons in the closet! And there's really no other way to begin than to just name the affliction and go from there:
Webkinz Addiction. Yes, there are three of us living under this roof who are suffering from this disease (and here's a hint: hubby is NOT one of them). And for those of you who have never heard of "Webkinz" (in all due respect, are you living under a rock?), perhaps the less I say the better. You see, it sounds like fun and then, WHAM, you're sucked hopelessly into this digital world of pure evil. I admit, I need help. Probably professional. Like, extra professional help. Here I am, a 31-year old woman, and all I can think about most of the day is when I can log back onto my daughter's Webkinz World account and earn some more Kinzcash!
It started out innocently enough. Don't most addictions? You're curious, you think there's no harm in "trying" something, you don't doubt your capacity to stop whenever you want. But then, before you know it, you're dreaming about the next time you can play Bathtub Battles, and wondering if there is a refrigerator you can afford to put into the kitchen you just purchased and decorated in a color scheme that didn't quite turn out how you intended but is growing on you nonetheless. Isn't that how it always ends?? In pain! In hopelessness! Because there's never enough Kinzcash to buy all the things your digital pet needs!
Let me back up. Some of you are not familiar with Webkinz. It's just as well. But let me give you a brief crash-course. A Webkinz is a cute, plush stuffed animal that seems innocent enough until you log online to "adopt" it using the special code attached to its collar. Well, it starts with adoption, but then you discover your pet has a digital other-self that has a home online. A home you can expand, decorate, and fill with furniture. But that's not all. Your Webkinz can earn Kinzcash by playing arcade games, becoming "employed", winning tournaments, finding and selling gems...the options are virtually endless (pun intended). Of course, your pet needs to eat, and so you buy it food. Your pet needs baths, so you buy a bathtub. Your pet needs to visit the doctor and you find out its health is lacking, so you buy it vitamins. Your pet is bored, so you buy it a TV. Your pet is naked, so you buy it clothes. And it never ends! Webkinz require more care than your average living child!
To give you a little insight into what exacerbates this problem for me, I'd like to share the results of a little test I just took. It's called "Discovering Your Dark Side". Oooooo-- so ominous sounding. Well, I discovered my dark side-- and it has several facets to it. But without revealing the full extent of my extreme disfunction, I will tell you that my top "dark" factor is compulsiveness. So, I feel I deserve your sympathy, not judgement, with this whole Webkinz addiction thing. I am compelled to take care of this idiot Webkinz because how can I let a little animal, even a digital one, starve? I can't! I can't! I can't!
My hope lies in the fact that the subscription lasts only a year. So, I only have approximately 11 more months to exist in this living hell. And then, you can be sure, I will never allow another Webkinz to darken our door. Any gifts of Webkinz will be immediately donated to...YOU. Yeah, how about that? We'll see how YOU like it!
Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you like that. It's just that...well, it's just that I haven't felt like myself lately. I think I would feel a little better if I could earn about $500 Kinzcash and buy some outdoor furniture for the Webkinz' backyard. You see, she can't really entertain at present-- there isn't much seating out there. Yes, that's a good idea. Just for 10 minutes. I can stop after 10 minutes-- really. Hey, I'm feeling better already! I love everyone!