Wednesday, July 15, 2015

It's day four of the Dodge Caravan Hostage crisis of 2013. And frankly I'm tired of getting things accomplished.

The father figure came home for lunch today. He was eating and I was reading the paper to him. It was an interesting article about traffic and then we discussed the coupons and various sales that were happening. We're old. I was a bit taken a back by how stereotypical we were, and slightly alarmed. But not enough to actually change my behavior.

As a hostage of the uncooperative car, I was able to set up the train table in the boys' room. It's similar to the tables that you might find at Barnes and Noble. I bought it for Mac's third birthday. It seemed like a reasonable purchase. He played with the tables at whatever stores had them and wailed something fierce as I pried his hands off. But rather than sit quietly and drive trains, like he typically did, Baby help him discover that the train tracks came apart and could be used as weapons. Also, you could color on them.

So the table went away. Shortly after we moved into our new house, X-Man began to talk a lot more. And one of his mostest favorite things is Thomas the Tank Engine. Or should I say, Homas the Hank Engine. It's the cutest thing ever. He's so happy when he shows you the Homas' in the book or his own Homas he got for his first birthday. He also likes to tell you the sound that Homas makes.

He truly appreciated the Homas table. He squealed as each piece can out and he had to run and show his siblings. It was very cute. And totally worth the effort to get the track together. And of course, as soon as it was set up, Mac and Baby and Baba all had to come play with it. Within minutes, it was spread all over the floor. I put it back together in time for X-Man's nap, not really sure why, but I did. And sure enough, I peeked in three hours later and there was X-Man, asleep on his intact table.

I loved talking to X-Man about Homas, mostly because it's so darn cute. And I was treasuring it until I over heard the father figure say "Hey X-Man, what's your favorite terrorist organization?" X-Man looked up from his train book and yelled "Homas!" And now that memory is ruined.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Another day, another call into poison control. Actually, it’s been close to a decade since I called them. Since Mac ate an entire lipstick on mine. Cinco tried to wash her hair with laundry detergent and was too busy spitting everywhere to explain to me if she had indeed ingested any.

New day, new blood on X-Man’s face. It’s a fairly common occurrence these days.  When I noticed, Mac immediately moved into total innocence mode. He was barely aware that X-Man had a face of any sort, let alone how any skin may have been removed from said fade. Cinco continued spinning around in circles. I’m pretty certain she’s the actual culprit. X-Man told me that an octopus scratched him. When Cinco flies into a fury it does seem like she has twice as many limbs.


Baby informed her aunt, during a pier side walk, that Cinco smells like sea life. Again an argument for the whole octopus description. And that’s all the thought I am giving that observation. Pretty sure that’s a trail I don’t want to wander down.  But could explain the attempted bath in laundry detergent. 

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

If you give a mouse a cookie, he will ask for a glass of milk. If you give a threenager a cookie, he will crumble it up, throw it in the air and shout “Look Mom, snow! Messy snow!!!!

He will also strongly object to the necessary shower and hair combing that the sudden snow shower requires.

X-Man has been carefully juggling a grape with his knees. He keeps telling me it’s a soccer ball. Guess he’s been watching the World Cup along with his sisters.

X-Man wandered into the office today, as I was trying to wrap up the school year. He dropped his trousers, bent over and grasped both cheeks of his hiney in order to spread himself wide and bellowed “ouch Ma! Kiss it.


Now I admit, I wondered if there was a master plan and he was about to pull and prank on me. But I am X-Man’s mom and when he asks for kisses I comply. At least somewhat. So I dubiously looked at my son, kissed my hand and patted his bare rear. This was not acceptable. He objected “No Mom! Ouch” and bent further over, pulling his cheeks even farther apart. I repeated my attempt to render first aid. He was most certainly not satisfied. Bending even further over, so that his head was resting on the floor (oh those were the days) he glared at me through his wide stance “MOM OUCHES!!!!” I was unmoved. And confused. Exasperated X-Man gave what can only be described as a teenage sigh,  straightened up, took my hand and said “Kiss it!” I complied. He then firmly smacked it on the other bare cheek and pulled his pants up and carried on with his day. 

Monday, October 6, 2014

I came home from Mac’s swimming lessons to find the kids watching ESPN….Monday Night Football. I’m doing something right.

It’s been crazy busy recently. Exhausting and overwhelming. I’ve been running the kids everywhere, while the father figure holds down the fort with the Youngers. We don’t do much as a whole family these days, but Saturday was quite the family day. A couple of soccer games, a birthday party and a wedding.

The father figure has maintained several friendships despite the circus in which he lives. And so, as people he’s been friends with for over a quarter century get married, he likes to attend. Part of his pleasure in attending comes from being able to show off his children to the various childhood friends and their parents. Why he likes to show them off confuses me, I much more into hunkering down and waiting everything out. And by everything, I mean toddlerhood.

But, I wasn’t in charge of this operation, so off to the wedding we went. It was in a lovely area. As we were walking in I had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t a good idea. For starters, they had breakable dishes on the tables. Along with real table cloths. Furthermore, the ceremony set up indicated it was a small, intimate wedding. All the easier to hear small kiddos, and who wouldn’t want the protestations of small persons to echo through their momentous occasion.
While we weren’t late, which was a first for weddings we’ve attended this year, we weren’t early, which meant we were closer to the front than I would have ever freely chosen. But trying to seat seven persons anywhere does not leave a lot of options, so we sat ourselves down. And waited.

It was a wedding, so it was running late.  Much to the children’s chagrin. Small persons were getting antsy, so when Baby offered to take X-Man over to admire the waterfall and pond just a few feet away from our seats. Against my better judgment, I assented. And so, Baby, Mac and X-Man went off to investigate.  I kept an eye on them, poised for X-Man to leap in.  Sure enough he stopped and prepared to enter the water. Fortuntately he wise chose to remove his clothing before submerging himself. Few things make me move faster than a naked toddler, as I have learned over the weeks.
I reached X-Man before he disrobed, although not before he had mooned the assembled guests. Everyone was restless, and had been observing the children near the water, anticipating something. We do nothing if not enteratain the masses. As the wedding party hadn’t entered yet, the skeptical was enjoyed by all without ruining anything other than my brief calm.

I missed the ceremony as Cinco decided that she should serenade the couple with forlorn songs about be denied the opportunity to observe the water falls due to poor behavior on the part of her brother. I rejoined the family in time to partake in the receiving line, which, due to the forward location of our seats, was towards the end of the group. This resulted in us entering the reception area to see several groups of five taking up tables that sat seven and left us with a table, right smack dab in the center of the room, set for four people.
An open bar makes all sorts of sitting arrangements tolerable. Mac made his peace with the fact that the bride and groom eat first at their wedding. Also, that the hour de overs people never actually made it over to our table, although I’m guessing they weren’t serving goldfish crackers anyway.

Cinco ate her body weight in prime rib; everyone else enjoyed their food, although with small persons on your lap, at a small table, it’s hard to eat your own plate of food. Baba and Baby were restless and offered to take their brothers outside. I quickly agreed. And ate all of six bites before Baba waltzed back in to give me an update “X-Man sort of fell in the water.”

Of course he did.

Sure enough, X-Man was shuffling in behind her. I’m unclear what was meant by “sort of” because the boy was sopping wet. His feet were wet as was his hair. In my book, wet head to toe means you actually totally fell in. No matter how you choose to look at it, the boy left a trail of wet footprints on the hard wood floor. The first party foul of the evening.


I think it says a lot of my state in life that my first thought, on observing my son was “Oh good, his clothes are still on.” It looks like he took the whole “you only live once” approach. 

Friday, September 26, 2014

X-Man burst through the bathroom door, only to find that his sibling was using it. No worries. He stripped off his pants and hopped into the bathtub and relieved himself. I was surprisingly ok with that.

Life’s been a handful recently. The kids’ activities keep us going, going, going. Rain or shine. It’s been pouring rain, but that didn’t put a damper on the kids’ spirits as the tore around the playground during Mac’s football practice. I was trying to keep an eye on Mac, making sure he was listening when I saw a cute naked tushy atop the playground equipment. X-Man had gleefully stripped off his pants and underwear, as they were wet. Wet from the rain, but wet nonetheless. I don’t run. Unless there’s a naked toddler involved. Then I can run very quickly.

X-Man was horrified at the thought of having to put his pants back on, wet and everything. But he complied and listened to the fierce warnings  I issued concerning the dress code on the playground. I was aware that his pants were cut to fit a diaper, and he most certainly was not wearing a diaper. Sure enough, minutes later the lack of a diaper and the wet jeans conspired against X-Man yet again. He was again atop the equipment, in front of the same police officer dad as before, jeans around his ankles. Although this time, he was struggling to keep his underpants up. He figured girded loins were sufficient, pants were not so much.


Of course, he wouldn’t have his pants so wet if he didn’t insist on laying flat on his tummy to blow bubbles in the rain puddles. Again, along with the publically nudity, this was a first time experience for me. 

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Cinco has taken to carrying a large duck around the house. A large duck that a sister of mine was convinced my children needed. He's an unwieldy size, so she ends up carrying him by the neck, in a charming strangle hold.

Life this week involves the duck. Unless Cinco spots greener pastures. She spent the morning hauling the duck around, while trying to carry various remotes to TV and DVD. Over all it was a disaster, lots of droppage, shrieks and tears. With a healthy demand for me to turn on the TV for her. Cinco's still missing the sleeping X-Man, despite the presence on a duck in her life. She seeks to drown her sorrows in Netflix, snuggled on the couch with her duck.

There is an interesting phenomenon I've discovered raising my boys. It's the rare pair of pants that makes it from Mac to X-Man. Most shirts have stains on them. But shoes survive. Most likely because they are so rarely worn.






These are a pair of such sandals that have survived my sons. They're are not well made. But they connect with both boys in a special way. They're Mac's "scary" sandals. That's what he always called them. He wasn't scared of them, maybe he thought he would scare others wearing them. The thought of Mac hurtling towards you, scary sandals or no, is itself a intimidating thought.

X-Man too has embraced these sandals. He doesn't call them scary, rather he's upgraded them. He calls them his "Doctor Dooms". Which considering what happens when X-Man is involved with much of anything....seems apt. Right now X-Man is running around the house, clutching his sandals, but not wearing them, and yelling "DOCTOR DOOM!!!!"

It's odd, because neither one of them ever named another pair of shoes, but both of them have a special name for this pair. And they were both rather ambivalent about wearing them, cool if they did, no biggie if they wore another pair. I am perplexed. And knowing me, I'll probably end up hanging on to this pair of scary Dr. Dooms.


The duck is good for riding too.....

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

We have reached the point where I believe the neighbors will start worrying if X-Man doesn’t dance naked in the front yard. I mean, it will clearly indicate that all is not normal in our household.  I can be ready for it…..waiting for his foray into interpretive dancing….yet again. But his ability to sneak out is alarming. As is his failure to be thwarted by deadbolts.  It often happens as the father figure is leaving for work, X-Man is doing his morning business on the potty and jumps off to bellow goodbye.  Or it’s because the UPS guy no longer rings the doorbell during nap time but always manages to stop by when X-Man’s stripped down. Basically the routine is the naked X-Man makes it once around the van before he’s caught. The boy is very fast.

Trying to keep X-Man clothed is a full time job. He’s doing very well with the potty training, well he’s trained. I simply forgot the last part of the lesson, always put your clothes on.

Also, it might be time to work on his not announcing all potty related thought quite so loudly. X-Man being who he is, his first full phrase was “ew doss gigusting.” After learning to use the potty he tacked on some more to the phrase “Ew doss gigusting poop in the potty.” Which is what he announces, in his oh so indoor voice, whenever he sees anything that reminds him of anything potty related. Like a giant cow picture in a produce market. Surrounded by health conscious hipsters. I tried to teach him about cows and that whatever he has deemed “gigusting” was most likely udders. Or something.

He keeps me on my toes.