I have no words, nothing funny or insightful to say, except the obvious. Hold your loved ones extra tight, let love guide your actions, and do something, anything – to work towards gun reform so that these kids and brave grown-ups have not died for nothing. Pray for healing, pray for anything, but also pray for action in Washington.
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The Ho Ho Holidays – Oy Vey!
We celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas at our house. Although it results in more food and potential weight gain for everyone, the technicalities are tricky, especially with a SB (Small Boy).
Of course, the true spirit of the season – Compassion, Love, Peace on earth, and all that important stuff – flies right out the window when a three year old is barraged with presents, the promise of more presents, candy and sparkly lights. I walk around and take notes 24/7 in order to keep up with SB’s materialistic demands. He marches through toy stores like a greedy dictator surveying his riches. Hands on hips, he points and says, “mama, I want that _____ (insert obnoxious toy name here) for Christmas/Hanukkah”. And I, as his humble servant, scurry along taking notes and nodding in agreement. Anything to avoid the wrath of the Dictator-tot.
Every Jewish kid (and grown-up) knows that as far as the Sexy Glam factor goes, Hanukkah’s a tough sell compared to Christmas. I can’t even imagine how annoying it was for my parents to endure my incessant whining every year – why can’t we have a tree, where are our lights, where’s Santa Claus, waah waah waah, it went on and on.
As a result, I’ve been trying to jazz Hanukkah up for SB, but I don’t think I’m winning the battle. He wouldn’t touch the Latkes (which worked out well for me…), but on the bright side he did an excellent job of chomping down the little chocolate coins during the Dreidel game. Luckily I was able to peel the gold off the chocolate before the chomping began in earnest. He also did a fine job of decorating his own little Menorah, but that’s about as exciting as it got. And there’s no way to explain Hanukkah to him at this age – “there was a fight and the bad guys took away the lights? WHY? Was it Evil Emperor Zurg?” Oy vey.
So now we’re on to Christmas. Our house is very confusing – Hanukkah lights on the upstairs balcony, Christmas lights downstairs, Menorahs, a tree, yikes! Even I don’t know what’s going on anymore. Santa Claus might just skip our house thinking that we’re completely insane. But as long as there’s candy, I think we’ll get through it.
The Tumultuous Threes? The Tempestuous Threes? The Traumatic Threes? Oh, hell.
After SB (small boy) turned three, I thought the worst was over. Everyone talked about the Terrible Twos, and we survived – relatively intact except for a few nervous tics and a constant state of exhaustion. All done, onward and upward, right?
Except life, as we all know it, is cruel at times. SB’s only been three for a couple of weeks, so it’s early days, but WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???
Where’d my sweet, affectionate boy go? SB used to be a world champion snuggler. Now? “DON’T touch me”. Huh? Are girls already gross? But I’m the mama! He has years to go before he finds me loathsome…right?
And the temper management issues? (Formerly known as tantrums but I’m sick of that word) It used to be, in the good old days of two weeks ago, that we pretty much knew what would set him off. The dreaded hair washing nights, turning off the TV before Curious George was over, the horror of a lost toy, stuff like that. Now it’s like living with a teenage girl – the drama, screaming, crying – and he’s only three. And a boy.
No one’s safe from the wrath of SB. Our sweet dog, who’s loved him since I was pregnant, has now wisely found a good spot under the kitchen table where the drama king can’t reach him. Our poor cats haven’t come out of hiding since 2011, and when I do see them they look at me with utter disdain, “Oh, you brought that loud thing home AGAIN?”
One of my friends on Facebook just posted that she enjoys her dog’s company more than her 15 year-old son sometimes. When I was done laughing, I realized that I have 12 more years to go before SB becomes someone who I might prefer my dog over. Then I realized that it’s already happening.
So help me out here…does it get better? Worse? Am I going to have to join the Witness Protection Program when he turns four? Fill me in please!!!
The Big Birthday Bash
Yesterday was SB’s birthday party – the big Three. We went with the Toy Story theme this year – cake, decorations, balloons, and thank God they had a Buzz Lightyear tablecloth or I don’t know what I would have done.
I’m not sure what we were thinking, but the night before we went into a frenzy of cleaning and tidying. So the house was spotless – and then the party began. We would have been better off just running through the house randomly throwing toys and food for an hour, since that’s clearly the décor that three year olds prefer.
Needless to say, SB was out of his mind the day of the big soiree. “Is it my party yet NOW? NOW? NOW???” After the millionth time he asked, we were finally finished with breakfast. Poor guy – every time anyone walked by our house he yelled, “come in friend!!!” Never mind that it was the woman next door walking her dog, the gardener, etc.
The rest was standard kid birthday party stuff – some laughing and some crying, total mayhem, fighting over toys, pizza flung through the house with great enthusiasm (thanks, SB), the dog barking every ten seconds, singing, and then we devoured huge hunks of cake.
Then everyone left and we were left with the aftermath. Once again I wished we had installed a cement floor with a drain instead of going with wood, since the only way we’re going to be able to get everything clean is to pressure wash the living room.
And can you believe this? None of the kids complemented me on the stupid tablecloth. Next year we’re having the party somewhere else. Someplace with a floor drain.
Happy Birthday, SB!
To my gorgeous little guy who’s turning three tomorrow – Happy, Happy Birthday!! I love you more than anything in the universe, and consider you the biggest blessing in my world. I’m so grateful that you’re my kid, even when you’re barfing all over the car or engaging me in 20 minute conversations about why poop is brown.
You’re wildly funny, sweet, so happy (except when you’re not – then no one is), curious and silly, and I hope you keep those qualities forever.
And now for the Hokey Mom Alert…
I wish you a world free of hate, religious persecution, crazy terrorists, people who don’t believe in global warming, and mean spirited thinkers. I hope that intolerance is a foreign concept and compassion and love are the norm.
I wish you a life full of joy, learning, laughter, moments of utter bliss and total abandon, freedom to do/say/think what you want, and a clean, peaceful world.
I hope you laugh lots, have mountains of empathy for others, and I hope that you’re nice to girls and women your whole life. Be happy, be free, and hug everyone you love whenever you can. Be nice to animals and rescue lots of them. Dance a lot, even if you look as dumb as I do when you’re flailing around.
But stop talking about poop. Really.
Xoxo
Your Amused Mama
The Most Disgusting Family in the World
SB (Small Boy) had a lively and exhilarating adventure with the stomach flu last Sunday. He was a little lethargic, whinier than his usual self, and as I was backing in to the garage, he introduced me to the exciting world of projectile vomiting in the car.
I wish I could say that my motherly instincts kicked in right away and that I went into full nurturing mode – I really do. But my first thought as he was spewing like a geyser into the backseat was, “oh my GOD, my favorite shoes are back there!!” Bad, bad, mama. But on the bright side, it did make me move even faster to get him out of there.
And then he broke my shoe obsessed heart. I got him into the backyard, literally soaked all the way down to his shoes, and he started screaming and looked so horribly sad that I immediately forgot about my shoes and went into mama mode. I cleaned Mr. Barfy up, calmed him down, and made him a nice little nest on our couch, which coincidentally is barf colored, as much as BB (Big Boy – my husband) would disagree. And he passed out for four hours. I guess a lively bout of throwing up and screaming at the top of your lungs will do that.
And here’s where the fun really began. The clean up. FEMA could have been called out to this mess, that’s how bad it was. Even the dog avoided me, and you all know what dogs like to get into…
All I can say is thank GOD for leather seats. I can also proudly say that I took the car seat apart, washed and dried the whole thing, and then had BB put it back together because I couldn’t remember what the hell I did to take it apart in the first place. I never did get my Engineering degree from MIT so I was out of luck with this one.
Since SB is a kind and generous little guy, he was thoughtful enough to share his stomach flu with both of us. Let’s just say I lost four pounds in two days, which normally would be cause for wild celebration – but this way? Never. Luckily SB was well enough to go to day care so BB and I could stay home and die in peace for two days, thus earning us the title of the Most Disgusting Family in the World. Aside from thanking God for leather seats, I was also extremely grateful for three bathrooms, so we could at least keep the romance alive and be revolting in private.
But on the bright side, my shoes are fine.
Now it’s time to share your horror stories – where was the grossest place your kids got sick? Did you catch it too? Remember, misery LOVES company!
What’s In My Car?!?!
Since I’m heading back to work tomorrow after a year-long hiatus, I decided to clean out my car today in the hopes that someone might mistake me for an organized grown-up. Here’s what I unearthed during my excavation:
SB (Small Boy’s) stuff:
About 30 pounds of yogurt puffs/pretzels/cheddar bunnies, all ground into a fine powder and festively strewn around the backseat of the car.
11 toy cars
6 half empty bottles of water
5 diapers that might have fit him six months ago
4 pairs of underwear (SB’s, not mine)
7 socks that haven’t fit SB in over a year
3 half eaten bags of Goldfish
One thrashed first aid kit
4 bowls
1 sippy cup lid
3 blankets
4 shirts, of which three are too small for SB
2 pairs of pants – see above
3 packets of dried out wipes
The Dog’s Stuff:
A blanket
Beefy treats
One leash
One squeaky lobster
A portable water bowl
My Stuff:
One flip flop
A box of mints
Apparently we were prepared to live in the car for a while if we had to. SB would have been fine, the dog would have survived, and I would have been hopping around on one foot. At least my breath would have been minty fresh…
Back to the Grown Up World…
Next week I’m going back to work full time and joining the land of the grown-ups once again. Gone will be the days of gluing googly eyes to everything (one would assume…), and I’m feeling so many different emotions about it. Of course I feel beyond lucky that I was able be home with SB (Small Boy) for a year; but I also feel grief stricken that it’s going to end in five days. I keep telling myself that he needs to start pre-school and it would just be creepy if he stayed home with me until he was 18, but I’m going to miss him terribly. Most of the time.
By the way I’m carrying on you’d think he was going off to boarding school for the next 12 months. Today at his “Fish School” class at the local aquarium I was thinking, “this is the last time we’ll see the baby sharks and rays”, like we’d never go anywhere again. It feels like we’re breaking up and I should write some bad melodramatic poetry about crying black tears or something.
It’s been a year of wildly funny moments, shockingly embarrassing ones, times when I really, really understood why wine is referred to as “mommy juice”, and the always prevalent fantasy of running away to a tropical island where no one would yell, “mama, I have to go pee-pee, please hold my weenie!”
Before I had SB I used to wonder why people insisted that motherhood is the hardest full time job of all. My former job was non-stop stress – always on call, insane deadlines, maniacal holiday seasons, and I’d think, “What the hell could be so hard? You’re home all day, doing fun things, and then they nap”. My God, I can be an idiot…
The thing is, you’re ALWAYS on. You don’t get a lunch break, and when they’re napping you’re too wiped out to do anything you want to get done. I had a list of things to do while I “wasn’t working” that sounded something like this: lose 20 pounds by working out while SB was napping, refinish the wood on the stairs, plant a vegetable garden and repaint the living room. What got done? One wall was painted and I gained ten pounds.
So back to work – I’ll finally get to relax now. Maybe someone will let me cut their lunch up and glue googly eyes to something to ease the pain of our break-up?
Strange Things I’ve Said…Continued
SB (small boy) will be three next month, and I thought that by now maybe I’d stop saying really weird things, especially in public. Nope.
A sampling of the last few days:
“Stop licking that pole!!!” (Repeated three times at increasingly high volumes before SB got the point).
“Take your pirate hat off the dog. No, she doesn’t need boots either…”
“Let go of your Woody and please get in the car” (Sheriff Woody, to clarify…)
“Take your toy pliers away from your weenie” (cringe worthy, even for us weenie-less folks)
“No, we can’t go trick or treating right now (8:30 a.m. in early October)
“Sorry, but you can’t wear you Mickey Mouse ears to bed/school/in the tub.”
“Don’t worry, the spooky alien guy can’t get in the house” (our neighbors go all out for Halloween and SB’s very concerned about this one)
One weird conversation that I brought upon myself that won’t end – I stupidly made up a little story when SB was younger and told him our dog was able to flap her ears really hard and make herself fly when she was a puppy. No, I don’t know why the hell I did that. I’m blaming it on exhaustion, my go-to excuse for any dumb decisions I’ve made since SB was born. He was mildly interested when he was younger, but now he’s obsessed. I’ve been digging myself out of this one for weeks – “No, not all dogs fly. Our dog did when she was little but just for a teeny tiny bit. No, you can’t fly. Stop pulling your ears. No, mama can’t fly either, OUCH LET GO OF MY EARS!”
So there you have it. I’ve hidden the pliers, Halloween will be over soon so the Pirate hat will get “lost”, and we’ll just avoid poles for the rest of our lives. Easy.
Now it’s your turn to pipe in. What’s the weirdest thing(s) you’ve said to your kids? Don’t be shy. We have a flying dog.
Mr. Bossy Pants
I’m finding myself having a hard time taking orders from someone who stands 40” tall and wears baggy Spiderman underwear. It’s especially hard to take orders from Mr. Spiderman pants when he pulls them up by himself (because HE CAN DO IT STOP HELPING ME MAMA), and he looks like he’s wearing a superhero thong.
I’m also trying to figure out who stole my sweet, chubby cheeked baby and replaced him with this tyrannical boy who barks out orders like some crazed Dictator. I picture him in one of those weird jackets with epaulets, and a strange hat, standing behind a podium and slamming his fist down over and over: “I WANT CHEDDAR BUNNIES NOW!!”, the crazed Dictator would say. “NOW MAMA NOW!!” And if I didn’t move fast enough, the serious men with moustaches would haul me away to a terrible chamber without snacks (or without a bar, if the Dictator was feeling especially evil that day). Then Mr. Superhero Thong would smile cruelly to himself, and strut off in search of another hapless person to yell at until he got his snack.
BB (Big Boy, my husband) and I spend astonishing amounts of time telling SB (small boy) to say, “please, thank you, excuse me”, etc., and about 75% of the time SB will remember, and the rest of the time we simply try to keep the Dictator happy. Here’s how it sounds:
SB: “I want juice”
Me: “what do we say?”
SB: I WANT JUICE!!!!!! MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA JUICE NOW!!!”
BB: How do you ask?
SB: please…(in a little tiny voice to ensure we know he doesn’t want to say it)
And he doesn’t stop with us – he’s now trying to boss the dog around. “STOP BARKING!!!” “COME LICK MY FACE” “EAT THE REST OF MY CHICKEN” (this one she’s happy to help with). On the bright side, SB’s sister won’t put up with it – she’s a seasoned 10 year old and doesn’t scare easily, thong underwear or not.
From what I hear, it’s just a phase and you have to pick your battles, blah blah blah. I guess it has to be or he’d be a very lonely grown man – or maybe there’s a small country out there looking for a boss? They’d better have lots of snacks and fast service.
Amused Mama 