Friday, December 23, 2011

they win

To steal from the latest Sherlock Holmes, I find children just as Sherlock finds horses, "Dangerous on both ends and crafty in the middle." There is something innately gross about children. There are, of course, the dirty appendages. Little M, dutifully removed his shoes at the door, yet his socks were so dirty they left squidgie marks on the carpet and floors. Then, there is the perpetual dampness from runny noses, tears from real injuries or perceived yet non-existant ills, blood and pus from said injuries as they are healing and picked at and healing again, drool, diapers, spit-up, snot... My modus operandi in life is to make an encounter successful for as many involved as possible. The kids will not stop picking their noses no matter how often I ask or bark or threaten. Neither party is successful in that case. Therefore, I think, why ask or bark or threaten? Rather, I offer what I find to be great opportunities. I said, just the other day to the kids, "You could pick your noses at night. Wait all day. I bet there would be big boogars at the end of the day and we could wash your hands in the morning and I wouldn't have to witness anything." Little M considered and said, "Well, I just harvest them in the morning." G said, "Oh, I eat them all day. When can we teach T-Bird to pick his nose?" They are gross. They win. Bleach and industrial hazard showers needed.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

new identity acquired

There are some phrases and actions that I know without a doubt come from outside my house rather than within my house. For example, Big M knows that I am right 99% of the time and I am also aware of my uncanny ability to be almost infallible. Therefore, the rhetorical question, "Am I right?" never surfaces in our house. I am right, usually. And, usually, everyone else is not.

So, the other day, we were stumped as to what the Big Hohoho would bring our little minions especially Little M. When asked, Little M sighed, "I don't see what he could possibly bring me." For reasons too large for this blog entry, I am interested in Little M arriving carefully at the truth; if you believe in Santa he will bring you a gift. If you don't, he won't.

We asked, "What do you mean? Santa can do some surprising things." He replied, "Well, he knows your rules too. No video games. Am I right? No lizards. Am I right? No snakes. Am I right? No fish or tarantulas or hissing cockroaches. Am I right?" His list continued and in 6 year-old parlance, he was indeed right. Very right. Learned-the-phrase-on-the-playground-right. "Not even in a glass tank!" right. According to Little M, "Santa's you know, a good guy, but I'm not so sure he can change your mind."

I am many identities. I am a mother, a writer, a wife, a sister.... but, this year I added a new identity. I am a 6-year-old's buzz kill. Am I right?

Saturday, December 10, 2011

G Update

I wish I could say that her outfits have toned down as she matures like Little M's did, but alas no. They seem to get even crazier as she ages than her preschool outfit pictured above. Before I forget, I must tell you that she says "gotten-for-ed" for forgotten. "Find" as the superlative of fine. For example, if she has a super fine day, when asked, she will reply, "My day was find!" instead of, "My day was great!" It is distinctly different than a "fine day." Little M is her preferred source of comfort as well as joy, even when he is the cause of her hurt. She builds room-sized obstacle courses for Thunder Baby referred to as, "otter dens." Through these dens, she lugs Thunder Baby who grins his thanks to be included with the big-kid activity. Muppets are "muffets." Stuffed animals and costumes are preferred over dolls and princess/fairy/ballerina outfits. She is more of a fish than Little M ever was at her age which says a lot. Her swim lessons are spent mostly under water with the instructor waiting and waiting for her to come up for air so that a 2-second instruction can be made, "Please swim on top of" swim, swim, swim, "the water." "Please" swim, swim, swim, swim, "do the backstroke," swim, "right now," swim, "try to touch, " swim, "the sky" swim, swim, "like this." As usual, we are all hoping she acquiesces. She certainly won't change her vocabulary or her dress for the rest of the world, why swim like the rest of us too?

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Why are you talking?

It doesn't matter if you know me well. It only matters if you are with me to witness my superhero power. My power is one which calls out to essential strangers to divulge to me what most would consider to be private or quite personal information. Those who have not witnessed this power of mine often credit it as a mistake on my part. They say that I am mislabeling the information as private or that my introspective and private nature finds a typical sharing of oneself to be shocking. Or, simply that people find I exude a comforting vibe and seek me out for solace. But then, they witness a virtual stranger's verbal belch and they are converted. They know my superhero power is real and that of confessor to the penitent stranger.
Take this past week. After Little M's swim team practice, we picked G and Thunder Baby up from the swimclub's day care. I had seen B only once as we are new to the swim team. She said, "Hello!" I gave her my card and name and B sent a message back to her co-workers that we were there for the littles. Then, B said, "What a stormy Thanksgiving that was." I said, "I know!" B said, "My Dad in Utah ended up in jail with what?! His 3rd DUI?! And I couldn't go out there for Thanksgiving. Instead I stayed here and couldn't even earn money as everyone who was covering my shifts wouldn't give them back. He is just, ugh, my Dad..." Another mother came up collected her children and yet another two mothers did as well. It takes a while to get Thunder Baby ready to leave day care and Little M and I wandered about a bit. Each mother collected their children with us essentially out of earshot and without much more than a pleasant smile and thank you and good bye from B. We approached B again and she continued with the story about her father, "....yah, you'd think he could keep it together for a visit from me that he had wanted for a whole year! I'm totally giving up on him..." To which I said, "Oh, that must not have felt very good. I hope you at least got a nice break and a few good naps in," and during which Thunder Baby arrived in my arms and Little M quietly said whilst peaking over the edge of the counter, an edge of disbelief in his voice,"Why are you talking to my mom?" Sigh, poor Little M. Tis my superhero power. It is real.

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