Tag Archives for kids

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…

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.

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 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. 

 

The Pool

Ok, I’ll be honest.  As much as I love taking SB (Small Boy) to the pool, it scares the @#*@&^ out of me every time we go.  I don’t know if it’s from my days as a lifeguard when I was (much, much) younger, or our pediatrician reciting drowning statistics every summer, but I turn into a hyper vigilant weirdo every time we’re near water with SB.  It’s like Baywatch, but instead of gorgeous people running in slow motion, there’s a lumpy mom floating around the pool with a death grip on her son.

I live for the day he actually learns how to swim – not that I’d let down my guard, but at least I wouldn’t be holding my breath, taut with nerves and anxiety every time we go near a pool, drive by a pool, talk about football pools, etc. 

And the worst part is that SB’s FEARLESS.  The first time we took him to the beach, he ran towards the water and would have been out to Catalina if we hadn’t stopped him.  He has developed a bit of a thing about getting his face wet, so at least I can use that to my advantage now.  Sneaky and underhanded, yes, but it puts a damper on his wild flailing when we’re in the pool, and I can actually breathe a little.

Today we drove to our pool (actually about a three-minute walk, but with noodles, squirty toys, floating grasshoppers, etc., we have enough stuff to invade a small country) and had the whole place to ourselves most of the time we were there.  I like that because it’s easier to tow SB around the pool without having to dodge big kids doing big kid things in the water.  The game we enjoyed (?) today was SB flinging himself at me from the side of the pool.  Fun the first few times, but after the 300th fling my enthusiasm started to wane.  It would be a great workout though; I could stand in the pool and have someone throw a 40-pound ball at me over and over…

On the bright side, the pool knocks him out so I’m guaranteed a long nap anytime we go.  Maybe the fear factor’s worth it after all?  As long as I don’t dream about water, I guess we’re ok.

Potty Training…In the Trenches

I’m not going to mince words – Potty Training is Hell.  Forget about war and bedtime, hell is a stubborn two year old learning to use the potty.

We’re at day five of “Operation Do or Die Potty Training”.  Days one and two were really, really great – we’d plop him on his super cool Disney themed potty, he’d do his business, we’d pull up his Disney themed big boy underwear, and give him a Disney themed sticker.  Clearly no potty training would ever get done without the Disney Empire.

 Day Three – SB (small boy) pooped on the potty!  Dancing, lots of high fives, applause, singing and celebration ensued!  A new remote controlled jeep was purchased and SB was thrilled with himself.  So what if he insists on taking off ALL of his clothes to use the potty?  Whatever works.  Piece of cake, I thought – we’ll be done in a week.

Day Four – SB pooped AND peed in his DTBBU (Disney themed big boy underwear) because he didn’t want to stop playing with his damned remote controlled jeep and take a potty break.  I was whining about this to a friend and she pointed out that no one really wants to stop having fun for a potty break.  Point taken.  And not to be too graphic, but cleaning up little boy underwear is not high on my list of fun things to do.  Let’s just say that underwear Buzz and Woody were not amused.

Day Five – today – SB went off to school with five extra pairs of DTBBU’s, and three pairs of spare shorts.  So far I haven’t gotten any phone calls, but it’s only 11:00.  The teacher seemed on the ball and listened politely to my rambling on how to do this (apparently SB’s not the first kid in day care to go through this…), so I’m keeping everything crossed that all goes well.  I did go and buy ten more pairs of underwear just in case.

And just to add to the fun, we now have a little Disney themed potty in the middle of our living room.  Our new decorating style is Early American Outhouse.  Classy. 

And I won’t even get started on the laundry. 

How long does this take?  Weeks?  Months?  Will he be applying for his Driver’s License in diapers?  Aside from crate training and hot dog treats as one of my snarky dog trainer friends suggested, any tips from potty training survivors out there?