These Words Just Came Out of My Mouth…And I Can’t Get Them Back, EVER.

It’s bath time, and SB lives for his bath.  So tonight he came running downstairs naked, hit me with his weenie and said, “you’re it!”  When I was done trying not to laugh and scream at the same time,  I said, “we NEVER, EVER play tag with our weenies, it’s not appropriate, yap yap yap!!!!”

To which he said, “Are the Police going to come and get me now?”

Sigh.  I guess if he were 20 years older they would…

Sometimes I Love You Really Means I Love You

I was taking a shower earlier this evening and SB went running by the bathroom door and yelled, “I love you mama!”  For those of you who’ve read my earlier post about this matter, you’d be (as I was) waiting for the scary music to start.  I decided to speed up my shower (California is in a drought, after all), and see just what happened to induce that sudden outburst of affection.

And you know what?  It was nothing.  House is intact, the pets are alive and nothing caught fire.

So for today, instead of reading bad news and gloom and doom, I’m just going to revel in the fact that a cute, blonde haired kid in his underwear and a batman cape loves me.  And that I love him to infinity and beyond.

Attacked by an Evil Tater…

Even from afar, it appears that SB and his toys can still be dangerous.   He’s at his papa’s this weekend, so in between lying on the couch in full slug mode, I tidy up the house so that I can at least pretend I was marginally productive.  This usually means putting thousands of tiny little pieces of Legos (why, WHY?) in their boxes, doing 20 or 30 loads of laundry, etc.  

Yesterday I was putting away all the parts to Darth Tater (again, why???) and somehow stepped on the little light saber and cut my foot.  Blood and everything, and it was a good thing SB wasn’t here because I didn’t even know I could swear like that.

The irony of all this is I had just finished talking to SB about not playing with “fighting toys”, and survived the cod red nuclear meltdown after confiscating his Ninja Turtles until he’s older.

Then I was brutally attacked by a potato’s light sword.  

Conspiracy?  Hmm.

The True Meanings of “I Love You”

I’m beginning to realize that when SB (small boy) randomly comes up and tells me he loves me, that somewhere in the house something’s gone terribly wrong. I used to get all gushy and buy into his little charade, but now my Spidey Senses kick in and I go into super detective mode.

Things that I’ve discovered “I love you” can mean in the past week or so:

He’s closed the box the cats been playing in and trapped him “so that they can play forever”.
Hot Wheels look great piled up in the toilet.
He’s painted the dog again. Purple and blue like Sulley from Monsters inc.
Since the car was so close, he painted some dots on it to match the dog.
Something broke but he didn’t do it, Woody or Buzz did.
It’s fun to paint the wall with Chapstick!
Or the bathroom mirror with sparkly blue toothpaste!

And if he adds a kiss to the “I love you”, it’s most likely that I should gather up him and the pets, alert the neighbors and evacuate the area.

This is What it Sounds Like…When Pets Die (My Apologies to Prince…)

About two months ago, I had to put both of our 18 year old cats to sleep within a two week period.  Needless to say, there was not a lot of Amused Mama or SB (Small Boy) for several days.  Along with my sadness at saying good-bye to my old buddies, I had to answer SB’s questions.  And guess what?  There were a million questions.  Zillions, actually.

In preparation for SB’s concerns, my remarkably kind Vet and I came up with a game plan.  I’m not a religious person, nor do I believe in heaven or hell, but for SB’s sake we invented Kitty Heaven.  (I was also hoping to avoid a philosophical discussion about euthanasia with a four year old, but that’s just me).

So here’s how the conversation went (for clarification, this was not how the conversation was SUPPOSED to go, but I should get a few points for trying…):

 Me:  “Hey SB, I have some sad news for you (this is when I picked him up after school), George died today”.

 SB: “Why?”

 Me: “Well, he was very old and sick and that’s what happens.  It’s ok to be sad – ask me any questions you want (Here’s where the warning bells should have started going off – Danger, Dumb Idea)”

 SB:  “Where is he?”

Me (feeling proud of my prepared answer): “He’s in Kitty Heaven.  It’s a great place blah blah catnip blah mice to chase blah scratching posts everywhere, lots of shrimp, etc.”

 SB:  “How did he get there?” (Big, Big Warning Bells now – careful, Mama)

Here’s where I got into trouble.  I couldn’t say he “floated” away, because I know my SB – he’d spend days scanning the skies for floating cats.  So I brilliantly said:

 “I don’t know, he’s just up there now”.

 SB: “Did you drive him there?”

 REALLY?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? This was NOWHERE in the prepared script!

 Me (trying to recover but clearly disaster is now waiting in the wings): “No sweetie, he just got to kitty heaven and he’s there now having fun – Hey, want to watch Toy Story?”  (The distraction method – never fails – crisis averted).

 SB:  “Hey! Yeah!”

 Me: (in my head) – Brilliant! Well done!  Time for wine!

 Fast Forward to Bedtime – usually a hellish nightmare with exceptionally intricate stalling maneuvers on a good day…

 Me: “Ok, what books should we read tonight?”

 SB:  “Why did George die?  Am I going to die too?”


After endless reassurances that neither I, nor SB, or Grandma, Grandpa, Papa, his sister, the dog, his teachers, friends, the nice check out lady at Ralph’s, our gardener, everyone we’ve ever met, etc. weren’t going to die for a LONG LONG LONG LONG LONG time, I was able to get SB to sleep. 

 There were some lingering questions in the following days, some which I answered well and some terribly, but overall I was feeling pretty good about how I handled the Death Stuff.

Then, ten days later, Kitty number two had to go to Kitty Heaven.  Bracing for the worst, I told SB that Calvin died and was up in Kitty Heaven with George.  This time, I had little stuffed animal cats that looked like our kitties for him to cuddle with.  It actually helped him, but every time I saw the little stuffed cats I started blubbering.  And then, to comfort me, SB said, “Don’t cry Mama, you’ll be dead someday and you’ll get to see the kitties again.”

 Luckily our dog is still fairly young.  I’m going to need a lot of time to recover from this.

 No one said being a parent would be easy, but no one warned me about this stuff either.  And he’s only four.  How did you handle the loss of pets, people, etc?  Any good tips or horrible warnings out there?  

“R” is for What???

Every day when I pick up SB (small boy) from Pre-K, I walk down the hallway whimpering quietly to myself, praying that when I open the classroom door his teacher won’t look at me and shake her head, or worse yet,  make some sort of sympathetic expression.  It’s always a gamble.

Recent incidents have included a bout of biting (I thought we were done with the cannibal phase), a testosterone filled moment where he hit another kid; and my favorite “ouch report” of all time, “SB fell in the playground and hit a dinosaur, resulting in a bloody nose”. That was, pathetically enough, a proud moment in parenting for me.  Much better than the usual, “SB was picking his nose too much and made it bleed”…

So today when I went to pick him up, she was laughing. I wondered if I should turn around and run back out to the car, or be brave and walk into the room.  I chose the brave route but only because a classroom full of toddlers was blocking the hallway.

Her source of amusement today was during circle time.  Apparently they were going around the classroom and she was asking the kids what word started with a certain letter (A is for apple, P is for pony, etc.).  She got to SB and said, “what word starts with R?”, and he replied, “raw dog food”.  

Granted, I do feed our dog raw food, but really?  He couldn’t come up with “rabbit”?  

Happy Fourth Birthday, SB!!

 Ok, seriously – where the hell does time go?

I can’t get my mind around the fact that you’re four years old.  It seems like only yesterday that you decided to show up two weeks early (I had a scheduled C-Section), and I showed up at the hospital completely unprepared, with my overnight bag containing (seriously) a hairbrush and a book (for all the leisurely reading I planned on doing).  I remember being so tired that I fell asleep in the car at the grocery store and woke up with drool all over the window; and being totally annoyed with SB’s papa that he couldn’t grow boobs and help out at night.  Those sweet, quiet days when you were a baby and splashed around in your little blue tub seem so far away now…

 You’ve taught me a lot in the past four years:

 Always greet each day with unabashed enthusiasm.

Never, ever leave a naked boy alone with a black marking pen

Jumping on the bed is “totally cool” and should be done as much as possible.

Flinging yourself off the bed is even more fun.

You can get away with a lot of naughty stuff if you shower me with hugs and kisses.

When you tell me you love me “to infinity and beyond” I secretly turn to mush, every time.

You can never have too many Hot Wheels.

Or Buzz and Woody toys.

Or toys in general.

You’re dangerous and I’m keeping track so that I can lord it over you when you’re older – one cracked rib when I was pregnant, a black eye, countless bruises, and a fat lip.

If I eat a car I’ll die.

Skittles should be incorporated into every meal, and I’m mean since I don’t do that.

I will never have privacy in the bathroom ever again.

But you will.

Nothing is funnier that burping and tooting.

Pink is ONLY for girls.

I’m a big girl so I can have pink.

Never give up a chance to sleep in mama’s bed.  You might get to touch a cat.

Cats are sharp.

Always stop to put worms back in the grass.

We can’t have a pet elephant because he’ll gush the dog.

But a pet alligator’s ok.

Always run, and if you can get away with it, scream while you’re running.

Underwear and a silk scarf make a fantastic super hero costume. 

“NO and NEVER” should always be tried first if you don’t want to do something.

Incessant whining causes mama to get crabby very quickly.  Revert to “please, I love you mama” immediately.

Too much TV makes you dumb (my brainwashing worked!)

Hide and seek never gets old.

 You can’t ride the dog.  EVER.

I love you SB, thanks for making every day another new adventure.  You are my stars and my moon and the whole sky.