Don't Pet That Dog

It has been a strange few days.  My favorite  part was when PHD went to pick up the kids from school on Wednesday.  I don't like to go inside the school where principals and teachers tend to grab you to just mention "one small thing" that your child has been doing, probably because you are a terrible parent. PHD's approach is to go right on in and pretend he's back in elementary school minus the ever present threat of expulsion he was under when he actually was a student.  To each his own.  It takes all kinds. He's nutty.  Whatever.  On this day, 

That Should Trick the Robbers

Happy New Year Friends!  

As I like to begin my year filled with hope and optimism,  and spend the second week filled with disappointment and self-loathing, I like to make a long list of generally unachievable  resolutions.  I thought I would try a smaller, simpler list for 2015:

Clinical Depression

Last weekend PHD's sister came to visit, all the way from Nova Scotia. She brought with her a whole host of fun stories that usually started like, "You remember Peter,

Sink or Swim

I told the boys I was thinking about putting them in week long swimming lessons while I was on holidays so they would have to go twice a day but it would only be a week long.  This started a two-boy chorus of whining, groaning and complaining.  

Boy 2:  I am not taking swimming lessons.  I hate them.

Me: You have to take them.  It is an important lifelong skill and I am not allowing you to quit until you are done all the badges.

Boy 1: Well that isn't really quitting then, if we are all done.  That's like saying "You can quit school when you are done university." That isn't quitting, that's finishing.

Me:  Good point.  Let me rephrase: You are both finishing swimming and school. 

Throughout this exchange Boy 2 is making a noise that sounds like a Formula One race, "Reeeeeeeeeee, Reeeeeeeee. " I think it is meant to convey frustration but it could also be designed to drive me completely bats.  Under this extraordinary sensory pressure I come up with this:

"If we are ever in a flood like in Calgary, you will be glad you can swim.  It could save your life.  Or, (I am warming up, now) if you are ever stranded in the ocean, you don't want to be the slowest swimmer or you will be the one eaten by sharks. The best swimmers, are the safest, right?"

Boy 2: No, the people in the boats are the safest.

Me:  You are correct, and boats cost money so you have to finish school and get a good job so you can buy a boat!

Wait, what?

To recap, I think I won the argument that we weren't having about finishing school AND distracted them from refusing to take swimming lessons.  On a parenting scale of 1 - 10,  I rate myself a solid 7 this round.  If they start having shark nightmares I might have to scale that back a bit.

Checking for Sharks, or at least, slower swimmers

So Far, I Won This One

Boy 1 just stepped off PHD's new elliptical machine after a good 30 second test drive and started this:

Boy 1:  That hurts. How do you run marathons? Are you insane?

Me:  Not insane, just awesome.

Boy 1: Awesomely Crazy.

Me: Just plain awesome.

Boy 1: -ly Insane.

Me:  AWESOME.

Boy 1: -ly insane.

Me (as he goes downstairs):  Just awesome.

Pretty sure I won this round. Unless he reads this.  Then it is probably not over.

Boy One or the Other

After showing one of the boys (can't say which one because he doesn't want me writing about him right now.  This is my workaround. My plan is foolproof.) bruises I got from playing soccer, he says, "See, that's why old people shouldn't play soccer."  I give him The Look which is clearly so disturbing to him that he shrugs and mutters, "Just sayin' ".

Kids are so good for the self-esteem.  

It occurred to me I should work on the manners thing a bit.  I explained  to the boys that you need to think about your words before they come out of your mouth.  Apply filters.  For example, it isn't nice to call people fat or bald or anything that pops into your head that might hurt their feelings, even if it is true. Curb the blurting, people.

However, this child is also creative. At dinner he said, "We should get Dad a treadmill."  PHD of course asks him why and the boy says, "Well you aren't skinny." About as tactful as a punch in the face. But, he didn't call him fat, so that's progress.

Then I had to drive PHD's truck on a gravel road and we fishtailed slightly when I pulled over to pass an oncoming vehicle. Boy ___ said, "Maybe driving the truck isn't for you." Fairly tactful, right?

I even overheard same boy telling PHD, after a blurt (PHD's doing the blurting, not the children), "Daaaddd,  Mom says you need to think about things before you say them." Learn one, do one, teach one, in action right there. Not quite a good as shutting up completely, but he is only __ (I better not identify him by his age.  Did I mention I am brilliant?) I have some time before a daughter-in-law arrives on the scene to appreciate the good work I have done for her. 

Huh. I just realized that my need to please has gotten so out-of-control that I am now structuring my parenting around a possible future person that I may or may not meet in 20 or so years. That poor, currently non-existent girl has a tough road ahead of her. But then, so do I.  We already have something in common.  

I have had worse nicknames...

I ran into the boys' basketball coach at gymnastics. She wondered if the boys were playing basketball this year and I enthusiastically chirped, "Yes I will see you at registration on Tuesday." She patiently explained that registration was actually yesterday, but if I could make it to the general meeting across town before it was over in 20 minutes, I would be okay. 

We raced over to the meeting and arrived with about 5 minutes to spare. Of course Boy 2 refuses to get out of the car. Against my better judgement I agree to let him stay in the car to play on my phone. I race in, fill out forms and wait impatiently while the coaches discuss the intricacies of which team my boys should be on. What felt like hours but was probably 10 minutes later, I burst out of the building to realize the sun had set. I feel a full-out panic attack rising, thinking, "oh God, he will be freaking out, he's all alone in the car, oh God, he's in the dark, what if he tries to get out of the car, oh God, he will get run over..." As this loop plays in my head I start to pick up speed, cross the road, and break into a full out sprint down the street in an effort to get to my poor abandoned baby. As I sprint I start clicking the unlock button on my keys. Click, doesn't seem to be working, I can't see the lights flashing, click again, oh God, he is probably losing it, click, he's probably terrified, click, why can't I see the lights? What is going on? It was like one of those nightmares where you run and run and can't get anywhere. Then I realized I was at the end of the block. I stop running, turn slowly around and think, "Frack, where is my car?" Click. Oh there, half a block back, about where I started clicking unlock frantically. I run back to the car to find my poor abandoned baby hysterically LAUGHING. He says, "You went by like a BULLET, Mom." 

A bullet. A panicked, slightly mentally challenged bullet. Awesome.

Let's go for a run, Redneck

Isn't the M & M store a happy looking place?  Until the MacFuddles get there.  This particular M & M store in Orlando, Florida is also the scene of one of the worst MacFuddle meltdowns in recent history.  

It started out so well.  I agreed to buy some bulk M & Ms for the boys.  The nice M & M lady  showed us the line on the bag that was a pound and I told the boys to carefully shoot for only half that, or so.  Boy 2 immediately grabbed the first handle he saw and reefed on it with all of his 60 pound, surprisingly muscled little body.  It seemed to me he would empty the whole tube of assorted M & Ms and we would have to remortgage the house to be allowed to leave the store so naturally, I needed to yell at him, "STOP!!", way too loudly.  There is a possibility I overreacted. 

So, he tried to move to the next tube and empty it into his bag and I told him he was done.  He didn't like that at all: "I still need AQUA and MINIS!!" I shrugged my shoulders which apparently is his cue to begin sprinting through the store. 

While he ran around the entire store at top speed, Boy 1 called something to him each pass, "Stop, Boy 2, you're going to get in trouble!", "Mom will get you mini M &Ms", "There's the security guard!"  I mentally cycled through my options: chase him, yell at him some more, call 911, yell at PHD, run away.  People were beginning to stare at us.

At about the fourth run-by, PHD caught the back of the little runner's shirt which stopped him in his tracks abruptly enough to make me think of the choking noise the dog makes when he pulls too hard on his leash.  By this time everyone in the store had stopped what they were doing to stare at us. 

The whole episode ended with me marching through the mall threatening to change our flights home.  No more fun for anyone, ever, etc. And I am eating all the M & Ms.

Moral of the story:  When you are the biggest rednecks in a mall in Florida, you know shit has gone off the rails.  

Also, the mini M&Ms are better.  I don't know why, they should taste the same as the big ones but they don't.  Weird, right?

Nightmare, Project Share

Hmmm, I just found this draft post from last June. There is probably something horribly wrong with it but I can't tell what that might be now, so here goes!

Boy 1 told me he had had a nightmare the night before.  Boy 2 asked him, "Which one?" like he had rented a movie, or something. Maybe he thinks everyone has the same nightmares.  I didn't explore this thought further as I was distracted by the conversation we had just had:

Boy 2:  I have to do Project Share tomorrow. 
Me:  You just did it today and you have to go again tomorrow??
Boy 2:  Yup, Last person of the month gets to start the next month.
Me:  Oh.
Boy 1:  I had a nightmare last night.
Boy 2: Which one?

That may be repetitive.  The point is that the Grade 3 class does a show and tell every morning and each student gets a turn once a month. And it is a horror show for the parents.  Well, probably not the good parents, just for me. 

My thought:  "S*!T, now we are going to fight for another hour tonight so we can get up early and freak out for another hour tomorrow getting that done.", triggered a panic attack, and also meant I couldn't invest much energy or curiosity into the nightmare theories of Boy 2.

He was unusually compliant, blew out a Project Share in 15 minutes and went on with his day.  Full of surprises that child.

The next morning the teacher tells me, all proud, "Boy 2 (She actually calls him by his real name, though, in case you were wondering) volunteered to do Project Share today!" 

Hmmmm, did he now?  When we got home I asked him what really happened. He blushed furiously and said, "I didn't hear what she asked so I put my hand up in case it was something good.  It wasn't."

There is probably an important lesson there about attention to detail, accepting the consequence of your actions or something.  What I want to know is: Is it possible everyone has the same nightmares?  That the people that make nightmares are lazy and keep recycling the same dreams over and over?  

That would explain why Project Share is monthly. Nightmares are recycled.

One of these things is totally like the other

Sometimes Boy 2 is so much like his father that they actually have the same catastrophes within a short period of time. For example, one Wednesday, I get a yell-call from PHD about five minutes after the start of Boy 2's gymnastics class, "WHERE IS THE FREAKING GYM?"  What? You mean the gym he has been attending for three years?  I can hear Boy 2 yelling in the background, "Why didn't Mom just take me?".

So the following Monday morning I had to work and PHD kindly offered to get the kids to school.  At 9 am I get a call from a sobbing Boy 2.  "Mom, I tried to ride my bike to school and I got lost! Can you come home?" I find out slowly that PHD isn't there but his phone and wallet are so I assume he isn't too far away.  After about five minutes of chaos (not long by MacFuddle standards) PHD arrives back home and takes Boy 2 to school.  PHD doesn't think it is at all strange that Boy 2 can get lost on his way to school even though we have lived in this house and gone to the same school for over three years. I am ready to get a brain scan on both of them.

After a series of befuddled incidents like these over the course of a couple of weeks, I found myself very near my limit one Friday on our way to the garden show.  I was pondering my personal theory that the secret of a successful marriage is having high tolerance to irritation.  What if my irritation barrier was broken?  We are all in trouble. The next time there are crumbs on the counter or socks on the deck, someone will get beaten with my swiffer. We walked through the very busy parking lot, me pondering, Boy 2 doing cartwheels and PHD nearly race-walking way ahead of us, like he usually does.  I was just about to yell at him, "Hey Prince William, do you need to walk so far ahead of us?" in my o-so-attractive screechy voice  when it happened.  Boy 2 cartwheeled onto his feet in time to watch PHD walk directly into the hitch of a truck.  Boing.  His knee even made a cartoon noise. The contact with the truck spun him in a circle. Boing. Good thing he didn't hurt himself because Boy 2 was nearly on the pavement laughing at him. It was pretty funny to me, especially the thought that for Boy 2, being so much like his father, it's like witnessing your own future...Before he knows it he'll be making his own Boing noise...Now in my head I just have to think "Boing" my irritation barrier is strengthened.  It's like a super power. I can't explain it and probably shouldn't even try.

I know, I will cook bacon!

After 11 years of struggling with daycare, rearranging my work schedule, and generally freaking out, we decided it was time to let the boys come home after school on their own. After a week of planning and prepping like some kind of military exercise, I decide we are ready.  On the three days a week I have to work, the plan goes like this:

1. Ride the bus home.

2. Call Mom.

3. Have a snack, but don't cook anything.

4. Practice music, watch TV, play video games until Mom comes home, but do not leave the house.

I was having huge anxiety over the whole deal but I figured at most they would be alone for 31.5 minutes three times a week.  I am mentally unavailable for much longer periods of time even when I am physically present, so it should be fine, right?

Day 1.

Starting at about 3:30, I check my watch, then my phone, then my watch to see if they should be home yet.  Finally at 3:50, I call home.  Boy 2 answers.

Me:  Are you both home?

Boy 2:  Yes.

Me:  Both of you?  You forgot to call me. (They probably barely had their coats off at this point.)

Boy 2:  Oh, I forgot.

Me:  Okay, what are you doing now?

Boy 2:  Cooking bacon.

Me:  Cooking Bacon??  In the frying pan?

Boy 2:  No, in the microwave.

Me:  I will be home right away, maybe wait until I get there and can help you.  I don't want you to start a fire.

My co-workers are laughing at me as I pack up in a frenzy and race home.  When I arrive home the front door is open, the back door is open, there is uncooked bacon on the counter and not a kid in sight.  Boy 1 eventually emerged from the office and using our super sharp detective skills, we correctly deduced that because of the snowstorm the night before, Boy 2 would be at the hill. I found him sprinting up the toboggan hill, unzipped jacket flapping around him.

In review:  I told them to take the bus, call me, don't cook anything and don't leave the house.  They took the bus, didn't call, cooked bacon and went to the toboggan hill. But, nothing bad happened. And they did take the bus.  That's like a 25% success rate.  Could be worse.

Day 2.

I thought "Screw it.  Do what you want."  So they came home, called me, had an apple and practiced their music until I came home.  Do you know what this means? 

Me either.  Probably nothing.

Do I what?

"Do you smoke marijuana?" 

One little random question from Boy 1 caused a volcanic reaction in my brain.  In the course of 2 seconds my brain produced a series of brilliant gems, "Why do I seem stoned?/Well, everyone experiments in University-KIDDING-not me. I didn't have any fun in University at all, not that pot is fun/Does he know marijuana is called pot?/ I am probably supposed to teach him something here. What would MADD tell me to say - no MADD is against drinking and driving, not pot. They would be called MAP or MAM.  Not as catchy/FOCUS - BUY SOME TIME!!!" All the while big brown eyes staring me down, waiting patiently for an answer.

What I said was, "Do you smoke marijuana?" Clever, right? Repeat the question back to get another second and figure out what a good mother might say. I follow up with, "NO!" 

Big unblinking brown eyes, still staring at me, "You don't smoke it?"  I think, "Jeez, kid, are you going to be a cop when you grow up?  Should I call a laywer?" when I look at the TV and realize there is a news story on addictions and the video is of cigarette butts on the ground.  He wanted to know if the butts on the ground were marijuana, not if his mother had a drug problem.  Wow, I took the long way around on that one.

So I said, "Yes, pot is smoked. But it is even more unhealthy than cigarettes."  The End. Good thing I bought myself all that time to come up with that brilliant answer.

Are you ever amazed that I am allowed to be in charge of two children?  I am.

Birthday Part 2 and He Ran Away with the Chicken

Remember that post when I said I would explain the point of the Birthday Part 1 post in another post? I have kind of lost interest. I will tell you one lesson learned: don't gleefully call your dear friends big fat liars when you think you have uncovered their plans for a surprise party because when you find out there is no surprise party you will feel like an asshat. Even if there is actually a surprise party being planned and it turned out they were big fat liars.  Yes, my lessons are complex. And confusing. But true. I also learned that I have a bunch of really terrific friends.  They are a bit weird but that's why we all get along so well.


As a matter of fact, one of those friends is currently at the movies with both of my boys giving me a few hours of peace.  Perfect time to tell you about Boy 2 running away from home.  


A month or so before Christmas, we were having a lot of fights at our house.  Boy 1 vs. Boy 2, me vs. Boy 2, Boy 2 vs. PHD...sometimes we'd take turns teaming up.  It was not pretty.  It was also too early to start saying, "Santa can see you, stop it!"  Not that it would work anyway. 

One day the boys got into a terrible fight in the backseat of the car on the way home from the grocery store.  By the time we pulled up in front of the house I had threatened to ground them both for life, take away every toy they owned and a bunch of other stuff we all knew I wouldn't follow through on.  So, Boy 2, says, "I'm running away from home."  I say, "Fine but bring in the groceries first".  Boy 1 comes in shortly and says, "He ran away with the chicken."  Not something you hear every day.  

This is where a difficult parenting decision had to be made.  I would like to leave him until he gets cold and hungry and comes home.  Except he took a precooked chicken with him and I have nothing else for supper for the rest of us. How long can an eight year old survive on a precooked chicken, anyway?  I decided I needed a precooked chicken for supper more than I needed to teach him a lesson at this moment.  

 I went back outside and found him  about 10 steps away from the house, hunched over a chicken leg like some kind of rabid wolf.  I was a bit scared.  Would it be like when I try to take a bone away from the dog?  Would I get bit?    As I crept closer, he caught my scent and looked up, panic in his eyes.  I want to think he was afraid of me but I think he was afraid I would take the chicken leg.  It is his favorite part of the chicken.  When I got within reach, he grabbed the chicken and bolted into the back alley.  I had to chase him all the way around the block back to the house.  I couldn't catch him even though he was gnawing on a chicken leg the whole time.  That's not right. He beat me to the house and I let him think he had won.  

About 20 minutes later they started fighting. Being the mature adult I told them, "If you don't stop I am going to leave this house!" I didn't have to tell them the chicken would be coming with me, that was implied.  They of course ignored me and continued beating on each other.  I pretended to slam the door then crept up to my room and laid on the floor beside my bed.  A few minutes later I hear Boy 1, "Mom?"  (fight fight fight), a little louder now, "MOM??".  Boy 2 is still trying to engage his brother in war but Boy 1 has started running up and down the halls and the stairs looking for me.  Up, down, "Mom?" up, down, "Mom?"  Boy 2 is still trying to engage him in battle until Boy 1 says, "I don't care about that right now, I CAN'T FIND MOM."  and then, danger, "We need to call somebody!"  Crap.  I was so comfortable on the carpet beside my bed and I had to get up and make myself known.

They were so angry at me. Boy 2 says in his most heartbroken voice, "We thought you ran away!"  I said, "Now you know how I felt when you ran away.  It is scary isn't it?"  What I was thinking was, "Ha, I won, I won!"  Didn't I??  Probably no one is winning here.  

We are definitely even, though.
 



I can't see or Birthday Part 1

I had a BIG birthday on November 5. Let's call it my 30th. That means I got married when I was 14.  Don't think about the math too much.

PHD usually likes to try to surprise me in some way. One year the surprise was that he forgot my birthday entirely.  Usually he does much better than that. It can be a lot of fun for me because I usually figure the surprise out in advance, by some fluke or another. By fluke I mean I keep asking "innocent" questions until someone gives some kind of clue that gives away the surprise, or PHD yells, "Don't tell her that!" which also gives away the surprise. So, he and the boys disappeared for a few hours the Saturday before my birthday.  Boy 2 figured out pretty quickly how to use this to his advantage.  Here's how that went:

Boy 2:  Can we go for frozen yogurt?
PHD: Maybe. 

Boy 2: Well, maybe, I will tell Mom her surprise.

Me to PHD after I stopped laughing:  You are totally screwed for the next week!

No win.  Either he does everything Boy 2 tells him or I find out the surprise.  Boy 2 had his own little puppet for 7 days. 

So, since they wouldn't tell me if they bought me a new camera for my birthday, I went and bought a new camera.  I also may have blinded the children with the flash. 

They are so dramatic.  Vision loss was only temporary.  Just to be safe, I returned the camera.  To be honest, the bigger issue with the camera was that I didn't find the button/control placement intuitive and I missed a big shot.  The boys and I went for a walk one dark evening. As they typically do, the boys started punching each other.  Boy 2 got a good shot in then started sprinting across the park with Boy 1 close behind.  I still don't understand how this is possible, but as he was sprinting, Boy 2 mooned us. And he still managed to keep out of Boy 1's reach. it isn't right that a boy can outrun his older brother at the same time as he is pulling his pants down far enough to show his little white butt sprinting across the park.  Violates some law of nature or physics, or something, I'm sure.  Anyway, because I couldn't find the record video button on the new camera, I missed our chance to become YouTube sensations and appear on the Ellen Degeneres Show. Camera had to be returned.

This post has gotten a bit long, and ADHDish so I am going to stop here and make it Part 1 of a more than 1 part series.   If you want to understand the point of this post, or think "Maybe it will get better if I read more." (That's how I am every time I try corned beef: "Maybe this time I will like it".  Does that make me optimistic or insane?), you can check back and read Part 2 whenever I get around to posting it.  I think I just built suspense there.  Or alienated you completely.  Let me know.

That can't be right

Conversation at the MacFuddle house:

Boy 2 (trying to get out of going to school):  Why can't I be homeschooled?
Me:  I just don't think I'd be a very good teacher.
Boy 2:  You'd be my teacher???
Me: Yes, that's where your plan falls apart.
Boy 2:  Oh.

I suspect he won't ask again.

He warned us, we just didn't listen

You know how Oprah is always saying, "The first sign is like a whisper, then if you don't listen, the next sign is louder until finally you get a smack upside the head?"  (that's probably almost a direct quote.) The first year of Boy 2's life was kind of like that, but with yelling (him, mostly, not me) instead of whispers. The signs of a "strong willed personality" were all there.  Let's do a Wordless Wednesday, but with words, and I will post it on Thursday, because that is Boy 2's birthday. So not really a Wordless Wednesday, just a Thursday.  Yes it is confusing. That's not the point.  The point is, Happy Birthday Boy 2! 

Day 1 - "I am going to scream my face off
until I can walk"





Day 18 - "I am going to scream my face off until
they take off this ridiculous costume."





Day 30 - "I am going to scream my face off until

they take off this stupid hat, and I can walk"



Day 45 - "I need to come up with a new plan"

Day 130 - "I know - I'm gonna bite this guy until I can walk"



Day 210 - "Seriously?  I warned them about the hat thing.

Look at my head.  They gotta be screwing with me.

Wait until I can walk"



Day 230 - "I'll bite this guy some more.
It'll pass the time until I can walk."

Day 245 - "Maybe slapping him will work. He seems to like it.
Why am I still not walking?"





Day 365 - "Hey, hey! I got it, I got it!
It is all over for you Mom."

All the signs were there, early on.  That's why I shouldn't be surprised by things like this:

Day 2917 - now for something new.

Sorry, very poor picture quality because I was laying on the floor to get this shot.  Yes, I was on the floor, below him.  Still not seeing it?  Look where his hands are.  Those are the tops of the door frames. Don't feel bad, I couldn't believe what I was seeing either, the first time.  Here is a picture of me taking the picture to clear it up:



I guess, if you are Boy 2, once you are 8 you aren't happy with walking on the ground anymore, you need more challenge, like walking on the walls to the ceiling.  When normal people say their kids were climbing the walls, I think they usually mean it figuratively.  I don't. He is actually climbing the walls.

Appropriate that the child was born on Thanksgiving - every year on his birthday I thank God that we have both survived another year.



Parenting Scares for Rookies

I just read this article from Today's Parent magazine:  http://www.todaysparent.com/6 parenting scares .

Hilarious!  In a not intentionally funny way.  All this time I had been thinking I must not handle stress well as I tumble down the wrong side of the nervous breakdown spectrum.  Turns out we are NOT normal. If you don't feel like reading the actual article, according to Today's Parent normal parenting scares are:

1. Baby swallows penny.
2. Toddler eats dog food.
3. Your preschooler writes on the couch with a permanent marker.
4. Your first grader stuck a peanut in his ear.
5. Your eight-year old glues his fingers together with Crazy glue.
6. Your ten year old got gum in her hair.

How it goes down in the MacFuddle house:

1. Toddler swallows six metal marbles from his brother's magnetic building kit.  Intern in the emergency room actually gasps when she views X-Rays.  I suggest she may want to tone down the gasping in shock around the average nervous parents.  Probably okay around damaged, beaten-down parent like me, but you never know. In case you are wondering, as long as the marbles aren't actually magnetic, and they are smaller than a penny, they will pass. And, no, the sitter will not check the diaper and keep a running tally of the marbles.
2. ?? I don't get it.  Was there not enough food left over for the dog? That is a pet owner issue, not a parenting scare.
3. At the MacFuddle house, most items, including walls, clothes, furniture, are "labeled". My advice is to let them turn the drawing into a mural to show their classmates.  It will seem like homework and they will quit doing it.  True Story. But, again, not a true parenting scare.
4. Eighteen month old sticks so many unpopped popcorn kernels into his left nostril that kernels start coming out his mouth.  I worry that he could actually be touching his brain with popcorn kernels so I rush him to the emergency room.  They still have our file out from discharging us only hours before.  (Probably need a whole post to describe that incident.)  Doctors have really long tweezers. They say no big deal, but I would still like to see a CT scan of the child's brain to check for popcorn.  To this day I don't let him get overheated.  Think about it.
5. Today's Parent, are you spying on us?  This just happened last week.  Boy 2 glued his fingers together out on the deck so that it looked like he was giving the A-okay sign.  I didn't want him in the house until I was sure the glue was dry so I kept saying how are you doing out there?  And he would give me the A-okay sign.  Oh, and if it is a large amount of glue, nail polish remover will take that right off.  Don't even worry about that.  Unless they have glued a piece of their body that shouldn't have nail polish remover on it.  Then you have a real problem. Call somebody.
6. You guys aren't even trying now.  Gum in kid's hair is called Saturday.  Gum in hair is likely to happen anytime you have gum and a child in the same home.  Isn't it?  Don't you just use the kitchen scissors to chop it out and get on with your day?  Maybe that's just when you have boys.

In the last 24 hours alone I heard in my house: "Here goes nothing!" and "Hey Mom, look I am on the roof!" I was wishing for crazy glue and gum. But, weirdly, I feel better. It's them, not me. 

Puke Day

Boy 2 has been complaining of a tummy ache ever since school started.  It started on the first day of school, but almost everyone in our house vomited, so I wasn't really concerned.  First the dog barfed in the middle of the kitchen floor.  We all noticed at the same time as he ran away in doggie shame. PDH yelled "Gross" and ran down the stairs.  I said, "Could be worse, this is only dog food. We should just leave it until he cleans it up himself.  I know a dog that eats cat poop then pukes on the front mat."  Boy 1 turned green and ran away and I could hear gagging from down the stairs in PHD's direction.  I had to clean up the dog barf but the good news is I got a few minutes of quiet to read the paper when I was done. 

That same day Boy 2 threw up on the bus on the way home, just before they reached our house.  I wasn't sure of the protocol, maybe someone can enlighten me.  The bus parked in front of our house for quite some time after the boys came in the house.  I wondered if Mrs. Bus Driver was waiting for me to come clean it.  So I waited a few more minutes then went out and offered to help as Mrs. Bus Driver was finishing up.  She said she had it under control but she noted,  "It looks like he was eating apples."  She seemed offended by the apples more than the puke. Odd. I didn't think she would appreciate my "could be worse it could be regurgitated cat poop" philosophy so I kept it to myself. 

Anyway, two weeks later, Boy 2 is still complaining off and on about a tummy ache.  Finally I take him to see the doctor.  Boy 1 tried to negotiate me leaving him at home with the iPhone. When that didn't fly, he agreed to come along but be angry about it.  It all came to a head in the examining room just before the doctor came in.  Boy 1 gave Boy 2 a shove, Boy 2 tried simultaneously tattling and punching Boy 1 in the gonads.

Boy 1, "Stop it, you're such an idiot."
Boy 2, "Whaaaat?  I can't hear you."
Boy 1, "I said, Sto---"
Boy 2, "Whaaaat?  I can't hear you."
Boy 1, "STOP---"
Boy 2: "Whaaat?? Still can't hear you. Are you still talking?"
Boy 1, "WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP EATING ACORNS OFF THE GROUND AND YOU WOULDN'T HAVE A STOMACHE-ACHE."
Boy 2:  "They weren't acorns, they were hazelnuts, I looked them up in a book in the library. 
Me:  "You were eating acorns?  Off the ground?"
Boy 2: "NOT acorns, hazelnuts."  Like I am the dummy.

I tried to explain to him that he shouldn't eat things off the ground at school, it could be making him sick, he doesn't know what it is, etc.  There was no talking him out of it.  He looked them up in a library book, so it's all good.  

The doctor then came in the room and confirmed that there are hazelnuts growing in the city.  So I guess Boy 2 has the all-clear to eat more acorns or hazelnuts off the ground. 

Now I have a tummy ache...

What's Mom freaking out about?

I will tell you what I am freaking out about:  

I didn't think they were ready for that diving board until they were 18, they didn't agree.

I can so fly. (Pic by Carlene, famous food blogger)



This was while my mom was babysitting - she taught them how to hammer caps, you know, the ones that are filled with GUNPOWDER.  C'mon, Grandma, work with me here!




Monkey Bars - 1, Boy 2 - 0, but it's not over...

And today's excitement:

Look Mom, I caught a mouse!

I literally shrieked.  Not like when people say, "I literally had a heart attack" when they mean "I figuratively had a heart attack."  I literally shrieked.  How terrific - I have my own mouser, without the bother of a litter box. He couldn't fathom why I wasn't allowing his new friend in the front door. What I didn't mention was that I had actually locked both of them out until I could figure out how to sanitize the kid.  Our own weird little hostage situation.  Childhood memories being made right there on the front step.  I finally came up with a foolproof plan.  I gave Boy 1 a bucket with a lid for our new friend (christened Fuzzy McSmally McCheezy in case you were curious) and then let Boy 2 in the house.  I made him agree to hold his hands together like he was praying and march slowly to the bathroom.  That way all the invisible rodent bacteria would be trapped between his little hands until he got to the bathroom sink where I made him scrub long enough to give him OCD. I told you - foolproof. And really scientific.

That's how you survive these children folks.  Science works.

Just because it's close to your tongue doesn't mean you should lick it

Two weekends ago we went to my sister's house for my other sister's birthday.  I didn't have any boxes laying around to wrap the present so I recycled a cupcake box I had been hoarding.  I wrote all over it, things like, "Recyled box = save the earth = me good person" and "Look, leftover icing".  I gave it to Boy 2 to hold while we drove to the party.  I glanced in the back seat to see his little tongue darting out to lick just below the "Look, leftover icing" lettering. I told him to stop it so he gave the box to Boy 1 who also gave it a good lick.  Hmm, is it wrong to give your sister a box of saliva for her birthday?  What if I didn't tell her, is that better?  Or, what if I did tell her the next day when I asked her to take a picture of the box for my blog?  She said she had already thrown out the box so my reader(s) would have to take my word for it. I asked her to just take a picture of herself  in a dramatic representation of the box. She still hasn't sent it.  Maybe it's still coming.  Or, maybe she didn't like my little box 'o bacteria. That makes more sense.

Last weekend PHD and I went to Vancouver.  We do this thing when we get on an airplane.  "Do you want the window seat?" "No, it's okay, you have it."  "Are you sure?"  until I get impatient and take the window seat.  Then he spends all of takeoff and landing leaning way too far into my personal space to look out the window.   As we were landing in Vancouver, it occured to me that he might not like spit, either.  So I waited until he leaned way too far into my personal space bubble and I stuck out my tongue which banged into his eyebrow. I can't take full credit for the idea, I read it in a blog on what to do in awkward social situations. This suggestion captured my fancy.  My thought was sticking out your tongue could be like a personal space meter.  If you are so close to me that you get nailed when I stick out my tongue, you are too close.  Reasonable, right?  Except he thought it was funny so he kept leaning in and back going, "Whoo, whoo".  Not at all weird. Also very disappointing as he was still in (and out of and back in) my personal space as well as giving me a bit of motion sickness. (As background, he had just minutes before adopted a t-shirt slogan as his new personal mission statement: "Fighting always works". It was probably a UFC shirt but I suspect PHD's interpretation of it will affect our marriage in many ways, none good.)

To recap, I prepared a little check-list for your reference:

I hope you will this reference material useful. You can also print it off and use it to test your own personal space boundaries/tongue reach.  Fun and useful.  Enjoy.