Quotes from the Backseat

If you’ve never driven around with a couple of boys in the backseat and just listened to the things they say, you are missing out on some funny stuff!

“Eww, Mom!  Trip ate some of my hair!”  (Giggling and a quick denial followed.)

“Here!  Eat my boogers!”  (One boy to the other.  I’m not sure which.  There are things you don’t really want to remember as a mother.)

“Did you poop in your pants?”  (There wasn’t even a fart that preceded the question.  This was just a procession of sillier and sillier questions.)

“Mom, I get a car in a couple of years and then I’ll be able to drive you around.”  (No he doesn’t!  He’s 9 years old!)

“I have thirty degree butt burns!”  (Brothers shouldn’t be able to access each others seat warmers.  Also, thirty degree burns?  I was aware of third degree burns…)

“Mom, he’s going to push the ejector button and throw me out of the car!”  (I wasn’t aware my car had ejector buttons, but maybe the boys did some after market upgrades on my car while I was sleeping one night.)

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Demon Child, You Can’t Say That to Me While I’m Driving!

I don’t get to pick up the boys from school on a regular basis anymore because of my new work schedule, but when I do, there’s usually only one subject on their minds:  farting!  Or burping!  Really, gas coming from one of them or gas being the subject of their conversation and they’re both happy little guys.

They’re boys.  They’re consistent.  At least the little dudes are funny.

A couple of weeks ago, I got off work early and was able to pick my munchkins up from school and they did something really weird.  They got in the car and didn’t once mention farting or burping.  Instead Twin &^%$ was just about beside himself.  A couple of the popular girls had set their eyes on him.  The other boys in his class (including his brother) had kicked him out of the boys’ club but he didn’t care.  (The “boys’ club” would be simply the group of boys in the class, not a real affiliation.  They aren’t that organized yet.)  I do think that either one of those girls who set their eyes on my boy would chew him up and spit him out without a second thought, but as young as they are, I’m not going to have to go into psycho-mommy mode yet.  I don’t think they really understand what a man-eater is yet, but, oh buddy, they’re going to be hell on wheels when they’re older.  Twin &^%$ wasn’t quite sure what to make of the events of the day, but he was just flabbergasted.  He had never been the object of such desire from anyone before, much less two of the most popular girls from school.  He fumbled over his words and told me that both girls wanted to be his girlfriend but he wasn’t sure which one he liked and either he would have to chose one of them or one of them would have to make her decision about him.

The other boy, Twin !@#*, told me that he was still in the boys’ club, that he didn’t care for the girls chasing after his brother.  Twin !@#* has his own girlfriend, thankyouverymuch, and she was much nicer than the vixens chasing his brother.  “Momma,” he said to me, “when I look at my girlfriend, she is so beautiful, all I see is an angel.”

Excuse me?  I’m driving here, you little demon child!  You can’t say something that sweet, that uncharacteristic, that freaking AWESOME while I’m driving!

I still can’t believe I didn’t wreck.  I was speechless, but still capable of driving.

His father has never said anything quite like that to me.  But then, Twin !@#* didn’t say it to his girlfriend.  He said it to me.  I don’t know what Ed has said about me to his mother, but we have a very good relationship, so I’m sure whatever he has said to her in the past was good.

Obviously, there’s a twin from this story who would like to remain anonymous, so they must both remain that way.  The other one doesn’t care.

I sat on this story for a couple of weeks trying to figure out how I felt about it.  Obviously, my job as the Momma is to make sure my babies are able to find their way in this world.  I need to make them feel safe and secure enough at home and in my love for them that they can go out and explore that big world out there and hopefully, make a difference.  I also want them, when the time is appropriate, to find a significant other and have a happy and healthy relationship with that person.  (Obviously, I don’t really care about the gender of that other person.  I just don’t.)  What I want from that relationship, which I hope will be their last relationship, is for the other person to make my baby feel as wanted, as desired as the two popular girls did to Twin &^%$.  I also want my baby to feel like Twin !@#* does about his girlfriend now.  I want them to make someone’s heart sing and their eyes light up.  I want that someone to make my boys’ hearts’ happy.

Unsalted Cat Turds

We had Rangers baseball tickets for the second Wednesday after I got back from vacation and I spent more than a week thinking I was on heart call for surgery (I love my new job!) and couldn’t go to the game with Ed and the boys.  I thought I was on call right up until I left work at 3:00 that afternoon when I double checked the call schedule and found out I was not on call.  Score!  I called Ed and told him I could go to the game.  Fortunately, he hadn’t found anyone to take my ticket.

We hopped into Ed’s SUV and drove an hour and a half to the Ballpark at Arlington.  It’s a drive we make fairly frequently.  The boys, as they tend to do, told plenty of fart jokes and farted and said, “You’re welcome, Mommy!”

Red lights are red.

Green lights are green.

How much can I fart if I eat one pinto bean?

They are a gift to poetry.

At some point in the drive, Logan became upset with Trip and was trying to illustrate how cruel Trip was to him.

“He really doesn’t love me!  He’s so mean to me!  He’s so mean, he gave me cat turds for Christmas last year!”

He gave you WHAT?

“He gave me cat turds and made me eat them!”

Oh, the horror!

“It’s not funny, Dad!”

I agree, boy.  It’s not funny.

Giggle.  Snort. (From Trip, not Logan.)

“He didn’t even put salt on them before he made me eat them!”

Logan was distraught!

I died laughing!  I couldn’t hold it back anymore.  The poor boy was so upset though about the mistreatment he had withstood at the hands of his brother.

We got to the game and bought lots and lots of food.  Logan and Trip are at an age where they can finally appreciate a good baseball game without constant intervention and placation.  In the fourth inning, the Rangers had done something which resulted in a sponsored giveaway for the fans.  We all got coupons to Denny’s for a free grand slam breakfast with the purchase of a drink.  After lots and lots of explaining what the coupons meant, Logan decided it was time to bargain.  I told him I’d give him my pancakes because I can’t have them anyway with my paleo diet.  Never mind that I don’t like pancakes anyway and wouldn’t eat them even if I wasn’t following any kind of diet, I would just give them to him.  Logan didn’t want my theoretical pancakes.  He wanted my bacon.  Naturally, I refused.  We’re talking bacon here.  I’m not giving it up!  Logan threatened to eat my arm because I wouldn’t commit to giving him the bacon from the free breakfast.  I told him my arm was paleo and asked him if he was turning into a cannibal.  He grinned, licked his lips, and tasted my arm.  He threw my arm back at me, saying it tasted like I hadn’t showered in weeks.

Demon child!

As I protested his assertion, he assured me he was still going to eat my arm, I just needed to clean it first.

She Sees Dead People. Not Me. Her.

A friend of a friend of a friend once dated a girl, or rather, went on one date with a girl, who claimed during said date that she could see dead people.  That got me to thinking about being able to see dead people.  It also got me to thinking about the veracity of said girl’s story… but, GHOSTS!  What do the ghosts look like?  Is there an expression on their face?  Or do they look like expressionless zombies floating a few inches off the ground?  Do they try to interact with living people?  Are they still wearing clothes?  Or are they naked?  Naked ghosts might be interesting if they all revert back to looking their best, but somehow, I don’t think they do, so if they’re naked, they’ve probably got bulges and rolls and stretch marks and varicose veins and, well, let’s just stop with that train of thought all together.  Gross.  I’ve grossed myself out now.  It was all for you.  You’re welcome.  I’m glad you appreciated it though.

Where were we?  Oh, yes.  Ghosts.

I nearly forgot.

Several years ago, I had a patient in ICU who claimed she could see dead people.  I’m not breaking any privacy laws here because I can’t remember what she looked like or her name or what happened for her to be in the ICU.  Anyway, she claimed she could see dead people.  She claimed she could also tell when someone was going to die soon because one of the ghosts would show up and just stay with the living person until they died in one manner or another.  As I wheeled her down a hospital hall to somewhere, she said there were dozens and dozens of people- dead people- ghosts- just hanging out in the hallway.

I’m pretty sure I can think of many better places to haunt than a hospital hallway.

Ed (the Awesome) would haunt the Ballpark in Arlington for 81 games per year.  I’m not really sure what else he would do the remaining days, but I’m sure if given the opportunity, plenty of other fans would haunt the Ballpark too, so maybe they could hang out and watch the ghosts of baseball players who were playing a game.

I’m not really sure where I would choose to haunt, given the opportunity.  I have cities I like and places in the country too.  I love my job, but I most certainly would not haunt a hospital.  I would haunt my living family members, but you can only watch them for so long.  What would I do after the first 30 years?

What about you?  If haunting a place was your only choice, where would you choose to do your haunting?

My Boy. He’s Disgusting. So Are Tongues.

When I was five years old, Mom told me I needed to have my frenum clipped.  The frenum is the piece of tissue that connects the bottom of your tongue to the bottom of your mouth.  Mine was apparently too long and may or may not have caused a speech impediment.  I have absolutely no memory of having a speech impediment, but apparently Mom did have a speech impediment which is why she had her own frenum clipped.  Apparently.

Anyway, I distinctly remember Mom telling the five year old me that she had to wait until she was twenty years old to get her frenum clipped and it was horribly painful because she had waited so long and she didn’t want me to have the excruciating pain at twenty, so she was going to get mine done before it would be that painful.

(She was always comforting like that.  She also told me I wouldn’t be able to eat solid food for a week after having my wisdom teeth pulled.)

So my boys’ Oma took her five year old baby girl (FIVE YEARS OLD!)  to the oral surgeon.  I distinctly remember sitting VERY still in the surgery chair while mom stood nearby telling me that if I moved, I would cause the oral surgeon to slip with whatever instruments of destruction he was using in my mouth which would lead to irreparable harm.  Naturally, I was calm.  I was definitely still.  I remember him poking sharp instruments in my mouth and through that piece of tissue under my tongue and telling me in a low voice that he had to poke a needle in the skin and then make a jagged rip or else the tissue would simply grow back together.  Terrifying, no?

After the ripping of tissue under my tongue, Mom drove me 45 minutes back to day care and dropped me off.  In my mind, she might have told me that I was a big girl and I could open the door to the day care and let myself in.  I remember the fresh wound in my mouth opened at some point during the day and rinsing the blood out with water from the water fountain.  What else could I do?  It’s not like I had taken the gauze I had been given into day care with me.

Mom recalls things slightly differently.  She says she took me into the day care center and explained what had been done and they fed me popsicles all day.  I don’t remember a single popsicle.

This story gets better.  I am working in surgery now and there was a Frenuloplasty on the schedule a couple of weeks ago.  People go under general anesthesia to have their frenum clipped!  They don’t simply get a local anesthetic and then call it a day!!

I promise it gets better.

And possibly less gross.

Or not.

Since having my frenuloplasty, I have a Gene Simmons type tongue.  It rolls out of my mouth forever!  Mom and I compared tongues the other day (perfectly natural!) and Mom’s tongue barely goes past her lips!

The frenuloplasty at work really bothered me and I have been thinking about tongues a lot.  At lunch with Ed and the munchkins last weekend, we started sticking out our tongues at each other.  Ed might have simply rolled his eyes and refused to play along.  Fortunately, munchkins are good with being gross.  Trip’s tongue is long like mine, but in a normal sense on long.  Logan’s tongue is freakishly long!  I asked him if he could touch his nose with his tongue and HE TOTALLY CAN!!!

I cackled loudly in a restaurant packed with people.  Ed was not amused with my uncontrollable volume.  I’m not sure why.  You’d think he would be used to my volume by now.  Ed made a remark about Logan’s tongue that I didn’t want Logan to ask about, so I changed the topic quickly.

“Logan,” I said.  “I bet you could even pick your nose with your tongue!”

The little dude tried it and if anything had been within tongue’s reach, he would have gotten it.

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I Am The Butt Of All Their Jokes, Part Deux

The boys were ecstatic after a win for their little league baseball team a couple of weeks ago.  It was after 7:00 in the evening.  We headed to Target because we needed a few things before we called it an evening.  We drove up the access road of the highway to get to Target with the windows open when a certain little boy farted in the Tahoe and it stunk so bad that the rest of us were gagging.

It was that moment that set the tone for the rest of the evening.

We got to Target, parked, went inside, and got a shopping cart.  Trip drove the cart for the first part of the excursion.  We had made our first turn through the store and had made it to the cosmetics aisle when I felt a child sized foot kick my butt.

(I’ve got to preface the rest of this story with this.  We play hard.  We love fiercely.  We rarely hurt each others feelings.)

I whipped around and exclaimed, “Logan!”

He grinned and pointed at Ed.

“Daddy did it,” he said with a grin.

“Boy!  I know what a little boy foot feels like on my butt!  Quit that!”  I told him.  He grinned like he hadn’t heard me.

We continued around the store gathering our needed supplies whilst jumping out of each others way and continuing our banter.  Logan and Ed were on one side.  Trip was on my side, telling the other two to leave me alone and blocking impending blows.  There were not any other actual blows that landed, but there was  a lot of jumping out of the way and feigned blows throughout the trip around the store.

Now, I’m fine with all of the banter and rough housing while we’re shopping, but when I’m at the check out line, I am done with all of the rough housing.  Not finished.  Done.  My mother will probably spin in her chair when she reads this, but there’s a time to use finished and a time to use done.  For this instance, I was DONE!

So we all loaded the items we were buying on the check out belt and I told Logan and Ed several times to behave themselves.  They pretended like they were going to behave themselves.  I should have known it was a ruse.

It was finally our turn with the cashier.  She started checking our items and I took my place beside the register so I could watch the monitor as the items were checked.  You never know when an item will ring up with the wrong price and this is true at any store.  You might have to wait for 20 minutes while a someone else goes to check the advertised price and comes back to verify the price you’ve quoted the cashier, but do you really want to pay the wrong price?  I don’t.

It was during this careful watching of the register that I felt another boy-sized foot kick my butt.

I lost my cool.  I whipped around and grabbed Logan by the face.  I threatened life and limb and video game privileges and movement outside of his bedroom for the rest of his life.

He got a little worried and refused to look me in the eye.  That’s his go to move when he’s in trouble- refusing to look his accuser in the eye when he’s in trouble.

And then it happened.

Tap, tap, tap.

Ed was tapping me on the shoulder.

“She wants you to pay,” he said.  He meant the cashier.

I rolled my eyes at him and returned to the register.  I set  my purse on the counter and swiped my credit card across the credit machine.  When the signature line popped up, I heard my little boy, Logan, say to me, “Mommy, you know your parole officer said you couldn’t do that anymore.”

What?  What did he just say?  Did my baby really just say that to me???  In public, no less???

(I need to preface the rest of this story with the fact that I have no parole officer.  I have never been to prison.  I have never been to jail.  I have never been arrested or spent a single night in jail.  I did recently learn though that when you are arrested, you are given an orange jumpsuit to wear and your underwear and bra are taken from you.  That means that if you need to use the restroom, you have to strip down to nothingness and go in front of an audience.  Totally not my cup of tea, thank you very much!)

Before Logan, the demon child, even had that completely out of his mouth, his father started speaking.  “Honey, you know the CPS officer said you couldn’t do that in public anymore.”

Really?  Really???  It’s a conspiracy!!!  They’re all evil!  At least, two of them are.  Demons!!

I’m sure the look on my face was one of shock.  The cashier was giggling.  I’m pretty sure I was blushing from head to toe.  There was nothing for me to do but laugh.  Sometimes, there’s nothing to do but admit defeat.

They may have won this round, but I’m good for many more rounds.

It’s game on, boys!!

I Am the Butt of Every Joke

I’ve tried all manner of diets over the years and now, I’m trying the paleo diet.  It’s working for me and I feel good.  I haven’t made a big deal out of it with Ed or the boys, but it is obvious when I don’t eat some of the same things they eat.  I have told the men in my house about the finer details of my diet and they have run with it!

A couple of weeks ago, we were eating a big weekend breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants and I ordered coffee.  Here’s the thing though:  I don’t like cream in my coffee.  I like milk.  Cream is too thick for me.  So naturally, I asked for milk instead of cream.  My milk versus cream issue has absolutely nothing to do with my current diet, but my guys had to add in a few details for my request.

Ed started, “The milk should be whole milk from a cow that has only eaten organically grown grass.  It should also be a white cow with three large black spots.”

“The cow should be one born only in the month of October and not more than four years old,” said Logan.

Trip couldn’t be left out.  “And the cow should only have lived in Texas or in an adjoining state.”

I just smiled and asked if they could meet all of those requirements.  The server laughed and said, “Of course!”

Last weekend, we ate at the same restaurant.  I ordered an omelet and asked for a couple of things to be left out.  My requests were not unreasonable and the server said it would be easy to accommodate my requests.

Trip piped up first.  “The chicken which laid the eggs should be a white chicken.”

“It should have black spots, but the spots should only be on the chicken’s face,” supplied Ed.

Logan finished, “The chicken needs to have been born in the summer time of the last year.”

Our server was the same one who had heard their routine about the cow a couple of weeks prior and she was giggling at the onset of it.

My omelet was delicious!