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.

This Boy Is Gross Too.

This boy.  He, too, is disgusting.  He’s cute, but totally disgusting.

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His favorite sentence is, “Hey Mom, look at this!”

And I turn and look at him and am immediately grossed out.  It’s because he does this.

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(He kind of looks like he’s possessed when he does that.)

And this.

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This is the regular shoulder.

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See?  Nice and round and not popped out of place.

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This is his newest gross thing.  The thumb should not look like that.

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Try it.  I bet your thumb won’t tuck back behind your forefinger knuckle.  Or maybe that’s normal and I’m getting old and arthritic.

Aren’t you glad I shared those with you?

I’ve Learned Another Parenting Lesson the Hard Way

I’ve learned yet another parenting lesson the hard way.  Again.  I’m sharing so that you might learn from my mistakes and so that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to remember the lesson for the future.

The lesson is this:  It is always easier to teach your children a lesson when you are healthy than when you feel like crap.

I came home from Florida late Saturday to a house that was clean and to laundry which had all been cleaned, folded, and put away.  (No, really.  It happened.)  Ed the Awesome had been going like crazy all week long!  The house looked amazing, the boys were still healthy, happy, and clean, and he had worked a grueling week at the office.  I came home, unpacked, and relaxed some more.

Total bliss for me and even though I was able to take some of the load off Ed, he was still tired.  His body was worn down!  He went to bed early and woke up early on Monday to go to work.  He was home by 9:00 that morning and slept all day.  He took himself to the local emergency room Tuesday morning and I met him there.  Hours later and bags of IV fluids later, we were home and he was back in bed, feeling only slightly better.

I was exhausted by the end of the day and yet, the boys still had to have a parent available.  I sat on the couch nearly comatose from exhaustion with the television set to cartoons for the boys while they played on their computers.  Late in the evening, the boys announced that they were hungry which I should’ve expected since  they usually eat at that time of the day.  I did the lazy thing and told the boys to get themselves something to eat.  I taught them to use the microwave a few months back and Logan made good use of that skill, but Trip went searching through the refrigerator and found some fresh broccoli he wanted to eat along with some ranch dressing.  I told him to cut up the broccoli and he said, “How?”  It was a fair question since the boy has never cut up a vegetable.

I told him to grab a knife and told him where to cut the broccoli.  He picked out a butter knife and managed to not maim himself.  He ate every last bit of that broccoli and loved it!  If I had not been exhausted and on my way to also getting sick, I wouldn’t have dreamed of telling Trip to cut up his own broccoli.  But I was exhausted.  And the next day I alternated between freezing and burning up.

Now that I’m feeling better again, it’s time for each boy to have a lesson in cutting up their vegetable of choice while supervised so that when I do feel bad again, I can have them get their own dinner ready and not have to worry about them while they’re using a knife.

Babbling Babes

My little cherubs are 8 years old now, eight and a half if you ask them, but they used to be tiny and we had to learn on the job how to properly rear them.

Back when they were first learning how to talk, they parroted everything they heard, as most babies do.  Logan used to hold his arms up to me and say, “I want me to hold you.”

Totally melted my heart every time I heard it!

Trip would hold up his arms and say, “Hold you.”

My heart would melt with him too.

I played classical music in the car whenever they were with me because the prevailing internet opinion at the time was that classical music helped with brain development.  What’s the prevailing opinion now?  I have no idea.  I finally figured out what worked for us and I no longer bother with trying to find out what the internet says to do about raising them.

One day when they were about 18 months old, I had the boys in the car and I was driving them home from Ed’s office.  I had the classical music at a pleasing volume and the climate properly controlled.  I was in my baby-brain-growing, earth-Momma element.  I was reveling in my effective parenting.

Logan was babbling away.  Trip let out the occasional play-scream.

I realize slowly that there was a phrase coming out of Logan’s mouth.  I started listening more closely.

“Sonofabitch.  Sonofabitch.  Sonofabitch,” he said over and over.  It’s like he was trying the words on for size.

Realization of what he was saying dawned on me as I pulled into our driveway.  The thought that formed in my head was, Son of a bitch, where did he hear that?

Thoughts like that form so fast in your mind that the time it takes to actually to say those words stops them from being said (if you’re lucky).  I realized where my little cherub had heard that phrase.  He had heard it from me.  Parenting awesomeness, indeed.

You can’t explain to a toddler why he can’t say that.  I ignored what he was saying and tickled him as I took him into the house.  Redirection for that little cherub worked wonders.

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!!

My Boys. They’re Demons.

Last week we had tickets to go to the Rangers and Red Sox game.  It’s one of the games I absolutely insist upon every year.  Ed forgot when we had baseball tickets, so he ended up doing an all-day continuing education class less than a mile from the Ballpark at Arlington.  Because of that, I ended up with a long drive ahead of me with a couple of little munchkins in the backseat after working all day.

After driving for a full fifteen minutes, I was getting a little tired so I decided that I’d get the boys talking.  What better time and way to have a sweet evening with my little cherubs?  The sky was a beautiful shade of blue and the clouds looked like cotton candy in the sky.  To get a sweet conversation started, I asked the boys to tell me what the clouds looked like to them, if they saw any shapes in the sky.

Boy #2 started with his description first.  “I see an elephant.”

Aww!!  My sweet boy!!  He saw an elephant in the clouds!

He wasn’t finished.

“And the elephant has his trunk pointed at a hawk’s butt and the hawk is farting so the elephant can sniff up the fart!”

They both erupted in laughter.  My sweet parenting moment was ruined!

I groaned and they took my groan as an invitation to continue.

“There’s an alien’s head in the sky!”

“There’s a letter T and a bear.  It stands for teddy bear!”

“There’s a dinosaur on your side, Mommy.  It’s just opening it’s mouth.  No, he’s eating the crown of a king!”

“Three horses being shot at the same time by a number 3!”

“I see a Megalodon eating a queen conch!”

What’s a mother of boys to do?  I laughed with them.  It’s not like I was shocked by their imaginations.

Later during the drive, I asked them what they wanted to eat at the game.  Boy #1 spoke up first,  “I’m going to eat garlic flies and a hot cat and a hambooger!”

“That’s a lot of food, boy!” I said.

“Well Mom, I’m a hungry boy!” he replied.  Then he shrieked in disgust, “Eww, Mom!  He ate some of my hair!”

I should’ve expected this.  It’s not like I’ve never met my boys before.