I just spent five minutes arguing with SB about why we can’t barbecue spaghetti. And to ensure how ridiculous we are, he was wearing my snorkeling mask during the debate…
So this morning at 4:30 SB (Small Boy) woke up crying hysterically and came into my room. Did I mention he was hysterical? Not the fake, “I want more Skittles because they’re really fruit” cry, this was the real thing. Red face, tears, boogers, shaking – heartbreaking stuff.
When I finally got him settled into my bed, I asked him what his bad dream was about. Ready?
He said, “I had a dream that you were deaded in a Haunted House”. I realized that 4:30 a.m. wasn’t the time for a grammar lesson, so I just asked him how that happened. He said I flew there and died.
Now I have a few problems with this…
One, can’t he just have the regular old “monster in the closet” type of nightmare? Why do I have to be the deaded one?
Two – I can’t fly. Period. Even at my lightest, pre-pregnancy weight, flying was never an option.
Three – We live in a pretty nice neighborhood. There’s one creepy guy in our cul-de-sac but as far as I know Haunted Houses are non-existent. Granted, I didn’t ask when I was buying the house, but one would assume this would come up during escrow.
Of course SB fell back to sleep once he realized I was ok and capable of trudging downstairs to bring him juice, but I was awake for the rest of the morning worrying about dying in a Haunted House. Clearly Disneyland’s out of the question for a while…
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…
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.
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.
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.