Tag Archives: funny

Nov 20 2012

Lies My Mom Told Me

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My mom was one of the wisest people I have ever known. She often seemed to know the exact right thing to do or say to solve a problem. And she was generous with her time, attention, and advice. But some things she said still make me wonder if she was actually human very different from most other folks, or if her memories of events were a bit off. Take the following statements that she made:

1. Labor pain is no worse than your worst menstrual cramps

HA! Now, I did have some pretty fierce menstrual cramps in my teens and twenties that would render me non-functional for a day as I laid on the bed and cursed my gender. But even that pain didn’t have the gall to compare itself to my labor pain. At the height of my labor I could only breathe, stare at the wall, and silently cry. It truly sucked. (Full disclosure: all of my labors ended in c-sections).

2. Life starts at 40

I’m not sure. I think for my mom she felt invigorated at 40 because my sister and I were both in school and fairly autonomous. She finally caught a break from having to keep an eye on us at all times. Plus, this was an era where kids were not in the house (and underfoot) during the day. We were kicked out  invited to go outside to play after breakfast in the sweltering heat nature and told to come back in only for lunch (“if you need water use the hose”). After lunch we returned outdoors, only to come back in when the streetlights came on.

I don’t know what parents did during the intervening hours when we were all outside playing doctor entertaining one another, but back then it never occurred to me to wonder.

I had my last baby at 39, so I was still a bit crazed at 40. Now, at 43 I’ve found a better balance. My kids are old enough now to entertain themselves for periods of time, and they are more fun to be around. We can travel together as a family fairly easily (no more bottles, baby food, nursing, crib reservations, etc.). My youngest will go to school next year. And then I will learn what it is that parents do all day. I have feeling it is something like this: errands, cleaning, picking up, laundry, dishes, more errands, phone calls, emails, taking forgotten things to school, picking up a sick child, volunteering at the library, chaperoning field trips, doctor’s appointments, etc. So, not a huge change from what I do now. But I do feel like I’ve made it over the “crazy hump” of early motherhood/parenting infants and toddlers stage. And it. is. wonderful. (Evil confession: whenever I congratulate a new/prospective mother on her newborn/pregnancy I always have to suppress the urge to giggle).

3. Ok, I can’t confirm this claim either way, but my mom said that after she gave birth she wore her pre-pregnancy jeans back home from the hospital.

Really? REALLY???!!!! My oldest son will be 11 years old next week and I still can’t get back into my goddamn pre-pregnancy jeans. As I left the hospital after I had David I was wearing my husband’s sweatpants. He’s a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier than me. It took…..well, I still haven’t gotten back to my pre-pregnancy weight. But, aside from the fact that my stomach still looked like I was six months pregnant for the first several weeks after birth, I left the hospital wearing one of those nuclear-grade maxi-pads (how would you get jeans over that?). The giant maxi pad, incision pain, and the resulting c-section shuffle, made me walk like an elderly, bow-legged hobbit. I can’t even imagine having a zipper over the stitches.

4. Finally, my mom claims that I was an absolute angel as a child

Clearly, she lost her mind somewhere along the way. I wonder if I had anything to do with it? More importantly, does this claim invalidate all her previous claims?

 

Drop me a line with bizarre, odd, or otherwise seemingly outrageous claims that your mom made (or dad, grandparents, or other older relative).

Oct 16 2012

Dial F for Fail

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You know those days when everything just goes right? Like you’re driving around on a lazy Saturday on your way to the park with the kids and you pass a fair you didn’t know was going on. So you spontaneously decide to take the kids to the fair and everyone has a great time. Well, last Sunday wasn’t like that.

It began well enough, though. The kids and I had started out to take Kelly to a birthday party thrown by one of her classmates. The venue was at an indoor miniature golf place called Monster Golf. My plan was to deposit Kelly with the birthday kids and then play a round of mini-golf and some arcade games with the boys until the party was over.

That didn’t happen. Here’s what did: Kelly was scared (and legitimately so, I thought) of the creepy decor inside Monster Golf. So while she waited right outside the front door (“in the light, mom”) I quickly went in to find David, who I had left with a handful of quarters just minutes before and who was happily involved in an arcade game. He. was. not. pleased. when I said that we had to leave.

As we were driving away I proposed an alternate plan. There is an outdoor place that has miniature golf, bumper boats, and go carts near our house. I suggested that we go there to play for a couple of hours and then go home. The kids were satisfied with this plan so off we went. When we got there (at 4:30 pm) I saw the sign that said it was open on Sundays from 11am to 7pm (Score!). Right next to another sign that said “Park Closed. Private Event.” (Damn!)

That was a bit more disappointment than my son could handle. He does not normally react well to sudden changes in plans, and two changes in one afternoon was just too much. He went off on a rant.

OH GREAT! First, we skipped the haunted train ride last night (true, we did), then we skipped the corn maze this morning (it was raining), and THEN you made us skip MONSTER GOLF! I bet next you’ll skip my birthday party for a HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT (seriously??), and then we’ll skip the Halloween party (not likely since we are hosting), and I wouldn’t even be surprised if we skipped CHRISTMAS (what!!!????).

It was all I could do to keep a straight face. He was really angry and I respected and acknowledged that, but this rant was one of the funnier ones I’ve ever heard from him.

Anyway, I decided to try one last time to do something fun. So I proposed that we go to a place called the Cake Bar. We had never been there before and I had been meaning to try it. I warned them that it might not be open this late on a Sunday, but I was willing to take a chance. They all agreed that they were willing to chance it as well. David even offered that it would most likely be open because “The third time’s the charm.”

Turns out, not so much. It was closed. So we skipped it. Yay, me.

 

Oct 1 2012

Positive Parenting or What’s Wrong with Your Face?

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Since I’m running tight on time today, I thought I’d share a piece I wrote a few months back.  Was having to try really hard to keep a positive attitude and smile on my face this weekend and it made me think of this.  Enjoy!

As a mom, I realize that I spend a lot of the day trying not to feel how I’m feeling.  My kids will behave better if I set a positive example.  That’s positive parenting, right?  After all, the mom sets the tone for the family.  “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” is how the old saying goes.  So, I try to start each day on the sunny side.

My eight-year-old (Nic) tells me to go away when I try to wake him.  My seven-year-old (Aaron) wakes up but runs downstairs, buries his head in the sofa cushions and tells me to leave him alone.  Oh, they’re still tired.  They’re just a little cranky.  Everything will be better once they have breakfast. Positive thinking!

Over breakfast, the complaining begins.  “My bagel is too dark.”  “I don’t like when there are bubbles in my milk.”  “Seriously, we only have cinnamon Pop-Tarts?”  By the end of breakfast, I have a chewed a large gaping hole into the side of my mouth which has begun to swell because I was trying not to raise my voice while maintaining a smile and “positive” attitude. 

The food needs to get to their brains, I remind myself.  So I send them to their rooms to dress for the day and the fighting begins.  Aaron won’t get out of Nic’s room.  Nic uses Aaron’s toothbrush.  “Please go to your own rooms to get dressed, “ I direct remembering to use my manners just like I would ask them to. 

Now, Aaron informs me that he cannot wear the shirt he insisted I buy him last week, because this week the character on it is no longer cool.  When I explain to him that he has to wear it because I don’t have another clean shirt for him to wear today, he asks “so, what do you do all day anyway?’  Before I can open my mouth to ask him if he would like to start doing the laundry, I am interrupted by Nic who is running around the house yelling “Your mother eats gym shorts!” at the top of his lungs while laughing hysterically.  Of course, he is completely naked while he does this and seems to have forgotten that the step after taking off his pajamas off is putting on his day clothes.  I still haven’t had any coffee, or breakfast or a good night’s sleep.  But, yelling at them might make it hard for them to concentrate at school today (or at least that’s what the teachers want you to believe because, they, of course, don’t ever yell at their own kids or yours for that matter).  So, I clench my teeth together, biting my lip in the process, and take a deep breath.

When I  pick Aaron up from school, if I haven’t forgotten to bring a snack, I am quickly informed that  the snack I did bring wasn’t what he was hoping for.  When I ask him how his day was, our conversation goes something like this:

“Well, I kind of got in a fight with Thomas and now we aren’t friends anymore.”

“What were you fighting about?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Well, just try.  Maybe I can help you.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“Well, this is a kid thing, not an adult thing.  You wouldn’t understand because you are too old. What is it, like 50 something years since you were a kid? “

“Well, it hasn’t been that long.  Besides, I remember what it was like to be a kid.  Maybe we can find a solution together.”  (Did you see that?  I’m being positive, helpful, I am a good example.)

“Never mind.  Besides, Thomas and I made up already and I’m fine.”

“But, just told me you that you and Thomas had a fight and aren’t friends anymore.”

“See, I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

I start to debate the issue but instead bang my head against the steering wheel, because it is easier than having this conversation again.

When Aaron’s brother gets home, he and Aaron pick up right were they left off this morning fighting over everything and nothing.  When I get sick of their tattling and arguing, I try to offer a positive solution.  I don’t yell.  Instead, I suggest that they take a break and go play separately in their rooms for a while.  Nic looks at Aaron and tells him, “She never wants us to have any fun.  She always complains that we don’t do anything together and then all she does is send us to our rooms.”  I try to keep my eyes from popping out of my head but I realize they are quite large from the pressure building up in my head.

My husband comes home and asks, “What’s wrong with your face?”

“What kind of questions is that,” I ask, my nose getting out of joint.  I head to the bathroom to look at my face.  My cheek is puffy. My lip is split. My forehead is lined with steering wheel marks.  My eyes are blood-shot and my nose is turning to the left.

“Oh, that” I say to my husband.  “That’s just me staying positive.”

Aug 21 2012

Sing a Little Song for Me

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When I was a kid, my mom used to go around the house sinEdith Bunker (portrayed by Jean Stapleton)ging all of the time.  I thought it annoyed my siblings and me because she sounded like Edith Bunker and usually sang songs like “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life at Last I Found You” or “Ave Maria“.  Since I’ve become a mom, though, I’ve realized that it’s just that kids hate to hear their parents sing – especially their moms.

Oh, sure, when they were infants and toddlers my boys loved to hear me sing.  But they loved to hear me talk, too.  It didn’t matter what I did as long as words were coming out of my mouth and I was paying attention to them.  Even now, I get the occasional request for me to sing to them at bedtime.  I am not silly enough to believe that it is about my singing or because they love the songs I have made up especially for them. No, I recognize that these are just attempts to eek out a few more minutes of staying awake, a few more minutes of mom’s attention that their brother or dad is not getting.

Other than those occasions, my boys would prefer if I kept my singing to myself.  In the car, if I sing along to whatever we are listening to, I usually get “Mom, could you please stop singing.  I mean, we’re not trying to insult you or anything, but we think the song sounds better without you.”   I totally get it.  I’m not likely to be on American Idol or The Voice anytime soon.  I’m sure the song does sound better without me.

But, I also get why my mom used to sing so much.  It was to keep her sanity.  She had five kids running around the house.  Sure, we were outside for most of the day, but there were plenty of hours that we were in the house.  If I think two kids can create a lot of noise and aggravation, I can hardly imagine what all five of us seemed like to her. 

So, she sang.  And, now, I sing.  Sometimes, I sing to block them out.  Sometimes, I sing so I can relax.  It’s my way of taking a deep breath before I explode – or, if it works, instead of exploding.

When the boys groan, I tell them that they have a choice.  I can yell at them or I can sing. Singing makes mommy happy, I remind them.  Yelling makes mommy angry.  The choice is theirs.  Luckily, I have pretty smart boys and they usually chose the singing.  Sometimes, they will actually join me. 

Instead, of trying to belt out the latest Katy Perry song, though, I stick with little ditties froOswald and Friendsm their early childhood.  Little ditties that I have, well, modified a bit.  “Have You Ever Seen A Lassy” has morphed into “Have You Ever Seen A Mommy (Go Crazy)”.  A little tune from a favorite Oswald episode, The Leaky Faucet, has become “Oh Children of Mine”.  By now, my kids have heard these so often that when I start signing them they either join in, with hopes of winning my favor or they get very quiet. 

“I think we better knock it off.  She’s starting to sing that “Oh, Children…” thing.” Aaron will whisper to Nic.  “And, you know what that means.”

“Yeah,” Nic whispers back. “We’re in trouble.”

So, if you are sick of counting to five or yelling your empty threats, sing a little tune.  If you’re lucky, it might send your kids running and make you feel a little better at the same time.

Do have a little ditty you would like to share?  Send us an e-mail at 2moms@imperfectmommy.com or leave a comment.  You just might be featured in an Imperfect Mommy song collection!

(I apologize for the poor quality of the .wav files, both for the singing and the static.  Like with most things, I have no idea what I am doing and this was the best it got. :) )
Aug 7 2012

I Wonder if There is a Support Group for This?

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My husband, Mark Captain America, has a serious man-crush on Batman. I mean a serious crush. I submit the following interactions as evidence:

Exhibit A:

Mark to me: Do you want to go see the new Batman movie (The Dark Knight Rises) this weekend?

Me: Uh-uh. Not at the theater. It’s not babysitter-worthy.

Mark:  I’m afraid this marriage isn’t going to work. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.

Me: What about your psychiatrist?

 

Exhibit B:

(Note: I am shopping for clothes on-line for the kids)

Me to Mark: Mark, which of these superhero shirts do you think Barefoot Boy would like? Check out this one.

Mark (not looking): Does it have Batman?

Me: Yes

Mark: He would like that one.

Me: What about the next one?

Mark: Does it have Batman?

Me: No.

Mark: Then no, he wouldn’t like it.

Me: I think I see the pattern now.

 

Exhibit C:

David to Mark: Dad, who would win in a fight, Thor or Iron Man?   

Mark: Batman.

David: But Batman isn’t in the fight.

Mark: It doesn’t matter. Batman always wins.

 

It’s a good thing Batman isn’t real  …

 

Aug 6 2012

Sun, Sun Go Away. Come Back…in September

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When I was a girl, I loved to play outside.  I would be hunting for little critters in the swamp down the street or playing in the woods for hours.  Of course, my love of the outdoors was greatly fostered by my mom’s “Get out of the house and don’t come in until…” style of parenting.  “Kids need to be outside.  It is good for them,” she would say. But, I didn’t need too much of a push.  Being outside with the sun on my skin, hearing the birds, catching a butterfly…what could better on a summer day!  (Besides, rainy days meant Mom would “find something for us to do” that usually involved a broom and a dust cloth.)

These days, though, things have really changed.  I spend most of the summer praying that it will rain.  I still love to be outside.  I could keep myself busy all day working in the garden (if I actually had one), going for walks, looking for turtles at the local conservation area.   The problem is my kids.

As a mom, I feel it is my job to get the kids outside.  Sunshine is good for kids.  They need to run around and play, get exercise.  And, if I don’t get them outside, I feel guilty.  It has been engrained in me.  Kids need to go outside.

Everyday, I try to get my kids to go outside with me.  “Come on, guys, let’s go outside and play ball.”  “Hey, I set the sprinkler up!”  “I think I hear the ice cream truck…”

The response is always the same.  “Do we have to?”  “I hate going outside.”  “It’s too hot.”  “There are bugs out there.  And I HATE bugs.”

“But, it’s fun to play outside,” I plead.  “There are so many cool things outside.”

“Oh, no,” Aaron says to Nic, “You know what that means.”

“Is she going to make us look for the bunny again?  We never find the bunny.  All we ever find is its poop!”  says Nic with a roaring laugh.

“Or, worse, she’ll make us look for bugs,” Aaron replies.  “We have got to have the only mom who likes bugs.  It’s embarrassing.”

“Yea, I know,” says Nic still laughing too hard to say anything else.

“Um, guys, I’m standing right here.” I say.  “We need to go outside.  It’s good for you.”

“Dad never goes outside.  And, he’s okay.” the boys agree with each other.

“Well, that’s debatable.  But whether or not Dad goes outside, you still need to.  Kids need to go out and get some exercise.”

“We can exercise in the house.  See,”  says Nic touching his toes, while Aaron joins in doing jumping jacks just to make sure I get the point.

“Fine, but you still need to go outside so you can get enough vitamin D. You know, your body can’t make vitamin D without exposure to the sun and vitamin D is important.”

“Why?” asks Aaron.

“Why, what?” I ask in reply.

“Why is vitamin D important?”

“I don’t know, it just is.  It’s got something to do with your skin.”

“But the sun is bad for your skin.  It gives you cancer.” Aaron states flatly. “They always tell you to make sure we wear sunscreen when you take us to the doctor.”

“Yes, but..”

“Mom, wants us to get cancer!” Nic shouts in alarm.

“No, no!  I want you to get vitamin D.”

“But we get that when we drink milk.” says Nic.  “It says so on the container and in the book about milk I got from the library.”

“He’s right, you know.” Aaron states with authority.  “We already get vitamin D from milk.”

“Can we watch TV.” asks Nic, hopefully.  “Fetch! is coming on.  They talk about science,” he adds for good measure.

“Fine!’ I answer. “But, just Fetch!”

The boys happily settle onto their prefered couches.  I wish it would rain.  Then, I wouldn’t feel so guilty that they aren’t outside playing instead of inside watching TV.  At least, they are watching Fetch!.  It’s about science, you know.

 

Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman is a kids program aired on PBS.  It does indeed teach kids about science through a fun gameshow format.  Unfortunately, Fetch!  has been discontinued, but my kids still watch the reruns everyday.  Especially if it is sunny out.
Jul 27 2012

Family Lame Night

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When I was a kid, my family would gather around our kitchen table after dinner playing PoKeNo, Michigan Rummy, Yahtzee or any number of other board or card games.  I remember how much fun it was to be trash-talking with my sisters and brother about how we were going to crush each other or giggling together about all of us ganging up to beat our dad. Those family game nights are among my fondest memories of my childhood.  I was looking forward to continuing the traditon with our kids.  They had other plans.

When the boys reached about 6 or 7 years-old, I thought it was a good time to start family game night.  They had received several board games at Christmas.  A cold, winter evening seemed a perfect time to start a new family tradition.

“Hey, guys,” I said excitedly, “guess what we are going to do tonight?”

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized the two mistakes I had already made.  First, unless I am on fire, I should never speak excitedly to Nic and Aaron.  To them, anything that makes mom excited either means work or that it must be boring.  Second, I should never have asked them to guess what we were going to do.  By the time they got done going through their list, which included going to the circus, getting a puppy, and having a party with lots of cake, playing a board game seemed uneventful. 

“No, ” I said when they finally stopped making guesses. “We are going to have our first family game night!  Doesn’t that sound like fun?  You both got so many cool games at Christmas, Dad and I thought it would be fun to start playing them.  Together.  As a family.”

Nic and Aaron looked at me blankly.  Ron, my husband, was trying hard not give me the “I told you so” stare.

“You want us to play games with you?” asked Aaron.

“Well, yea.  We will all play.”

“Do we get to eat popcorn or have soda while we play?” asked Nic.

“Nooooo,” their dad piped in.  “We are not going to get the games all sticky and dirty.”

“I don’t think we want to do play,” Aaron said, speaking matter-of-factly for himself and his brother.  “Thanks anyway, mom.”

“I wasn’t asking, Aaron.  We are going to have a family game night.  So, you and Nic go each pick a game and let’s get started.”

“If you insist,” Aaron came back. “But I’m warning you, it’s gonna be boring.”

“Yea, boring!” said Nic.

“It will only be boring if you pick the wrong games,” Ron added.  “Come on, guys, this will be fun.”  Everything in Ron’s face made it clear to me that this was already torture, but I appreciated his trying to rally the troops.

The boys picked the games Zingo and Trouble.  Good, we were getting somewhere.  We agreed to let Aaron be the first caller in Zingo.  Everyone was participating and we were having fun,  this is just what I had envisioned.  It wasn’t long, though, until Nic lost his focus and was missing the game pieces on his Zingo board when they were called.  Instead, he was giggling hysterically over the word combinations of the Zingo pieces.  Aaron added to the giggles by calling the pieces quicker and quicker:  DeerFoot, CatFish, DogApple.  “Is that like a RoadApple?  Is that a DogPoop?”

Soon, the boys were laughing so hard that neither of them could even play the game.  Pieces were falling on the floor.  Game boards were being bumped.  My husband was getting annoyed.  I wanted the kids to have fun, but I wanted them to have fun playing the game.

We decided to wrap-up the Zingo game and give Trouble a try.  After several tries at the popper and still not getting any pieces on the board, Nic started to complain.  “This game is so stupid,” he grumbled. “I’m never going to win.”

“Well, there’s more to playing a game than winning,” I said.

“Yea, there’s losing,” added Aaron.  “Like you’re losing.”

“You’re stupid,” responded Nic.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said.  “Let’s get back to the game.”

“Do we haaaaaaaaaaave tooooooooo?” they boys whined in unison.

“Listen to your mother,” said my husband, popping the die and getting another piece on the board.

“He just wants to play because he is winning,” muttered Aaron. 

“You got that right,” added Nic.

Now, Ron and I were determined that we were going to finish the game.  As the boys grew increasing distracted, we grew increasingly annoyed.  Nic laid himself across the table.  The effort of playing the game apparently was exhausting.  Aaron huffed and sighed and kept whispering, “I knew this was going to be boring.”

Finally, Ron placed his last piece safely at home.  He smiled triumphantly.  At least someone was having fun.

“Thank God, that’s over!’ exclaimed Aaron.

“I thought I was going to die, it was so boring.” Nic said dramatically falling off his chair.

“Didn’t you have fun with family game night?” I asked.

“You mean family “LAME” night?” said Aaron,

“Yea,” giggled Nic, “Family lame night! Get it! Family lame night!”

Now, they were both laughing their heads off repeating “family lame night” over and over again.

“See,” I said to my husband.  “I knew they would have fun.”

Jul 11 2012

Kids are Like a Box of Chocolates

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I have often refered to my boys as my box of chocolates.  (Believe me, the comparisons to Forrest Gump don’t stop there, but that is for another day.)From the beginning, I was never sure what I was going to get.  I did know before they were born that they would be boys.  What kind of boys they would be, what they would look like,  how they would impact my life – those were all mysteries that I was yet to discover .  Even with all that I know about them now, I still am discovering who they are and who they will be.

When Nic was little, he was fastidious.  He was compelled to put things away before he took out anything else.  If I left something out, he would bring it to me to make sure I put it in its proper place.  

Nothing in the world fascinated Nic more than words and numbers.   He was so happy with his books, foam letters and numbers that few other toys were necessary.  Wow, I thought.  I hit the jackpot - a studious, quiet child that cleans up after himself.  What more could more could I ask for?

Fast forward nine years.  Nic is a slob.  Wherever Nic has eaten, enough food is left behind to make another meal.  We continually argue over putting away things that he has used, because “That’s soooooooooooooooooo much worrrrrrrk!” 

Though, Nic is a proficient reader, reading several levels above his grade, he couldn’t be less interested.  Let him browse a cookbook or flip through Garfield cartoons, and he’ll go along.  Ask him to read a chapter book and it’s, “But that’s soooooooooooo boriiiiiiingggggg!”

When Aaron was a baby, he had colic.  For three months straight, he would fuss all day.  In the evenings, he would start screaming at 7:00 and go straight through to 11:00.  The poor little thing didn’t smile until he was six months-old and a doctor finally realized he had acid reflux.

Unlike his big brother Nic,  Aaron had no use for books.  He would throw them across the room, stack them like blocks, or use them to scoot around on the floor.  His favorite thing to do was chew on them.  “Aaron, books are for reading, not for eating, ” I would coo as he smiled up at me, sinking his gums into another page.

He differed from his brother, too, in that he never put anything away.  Aaron would toss toys all over the place while looking for what he wanted.  When he found it, he would walk over the trail of toys, oblivious to the crunch beneath his feet.  Nic would fret, following after him, “Put way, Aaron!”

Today, Aaron smiles more than anyone I know. So much of the world strikes him as funny.  He also reads like he is afraid that books with disappear.  We are frequent visitors to the library and the bookstore.

Where Nic has become a slob, Aaron has become tidy…to the point of being annoying.  I spend a lot of time looking for items that I planned to use, only to discover the Aaron has put them “away” for me.

“Aaron, please don’t keep putting Mom’s things away,”  I say, trying not to sound annoyed.

“But, you left it where it didn’t belong.”

“I hadn’t even used it yet.”

“Then, why did you take it out already.  You know, it’s a good thing you have me around or this place would really be a mess,” Aaron beams with pride.

Yes, my boys have surprised me.  They are not the boys I was so sure they would be.  They are better because they are themselves.   Still, my husband and I like to muse over what they will be like someday.  Will they be Felix and Oscar of the Odd Couple – one fastidious and one a slob?  Maybe, they will be Niles and Frasier Crane of Fraiser – intelligent, fussy and interested in all kinds of things no one else cares about?  Or, perhaps, like Robert and Ray Barone of Everybody Loves Raymond - in constant competition and never able to get enough of their mom’s attention?

Over summer vacation, I have come to think of them as the battling Cain and Able.  When the kids are unhappy with us for laying down the law, my husband suspects they might be more like Lyle and Erik (Menendez, that is).  I tell him not worry.  We’ll never have that much money.

Jul 2 2012

Hey, That’s Not Fair!

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“That’s not fair!”

I think kids come pre-programmed with those words in their mouths.  Shortly after Aaron started talking (his first word was “No!”), his favorite phrase right after “mo mook” became “No faya”.

I’m not even sure where he learned the phrase.  What baffled me more, though, was what could possibly be “no faya” in the life of a toddler?   When I think of the things that he would shout “no faya” to, I would have to heartily disagree.  For example:

  • Taking a nap - With his very best pout and crossed arms, Aaron would shout “No faya” as I lowered him into the crib.  What was really “no faya” was that Mommy, who only got three hours of sleep last night, would not be taking a nap.  Instead, while Aaron was “napping”, Mommy would be doing laundry and dishes and attempting to clean the house while playing with Nic who had decided at the age of two that naps were not for him anymore.
  • Being served a meal - No matter what I put in front of Aaron, it was “no faya”, even if he liked it.  I’m not sure whether he was objecting to the food or having to sit in the booster seat.  I think the whole idea of having to stop for food was simply “no faya” to him.  I, on the other hand, would have given anything to be shown to a seat three times a day to have a meal served to me (that I didn’t have to make) and know I didn’t have to clean-up afterwards.
  • Getting washed and dressed - Every time I had to change Aaron’s diaper, wash him or dress him, it was a major struggle.  I had no idea that a small child could move in so many directions at one time!  Nic had always enjoyed these interactions and usually sang or read while we did them.  Not , Aaron.  As we wrestled through each change, he would look at me saying “No faya. Let go.”  Here, Aaron was on his third clean up of the day.  I still hadn’t showered or dressed yet and I couldn’t remember exactly when the last time was that I did either.  No, Aaron, what was “no faya’ was that the diaper pail was starting to smell better than your mother.

As Aaron has gotten older, he has outgrown many things but “No faya” isn’t one of them.  Sure, he now says “No fair!”, but the frequency with which he utters these words is no less.  Making things worse is that his brother, Nic, now enjoys the phrase as well.  It seems that life is very unfair in our house for more than just a few reasons.  Apparently, it is unfair that:

  • you are not allowed to have an ICEE for breakfast.  After all, an ICEE is fruit flavored.  Since, I am always telling them that they need to eat their fruit, ICEEs should be allowed for breakfast.
  • you have to clean-up after yourself.  Nic has decided that since I have told him he needs to keep himself busy, that I should have to clean-up whatever he plays with.  Afterall, he didn’t want to play – I made him do it.
  • you can’t yell at the top of your lungs all day and expect Mom (or Dad) not to get pretty annoyed. “You know, it’s not fair,” says Aaron, “that you can tell us to stop yelling by yelling at us.  You’re not setting a very good example” What is not fair is that you didn’t stop yelling the three times that I asked you nicely and that I can’t slap you on the head for what you just said to me.
  • you have to go to school.  Aaron tells me regularly that is not fair that he has to go to school all day and I don’t.  Though, I have explained to him that I did go to school and I do not spend my days watching TV and eating candy, I apparently don’t understand how tough it is to be a second grader.  With math and reading and all, the days can be really long.  Nic’s personal beef with school is that he has to get up so early.  The fact that I am standing there helping him get dressed, making his breakfast and packing his lunch don’t matter because I didn’t get up to go to school.

I’m actually kind of glad my kids recognize the concept of life being unfair.  I think it means I have prepared them well for what’s ahead.  If they think it’s not fair now, just wait.

Jun 29 2012

I Lie To My Children All the Time

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I am a liar.  I admit it.  I lie to my children all the time.  I don’t feel guilty about it. Alright, maybe a little because I feel guilty about everything, but I do it anyway.  I do it even though they know I’m lying.  Does that make me a compulsive liar?

I bet you’re a liar too.  Most moms are.  We don’t mean to be but it starts without us even knowing.  It starts with a simple, “Just a minute.”  We know full well it will be more than a minute but, heck ,toddlers can’t tell time.  So, we continue.  “In a second.” ”I’ll be there in a moment.” “Give me 5 minutes.”  “I’m almost done.”  “I’ll be with you in a little while.”  (I almost forgot that one, but Nic just came in and asked when I would get him breakfast.  A little while, heh heh.)

You know what I’m talking about.  I’m sure you have your own – the ways in which moms stretch time to get one more thing done, one more sip of coffee, two more minutes of sleep.  How bad can it be?  It doesn’t really hurt anyone, right?  The problem is that our toddlers grow up.  They go to school.  And, they learn to tell time.

“Hey, mom.”

“I’ll be with you in a minute, Aaron.”

“That’s what you told me 5 minutes ago.  I know how to read a clock, you know.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“At school and from that book you got from the library.”

“Ok, well, no more school or library.  Now, give me 5 more minutes.”

“Alright, but this time, I’m setting a timer.”

You would think it would stop there.  I’ve been caught.  But, I can’t stop.  Once you have a taste of it, you can’t give it up.  And, its not just about time anymore.

“No, we can’t go to Pump It Up.  They don’t have any open play times.” Even though, I have 3 messages from Pump It Up in my e-mail contradicting that very statement.

“Oh, honey, it’s beautiful.  I’ll treasure it always.”  Yea, it’s so beautiful I can’t even tell what it is and I plan to bury in the junk draw with the 25 other beautiful things you made for me this week.

“That was awesome!”  I have no idea what you just told me and I thought it was completely boring, but sounds like you think it was awesome so that is what I will say.

“You don’t want ice cream from the ice cream truck.  He only has the rejected ones.  That’s why he has to sell them from a truck.  Come in the house, I’ll give you a good one from the store.”  Okay, this one I feel a little bad about.  The ice cream truck is fun!  But there is no way I’m paying his prices when I have perfectly good ice cream in the house.

“Mommy, is so sad you are starting school next week.  I’ll miss having you with me all the time.”  Don’t even tell me you haven’t told this one.  Sure I love them, but they’re with me ALL THE TIME.

I could keep going.  I’ve gotten really good at lying.  When you have kids, it can make things a lot easier.  You try to explain to a 5-year-old why he can’t ”color”  his hair with the permanent marker even though he has seen you ”color” your hair.  When that 5 hours of your life is over, remember this for next time:  “Mommy’s hair color is made for hair.  Permanent markers will make your hair fall out. Permanently.”

Now, I have to go check on Aaron.  He said he would be put away the DS in a minute.  That was 5 minutes ago.