5's All Over the Place

One constant you will find on this blog, is conversations with my kids. I think it might be my most favorite thing in the world.

This morning's conversations started early. Like, 5:45 early. Bo was rustling through our bed looking for a hat. I kept hearing him say "Garner's hat" and I wondered why on earth and when our friends had given him a hat. So finally I asked, "What Garner's hat are you talking about and why is it in our bed?"

"Cawwwdno, not Gawwwdno!" Oh right, right. Much clearer. He gets to wear his Cardinals hat today because he "brung food" for the food drive. J informed him that brung is not a word.

A few minutes later, snuggled up to me, as I'm fading in and out of consciousness he starts to tell me about his homework slip that he's sure I haven't read.

"It tells you to wohk with me on whyming. I need to listen to you say a wohd, then I say a wohd that whymes with it. Then aftoh that, you have to say a wohd and I have to give you TWO wohds that whyme."

I have no idea how much time passes after he says this, because I was really much closer to sleep than not.

"And uh, I'd weally like to be able to tell my teachoh that I did my homewohk last night. Even if it is this mohning."

Guilt trip from 5 year old: VERY effective

I said, "Please just give me 5 more minutes Bo, I'll go rhyme with you in 5 minutes, okay?"

He sits up and looks at the clock. "It's 5:50 now, so in 5 minutes it will be 5:55."
A few seconds later and very matter-of-factly, "There will be 5's all over the place then."

Downstairs rhyming. He is in heaven. I am mustering up all the brain power I can to come up with a word, and he's firing off rhyming words left and right. I resorted to just listing things around us.

"Door."
"Whore! Hahaahaha, I made that word up I think! It's a gweat whyme though, isn't it?"

I don't dare tell him otherwise, on account of, he's still fixated on other words he shouldn't know or say.

And because our laundry is in piles in baskets, there requires some skilled fishing to retrieve what we need. I could only find gray socks for Bo and even though they are his and they were dirty at some point, he acted like I was asking him to wear a petticoat.

Mooooom aaaaaaaaah! LOOK at these!

I see them, what about them?

They're GRAY!

And?

GRAY!

Yes Bo, they're gray, it's a color, who cares what color your socks are?

But gray is a grown up primary color, NOT a kid one!

Superhero Powers and A Couple of Tangents

Small Disclaimer: This was written a week ago. And I was gonna post it on Wednesday last, but then my husband was all "ooh, I'm so awesome, I'm so wonderful" and I had to blog about it. And then Danyo was all, "ooh, ooh, I'm so cute, I'm so funny, my mom laughs like a drunk woman, I'm gonna be a movie star" and I had to post about it. So now, you get it. Just pretend it's last week.

For the past two weeks I have been training for a new job. The actual job will be only in the evenings and very few hours a week, or even a month. But in order to train for it, I have been working about 40 hours a week, during the day. J switched shifts with his operations manager so he has been going to work in the evenings, after I get home. It hasn't been easy, and my hat is off to people who actually do this regularly without turning into raging monstrous psycho beasts grumper wumpers. Like me. I am tired. I miss my kids desperately, but their voices annoy me. I'm tired. I don't want them touching me. I just want to see their sweet little faces during the day. And I'm tired.

It's been an interesting shift. My kids call me dad. They mostly go to him for a basic need where they always came to me by default. Although, for middle of the night calls, I'm still parent of choice. I was awake last night when Avee flew out of her bed for some unknown reason and bolted into our room. I saw her make her way to the side of the bed I had been sleeping on for the past few weeks. (J's idea of shaking things up is to switch sleeping sides frequently.)

I watched her hustle around the bed, spot J's face and stop cold. I saw it on her face, "Well then where the heck is the mom one?!" I called to her and then pulled her into bed with me and asked, "What's going on?"

Her answer, which never ceases to amuse me, "Nuffin!". It's not just a regular "nuffin". It's filled with attitude. As though she needs a reason to come flying into our bedroom like a bat out of hell, to wake me up. I snuggled with her a few minutes and then took her back to her bed.

And that has nothing to do with anything.

Oh right, I was just bragging that even though J's been the primary care giver, and an excellent one, for the past two weeks---I'm still the most attractive one at 2 am. And by attractive I mean, I don't swat them away and make them go back to their own bed.

In my conversations with the kids, when I'm the stay-at-home parent, I'm more about, oh---manners. "Do not put that finger there. Seriously? Do you really think that's where hands belong? What!? Are you trying to make me throw up?!" and, self esteem---"You're so smart! I love how you think. You know why you are so smart? You have good genes..."

In J's conversations with the kids, it's more about superhero powers. Bo's superhero power is "Brain Power". This encompasses many many things. Just one of the talents of his brain power. The ability to pick a power that encompasses pretty much any single superhero power another person has. Because you see, it all starts with the brain.

This morning Bo asked me what my superhero power would be and I sort answered the first thing that popped into my mind.

"Probably the ability to read people's mind."
"Oh yeah, that's cool. Mine is bwain powoh. I already have the ability to wead peopoh's mind with my bwain powoh."
"That's good thinking Bo!"

"Yeah. I can also move things with my bwain. I could leave them hanging in the aiyoh if I wanted to."
"Oooh, I hadn't thought of that, maybe I want that to be my superhero power, that would be really helpful."
"Yeah, you should have that one. Then I wouldn't have to bwing you a diapoh foh Danyo, you could just get it with yo mind."
"So, my superhero power would be helpful for you too, wouldn't it?"
"Pwetty much."

I get a big kick out of the aftermath of the kids' conversations with J. At Bo's parent/teacher conference, before we even sat down--the teacher told us how impressed she was by an answer Bo had given just that day. She went around and asked all the kids to express something they had learned about trees during their past few weeks learning about trees. "bark" "leaves change" etc, etc, were the kinds of answers she got. Bo talked about how trees breathe in carbon dioxide which is what we breathe out. They breathe out oxygen, which is what we breathe in, and we work off of each other like that.

I laughed and pointed at J. J who won't settle for "And this is what we call the trunk" when talking to his five year old about trees. His teacher looked at J and said, "Oh, are you interested in science?" Uh yeah. Among 5 million other things. That's exactly right. Housecleaning supplies, anyone?

Back to superhero powers.

Avee's power of choice would be the ability to turn anything pink. Grandma would be proud.

1 Year Old For Sale

(mostly)
SWEET DISPOSITION

RED HAIR
(matted with milk)

GREAT SMILE (underneath the slobber)

TELEVISION EXPERIENCE

BIG HEAD
(both related and unrelated to tv experience)

(nose)
RUNS LIKE A CHAMP

NEEDS VERY LITTLE FUEL
(which he throws across the kitchen)

HIGH ENERGY
(won't sleep)

COMMUNICATIVE
(screams)

PRODUCT PROTECTION AVAILABLE
(Avee 3.5 will give you a whatfor if you ever try to scold or discipline)

WARRANTY LOST IN WASH
(along with ipod nano)

NO USER MANUAL AVAILABLE
(anywhere. ever. for any price. that's why he's for sale for pete sake!)

no returns or exchanges, all sales final, buyer responsible for whatever happens after purchase is finalized

Drug Free And Clueless

So, recently Bo had the whole, "Cute catch phrase to encourage children who barely learned to talk a few years ago, not to use drugs" campaign at his school.

When I saw the first signs of it trickling home in his backpack and his newfound lingo, I was a little annoyed. Well, that's not entirely true. At first I was like, "What?! No DARE? How on earth will people remember to JUST SAY NO!?"

Then I got a little bugged that my wee baby was being taught about drugs. Just enough to think it was dumb, but not enough to do anything about it. It's one of those "choose your battles" kind of things.

So anyway, I have casually asked Bo here and there about "Red Ribbon Day" or week, or whatever it is. (Man, I remember when ribbons were just average little household items---some scarlet ones had a song written about them, as did a yellow one, once---but now they have all kinds of meaning and are all over the place---wish I'd bought in ribbons before they went public like this) And he pretty much has no clue what it is all about. I have asked him at least 8 different times in about 6 different ways.

The conversations typically go like this:
M: Bo, what's red ribbon week all about?
B: I dunno.
M: You don't know why it's being called red ribbon week at school?
B: Oh yeah! I do! We're supposed to wear red!
M: Okay, but why?
B: Because it's red ribbon week.
M: What does red ribbon week mean?
B: It means, 'wear red'.

No kidding, we've had this conversation about 5 times.

He's such a literal and serious little guy, I just needed to make sure it was all being stored away accurately. Clearly there was no data input that needed to be modified.

Finally, I gave it one last ditch effort. He came home with a red bracelet on and tells me with complete authority, "I need to weah this tomahwow, AND a wed showt. I have to weah a wed showt. Will I have a clean wed showt to weah?"

Nag.

So I seize the opportunity and ask, "Why are you wearing a red shirt?" But the exact same conversation ensues.

I know I am not asking the right questions. I have had this problem with him since I can remember.

I give up and left for the evening.

That night when I got home, I was telling J about my initial annoyance at him being taught about drugs in kindergarten but how it has pretty much become a moot point because Bo totally doesn't get it.
And J says, "Yeah, tonight he told me that red ribbon week was to remind him to be drug free."

I whipped around. "What!? How on earth did you get that out of him."

"I dunno, he showed me a sticker, asked me if I knew what it meant. He told me it meant 'to be drug free'. I asked him what it meant to be drug free and he told me it meant not to smoke cigarettes or drink beer. I thought that was pretty specific and figured you were the one who told him that so I just went with it. But then he said,
'Uh Dad, what does 'FREE' mean?'"

Perhaps I have other things to worry about than my son learning about drugs too young.

Video Clips, Internet Safety, and a 5 Year Old Michael Jordan

Soooooooo, sometime in May, Danyo fell in a puddle of muddy water. There are other kinds of puddles, right? I'm not being redundant am I?

And even though I walk around continually thinking my kids are adorable and hilarious----I am fully aware that I think that about 10xs more than the average person. Even the average person who likes me very much. So, when I posted a video of Danyo falling in the puddle, I pretty much posted with the the awareness that I probably thought it was way more funny than most people.

But oh contrair! There were tons of comments on the post, a lot of emails, phone calls, and even some comments IRL about it. So then I was all like, "Wow. My kids ARE the cutest and the funniest in the world!"

Actually, so then I was all---Hey, America's Funniest Home Videos---do you want to air this video of my preshy?

And a month later they were all, "Yes. Yes ma'am, we do. Please sign here, here, here, and here. Oh, and we'll need a blood specimen here, a urine sample here, a lock of Danyo's hair, power of attorney, and whenever it's convenient, please give birth to another child so we can have him."

So I did it. Except the "another child" part. I'm kind of busy.

I got online to see what my chances for capitalizing on my baby's clumsiness were. There I learned, those chances were slim to none. But I also learned that some people were called for permission and were never contacted again or others who waited 4 years before their clip was aired.

So I simmered down. Put my delusions of grandeur in check, and basically forgot about it.

Then yesterday my new BFF Melanie called and told me that they are airing Danyo's clip on Sunday.

YEEHAAAAAAAW! I'm so excited to see my baby for 2.3 seconds on the tv, with his cute face paired with a weird and possibly unfunny dub of some dumb man voice. Actually, my real fear is that they are going to photoshop a picture of Gilbert Grape's mama, laughing her head off, because I a'fear, that is what I sound like. Maybe it will be left out.

So, just wanted to let you all know in case you want to watch it. Avee is in the background wearing her pink tutu. Bo and his friend Caleb are in it too. I mean, assuming they air the whole thing. It's on ABC on Sunday---October 26th.

If anyone has the capability to record onto a dvd, and wants to do me a solid (that phrase makes me laugh every time I hear it)---I would be forever grateful. Well, I'll be honest. I'll be grateful until my kids rub their grubby hands all over the dvd 5 zillion times and use it to skateboard and throw it against the walls to make a dent into the wall, and when it becomes completely unreadable, I'll most likely forget about everything and just be annoyed that my children act like wild animals.

Two other items of business:
My friend MommyJ at Mommy Snark posted a great post about internet safety, privacy and I would like to encourage everyone to go read it. Okay, not everyone. But if you are relatively new to the blogging world---and aren't like, the one who invented blogging---go check it out. It has great tips. Plus, she's offered to give anyone a "blog shakedown". Pretty much, that alone should make it worth checking out.

And lastly:
Morning conversation with Bo:
Bo: Mom, I want to play basketball.

Mom: (I find this amusing since he's shown a complete lack of interest in sports and well, a lack of prowess too---plus, last year's basketball---the entire season he thought the object of the game was to get from one side of the court to the other, faster than anyone else. Ball? What ball?)
Really? Well okay. I'll talk to Dad about it and we'll look into it.

Bo: Gweat! I weally hope Jaden is on my team. I weally hope it.

Mom: Oh yeah? Is he so good?

Bo: Yeah, he's excewent!

Mom: Really! How do you know that? Did he tell you?

Bo: No. I'm guessing he's pretty good. He just looks like he'd be good at basketball, whenevoh I look at him. Pwetty much just a guess though.

"Pwetty much just a guess" is SO his father. But it's really just a modest way of saying, "I know my stuff woman, don't doubt me!"

In Which Nobody Is Possibly Mushy

Dear J,

There are things you can't know about someone when you agree to marry him and raise a family together and spend happily ever after together. And it's a good thing you are twitterpated and hopelessly in love, because that's pretty much what compels you to make the biggest commitment of your life..

Plus, most people tend to put their best foot forward when they are dating. You can never really be entirely sure if some behaviors are lasting, or are just a show to win your hot self over.

There's really no sure fire way I could have known that you would be the kind of guy who comes home to utter and complete chaos, laundry everywhere, a screeching baby, and 5 other kids, all under the age of 5, hungry and tired and needy---and not even bat an eye. I pride myself on being a good parent, keeping my cool, being patient, and enjoying myself as much as possible, even amidst the chaos.

You made me look like a total poser last night. You quickly got dinner rolling and made dinner an entirely enjoyable experience for all 6 kids. And your wife. Even if you did bring home spicy chili chips for a bunch of little kids. Who insisted on eating them. And burning their mouths. But still eating them.

I think I can do things by myself. Things I don't have any business thinking I can do by myself. But you don't ever tell me I can't. Or make me feel dumb for being so delusional. You just quickly step in and pick up the slack. Or take over the reins completely and do it even better.

Thank you.

Thank you for bringing order home with you last night.

Thank you for doing every little dumb thing that needed to be done that I couldn't get to or didn't. Thank you for not letting the 5 year old talk me in to hauling the twin mattress upstairs so that he could have his cake and eat it too.

Thank you for being kind and gentle with me when I'm being a ninny-mom and having trouble letting my 5 year old be a 5 year old. And not a 5 year old who's treated like a 6 month old.

Thank you for always being kind to me.

Thank you for being late to work so I could clean up all the complete-lack-of-bladder-and-bowel-control problems that happened in the night before I succumbed to a lack-of- gag-reflex-control problem. And without Danyo dancing in the mess or hitting me with something or screaming in my ear because I'm cleaning up crap instead of...oh, looking at him.

Thank you for taking Bo to school even though you didn't have to.

Thank you for not yelling at me when the backpack you looked for for several minutes was underneath me the entire time. I so would have griped at you or made fun of you for being a big backpack-sitter-onner if the tables were turned. Thanks for being better than me. In so many ways. But never acting like you are.

And for never asking me what I did all day. Even when it would be a really justified question.

Pretty much every day (except when you leave your dirty socks on the floor) I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, to be married to you.

Then there are days like today when I am overwhelmed with gratitude that it wasn't a game to win me over---you really are as wonderful as I thought you'd be, and then some.

Thanks for putting an even better foot forward in marriage.

Love Always,
Nobody

He Didn't Even Know About the Diaper-Wearin' One

This morning Bo was the first awake and came into our room to snuggle. It is in these quiet moments together I get to hear the most about what he's thinking. Avee's not jumping off the window sill onto us. Danyo's not screeching and/or headbutting us because we aren't responding to his screeching. And I'm not multi-tasking because if there is one thing I do with my whole heart and soul, it is try and stay and bed until the very last moment possible.

I don't have to ask any brilliant, well-thought out prompters to get him to tell me everything. And that's what I love the most about these moments. I spend my entire day when he's at school, thinking of the perfectly phrased question that will get him to actually tell me what he did at school, what he learned, who he played with, how his lunch smelled, what his teacher was wearing, who the announcements were about, how much he missed me, etc, etc, etc.

So he says to me...

"Sydnee played in the doht and got ho hands completely dohty. I mean, they woh covohed in mud. Totally covohed. She said she had the dohtiest hands in the entiyoh wohld."

short pause...
and he continues...
"But not as dohty as an astwohnaut's."

short pause from me, and then....
*squelched chuckle* (I try so hard not to laugh when my kids are being serious. Hysterically serious.)

"I'm see-ohwious mom."

"I know. You mean astronauts hands are dirtier because they aren't in this world, they are in outer space--right?"

"Yeah. They could be dohty-oh than Sydnee's woh."

You can't tell me that it is possible to not be hopelessly in love with that little brain. A day inside of it, I'd probably see a bunch of astronauts named Neil, (who's middle name we don't know, but not because we haven't inquired) floating around with very dohty hands.

Our Lil' Junior

Since I have had children, I am prone to uh...long pauses in the middle of sentences. Or stories. Or words. Sometimes those pauses turn into complete silence. Accompanied by a blank stare. Even if I am fully engaged in relating a story or news. I just plum forget what I'm saying.

I still remember the first time this happened to me. I was pregnant with Bo. There were so many things changing within me, and well, without me---I just was not entirely prepared for all of it. I was at dinner with my brand new husband. He was proud to be married to a smart, conversational girl. I was that. Once. I remember being mid-sentence, opening my mouth to finish it and nothing came. My mind was completely blank. I couldn't even remember what I was talking about. I barely remembered if I was even talking. I was so shocked by this. And a little embarrassed. There had been no interruption, no other pause, no reason to warrant this complete blanking of my mind.

I've come a long way since then. I totally embrace my complete lack of ability to finish some most sentences.

My husband is nothing if he is not understanding and compassionate, and willing to work with me in whatever handicaps I bring to this relationship. So, he has taken it upon himself to finish my sentences.

Almost all of them.

And if I wasn't trying so hard to hold on to every fleeting thought I have, I might actually be able to enjoy his "participation" a little more. Mostly it just frustrates me though, because he pretty much NEVER comes even REMOTELY close to filling in the "blanks" properly.

For example:
"Oh man, I saw a tandem bike today and there was..."
"A man in a tutu on the handle bars?"

Um, no. A father and young son riding it.

"Oh wow, did you read this article on global warming? It made me think I was..."

"Limber?"

Really?

I finally said something to him.

So now, while my mind is blanking, and my brain races frantically through the empty streets, and rows of houses with lights on and no one home, I get to see him scan his own brain with about 42 different endings to my sentence (none of which are even remotely close to what I might have said if my thought processes weren't so effectively hijacked). I'm not sure which is worse. Watching him have so much more going on in his head, and still not getting it right----or just dealing with his completely nonsensical endings to my thoughts.

What I really wasn't prepared for, was Bo to pick up the habit. Tonight we met J for dinner because he is working late. I was telling J how on the way there I almost missed the turn onto the freeway and kind of made a sharp turn. Bo said, "Whoa, that was awkward! Awwwwwwwwkward!" in response to the sharp turn. As J and I are laughing, Bo is quietly sitting in his chair, "Yeah, well it was awkward, so that's what I said."

I almost didn't hear him chiming in on the conversation. It was unnaturally quiet for him. But he was definitely engaged in our conversation.

A few minutes later J says, "I almost said something, but then I thought...." and he paused. Maybe to take a drink. Maybe to tell Avee to get out from under the table. I dunno. But then I hear Bo say, still quietly, "Man, I don't wanna deal with this!"

It was a great ending to the sentence. And totally something J would say. But it was not the direction J was taking at all.

I think it's good to see our own obnoxiousness in children. It's so much cuter coming from them. And a nice reminder of how uncute we are when we act like that.

She Really Really Loves Me!

I gots an award from Tori! Even before she gave me an award, I've been a big fan of Tori. My sister (the blogger who might have been) told me about her like a year and a half ago, and I've been reading her faithfully ever since. She's funny, sassy, real, honors obnoxious people with her Tad awards (some of my favorite reading), and clearly a very cool mom. In case you were wondering, I really like Tori a lot. Now, she's pretty much the coolest person ever, because she gave me this award.

Nobody, like anyone can even know that.

So I'm passing it along too. I like Tori's idea of giving it to only two people. Believe me, I love more than two blogs.

First is MommyJ at Mommy Snark. This is a bit of a narcissitic choice. I like her style. I think she's funny, I think the words seem to flow from her fingertips, it's clear she enjoys motherhood, even though she has a very full plate with a 7 year old, twin 4 year old kiddos and a baby just a bit older than Danyo who has about 27x's more hair than Danyo. The narcissitic part? She reminds me of me. Everything I love about her, I claim to be just like me. Her more unsightly habits? Well then we are COMPLETE opposites.... See, i love that I can say that about her, because she's like me and it won't hurt her feelings. Even though I just gave her an award and made mention of unsightly habits in one short paragraph. Long story short, love her blog.

Nextly, I have a couple of choices but I'm not sure if they want to be public blogs---as in, having weirdos Nobody sent, come and read their blogs. Emily? UCMama? I'm passing based on that lack of info. But I do love your blogs.

C'est Moi This is my friend Beckie, from Texas. I think she's very funny. Plus, she's Canadian, so it's proof that I have foreign friends. It means I'm tolerant, right? She has two adorable boys, she's random and funny and witty and smart. And one time she posted a tiny little blip about the NKOTB on her blog, and a NKOTB fan came and opened a can of the Right Stuff right there on her in the comment section. It entertained me for nearly two weeks. Very funny. IRL Beckie's awesome. When we lived in Texas (sigh) and she watched my kids, my kids acted like they were going to Disneyland when I would take them there. She would play tag with them, take them on nature hikes, hunt turtles, and had Bo convinced she wrestled a bear when she nearly cut off her fingers and had a massive bandage on her hand. Bo wouldn't even entertain the idea that it was a cut. Beckie said it was a bear, IT WAS A BEAR. She's also the kind of girl who will drop everything and come help you jump start your car because you are stupid spacey sometimes. Whoops, this is about the blogs. Beckie doesn't post enough though, so I kinda had to cheat and go into real life for material. But I do love her blog. :)

The End.

There's A Hole In Someone's Brain, Dear Liza, Dear Liza

I'm kind of bad about letting my kids listen to kids music in the car. I like to listen to my own music. Which is why pretty much all three of them know the entire soundtrack to Wicked, by heart. Cute is hearing a 5 year old boy say, "Loathing. Unadultuhwated loathing!" or a 3 year old girl say, "No wizzohd that theyah is o' was is evoh gonna bwing me DOOOOOWN!!!"

I decided to change my ways and bought a "Silly" Cd for $7. We've been listening to it for a week. The kids' favorite so far is a totally, well---silly---song about milk.

And on this CD is the classic, "There's A Hole In The Bucket". I remember learning it in music class in elementary school. I remember wondering then, what the heck the point of the song was.

Then hearing it again on my kids' CD, I still wondered.

One of the many perks of being married to J---he's finally answered the question.

He calls it the Passive Agressive Anthem.

And that just makes so much sense.

On a drive home the other day, he blasted it, after dedicating it to every unhealthy passive aggressive relationship out there. He's a regular Delilah.

Of course, it can't just rest there. If it's stuck in J's head---it has to be stuck in everyone's head.

So, as we were putting the kids to bed, he started his own version of the song. Bo thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, laughing hysterically, and quickly catching on and chiming in.

So, without further ado, I give you, J and Bo's version of "There's A Hole In The Bucket"

J: I can't get a job dear daddy, dear daddy, dear daddy, I can't get a job dear daddy, a job.
B: Go to college deaw son, deaw son, deaw son, go to college deaw son, deaw son, to college!
J: With what shall I fill out my application dear daddy, dear daddy....
B: With a pencil deaw son, deaw son...
J: My pencil's not sharp dear daddy, dear daddy
B: Use a computoh deaw son, deaw son....
J: I don't have microsoft office dear daddy...

At which point Bo breaks down into a fit of giggles. And then spends the entire rest of the weekend singing, "I don't have micwosoft office, deaw daddy, deaw daddy...."

Pretty much every conversation they've had for the last two days has been their own version of the song.

Someone help me.

Makes Me Think I've Failed At Some Level

Makes Me Think I've Failed At Some Level:

Today while driving in the car, Bo asked, "So Mom, what is a wagon, actually?"

Not even a minute later he said, "Oh look that man is a Cubs fan, he's got a Cubs stickoh on his car."

How is it that my son, the child of two of the most non-sports watching, playing, understanding people in the universe, would know what the Cubs emblem looked like, and yet---has made it to 5 years old without "actually" knowing what a wagon is?

Conversations With Avee

I was gone most of the day today and called home to chat with J and had the pleasure of a brief chat with Avee.

Avee: Hi Dad! Oh hahaha! I mean, MOM. Did you hear me? I just called you Dad! That's so funny.

Mom: How are you doing Avee?
Avee: Good. My walking is kind of bumpy though.

J later explained that she started doing a sort of "running man" when she said this. Out of nowhere.

At dinner--

Bo: Moooooooooom, Avee threw some chicken at me!
Avee: (indignantly) I did not! It was a french fry!

A little later--

Bo: Moooooooom, Avee said stupid and idiot.

Avee: Yeah, but not today, that was yestohday. I didn't say it yet today.

When someone is leaving--

BYE AMIGOS-AMIGOS!

Just now---

Avee is sitting on my feet underneath the computer desk. On my feet.
Bo says from the bathroom: Whatevoh Avee, you don't even know.
Avee says, in a sassy tone, I have no idea where she learned it: Oh yeah, whatevoh Bo....stupid....and....whatevoh....and idiot.
Me: Avee!

Avee, cute giggle: Oh! Oopth. I didn't know you was theyah!

One of the best parts of being gone while J is home, in charge, is coming home to see what the kids look like. J never lets me down. Today's attire on Avee, was my favorite.
She explained...

"Dese is bowf my showts mom. I have on two buhcuz the fohst one is bwoken."

They are cardigans. Both of them. And they were in a closet that she couldn't reach. So someone had to help her with this fashion selection.

I Think I Need To Go To My Happy Place

Okay, okay. I really tried to squelch this because I hate feeding into the idiocy that has become American Politics; People who treat other people like they are stupid and uninformed if they don't choose the "popular" candidate. Mainstream media spending more time on styles and "populism" than on the facts. Nearly every public figure at every turn doing the very thing I couldn't wait to grow up and be away from. The very behaviors I try so hard to keep my own children from doing, having.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old there were some rotten neighbor kids at the end of our street. There was an older boy, and a girl my age. And they were just mean. They said horrible, hateful things (many of which were things we'd never heard before) and basically hated us for existing. I'm not sure what triggered it, what inspired it, or what perpetuated it. But it was real and it was ridiculous.

So one lovely summer day, we were around the block from my house, climbing some trees and picking mulberries. And our friends showed up on the scene.

I don't remember the specifics, perhaps they wanted to pick mulberries and felt we were in the way, maybe they were just riding by---I really don't remember. However, I do remember my older sister, after having a go at yelling our own brand of hateful things, "Well at least I don't smell like a septic tank!" said, "Let's go." We started to leave, and the big dumb galoot boy (and I'm not exaggerating at all with big or dumb or galoot) hurled a rock at my sister. It nailed her face and she immediately started to bleed.

This was the sister who I could have punched into oblivion myself only 20 minutes before. I could have called her every name from every book I'd ever read. She infuriated me to no end most days.

But she was my sister.

And you don't mess with my sister.

I saw the blood on her face. We were horrified that they could be so awful. I was enraged. I wanted to tear down the street and beat the ever-living missouri snot out of their worthless hind ends. But I knew I was just one girl. Who couldn't really run all that well. Who got picked up by the scruff of her neck more than one time when she'd tried to beat up older siblings. So I did the next best thing and I screamed as long and as loud as I could,

"I HOPE YOU GO TO JAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Even as the words left my mouth, I wished they hadn't. Give me a break Lil' Nobody, what 9 and 12 year old kids are going to go to jail for throwing a rock? Really? Is that the best you can do? I had wanted to say HELL but I knew, I couldn't be culpable for any crime. I had to be clean as a whistle when this case came before the judge and jury. I couldn't risk them saying, "Oh yeah, well Fatlip said 'hell'." No sir, I stayed safe with jail. Stupid, stupid jail.

I still remember the fury. I still remember my mind racing with the perfect payback. I wanted what I said, what I did to stay with them forever. I wanted them to suffer from the sorrow of what they had done. And my words would make that happen.

I still remember the absolute and complete impotence of my words. I remember feeling how pathetic they were the moment they left my mouth.

Why this story you ask?

These emotions are somewhat similar to how I feel right now about 2 things. The so called "bailout" which is really just a stupid, simple word for, "this is not a democracy, screw you middle class tax-payer, let's have another drink Wall Street Lobbyist!"

And politics.

There are a dozen things that could set me off, but here's the one of which I'm going to write.

I have heard the Republican party's views described as dangerous and small-minded. They are close-minded and oppressive. And one of those reasons, BIG reasons, is because of their view on gay marriage. Here's where you might think I'm going to express my opinion on gay marriage.

I'm not.

I'm going to point out that many, many, MANY people will use gay marriage as a reason they can't, won't, could never vote Republican. Maybe they will even pad it with other hot button topics "a woman's right to choose" or "change from the way things have been" or even, but I doubt it, "The Democrat's plan to turn around this disaster of an economy."

So to those people, here is what I want to know.

How come I've seen and read and heard in at least 12 places, reference to "Joe Six-Pack" (an admittedly ridiculous phrase) and/or reference to Palin winking but not ONE SINGLE SOLITARY REFERENCE to the fact that BIDEN and OBAMA DO NOT SUPPORT GAY MARRIAGE!?!?!?!?!!?

Joe Biden said it outright in the debate. The fact that I didn't hear it or read it referred to (in my limited exposure--but enough to hear all the Palin "flaws" dozens of times each) after the debate, tells me that one of two things is happening here:
1. Good ol' JB lied, and everyone knows it, and nobody cares.
2. It doesn't really matter what the candidates on this ticket say, or do, it's cool to vote Democrat and the simple facts aren't going to change that.

I wonder.

And to the fetchers who are getting tax payer money instead of having to deal with your own consequences like the rest of the world:

I HOPE YOU GO TO JAIL!!!!!!!!!

But not hell. Because nice mommy bloggers don't say stuff like that.

Hair Cutting: I've Self-Smarted Myself

I just have to say: Endorphins are fo'real.

I have felt so much better once I got back into my workout groove.

Since I've started running, I am pushing myself more than usual because running doesn't come naturally to me. I'm built more for, oh, sitting on the couch and whatnot.

But I'm really enjoying it and enjoying the feeling of getting better at it. The other day I wore sissy girl socks to bootcamp and the dadgum things didn't even stay on my ankles. So I got blisters. I was really mad about it. It's sort of a pet peeve of mine when people get mad over stuff like that---you know, the adult version of spilled milk. But I was really annoyed because they hurt and I knew I wouldn't be able to do my running stuff that day.

The next day, I forced myself to the gym with band-aids on my blisters.
Check this out:








Can't even tell you how tough this made me feel.

I'm wearing tough non-girly socks. That's why I could handle it. I was genuinely shocked when I went to go take off my shoes and saw the blood. That's the part that made me feel tough.

This weekend I have effectively butchered the nice heads of hair on 3 members of my family. My hair, and the nigh-bald one-year-old are the only ones left unharmed.

Avee cut her own bangs about oh, 8 months ago. But she managed to cut a chunk underneath another portion, so it could be hidden---a nice big chunk of hair, maybe 1/8 inch long. Because it could be mostly hidden, she never had the "I'm 3 or 4 and just cut my own hair" look.

Yesterday, I managed to give it to her. The nearly bald spot she cut has finally grown in. I was looking at her hair all shaggy and unkempt and thought, "I bet I could even her bangs and she'd be super cute with a cute little wedge and almost pixie-like bangs."

Yeah, it's a little more along the lines of this:





Only, worse.



I wish I was joking.

Oh well. At least she's cute and confident and has the ability to make every other 3 year old wish they had a dork for a mom haircut like this.





Because I could not stop laughing while I was cutting her hair, Avee, much like her mother, assumed she was funny and entertaining and wouldn't stop pulling faces. I took about 20 pictures and these were the only ones that weren't ridiculously blurry or uh...just ridiculous.

J continually asks me to cut his hair. I continually don't know what I'm doing with clippers in my hand. This month's look is sponsored by the troops. Because he'd fit right in with them with his new haircut.

And poor Bo. Poor, poor Bo. He went from a "trim over the ears" to a recovering chemo patient, to no hair at all to keep his skinny little head warm. Fortunately, he thinks the Pokemon shirt makes the man, so he can't be bothered by the butchering I just left him with.

Things are always so exciting around here, aren't they!?

Thanks, Apologies, and Evolution

Thank you for all the really great comments on my previous post. It's nice to be reminded of things I forget. And to be commiserated with. So thank you.

And two apologies: Omar, I am sorry. You aren't losing your mind. My only defense is, I am a woman, and as such I tend to be moody and/or fickle. I try really hard not to be, but it comes oh-so naturally. But, you probably didn't need me to tell you this. You had email proof.
My only two excuses: 1. Moody 2. Insomnia

To My Tuesday Night Book Club Group: I don't know what my problem is. Sometimes when I'm down, as I was on Tuesday, I lose my filters. Filters that should be in place to make you socially acceptable---likable, even. I did not bring those filters to book club and I'm sorry. I came only with my severe case of diarrhea of the mouth. Please forgive me. Next time, I will be quiet, demure, likable even!

And now, for the evolution part. I call this, "Evolution Of The First Time Parent of A Kindergartner" It could be said more succinctly, I'm sure---but try as I may, my brain of sludge can not figure it out this morning.

A Couple Of Years To A Couple Of Weeks Before Kindergarten:
My kid is brilliant. I wonder if they will request to have him moved to the 3rd grade after 2 hours of interacting with him. I think the testing they do beforehand will show brains the likes of something they have never seen before. "Oh honey, do you think if they want to move our baby up to 3rd, or 4th, or even 5th grade, we should let them? I mean socially and all...?"

Day Before Kindergarten:
"Your son did excellent on the language arts portion on the test. He didn't really know what a sphere was though, so I had to mark him down on the math portion. Otherwise, great job!"
Frickin frackin stupid test doesn't account for genius of appearance, cuteness of love handles on a skinny kid, adorableness of speech impediments, charming cowlicks and sheer brilliance of deduction with his 5-year-old syllogisms. "Illegal means very bad, taking naps are very bad, naps are illegal."

First Day of Kindergarten:
Auuuuuughhhhhh my baby! My heart is being torn from my chest! I can't let him go. He's mine, he's always been mine and only mine. I've only had to share when I want to. I have molded and shaped him---he really believes I have eyes in the back of my head, he thinks collecting cans is the best paying job in the country, he does totally obnoxious and annoying things that I find endearing and hilarious, my mornings aren't complete without his hugs, neither are my mid-mornings, early-afternoons, or afternoons, I need to hear his realizations from the backseat of the van, "OHHHH! I get it! After a WHILE, crock-oh-DILE rhymes! THAT'S why Dad always says that!" I can't give him up for nearly 7 hours. That's more time than I'll get with him. I can't.

Oh thank goodness for shorter days on Wednesday. I'll get him one hour earlier in the day. I will live for Wednesdays. I will cherish Wednesdays. Wednesday is the new Saturday. Greatest day ever. I wish he only had to go to school for 4 hours and Wednesdays were 3 hours....

Second Week of Kindergarten:
Come here buddy, I missed you so much! Did you miss me? Not really? Oh well, I'll fix that...

Second And Third Wednesday:
WELCOME HOME! I have some cookies for you, they are still warm from the oven. Here's a collage I made for you to put on your folder, it's all the things I say and all the things we like to do together, you know, for times when I you miss me. I also made you some Baklava, you know how you mentioned learning about it that one time 8 months ago? Come snuggle. Let's read all the books on our bookshelf like you always want to and I never will.

Fifth Week of Kindergarten:
How early can I drop you off at school? Why are you still here? What did your teacher tell you about burping? Does Mrs. ________ know you're here?

6th Wednesday of Kindergarten:
Why are you home so early? I'm gonna have a word with your principal, these early Wednesdays are getting on my nerves!

First we abhor, then we endure, then we embrace.