Saturday, March 31, 2012

On one hand...

Our family went out to Lowes today to get more garden, remodeling, and rocket ship building supplies.  Our cashier only had one arm.  My son has never seen someone missing a limb before (or at least not that he noticed), so he asked me why he had only one arm... this was how I chose to answer it (and then how I forgot he was listening to my answer...)

Me Why does your name tag say "Mixed Drink"? *noticing the drink chip in his tag*

Cashier Oh, a coworker just put that in there today, and I said "Whatever, I'll keep it there!"

Me Nice.  And, my son would like to know why you only have one arm.  (Don't you love my segue?) 

Cashier I was born this way.  Sometimes I say it was a shark attack, just to seem cool.

Me See, kiddo, he was born with one arm.  I guess you need two, but he only needs one.  

Son Oooooooooooh.  You can be born with one arm?

Me *to son* Yes.
       * to cashier*  Have you ever thought about telling people you were hiking and got it caught between two boulders, 127 hours style, and had to chew off your own arm?!  That would be seriously hardcore.

Son *horrified look on his face*

Cashier Oh yes, that movie was all about me.  *to my son*  I'm a movie star!

Son *still horrified and speechless*

Me I think he's still stuck on the chewing off your own arm bit.  I'm a horrible mother.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Identity crisis

I love my dentist and hygienist.  They really have the gift of gab, and they crack me up.  Sometimes, they don't even realize they are making a funny... I just go home and share their little nuggets of unintentional comedic brilliance with my husband who appreciates that I recognized those little gems for what they were worth.  My dentist loves The Big Bang Theory, and (after I dressed as Amy Farrah Fowler for Halloween, next to my husband, who dressed as Sheldon) calls me Amy.  Today, though, my hygienist chimes in... 

Hygienist You know who you remind me of?  Princess Kate.  You look like Princess Kate. 

Me Maybe Kate, Duchess of Chunky Bits!  The real Kate Middleton is teensie tiny, as in "girl needs to eat a sandwich".

Hygienist No!  You aren't chunky, and she looks healthy... it's her sister that's too skinny.

Me I'm pretty sure, if I stood next to Kate, I'd be one of Jared from Subway's "before" pictures.  That girl makes either of the Olsen twins look like they've let themselves go.  I can't compete with that.  But thank you, that was so nice of you to say.  Now I'm going to go home and put on my tiara.  When my husband gives me that funny look of his, I'll tell him that now I know I'm totally pulling it off!

Hygienist (referring back to The Big Bang Halloween Costumes) Does your husband really look like Sheldon?

Me You've seen him.  All I had to do was comb his spikey hair down flat, and buy him a superhero t-shirt to wear over a striped shirt.  Ta-da!  Dr. Sheldon Cooper!  He's a hardcore nerd.  Princess Kate over here loves her some geek.

Dentist He really didn't have a superhero t-shirt?  Wow.  That is really shocking.  Of all my patients...

Oh my girls at the dentist office!  They fixed (at least so far) my raging tooth ache, and managed to make a visit to the dentist (which I otherwise consider my own personal Hell) a fun day out with the girls.  Not too shabby!

Bonus kid-ism of the day:

My oldest was singing along to Amy Winehouse, "Valerie"

Won't you come on over
Stop makin' a fool out of me...
Why don't you come on over Celery?


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Good news, good shoes!

Before I write anything else... the baby does NOT need tubes in his ears!  Woot!  After 4 antibiotics, 2 steriods, and steaming his ears with onions, he was cleared by the ENT who originally told us he needed the tubes.  I'm so glad that I refused them, initially.  I asked for one last chance with steroids, and got to work finding homeopathic remedies.  Sometimes, Mother does know best. 

So, now that the kids have been healthy for a few weeks (thank GOODNESS!!!), I have been sick.  Hence, I haven't been feeling very inspired to write.  I've been more inspired to acquire throat lozenges and keep up with the cough medicine.  Spring fever... literally.

I did find something to cheer me up today...  purple converse shoes.  They were just too awesome to pass up.  Note to manufacturers... make it purple and I will buy it. 

I didn't just shoe shop today, I also set up my kid's teacher.  My oldest asked me what the biggest city in the world was.  Well, we were on the way to school, so I couldn't look it up.  I suggested he ask his teacher if she knew.  He said "What if she says she doesn't know."  I said "Then tell her, 'Then we should look it up!'  She would TOTALLY love to drop everything and look that up with you.  She'll be so happy that Mommy thought of that."  I have no idea what possessed me to disrupt her day with my relentlessly curious child, and his desire to acquire answers for future trivia games, but it felt good to pass the buck to someone else.

And, just for fun...

Kid-ism of the day:

4 year old 

Me "These chips?  I suppose we can get them this time."

4YO "Thank you!  I love Dingles!"

Me "You're welcome.  You mean Pringles?"

4YO "Dingles."

Me "Even better."

Saturday, March 10, 2012

The differences between the Tooth Fairy and the Dirty Towel Fairy

I'm going to go out on a limb here, and assume my husband isn't the only grown man to believe in the Wet Towel Fairy... or the Dirty Clothes Fairy or Dirty Dishes Fairy or Dirty Baby Diaper Fairy.  I know he must believe in them.  Why else would I find socks all over the house, wet towels on the floor, or dirty diapers sitting on the changing table long after the baby's been changed?  I thought it would be helpful for all the guys out there who believe in these, obviously stunningly beautiful, fairies to explain to them how these angelic beings work. 

The first thing you must understand is, these are not your child's Tooth Fairy who just flies in once in a while when a tooth should fall out and be placed, neatly, under the pillow... where it belongs.  These are hardworking, domestic goddesses, who (quite frankly), have better and more important things to do than go around collecting the items you leave in unpredictable places around the house.  The Tooth Fairy may leave a quarter behind, in exchange for the pearly white she swipes from under a sleeping child's pillow because she has some strange, and super creepy, castle made of children's teeth to maintain.  Really, you're helping her out, so she gives you a little something for the trouble of having a spot in your mouth that, temporarily, cannot do it's job of chewing your food.  It's like Tooth Unemployment Compensation.  A little something to hold you over until the new tooth grows in.  This is NOT how the Wet Towel Fairy, or any of the other "Picking your discarded shit up" fairies work.  If you want these unbelievably gorgeous and super intelligent fairies to follow you around, picking up after your adult self, you'll have to adhere to a reverse payment policy.  Since she is just relocating your junk to somewhere else it belongs in your own house, you are the one who should be leaving behind some crisp bills.... a $20 bill might be sufficient, but the price goes up as the places you hide your items get more incredulous, and the longer the dirty items sit in hard to find places collecting new levels of stink.  If you wish to keep your ethereal fairy happy and wish for your items to still be collected and turned in to their proper locations, you should remember to tip your fairy with jewelry, vacations, spa vouchers, and nice dinners with appropriately matched wines as often as possible.  (Please don't leave booze for the Tooth Fairy... it's well understood in the fairy world that she is a mean drunk... no one wants a mean drunk armed with extra teeth around their house.)

Of course, it might be easier to pick up after yourself, but the next time you toss your dirty socks on the ground, leave some cash.  Drop a towel?  Drop a Jackson with it.  If you don't have the money to do this, talk to the Tooth Fairy.  She might be able to work out a deal so that you can keep your far more beautiful, and non-drunk cleaning fairy.  You're very welcome for all of this advice.  I always love to help.

Friday, March 9, 2012

Hair today, still there tomorrow

I'm not ready to cut the baby's hair.  He has these golden curls that stick out kind of crazy, and it suits him, and I love it.  I snug into his hair, and the smell is Heaven, and the silky curls are too sweet.  I have tried to go get it cut, and I have talked about it (even with an actual hairstylist), but I get too anxious to follow through.  It's not perfectly even, it's Einstein-esque as it just sticks out wherever it wants to, and it's long.  It matches his quirky personality so well, but it leads to one big misunderstanding... everyone thinks he's a girl. 

I'm not at all exaggerating.  He has 2 blue coats, and I dress him almost never in a dress.  By almost never, of course, I mean always jeans or sweatpants and some type of macho shirt like baby dinosaurs or guitars or something that is most likely blue.  Not that I mind him not looking ultra-boy, but I find it's very hard to find great boys' clothes, so I enjoy the hunt.  I feel a sense of victory when I find the perfect choo-choo train shirt that isn't too hokey.  It's okay if you don't understand what I'm talking about, I'm picky beyond what most normal humans consider to be necessary.  Anyway, I go to great lengths to pick out cute, cool-dude clothes. 

Still, with everything around him screaming "I'm a boy!", nearly every single person who speaks to me or to him refers to him as a girl.  I even had a little boy say "Look, Mom!  He smiled at me!" and the mother corrected her son and said "Oh, that is a little girl!"  Yikes.  Mom-zero, son-winner winner chicken dinner.  Usually I just smile, then avoid pronouns.  Sometimes I just drop "he" "him" and "his" in, as if I didn't hear them and nothing is amiss.  Once in awhile, I give the "Oh I'm so sorry I'm about to tell you that you screwed up, and I know you'll feel a little embarrassed, and since your intentions were good I hate to do it... BUT..." look and say "Awe, well, actually, he's a boy.  I know, it's the hair.  I just can't cut it!", and then give the "I know, I'm a crazy lady." look. 

I just can't do it.  I can't cut his hair.  I haven't even cut my hair in a loooooong time.  I'm hoarding our hair, apparently.  It does cause me great anxiety to think about cutting it.  I never had that with my other son, but then again, he had very thick, fast growing, straight hair, so he looks GREAT with spiked hair... just like it was when he was born. 

For now, I think I'll just hang a sign on his stroller that says "I'm a boy."  Then I can give noogies to whomever calls him a girl.  It will be interesting to see how many people still do it!  I bet the answer will not be "zero".