An Urban Myth with Facts

The husband walked in the room and said Up started at 10:45.  It was already 10:15, with the house still destroyed by the boys, no shoes, and a shirtless Evan.  With the precision of the military, the toys were put away, the boys shoed, the husband dressed.  Of course, the husband failed to remember that we were no longer two adults that speed to catch a flick, dash across a parking lot, pay, buy snacks as the other grabs just two seats.  Now we herd the boys towards the car like dragging them to bed, only with more enthusiasm.  We buckle the boys in and are sent to grab that one thing they just can’t live without.  I pay very close attention to those traffic laws now that I carry precious cargo.  We unbuckle the boys.  We doddle through the parking lot.  It takes several times for the husband to hear my suggestion of the debit machine, rather than wait in line with two boys, waiting to bolt.  While the husband still gets snacks, I herd the boys to the bathroom instead of the seats.

After I convinced Evan that the toilet will not flush on him nor suck him down into the toilet with its mighty flush, Evan peed.  I reminded him not to play with the stream.

“Why?”

Because I don’t want you to leak.

“Why?”

Because I don’t want to clean it up.

“Why?”

Because we’ll be late for the movie.  Pull up your pants. 

Hey, guess what.  We’re in the why-phase, and more on that on another post.

So I used the restroom.  While I hurried, flushing the toilet as I pulled out of my shorts, my keys fell into the flushing toilet.  For a half second, I stood there because there’s no way my heavy key set with its four keys, pocket knife, car clicker, and a half dozen club cards would go down the drain.  I reached in just in case.

My keys were shoved through the drain, just as my fingers scraped against them.  They were gone.  The water was gone.  The toilet filled to normal level.  My mouth hung open.

ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME?

CCRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAPP!

Boys, come one.  We got to go.  We got to wash our hands and find someone.  I think they’re gone anymore.  Quickly.  Hurry.  Come on.  Let’ s go!

But it was too late.  They were gone, washed away done the sewer.  Damn.

Rings, Tuxes, and Weddings

I’ve might have mentioned my brother is getting married this summer in New Hampshire.  We’re all excited because we love his bride.  (Hi, K!)  Rumors were abound over a ring bearer as my soon-to-sister-in-law has a niece who was born in between my boys.  So a few months ago, my brother called me.

T: So, um, do you think Evan would want to be the ring bearer?

Me: How about this?  You tell me if you want him to be the ring bearer, and we’ll psych him up for the gig if you do.

T: Ok, we want Evan to be the ring bearer.

Me: You weren’t going to tie a pillow on Larkin’s head and have him come down the aisle.

T: No.

Me: Really?

T: No.

Me: Then why are you bringing the dog to the wedding?

T: It’s a long story.

Me: Boys, watch some cartoons.  I have time.

 

So Evan is supposed to be the ring bearer, but he would rather be Master Crane.  Whatever.  Now I could go into more gossipy information here, but K occasionally reads my blog, and I wouldn’t want her to think I’m always picking on T (no matter how much he deserves it).

A month or so ago, T showed up at my parents’ house to pick up the invites and discuss the ring pillow with my mom, who is making it.  My mom and I could not be bothered as we were in a death race for our lives called Mario Go-Kart.

T: Fae, I’ve been thinking.  We’ve been thinking.  Evan is at a very independent stage right now.  So we don’t know if he’ll be manageable.  So we were thinking maybe Sean would be better.

Me: Stupid Baby Mario!  What?  You don’t want that.  Evan can take direction.  He’ll be excited to do it.  With Sean, we would have to tie a cookie on a string and pull it down the aisle to get him to do it.

T: I don’t know-

Mom: Stupid Babies!

Me: I know.  They’re ruthless.

T: Are you sure?

Mom: Yes.  Don’t you remember when Fae was Sean’s age, she was the flower girl to your Aunt’s wedding?  The maid of honor wouldn’t let her go back to my seat for the ceremony, so half way though the wedding, all you could see was two little Mary Jane’s kicking in the air.

Me: It wasn’t my fault.  Another Blue Shell!!

Mom: So Sean is too young-

Me: Unless you want both boys.

T: No, Evan will be fine.

Me: And you’ll have to send Evan and K’s niece to sit during the wedding.

T: It’s only a half hour ceremony.

Me: Go!  Go!  Go!  Yes!  A half an hour is a long time for little ones to stand.

Mom: Trust me and send them to their moms for the ceremony.

T: Oh, all right.

Me: Dang. I spun out on that start.

Mom: I was wondering where you went.

Me: Ha.

T: Uh, Fae.  Um, you might want to have Mom make Evan’s tux.

Me: What?  Why?

T: Well, the tux I want him to wear is 149 dollars.

Me:  WHAT?

Mom: You fell into the drink.

Me: ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY NINE DOLLARS!  For a tux?  For a three-year-old!

Mom: He’ll be four.  Wait!  You and your groom’s men aren’t wearing tuxes.

T: No.  But we want Evan in one.  With tails.

Me: What?

T: Do you think he’ll wear a top hat?

Me: Are you?  Is M?

T: No.

Me: No.  Let’s get back to the 149 dollars.

T: Well, I looked around and that’s how much it costs to rent it.

Me: To RENT IT?!  Where the he-  Where did you go?

T: That’s why I think you should have Mom make it.

Me: On top of the ring pillow, the banner and her dress.

T: Mom, you’re making your dress!  What happen to the one you were going to buy?

Mom: It sold out.  I won!

Me: I stopped playing.

T: I think you should ask Mom.

Me: Mom, how hard would it be to make Evan’s tux.

Mom: Well, it’ll be a little hard with the cuffs and lining and everything.  I could do it.

T: See, Mom can do it.

Me: I don’t know.  You said a black tux with tails?

T: Yes.  With a cream vest and bow tie.

Me: (roll of eyes) Give me a minute.  Mom, may I please borrow your computer.

Few words typed into the search engine, a few clicks of the mouse, I returned to the room.

Me: 50 bucks.  You want to see if I found the right one.

T: 50 bucks?  Really?

Me: Yup.  To own. 

T: That’s the one.

Me: I guess Sean is going to have a very formal fourth Christmas.

Arr! We be pirates!

Somewhere along the line, we converted to pirates.  Sure, there are sushi chef days, knight days, dinosaur days.  Evan often pretends he is a baby alien in a box.  Master Viper and Master Tiger still come over for lunch every once in a while.  But pirates is a thing we play every day now.  And I think it’s my fault.

Maybe it was when Evan started hooking on the Backyardigans pirate edpisode, and I looked for it all over YouTube, only to find hilarious homemade, stop-action shorts.  Maybe it was when I learned the lyrics of “A Pirate’s Life” and decided I needed to make new verses that were more child-friendly.  Maybe it was when I bought The Pirates that Don’t Do Anything because we had no movies of good guy pirates that were age suitable.

Evan: Daddy?  Do butt pirates have arrows?

Me: I’m sure they have bows and arrows.  (Quietly to the husband) He has no idea what that is.

The Husband: (quietly to me) Are you sure?

Or yesterday when we were about to go swimming.

Evan: I’m a BUTT PIRATE!

Me: A What?! (He doesn’t know what it means.) Evan, what’s a butt pirate?

Evan: It’s a naked pirate.

Now how do we get that phrase out of your head?

Now Evan talks about his pirate birthday party, which has sent me salivating with ideas.  Sashes, bandanas, and tattoos for all the kids.  We’ll make craft foam boats.  We’ll paint rocks gold.  We’ll have a luau and include Evan’s love of Tiki gods.  We’ll build our own mini water park in my parents’ backyard.

I learned yesterday I was getting too carried away as I stood in line with my mom at the material store, getting the last minute things for the bridal shower.  I grabbed a ruminant of black material.  My mom arched her eye brown in silent question.  “We can make pirate flags!  Each boy can make their own!”  My mom asked, “How would you do that?” “We could- We could iro- No.  We would use-Um, no that won’t work either.  I have.  Damn.  Never mind.  I’ll put this back until I can think it through.”

I can’t help but get excited because Sean has become equally excited as Evan and I.

Sean goes around singing, “Yo, ho, yo, ho” every where.  Then he got a pirate shirt with a skull and cross bones the other day.  He touched the shirt and went “Arrrr!”  Then he did it again when ever he wanted people to say pirate.  He tried to say pirate once.  “Pie-Arrrr!”

We’re going to have the best pirate day ever!

Was that supposed to be a secret?

Ever have one of those moments when you know you just might have gone too far.  Or maybe it’s just me because I’m always chewing on my foot.  When I was young, I would cross that line and look back a mile later and say, “Crap, was there something I shouldn’t have said?”

There I was, standing in the middle of a ring of women, conducting a bridal shower game.  Now some of these women had known me since I was a baby; while, others were my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s friends, which I just met an hour or so before at the beginning of the party.  I was conducting the games because I could lead without stepping on any one’s toes.  We were playing a game in which everyone had to guess how many questions my sister-in-law would know about my brother, who had answered them the night before.  Questions included his favorite food, book, and such.  But we had a four-way tie, and I had to break it some how.  I had the winners guess if my sister-in-law would get the bonus question.

Me: What was my brother’s doll’s name?

A collective “WHAT?” settled over the room, except for those few women who knew my brother since he was a baby.

K: (didn’t blink) Buddy.

Me: (smiling) No.  Not his My Buddy.  His first doll.  The one he loved.

K: What?  He had another doll?

My mom: Actually, he had three.  The My Buddy.  A Wrestling Buddy.  And this one.

K: Then I don’t know.  I only knew of Buddy.

Me: You’re going with Buddy then?

K: Yes.

Me: It was Paula.

“WHAT?”
K: I’ve never heard that one.

Me: It was a boy doll, and T was only three or four.  But since I had dolls, he had to have one.  He begged and begged for one.  So that Christmas, one grandma got him a homemade boy doll, which he named Paula.  He loved that doll.

Then I remembered I was not alone with K, pouring over embarrassing baby pictures.  I was in the middle of ring of women.  Many of these women were friends of my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, my boyfriend’s girlfriend.  Now they knew he had a boy doll named Paula.  Good thing we don’t live in the same house any more.

Evan’s ABC’s

During naptime, my mom and I made petit fours for the bridal shower for my soon-to-be sister-in-law.  We left a few pieces of pound cake out for the boys, who were quite content to nibble on them with juice.  Until . . . .

Evan: Grandma!  Look!  What are these?!  (Notice he went for the easy sale.)

My mom: Those are petit fours.  They-

Evan: Grandma!  Can I have one?! Please?!

My mom: No, Evan.  They’re for Aunt K’s party tomorrow. 

Evan: But I want one!  Please?!

My mom: We’ll try save you one for after the party.

Evan: How about I have one now and save the rest for the party?

My mom: (Counts the petit fours.  To me) There is one extra.  (Evan puts on his sweetest look. To me)  We have an extra yellow one.

Evan: Grandma!  I love the color yellow!  It’s my favorite!  It’s the color of fire!  (I’m quite sure his favorite color is red for the same reason.)

Grandma: (Handing Evan a yellow petit four) That’s the only one you get.

 

My boy knows and uses his ABC’s.  Always Be Closing.

A discussion of rolls and dresses

(Some back story: My brother is getting married in July in New Hampshire.  I’ve decided to sew a dress because I don’t have time to search for a dress with a toddler and a preschooler in tow.  Wait.  Is that going to be more time consuming?  My mom has decided to make a dress because she waited too long to order the dress she loved, and it is now out of stock.  My grandma has decided to buy a dress though my mother thinks she should just alter one of her older dresses because they’re back in style.)

The boys and I were at my parents’ house for dinner and precious Papi and Grandma time.  As my mom chopped vegetables for the dinner, I was chopping fruit for a fruit salsa.

Grandma: I’ve decided to order that dress.

Me: Oh, good.  I liked that one.

My mom: What size?

Grandma: Size 12.

The chopping ceased.  My grandma is around five foot two.  I could break her if I tried.  Since my grandpa’s passing last August, she has lost tons of weight to the point that we’re all trying to get her to have another helping or another slice.  My mom and I are about the same height and have been working hard to slide into a size 12. 

Me: Grandma, I’m a size twelve.  You are not.

My Mom: Mom!  You are NOT a size twelve.  Maybe a ten.  Maybe smaller.

Grandma: But I don’t like things tight like you two-

Me: Fitted.

Grandma: I don’t like showing my rolls.

My mom spun around with the knife still in hand.  She made an elegant gesture with her free hand motioning along her body.

My Mom: Do you see any rolls?

Me: My rolls are cute!  (Besides I gave up my baby doll shirts, because no one wants to see a post-baby tummy, not even me.)

My grandma rolled her eyes at us.  Though a few days later when the dress came in the mail, it was too big.

A Worthy Companion

Teddy was my world.  I couldn’t live without him.  I couldn’t sleep without him.  I loved him to pieces before I even got out of elementary school.  He had been my sleeping companion from my first Christmas on to an age I won’t disclosed as I’m sure I was too old.  Even though he was a boy teddy bear, I dressed him up for special occasions in the only outfit that would fit him, a white and green checkered dress.  When it was time to go to college, I couldn’t leave him behind.  He stayed on my bed as my companion, some one I cried to when my heart got broken.  So when I had children, I naturally assumed they would have something that they loved like that.

Evan did not.  He could take it or leave it.  He didn’t need anything special.  It wasn’t until recently that a friend of mine brought him a handmade dinosaur from Thailand that Evan started to love a toy constantly.  But a few months later, Evan prefers to have Toothy, but he could live without him.

Sean loves his Blanky.  It’s one of those super soft baby blankets lined with satin.  It’s blue with one color embroidered with “Thank Heaven for Little Boys.”  It was originally Evan’s, which I took every time we flew, matching the ultra-blue outfit that just screamed boy because I always worried about having to prove he was a boy to match his ticket.  (Weird, I know, but all babies look uni-sex.  Yeah, I know.  But after they stopped and searched me when I was six months pregnant, I wasn’t taking any chances.)  Sean loves his blanket to pieces.

Blanky is now Sean’s constant companion.  If, for some chance, he forgets it or picked up without it, he cries, “Blah, Blah” as he reaches towards it.  He’ll put it down to play games he needs both hands for, but usually he has to have it, at meals, at stores, at the park.  The problem is he drags it behind him as it collects dust.  To make matters more complicated, poor Sean has allergies, making it very important to have a clean Blanky.  I haven’t mentioned how he had to have it at dinner that was topped off with chocolate ice cream.

So what’s a poor mother to do?   

Break her baby’s heart every time the leave the house?  Or wash the blanket two to three times a week?  People, I’m running out of clothes to wash with it.  Oh, well, I’ll just stock up on the best stain remover and start scouring the internet for a replacement, just in case.

Go back to start and don’t collect $200

Remember when you were a kid and you could not understand a concept.  No matter how hard you tried you could not get it.  Usually it was math that made me frustrated, especially algebra.  I would reread the lesson, do the problems with answers, check them to find that I didn’t get the right answer, knowing I couldn’t even attempt the problems without answers.  I would cry in sheer frustration.  I had issues with languages too.  Then in college I took a upper-level chemistry class that had no pre-requirements my freshmen year.  The class was about how drugs worked in the body, and I had to re-read chapters several times to make sense of anything.  I was ready to beat my head on the concrete dorm wall.

Now I’m back to wanting to either cry or beat my head.  Evan’s having accidents.  Twice a week now.  We went months (MONTHS) without an accident.  I thought he had it with the occasional naptime accident and pull ups at night.  I was thinking we’re out in the clear, just need to get to Sean in six months or more (probably the more part). 

I understand the occasional accident because you didn’t want to miss a part in the movie or you didn’t want to go into a strange store bathroom, but most of these have occurred when he’s playing by himself.  It’s not like he hasn’t taken his toys in the bathroom before to play as he used the potty.  It began just once a week about a month ago.  Then the last two weeks it’s been twice a week.  I feel like I’m at my wits end.

I don’t want to embarrass him or make his shameful.  I have to bite my tongue before I say the first bitter thing that would fly out of my mouth and insert a hefty psychological bill one day.  I started making him clean it up with my help, not letting him play until it was done.  Now I guess I’ll just retreat a few steps and start having him sit on the potty every hour on the hour just to make sure.

Any suggestions?

A quick, oh so quick, note

A quick morning post to say that I have no idea if I’ll actually write a real post later.  It’s going to be 102 today.  One hundred and two degrees, people!  And my baby brother has invited us to take shelter at my parents’ pool.  (He can do this because my parents are still out of town until this afternoon.)  So I’ll be over there.  But first it’s time to do a little birthday shopping for the pickiest person I know.  Is it wrong to give your spouse a gift certificate when you know he’ll never remember to use it?  What?  We’re out of bread already!  But I just bought some . . . . Oh, it has been a while.  I might as well get the pound cake for the petit fours for the bridal shower on Sunday while I’m at it.  Oh a text from the BFF.  What’s she doing us so early?  Right, that pesky job thing.  Apparently she’s ordering me to the doctor’s today with the threat she’ll catch the next plane here to drag me to one if I don’t go on my own.  She’s right.  Nine days with a sore throat is too long, but honestly, I thought it was due to allergies at first.  It also goes to prove that I haven’t gotten The Look down yet.  Does any one have pointers?  Ok, I’ve got to vacuum before the boys destroy the main room, which by the sounds of it, they are nicely on their way.  How cute is this?  Evan woke me up with the doctor kit, trying to make me feel better.  Boy, I love stream of conscious writing.

A New Talent: Nothing

As I walked down the hall, pass the bathroom, I noticed Evan was hiding behind the toilet.  Well, that’s odd.

Me: What are you doing?

Evan: Nu-thing!

Right.  And I’m the Queen of England. 

You said nothing just right with the “ing” a couple octaves higher “noth.”  As though just plain “nothing” wasn’t enough to give away your secret plot.

So I stopped and scrutinized the situation, spotting the toothbrush and the toothpaste.

Me: What’s in your hand?

Evan: Nothing.

Let me give you a few pointers.  Never say nothing.  It gives you away.  You might as well say, “Hey, Mommy, I’m lying to you.

Me: Let me see your hand.

Evan: I don’t have anything.

Obviously you have something in your hand.  Ditch it.  Quickly.  Soundlessly.  Or begin making up a lie to cover why you are about you suck toothpaste out of the tube.

Me: Let me see it.

While silence may look better than saying a lie, it also gives you away, especially if you pause before you state your lie.  Don’t worry, many people have this tale.

Me: Evan, give me the toothpaste.

Evan: But Mommy, I was going to brush my teeth.

Now that was a great lie, but it was too late.  I already know you’re up to no good.  It’s best to confess and throw yourself on the mercy of the court.

Me: Evan.  Hand me the toothpaste.  You brushed your teeth already.

Good job.  You realized by the tone you better just hand over the toothpaste.  But since you lied, it’s time out for you, and it’s extra time for lying because I need to trust you just like you have to trust me.

Oh, and kid, you have another tale, but I’m not fool enough to tell you.