Career Decision

The Husband: So, Tornado E, what do you want to be when you grow up?

Tornado E: A police officer!

The Husband: Why?

Tornado E: Because that’s what Papi did, and I want to be just like Papi!

The Husband: Do you know what Daddy does?

Really, you think working on the computer and talking on the phone all day is going to interest a four-year-old who has been in a police car and looked at the uniform?  Yeah.  Me neither.

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On Fresh Beats and Jump Arounds and the parenting in between

Some of you might remember a little post I did back at the end of May about how annoying The Jump Arounds, aka The Fresh Beat Band, are.  Since then I’ve received several endorsements and complaints.  Today I laugh because I got another complaint on the post just this weekend. 

I’ve been meaning to write a post addressing all the people that are upset with me not enjoying a children’s show.  Lighten up.

At first I was excited that The Jump Arounds went off the air because I noticed a lot of people felt the same way I did.  The show was engineered around four non-sings, non-dancers.  The songs were so very annoying.  But then Nickelodeon made a name change to deal with all the negative responses.  The Fresh Beat Band was born, but it was the Exact. Same. Thing.  Nothing changed.  I bowed my head in defeat, realizing that there must be lots of other parents who allowed their kids to watch the show.  My main problem is still that the advertise ALL THE F-ING TIME!  They advertise more than Olivia or Ni Hao Kai-Lan, more than any other show in the Nick Jr.  line.  I wonder if they actually believe that we would start watching it if they played it enough.  If you play it, they will come.  Maybe it’s more sinister, and this is a plot to hold us ransom.  I’m sure I can raise a million to get them to stop advertising, but I would rather that money go to somewhere important like autism research or making sure no child goes hungry again.

The Husband is begging me to make this post into an anti-capitalism speech.  He believes that The Fresh Beat Band is a symptom of a much larger problem, the desire to hook children in a pop culture that demands their money, starves their soul.  You’ll have to forgive The Husband; he recently watched Michael Moore’s new movie so he’s a bit obsessed with anti-capitalism theme, which is ironic because he’s a small business owner and I remember when he read Ayn Rand.  Don’t worry.  He’ll swing back in the middle in a month or two.

While I agree with my husband, I’m totally fine with other parents letting their kids watch it.  I just won’t let my kids watch it.  That’s my choice.  I’m the parent.

I’m upset because so many people think they have the right to judge me on my parenting over one little post, over one little opinion about some silly kid show.  And yes, it is silly because it’s only about entertainment.  Just like The Office is a silly show.  Just like The Simpsons is a silly show.  Just like Desperate Housewives is a silly show.

It frustrates me that parents out there don’t think it’s their place to monitor their children’s television shows.  Are you kidding me?  We’re talking about preschoolers and toddlers, not teenagers.  We’re talking about the most impressionable years of a person’s life.  Are they going to tell me I’m a bad parent because I won’t let my son pick out his own sugar-filled cereal that was advertised to him?  Am I a bad parent because I didn’t buy the toy my son wanted in the store?  It’s my job to monitor him!

I’m sure we’re going to have talks over the video games, movies, music, clothes he likes and wants.  I’m sure I’m not going to like everything he likes. But you know what.  That battle is years away.  I’d like to keep it there.

I like having a place where parents can complain about random kid stuff that we don’t like because we parents are subjected to a lot of stuff we don’t like.  If you’re like me, you have quite a few toys loving relatives and friends gave your children, toys that make you want to roll your car over or, at the very least, make disappear one night, but we don’t because the kids LOVE them.  We subject ourselves to a lot of shows that have annoying characters.  I’m not a big fan of Elmo, but I deal because it’s Sesame Street.  I think Donald is a loser, but the boys love The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Some days I wish Dora would just go away and not have such silly adventures (though I totally want a chocolate tree), but the boys are actually using Spanish that I obviously didn’t teach them.  I’m willing to eat a lot more vegetables because I’m setting a good example.  I’m willing to eat a lot more “kid food” if that means they’ll eat, especially if they eat the vegetable side dishes.  We’re willing to give up our television programming so that our kids watch something age-appropriate, and we’re willing to watch shows we don’t like because we don’t want our kids sold to by advertisers.  We do these things because we love our kids and want to be the best parents we can be.

But in the end, my opinion doesn’t matter.  I’m just a mom, living in Arizona, doing the best I can.  I get to be the loving, imperfect mom to two boys, and they are the ones who should care how I parent.  My opinion shouldn’t affect any you because you are the parents of other kids.  If I mess up, then I’ll just pull money out of the therapy fund for my kids.  And if you mess up, then hopefully you have a therapy fund.  Because I’ve learned one thing about this parenting business, we’re all doing the best we can with what we’ve got.  So don’t judge.

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Tornado E Mad Libs

A week or so, I called The Husband a sucker in front of the boys.  Tornado E had just conned his daddy to leave work early to go swimming.  The Husband had been complaining all day about how much work he had to do, but all it took was a few “come on”s, and the husband was ready to go.  I laughed and wiggled my pinky at him.

Me: He’s such a sucker.

Tornado E: What’s a sucker?

Me: Someone who is easily sucked in.  You can sell them anything.

Tornado E: So Daddy’s a sucker?

Me: It’s a grown-up word for grown-ups to use.

Damn.  This is going to bite me in the ass.

A few days ago, while at my grandma’s house for dinner, we were exploring the back yard with the boys.  Uncle M and Tornado E found a dead bug.

Tornado E: That bug sucks.

Uncle M: What?!

Tornado E: That bug is a sucker because he’s dead.   He sucks.

Uncle M looked around for me, for my mom, for any adult to get him out of the situation.

Uncle M: Fae!  Do you know what your son said?

My mom and I listened carefully.

Crap.  He got that from me.  He figured it out.  Crap.

My mom: Tornado E.  We don’t use the word suck.  We use the words like dirty, yucky, icky.  So that bug is icky.

Tornado E: That bug is dirty.

My mom: That’s right.  The bug is dirty.

Tornado E: Did you know Mommy called Daddy dirty?

The Husband: You did?

Me: (whispering) No, I called you a sucker.

Tornado E: Mommy said Daddy was dirty.

And give you Tornado E Mad Libs.  That kid is too smart for his own good.

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Ravages of Morning Sickness

I don’t know how it’s possible, but I forgot how horrendous the first trimester was.  The Confused Housewife told me it’s like war, you have memories but it’s not the same as being there.  And she’s right.

With Tornado E, I puked in the mornings, about an hour after I arrived at work.  It became painfully obvious to the head cashiers that I was in the family way.  One morning I puked three times before I even made it to my car to drive to work.  I called in sick.  Baja style tacos were not Tornado E’s friends, and the little punk would make me sick throughout the pregnancy if I didn’t have enough fruits and vegetables to satisfy him.  Also I learned later on, to never go to bed on a full stomach.  Oh, the horror.

It was in this pregnancy I learned that morning sickness was questioned.  The day I called in sick, The Husband came home with his new theory: “Morning Sickness is in your head.”  I think it is pretty obvious that I’m a saint because he’s still alive today and was left alive to say several more just as stupid comments in the first trimester.  (That’s another post.)  I’ve posted before about an older book questioning it, but imagine my horror when I recently picked up my copy of What to Expect When Expecting to read the same asinine comment.

“The fact that morning sickness is more common and tends to be more severe in first pregnancies supports the concept that both physical and psychological factors are involved. . . .  Emotionally, those pregnant for the first time are more likely to be subject to the kinds of anxieties and fears that can turn a stomach; whereas women in subsequent pregnancies may be distracted from their nausea by the demands of caring for older children.”

Naptime Writing, if you want to jump in the car to bash this person’ brains out, I’ve got the car filled with gas and ready to go.

When I was pregnant with Tornado S, I vomited so much that Tornado E would stand just behind me pretending to puke too.  When we were visiting my family, my dad and brother got a real kick of watching Tornado E pretend to vomit outside a close door.  Lovely.  I was sicker longer with Tornado S than I was with Tornado E, moving straight into the second trimester.  I didn’t gain weight two months in a row, worrying my doctor (who never mentioned his worry until everything was fine).  I also learned I got car sick in the first trimester.

Now I’m pregnant with this one.  I’m not throwing up as often, but I’m nauseas most of the day.  Just spitting out toothpaste makes me dry heave.  I’m calling it “progesterone poisoning” from The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy.  This little “sickness” isn’t regulated to the morning, and as The Husband finally realized, there’s nothing to make a woman feel better.  Each cure works optionally for each woman or even each day.  Yesterday tortillas worked; today it’s fried chicken.  It doesn’t matter.  It’s just trying to find out which is the enemy of the day.

So to answer your question Bad Mommy Moments, yes, I am sick.  I’m sick like a dog.  I’m wondering why I got myself into the mess.  And damn it, where’s my pizza?

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It’s all about nothing

Where do I start?

It was a better day today.  Since breakfast and lunch were digested normally.  The cure today was tortillas.  Yummy, fresh from the factory here in town tortillas.  Yup.  I have a lot of weight to gain if I want to hit the 200 mark again.

But then I did something disastrous.  I brushed my teeth.  While it’s a pain in the ass to feel like your doing your day under the influence of Nyquil, it’s easier than wondering when, what, and how much you’re going to hurl.  And we had to go to Costco or else I would be sewing diapers from rags tomorrow.

My parents took the opportunity to spend quality time with the boys and me, and it provided the perfect opportunity to annoy and perhaps embarrass their youngest offspring at work.  Not to mention, they needed to make a return.  My parents are very efficient this way.

As my mother made the return, my dad took over the pushing duties, giving the boys a tour of toys, Christmas stuff (Is any one else slightly disturbed by the fact Christmas stuff is out?), Halloween treats, and costumes.  My dad took great delight in trying to convince the boys that they should be Snow White or Cinderella.  That made it so much easier for my mom to find us by following the screams of protest.  After that, I took the wheel so that we could be finished before closing.

My mom’s big plan was to kidnap my children and send me home to rest and clean.  But the fatal flaw in her plan was that she bought me a pizza.  I had been craving one the day before, hoping that my baby brother had not demolished the Sunday one.  (Yes, my parents go to Costco every Sunday and always pick up a pizza.  One doesn’t understand why the baby brother waits until Sunday when he could buy one any day of the week.)  Unfortunately my other little brother had been there, and he HAD demolished the pizza to fulfill the ultimate desire for meat that he lovingly sacrificed for his bride.  Yesterday my mom had tried to satisfy my craving by offering a piece of cheese and bread, since those were ultimately what I wanted.  Yeah.  I laughed too.  I wish I could go back in time and offer her a glass of milk during her daily ice cream sundae cravings.

So I sat munching on pizza as my mom whisked the boys to bed after they nibbled on their lunch.  I listened to my dad rail about the problems of a nagging wife, a non-listening son, and the fears that my mother’s sister and husband would want to join us on the Alaskan cruise in 2011.

After an hour, I found my eye lids dropping, realizing it wasn’t safe to drive home.  Since the boys were in my old bed, the other guest bed was stripped, I curled up on my parents bed to promptly go to sleep.

But I am blessed and cursed with the ability to sense when someone enters the room I’m sleeping in.  No matter how deep I sleep (and I assure, I sleep deep), I wake up if some one just pokes his/her head into the door.  I think it’s to make sure that if some crazy serial killer enters the room, he won’t be able to wrap his fingers around my throat while I sleep.  Instead I’ll be able to grab the phone or lamb and bash his head.  It also comes in handy when The Husband tries to insist he came home at midnight instead of 2:30 when the bars closed.

So my parents walked in and out of their room numerous times, but I played dead, knowing that if the boys woke, my parents would take care of them.  By the time I woke for good, I was in no hurry to run home and back.  Instead I watched the farming channel with my dad who is obviously suffering from a late mid-life crisis as he learns all about owning his own farm.  Then my mom and I watched Dr. Phil, and I was able to congratulate myself on being an excellent parent as Tornado S snuggled up to me.

So basically that was my day.  Oh, and some one else cooked me dinner.  So what did you do?  (And damn I can write a lot about nothing.)

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The Newest Family Member

One of my good friends went to Thailand to do humanitarian work several months ago.  Being the sweet darling she is, she brought back a hand-made dinosaur for Tornado E and a hand-made water buffalo for Tornado S.  Tornado E adores Toothy, sleeping with him every night.  But the poor water buffalo got the short end of the stick since Tornado S’s true love is his blanky.

Today Tornado E was playing with the water buffalo, playing with the horns, singing his version of “Where is Thumpkin?”  Then Tornado E left to keep his daddy company as daddy dressed.  Lucky daddy; they don’t bother him when he’s in the shower.  I walked in a minute later to put some jewelry away as the boys tend to sneak into the boxes and play with them.

The Husband: Tornado E was just telling me that he wants the – what do you call this?

Me: A water buffalo.

The Husband: Right.  Tornado E doesn’t want another baby.  He wants us to raise the water buffalo.  It’s going to need food and love, and it will get bigger.

Me: Really?

Tornado E: And he’s name is Horny!

What?

Me and The Husband: What?

Tornado E: His name is Horny!

Tornado E smiled at our hooting laughter and his cleverness.

(And I bet you thought I was talking about the Munchkin.)

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The Telling of Tornado S

I couldn’t believe it.  I just couldn’t believe it.  How could we have gotten pregnant this month?  We did it one time, and I was so sure it was after the ovulation.  It was- Crap, The Husband is going to be so upset.  If I’m pregnant now, then the baby will be due in- Oh, Tornado E won’t even be two yet.  Not even near potty trained.  Maybe he’ll be sleeping through the night by then.  Ha.

I walked down the stairs to find The Husband and Tornado E playing with blocks.

The Husband: Well?

Me: Yes.

The Husband jumped up and kissed me.

The Husband: Wait here!

He ran out of the room.  He came back with his hands behind his back.

The Husband: I had a feeling you were, so I got you this.

He pulled out a jewelry box.  Opening it, I found a necklace with a six sapphires circling a diamond, making the shape of a flower.  The Husband beamed.

The Husband: It’s real.  Not fake.

I rolled my eyes.  Like I cared.

Me: Thank you.  It’s just hard to imagine we’re pregnant already.

The Husband: You know me and my super sperm.

I rolled my eyes again.

The Husband: So when did it happen?

Me: At my parents’ house.

The Husband: (all smirk off his face) WHAT?!  Your mom is going to figure that out, and your dad is going to KILL me.

Me: We’re married, you know.

The Husband: If they figure it out, you have to tell them the truth.  You have to tell them it was all your idea.  I had nothing to do with it.

Me: You had a little to do with it.

The Husband: It was all your idea.

Me: Yes, it was.

The Husband: (handing me the phone) You should call your mom.

Me: Thank you.  Should I tell her it was all my idea.

The Husband: Not until she asks.

Me: Ha.

I dialed.

My Dad: Hello?

Me: Hi, Dad!  How are you?

My Dad: Pretty good.  How are you?

Me: I’m fine.

My Dad: Just fine?

Me: It’s been a rough morning.  Hey. Is Mom there?

My Dad: No, she’s out with a friend.

Me: WHAT? Again!

My Dad: What did you need, sweetheart?

Me: Nothin’.  I’m just pregnant again.

My Dad: So soon?

From the back ground, The Friendly Giant: What? Is she knocked up again?

Me: Tell him I prefer the term preggers.

My Dad: (aside) Your sister is a little annoyed with you.  So congratulations.

Me: You starting on the right foot this time, Dad?

My Dad: I don’t want your mom to yell at me again.

Me: Ha.

My Dad: So I’ll have her call you when she gets in.

Me: You don’t want to tell her?

My Dad: Good Lord, no.

Me: Ok, Dad.  I love you.

My Dad: I love you too.  Bye.

Me: Bye.

An hour later the phone rang.

Me: Hello?

My Mom: Your dad said you had to talk to me.  What’s wrong?

Me: Nothing.  I’m pregnant.

My Mom: That’s great!  That’s wonderful.  How did The Husband take it?

Me: He’s fine.  I’m sure by the end of the day every one will know.  He’s on the phone now.

My Mom: No waiting to tell this time?

Me: Nope.  Wild horses couldn’t keep that man’s mouth shut.  But I got to go Mom.  I got to get Tornado E fed and into bed.

My Mom: I’m so happy for you.  Call me later.  I love you.

Me: I love you too.  Bye, Mom.

My Mom: Bye.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rings.

Me: Hello?

The Friendly Giant: Hey, Fae.  Mom says I have to apologize to you.

Me: For what?

The Friendly Giant: I’m sorry for saying you were knocked up.  It’s not a nice term to call someone when they’re pregnant.

Me: Um, thanks?  I wasn’t offended.

The Friendly Giant: I know.  But Mom was.  I got to go.  Congrats, Fae.

Me: Thanks.  Bye.

The Friendly Giant: Bye.

***

Just so you know.  The call to the doctor’s that next Monday.

Front Office: Doctor’s Office.

Me: Hi.  I just got a positive on a pregnancy test so I need to schedule an appointment.

Front Office: No problem.  Name?

Me: Fae Mom.

Front Office: When was the first day of your last period?

Me: Um, Uh, I think it was date.  (Forgive me because I still can’t remember.)

Front Office: Fae, you always wait so long to call!

What? I have long cycles!

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Leaking Out the News the First Time.

When I first came out of the bathroom when I was pregnant with Tornado E, I kept my head bowed.  I dragged my feet.  I walked slowly into the family room, where The Husband watched TV, waiting for the news.  He jumped up and hugged me.

The Husband: I’m sorry, sweetheart.  We’ll try harder next time.

Me: We don’t have to.  I’m pregnant.

I smiled at him.  It took half a second to sink in.

The Husband: You’re pregnant!  That’s great.  (We hugged again.  We kissed.)  Call your mom.

I grabbed the phone and dialed.

My Dad: (sounding groggy) Hello?

Me: Dad?  Is Mom there?

My Dad: No, she’s out with her friends.

Me: Really?  She’s out on a Friday night.  After you had surgery yesterday?  How are you doing, Dad?

My Dad: I’m ok.  These pain pills work wonders.  Whacha need, Fae?

Me: Oh, nothing.  It’s just that I’m pregnant.

My Dad: (pause) Is this a good thing?

Me: Yes.

My Dad: Well, then I’m happy for you.

Me: Thanks, Dad.  Dad?

My Dad: Yes?

Me: Get some rest.  You sound like you need it.

My Dad: Ok.  I love you.

Me: I love you too.  Goodnight.

My Dad: Good night.

I hung up the phone and turned to The Husband.

The Husband: There was a lot less screaming than I imagined.

Me: My mom is out with The Council of Women.  She left my dad alone.  He’s still out of it from surgery.

The Husband: Huh.  Well, it’s still early.  You want to go see a movie?

Me: No, I have to open tomorrow.  Let’s just watch TV.

An hour later the phone rang.

Me: Hello?

My Mom: Your dad said you needed to tell me something.

Me: You left Dad alone after his surgery?

My Mom: It was Friend’s birthday!  We’ve been planning this for months.  Besides your father was just fine when left him.  He said it was fine if I went.

Me: Fine, Mom.  I’m just surprised.

My Mom: Is that what you wanted to tell me?  To scold me for leaving your father helpless?

Me: No.  I wanted to tell you I’m pregnant.

My Mom: You’re pregnant!  I knew it!  That’s wonderful, baby!  Congratulations!

Me: You, too, Grandma.

My Mom: I’m going to be a Grandma!

Me: Yes.  Mom?  It’s late.  I have to be at work at 6 tomorrow.

My Mom: Oh.  Right.  Well, call me tomorrow when you get off.

Me: Fine, Mom.  I love you

My Mom: I love you. Good night, dear.

Me: Good night.

***

The phone rang just as I peeled out of my work clothes.  Working for the benefits.  Working for the benefits.

Me: Hello?

My Dad: Your mother told me I have to apologize.

Me: For what?

My Dad: For not being enthusiastic enough last night.

Me: Oh.  Well, you did better than The Husband’s Dad.  His first words were “Oh no.”

My Dad: (Laughter) I’m happy for you, baby.  I really am.  If you’re happy, than I am.

Me: Well, as soon as I stop feeling to nauseas, I’ll be happier.

My Dad: Then I’ll be happier then too.

Me: Thanks, Dad.  Um, should I talk to Mom now so that you don’t get yelled out for hanging up before she talks to me?

My Dad: Yup.

***

That weekend I made The Husband promise not to tell anyone until we know for sure that we were pregnant.  He ended up telling J and his girlfriend D, who happened to work for a great OB/GYN.  She insisted I call on Monday to get an appointment, promising me that she would get me in.

Monday I called.

Front office: Hello?  Dr’s office.

Me: Um, hi.  I need to make an um appointment.

Front office:  Oh?  And what can I do for you?

Me: Uh, I think I’m uh pregnant.

Front Office: Ok.  Well, why don’t you find out for sure and call us back for an appointment?  Ok?

Me: Um, ok.  Thank you.

Click.

Hmmm.  That went less well than expected.

The phone rang.

Me: Hello?

D: Faemom.  (sigh) You’re pregnant if you have a positive on a pregnancy test.

Me: Oh?  They’re that accurate.

D: (sigh) Yes.  I’m transferring you back to the Front Office.  Tell them you got a positive on your pregnancy test.  They’ll take care of it all.

Me: Oh.

And as for that promise.  By the end of the week, everyone knew.  EVERYONE.  To this day, I’m sure The Husband put a billboard up on one of the major freeways in Orange County.  The best part was the hurt and nagging that came from friends who heard it from their husbands.  Thanks, The Husband.

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Pink lines

Me: I don’t know, Mom.  I think I’m coming down with something.  I’ve been tired.  And I’ve been nauseas all week, but then when it’s time to eat, I just gobble food down.  Today I ate FOUR bean burritos from Taco Bell.  Two of them before I even parked in the parking lot at work.

My mom: Have you taken a pregnancy test?

Me: What?  No.  We’ve only tried for one month (and only one time).  No one who wants to get pregnant gets pregnant that fast.

My mom: Stranger things have happened.

Me: Right.

My mom: So where you going for date night?

And so it stuck with me.  As we ate at our favorite sushi place, I mentioned the conversation to The Husband.

The Husband: Maybe we should get one.

Me: That’s crazy.

The Husband: What’s the harm?

So we walked over to the grocery store, and I purchased the test.  We went home.  I went straight to the bathroom and used it.

I always wanted to make a short film of those three minutes.  I checked the clock.  I paced.  I read the box.  I drank some water.  I checked the clock.  I paced.  I reread the box.  I examined my face for pimples.  I read the insert.  I checked the clock.  I paced.  I drank some more water.  I checked the clock.  I checked the test.

Two pink lines stared at me.

I was pregnant.  It hit me like the knoll of a bell, straight to the pit of my stomach.

That was how I learned about Tornado E.

***

Me: I’m ONLY three days late.  It’s not like that has never happened before.  My body does this sort of random thing.  Tornado E, eat your eggies.  Daddy made them just for you.

Tornado E: Eggies!!

The Husband: But you’ve been off the pill a month!

Me: And we only had sex one time.  I think we totally missed the ovulation.

The Husband: How do you know?

Me: I don’t.  Which is why I wanted to wait a month or two to get a handle on my cycle.  Tornado E, don’t play with your food.

Tornado E: Eggies!

The Husband: There wasn’t a reason to.  I asked you to get the test earlier.

Me: And I asked you to get a paycheck cut.  When you forget to do that, I run out of money.

The Husband: Fine.  I’ll go get it.

Me: Don’t forget to deposit the paycheck.  (door slam)  Your Daddy is so funny.

Tornado E: Funny!

The Husband: Here.  Those things are expensive!

Me: Tell me about it.  No, Tornado E.  Play with Daddy.  Mommy will be right back.

So I went to the bathroom and took the test.

One day I’m going to make a short about those three minutes.  I checked the clock.  I paced.  I read the box.  I drank some water.  I checked the clock.  I paced.  I reread the box.  I examined my face for pimples.  I read the insert.  I checked the clock.  I paced.  I drank some more water.  I checked the clock.  I checked the test.

Two pink lines stared at me.

I was pregnant.  Damn.  He has super sperm.

That was how I knew I was going to have Tornado S.

***

I texted: Sorry that it’s god awful early after your late night.  But it’s day 32, though I went 35 days last time.  Should I take a test?

BFF: No worries, I’m already up.  I probably would.  That sucks your body is messing with you.

Me: What are you doing up?  I know you need sleep.  I didn’t think about the day until now.  At least I’m not on pins & needles like last month.

BFF: Yeah, no kidding.  So did you make a decision?

Me: We’re going to the zoo today. I don’t know if I’ll have time to get the test today.  It’s unlikely I’m preggers.  But that’s how we roll.

BFF: Get the damn test.

The next morning I packed the boys in the car and drove to Wal-Mart.  On a Saturday.  Which is always a precarious thing to do on a Saturday, but at least we’re out early enough to beat the crowd.  I hoped.

I looked at the tests, debating if name recognition was worth the price.

Tornado E: Mommy, what are those?

Heaven help me, I opened my mouth to actually say condoms.  Honestly, I’m this close to being an idiot.

Me: Women things.  Just for women.

Tornado E: Oh.

Me: Tornado S, stay in the aisle.

F* it.  I’m saving the money.

Me: Come on, boys.

I herded the dancing boys to the register.  While hygiene products are close to the registers, it felt like it took forever to get to them.  But that was due to the ballet twins, not the item I was buying.

I ended up in the 10 items or less lane.  I threw in a few pieces of candy, just in case Tornado E divulges the trip to anyone.  The boys danced for the cashier and the grandma and grandson behind me.

Grandma: How old are you?

Tornado E: Four!

Grandma: Wow.  That’s big.  He’s five.  How old are you?

Tornado S: FIVE!

Grandma: I can’t wait to see you when you’re ten.

Cashier: They are so adorable.

Me: Thanks.  Come on, boys.  Let’s go home and watch cartoons.

Tornado E and Tornado S: YEA!!

We got home, and I turned on Disney.  I went to the bathroom.  I pulled out the test.  I read it.  I reread it.  I took a drink of water.

Not one to waste precious alone time, I grabbed a book.  I used the test.  I finished the chapter.

Tornado E: MOMMMY!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU?

Me: In the bathroom.

Tornado S: Juice pease!!!!!

Tornado E: Can we have popcorn?

Tornado S: Corn!!!

Me: In a second.

Which I guess meant yes, because they ran out of the room.  I pulled up my shorts.  I turned to flush.  My eyes caught sight of the test.

Well, son of a gun.  Two pink lines.

I’m pregnant.

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Learning new words

I’m going to be called in to the principal’s office later this year.  I know it.

I recently found out that Tornado E was calling his Papi “jerk” as a term of endearment.  Apparently, Tornado E heard his grandma calling Papi that and automatically assumed it was a pet name.  That it is for my mom is not the issue.  The fact is my son has learned the word jerk.

Ms. Principal, I would like to introduce my mother, who is responsible for Tornado E’s language.

To make matters worse, I caught Tornado E saying the f-word.  He was upset, and it popped out of his mouth.  The world went silent as my brain try to understand what exactly happened.

When I finally recovered my wits, I took Tornado E aside and explained how that was a bad word, that we have so many good words to use that we didn’t need to say it, and how we should never use words we don’t know what they mean.

Last weekend, Tornado E told us that his daddy wasn’t nice.

The Husband was hurt by this and wanted to know why.  I can list off a whole list of broken promises, refusals on childish demands, the rare spankings.

Tornado E told us in his quietest voice that Daddy wasn’t nice because he said f-.

While my husband sat there astonished by the turn of events, I was ecstatic.  Tornado E understood that using that word was a poor choice.

Then Tornado E used it yesterday.

Ms. Principal, I would like to introduce the boy’s father, who is responsible for Tornado E’s colorful language.

Last weekend we were at an adult party, which we stopped in for an hour with the kids because we had no babysitter in CA.  The boys amused the adults with songs, conversations, and games.

As I talked to another woman, Tornado S pointed to a dog figurine and said “A damn dog!”

Crap.

I tried to ignore it, hoping that he spoke in toddler-speak.

Instead, the woman looked at me and asked, “Did he just say what I thought he said?”

I nodded.

She, being a mother as well, nodded and said, “The Husband.”

Not ten minutes later, Tornado E said, “Where’s the damn ball?”

Double crap.

Another discussion of bad words versus good words.

Maybe I should just send The Husband to explain the language problem.

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