Take a knee, I have nonsense to spew.
The following conversation occurred while my children were brushing their teeth before bedtime.
Boy: “Moooooooom!! Megan just spit on my head!”
Mom: “What the heck?!”
Boy: “She spit out her toothpaste on my head!”
Girl: “He leaned-ed his head under me!”
Mom: “Aw jeez, guys! Hang on, buddy. I’ll come clean you up.”
Girl: “Hey Mom?”
Mom: “Yeah?”
Girl: “Ben told me he peed in the sink one time.”
Boy: “Yeah, I did.”
Mom: “Ben, I think the word you are looking for here is, ‘touché'”.
There was a story on the news about a 5-year-old who called 911 when his Dad collapsed, and ended up saving his life. At first I thought, “Shit. My kids don’t know how to use a phone. They don’t know what 9-1-1 is.” And then I thought it through a little. I thought about teaching my children — MY children — how to use a phone and dial 911. Here, with 100% certainty, is what would happen.
Dispatcher: 911 what is your emergency?
Caller: *giggle*
Dispatcher: Hello? What is your emergency?
Caller: PENIS! (hangs up)
Now repeat that about 500 times.
I think I am going to go ahead and take my chances. I’ve had a good life.
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A big thanks to Christina over at Delirious Mom for giving me a Fabulous Blog ribbon! So awesome! Thanks so much!
Here is how this one works:
1. Post the rules.
Done-zo.
2. Name five of your most fabulous moments, either in real life or in the blogosphere.
3. Name five things you love.
4. Name five things you hate.
5. Pass the ribbon on to five other bloggers. (Leave them a comment to notify them of their win.)
There are too many people I love and adore. I have updated my blog roll — check those folks out!!! They are amazing.
My friend Helena and I took our twins to the zoo a few weeks ago. Man, these kids were JACKED UP. I swear they ran for three hours straight. Marathoners need to be looking to the preschool set for tips on how maintain their stamina.
We headed over to the indoor Rainforest Exhibit. It’s moist and has lots of birds. Helena held open the door while our crew dashed inside and ran over to the nearest wall.
Kids: “Wow, that’s amazing!!!!! Oh my gosh!! Woah, what IS that?!”
Me: “Dudes. Those are rocks. That’s a pile……of ROCKS……. The animals are that-a-way.”
Kids: “Ooooooohhh! Wow! Let’s go!”
It’s like they just don’t care. Or they care deeply, and they are simple. In which case I should really just go with it, because there will be a lot of rock-staring in our future.
They are so noble and majestic.
Image via sxc
I have decided that I am going to start a parenting class. There will be a whole series, covering the usual stuff — birth, sleep, sadness, regret, etc. Then, in the final class, when everybody thinks they’ve got this shit on lock-down and they are ready to go, that’s when I prepare them for the toughest challenge of parenting a young child. It’s time to play “Questions From A Preschooler”, motherfuckers! OH YEAH! And you thought you were bad, huh? Now who wants to give me advice on how to get my kid to sleep?! That’s what I THOUGHT.
It will be an oral exam, and we will do it while driving on the highway, with me in the backseat asking the questions at a pitch and intensity typically seen only when evacuating a nursing home during a fire.
Here are the test questions. Are you ready? Doesn’t matter. Here we go:
1. What is a chicken enchilada called? And also, what is a chicken?
2. What is this cut on my finger called?
3. Why?
4. Why?
5. Why?
6. When is next week?
7. So, the day after tomorrow?
8. Two days after tomorrow?
9. I am going to say the days of the week. Stop me when I get to next week. Ok?
10. Where do socks come from?
11. Can I have a gronlong?
12. No — a GRON-long. Can I have a GRON-long?
13. A GRONLONG! GRONLONG GRONLONG GRONLONG!!!!!!
14. Did you know that the word “right” has the word “right” in it?
15. When you die, will you still be my mommy/daddy?
16. I’ve decided I don’t want to wear pants when we get to the mall. Convince me otherwise.
17. Good job. I shall wear pants. But I won’t go to the mall.
18. Mall or pants. Your call. YOU CANNOT HAVE BOTH.
19. What does that word “sexy” mean?
20. Excellent. I have some more questions for you about your penis/vagina, but I will wait to ask those at Pizza Hut.
Bedtime with Ben.
Ben: “I am going to sleep with Duckie on my chest tonight. He needs me to protect him because sometimes he gets afraid of monsters.”
Mom: “Oh! Well that is very sweet of you to protect him.”
Ben: “There’s no real monsters though, right?”
Mom: “Right. There’s no such thing as monsters.”
Ben: “They’re just stories.”
Mom: “That’s right.”
Ben: “Stories from your eyeballs.”
Mom: “Hm?”
Ben: “Like at night, you close your eyes, and there are stories on your eyeballs.”
Mom: “OH MY GOD THAT IS THE SWEETEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD ANYBODY SAY EVER.”
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MY WEEKLY ROUND UP!
The Politicus: Supreme Court tells non-white Arizonans to sleep with one eye open
Reckless Video: Read my review of The Artist!
Imperfect Parent: Did you know that every time you click on one of my articles at Minor Topics, an angel gets its wings? And I make about 1/8 of a penny? But, you know, do it for the angels.
(The car is silent. We are driving to school.)
Meg: “Mom?”
Mom: “Yes, Meg?”
Meg: “Do bunny rabbits have brains?”
Mom: ……….”You know Meg, I was just asking myself the same question. The answer is yes. Bunnies have brains.”
Meg: “Are their brains in their ears?”
Mom: “Did you say ‘are their brains in their ears?'”
Meg: “Yeah.”
Mom: “Just checking. No, honey, their brains are not in their ears. Their brains are in their heads, and they are for thinking. Their ears are on the top of their heads, and they are for hearing.”
Meg: “What’s ‘thinking’?”
Mom: “Oy. Uh……….thinking is what your brain does. And hearing is what your ears do.”
Meg: “Oh. Daddy must have a really big brain!”
Mom: “Are you saying that because of his big ol’ head?”
Meg: “Yeah.”
Mom: “Right on.”
Meg: “Ben! Let’s go in the changing room!” (the changing room is the space behind the chair in the living room, by the way)
Mom: “No. No more changing room. Enough.”
Meg: “But why?”
Mom: “Megan, I love your butt. You have an adorable butt. But I don’t want to see it all day long.”
Meg; “But I’m just going into the changing room.”
Mom: “Yes. To pull out your butt. I am well aware of what your plans are.”
Ben: “Megan, are you going to pull your butt out?”
Meg: “……………….you’ll see.”
Mom: “Oh for pete’s sake.”
When I was growing up, one of the things that always irritated me about my mom was The Scream. If you accidentally poked her with your little finger, she would yell like you had put a hot poker to her. If you sat on her lap and moved in a way that made her uncomfortable, she would screech. I always thought it was ridiculous, and could not understand why she overdid it so much. As with so many things from my childhood, now that I am a parent I totally get it. Mom, I apologize. AGAIN.
See, my kids hurt me a lot. Poking, kicking, jumping into my lap but somehow leading with elbows and heels, etc. All accidental, but all frequent. And guess what? When they get me, I scream. LOUDLY. I was right about my moms’ screams — it isn’t about how much it actually hurts. The Scream is about being pissed off. It’s about being sick and tired of having someone kick you in the face when you are 34 years old and all you are doing is trying to buckle a seat belt. The Scream says, “What the fuck, man?! I’m not a brawler! I’m not in a cage match! Why am I getting injured every single day?!!”
I had no idea that there would be so much physical pain involved in parenting once you got past the birth. And I am not one who is used to that kind of thing. I have two sisters that I scrapped with from time to time when we were young, but as vicious as we may have gotten — and we got pretty vicious (anyone who has sisters knows what I mean) — we never hauled off and punched each other in the face. We never did pile drives off the couch. We pooped on each others’ floors and smeared toothpaste on each other’s faces. Because we’re LADIES, that’s why.
So when I am playing with my kids and all of a sudden I get smacked across the face, I’m like, “The hell, dude?!! Uh-uh, man. Play time is OVAH.”
I just........wanted to give them........a bath.........
I had to bring the hammer down on my son the other day. It involved a parking lot, running, and mommy’s screams. I stood in front of him with one hand on my hip, the other hand pointing my finger and scolding hard. When I stopped, I said, “Do you understand me?”
He looked up at me and said, “Mom? You look like a teapot.”
Ok. You win this round, small boy. Sadly for you, I buy your clothes. I’d look for this little number in a closet near you:
Aye aye, Captain! This DOES come in a 4T!
************By the way, I have an essay up at Errant Parent! Remember my post on threats? It is there in all its glory. Waiting to be read, and shared, and re-read, and then ignored forever.
Meg: “Mommy, how many years are you?”
Mom: “I am 34 years old.”
Ben: “Oh my god.”
Meg: “WOW! That is a lot of years! How old is Daddy?”
Mom: “He’s 36…….I think?”
Meg: “That is an enormous number! That is like a huge enormous MONSTER!”
Mom: “Anything else you care to add, dear? Because your Dad and I have to get back to the home. It’s applesauce night.”
Pile of Babies 