Since we have a rat in a bathrobe, why not add Darth Tater to the mix? I give up.
Since we have a rat in a bathrobe, why not add Darth Tater to the mix? I give up.
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”?
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.
In his eagerness to get to my slow, cranky, 18 year old cat who was sleeping by my head, SB (Small Boy) crawled over me and smacked his knee into my eye. You know that moment when you think, “Oh SH*T, this is going to be bad”? Well, it was.
I’ve had a black eye for over a week now, and the reactions from people have been interesting, to say the least. People either think that I’ve been beaten (the cashier at the grocery store called me “honey bunny”), or they have their own SB horror stories to share.
One person told me her son got upset, threw a cup and broke her nose, and others have had collisions similar to mine (but to our credit, none involving a cat), and all kinds of random mishaps that have resulted in parents being left bloody, bruised and battered.
As a result, I’ve determined that children are dangerous and one should either wear some sort of helmet or hockey mask whenever they’re around. Maybe one of those shark proof suits made out of chain metal, too.
So now I’m conducting a poll – share your stories with me. Oddly, most of the parent bruises/breaks were caused by boys…anyone have dangerous girls out there?
In the meantime, I’m just wearing sunglasses. I tried applying cover-up with a trowel but that looked even worse. Maybe I’ll start a fund for beaten parents. Any donors?
While we were driving home from school this afternoon, SB (Small Boy) said, “Mama, I’m depending on you to take care of me FOREVER.”
Somehow I managed to not laugh out loud or total the car, and I told him that I would always take care of him. I’m relieved that my job duties have been clarified since I pretty much figured that once he could put his underwear on the right way and feed himself that I could set him free…
SB (Small Boy) and I were lucky enough to do a little skinny dipping under the Blue Moon tonight. To make the moment more memorable, I taught him the “Star Light, Star Bright” poem. When it got to the wishing part, I quietly did the “I wish you a long and happy life, full of joy and wonder blah blah blah” parent speech and had one of those sweet, magical moments that we mamas are suckers for.
While I was basking in the moonlight with my naked little guy, SB said, “I wish I had a bucket on my head.”.
But really, who doesn’t wish for that from time to time?
I find myself getting in trouble a lot these days, and the worst part is that it’s for stuff that I’ve told SB (small boy) NOT to do. Some of my infractions during the past few weeks have included:
Walking with a toothbrush in my mouth
Saying “stupid” (a big no-no when you’re in Pre-K)
Not turning off the bathroom light
Recycling improperly (I love that they’re learning this, but really?)
Crossing the driveway without looking both ways (I got in big, big trouble for this one)
To make it even more annoying, SB stands with his hand on his hip when he’s informing me of my misdeeds. Then, of course, I realize that’s exactly what I do when he’s in trouble.
It’s no big secret that living with a little kid is like living with a parrot – he repeats EVERYTHING I say, but not only that, he reminds me when I forget something.
That’s especially endearing after a long day. “Mama, you said today that I could have jelly beans if I put my shoes on by myself AND YOU FORGOT!!!” Naturally I’m reminded of this during our nightly bedtime battle. Because everyone knows that the best way to get your kids to go to bed is to load them up with little bombs of sugar first.
And sometimes he catches me doing something naughty, like sneaking chocolate covered raisins after he’s gone to bed and I’ve finally collapsed on the couch. Then the little Narc says something like, “if you give me a few I’ll go back to my bed and stay there ALL NIGHT”. Isn’t that considered extortion?
So now I lie. Boldly and flagrantly, I flat out lie to him. If he asks me what I’m snacking on I say, “oh, broccoli and eggs”. Since really, there’s nothing more relaxing than laying on the couch, turning on the TV and eating broccoli. Who needs wine? Besides, he’d probably use it against me someday.
Small Boy and I had a five minute debate tonight about why he can’t poop in the bushes like the dog does. He even said I could pick it up with a bag (he’s thoughtful like that).
I’m proud to say I stood my ground, even when he said, “LISTEN MISTER, I’ll poop outside just like Trixie (our dog, not a stripper) does!”
Mister? Really? Not sure which is weirder, the whole pooping alfresco thing or SB calling me Mister. We’ll ignore the dog’s secret pole dancer name for now.
So SB (Small Boy) just said, “Mama, I love you more than anything in the whole world”, and in the next breath he said, “and you can sleep with Piglet because you’re a mama pig”. Hmmph.