Tag Archives for humor

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?

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.

A Visit to the Happiest Place on Earth

A few days ago we took SB and BG (Big Girl, SB’s sister) to Disneyland for the first time.  To fund this extravaganza, we robbed a few banks, took out a second mortgage on the house and blew it all on two days at the parks an overnight stay at the Disneyland Hotel.

But…it was SO worth it.  I don’t know how they do it, but it really is the Happiest Place on Earth.  Everyone who works there was friendly and enthusiastic, the place is spotless and seeing it again through SB’s eyes brought back all the fantastic memories I had there as a kid.  His mouth and eyes were wide open, and he was actually stunned into silence for a few rare minutes. And we did it all.  Junky candy?  Check.  Billions of dollars of toys that break in a day?  Done.  Hauling 40 pounds of exhausted toddler around for two days?  Ouch.

At one point, he was so amped up that Lightning McQueen almost hit him when they were rolling him down the street (I now have a different opinion of those kid leash things – I still couldn’t do it, but I get it).  Later that day Heidi Klum and her entourage cut in front of us in line for the weird burping Caterpillar ride, and then she patted SB on the head, so we certainly had the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Well, not the ugly, because Heidi Klum even managed to look gorgeous at Disneyland, while the rest of us moms looked pretty dorky in our comfortable (and therefore ugly) walking shoes, schlepping around kids, strollers that kids refused to sit in, and giant bags of Toys That Break Almost Immediately.

Of course all this excitement and stimulation lead to one Code Red Nuclear Meltdown after dinner.  We were dumb enough to take SB to the giant Disney Store and then had to tell him every five seconds that no, he couldn’t have that toy.  Or that toy.  Or not even that toy.  BB (my husband – Big Boy) and BG went back to the park to shut the place down, and I wound up dragging a hysterical, totally irrational SB back to our room.  Although he did stop to dance to a Salsa band for a few minutes, but then went straight back to terrorist mode when I explained that we couldn’t dance all night.

On the bright side, I wasn’t alone.  All around me were toddlers and moms doing the Code Red Nuclear Meltdown dance.  And this is where my brilliant idea was born – they need a Mom Bar at Downtown Disney.  Forget the sports bars and Rainforest stuff, just a giant room with a bar and a ton of Disney toys.  It would be PACKED.

Back in our room, SB literally ran in circles for about 15 minutes, and then he passed out.  Probably dreaming of Supermodels and cars.  It really is the Happiest Place on Earth.

Quality (Sick) Time Together

SB (Small Boy) and I have both been sick for the past few days, and Cabin Fever has officially set in.  It’s up for debate as to who’s whining more, although right now I think I’m winning.  I’m being more whiny than a two year old.  I’m very proud of myself.

To add to the fun of being housebound, it’s been about 1,000 degrees in Southern California for the past week or so.  I keep thinking he feels warm so I’ve taken SB’s temperature about a million times.  Nice work, Einstein – it’s 95 degrees outside.  Of course he feels warm. 

He’s also not eating, which for SB is pretty much unheard of.  So I went online to see what could be wrong.  I’ve narrowed it down to mouth ulcers, the flu, a sore throat, Dengue Fever or Ebola.  I’m not allowed on the internet anymore.

We’re also going for the world TV watching record and I think we’re strongly in the lead for the Gold Medal.  Yesterday, in a moment of desperation, I bought him a Smurfs video.  Then I wanted to stab myself in the eyes to make it stop.  I finally paused it when SB wasn’t looking and told him it was broken, and we went back to good old Curious George.  I still can’t understand why the Man in the Yellow Hat would trust a monkey to fix his plumbing, but then again I’m not feeling well either.  Whine, whine.

Today we’re going to venture out to the arts and crafts store so that we can make a colossal mess in the backyard with chalk and water.  And then I’ll count down the hours until BB (Big Boy – my husband) gets home.  Only 10 hours to go.  That’s a lot of chalk.  And TV.  But at least we’ll bring home the Gold Medal.

The Years of Living Dangerously

As anyone who has survived toddler-hood knows, a significant portion of  time is spent simply trying to keep your kids alive.  SB (Small Boy) has an astonishing gift for sniffing out dangerous things, and I spend most of my days running after him, begging him to be careful.  There could be a room full of fluffy, non-lethal things and he’d find the one teeny tiny thing that could kill him. 

For example, we were at the local aquarium last week for “Fish School” – a nice two hours spent doing arts and crafts, learning about the ocean and eating snacks.  There’s a tide pool area right near where the class is held, and during a break all the other kids were sitting on a rug doing quiet kid things, and SB was trying to climb into the tide pool.  So there you go.  My life in a nutshell.

When I try to explain to him that some things/activities are dangerous, such as jumping down the stairs; running amok in parking lots; chasing after strange dogs, etc., he wants to know why.  I try to explain that he could get hurt, and then he wants to know EXACTLY what would happen.  “Would I get smushed?  And be in bad shape?  Would I have red blood?  I want green blood.  Why can’t I have green blood?  Would I have to go to the hospital?  In an ambulance?  Would I get a band-aid?” (He LOVES band-aids).

Then I’m basically stuck.  He thinks ambulances are the greatest things in the world after garbage trucks, and a ride in one of them would be the thrill of his life.  So then I bring out the big guns.  I tell him he’d have to get a shot.  That usually puts an end to it, but I’m now realizing I’ve really screwed myself up.

Next month we have to go for his three-year check up.  I’m pretty sure this will involve shots, and it’s not going to be pretty.  Last time we were at the doctor’s office it took three people to hold him down so that they could simply check his ear tubes.  I think we’re going to need a few more people, a sound-proof room, and possibly some duct tape for shot time.

I hope they have VERY cool band-aids. 

The Road Trip From Hell

Used to be, in the good old days, that SB (small boy) would fall asleep about 15 minutes into a long car ride.  Then I was left in peace to listen to my music, glare at bad drivers, snack, and enjoy the peace and quiet until we got to where we were going.

Not any more. Here’s how the two-hour drive up to Los Angeles went with “the Boy Who NEVER Stopped Talking”:

Mama, is that the blimp?  Can we ride in it?  Why is it blue?  Does it go fast?  Wish I had a blimp. Can we get one?  Why not?  No it’s NOT too big to fit in our garage!! 

Mama, where’s the train?  Why is there a train track?  Is it Thomas?  Percy? Can it come with us?  Who’s in it? 

Mama, why is the dog asleep?  Can I wake her up?  I have my fingers in her ears!  No, I don’t want to leave the dog alone!  Why did she move so far away from me?  No I am NOT bugging her!

I’m hungry.  I’m thirsty.  I want a snack.  I dropped my snack and now the dog’s eating it.  No, I’m not tired.  I don’t want to sleep.  I don’t want my blanket!  Stop singing mama!  (I tried…)

Are all these people going to Grammy’s house?  Where are they going?  Where’s the blue car going?  The green car?  Why is that truck red?  What’s in it?  Is that a bridge?

At this point I figured I’d turn on the music and try to drown out the chatter.  Turns out the Boy Who Never Stopped Talking was also “the World’s Bossiest Backseat Driver”. 

MAMA THAT MUSIC IS MAKING TOO MUCH NOISE TURN IT OFF RIGHT NOW!!!

For someone who can’t pull up his underwear without it looking like a thong, he’s pretty bossy.  Plus it was my favorite Rolling Stones Rarities CD.  Who knew two year olds don’t like Keith Richards?  Go figure.

Then we hit traffic up by the airport.  Oh, yay.

Mama, go faster. Why not?  Will the policeman come and yell at you?  What’s the policemen’s name?  Why are there so many cars?  GO AWAY CARS!  Mama, I want to get out now.  Can I come sit up front?  I am too big enough.  Yes I am!

This was followed by about 20 minutes of kicking the seat.  But at that point I didn’t care anymore.  I was too busy banging my head into the steering wheel.

Mr. Friendly

I’m happy, of course, that SB (small boy) is a friendly, outgoing little guy, but sometimes it’s a lot like living with a game show host.  Whenever we go to the park he’ll walk up to a kid and say, “Hi, what’s your name?” and then show them whatever toy we brought along.  Nine times out of ten the other kid will take the toy, and off they’ll go – a new friend!

But if the other kid’s not interested, SB goes into crazy stalker mode.  He simply can’t fathom how anyone wouldn’t want to play with him, so he’ll follow the poor kid around the park thrusting his toy at him, saying, “see?  SEE?”  And if they still won’t play with him, he’ll say, “Mama, what’s wrong with him?”  Oof.  And then he’ll go off and stalk another unsuspecting kid, until he either finds one who will play with him or they run away – which he takes as an invitation to chase them.   

A couple of weeks ago the house down the street was getting new carpet installed.  Mr. Friendly stood by the front window as the workers passed and greeted every one who walked by.  So I figured this was a good time for the “We Don’t Talk To Strangers” speech, but every time I tried to make a point I was countered with the ever popular, “why?” 

So how do you explain to a kid who’s in love with the world that we don’t talk to strangers because not all of them are nice?  First I started with telling him that some people are naughty (one of our favorite themes these days), and tried to tell him in a non-terrifying way that some people do bad things.  “Like biting?” asked SB.  Yes, I told him, like biting, but worse.  “Kicking? Hitting? THROWING??”(a big no-no at our house) Oy.  This was going nowhere fast.  So, like any good parent would, I let it go, thinking we’d talk about it some other time.

Oh no.  SB, in his obsessive little way, brought it up all night long.  “Is mama bad?”  “No, mama’s not bad.”  “But remember the time you threw that toy, mama?”  Dammit – I forgot about his elephant-like memory.   We discussed whether or not his friends from day care were bad.  Anyone who ever kicked, hit or bit him was discussed in detail.  I tried to change the subject and turned on the TV to distract him.  Success!  Phew.  I did it. 

Wrong.  The next day we were at the grocery store and he pointed to the woman in front of us at the checkout line, and said, rather loudly, “IS SHE BAD???”  I shushed him, but to no avail.  “IS HE BAD???”  God.  Get me the hell out of here right now, please, I’ll never swear again, I’ll go to temple more than one hour every year, we’ll feed the poor, just get me out of here!!

Of course now everyone’s suspect – SB’s world is filled with people who could potentially bite, kick or hit us.  Ironically, he’s the one who usually lands in time out for being naughty, but that’s not discussed.  Smart kid.