@#$*(!&* fish

After reading a couple of books with my seven year old son at bedtime, he turned to me and said, "Mom, I can't BELIEVE they let us watch inappropriate videos at school"!

 "Really"?

He continued, "We were watching one of those 'Berenstain Bears' videos about pollution and recycling and there was a fish that totally said an inappropriate word".

"What did he say"?

"He said, 'How am I supposed to swim with all this goddamned trash in my way!' "

Kindergarten, Eyebrows and a Dog

My daughter started Kindergarten this year.  With both kids in school, I had visions of enormous amounts of free time.  I pictured myself starting my day with a Yoga class,  followed by a trip to the coffee shop, where I would cozy up on one of the velvet couches sipping lattes and working on my latest screenplay (yes, I am writing screenplays in my vision).  Afterward I would hop on my bike (in my vision I was biking everywhere) and I would bike to the city for lunch with friends.  I might squeeze in some shopping and possibly an eyebrow wax.  Then it would be time to bike back home to pick up the kids, who would be exhausted from their long day at school and would want nothing more than to come home and relax.  We'd hang out together, maybe a trip to the playground before dad gets home and then we'd whip up an amazing dinner with all of the fresh organic/ local foods I was able to pick up at the market that day.

On day one of Kindergarten, I acted upon one part of my vision and made an appointment for an eyebrow wax.  The salon was beautiful and tranquil, and as I lay on the heated massage table I smiled as I thought of my changing, stress-free future (complete with perfect eyebrows).  I was in such a calm state that I barely noticed the tape and wax being pulled off of my skin.  The scent of the aromatic healing oil surrounded me and felt wonderful as it was applied to my face.  The stylist handed me a mirror and I held it above my head, ready to admire my new perfectly groomed brows.  However these happy thoughts were immediately replaced with two words:  'HOLY'  and   'SHIT'.   My eyebrows had been scalped.  They were now two tiny lines that looked like they had been lightly etched in with an eyebrow pencil that needed to be sharpened.  "What do you think"?  The perky stylist enthusiastically asked.  After regaining some composure, and recovering from my initial shock, I was able to whisper, "Ummmmm, they are a little thin"?

She immediately went into defensive mode, "well--you had some areas that needed to grow in, and they would not have been uniform-- it's what I had to work with-- they will grow back even now--it, um, really looks great though.  Thin eyebrows are all the rage".  Now, I knew this was a lie, since I had just read a copy of 'Allure' magazine while waiting in the front lobby and I knew that it is ALL about bushy eyebrows this year.  I managed to be polite, and quickly paid the front desk (with tip- I know) and ran from the salon with my hand covering my eyebrows.  Thank god I was driving, and not biking, as I could not get out of there fast enough.

On the way home, I checked my eyebrows over and over again in the rearview mirror,  hoping to see some new growth- but each time getting more panicked at how absolutely ridiculous they looked.  On about the 25th or 26th time looking in the mirror,  I realized not only are they way too thin but one is higher than the other.  I looked like a lunatic.  I sat at a stoplight trying to raise one eyebrow and lower the other and wondering if I could naturally hold that pose all day.  A car honking behind me snapped me out of it and I managed to make it the rest of the way home without pulling the mirror down to take another look.  Once I got home, I spent an hour experimenting with various eye pencils, powders, and shadows, trying to get a natural look and decided that I definitely needed more products.  I went to Walgreens and had a wonderful conversation with the elderly woman in cosmetics about how to "draw in your brows".  I bought  a couple of pencils and left feeling somewhat encouraged.  I went home and tried the pencils out, trying to even out the crazy brow with the slightly less crazy brow- and I was pretty proud of myself because I thought it actually looked presentable.  I was now able to face the public and decided I could take a trip to the grocery store.

At the store I ran into a couple of people I knew.  In both conversations, I noticed they kept looking up at my brows and were definitely giving me a "holy shit what the hell is up with her eyebrows" vibe.  I grabbed a frozen pizza and got out of there.  Once I was back home, I went online and looked up "eyebrows".  I read that Rosemary Oil helps eyebrows grow fast.   I also discovered that powder may be more youthful looking than liner, and that Bobbie Brown makes a wonderful powder that several celebrities use.  I also discovered that there is a renowned eyebrow stylist in the Chicago area that has worked wonders with even the worst eyebrow mishaps, and through tinting, shaping, waxing and threading, she will give you back your dignity in no time.  I called the salon and made the next available appointment (November) with the eyebrow miracle-lady.  I drove to the Health Food Store and picked up a small bottle of Rosemary Oil, and made a stop at the mall, where I bought some Bobbie Brown powder and eyebrow brush.

I got back in the car, ready to head home to tackle the rest of my day, glanced at the clock and realized I had 10 minutes to get to school to pick up my daughter.  I got there on time, and she bounded into the car, full of things to tell me about her day.  She LOVED kindergarten.  She LOVED her teacher.  She LOVED her friends.  She LOVED her classroom.  She told me she was so happy and that Kindergarten is THE BEST.  I was thrilled that she was thrilled.  She asked about my day and I struggled with what to say since it sounded so ridiculous that it was all about eyebrows.  I said, "oh, I did a little grocery shopping",  remembering the frozen pizza.

"Mom"?  My daughter asked.  "Yes"?  I said.   "When are we going to get a dog"?  This question was a daily if not hourly one at our house.  We knew it would happen eventually, and had been considering it, but weren't sure if this was a good time.  I was just starting to enjoy the kids new independence.   The potty training, walking, cleaning, and feeding thing just didn't mesh with my new vision of personal development.  I looked back at her in the rearview mirror, her eyes big with hope and expectation, and I caught sight of my eyebrows.  I thought maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to not have so much free time.  "We'll work on getting a dog soon",  I told her.  She smiled.

"Mom"?  she asked.

"Yes, honey"?

"Why did you color on your eyebrows"?

The dog arrived in mid-September.   My eyebrows haven't quite arrived, but getting there.

Bowling night

Wii time is usually monopolized by my seven year old.  He is all about getting to a certain world on Mario, ascending a certain level on Batman, or beating his record score on Scooby Doo.  We were excited to finally take advantage of the rainy weather to play a family Wii game, and we decided on bowling.  

To be fair, we decided to forgo (btw I cannot use this word without thinking of ‘The Bachelor’) individual play for teams.  My husband and I are about the same skill level, and we knew we could carry-or at least even out-the kids scores.  We remind them about good sportsmanship, and tell them that it’s ok if they don’t get a great score every time, that there will be 10 frames, and that each one is like getting a do-over.  We explain that not everyone can be a winner, but the important thing is to have fun.  The kids each give us their token nods of acknowledgement, and we get ready to begin. 

My 4 year old immediately starts crying once she realizes she is my partner, throwing herself to the ground, saying, “Oh NO!  Not MOM! Now I’ll never win”!  I eventually convince her that I am a bowling champion and she’s back on her feet, doing a pre-victory dance: “Oh yeah, Oh yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh-- we are gonna wi-i-i-i-n”.  

My son isn’t buying it:  “Mom stinks.  Dad is the best”.  

The game is on, and it’s my turn first.  My son runs interference, chanting, “BOOOO, mom!  Lose mom! Don’t get a strike mom, don’t get a strike, don’t get a strike...”  I concentrate and go into strategy mode.  I use all the virtual tools at my disposal.  I zoom in to check position.  I click the turn mode to optimal direction. I narrow my eyes and focus on the virtual arrows, aiming just between the center arrow and the arrow to the right of it- and I end up hitting a few pins right down the middle, leaving pins on both sides.  I turn around to see my daughter crossing her arms and smirking at me. 

I hand her the controller and encourage her to get the spare (even though it’s next to impossible).  I cheer, “C’mon , you can do it”!  She tells us all confidently, “Watch....and learn, my friends”.  

She turns toward the game, starts a bizarre sideways approach with her hip jutted out to the side.  With a crooked, drunken stance and an even more crooked elbow, she takes a few steps and whips the controller all crazy-like, with no apparent regard for a specific destination, managing to hit both the couch and the table before her release-- and ends up getting the split, and the spare.  She gives me the ‘that’s how it’s done’ look and proudly reclaims her spot on the couch. 

Now it’s my husband’s turn- my son screams, “Yeah dad!  GO Dad”!!

My daughter joins in, “Go DAD!!! Get a STRIKE, DAD”!!  

I remind my daughter that she is on my team, and she lowers her voice and explains with a concerned tone, “Mom.... I do love you, but I can’t just love you all the time.  I love dad, too.  Dad is fun.  Sometimes you are boring. But some days you are fun.  Some days I love you the best-but today-I just have to love dad better”.

My husband takes his turn, and, like me, tries to use the advantage of technology to optimize his chances.  His ball ends up spinning sharply to the right and he hits 2 pins.  My daughter quickly changes her tune. Clinching her fist and thrusting her elbow toward the floor, she yells,  “YESSSS!  Mom is THE BEST”!  My son takes his turn and effortlessly gets the spare. 

The rest of the game continues like this, with the kids having to clean up the pins after their parents’ pathetic first attempts.  At one point my son says, “Dad, you are terrible.  Just give me the remote and I’ll get us the strikes”.  My daughter gets bored and eventually takes her turn by half-heartedly giving the remote a little push while simultaneously working on a princess drawing (and clears almost all of the pins).

My son eventually checks out of the game as well.  He starts to build a tunnel using a gymnastics mat and pillows, and decides he can just take his turn from there.  From across the room, he haphazardly sticks his hand holding the controller up out of the pillows, gives it a random flip, and ends up with a strike.  “BOO-yah!  In your FACE”, he yells, at no one in particular--from underneath the tunnel.

On my final turn, I decide to change up my game, putting the kids’ proven “technique” into practice.  Without glancing at the screen, I quickly and randomly give the controller a quick flip--and end up with a gutter ball.  

My son yells out from his newly built Lego town in the hallway, “MOM! Come ON!  Are you even taking this seriously” ?!

The Inside Story

This morning I was complaining a bit about having to take the kids to school during a thunderstorm, and my husband- who was scrambling to get ready for a business meeting- was also not thrilled about driving to work in the storm.  He half-jokingly muttered, "yeah, well try my life".

My son chimed in, saying, "Yeah mom, dad's life is WAY harder than yours".  He continued, "His life is so hard.  If you got inside him-- if you knew his inside story-- it would totally beat yours.  You would not want to be him." He paused for a moment, pointed to my husband, and added, "There is a LOT of quicksand in there".

1st grade crush

My 7 year old told me about a “totally embarrassing” situation at school where his classmate was teasing him, and telling everyone that he was “in love” with a girl in their class.  He sighed, put his head in his hands, shook it back and forth and said, “and you know what mom?  I am.  I am in love with her”.

Chicks and Carnivores

The kids Easter baskets included ‘Magic Hatching Eggs’.  My son got a dinosaur egg, and my daughter received a little chick egg.  As the directions indicated, we placed each one in a glass of water.  We were surprised to see bubbles immediately emerge from each of the eggs (no one more surprised than I, since these things are normally big time duds).  “Look! They are breathing!  Mom!  They are breathing”!  

They could not believe that they were actually going to grow a couple of new pets.  They checked in on their egg every 3 to 5 minutes, and would report their findings back to me: 

J: “I think its sleeping now”.  

L: “There aren’t as many bubbles”.  

J: “I think I see my shell cracking”! 

L: "I think I see its' shadow"! 

 This went on for an hour or so, which I was grateful for at first, but wasn't sure how much more my sanity could take on the minute-by-minute updates. 

I read on the box that it may take 24-48 hours for the pet to fully hatch, so after saying a little prayer that we got the 24 hour variety, I started in with the ad-libbing (that is a nice parent-word to use in place of lying).  I told them,  “Guys, I’m not sure...but I think the directions said that if you stare at the egg too long, it might turn to stone”.  That deterred them for about a half hour or so, but then each time they went over to the eggs they were very careful to only look for a few seconds.  My son decided that he would only look sideways at his egg so as to be extra careful.   

The next morning, there were a few tiny cracks in the eggs.  The kids thought this was AMAZING.  They were jumping up and down and high-fiving each other, and placing bets on which one would hatch first.  By afternoon, my son’s egg had just enough of an opening that we could make out the little dinosaurs mouth, or maybe it was his eye-- but it was “definitely real”, according to my son.  Unfortunately, that was about all the egg action we saw that day, but the kids were patient, and wondered about what was going to happen next.  

That night, my son started asking some rational questions: ”Mom, is that thing really going to be real”?  “Mom, is that a kind of dinosaur that is not extinct”?  “I thought they were extinct”?  “Can I bring it to show and tell”?  “Mom, how big is the dinosaur going to get”?   

I carefully answered each of his questions with “I wonder” and “What do you think”?  My son was quiet and contemplative for awhile, and then something clicked.  He gasped and exclaimed in horror, “What if it hatches tonight and tries to eat Frankie”?  My daughter chimes in with a nervous laugh, and says, “heh-heh, that is sooooooooo silly- he won’t eat Frankie!  Dinosaurs don’t eat cats!  Right mom”? 

Then, for some strange reason, all rational thought left my brain and I decided that this was the moment to educate my children about carnivorous dinosaurs.  We discussed raptors and tyrannosaurs-to which my son could suddenly relate- “Like, you mean--Tyrannosaurus REX”?  

In an instant, both kids scrambled out of bed and started sprinting around the house, checking under furniture, desperately calling for the cat.  “Frankie?  Frankie?  
FRANK-IEEEEEE”!  After locating the cat, and after a lot of reassuring by me that my son’s egg did not contain that kind of dinosaur, they were able to settle down and eventually go to sleep.

The next morning, both eggs had cracked significantly, showing the fully-formed spongy upper body of the baby dinosaur, and the fuzzy little head of the baby chick.  My daughter was thrilled, and she lovingly oohed and ahhed over her chick.  She was lightly tapping the glass, saying “Hi chicky!  I’m your mama”, and singing “here chicky chicky,  here chicky chicky”.  She started contemplating names-- “I think I’’ll call it Lilly.  Or Lulu.  Or Lou.  Or Lou-la”.  I was so wrapped up in her excitement, that I didn’t even notice my son peeling the rest of the egg away from his little dino-sponge.  

I turned to him, and there he sat, surrounded by egg shells, arms crossed, looking less than thrilled.  He held up his little dinosaur in the palm of his hand and said flatly, “Mom. This... is just a dumb sponge”.  

My daughter replied, “Well...mom told you that’s what happens when you stare at it for too long”.   

Her chick is still hatching.  And we know its real, 'cause we can still see the bubbles.  We think.  Because no one is allowed to look at it.  

Thank you for sharing

Six words that make me gag:

Mucus

Pustule (or anything with ‘pus’ for that matter)

Phlegm

Vomit

Scabs

Wart

...and the lady in front of me in the grocery store line just used five of them.  

Sometimes it’s not what you say, but...

As I was getting my daughter ready for Easter service, she was marveling over everything: “mom, look-- the Easter Bunny brought us this-- and this-- and this”!  She started floating around the room in her dress, pretending she was a princess, when she caught sight of her brother coming down the stairs, dressed in his Easter Sunday best.  She gazed up at him admiringly and exclaimed, “Oh, wow.  You look....so....disgusting”!

Crustaceans and such

My 4 year old has had a stuffed up nose for a few days.
 
Rubbing her nose and examining it in the mirror, she says, "Mom, I'm serious.  I think there's something in there".  Her eyes widen and she continues, "Like, maybe a crab-- or a squirrel".

The Omnipotent one

My 6 year old was not too happy about the cold weather this morning.  On the way to the bus stop, he was sharing his disappointment with my daughter.

J: "It's FREEZING!  God can be such a JERK sometimes!  He's ruining all the plants"!
L: "uh-oh, you better not say that.  Santa might hear you"!
J: "I wasn't talking about Santa".
L: "Well, Santa cares about everyone--even God".

“Conversation” with a 4 year old

(a.k.a.  Inspiration for Dr. Seuss, a.k.a.  A little glimpse into hell) 

At snack time, I ask my 4 year old,  “Would you like some carrots”?

She answers:  “Mom, I like my carrots with hummus.  Did you hear me mom, all I like is carrots and hummus.  I don’t like plain carrots.  Like, if people ask me, ‘what do you like?’, I will say, ‘I like carrots and hummus’.  That’s why I don’t just like carrots.  I like them with hummus.  If people say, ‘do you want some carrots’?  I’ll say, ‘no. I want carrots and hummus’.  I will never, ever, ever have plain carrots.  I like them with hummus.  I do not like to eat carrots by themselves, just carrots with hummus on them.  My friend likes to eat carrots with ranch dressing on them.  But I like them with hummus.  If I ever had to eat carrots by themselves, I might try it.  But I really don’t like it when I have it regular like that.  I like it with hummus.  If we were out of hummus, that would be really bad, because I like hummus.  We would have to go to the store to buy some more hummus, because that’s why I could not eat my carrots plain.  If you were not here, I would have to ask dad to get me some hummus.  I really like hummus.  With carrots.  Mmmmm.  These are good........  Mom, did you know I really like carrots and hummus?................Mom?"

Deep breath in, aaaand deep breath out.  The beach. The sand.  The ocean waves.  Singing of birds. Wind blowing softly through the trees.  Chocolate.  Wine.  Massage.  A great read.  Candles.  Rose petals.  Javier Bardem.  Champagne.  Strawberries.  Picnic.  Carrots and hummus.

"Yes, sweetie. Mommy knows."

Send the baby

My daughter loves to invent new games.  One that she loves to play is called ‘Send the baby’.  Although the way she pronounces it is “Spin the Baby”, which for me conjures up images of preschool kids sitting around a circle, taking turns spinning a baby doll.....but thankfully, she clarified, and it’s definitely ‘Send the Baby’.  Here’s how to play: 

My daughter will ring the pretend doorbell from the hallway. She’ll shout, “DING-DONG”!  I’ll come to the pretend door and pretend to open it.  There’s no one there.  I’ll look to the right- nothing.  I’ll look to the left- nothing.  I’ll shrug my shoulders and pretend slam the door.  My daughter will ring the doorbell a second time.  

“Well what now...”?  I’ll say, as I approach the pretend doorway.  She’ll run off and hide, giggling as I look again to see no one is there.  I’ll shake my fist and say something like, “Those darn TEENAGERS”!  and she’ll laugh harder.   Then I’ll pretend slam the door again.  

“DING-DONG”....she’ll yell again, and this time when I open the door I’ll look down at the ground where she has left her doll.  I’ll feign surprise and say, “Oh MY!  Somebody left me a BABY!  What is this baby doing on my doorstep?  Poor baby!  Is there no one here to take care of the baby”?   My daughter will sit in her hiding spot, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.  

I’ll cuddle the baby and bring it “inside”, wrap a blanket around her, and tell her that everything will be okay. This is usually my daughter’s cue to ring the pretend doorbell again.  I’ll answer the pretend door and she'll explain that she is the one who left the baby, because she found the baby all alone, and that the baby didn’t have parents to care for it (I'll spare you the psychoanalysis on this one).  I’ll invite my daughter “in” for a snack, and once she’s comfortable that she’s given her baby-friend a good home,  she’ll say goodbye to us and go back to “her house”.  

Once while playing the game, I brought the baby in as usual.  I was giving the baby cuddles, and telling the baby how much I would love her as I was wrapping her in a blanket.  My daughter hadn’t rung the doorbell yet, so I kept talking to the baby, saying how much fun we would have together.  I told the baby about all the fun things we would do, the places we would go-- to the park, to grandma and grandpa’s house, to the fair; and I mentioned that maybe we could go to Disney World sometime.  As I talked to the baby about the Disney princesses, the Dumbo ride, and the breakfasts with Minnie Mouse and Mickey Mouse, I could hear my daughter upstairs.  I thought maybe she forgot about the game, so I left the baby on the couch, and started to straighten up in the living room.  I was putting the books back on the shelf when I heard the “DING-DONG”!  

My daughter was back.  I opened the pretend door to find her sitting on the floor, suitcase in hand.

She looks up at me and says, “Hi.  My parents are both dead.  Can you take care of me”?

521 weeks pregnant

One of my four year old's favorite things to do is browse through catalogs and circle what she'd like.  Not just for herself, but for her brother, her dad, her mom, the cat, and for the dog that we don't have yet.  Aside from the toy and pet catalogs, her favorites are the clothing ones.

While flipping through the pages of a new Anthropologie catalog, she 'ooohs' and 'ahhhhs' over the women's dresses.  "Mom, you would look so beautiful in this one......Oooooh, I love the flowers on this one...... look, this one would look so nice on you"!  I point out one that I think is pretty.  She eyes me up and down and matter-of-factly states, "well, that one is a skinny dress".

To illustrate her point, she puts her hand on my belly and adds, "you need to be straight up and down to wear that".

This got my son's attention.  He comes over to me and puts one hand on my stomach, and one on my back, gives my daughter an official nod and says, "Yep.  She's havin' a baby".

 I answer teasingly, "Oh, and what do you think the baby will be"?

He inspects my stomach once again and tells my daughter , "I think we're gettin' a ten year old brother".

Now THAT is my kind of fun

During snack time at Sunday school this morning, all the kids were taking turns saying what they were going to do for fun later that day.

S: "I'm going to a birthday party".

M: "Me too"!

J: "I'm going to see a movie with a friend".

L: "I'm going to family swim".

K: "I'm going to dissect a frog with my mom!  Oh, and once, my grandma killed a groundhog by smacking it in the head with a shovel because it was eating her vegetables".

Truth

Tell the truth.  Honesty is the best policy.  The truth will set you free-- except when you have a substitute teacher who you think is being “annoying”.  

Then, the truth will get your card moved to red.



Absolutelynoproblems  on Facebook! 

The circle of life

My four year old tells me, “mom, when I die, I want to come back as a boy”.  She then asks, “when you die, what do you want to come back as”?  

While taking a minute to think about how to address that question, she answers herself, “never mind, I already know you want to come back as-- my mom”.

Decisions, decisions

I heard some muffled, sniffling sounds coming from the living room, and found my four year old, huddled in a corner, crying.  I asked her what was wrong, and she looks at me, tears pooled up in her eyes, and then manages to choke out the words, “I-- I just don’t know who to mawee”..... .“I weally wike Wyan K, but he doesn’t wike me”......”and maybe Sam, or Charlie... but I don’t know if they are going to pick me...”  then throwing herself to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Oh boy.

March to do list

Take down Christmas lights.  Check.

Fashion

Lia:  "Mom, those flip-flops do NOT look good".

Me:  "Well,  I am wearing them because they are comfortable".

Lia:  "Well..... I guess I will just look away when you walk by".

Clip quip

In the middle of giving my son a haircut, he suspiciously eyes me and says, "Don't you need some sort of license or something to be doing this"?