What the Kid Says (And Sometimes What I Say)

Christmas Photo Blooper

2011-12-24T23:41:00.001-05:00

We tried to get the dog to be in our picture. But he got nervous and farted. A huge, horrible, dense fart cloud.

Merry Christmas.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

2011-12-24T23:39:00.000-05:00

Me: "Now you might as well sleep as late as you can because even if--"
Kid: "You don't give a damn?"
Me: "Correct. I love you. Merry Christmas."

Reminder for Christmas Morning

2011-12-24T23:37:00.000-05:00

Kid: "Remind me to wear pants when I open my presents tomorrow."
Me: "Because there might be pictures?"
Kid: "Yep."

Playin' This

2011-12-24T23:26:00.000-05:00

Me: "I need you to put away your laundry, buddy."
Kid: "Okay, woman, whatever you say."
Me (glaring): "... Oh, really?"
Kid (giggling): "Yup. That's how I want to play this."

The Esteemed One

2011-12-18T21:53:00.001-05:00

In an effort to boost the kid's self-esteem, we're making a list of his good qualities. I rattle off a zillion items that I've written down.

Kid: "And sexy."
Me: "NOOOOO!"
Kid: "Why not? It's true."

The Penis Chronicles

2011-12-18T21:51:00.001-05:00

The kid just tried to tell me joke that started, "Two peanuts walk into a bar...," but I misheard "peanuts" and so we just spent ten minutes laughing hysterically. Leading the kid to then say, "What is it with us and penises?"

Oh, well.

**********

The next day:

Kid: "Why does everything look like a penis to you?"
Me: "WE'RE LOOKING AT CACTI!

And then the Freudian mother and son left the store.

Oh, The Drama

2011-11-12T12:34:00.000-05:00

Me: "Are you sure you don't want to join the drama club at school?"
Kid: "What's the drama club?"
Me: "You know, where you do acting. Put on plays and whatever."
Kid: "Oh. I thought it was where people got together to talk about all the drama at school and stuff."

Category: Things the Kid Knows That I Don't

2011-10-19T21:43:00.000-04:00

Kid: I didn't know the Angry Birds were Jewish.
Me: What are you talking about?
Kid: They're all wearing yarmulkes.

Wow.

Pretty Much

2011-10-05T21:59:00.002-04:00

Kid: "So Sarah Palin isn't going to run for president?"
Me: "No. Thank God. She has some crazy ideas."
Kid: "What? Like hovercrafts?"

The Couch

2011-09-04T21:20:00.001-04:00

We are getting rid of a couch, and the beaten-up thing is currently sitting unceremoniously out in the driveway until the city pick-up day in a few weeks. We walk by the beast on the way to the car.

Kid: Can I have a pair of scissors?

I immediately know exactly what he is thinking. EXACTLY.

Me: No way.
Kid: Why not?
Me: No way!
Kid: I want to cut open the couch and take out the springs so I can put them on my shoes and make springy shoes.
Me: That's why I said no.
Kid: Darn it.

Something Fishy

2011-09-04T21:14:00.001-04:00

I make awesome deep-fried fish and chips for dinner. The kid eats about 100 fries before I pitch a fit and make him eat some fish.

Me: So? What do you think of the fish.
Kid: It's OK, I guess. But ...
Me: But what?
Kid: I thought it would have more pizzaz.

I glare at him for about five minutes.

Me: What do you mean by "pizzaz"?
Kid: You know... better.

First day of fourth grade.

F'ing Spencer's

2011-08-07T14:46:00.000-04:00

The kid was desperate to spend his allowance on some Angry Birds plushies. The one store at the mall that we'd seen them at before was out, so I agreed to a long-dreaded trip inside Spencer's. This store is a f'ing nightmare and not someplace one should generally bring children. BUT WE NEEDED THE DAMN ANGRY BIRDS PLUSHIES!

So we go in, and, thank God, the plushies are right by the front of the store... but then we have to make our way into the depths of the crap pile in order to pay. I had a vice grip on the kid and kept yanking him away from sordid items.

When we left and got into the car, he had a lot of questions. As you can imagine.

Kid: Why wouldn't you let me walk around in that store? Because of all the inappropriate stuff?
Me: You bet because there's a lot of inappropriate stuff there. That place is not good for kids.
Kid: Oh. (He thinks for a minute.) I thought maybe it was because of all the colors.
Me: What are you talking about? I was more concerned about all the naughty sex stuff and the beer funnels. Why would I care about all the colors?
Kid: I thought you were worried that I might have a seizure.

I was then unable to talk for a while.

Horrible Mother

2011-07-15T22:56:00.000-04:00

I sent the kid to camp in this Heinz t-shirt to match his Fried Clam hat. When I picked him up, he threw himself into the car and yelled at me.

Kid: I'M NEVER WEARING THIS SHIRT AGAIN! EVERYONE KEPT CALLING ME A NAME.
Me: What name?
Kid:KETCHUP BOY!!!!!

One of us nearly had to pull the car over because it's hard to drive with tears in your eyes, and one of us was not vaguely amused.

I Take the Bad with the Good

2011-07-07T19:40:00.001-04:00

Me: Thank you for helping with the dishes.
Kid: Sure. (Pause.) Oh my God, Mommy. I just had the best and nicest idea I've ever thought of! I'm so... I can't even say it... (He is now blushing and clearly immeasurably proud of himself.)
Me: Okay, what is it?
Kid: When I'm older, I'm going to open a place for orphan babies!
Me: That would be an orphanage... Well, that's a wonderful idea. You've talked about opening an animal rescue place before, and I love that you care so much about people and animals.
Kid: I can't believe I thought of this! I'm just sure this is the nicest thing ever!
(Kid lets out a toxically disgusting fart.)
Me: Uh... You can leave the kitchen now.
Kid: Excuuuuuuuuuse me, Princess!

Love, Like, and Crickets

2011-05-27T22:50:00.001-04:00

Me: You know what? Not only do I love you, buddy, but I really like you. I like the kind of person that you are. And I love how you are able to talk about your feelings so much. Men in this country are not taught that it's a good thing to express themselves, so I'm really proud that you can do that. You are sensitive, and caring, and very aware of yourself and others. It's pretty special.

Kid: Do gay people do that a lot?

Me (crickets momentarily chirping): Well, yes, probably more than straight men. Because they've often had a tough time, so they've had to look at their feelings more than lots of people. One of the silver linings of being gay is that you're less likely to be a jackass.

Kid (smiling and blushing): Thank you, Mommy.

Unworthy Days of the Week

2011-05-15T12:21:00.000-04:00

Kid: Is "Monday" capitalized?
Me: No. All the other days of the week are capitalized, but Monday is a insubordinate jerk, so it doesn't merit capitalization.
Kid: (Glares patiently at me.)
Me: Yes, "Monday" is capitalized.

It's Okay to Rename Famous Works of Art

2011-05-15T12:19:00.001-04:00

KID: Do you know that painting called "The Lady Moses"?

ME: Uh... what? (I go look at his computer screen..) Oh. That's the Mona Lisa.

KID: Whatever. Do you know it?

ME: I've heard of it.

Mother's Day 2011

2011-05-08T10:28:00.001-04:00

I was slightly nervous about what Mother's Day would bring this year because the other day the kid said to me: "Mom, on Mother's Day you don't have to feel bad about the things that you haven't done well."

Um. Oh, gee thanks. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know," the kid said. "Like losing Bear. And stuff."

About a year ago, we lost the shred of a stuffed bear that the kid has loved to bits since he was a baby. I've ripped the house apart, but I am terribly afraid that Bear accidentally got mixed in with clothes that we were giving away. I've been meaning to write a blog about this, but I can't bring myself to. I am still traumatized. Especially when the kid added, "I feel like a piece of my heart is missing."

But, the kid apparently still loves me. He gave me a heart locket and these wonderful cards:

I love this. "It has been 11 years now and I still love you from when I was born and you were there for me when I was hurt." These two things are unrelated because, believe me, it hurt me a lot more than it did the kid when he was born. Also, the kid is only 10, but has apparently spent 11 long-suffering years managing to love me. Bless him.

"I think she does a good job cleaning the dishes." Thank you for that assessment, kid. I'm pleased that you are satisfied.

Sniff. The talent show aftermath was a big deal. Thank God for those boys who performed "Whip My Hair." (I did not tell the kid that this is a horrible run-on sentence.)

There's just something awesome about reading what your child thinks about you. I love this.

I really am very lucky to have such an amazing son. And while this is a truly happy day for me--I have the awesome kid and an awesome mom--I know that this is a really hard day for so many.

People who grew up with abusive, dysfunctional, damaging mothers. Mothers that were distant and cold. Mothers who never hugged or loved.

People whose mothers have died.

Women who want to be mothers, but can't.

Women who have lost children.

Women whose children are in trouble. Lost. Gone. Missing. Need help, but won't take it. Children who treat their mothers terribly.

Today is an impossibly sad day for a lot of people. So to all of you, I send tons of love and strength.

Homework is Good for Something

2011-04-20T19:07:00.003-04:00

Turns out that I am the worst mother in the world because I would not let the kid turn a pair of sticks into nunchuks. I, apparently, never let him do anything. He's barely spoken a word to me in the past three hours, but he did come up with this telling sentence while completing sentences on his homework page:

Well, I think that I still love you, kid, even though your attitude totally sucks.

But then I give him Tater Tots for dinner.

Kid: I'm sorry. I guess I was kind of wrong.

Me: Yes, but I appreciate your apology.

Kid: It could've been worse. Sometimes people fight and don't forgive each other.

Me: That won't happen to us. Ever. No matter what.

Kid: Okay.

Quick Quips

2011-04-09T20:20:00.000-04:00

Kid: I only know about a few scary movies. Saw and Sex and the City.

*****

Recently, the kid has taken to getting the mail from our mailbox across the street. It'd be great, except that I think he is just practicing to be an attorney, because when he brings in the mail, he says, "I have some papers for you." Weirdo.

*****

I'm driving in the car with the kid.
KID: Cop car. Be cool.
ME: I love you. You are the best kid ever.
KID: That's what she said.

The Making of a President

2011-04-02T10:50:00.001-04:00

The kid had to do a report on a former president. His initial choice of George Bush nearly threw me into a coma, but lucky for me, he decide to swap out for Jimmy Carter--who I've always thought of as a really nice man, if not a particularly earth-shattering president. For reasons I don't understand, the report was to include a giant shield that was divided into sections illustrating parts of Jimmy's life. So...

Here is a depiction of Jimmy Carter's early childhood on a chicken ranch, which was marked by his obsessive need to fling grain (from his pitchfork hands) at the unusual-looking chickens. Jimmy was mesmerized by this task, as indicated by his prominent bug-eyed expression.

Jimmy was such a skilled naval officer, that while "commanding" an unstaffed ship, he was confident enough to kick back and put his feet up on the ship's control panel. He would just *know* if something needed attention. That's how good he was.

As president, Jimmy Carter was particularly gracious about taking questions from those using popsicles for microphones. He was a really nice man and very sympathetic to the plight of the mentally ill.

Offensive in Every World

2011-04-02T10:37:00.000-04:00

Kid (while using his DSi): You know, I think this game is a little offensive.
Me: Why?
Kid: Because if a boy Pokemon tries to give another boy a charm, it won't let you. And same thing if a girl tries to give a charm to a girl.
Me (bursting with joy): So tell me why that is offensive to you.
Kid: Because they're saying that, well, that a boy can't love another boy, and a girl can't love another girl.
Me: You're right. That is indeed the message. That Pokemon can't be gay.
Kid: What's a gay girl called?
Me: A lesbian.
Kid: That's a funny word. Can we go to Walmart?

Hello, Monday. Go to Hell.

2011-03-28T15:43:00.000-04:00

Me: Get dressed, dude. You have school.
Kid (angrily): Dignity.
Me: Uh... What?
Kid: I have my dignity, you know.
Me: You still have to go to school. And you won't have any dignity left if you show up naked.
Kid: Can I at least be homeschooled?
Me: Hell, no. Now get dressed.

Important Presidential Fact

2011-03-03T22:17:00.001-05:00

I like when the kid just makes up facts. And I also like his teacher's reasonable doubt.

That's the Spirit

2011-02-20T16:08:00.003-05:00

Me: Hey, how was school today.
Kid: Eh, fine, I suppose. Oh! Actually it was pretty good.
Me: It was? Why was it so good?
Kid: I discovered that I can tell people's spirit animals.
Me: You can?
Kid: Yep. Garrett is a snowy owl, Conner is a mountain lion, and TJ is a Komodo dragon. I'm going to charge people a dollar and make a lot of money. Adam was a bear, but I couldn't tell what kind.
Me: You can only charge him fifty cents for that reading.
(Kid glares at me.)
Me: Anyhow... What's yours?
Kid: A lion.
Me: Nice! Can you tell mine?
Kid: Sure.

He takes my hand and studies my palm seriously.

Me: So, what's the verdict? What is my spirit animal?
Kid: A giraffe.
Me: WHAT?
Kid: A giraffe.
Me: Well, that's a sucky spirit animal. Everyone else got cool animals, and I got a stupid giraffe? Blech. What do you think a spirit animal is anyway?
Kid: Pfft... I dunno.

True. They Do Deserve a Trophy.

2011-02-13T13:39:00.000-05:00

Me: Ooooh, the Grammys are on tonight!
Kid: What are the Grammys?
Me: It's an award show for... (I'm driving and get momentarily distracted by idiot drivers.)
Kid: An award show for... grandmothers?

Sound the Horns

2011-02-09T08:44:00.000-05:00

The kid comes over to me, giggling uncontrollably. Based on his beet red color, I know what subject matter is coming up. I brace myself.

Kid: What does horny mean?

Me: Like when you’re attracted to someone and want to kiss them.

The kid starts laughing so hard that I am prepared for him to pass out.

Kid: So when I'm in eighth grade, do I get to make out with my girlfriend?

Me: Oh, lord... Yes, you do. You can kiss your girlfriend.

Kid: But can I make out with her.

Me: Barf. You can kiss her. Let's leave it at that. Can we not talk about this, please?

Kid: Horny. It’s a funny word. It sounds like a disease. Like when you grow a horn.

Me: Go get your pajamas on.

Kid: Okay, Mrs. Horn.

The kid leaves the room in total hysterics.

Super Bowl

2011-02-06T17:02:00.000-05:00

Me: You're going to watch the Super Bowl with me, right?
Kid: Sure.
Me: So what kind of snacks do you want to have? Chips and salsa! How about awesome meatball sandwiches on fresh bread with melted cheese?
Kid: Uh... no.
Me: Of course not. Fine. What do you want want?
Kid: We need something that expires.
Me: We need something that expires?
Kid: Wait a minute. No. We need something that inspires.
Me: That makes more sense. What do you think is inspirational food?
Kid: Hot dogs.
Me: Hot dogs might inspire me to puke, but if that's what you want...
Kid: Hey!

Quote of the Day

2011-02-05T14:22:00.000-05:00

Kid: You want to know who's the most hated person in the world?

Justin Bieber. Or Bin Laden.... Mostly Bin Laden.

Those Silly Brits

2011-02-03T15:43:00.001-05:00

Kid: Am I British?
Me: What? No, you're not British. You're American.
Kid: Whew!
Me: Well, what if you were? What do you have against being British?
Kid: I can't stand that whole "'Ello Gov'na" thing.

Once again, I have no idea where this came from. But I will obviously adopt a Cockney accent for the next few days just to annoy him.

Schoolwork

2011-01-31T19:14:00.001-05:00

Uh... uh...I'll refrain from commenting on number one. But I will not refrain from laughing because I have the maturity of a fifteen-year-old boy.

I don't know why the kid wrote this letter to his teacher.

Maybe he wants to rat me out as a slave-driving parent? But he gives the impression that there is some sort of secret and exciting story to tell regarding laundry, the receipt of a mystery item, and one of the times that we went to the orchard. I'm considering telling him about all the outrageously event times that I'VE done laundry and the time that he gave me a toilet clogged with a Thomas train. Also, the time we went pumpkin picking and he selected a 56 lb. pumpkin that he expected others to carry up a huge hill.

Sounds the Same

2011-01-28T11:32:00.001-05:00

Kid: Why are there signs about Concord all over the place?

Me: What do you mean?

Kid: Around town. There are signs for Concord. What is Concord?

Me: It’s another city. Concord, NH. So you’ll see a lot of signs on the highway for Concord letting people know what major city is coming up.

Kid: But I don’t understand. What got Concord? Who Concord something?

Me: Ah… I get it. You mean a different word that sounds the same. Conquered.

The poor kid thought that notifications about various battles had been placed throughout the state. Looking for brutal domination? Exit 14. Want to take a peek at an oppressed population? Take a left after The Olive Garden.

Stupid homonyms causing fear among our youth.

Choose Your Words Carefully

2011-01-28T09:36:00.001-05:00

Our cat Inga is a pill. Well, she’s not really a pill, but I say that because she doesn’t love me the way I’d like her to. Therefore, there is obviously something wrong with her. She is a gorgeous flame point Himalayan, her long white fur tipped with light orange at the ends. Inga has a beautiful purr and lovely meow. I want her to love me, but I only get sporadic moments of affection from this beauty. The boys in the family, on the other hand, get all the love. The moment my husband comes to bed, Inga is all over him: purring ferociously, rubbing her head into his hand, begging him to rub under her chin. Same deal with the kid. He sits down to watch a movie, and that damn Inga comes nearby, stares adoringly at him, closes her eyes and lifts her head up while he pats her back. Me? I get next to nothing from this cat.

Me: Why doesn’t Inga like me? I feed her, brush her, love her. I’m crazy about cats. I deserve more from her. How come she only likes you and Daddy?

Kid: It’s ‘cause she’s perverted for men.

Me: What?!? Oh. Prefers. Jesus. Not perverted. She prefers men. God, I'm so grossed out right now.

Christmas: Driving and Cussing

2011-01-20T16:15:00.001-05:00

According to the kid's summary, Christmas Day was dominated by outrageous traffic on the way to my parents' house (it really wasn't that bad), grabbing our presents and throwing them in the car as fast as possible, and hauling ass back home. Dad apparently honked incessantly and swore like a sailor. This is not how I remember the day at all, and I certainly hope that my parents do not see us as cussing, ungrateful brats.

I love his teacher: "Sounds like a busy day!"

There is a Difference

2011-01-09T17:31:00.001-05:00

The whole family is obsessed with those f'ing Angry Birds. They're making me insane, but none of us can get enough. So of course I hear the crazy bird sounds around the house all the time. ALL THE TIME. And I've taken to imitating them. Often.

Me: I'm pretty good at imitating the Angry Birds sounds, huh? (I do a series of wildly awesome bird noises."Dah-hingit!") I'm good!
Kid: No, not really.
Me: What? Come on! My imitations are funny!
Kid: Oh, yes. They are "funny." I thought you said "good."

The kid is a sucker for language, I guess. Maybe he'll be a writer! Oh. Or a lawyer.

The Spirited Kid and the Fish Spirit

2011-01-09T10:28:00.000-05:00

Kid: The reason that I don’t eat fish is because I’m afraid that the fish’s spirit is inside me.

Me: We’ll it’s not. Eat your dinner.

Later I follow up. Because as cute an excuse as this is for not eating fish, the kid certainly eats other animal products.

Me: Tell me more about the problem of the fish spirits. What exactly would this supposed fish spirit do?

Kid: It could control me and that would be bad. I would just flop around like there’s no tomorrow. And no one controls me except for me.

Me: What about when you eat chicken and pork? What about that, huh?

Kid: They have spirits, but they don’t really control me. HEY! Are you writing this down? No! Stop!

Dammit! I need to learn to be more covert during these information-gathering sessions.

New Year's Correction

2011-01-01T19:37:00.000-05:00

Kid: Why would people stay up until midnight? What happens then? A bomb drops?

Me: A ball! A ball! Jesus. Not a bomb.

2010-12-28T16:57:00.002-05:00

Here is the kid's letter to Santa Claus. Or "Santa Clause." Someone has watched the Tim Allen series of movies a few too many times. On Christmas Eve, he left out Snowman Poop (not "Snow Poop, although I suppose it sounds equally disgusting) which is a mix of cream cheese, crushed Oreos, and other crap. I really do love that he asked Santa to make his buddy's stomach flu go the hell away. I think that his concern was magnified because Ethan had given him a Kung Zhu hamster thingy earlier in the day.

The kid was so flipping excited about this toy that he actually STARTED TO CRY.

I heard tears and whimpering coming from the other room, and when I raced in there to see what was wrong, the kid said (through sobs and dramatic sniffs): "I'm just...so... happy. I can't believe he got me this. I always wanted one. It's amazing. I have to thank him." This ridiculousness went on for about fifteen minutes. Sometimes that Christmas Eve Day emotion just gets the best of us.

Holiday Hair Hotness

2010-12-23T15:15:00.002-05:00

The kid insisted on having me cut his hair. Again. He wants it really short, but I keep resisting. If he got his way, he’d look like an mini-accountant, and I don’t dig that look. He’s got gorgeous, thick hair, and he should do something with it. He was a baldie until he was two, but when he finally got hair, he had had amazing white-blond ringlets, and I don’t think that the poor kid got a haircut until he was three. Or four. I used to mess it up so he’d have Jimmy Neutron hair, but he caught on to my madness when he was about five. Unfortunately, because that ‘do rocked.

But I suspect that his newfound interest in “the ladies,” as he refers to them, has prompted a sudden concern for his hair fashion. So I caved and cut his hair, but sneakily leave some of the top longer. I threw a bunch of gel into it and mussed up his hair while he watched in the mirror. I was waiting for him to yell at me and demand that I slick it all down, but then he says words that every mother dreams of:

Kid: I want to look like Elvis.

I nearly die with joy. Elvis had BANGIN’ hair! (Among other things.)

Me: Damn straight, you do!

Kid: Man, if I have Elvis hair, I’m gonna get A LOT of girls.

Me: You’re not kidding.

I smooth the sides down and do whoosh-y things to the top.

Me: There. You look hot.

Kid: I look more than hot. I look super sexy.

Me: Easy, cowboy.

Kid: I don’t look like a cowboy. But (he flexes his mini-muscles), I do look buffer.

The Worst Mobile Ever

2010-12-20T17:55:00.000-05:00

The kid has to do a book project every month for school on an assigned book. I appreciate that his teacher gives different types of activities each time, so that it's not just a standard written report over and over. There was the cereal box report, the Thanksgiving diorama, etc. Mix things up a bit. I get it.

But this month it was a mobile. Theoretically I have no problem with mobiles. I mean, the kid had a lovely one above his crib when he was an infant. But one look at the wire hanger (Say it with me... "No wire hangers! EVER!") and I had a bad feeling. I checked out his book for the month. A rather dull-looking chapter book on Louis Braille. Hardly the festive tale that the kid was hoping for during the holiday season, but that's okay.

Here's where the weirdness started... The kid had to write down major events from Louis Braille's life and draw them on paper squares that would be tied to the hanger. Here's what the kid came up with for his cards:

1. Louis sitting in a freakishly tall chair and stabbing himself in the eye with a screwdriver at the age of three, thus blinding himself.

2. Louis walking into a tree while at school and evidently being unaided by his heartless, basket-wielding peers.

3. Louis goes to a school for the blind. Apparently nothing traumatic happened here except that a giant dog continually ran past the depressing gray building.

4. Louis dies and someone (a pilgrim?) sets a lone daffodil on his gravesite.

Considering that the kid repeatedly wrote LOUISE instead of LOUIS, I am surprised that "Sex change operation" was not listed in the list of major life events. But whatever.

Why was this assignment a mobile? What kind of sicko would hang a mobile like this over a baby's crib? This totally should have been a cereal box report...

"I Have to Go See About a Girl"

2010-12-20T17:30:00.002-05:00

So the kid is still crushing hard on Little Miss H. I get daily reports about who H. likes, if she's still going out with C. (this seems to vary day-to-day), and who know that the kid also likes H., and whether or not she has been told... on and on. I casually suggested that the kid might want to give his crush a little something for the holidays. He was clearly interested, but very concerned about making a spectacle of himself by lavishing her with a gift. Since he turned about twenty shades of red, I then said that perhaps he could do small bags of candy for a few select friends... including H. So it didn't look like he was singling her out or anything.

Aha! The kid liked that.

Last night he packaged up his little gifts (H. got the biggest bag of candy PLUS an ornament) and headed off to school today. I did my best not to pounce on him the second that he walked through the front door. All day I'd been wondering how the gift-giving went. What if she didn't seem happy? What if she said something hurtful? What if the kid was a mess? Ugh.. I just don't want MY kid to get hurt yet. There's plenty of time for that.

He gets home, and I manage to control myself and leave him alone for a few minutes.

Me (puttering in the kitchen and not making eye-contact as though my heart was not pounding out of my chest): Did everyone get their gifts today?

Kid: Yup.

Me: Heather...?

Kid (suddenly beaming/blushing/stammering): Yup. She said... she said.... (I swear to God that the kid can hardly speak because he's so totally freaking out.) She said, "Thank you."

Me (aggravated now because my kid is a stupid boy who is not supplying delightful details): That was nice. Did you give it to her or leave it on her desk?

Kid: I left it on her desk. But then I saw her outside when we were waiting in line to come in from recess. Then... (Long, ridiculously drawn-out pause during which I think I may die if he doesn't tell me what happened.) Then she said I could cut in front of her in line. (Blushing and smiling reach new levels.)

Me: So did you?

Kid (hanging his head): I said, "No thanks. That's okay." No. I was too shy. And too nervous.

Me: That's okay, buddy. You did great. I told you that she would like the fact that you thought about her. (I give him a hug.) You did really great.

I'm finding that this holiday season is very strange with the kid. I'm so used to the younger kid attitude toward Christmas. But things feel different now. On one hand, he's still got that little boy side to him. The way he plays sometimes, the way he needs me, the way he talks... Some of those moments scream, I'm little! I need my Mommy! Take care of me! But more than ever, I am seeing an older kid. The crush, his speech patterns, the way he moves. Even the way he's handled learning that Santa Claus isn't real. It's so much less of an issue than I'd thought it would be.

He's growing up. Which I find so unbelievably painful and so unimaginably gorgeous.

Really?

2010-12-19T22:14:00.002-05:00

Family, friends, being born, blah, blah.... It's obvious what he's really thankful for.

WTF is up with the kid's obsession with double rainbows? I hope this doesn't mean that he's going to become a pothead and videotape himself acting like an asshole.

What really did bring a tear to my eye in this piece is that the kid knew that "a lot" is TWO F'ING WORDS.

Candy Cane Insanity

2010-12-17T15:23:00.001-05:00

The kid comes home from school sucking on a candy cane.

Me: Yum! Who gave you that?
Kid: My teacher.
Me: That was nice of her, wasn't it? She must be in a holiday mood.
Kid: It was nice of her. But then she went insane.
Me: Oh... I'm sorry to hear that. At least you got the candy cane first.

Artistic Representations Gone Bad

2010-12-16T15:15:00.000-05:00

Um... oh, my.

So the kid is enamored with mozzarella sticks. He talks about them the way the rest of us would talk about, well, something significantly more delicious. I made him some for a snack the other day, and while it seems that my store-bought version was adequate, apparently the skilled chefs from the city school district are able to concoct a massively better cheese stick. The kid spent way too long describing to me how the school's food offering outdid mine by a landslide. Lest I should not fully comprehend how inferior my cheese sticks are, he drew a picture to illustrate what a proper one looks like.

He shows me his drawing, saying regretfully, "It looks like a penis."

I immediately think, With warts. But I swear to God that I kept my mouth shut.... until the kid says (I'm not making this up), "WITH WARTS."

The power of genetics never fails to delight me.

Also, I am NEVER dining at his school.

At Least He Asked...

2010-12-13T19:44:00.000-05:00

The kid is in the other room, and I hear him start to giggle uncontrollably.

Kid: Do you want to be friends with Justin Bieber?
Me: GET OFF MY FACEBOOK PAGE!
Kid: Darn it.

Thanksgiving Day, Kid Style

2010-12-12T19:36:00.001-05:00

9 a.m.: It’s Thanksgiving morning, I make cranberry sauce. I try to entice the kid to help with this mundanely simple process by telling him that there is a lot of sugar involved. He’s not interested in the least, but does comment on the cooking process.

Kid: What’s that noise?

Me: The sound of the cranberries popping as they cook.

Kid: It sounds horrible. Like someone’s pooping.

Me: That’s attractive. Thank you.

9:45 a.m.: I accept that the kid is not interested in helping prepare food to take down to my parents' later that day, so I opt for conversation.

Me: What do you have to say about Thanksgiving today? What are you thankful for?

Kid: Three things. For my friends and family. I’m thankful for living. And I’m thankful for double rainbows. (Kid has obviously seen that stupid double rainbow video guy.)

Me: Okay. All of those are extremely important. Well, most of them are. What have you learned about Thanksgiving at school?

Kid: The first Thanksgiving was celebrated by the pilgrims and Indians. The first food they had was turkey, corn, and I think mashed potatoes. All the women prepared and the men mostly hunted. All the children that were boys, they kicked through the water, and if they found something like an eel, they’d pick it up with their toes and throw it to the ground and somehow kill it. And you can do the same thing with clams.

Me: Did they eat a lot of clams at Thanksgiving?

Kid: I think so. Oh, yeah, there’s cranberry sauce, too. (He gives me a look as if to say, “Don’t worry, your pathetic cranberry sauce contribution is not interesting, but it’s allowed.”)

Me: Did they eat the eels?

Kid: Yes. They cooked them and ate them, too.

Me: I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we will not be having any traditional Thanksgiving eel today. Unless my parents have gone insane. So, we’ll see.

10:45 a.m.: Our cat, Gato, is still recovering from a stroke and can barely move. Suddenly, Gato starts crawling across the floor. It’s a pathetic semblance of crawling, but at least he’s finally covering ground. The kid gasps and says dramatically, “It’s like he was born again!”

11:30 a.m.: The kid is watching the Thanksgiving parade, a family-oriented, supposedly fun-for-all event (although it bores me to tears), and yells, "Oooooh! I like those cheerleaders!" Stupid parades.

Noon: The kid makes a random announcement pertaining to his girl-getting philosophy. “Just to let you know, I’m NOT becoming a jock. They do it just to impress girls. I think.“

12:15 p.m.: We’ve set up the little lighted houses for the holiday. I catch the kid playing with the two ice skater figurines. They are kissing, and the boy skater is mumbling in a very Elvis Presley-like voice, “I love ya, baby. I love ya.” I tell him to knock it off, but the two skaters have trouble controlling their passions. I announce that they are brother and sister, thus unceremoniously ending the rink-side make out session. “Gross, Mommy! That’s disgusting.” Depressed skaters are left lying forlorn in the cotton snow.

12:35 p.m.: The kid announces that he has a plan to get the girl he likes. “One word. Mistletoe.”

4:10 p.m.: We’ve made it to my parents’ house, watched a football game, and have sat down to dinner. I notice that the kid has disappeared. I find him in the bathroom, curled up in a ball in the tub. He’s having an idiotic fit because he feels terrible that he does not like any of the Thanksgiving food. I’m not surprised because he eats next to nothing. I refuse to have food battles with him and tell him it’s not a big deal. Kid is filled with self-loathing because he has learned at school that he is expected to eat EVERYTHING that is served to him on this holiday. This has been a major part of the lesson plan, apparently. Great. Again, I tell him that I couldn’t care less what he eats, traditional or not. He reluctantly comes out of the tub.

4:45 p.m.: Kid has disappeared from the table again. I find him in the kitchen, staring into the freezer. He shuts the door, walks away, and then opens it again. He shuts it again and starts looking upward, speaking to the food gods. “Please tell me I’m not illusioning. Please tell me I’m not illusioning, “ he says dreamily. The freezer door opens again. “I’m not illusioning.”

I walk over to see what enthralling item he has located. Oh. Of course. Frozen mac and cheese from Trader Joe’s. I sigh. “Nope. You’re not illusioning. It’s really there.”

We cook it, and the kid happily shovels food into his mouth while the rest of us continue with our vile, non-mac and cheese dinner. The kid can’t stop smiling. “This tastes very satisfying.”

6:30 p.m.: The kid is fascinated by a picture of me from when I was about eleven. Before I started foiling the red out of my hair. He calls me a “ginger” about 700 times until I tell him to zip it because he’s creeping me out.

8 p.m: We roll our overstuffed selves out of my parents’ house and make our way to the car. The kid notices a sticker on the back of Dad’s car with the initials BH. He asks what it stands for. I’m so buzzing on cherry cobbler that all I can think of is Buxom Hussy, which even I know is inappropriate. Fortunately Dad answers him normally. “It stands for Bar Harbor. Remember when we went to Maine?”

“Oh.” The kid shrugs. “I thought it meant Bah Humbug.”

And then the Grinch family drove home.

10 p.m.: I go to my bedroom and find the kid there, lounging in my bed with a cup of hot chocolate. He has on no pants and no underwear.

Me: What the heck are you doing?

Kid: Drinking hot chocolate.

Me: And?

Kid: I burned my tongue.

Me: And that made your clothes fall off?

Kid: No. I burned my tongue, spit the hot chocolate out, and got it all over my pants. And now I’m naked.

Me: I need some sort of audio recorder to carry around so I can tape all these things you say.

Kid: Just so you know, Mommy, if you start taping me, I won’t say anything good anymore.

I convince him to put on pajamas and tuck him into bed.

Me: Goodnight, Kid. I love you. You were very funny today.

Kid: I know. I was funny, wasn’t I?

Can't Buy Me Love

2010-12-07T11:39:00.002-05:00

The kid has a crush. A major crush. He's known this little girl, H, since kindergarten, and she is really a sweet kid. Unfortunately, other boys seem to have noticed this, too, so the kid has competition.

Kid: Mommy? How do you make a girl love you?

Oh, Jesus, how am I supposed to answer questions like that? I gave him a good talk about being himself, not being too goofy around her (including not telling poop or fart jokes), and just treating her like a friend. Ask her about herself. See if they like any of the same things. I don't know!

Kid: A lot of other boys like her. I don't think she likes me, but I'm not gonna act like a jock.
Me: You don't have to act like a jock. You just have to be you. Trust me. It's a waste of time behaving like someone that you're not. Give it some time.
Kid: But, Mommy.... I just get so nervous around her, and it's hard to talk. And I think that H likes C because everyone says that C is cute and he flirts with all the girls.

I resisted the urge to scoop my baby boy up in my arms and tell him that everything will be okay. Secretly, though, I started plotting ways to get this girl's attention. But then, tragedy happened. I picked up the kid from his after-school science class. He looked depressed. And embarrassed.

Me: Buddy, what's wrong?
Kid (clearly trying not to cry): I saw H and C holding hands.

Here is a nightmare moment of conflicting emotions. While I am horrified that H was not holding hands with MY child--and heartbroken for him--I am equally relieved. He's only nine! I am not ready for this, and I don't think that he is either. But he looks miserable. He's clearly trying to be a trooper about this, but I can tell he's hurting. So now I'm hurting.

So I comfort him and tell him that he will be in school with H for years to come. She isn't going to run off and marry C anytime soon, and I promise him that he'll have other chances with her. Or some other girl.

Later in the week, the kid is on his computer.

Kid: How do you spell mistletoe?
Me: M-I-S-T-L- Wait a minute. Why do you need to know how to spell this?
Kid: I'm looking on Amazon for mistletoe. I want to buy two. One for me, one for H.
Me: Aw, kid. It doesn't work like that. Unfortunately. Amazon sells a lot of things, but love is not one of them.
Kid (now looking totally crushed): Oh. I thought mistletoe would work.
Me: You and a million other people. It's fun stuff, but it's not magic.
Kid: Okay. I just added another Bakugan to my Christmas wish list.
Me: Glad you're moving on.

Self-portrait with Random Facts

2010-12-06T18:26:00.000-05:00

I love you, too, kid. And I'm glad you know that some people might not be good at baseball.

More Thoughts on Veterans

2010-12-06T18:23:00.000-05:00

The kid seems to have a rather crappy (and minimizing) attitude about casualties of war. Eh, a couple people died, but despite their obvious failure, we'll go ahead and honor 'em anyway. Teacher's capitalized SEE ME indicates she is none too pleased with his stance...

Judgmental, Much?

2010-12-03T21:07:00.001-05:00

The kid has just finished his basketball practice at school. He gets into the car and slams the door.

Kid: I can't believe it. They changed the water fountains at school so that the first graders can reach them.
Me: So?
Kid: It's despicable.
Me: You find that despicable?
Kid: Yes. It's despicable.
Me: Okay.

I like that he has strong feelings about things, but it's hard to predict what's going to tick him off.

The Good Fortune That Is Beer

2010-11-29T15:23:00.000-05:00

The kid brought home a fortune cookie fortune from school.

One should not forget the language of gratitude.

Isn't that nice? So true. I really should take this message to heart. Oh, the lovely reminders a good fortune delivers! The sweet sentiment is continued on the back.

LEARN CHINESE: Beer.

Hm. I could be grateful for beer. Try me.

Thanksgiving Veterans

2010-11-22T21:21:00.009-05:00

Just when I think that the kid has finished with funny writing, I come across this little gem. I knew there was a reason that I read EVERYTHING he brings home.

Well, I see SOMEBODY was bored today at school and failed to pay attention to which holiday is approaching. I particularly like his teacher's emphatic NO next to the kid's answer. She might as well have written, "Jesus Christ, kid! Veteran's Day was last week!"

Demanding Thanksgiving veterans wait impatiently for starch items. Pitchforks and giant knives are in position for mac and cheese/potato consumption. Also, have menorah in case need for third holiday arises. (For as yet determined reasons, the guest on the far right is balancing on a ball.)

The Kid is Published

2010-11-13T21:54:00.001-05:00

WHAT THE KID SAYS is now is electronic form over at Amazon, complete with a snazzy cover from my pal Brian Yagel. I figured some of you may have an overwhelming urge to carry these posts around with you, because you never know when the need for a kid quote might overtake you.

The kid is currently reading this on my kindle and vacillating between laughing really hard and then yelling things like, "This is garbage! Total garbage!" and "Seriously, Mommy? Really?"

Look, for 99 cents, some of it will indeed be garbage.

Well, That Could Have Gone Better

2010-11-11T16:06:00.000-05:00

I’ve been dreading this conversation since I got pregnant. The kid is nine years old and still believes…er, believed… in Santa Claus. I was hoping that we would have this conversation far enough before Christmas that the entire holiday wouldn’t be ruined, so I suppose that I got my wish. Last Christmas, I knew that it would be the last one where he believed, and I didn't want him to get embarrassed if he found out from one of his friends or at school. He'd asked me about the Tooth Fairy last spring and sobbed piteously when I told him the truth. I was sort of hoping that he’d make the connection between all these fictitious characters, but it didn’t happen immediately. So the other week, the kid finally asked me whether or not Santa Claus was real. I could tell that it was time.

Me: What do you think?

Kid: I don’t know. Is he real?

Me: Are you sure that you want to have this conversation?

Kid (smiling nervously): Yes.

Me: No, honey. He’s not real.

Commence lots of sobbing. And me reassuring the kid that nothing about the holidays will change, that Christmas isn’t just about Santa, blah, blah, blah. Basically the conversation sucks, and I can’t help but feel horrible for having perpetuated such a stupid lie. But, boy, did the kid simply love all the traditions that come with believing in Santa, and truthfully, I wouldn’t take those memories away for anything. Finally, after lots of snuggling and hugs, the kid begins to calm down. Things are going okay, until I made a rather unfortunate mistake.

Me: See? Everything is going to be just fine. It’s just like when I told you about the Easter Bunny?

Kid: You mean the Tooth Fairy, right? WAIT! WHAT? OHMYGOD! The Easter Bunny isn’t real either?

Me: Oh. No. Oops…

Next stop...

2010-11-10T18:35:00.001-05:00

It's been a nutty week. One of our cats has been hideously sick, and I've been dealing with vets (and vet bills) and cat pee and general grossness all week. I am a tired, wretched mess, but the kid has been a real trooper.

Tonight we were driving home from yet another two-hour vet appointment in rush hour traffic, yielding a slew of descriptive swearing on my part.

Kid: Next stop.... Burger King!
Me: No.
Kid: Next stop... McDonalds!
Me: Just because you say it does not make it true.
Kid (sadly): Awww.

We get stuck at every traffic light and cut off by numerous idiot drivers. Much to the kid's delight, I swear a lot more.

Me: Next stop.... Margaritaville!

Flexible

2010-11-02T19:00:00.000-04:00

The kid was peering over my shoulder as I wrote a message to his friend's mom, asking about the kids seeing a movie this weekend. I wrote that we could be "flexible on the time."

Kid: No offense, but not much people say "flexible" these days.

Well, gosh darn. Thank you! What would I do without someone to keep me up to date on popular language trends.

FYI

2010-11-01T14:54:00.001-04:00

Happy Halloween!

2010-10-31T22:00:00.000-04:00

Hatching

2010-10-31T12:00:00.001-04:00

Jesus, I look away for TWO minutes....

Me: What the heck are you doing here?
Kid: I want to have a baby. I want to see what it's like to be a grown-up.
Me: When the chick peeps all night, I'm not getting up to feed it.

Apparently Eggy passed out (frat party?) and the kid wrote all over him... Practicing for college, I think.

The Kid is a Marketing Whiz

2010-10-19T20:22:00.006-04:00

Me: I'm depressed. How come nobody is buying my book. It’s pretty good.

Kid (thinks seriously for a moment): Spunk. You can add a little bit of spunk. Yes. Spunk. I think I can help you. In your new book, you can maybe add some swears, maybe. That’s mostly what I got. (More serious thinking.) Or you can add something kind of disgusting. A book that’s disgusting AND it’s good. All three: with swears, it’s disgusting, and it’s good.

Me: What would make it disgusting?

Kid: Add something like this... (Don't get mad at me. Shoots me warning look, so I nod.) Maybe some sex. Or poop coming out of people's mouths or ears. Something that would make the people that are reading it puke.

Me: Why would making people puke help me sell books?

Kid: They would puke, like it, and think it’s really amazing. How about, The Adventures of Scroty McBooger Butt? You can just write up a short one, then print it out. I'll check it.

Please buy my book, or I might have to write about poop. Or even worse, sex. With a title that contains a word pretty close to scrotum. And have my kid edit it.

Math Blows

2010-10-19T18:14:00.000-04:00

I think that the kid shows an appropriately outraged, passive-aggressive response to a stupid question. I would have gone with, "Because I just SOLVED the damn question on this boring math sheet," or "More importantly, how do YOU know my answer makes sense?"

Soup-Eating Hell

2010-10-13T20:21:00.002-04:00

I don't think that anyone in the world has ever slurped soup in such an annoying, obnoxious, disgusting, loud manner as my son. Really. It's nauseating. Don't give me any nonsense about it being an indication of gastronomic praise in other countries. I don't think that anyone under the age of 20 should be allowed to eat soup. Or grown men.

Me: I don't think you're eating your soup loudly enough. I can hardly hear you. What's wrong?
Kid: What do you mean?
Me: I'm trying to give you a hint about your deplorable manners.
Kid: Oh.
Me: Do you understand what I mean?
Kid: Yep. (SLUUUUUURP.)
Me: The way you eat soup is grotesque.
Kid: What?
Me: GROTESQUE.
Kid: What does that mean?
Me: It's a pompous way to say "gross." Stop eating like an animal.
Kid: (Belches in a fashion jarringly more disgusting than the slurpring.) Excuse me! (Repeats burping 45 times with apologies.)
Me: Do you think you could work on your soup-eating manners?
Kid: No.
Me: Fabulous. Good for you. How lovely that you're standing your ground. I couldn't be prouder.

Simple

2010-10-11T23:12:00.005-04:00

I talk to the kid a lot about what it means to be gay. I want him to know that the definition is not what he hears on the bus to school. It's not supposed to be a hateful word, an insult, a way to make someone feel embarrassed. The first time that I explained about boys having boyfriends/husbands, and girls having girlfriends/wives, he sort of wrinkled his face.

"It's different from what you've known before, huh?" He nodded. "You're used to hearing about a man and woman being in love. Well, it's the same feeling."

The kid and I talk about loving people for being good, kind, interesting, wild, wonderful, complicated, dynamic people. He gets it. I will unabashedly say that I think I do everything right when it comes to talking about homosexuality with him. I am open, clear, and non-judgmental. I let him express his confusion, answer his questions, and help guide him in processing the concept. I don't get angry with him if he flounder to make sense of things. I've been very clear with him that he may or may not feel okay about same-sex couples. That's his right. What is most important to me is that he have deep acceptance and compassion for people who are different from him, even if they live a different kind of life than he might. And he does.

We had a talk today about the NOH8 campaign, and I told him in general terms about the recent rash of gay teens that have killed themselves. I was near tears.

The first thing that the kid innocently said was, "Why would they do that? Why would they want to die?"

"It's heartbreaking," I told him.

He has no concept of what it means to be relentlessly shamed. I am lucky. He is lucky. I explained how bullied, tortured, and isolated these kids were. How they had no hope that they would ever find a way to feel, not just accepted, but truly loved. What a horrible thing to have to explain to a child like mine who has known nothing but total adoration. But I want him to be aware of what his friends might go though and to instill in him the desire to stand by and fight for those that he cares about. And maybe one day, the love of my life might be bullied for yet another sickeningly stupid reason, and he need to know early on that he is right, and he is loved, and he is valued.

I don't know how to tell him everything that I need to or want to. I'll figure it out.

And then he made the most basic, smart, comment:

“I just don’t feel that gay people should be treated that way. That’s pretty mean.”

Yes, kid. It is pretty mean. There is really no other understanding necessary. It's mean.

You don't do that to another person.

I know my son, and I know his heart. He will not be a person who torments another for any reason. That knowledge is extraordinary. And relieving, although not surprising. I am so proud.

Our DIY NOH8 campaign. I love that he wanted to other kids to know that he supported them.

Even NOH8 backwards is a smart thing.

Crikey!

2010-10-10T13:13:00.000-04:00

I think that we've been watching too much of The National Geographic Channel. The kid made the following announcement about his upcoming reality show:

Kid: I'm going to make a video with me, and E, and G at the mall. (Commences very thick, and very bad, Australian accent.) "Crikey! Don't look now, it's an Old Navy! And a man and a woman having a baby! Don't be alarmed. That's nature, folks. It's okay. Crikey!"

Guess who won't be shopping at Old Navy anytime soon?

Yubby

2010-10-08T17:57:00.004-04:00

The kid is in charge of Yubby this week. Yubby is a bear that belongs to his third grade class, and we must care tirelessly for this mascot and document the week in a journal. As you can imagine, I have A LOT of ideas...

Unfortunately, Yubby came with a set of instructions, including: Please have your child treat Yubby as a member of the family. Please do not bathe Yubby or try to force-feed.

This doesn't make sense. It seems to me that if we are going to treat Yubby as a member of the family, that we should expect her to bathe. And what the hell is with this no force-feeding rule? Because that's how we feed everybody that comes to our house. Boooooring. These rules take all the fun out of caregiving, but obviously this smelly bear has a tragic history, so we will be respectful.

Except for the fact that Yubby came complete with a gigantic bag of girlie clothes (and a skateboard), the kid is thrilled. He even started writing in the journal:

Yubby and I played on the computer and played Wii. She mostly watched."

Oh. Well, maybe next time she'll have the courage to participate. According to previous journal entries, Yubby is not stranger to the Wii. Or Rock Band. Or chocolate chip pancakes, festivals, pizza, and tea parties. I did learn, through reading this journal, that Yubby is not a fan of soccer games, due to the potential for getting dirty (presumably coupled with the no-bath rule.) This all sounds a blast. Pfft. Yubby may THINK that she had fun before. Just wait. I got plans.

So the kid put Yubby in his backpack and headed off for an adventure. But not before I could harass him.

This week is going to be awwwwwsome.

I'm the Lyrical Jesse James!

2010-10-07T21:45:00.002-04:00

I don't know what the hell is going on.

The kid tells me that he's written a love song. He wants me to write it down. I'm thrilled, thinking something syrupy and romantic is coming.

Turns out he's ripping off Gym Class Heroes and possibly Justin Bieber? Like these songs weren't bad enough. But I do not want to discourage his creativity. Except when his lyrics get... inappropriate. Anyhow, the kid has obviously embraced the idea of tortured, angst-ridden love relationships. Jesus, I can't WAIT until he has a girlfriend. It should be fun.

My Girlfriend (supposedly) by Nick Park

Take a look at my girlfriend.

I thought she was the one for me.

It turns out she wasn’t. I really miss her.

I’m just a lonely man now.

I need a girlfriend. I really need a girlfriend, yeah.

Yeah.

She now likes the guy I hate.

I can’t believe my girlfriend would do such a thing.

It turns out she really hates me.

I really miss you so.

I think about you every day and night.

I just wanna hold you right in my arms, and just kiss you.

(Um, let me just pause you here to say that I am having a hard time tolerating my son's corny desperation. But at least he's passionate. And at least he said, "just kiss." Meaning he's drawing the line at that and will not be engaging in further... maneuvers.)

She’s the one for me, not for you.

You don’t really deserve her, I really do.

If you don’t take me back, that’s fine.

Just find someone else from him.

(I find this to be an incredibly generous attitude. He wants the best for her. I like that the kid is thoughtful like this.)

I really miss you so.

I’ll do anything just to get you back, baby.

Baby

You might think I’m that know-it-all.

That nerd who gets beaten up,

but I’m just not that guy.

HONEY! I got something to say to you:

“How’d you get so smokin’ hot, baby?

Baby, baby, baby!

You’re a really hot girl,

so smokin’ hot off the chart.

Your booty is so--”

(At which point I yell, “Hey! That's just about enough, my young friend. You can stop right there.”)

Halloween Interview

2010-09-30T21:17:00.001-04:00

Me: So Halloween is coming up. What are you looking forward to?

Kid: Getting candy, having fun, seeing everyone’s costumes. Making fun of my enemies.

Me: Oh, that’s nice. Ahem… You’re going to be Luke Skywalker. Why did you pick that costume?

Kid: Because he’s pretty cool. He has a light saber. And I look kind of like him.

Me: You do look a little bit like him. But… why not Han Solo? Don’t you think he’s cool.

Kid (sneering): Uh. Not really.

Me: What???? He’s got Chewbacca. And a vest. And tight pants.

Kid (talking like I am the stupidest person on earth): He’s kind of a little rude.

Me: That’s true, I suppose. But I’m willing to overlook that.

Kid: He keeps yelling and telling orders.

Me: I know, right? He’s commanding and full of sarcastic humor. (Lots of sighing…) Mommy thinks he’s sexy.

(Kid play slaps me across the cheek.)

Me: Hey! Okay, moving on… If you could pick any costume for me, what would it be?

Kid: A pie.

Me: Jesus Christ, how unnervingly feminine.

Kid: Actually, a pickle.

Me: Um... I don't... I don't really know what to say about those gender specific choices. Let's stick with pie since I'm already comfortable in that shell. Get it? Shell? Pie shell?

Kid: That was bad.

Me (snorting): You're telling me.

Nick's first Halloween, 2001

Oh, That Damn Oedipus!/"He Touched the Butt!" and Ohshitthekidisleavingme

2010-09-30T19:54:00.000-04:00

The kid gives me a big hug. I love his hugs. He's adorable and sweet and I am cherishing all the affection I get before he turns into a weird teen monster and hates me. But there are still boundaries. Like when he hugs me and grabs my butt.

Me: Don't touch my butt when you hug me. Or ever, for that matter.
Kid: Fine.
Me: When you're 16, you can touch your girlfriend's butt.
Kid: Okay.
Me: At 13, you can kiss her, and at 16 you can touch her butt. If she lets you. And only when I'm not looking, because I don't want to see that. What do you think about that?
Kid (suddenly beaming wildly): Epic. Totally epic.
Me (muttering): Obviously you don't read my Facebook status updates, or you would know that I've banned that word...

**********

This is the kid in his adventure outfit, based on Ash from Pokemon. He had me help him pack important supplies for his solo journey into the common land behind our house. Sometimes he goes out and plays by himself, talking to imaginary sidekicks and fighting off evil creatures. So I crammed a sleeping bag, a battery-operated lantern, and the very important DS into his backpack. Suddenly, I found myself near tears.

There was something about his wonderful independence that hit me hard. He was going off without me. He's done this plenty of times before, and my usual reaction is, "Thank God I have a few minutes to myself!" This time was different. This time my vision blurred as my eyes started to water. But even as Cynthia Heimel's book title "If You Leave Me, Can I Come, Too?" ran nosily through my head, I simply gave him a huge hug and told him to have fun. To come home and tell me all about it.

Being able to separate and do things on his own is what I want for my son. This is healthy. He is secure enough that he can go off and have his own experiences and then return home. He's got the skills and the drive that he needs to discover the world outside of his relationship with me. I'm proud of him.

But in the moment that I zipped up his backpack, I was reminded that one day he would leave home. For real. It doesn't make any sense that I would freak out over something so mundane; he's gone off to school and sleepovers and play dates.... Especially as an only child, he's proved his independence and capability many times. But once in a while something happens that gives me a glimpse into the future. That tiny little crush to my heart that came with preparing him for that afternoon adventure was just a taste of what I will feel later. And that's also healthy.

It just hurts like hell. Because that's what love does.

The Butler Did It

2010-08-12T20:36:00.001-04:00

Kid: What's a butler?
Me: A butler is somebody that you hire to do everything that you want.
Kid: I don't want to be a butler when I grow up. Not at all.
Me: Why not? Butlers are extremely popular. Like, everyone has one.
Kid: I don't know. It doesn't seem very nice. You should just do what you want instead of asking somebody to do it for you.
Me: Ha! Says the boy who asks me to do everything!
Kid: I do not. That's not very nice.
Me: We'll see.

Ten minutes go by.

Kid: Can I have a glass of milk?
Me: Oh, did you want the butler to get it for you? Sure. I'll be happy to.
Kid: That's not funny.
Me: Yes, it is. And get yourself the milk.

Another ten minutes go by. Kid has not budged.

Me (handing him a glass of milk): Can I get you anything else, sir? This butler is at your beck and call.
Kid: Oh my God! I'm sorry I ever brought this up!
Me: I'm not. I'm thrilled. I'm planning on having lots of fun with this.

I spend the next three hours referring to myself as the kid's butler. It's awesome.

Love and Soda Hats

2010-08-03T11:30:00.001-04:00

Kid: Mommy, I love you.
Me: I love you, too.
Kid: My heart is open.
Me: What does that mean?
Kid: It means that my heart has been taken.
Me: Where did it go?
Kid: My heart went to yours because I love you.
Me (trying not to sob over this adorably sappy exchange that is about to be unceremoniously cut short): I absolutely love you, kiddo.
Kid: Can we get one of those soda can hats?
Me: Um... what?
Kid: You know, those hats with the tubes so you can drink--
Me: NO!

Can I...?

2010-08-02T21:31:00.000-04:00

Kid: Can I get a jet pack?

Me: For what?

Kid: So I can fly to school. And camp.

Me: I don’t where one could purchase a jet pack. And it sounds too expensive. No.

Kid: Can I bungee jump?

Me: No.

Kid: Can I go to Atlantis? There’s a hotel there. And a water park…It looks like a great vacation!

Me: Atlantis is one of the most expensive resorts in the world, my friend, so unless you’re paying, no.

Kid: Can I please go on “Total Drama Island”? I’ll win a million dollars.

Me: It’s a cartoon, so again, no.

Kid: If it was real, could I go?

Me: Yes. Aren’t you happy that I finally said yes to something?

Kid: Yep.

Shedding Skin

2010-08-02T12:57:00.001-04:00

Kid: Mommy, what if you were a snake shedding its skin?
Me: I'm not. I won't ever be.
Kid: What if you were, though?
Me: Then I would go ahead and shed my skin, like any well-behaved snake would.
Kid: I bet it would feel like taking a big poop.
Me: Nick.... really.... (me sighing)...um.... okay.

Manners!

2010-07-20T12:46:00.000-04:00

The other day I told the kid that we were going out to dinner with a friend of mine from France, Cecile, and her daughter.

Kid (groaning): How old is her daughter?

Me: A little older than you. Ten, I think.

Kid: Oh, great...

Me: Don't worry. She isn't supposed to be your girlfriend.

Kid: Whew.

Me: It will be fun. My friends are very nice.

Kid: So, your friend is a little bit French?

Me: Yes.

Kid: And her daughter is a little bit French, too?

Me: Yes... They're from FRANCE.

Kid: So they speak French?

Me: Holy cow. Yes, they speak French. Cecile is an advisor to the president of France.

Kid (groaning again): So this means I have to use extra, extra good manners!

More Cooking with the Kid

2010-07-20T12:42:00.000-04:00

Jesus, this is so annoying. The kid is finally getting interested in food that is not neon orange, but he insists on carrying on a stream of conversation, taking on the roles of all of our ingredients. He did a really nice job helping me cook the other night, but... I'm not a fan of hearing about the torture my produce is going through.

Kid: Help! We don’t want to die! We might be turned into a salad! (According to the kid, this is about the WORST possible fate one could meet.)….Hey, let’s go in there. What is it? A hot tub? A jacuzzi? No, it’s a toaster!

******

Me: Would you go outside and see if there are any more tomatoes or cucumbers in the garden for our salad?

Kid: Sure. Tell me when you’re going to kill the lemon.

******

Kid: Found a cucumber. (Introduces it to the lemon and the plum.)

Kid as Lemon: Hey, look it’s a cucumber!

Kid as Plum: I think he’s a pear.

Kid as Cucumber: I’M NOT A PEAR!

Kid as Plum: Wanna hear a joke? What’s silent but deadly? (Massive fart noise.)

I cut the lemon.

Kid: AAAAHHHHH! Ow. Ow. OW! That hurts! That hurts!

Kid (to lemon): I’m going to beat up the person that killed you.

Me: Hey!

Apparently I made a major faux pas when I tore off the green stem from one of these grape tomatoes. Nick took a piece of parsley to make a toupee so that the bald tomato wouldn't feel like such a loser.

Perfecting the Wink

2010-07-20T12:32:00.000-04:00

Despite the kid's horror at the idea of ever having a girlfriend, he has been practicing important flirty poses that involve a wink, a finger point, and a stupid tongue-click sound. This move is SURE to work "to get the ladies."

Kid Fears

2010-07-13T21:05:00.000-04:00

I was expecting to hear about monsters, snakes, or zombies. Or dummies. The kid is terrified of dummies. Not stupid people. (I'm the one who is afraid of stupid people.) The kid is afraid of mannequin dummies. I have no idea why

Kid: I want to tell you about one of my fears.
Me: Okay, go ahead.
Kid: I'm afraid of diffusing a bomb.
Me: Oh. That would be scary.
Kid: The pressure. Could you imagine the pressure?
Me: I don't expect that you'll find yourself in a situation where you'll be required to diffuse a bomb. Unless, of course, you choose to work for a bomb squad. Which I hope you don't because I would never sleep.
Kid: The pressure! The pressure!

This Makes Me Think of Madonna and Letterman

2010-07-09T21:21:00.000-04:00

A million years ago, Madonna and Dave Letterman mended fences, and she came back as a guest. It was odd. And thrilling. And she talked about the fact that she peed in the shower, bringing us back to odd. Supposedly this is good for athlete's foot? Um... I don't want to know that. Anyway, this conversation with my kid reminded me of those two crazy dingbats:

Kid: Is it okay if you pee in the shower?

Me: What do you think?

Kid: I think it’s good, because otherwise you’d have to get out and get the floor all wet.

Me: And your mother would get mad. So go ahead and pee in the shower. Just don’t tell me about it.

Kid: People might think it’s gross.

Me: But their mothers will be yelling at them about getting the floor sopping wet, because they’ll get out of the shower and leave a huge, stupid mess for their mommies to clean up. So what are you going to do?

Kid: Pee in the shower.

Me: Good.

More Bedtime Antics and The Importance of Farts

2010-06-25T10:06:00.000-04:00

Again, I walk into MY bedroom and see the kid wearing a tank top (nothing else), and sprawled on my bed playing his DS.

Me: Are you getting ready for bed?
Kid: You could say that.
Me: I am saying that. ARE YOU GETTING READY FOR BED?
Kid: It's a free country.

**********

Kid: How come you never fart?

Me: Because I am a delicate flower.

Kid (shooting me dagger stare): How come you never fart?

Me: Fine. Next time I fart, I'll make sure you're around. I'll try to make it noisy for you to make up for my apparent failure so far.

Kid: Fine.

Me: Are you bringing up farts because you feel badly that you spilled the disgusting "Funny Sound" jar of bright yellow goop on the rug and I stepped in it when I walked up the stairs?

Kid (rolling his eyes): No.

Ex-cuuuuu-se Me!

2010-06-13T21:26:00.005-04:00

I walk into my bedroom and find the kid stretched out on my bed, watching his TV show, and using my laptop.

Me: What are you doing? You're supposed to be getting ready for bed.

Kid: Well, ex-cuuuuu-se me!

Me: Ex-cuuuuuse-se you for what?

Kid: Excuse a guy for wanting to hang out with his mother!

Me: Nice try. Go to bed.

Small Misunderstanding

2010-06-13T20:21:00.004-04:00

This one needs a little setup:

Last September, a few days before school started, we were still waiting to find out who the kid’s second grade teacher was going to be. Budget issues in the city had thrown everything into chaos the previous spring, so we were eager to know. The kid is not completely easy going (surprise!) and I had met with the school to let them know what sort of match would be best for him.

On the day that the principal was assigning children to teachers, he was removed from his position. I happened to have loved Principal X, but for a variety of complicated reasons he was unceremoniously extricated from his position and so did not have any input into classroom assignments. The kid ended up with the worst match possible and I promptly threw a fit (again, surprise!) and had him moved to a less horrible room. The kid has been harboring a grudge all year long. I don’t know where he learned that….

So now we’ve reached another spring and are again hoping to know before summer who his teacher will be next fall. We were driving in the car and I asked the kid about this:

Kid: Yeah, last year Mrs. Y (his second grade teacher) tried to put me in Mrs. L’s room! I can’t believe she tried to do that to me. That teacher was horrible.

Me: That was not Mrs. Y’s fault. Principal X would have given you a better teacher, but was in the middle of assigning classes when they came into his office and took him out.

Kid (pausing and clearly shocked): PRINCIPAL X IS DEAD?

Me (trying to recover and talk through my laughter): By “took him out” I meant that they asked him to leave his office and the school, and not come back.

Kid: Oh. That’s better. I thought he was dead! I liked him.

Actually, given the fuss at the school about ousting the principal, a mafia style hit could have happened.

But I need to choose my words more carefully.

Trophies

2010-06-11T15:41:00.006-04:00

The kid is obsessed with trophies. He wants piles of them. The hitch? He hates getting involved in anything that might get him a trophy. He did T-ball years ago and loathed every minute of it, so we all got stuck spending hours on a hot, smelly field herding him back to the dug out. Or yanking him away from the concession stand and forcing him to daydream for another hour out in left field. Or screaming at him to get his hands out of his pants. Although that was probably when he looked most like a professional player... Anyhow, it wasn't good. And he connected bat to ball maybe once.

But according to this essay, he was a rather skilled player who made a conscious decision to retire at the height of his success.

i got this trofy in 2007. I was a baseball player my dad was the coach I was very proud of myself. I like to bat and catch and I like to go there. I won a lot of games. Then I finnally got a homerun! but soon I quited! I got a trofy and that is my story.

This essay is so full of lies it's almost beyond belief. But I'm glad he considers his time in T-ball part of his "Wall of Pride."

The Long War

2010-06-11T15:32:00.008-04:00

Every day for the past three months, the kid has come home from school with a drawing ("an episode") of some imaginary war he and his pals have created. Killing off cartoon characters that he's outgrown seems to be popular, so there are lots of images of Caillou being blasted to smithereens. It's weird boy stuff that I don't get, but I smile at the violent, icky images and add his page to the pile of other weirdness.

Here's a good example:

And here's today's, which was apparently the final episode:

I like how he's written out the credits ("writters") and had his friends line up for a final bow. He could have hogged all the fame for himself. But the most interesting part is that when I asked him about the winged figure in the center of the page, he said, "That's Jesus. Man, we spent all this time in the war just to get him a gem so he could turn it into a cake!"

I don't know what to say about this. Jesus had never made an appearance in the war pictures, and the most he hears about Jesus at home is when I say, "Jesus Christ, the dog crapped in the living room again!" But like all good wars, this one turned out to be a Holy War.

Duh, Pickle Jar, and Girlfriends

2010-05-30T22:28:00.003-04:00

Kid: Hey, Mommy? Maybe sometime I can make you a chicken soup sandwich.

Me: What would be in that?

Kid: Duh. Chicken soup and bread. (long pause) It might be disgusting! (Kid is clearly delighted by this idea.)

Me: How would I eat it?

Kid: Just like a regular person. Duh.

**********

Kid: Mom, I’m not good at anything.

Me: You’re a wonderful reader and writer, you have a wicked sense of humor, you’re an amazing son…

Kid: Not that stuff. I’m no good at sports. I’m terrible at soccer and softball.

Me: You’re pretty good at basketball.

Kid: Yeah, but I stink at tennis.

Me: So what? Maybe you’ll be good at that when you get older. You’re still growing.

Kid: I don’t even think I could break a pickle jar with my head.

Me: Is that an important tennis skill?

Kid: I don’t know.

Me: Tell me some things that you’re good at.

Kid: Video games. Basketball. Good swimmer. I’m very nice. Well, sometimes I am. I love dogs and cats. I’m good at helping people. Helping you in the garden, or organizing books in school. I’m a good expert at chocolate.

**********

Me: God, when you’re a teenager the phone is gonna be ringing off the hook.

Kid: I know. The girls. But don’t worry. I won’t answer some of the calls that are for me.

Me: What about the poor girls?!

Kid: They’ll probably just cry a little. I’ll just have one girlfriend. Can’t a man just get a life?

Me: What about the girls that call that you don’t like?

Kid: I have a good idea. If there is an ugly girl that I don’t like, when she calls…. I have a good idea! I’ll just tell her that we’re moving to California. And then if she comes to the house to check on us, I’ll put on a disguise with a mustache.

Me: What if there is a girl that is not so pretty but she has a wonderful heart and personality. It’s not supposed to matter what people look like.

Kid: No, I don’t want an ugly girlfriend.

Me: Okay. Your choice.

Kid (highly annoyed all of a sudden): Why are you even asking me about this stuff? This girlfriend stuff? I don’t know about these things.

80s, Swearing, and Fox(y)

2010-05-30T10:51:00.010-04:00

Kid: What was it like back in the day?

Me: Back in what day?

Kid: Back in the 80s.

Me: The 80s were not “the day.” Trust me I was there wearing Benetton and hoop earrings, pegging my pants, and working a bad ass blazer everyday in between teasing my bangs. Also lots of neon colors. It was horrible. Do you know what neon is?

Kid: Yes. It’s like Trix. I don’t even like Trix. That Trix rabbit is scary.

Me: Well, nobody liked neon then either, but we had to wear it. Trust me, we all looked grody. What do you think the 80s were about?

Kid: Hippies.

Me: No, that was the 60s.

Kid: Hippies are weird.

Me: Why?

Kid: Because they believe in things.

Me: Like what?

Kid: Peace and stuff.

Me: Yeah. Peace is really weird.

**********

Kid: Stop swearing so much!

Me: I can’t help it. I have a potty mouth. When you grow up, you can have a potty mouth, too.

Kid: Yeah, like Poppy (my father).

Me: Poppy is the one who taught me how to swear. Ah, a family tradition, passed on from generation to generation! Poppy is going to be so proud! He used to swear a lot while driving in Boston traffic, so that’s how I learned the good ones. You’ll learn lots just by hanging out with me. I don’t need a special occasion... Hey, maybe we should call it a “Poppy mouth”?

Kid: No, thanks. That’s kind of rude.

**********

Kid: What does "fox" mean?

Me: Like the animal?

Kid: When you say, “She’s totally fox.”

Me: “Foxy.” Not “fox.”

Kid: What does it mean?

Me: It means she is… attractive. But nobody says “foxy” anymore. It’s passé.

Kid: She’s totally passé.

Me: No, it’s passé to say foxy.

Kid: Okay. She’s totally fox.

(Ten minutes later) Kid: Hey, Mom. You’re totally fox.

Me: I love you.

Talking Clams

2010-05-16T21:34:00.008-04:00

Okay, well the kid still hardly eats anything interesting, but he is interested in cooking. He wanted to learn how to make linguine with clam sauce (or rather, that's what I was making for dinner and he wanted to help cook) and he did a spectacular job chopping oregano and tomatoes. It was great. He was surprisingly focused and stuck with it through the whole cooking process, adding ingredients when I told him, stirring the sauce, and checking to see when all the clams were open.

The one odd hitch was that he made the clams talk. Yeah. About their impending death, the excruciating pain from the bubbling broth...

Kid (putting clams into the boiling broth): Aaaaaahhhhh! Help me! I'm dying! Don't do this to me!
Me: Stop anthropomorphizing the ingredients.

Kid: Huh?

Me: Stop making the clams talk and scream. It's unnerving.

Kid: But it's fun. Give me the bad clam that didn't open... There, now I will save him and torture him later.

Me: Don't torture anybody. Er, anything.

Kid: I'm going to torture him by making him watch educational television. Everybody hates that.

He didn't eat any of the linguine he helped to make, but I suppose he was concerned about ingesting talking clams. I once offered him a bit of my steak and it didn't go so well.

Kid: I don't eat things that are alive.

Me: It's dead. Totally dead. Besides, you eat hot dogs and hamburgers.

Kid: Oh. Well, no thanks. I'm still not eating it.

Literally

2010-05-11T20:47:00.004-04:00

Me: I’m pooped.

Nick: You’re what?

Me: Pooped. I’m tired.

Nick: Oh, I thought you meant like when the dog poops down here.

Me: I did not mean that.

Nick: I’m pooped too.

Me: Yeah?

Nick: Uh-huh. Literally. I’m literally pooped.

Me: I don’t think so.

Nick: I know. Did you get it? That’s a joke. When I said 'literally' it meant that I pooped in your bed.

Me: That’s hysterical. Really. Women love poop jokes.

Nick: Yeah. I’m really a funny guy. (Leans his head onto the sleeping dog’s belly.) Fritzy is tired, too. I can tell. I just have to listen to his gut.

Me: Ha ha. Another ‘literally’ joke, huh?

Kid: What? I don’t get it.

Me: Forget it.

Kid: Whatever… And he says he wants a bone.

Mother's Day Chats

2010-05-11T20:41:00.004-04:00

Me: What do you think about Mother’s Day?

Kid: It’s all about mothers (pronounced Mudders). Moms. It’s about all the moms for being in this world.

Me: Yup.

Kid: They mostly do all the work around the house and all the boys just be lazy. That’s actually true. Moms usually help kids. They help out a little bit. .

Me: And why do you love me?

Kid: I love you because you’re nice to me. That’s all I got. That was interesting wasn’t it?

Me: I thought it was kind of sparse.

Kid: What do you mean?

Me: That you didn’t have much to say about me.

Kid (looking quite affronted): What? You asked me a question and I think I had a lot to say to you.

Me: How about you think about it and get back to me later.

************

Me: How does someone become a mom?

Kid: If a baby is born and it becomes a girl, then the woman becomes a mom.

Me: What if the baby is a boy?

Kid: It becomes a dad.

Me: The mother becomes a dad???

Kid: Wait…. What? NO!!!!

The Fat Priest?

2010-05-01T22:05:00.008-04:00

For reasons I cannot understand, the kid is obsessed with his weight. He doesn't have a weight issue, and I am not that mother that is constantly talking about my own weight and creating a demon child.

Kid: Can I have some breakfast food that is less fattening.

Me: There is nothing wrong with your weight, but you don't eat fattening foods for breakfast anyway. You eat oatmeal and cereal.

Kid: But I don't want to be the fattest priest.

Me (after a long, long pause): You don't want to be the what?

Kid: I don't want to be the fattest priest.

Me: The fattest priest?

Kid: Yes.

Me: I...uh... priest?

Kid: Yes. The fattest priest.

Me: Are you sure you mean "priest"?

Kid: Yes.

Me: Okay. I promise. You won't be the fattest priest.

I really have no idea what he was actually trying to say, but considering that he's growing up in a completely non-religious household, I can pretty much guarantee that he won't be any sort of priest, fat or thin.

*UPDATE* Aha! Jen has revealed that this is indeed from iCarly. Nick looked very surprised when I asked him about this but I gave him the old "Mommies know everything" look. And at least I don't have to send him to speech therapy because his pronunciation of "priest" was right on,

Helping

2010-05-01T21:52:00.005-04:00

Try getting a two-year-old to smear sunscreen on your back or help tuck fitted sheets under the mattress; it doesn't always work out so well. Fortunately, they grow up and gain a hint more motor control. I love that the kid is at the age where he can actually be helpful. Like when the cat puked all over the dresser and dripped vile bits all over the rug, I could scream and shriek and grab towels and also yell for the kid to grab the hand-held wet vac. He's helpful! Not that he's always interested in helping, but the possibility is there.

I've been trying to convince Nick that gardening is fun (ha!) and got him to agree to plant one section of the garden with me. I did five rows and he did one. He chose scallions. Which is odd since he's never met an onion he likes. Frankly, he's never met a vegetable that he likes, but that's another story. He then hopped on his swing and pitched a fit because my bird feeder was in the way of his daredevil swinging style, so I agreed to raise it up higher.

Me: Nick, come here. I could use your help.

Kid: Does it involve using a chainsaw?

Me: Um... no. It does not.

Kid (sighing with disappointment): Okay, fine.

Apparently helping is less appealing without power equipment. But he did help me. Just with attitude. Which I sort of like.

Crazy Mother

2010-04-18T20:16:00.003-04:00

I dump chicken bones from a metal baking pan into the garbage and put it in the dishwasher. The kid races across the room and peers into the trash.

Kid: Whew!

Me: What's wrong?

Kid: I thought you threw out the rest of the brownies.

Me: What kind of crazy mother do you think I am?

Kid: The very sensitive, nice kind that cares about kids.

Smart ass.

Lake What...?

2010-04-18T20:14:00.004-04:00

So I'll confess that we were watching the best of the worst cheesy movies ever. But so what?

What a difference one letter makes...

Kid: What movie is this?

Dad: Lake Placid.

Kid: Lake Acid?

Dad: Lake PLACID.

Kid: Lake Flaccid?

Me: LAKE PLACID!!!

The Kid Outgrows Important Stuff

2010-04-18T17:37:00.008-04:00

Sigh... I'm dealing with some rather traumatic things. Nick has outgrown all of his Thomas the Tank Engine toys. It was a good run from about 1-7 years. Once in a while the interest would wan and I'd think we were done, but then the enthusiasm would reemerge and I'd have tracks and engines covering the floors. I loved Thomas. Nick was obsessed with collecting as many engines as he could, reading long stories about engine adventures, watching videos, playing computer games, discussing all the characters' unique traits, and wondering about life on the Island of Sodor. His interest in all things Thomas encouraged language development, creative play, problem solving track placement issues, and on and on. His interest was wonderfully dynamic and it stuck with him longer than I thought.

But I've accepted that he has not touched his trains in months. And I'm heartbroken. I'll miss Thomas. Nick is growing up and I know it's time to move on. So while I'm willing to part with the blue tracks and the gray tracks, the rest is getting stored away. I hope that someday Nick will have a son who falls in love with Thomas the way Nick did. I've got two boxes packed to the brim with trains and wooden tracks that are being saved as much for me as for Nick.

And then there are the books. I started reading to Nick when he was a tiny baby and we spent hours curled up in bed looking at pictures and talking about the stories. He learned to fill in the blanks while listening to "Moo, Baa, La La La" and demanded in screeches that I reread "Dream Snow" so he could push the button at the end of the story and hear the music. He was crazy about "No, David" and, of course, all the Thomas books. He's outgrown all of the favorites (what 9-year-old wants to hear "Time for Bed"?) and so I forced myself to clear some much needed shelf space. There was a lot of deep breathing and, I'll admit, whimpering as I sorted through what books would stay and what would go. I have so many memories associated with lots of the books and packing them away was painful. As much as I loved the age Nick is at now, the nostalgia for the infant and toddler years was overwhelming.

We donated two boxes of books, but I've got a monster pile that I can't part with. Again, maybe these will get handed down... If not, when Nick goes to college I'll make some crazy, embarrassing shrine to his favorite kid toys. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to bring girlfriends to house, right?

For now everything is going into the attic to join the boxes of special baby clothes, and I'm hoping that these pictures will keep me from going insane. It's not likely, but it's worth a shot.

So here's the real fear: That packing up all these formerly beloved items means that I'm losing my cuddly, lovable kid. That he'll grow into a teenager before I can blink and he'll think I'm a horrible shrew. I won't have my baby anymore. I guess I already don't, but at 9 I can still see hints of my little guy even though I know those moments are fleeting. I'm trying to remind myself that even when he was only 2-weeks-old I was already complaining that time was moving too quickly. And to be honest, in many ways it's easy to idealize the infant (and even the toddler) years, but Nick was an exhausting, draining kid. Interesting and entertaining, yes, but totally demanding and challenging. Another important thing I have to remind myself is that I consistently love whatever age he is at even more than the previous one. I have this fantasy that my teen Nick will not be a monster and push me away, and that he won't tell me that I'm the "worst mother in the world!" but I know that's to be expected.

He's outgrown what he was once so attached to, so what if he outgrows me? I refuse to let that happen because I'll never outgrow him.

More Important Writing

2010-04-15T16:28:00.005-04:00

Nice try, Nick, but we know it's really all about the gifts.

The important things in life: No to homework, but yes to brownies, cookies, and moon rocks.

More Hot Tubs

2010-04-15T16:25:00.002-04:00

The hot tub interest continues: "If I found a pot of gold, I would buy a hot tub so in the winter I won't get cold anymore."

God and Hoodies

2010-04-12T08:12:00.004-04:00

Ah, Monday... A new week, a new interesting way to start the day.

Kid: If I don't believe in God, can I wear my hood at school?

Me (thinking that I need 8 more cups of coffee to understand this): Uh... What?

Kid: We can't wear hoods when we have to say the Pledge of Allegiance.

Me: I don't think you're allowed to wear hoods anytime at school. It's a dress code thing. Not a God thing.

Kid: And sometimes we have to sing "God Bless America."

Me: Yeah, that song sucks.

Kid: Tell me about it.

The Hot Tub Supermodel

2010-04-11T21:01:00.002-04:00

Kid: When I grow up I want to be a supermodel and sell hot tubs.

Me: A supermodel who sells hot tubs? Huh.

Kid: NO! A supermodel OR someone who sells hot tubs. Probably. And all the hot tubs will cost one-hundred dollars. Except for the family. For the family, they're free.

There's a hint of a mafia slant here that I sort of dig. "For family..."

Kool Aid/ Unkool Mom

2010-04-11T20:52:00.003-04:00

Kid: Can we buy some Kool Aid?

Me: No.

Kid: Why not?

Me: Because it's junk.

Kid (sighing audibly): That's what they all say....

The Naked Years

2010-04-11T20:43:00.008-04:00

(From the never-ending naked years.)

I have this exchange with the kid at least three times a week:

Me: WHY are you naked?

Kid: Don't ask.

The kid spent the first six years of his life being naked at every possible moment. He'd come home from school and rip his clothes off before he hit the first floor landing. Seriously, the kid was naked all the time. But he had a cute little body, so, what the hell. You're only young once. But eventually it just got weird and uncomfortable. We finally got him to keep his clothes on but sometimes I'll come into the living room and find my nine-year-old pants-less playing New Super Mario Bros. Really? Look, we all want to play the Wii naked, but it doesn't mean we do it.

But, I dunno... Maybe he's on to something. Maybe I should give it a whirl? I'll let you know.

VERY Interesting!

2010-04-11T20:23:00.005-04:00

(The kid reading a boring old comic.)

Here's the most recent traumatic conversation that took place right after the kid rushed into the house, beaming with excitement:

Kid: Mommy! Mommy! E. and I found the most coolest thing!

Me: You did? What was it?

Kid: Okay, now you have to promise me that there won't be any consequences for what I tell you.

Me: What did you find?

Kid: You have to promise. Because you might say it's not appropriate.

Me: Fine. I appreciate your honesty, so shoot.

Kid: E. and I found a Playboy magazine!

Me: WHAT? (slapping my forehead and sighing loudly) Where did you find this?

Kid: In the neighbor's recycling bin. It was very, very interesting! I really thought it was interesting! But don't worry, we didn't see anyone naked in it. No boobs or anything.

Me: Oh, God... Are you sure no one was naked?

Kid: Well, maybe it wasn't a Playboy. But there were lots of ladies in bathing suits?

Me (totally relieved as I realize it was probably a Victoria's Secret catalog): So maybe it was a bathing suit catalog?

Kid: Yeah. But it was really interesting? Can we get one of those? I'd really like to have one.

Me: Um... I don't think...um...I'm not sure that's a good idea...I...uh...

Kid: We were going to take that one and share it. E would have it on Monday, I would have it on Tuesday, E. would have it Wednesdays, I would have it on...

Me: Gotcha. Well, ahem, I think that was nice that you two were willing to work out an system that gave you both equal time with this.

Kid: But then the girls came along and said it was gross and got mad and threw it in the field behind the house.

Me: Women's rights and whatnot, huh?

Kid: So can we get one?

Me: I doubt it. I'll make some calls.

So now I have to call all of my friends with boys and see what I'm supposed to do about this. Mulling over the option of getting a catalog and discussing how total stupid all these pictures are, that no woman looks like this in real life, etc. Or I'll just do nothing and pretend that this horrifying issue will go away because I'm sure it will, right?

As disturbing as this little chat was, I did enjoy the kid's total honest enthusiasm regarding the "sexy ladies."

Backlog and Open for Business

2010-04-10T21:39:00.003-04:00

Okay, I think I have the backlog of posts I've done on other sites finally copied here. (Meaning, all the evidence is now in one place.)

New stories soon... very odd, horrifying stories about what the kid found in the neighbor's recycling bin... And Nick is open to questions, so if you'd like to know his opinion on important issues (particularly macaroni and cheese, Pokemon, how much school sucks, and anything DSi related), go for it. He'll have something to say about it.

What the Kid Says (And Sometimes What I Say)

Christmas Photo Blooper

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Reminder for Christmas Morning

Playin' This

The Esteemed One

The Penis Chronicles

Oh, The Drama

Category: Things the Kid Knows That I Don't

Kid: I didn't know the Angry Birds were Jewish.Me: What are you talking about?Kid: They're all wearing yarmulkes.Wow.

Pretty Much

Kid: "So Sarah Palin isn't going to run for president?"Me: "No. Thank God. She has some crazy ideas."Kid: "What? Like hovercrafts?"

The Couch

Something Fishy

F'ing Spencer's

Horrible Mother

I Take the Bad with the Good

Love, Like, and Crickets

Unworthy Days of the Week

It's Okay to Rename Famous Works of Art

Mother's Day 2011

Homework is Good for Something

Quick Quips

The Making of a President

Offensive in Every World

Hello, Monday. Go to Hell.

Important Presidential Fact

That's the Spirit

True. They Do Deserve a Trophy.

Sound the Horns

Super Bowl

Quote of the Day

Those Silly Brits

Schoolwork

Sounds the Same

Choose Your Words Carefully

Christmas: Driving and Cussing

There is a Difference

The Spirited Kid and the Fish Spirit

New Year's Correction

Holiday Hair Hotness

The Worst Mobile Ever

"I Have to Go See About a Girl"

Really?

Candy Cane Insanity

Artistic Representations Gone Bad

At Least He Asked...

Thanksgiving Day, Kid Style

Can't Buy Me Love

Self-portrait with Random Facts

More Thoughts on Veterans

Judgmental, Much?

The Good Fortune That Is Beer

The kid brought home a fortune cookie fortune from school.

One should not forget the language of gratitude.

Isn't that nice? So true. I really should take this message to heart. Oh, the lovely reminders a good fortune delivers! The sweet sentiment is continued on the back.

LEARN CHINESE: Beer.

Thanksgiving Veterans

The Kid is Published

Well, That Could Have Gone Better

Next stop...

Flexible

FYI

Happy Halloween!

Hatching

The Kid is a Marketing Whiz

Math Blows

Soup-Eating Hell

Simple

Crikey!

Yubby

I'm the Lyrical Jesse James!

Halloween Interview

Oh, That Damn Oedipus!/"He Touched the Butt!" and Ohshitthekidisleavingme

The Butler Did It

Love and Soda Hats

Can I...?

Shedding Skin

Manners!

More Cooking with the Kid

Kid: I didn't know the Angry Birds were Jewish.
Me: What are you talking about?
Kid: They're all wearing yarmulkes.

Wow.

Kid: "So Sarah Palin isn't going to run for president?"
Me: "No. Thank God. She has some crazy ideas."
Kid: "What? Like hovercrafts?"