Next Time; Disco Ball!

If our neighbors are inclined toward voyeurism, they'd have been treated to quite the show tonight.

LM found me earlier this evening and asked if I might like to have a dance party with him in the basement. Um, did somebody just say "dance"? I'm so there.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a while, and came out with spiked hair so intensely gelled, I could pop a balloon on it. Perfection!

We traipsed down the stairs and I turned on the radio full blast. Truly, the next half hour that ensued will go down as one of the all-time best dance parties I've ever attended. Someday when this kid starts dating, he's going to make for a really good time. No girl is going to feel self-conscious about her dance floor prowess when beside the most uncoordinated, non-judgmental and uninhibited fellow alive. Does LM let a complete and utter lack of rhythm slow him down-- even for a second? Not on your life. And so, heck, I didn't either. No move was off-limits, no misstep acknowledged, no failed attempt laughed at. Full-throttle; no-holds-barred. (Well, except when he stopped for a potato chip break every now and then.)

Talk about fun.

And when he invited me to play a game of dance ping-pong I knew I was about to try something crazy. And, turns out, I'm still pretty awesome at table tennis even while oppa'ing gangnam style.

But it wasn't until LM began handing me money on the dance floor that I realized just how unique this experience was. 'Cause, um, that's never happened to me before. (At least he didn't try to tuck it into my waistband.) Of course, I returned the $1.25 I earned while dancing to "Price Tag"-- 'cause we all know it's not about the money, money, money.

Oh man, I can't wait until LM asks me to dance again. And if you're willing to leave your ego at the door, you are welcome to join us any time.

Death By Fire Escape

LM's been a touch obsessed with devising a fire escape plan at our house. Normally I would be thrilled at his initiative, but after hearing his ideas...I'm hoping that we don't experience arson in the near future. I'm pretty sure LM wouldn't die in a house fire-- he'd die trying to escape it.

Here are a few of his ideas:

•  “Dad can get some boards and we’ll nail the boards right by my screen outside my window. Then I can kick in my screen and step on the boards."
•  "If that doesn’t work, I’ll run out onto the deck and jump at the last second."
•  "Then I’ll meet at our meeting spot and we can climb the fence into our neighbor’s yard.”

Yikes. Apparently we've advanced way beyond "Stop, Drop and Roll."

1. LM: (after hubby pinched his booty) "Dad, don't touch my butt-- you don't know where it's been."
(On the contrary-- we know exactly where it's been. It's irresistible regardless.)

2. LM: "Mom, if we don't have money to pay for food, we're going to have to become couponers."
Me: "Nooooooooooo!"
LM: "Well, would you rather starve, or coupon?"
(I actually need to think about that one.)

3. LM: "Get outta my way, bloody dog! ...Mom, is bloody a cuss word?"
Me: "Well, it sort of is-- if you're British."
LM: "Phew! I'm not British."
(Ah, by all means, then, use it with impunity!)

4. LM: "Mom, I'm going to keep my room isolated while I'm gone, which is to say, I'm going to keep it cold."
Me: (???)
(Ohhhh! I get it! ICE-olated.)

5. LM: (watching a bunch of kids dance to French music) "Ugh. I could easily paralyze one of those French mon amis."
(So, I take it he's not impressed....)

6. Me: (watching a little boy sing on TV) "Do you like him, LM?"
LM: "Well...does he have Asperger's?"
Me: "No...I don't think so."
LM: "Oh. He's just okay."
(Ah-ha, I see the measure by which you judge-- and I think I like it!)

7. LM: "Mom, Ruby hit me! I was only mocking her, and Jesus says not to fight back!"
(Uhhhh. I think we're forgetting a few other things Jesus may have said as well.)

And now for a few sleep-talking quotes from hubby:

8. Hubby: (asleep) "Ummm...yeah. Rinse it clean in the bathtub. The buckets too. Mmmmmm-hmmmmmm."
(This is just a snippet from a lengthy monologue he was engaged in-- I couldn't get it all written down in time.)

9. Hubby: (asleep) "Yeah, I have to know how they're doing-- 'cause that's a lot of air, baby!"

10. Hubby: (asleep) "You are so young and beautiful...so young and beautiful."
(All I know is he'd better been dreaming about me!)

That's all I got for now!

Mini Date

Cute little fella, isn't he? My taste usually lies with tall, dark and handsome sorts-- but this short, blonde and adorable kid is exactly my type. He and I ventured out on a date today.

Mister turns 4 this week, and I felt the occasion warranted a special outing. So I called his mom and set up arrangements for the afternoon. I even wore a dress. A dress! After all, a dress is appropriate for the first date with a good-looking guy. (Go ahead and stick with sweats if you'd prefer not to see the gentleman again-- or if your first date is to the gym....)

I picked Mister up and my sister met me at the door.

"Did you get all dressed up just for Mister?" She asked.

"Yep."

"Mister-- what do you say?"

"Thank you."

Uh, you're welcome? In Mister's defense, the question "what do you say?" is almost always a mom's prompt for gratitude. But my sister nudged him, suggesting a different response instead.

"Oh! You look beautiful!"

After putting his carseat in my car (I've never dated a guy who had to sit in a harness in the backseat) and reminding her little man to act like a gentleman, my sister bade us farewell.

Our conversation was...interesting.

"Do you like having your sister gone at school all day, or do you miss her?"

"I like having her gone."

"You know what? When I was little I liked it when your mom went to school and I got to stay home, too."

"I remember that! Even though I wasn't born, I remember."

"Ohhhhhhh."

"Hey Lindsay, why are you always impressed?"

"Impressed?"

"Yeah. You're always impressed."

This question threw me for a loop. I think I'm going to ask an adult why they're always impressed so I can find out how to answer that one.

Hey Susie, why are you always impressed? I'd really like to know.

We arrived at Starbucks and I informed my date he could order anything he wanted.

"Do they have pink milk?"

"Yes!"

"I want pink milk and a pink cake pop."

So that's what he got. (Well, actually, he got 2 pink cake pops-- it's my job as auntie to make sure he gets more than he bargained for.)

Instead of sitting down and chatting, like my usual dating M.O., Mister bounced here and there, finally finding entertainment in shaking the umbrella pole outside.

"Uh, Mister-- you probably shouldn't do that. It might upset the workers here."

"Will they punish us?"

"They might."

"What will they do?" His eyes widen, envisioning heinous torture, no doubt.

"They might make us leave."

"They might make a sleeve?"

I could see him trying to process this unusual form of discipline. I tried to imagine it too. Starbucks employees, feverishly sewing a sleeve to present to us in disapproval of Mister's behavior. Indignantly tossing it in our direction upon its completion. Maybe a short sleeve indicates less anger, and a long sleeve implies you'd better not show your face at this particular Starbucks again. And a whole shirt? You're probably headed for jail. I didn't correct the misunderstanding.

After Starbucks we went to the park, and when he tired of playing alone (Auntie's dress was a bit short for running and jumping) we went to McDonald's for french fries and more play. There he unceremoniously dropped me for two cute little numbers closer to his age. Although, he did take a few breaks to come profess his love to me. Player.

"I love you so much, Auntie!"

"I love you too, Mister!"

"I love you more."

"Not possible-- I love you more."

Then he'd scamper away again. Off with Sophie and Eva-- the tiny date stealers.

At the end of our outing he thanked me. "Can we go again tomorrow?"

"Oh, I'd love to, but I can't, Mister."

"The next day?"

"Tell you what, we'll go out again really soon. Okay?"

"Okay!"

I wonder when it will stop being cool to date his aunt.... I think I have a few more years to enjoy. And after that, I'm not averse kidnapping.

Hab SoSlI Quch!

I'm a little early for Halloween, but I have the perfect opportunity to dress as a Klingon at the moment (although my forehead ridge is a bit off-center).

I ran into a tether ball pole today. Really. Hard.

There I was, enthusiastically waving good-bye to my son as he traipsed into school. Couldn't take my eyes off him in fact-- which explains why I didn't notice the tall metal beam blocking my path.

SMACK!

It took me a second to even realize what I'd done. My bell got rung good. It wasn't until an excited mother came barreling toward me yelling, "Oh my gosh-- are you okay?" that realization dawned.

Quiet, lady! Sheesh, do you want the whole school to know?

"You hit that hard! Those poles don't normally even move, but you made that thing shake!"

I clung to the pole like a drowning girl to a life preserver-- it was the only thing between me and the concrete. But I felt like I needed to convince this gal I was okay (after all, the sooner she left me alone, the less likely others would come flocking to my aid as well). So I let go of the pole and waved my hands around in an attempt to look nonchalant. Epic fail.

"Oh yeah, I got this. I'm good."

But I wasn't good. I believe the term "punch-drunk" would have been an apt way to describe my state. I'm surprised I didn't hug her and profess my undying love.

"Are you gonna faint? 'Cause I'd feel awful if you fainted."

Faint? What a wonderful idea! Why didn't I think of that? Dang, is it too late to try?

I assured her yet again that never in my life had I been better. Why-- cracking my head on metal beams was akin to drinking a stiff espresso! What a way to wake up-- good morning, world!

I toddled home, eyes and nose running, head spinning, embarrassed like heck. I'm sure Miss Good Samaritan watched my progress with a craned neck. I did my best to walk straight.

And what do I have to show for this adventure? A small ridge running down the right side of my forehead, and a cut lip. So I think I may don whatever black patent leather I own and growl at hubby tonight-- because I may never have this natural Klingon look again. (Although I'm sure the Klingons would unceremoniously do away with anyone stupid enough to accidentally brain themselves.)

Ugh. My head hurts.