Friday, November 29, 2013

Tomorrow is Mac's birthday. As I am trying to claw my way out of my turkey coma and survive my Black Friday escapades, I will reflect on Mac. Mac really is the origin of this blog. I would share his exploits on the book of faces and he amused the masses. These are a few of the highlight I have gleaned while trying to hold both X-Man and Cinco. They are both aware of each other's existence and are concerned that I may possible bestow just a smidgen more attention on the other. It's a barrel of monkeys, more literally than one might like.

Mac was the boy that I had to instruct to NOT lick the frozen turkey while we were shopping in Costco. It was only the first of many instructions I was always surprised to have to give. 
"Mac, we do not shoot strangers, especially people trying to watch your sister's soccer game!"
 "Well, he's still alive."

Mac also is the only child, so far, to actually moon the father figure. He's the only one who's woken me up to talk to his hair. 

He's taight me that "get dressed so we can get on to school" meant "sit in the middle of your room and sing....naked."

He went a full day only responding to Robot Destroyer.

He is a fascinating conversationalist. Very often late at night. 
"There are monsters in my room, or, I mean, a robot. There's a big robot in room, and I'm scared. I mean, spiderman. Spiderman is in my room, can I sleep with you?"
Me: "I thought Spiderman was your friend, why are you scared?"
Mac: "Spiderman is in my bed, so I need to sleep with you."

Me, to the loud children, "Unless someone is bleeding or dying, do not interrupt me when I am on the phone." Mac: "Bleeding? Dying? Where?"

"Mom, wanna hear something gross?"  He was offended when I said "not really,"

"Mommy, is there such a thing as burglars?" 
"I mean in this world, are there burglars?" 
"Yes honey, in this world there are people who come take your stuff without asking." 
"So, is Baby a burglar?"

When speaking to his Grandfather "Do you have any chips?"
"Do you have any banannas?"

"Were you robbed?"

Restless night with Mac. He woke me up, wanting to be reassured that there were no such things as vampires and zombies. And the letter "v". And then he couldn't accept that there weren't vampires because they start with "v" and "v" is for real. It became a very complicated conversation.

Baby "when I grow up I'm going to have a baby, be a bride and be a doctor."
Baba "I'm going to be a teacher." 
Mac "I'm going to be a Transformer and my name will be Bonkhead." We'll focus on Baby's life order in the future. 

"Mac can you give mommy a kiss?"
 "Nah, but I can pinch your nose."

"You don't show me you love me with kisses, you give me piggy back rides."

Conversation at 11:15pm....."I wish there were bugs in my room. There aren't any. Not yet." I have made peace with the fact that I am a destroyer of boyhood dreams.

"Mommy, I peed in your bed, so I'm going to go sleep in mine." 

"I'm going to punch you!"
"EXCUSE ME young man, you do not punch your mother." 
"I mean, I'm going to hand you this bowl. Here you go."

"mommy look at the snake I made" 
"Oh, cute" 
"Not cute....SCARY!"

"did you take a rocketship to the moon?.....did you fly in a helicopter that crashed?.... did you fly to outerspace without a rocket?......did you go in the ocean and a robot shark eat you?....well then, where are you?" (Mac's actual phone conversation with his dad, who was away on a business trip)

He is the only child of mine to take off running ahead of me in Target shooting "pew pew" and announcing "I'm making a path for you Mommy!"

After a couple of years of posting Mac stories on facebook, I noticed that the automatic ad generator started to o

ffer me cheap phone calls from prison. So I moved my story telling to this blog. 

A couple of years ago I engaged in the following conversation with Mac.
"Is it my birthday today?" 
"Yay, should I open my presents now?"
"No Mac, we don't open presents at 2:30 in the morning."
"Ok, I'll just wait five minutes."

It's been an adventure. A joyful, crazy, exhausting adventure. With my boy. 

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