Wait, WHAT???

The Small Man in Training came downstairs in his underwear tonight and asked if he could pour olive oil in them to see if they’d slide off.  Although I admit I was secretly intrigued by how this experiment would have played out, I reluctantly said no.

On the bright side, if there’s a science project coming up in second grade, we’re all set…



Ouch, x 900

By now I think it’s safe to say that we have enough Legos to start building our own theme park -roughly 900 at last count. All packaged in small boxes of 72 pieces, with incomprehensible instructions. What they should really say is. “The person with the largest and clumsiest fingers MUST assemble the most animals/windmills/spaceships, without blurting out profanity laced tirades in front of your child”.

To ensure a good time is had by all, wait until said child has a fit when someone’s teeny tiny head falls under the couch for the 37th time, calm him down, pull a few Legos out of the dogs mouth and then perform a lively interpretive dance when you step on all 900 pieces trying to tidy up.

Makes me long for the good old days of crayon wall art.

Did I Really Say This, Continued…

Every night, SB (Small Boy) and I have a lively debate about getting into the tub and what time he goes to sleep. I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones who do this…

This evening’s argument included me yelling this gem: “If you want to get in my bed tonight, you need to take off your underwear RIGHT NOW!!”

Stay classy.

I’m Deaded…

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…

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?