Just Wait

Off to Hershey Park tomorrow. I'm quite certain at least one of my children will do something stupid that I can share with you fine folks on Friday. Try to control your anticipation.

Chris and I have already had words about the trip--His theory-- Whoo-Hoo! My kids are finally tall enough to go on roller coasters with me without having to put lifts in their shoes or teach then to stand on their tippy toes just as the ride attendant holds the height bar above their head--!!
My theory-- just because our daughters are like a sixteenth of an inch tall enough to ride a roller coaster that goes upside down, it doesn't mean that they actually should ride it. Seriously, this is a child who vomited after being spun on a tire swing in her aunt's back yard. And guess who's going to have to clean up any chocolate that revisits us after riding the Super Dooper Looper? Yep. Yours truly.

I can't wait.

Chris--Not Your "Go-To" Man For Religious Information

A little background to start: We live in Baltimore (home of the Ravens). Chris is an AVID sports fan. We're Catholic and try to attend church regularly with our children.
At Easter, our church, to represent the rising of Christ from the dead, changes the crucifix on the alter so that Jesus is not nailed to the cross but instead his arms are outstretched and elevated toward the heavens. The crucifix is also draped in deep purple (the color of Lent).

Our daughter Liz, who was about 4 at the time, notices the change and leans over to ask her father about it. This is her first mistake. She will learn as she gets older that her father is not the person to go to if you have questions about religion. This is a man who truly believes that Christians abstain from eating meat during lent because the Pope at the time was in cohorts with the fisherman of Italy and had made some sort of secret "Survivor"-like alliance with them to increase their profits from fish sales. Need I say more?

So Liz wants to know why Jesus looks different and what does Chris say?? He says, "It's because Jesus is a Ravens fan and he's signalling 'Touchdown!'".

Unbelievable.

Kids Are SO Literal

So I took Liz (who is 6) to the pediatrician to discuss her enlarged and frequently infected tonsils and long story short, he says we have to see an ENT. So we go to the ENT for a surgical consult to find out if he thinks we should have the tonsils removed. So we're sitting in the exam room (Liz is in this exam chair that looks a little like the chair at the dentist office but with more gadgets) and the nurse comes in and says hello and what-not-- making small talk (obviously the Doc is running behind schedule) and she asks the purpose of our visit. Liz informs her all about her "gi-normous" tonsils and that fact that she snores as loud as Daddy and it wakes up her sister. . . blah, blah, blah (the child can talk the ears off corn, ya know?)
So the nurse starts telling her that a tonsillectomy isn't that big a deal, it hurts a little but you get to eat lots of ice cream and slurpees and lay on the couch watching TV for a few days, etc. Then she leaves the room. I go back to reading my waiting room magazine and am very engrossed in an article (the contents of which I can no longer recall) when I hear a tiny little quivering voice:

"Mommy?"
"Yeah, sweetie, what's up?" I look up to see large tears threatening to spill over her big brown eyes, "Honey, what's wrong?"
"Is the doctor just gonna rip 'em out right NOW????"

Kids are SO literal.

Should I Write a Book?

I've been thinking that perhaps I should write a book. I could write at any time without the need to hire daycare and I could make millions. Or maybe hundreds. Probably 50 bucks at best, but I would at least feel like I was contributing to the family income. It's either that or stripping, and I just can't imagine anyone paying money to see me naked. Maybe they'd pay to have me put my clothes back on. . .
Anyway, I thought I'd start with what I know and I certainly know a lot about pregnancy and childbirth so I could write a handbook of practical tips for the pregnant woman. For example: Suppose it's your first pregnancy and you are shopping with your husband at Target. You are walking along perusing the baby items with happy thoughts of your soon to be bundle of joy (your husband is off in the electronics aisle perusing video games because that's where he always is when shopping at Target, or any other store for that matter.) Anyway, back to the baby aisle, so you're looking at crib mobiles when you sneeze and then all of a sudden- WETNESS. Down THERE. Panic ensues. It's way to early for your water to break. The baby will be in the NICU for, like months and months. Or worse, it might not make it at all. So you frantically find your husband and tell him (hysterically) what has happened and RUSH to the hospital.
So here's the practical advice bit:

Unless you relish the idea of your husband referring to you as "Tinkles" for the remainder of your pregnancy-- discreetly go to the restroom and MAKE CERTAIN that it is in fact amniotic fluid you are leaking and that you haven't simply pissed yourself before hysterically alerting the aforementioned husband.

This simple act will save you loads of embarrassment as not only will your husband call you "Tinkles" but will also feel the need to share the story with EVERY PERSON he comes in contact with for the next several months. Whether he knows them or not.

So what do you think? Should I write for a living? Hmmmmm, probably not. Maybe I should just stick to what I'm REALLY good at--cleaning up crap my kids have dumped around our house and bitching to Chris about it.

Mo-Zarr's Dating Service

We've had another Mo-Zarr casualty. Sleeping Beauty is not worried-- "Luke--I am your girlfriend! We have soooo much in common-- we were both raised by foster parents, we both have a destiny to fulfill, we're both missing hands...

Sam and His Favorite Boxers

So we're potty training Sam. Let's just say it didn't go well in the beginning. Sam would pee on the potty and then (less than 5 minutes later) pee on himself and the floor, but yet somehow be confused as to the origin of the wetness.

Sam: "Mommy, I all wet!"
Me: "I know honey, you peed on yourself."
Sam: "Mine pants are wet!" (he seems happy and excited about this)
Me: "Yes, because you did pee-pees on them. You are supposed to do them in the potty."
Sam: "I did pee-pee on potty!!"
Me: "Yes, I know you did, Good job. But then you peed AGAIN on the floor."
Sam: "Nah-uhnnh. (squatting down to examine the puddle on the floor) LOOK! It's wet!" (he's very proud of this Magellan-like discovery)
Me: "Yes, it's wet-- You PEED ON THE FLOOR!"
Sam: "It's a puddle! I LIKE this puddle!"

At this point I decide to simply accept the fact that like most grown men, Sam's hoo-hoo must have a mind of it's own that is completely separate from the brain housed in his skull and clearly they don't communicate effectively. Maddie, our dog, has a similar problem--she has a very long tail that clearly isn't under her conscious control as she frequently clears the coffee table with it then looks at me as if to say, "someone knocked all that stuff off the table, you might want to clean that up."

Anyhow--so my nephews bequeathed some hand-me-down clothes to Sam and his favorite article of clothing is a pair of Justice League boxers that are about 3 sizes too big. So he sees them in the pile of laundry on the sofa that my wonderful, helpful, dependent husband has folded but failed to put away (another post, another day) and unbeknownst to me, decides to put them on. So he walks past me and I notice something doesn't look quite right. To begin with, his shorts are on backwards. Secondly, there appears to be some sort of tail hanging out of the back of his shorts. So as I'm pulling off his shorts to turn them around, Sam is announcing that he's found his Superman undies and put them on. So I take off his shorts and discover that he has put both legs through one leg hole of the boxers leaving the other leg hole hanging behind him like a sad little underwear wedding gown train. Plus, when he put his shorts back on, the boxers (which if you picture it--look like a skirt at this point) have ridden up so that his twig and berries are hanging out the bottom. Oh how I wish I could have photographed this to show to his first prom date. . . .

Why Children Shouldn't Be Allowed To Dress Themselves

Burr-Burr

This was originally an email to my husband on June 12, 2006. For reference, Sam was not yet two years old.

You might as well wipe the smile off your face now because I don't find it the least bit funny. I was in our room making our bed (like a good little wife) and I noticed our son was making frequent trips back and forth from the kitchen to his bedroom. So I go to investigate. . . Suffice it to say you need to find a new home for the case of beer that is sitting on the floor in the kitchen. He was stockpiling bottles of beer in his room! And then as I'm gathering up the bottles to put them back, he comes running in (happy as a clam) with a bottle tucked under each arm! He sees me, smiles, cocks his head to one side, and says "burr-burr??" then realizes his mistake, turns around and RUNS AWAY down the hall shaking his head no because he DOESN'T WANT ME TO TAKE HIS BEER AWAY! Stop laughing it's NOT funny. But wait--it gets better--a little while later I'm trying to straighten up and I pick up his blanket off the floor to take it to his room and I find ANOTHER bottle of beer IN HIS CRIB! How sad is that?? He puts his most treasured items in his crib--it's his pack-rat hole --and he chose a bottle of Pete's Summer Brew to take up residence next to his pillow and his man-man. . . Do they have AA for toddlers??

So, this can serve as an initial post.