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A Baby No More… Now a King of Random Facts.

Over the course of the past year or so, I’ve watched my baby boy evolve into a young man. Every now and then he’ll say or do something that is far beyond his five years. The last two weeks in particular have been full of these verbal gems. So, of course, I must share.

When my sister was in town visiting two weekends ago, Tank and I went out for a date night. He and I had been looking for an excuse to go to Ichiban’s Japanese Steakhouse for the overpriced “tepanyaki showcase of culinary skills!” At least, that’s what the commercial touted. Besides, what five year old boy can resist the alluring temptation of actually lighting food on fire and then flipping knives and hot spatula’s in the air? And what mother can resist the lure of actually getting to eat a warm meal because said five year old is completely entertained? It’s a win/win for everyone.

I was delighted when we were seated at a table with a family who had twins the same age as Tank. The look of relief on the mom and dad’s face mirrored mine – Awesome! The kids will keep each other company! I was never more happy to be sitting at a small table loaded up with children.

Then Tank started talking. He’s a lot like Lee Iacoca… when Tank talks, everyone listens.

Let me set the scene. His hair is brushed and gelled perfectly… he’s wearing a blue Oxford shirt, khaki dress pants, a handsome navy blue clip-on tie and a new brown belt and shoes. Tank asked me to wear a dress and so I threw on my black wrap dress, black hose and heels. We sat in the middle of the U-shaped table with the twins to our right and a much older group to our left who was clearly exasperated that they were sitting at a kid table.

Being the king of random facts is a claim to fame which Tank seems to hold to tightly. I have no idea why, whenever we meet new people, Tank opens with some completely unrelated story about our family. This time, the first sentence out of his mouth was this…

We have a fat orange cat named Henry and he poops and pees in the house. And he “frows” up on the steps too.

And really, who doesn’t want to know the details of that right before they’re about to eat?

I just shot the other mom a sheepish smile and she sent back the “Yeah, I’ve been there” sympathy look. Having mercy on my soul, she switched the subject and asked if Tank is my only child. “No,” I replied. “I’ve got a five month old at home. A little girl.” Twins mom then asked if we are planning to have any more kids (because, you know, Tank already broke the ice with the cat factoid, so now we are old friends). Without skipping a beat or taking a breath, Tank shared yet another nugget o’ personal info with the entire table – and pretty much half of the restaurant.

My mommy doesn’t want any more kids. That’s why she wears the patch.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

Seriously? Did he seriously just say that? I’ve never wanted so badly to return to discussing the cat’s stomach issues than I did at that moment. How did Tank know about my birth control patch? Oooooohhhhhhhhh. Oh boy. The pharmacy. He had gone to the pharmacy with me to pick up my prescription and must’ve overheard the consultation with the pharmacist.

Dinner hadn’t been served yet, so I spent the rest of the evening red-faced and ready to leave at the earliest opportunity. Dinner lasted a painful two hours.

When we got in the car to head home, I was prepared for a lengthy discussion on what is and is not appropriate to share with other people. Before I could start the lecture, Tank sleepily said, “Thank you, Mom, for taking me there tonight. I had a nice time with you.”

I’m sure there will be plenty of other opportunities to correct that habit.  At that point, I just let him drift off to dreamland with happy thoughts from our date night.

Mother of All Spiders

So, my sister came all the way from the East Coast for a visit this past weekend.  As we’ve gotten older and grown closer, we always end up laughing really hard about something that happens during our visit.  This is a significant improvement over our childhood which, if we spent more than fifteen minutes together, somebody ended up crying.  I’ve always been impressed with how we’ve matured.   Now we actually miss each other.

So, ”Juice” came all the way out from Baltimore to Nevada for a visit this past Friday.  By the time Friday night rolled around, we were wiped out and ready to head for bed.  Before going to sleep, I took the garbage out to the garage and spied something on the wall that I thought for sure Juice would like to see.  She had already turned in and was reading when I came in and said, “Wanna see something?”

“What is it?”

“A black widow… a really big one, too.”

“Okay.”

Now, this is the same person that so cleverly got out of yard work as a kid because she had my parents thoroughly convinced she was terrified of bugs.  When I tried the same excuse with dust bunnies to get out of cleaning, my parents laughed and handed me the Pledge and a rag.  Now, you tell me which one was the golden child.

Anyway, barefoot and pajama-clad we went out to the garage and I showed her the gigantic spider.  It was at least the size of my head.  Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating and it was about the size of a quarter – but it might as well have been the size of my head.

Would you want this making babies in your house?

“Wow!  Kill it.”

“Really?  You think I should kill it?”

“Yes.”

“But I hate the crunchy sound big spiders make when you kill them.”

“Kill it.  You have a family to protect.  I’m going inside.”

“No.  You’re staying out here with me and helping me kill it.”

At which time, my sister – the queen of getting out of any responsibilities that involve bugs – backs up fifteen feet.  I provide her with the broom and duster as weapons… you know, in case the spider flies of the wall and starts chasing her… fifteen feet away.  I then go get a shoe and actually put thought into which one I want to use.  I chose this darling gem of a WalMart special. 

Some pretty, no-name brand of a shoe. Or, pretend they're Jimmy Choo's like I do!

She then tells me to grab the camera because this is “blog-worthy material and must be documented.”  I think she’s nuts, but still grab the camera anyway and take before pictures of the spider, my shoe, and my sister standing in another county.  (Note:  To preserve anonymity, her head is purposefully cut out of this photo.  That and she wasn’t wearing any make-up so she forbid me from making it a true Kodak moment.)

I call this one "Weaponry and Anonymity"

After a lengthy hysterical discussion on my fear of the spider jumping off the wall and grabbing me by the face, I swing my pretty high heel at it, waiting to hear the crunch.  WHACK!  Nothing.  Not only did I miss, but the spider taunted me by slowly moving down the wall an inch with a way-too-casual attitude.  Clearly he had a death wish.

Because I missed, my sister and I started laughing so hard I could barely see.  I swung again and WHACK!  I missed AGAIN.  This time the spider slowly walks behind a pair of gardening gloves and I’m almost certain he flipped me the finger on the way.

My sister and I are practically dying of laughter at this point.  Juice actually got close to look at the spider behind the gloves and even stood next to me as I slowly moved the gloves out of the way.  It was a bad angle to try to kill the spider, especially because it cleverly moved behind a wall-mounted shelving unit.  But I was bound and determined to protect my family from this vicious monster, so WHACK!  I swung again… and this time, I got him.  Only he flew into the air six inches from my face which caused me to scream like a little girl.  This then caused the funniest chain reaction. 

My sister, who was standing next to me at that moment, also screamed – but really, really loud – and did this little running in place thing that looked eerily similar to the thing the Flintstones would do to get their Flintstone car going.  It’s kind of a running-in-place thing, where you don’t go anywhere at first, but then you suddenly take off at terminal velocity, leaving behind a cloud of cartoon dust.  Yeah, and I mean she NAILED it!  Only, she also almost nailed my car too with the broom and duster weapons I gave her.  Apparently I was supposed to train her how to use her weaponry.

I whacked the spider one more time to make sure he was dead – although everything happened so fast, I might’ve hit him like four times, maybe five.  But if PETA asks, it was only once.  After my sister and I recover from laughing about her Flintstone defensive arts, she tells me to take a picture of the aftermath.  So, here’s the dead spider, the weapons we used and proof that, adding to our terror, we were indeed barefoot the whole time.  (Oooo, and don’t my toes on the right look nice? I got a pedi that morning.)

1 dead spider, 10 pretty toes

I love how my Friday night excitement has changed from raging keg parties to spider slaughtering.  I am certainly adding that to my resume under “Skills.”

Let’s talk about…

…my closet.  I’ve never been great at keeping my closet – or my clothes for that matter – in order.  My clothes, and my fashion sense in general, has fallen completely off the priority list.  My friends will attest to this and that’s why they are my friends… they love me for who I am and let me know if my shirt’s on inside out. 

Still, I’ve had visions of my friends staging a fashion intervention similar to the no-she-didn’t reality shows on TLC and InStyle Network.  Hell, I wouldn’t mind being humiliated on national TV as a complete fashion slob if someone gave me $5K to go shopping with.  I would even be willing to pass on the $5K if someone would just give me the TIME to go to the mall… minus my gaggle of kiddies.

A typical outfit these days is a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt that may or may not have spit-up stains on it.  I pair that with cowboy boots that are, well, let’s just say well-loved.  And that’s my outfit for work.  Yes, work.  Working for an alternative energy company means, THANK GOD, that you don’t have to be too fashion-forward.  In fact, the more earthy you look, the less pretentious you are.  And, that’s a good thing in this industry.  But, I often wonder, how did I fall so far off the fashion wagon?  I think I flew off somewhere between I’veSpentMyBestYearsPregnant Mountain and Formula River.

Now that my closet is completely out of control, I’ve finally had it.  Somewhere buried in the mountains of clothes that no longer fit (but apparently I’m keeping on the floor for posterity), is me.  I’m in there drowning in cotton tees.  Sorry, cotton.  I like your catchy commercials (“The touch, the feel, the fabric of our lives”) but I need a little silk, some cashmere, and perhaps a thread or two of wool to usher in the colder months which are rapidly approaching.  So, I’m waging war… staging an intervention.  In the famous words of Eminem, “I’m cleanin’ out my closet!”

Will keep you posted.  But if I don’t come back, the dust bunnies got me.

Monday, Monday – Part II

So, remember my first post about my son’s dire need to bring a picture of his cat to kindergarten – only to find out that he really didn’t need it? Well, here’s an ironic follow up for you.

When I walked in the door from work yesterday, my son met me at the door ready to spontaneously combust with excitement. Tank proudly announced, “I got something at school today!!”

Oh joy, I thought. Is it polio or small pox this time?

Tank went digging into his bookbag and the more time he took, the more my fear multiplied like the rabid germs I was certain he brought home. To my surprise, he pulled out a single sheet of paper with the words, “Outstanding Student” written at the top. At the bottom of the page was written, “Pet Picture.” Tank got an award for bringing in his portrayal of Henry as an orange blob with stiletto claws. Hugs, kisses, high fives and a proud posting on the fridge followed. I guess the headache was worth it in the end.

Alms for the Poor

My son has developed a bad habit… a very bad habit.  He actually thinks it’s okay to tell me that he needs something for school exactly 2.2 seconds before we are about to leave the house for the day – every day.  I’ve tried anticipating this by reviewing his homework with him the night before.  I’ve also turned his bookbag inside out to ensure I didn’t miss any note, permission slip, or other important need-to-know kindergarten factoid that might be listed on a miniscule piece of paper.  But Tank continues to forget things until the last possible minute.  And now that I’ve quit my Starbucks habit, mommy is in no mood, okay?!

Yesterday morning I was going through my regular dance moves.  My dance routine consists of the following (and I think I’m going to try out for “So You Think You Can Dance” or perhaps the more appropriate, “Dance Your Ass Off”):  Frantic running up and down the stairs – at least two times- avoiding the cat who insists on playing chicken with me on the steps and then claws my cankles as I attempt to maneuver around him. I then follow this up with a fantastic spin move while holding the baby and simultaneously packing four bottles, her daily blanket and a change of clothes into the way-too-small diaper bag.  My grand finale is, as my first posting indicates, an intricate coordination of the universally understood, “Let’s pack up the car with as much stuff in as few trips as possible.”  By then I am sweating more than a blonde on Jeopardy.  (Note:  I am a bottle blonde, so I can say that.)  

I digress…

Dateline Yesterday – Once again, I do my dance routine and we are almost out the door.  I’m upstairs grabbing whatever stupid thing I forgot, when I hear Tank downstairs start in with “Ohhhhh.  I forgot something Mommy!” 

“What?” I yell down to him. 

“I need money for school.”

Ok.  Now let me stop right here and clue everyone in.  My son goes to a private kindergarten.  A very expensive private kindergarten.  Actually, it’s the same place where my four month old daughter goes to full time daycare Monday thru Friday.  So, we spend $1500 a month on daycare/kindergarten alone.  I like to think my kids are getting their college education right now.  In fact, I’m hoping Cricket’s first words will be “State University” or “Scholarship.”  Thomas is already learning to spell those words.

So when this sweet, innocent, expensive child tells me he needs money for school, I naturally ask “What for, dear expensive child?”

“For the poor people so we can put it in a box at school.”

Without missing a beat, I yell from upstairs, “Well, we’re poor too.”

I know.  I know.  This bad mommy will be sending him to school with a fiver tomorrow.  And I’ll confess my sins on Sunday.

But, shelling out $1500 a month for childcare has made me a very bitter woman.  Can you really blame me?

Memories, Monkeys and Museums

So I was strolling down memory lane this morning, wondering why our brains only hit record for certain events in our lives and not others, when a flood of childhood memories came back to me.  Luckily they were all good memories!

One that really stood out in my mind was a clip of only a few seconds.  I was at the zoo in Roanoke, Virginia with my mom.  We were at the monkey cages and she was making the voices of the monkeys as they roamed around.  “Oh, I think I’m going to go over here and eat some bugs.”  “Wow!  My arms are tired from all that swinging!”  Stuff like that.  I laughed harder than I had ever laughed in my short seven years on the planet.

Regularly, we take our son, Tank, to the San Fran Zoo and I always make the monkey voices for him too.  We will surely do the same for Cricket, too, when she’s a bit older.  I can only hope that their brains will be recording the same fun memories.

Anyway, that got me thinking about other fun things I liked to do as a kid and one of my all-time favorites was going to the Science Museum – also in Roanoke.  It was so much ridiculous fun to get lost in the multiple, hands on exhibits.  At the end, we would go to the gift shop and I could pick out a little something to take home.  Sometimes I chose rocks, other times I’d choose a ring (that would turn my finger green before we even reached our home), and still other times my mom would splurge and get me a poster of one of the planets in our solar system.  I absolutely LOVED the Science Museum!

And then I realized, our town doesn’t have a science museum.  How can that be?  How is it that my kid won’t have the same luxury (unless we go to San Fran or Monterey)?  But alas, I was wrong… kind of.

Reno is working on bringing a new science museum to life!  The Nevada Discovery Museum is going to be 5 miles from our house!!!!  They are in the process of remodeling the former Reno City Hall and have secured a significant chunk of their needed funding to continue moving forward.  This is huge for our community!

I encourage you to dig deep into your childhood memories.  Remember what activity you just couldn’t get enough of.  And then, go out and VOLUNTEER!!  I’ve already signed up to work on the volunteer committee for this new museum and I can’t wait to get started.

I hope the new museum will have rings in the gift shop that will turn your finger green!

Monday, Monday

I absolutely hate Monday mornings.  No matter how much pre-planning I do the night before, Monday is a guaranteed sweat-inducing Olympic event.  I think God sits up in heaven and laughs at people as they try fourteen times to get out the door to go to work.  Yup, Monday morning is God’s comic relief.

This was my Monday morning…

After the normal rush to get the kids out the door, I loaded up the car in three trips with a diaper bag, backpack, lunchbox, & purse.  Oh, and children.  I did put the children in the car.  (Kids hereafter referred to as Tank & Cricket.)

After sitting down to start the engine, I noticed my laptop sitting on the passengers seat.  I took my laptop back in the house since I didn’t need it at work today.

While inside the house,  I realized my stomach might eat itself if I don’t grab a few Golden Grahams for the road.  One kiddie cup of dry cereal.  Back out to the car.

Kids are buckled in and happy as we back out of the driveway and I start to drive through the neighborhood.  We’re now 15 minutes behind schedule.

Suddenly, my son yells (like I’m about to run over a puppy), “I FORGOT MY PICTURE OF HENRY!”  Being the sucker for my kids that I am, I turn the car around and tell my son, “Ok.  No worries.”  (However, my brain is going off like a crazy woman… THAT is why I asked you on FRIDAY evening if you had any HOMEWORK!)  I raced inside to find a picture of our ridiculously large cat for some kindergarten project my son would be working on today.  As I’m racing up the stairs – taking two at a time – I realize we have no printed pictures of our cat.  I’m too cheap to officially make Henry-the-cat “Kodak-worthy.”  I come back downstairs and go out to the car to tell Tank that I have no pictures of Henry. 

Mass hysteria ensues.  My son cried like I took away his birthday.  Meanwhile, the four month old baby – who I know is on the verge of hunger meltdown herself – is just looking at Tank like, “Man.  He’s lost it.  I think I’ll just sit here and watch the show.”

The kids, Tank & Cricket... in happier times...

Thinking quickly, I run back inside and grab some paper and markers.  I go back out to the car, hand Tank the paper and markers and tell him to draw a picture of our cat.  Apparently, at that point, I took away his birthday AND Christmas.  He’s hysterical, I’m out of patience and options, and the baby’s stone-still just watching and learning.  She’s a smart one, that baby.

I’m driving away and my son continues his tantrum.  Part of me can’t really blame him for being so upset.  In addition to being a little overly competitive, he’s a total people pleaser and doesn’t want to disappoint his new kindergarten teacher so early in the school year.  But, the other part of me (the part that’s really into reverse psychology) decides, at the first stop sign, to take away his paper and markers since he refuses to draw a picture of our stupid, obese cat.  (Sorry, genetically challenged cat.  I was angry.  You didn’t deserve that.)

My reverse psychology works and, before long, he’s begging me to let him draw.  As we pull into the school parking lot, he puts the finishing touches on the way over-bloated, really orange cat that’s apparently walking on stiletto claws.  When we get into his classroom, he proudly hands it to his teacher.  I’m feeling pretty proud too for improvising on the fly.

Said teacher then says, “Oh Tank.  What a good memory you have.”  She then whispers an aside to me that he didn’t need to bring a picture today but that he can put it up on the board she plans on turning into a “My Pet” board.

Seriously?

God… I hope you laughed your sandals off today.

 

(Today my sister wrote a blog about how she almost poisoned me as a child.  For a good laugh, go check out that post and my response.)