Thursday, March 8, 2007

End of the Innocence

Tonight, I took The Boy to baseball practice. While I was unloading all of the team uniforms (I'm the team mom, God help me) and his equipment bag from the back of my car, The Boy stood patiently and soon took notice of a very tan, blonde, very pretty lady jogger trotting toward us, wearing a sports bra, little running shorts, and earbuds attached to her iPod.

The Boy silently watched her approach and then run by us. When she had passed us and turned a corner, he bent slightly at the waist and began yelling at the crotch of his pants, scolding "Bad penis! BAD PENIS!"

They should really start selling alcohol at the ballpark concession.

Break in the action

This morning, as The Boy was preparing to go outside to catch the bus, he stopped in his tracks at the door, ran back to me as fast as he could, and hugged me for a long, long time.

What?

He's not a smartass ALL the time, you know.

Monday, March 5, 2007

Meet the manager

(overheard in the car yesterday)

The Boy: I am going to be a house builder when I grow up.

Sister: Will you build me a house?

The Boy (with a devious smile on his face): Everyone in the family gets a free house except YOU!

Sister: What? Everyone except me? What kind of company is that? Who's your manager?

The Boy: My BUTT's my manager. Wanna meet him?

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Bar score

(running back to our table at Winston's Pub tonight after touring the bar and checking out all the games and pool tables, breathless and excited, adorable with eyes sparkling, holding a Mickey Mouse pedometer)

Look what some DRUNK guy gave me!

Spiderman HQ

So . . . birthday talk continues.

The Boy is pretty much sold on having a Spiderman party this year.

My first reaction was "How much more Spiderman stuff does one kid need?" He has Spiderman sheets, pillowcases, blanket, and bedcover. He also has Spiderman tshirts, posters, cars, and little action figures.

He got the Spiderman tent for Christmas from his aunt.



And Spiderman walkie talkies.


Note: He's also wearing Spiderman pajamas.


These were an instant hit, as the tent became The Boy's "Fortress of Solitude" and he immediately distributed one half of his walkie talkie set to a good friend of ours that was visiting us on Christmas night.

I could barely get a word in edgewise with my friend, Judd, without hearing a static-ey hiss followed by a very deep, growly voice commanding my friend to "Report to the Spiderman tent! Over!" BEEP!

Judd was goodnatured, telling "Spiderman" that "I can't come to the tent right this minute, but I am looking out for bad guys in the kitchen!" BEEP!

"Spiderman" upped the ante, and in his best authoritarian voice, beseeched Judd to "Report to the Spiderman tent NOW, or I will cut your head off! Over!" BEEP!

I took the walkie talkie at that point and advised "Spiderman" that Santa would take back the walkie talkies and the tent and everything else he got for Christmas if he heard any more "mean talk". Judd was laughing loud and long, and I handed the walkie talkie back, crossing my fingers that I wouldn't hear any more demands or threats.

Sure enough, within a minute, I heard the static-ey hiss signaling an incoming transmission. Preparing to confiscate the walkie talkies, I was on the edge of my chair, just waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

But no words came.

I wasn't sure at first, but I soon determined that I was hearing faraway giggling and the closer and unmistakeable sound of a very forceful stream of urine hitting the pool of water in the toilet. Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss BEEP!

Granted, he didn't say anything.

This kid should be a lawyer.

Placing his order

Big Sister: What do you want for breakfast?

The Boy, busy watching Banana Splits reruns: I want you to be quiet. And I also want some Fruit Loops.

Friday, March 2, 2007

Monkeys and Spiders

Last night, The Boy wanted to discuss his upcoming birthday. He will turn 6 in a matter of a few weeks.

We discussed the pros and cons of various party themes. Important stuff when you are almost 6.

Last year, Curious George was the HOT birthday party theme. The movie was pretty cute, cuter than the books ever were, to be honest. As soon as my kid walked out of the movie theater on Valentine's Day last year, he pronounced to everyone within earshot that he wanted to have a Curious George birthday party. Every week between Valentine's day and his actual birthday in April, he asked if he could have a Curious George party, and every week, I assured him that he could.

Come to find out, EVERY mother with a little boy turning 3, 4, 5, or possibly 6 was armwrestling all of the OTHER pre-k moms in the party stores to get to the dwindling Curious George swag.

Of course, being lazy and always looking for the easy way out, I consulted with my personal advisor, EToys . EToys is my best friend, my toy source, my secret Santa Claus AND Easter Bunny and my personal secretary when it comes to children's gifts, parties, holidays, etc. I only had to click-click-click my way to a party for 25, and 3 days and $150 later, 2 large, nondescript brown boxes showed up at my door, chock full of Curious George plates, cups, tablecloths, blow horns, hats, goodie bags, stickers, streamers, luncheon napkins, and banners. You get the idea.

So, Curious Boy, of course, spied the boxes first thing, and began to question me:

"Wow! What's in the big boxes, Mom?" he asked, with a look of wonderment.

"THOSE", I crowed proudly, "contain everything for your birthday party!" I was basking in the glow of my success, proudly confident of my solid position as Mother of the Year.

"YEAAAAAAAA!" he screamed, running through the house, "My Spiderman party is finally here! I'm gonna have a Spiderman party and invite all my friends!"

Shit.

Thursday, March 1, 2007

A Study in Watercolors, Chalk and Crayon 2007

Wishful thinking

Weekday mornings are hectic at our house. The kids get up at 5:45 am, and by 6:45, they are sitting on the schoolbus, so the hour in between is a ballet of whining, dressing and breakfast.

The Boy's older sister isn't a morning person, by ANY stretch, so Hub and I both find ourselves goading, begging and prodding her through her morning routines. This morning was no exception, as Hub tossed her shoes to her as she sat on the couch, zoned out watching television.

"Hey! You almost hit me in the head with those!" she snapped at Hub, who hadn't really even come close.

Breaking stride in devouring his grits and eggs, the boy had a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes as he gasped, "I WISH!"