The Good within a Bad Influence

I took Little Man to visit a friend this weekend. He is a typical toddler - sucks at sharing, everything is MINE, and he has his moments when he can be a bit of a bully if he thinks he can get away with it. The last time he and SCR played together (over a year ago), Little Man realized very quickly that he was a mover and a shaker while SCR was more into sitting and observing so the bully came out. Needless to say I was a little concerned about his behavior this time round.

Ah my child pleasantly surprised me. He played nice (except when it came to puppy but mama doesn't believe in forcing the issue when it comes to a security blanket). SCR was more than happy to share his froggie though so PFFT to Mama and Little Man.

He generally behaved himself except he may have been a slightly bad influence. SCR does not require gates at the stairs. He knows better than to go up or down if mama isn't around. My son on the other hand, decides to climb up and then down the stairs - wood stairs - no carpet. Nice and hard. Child, I understand your long term memory is basically shit right now so let me be your memory for you. Back when you were approximately 6 months of age you didn't just fall down the stairs, you flipped head over heels twice, in the air, down the stairs. You scared the living shit out of your parents. So because you've forgotten YOU DO NOT GO NEAR STAIRS WITHOUT A ADULT.

I was very proud of myself. I remained calm and did not startle the boy while he was trying to climb back down. I don't care how non-skid pjs claim to be - nothing is completely skid free on wood. I managed to get to him before he made it more than two stairs and escorted him safely back down - in my arms.

I am waiting for the phone call, text, email, FB post about how bad an influence my son was on SCR and he has now decided it is cool to climb stairs alone. I'M SORRY! My kid takes after me which means being a bad influence as well as being exceptionally cute.

Ok. You can stop laughing now. I don't want to be blamed for you choking on top of it.

Anywho, back to the exceptional sharer that is my child. Oh wait, before I can get to that, I need to mention one more bad influence. Little Man is allowed to walk around the house with his sippy cup. That is a battle I chose not to fight. SCR is not. Oops.

SCR put his cup down behind the chair and of course, forgot where he put it. He looked, shrugged. Little Man looked. Shrugged. Keep in mind, they aren't even 2 yet so looking means barely turning their little heads and if it isn't immediately in eye sight, its lost. So what does my wonderful but snotty-nosed child do? He hands SCR his sippy cup so SCR could have some milk. Thankfully SCR had his own snotty-nose action going on so I can't be blamed for stairs and sippy cups outside of the kitchen and a cold. Whew! No trifecta for me.

Happy Thanksgiving Browns Style

3 AM: Little Man wakes up. Dad brings him into bed with us.

5 AM: Little Man is still awake. I am done and being the loving wife I am, I force my dear sweet husband to take Little Man back to his room to see if he will go back to sleep in his crib.

6:45 AM: Dad gives up and takes Little Man downstairs for breakfast. I am blissfully asleep.

8:45 AM: I wake up and hear Little Man enjoying some playtime downstairs. I can tell from his conversation that dad is at least half asleep on him. I head down and sure enough, my poor husband is on the couch not even trying to stay awake and Little Man is playing around him, on him, over him. I send my poor husband up to bed.

9:00 AM: I shoot a double shot of espresso, throw on some clothes, toss half the cranberry muffins I made for the first time from scratch the night before on a plate. I grab Little Man, still in his pajamas and head to our neighbors.

The original plan was for us to go to our neighbors so the boys could watch the parade until nap time. Go our separate ways and join up again after nap time for dinner. Considering he had been up for 6 hours at this point, I did not expect to actually stay at the neighbors. We would drop the muffins, come back to the house and someone would go down early for his nap.

HUH! Guess again mama. The two boys played beautifully together until almost 11:30. No fighting, no sharing issues, no whining. It was great.

11:30 AM: Little Man goes for his nap. Daddy is still asleep. I chill.

1:20 PM: Little Man doesn't even nap for a few 2 hours. I expected at least 3. A rough wake up. He only wants mommy but bribe him with some food and football with daddy and I am back in the kitchen making squash souffle. Then a shower. Back in the kitchen making baked mushrooms.

2:30 PM: We are all watching football as I wait for the oven timer to go off. We've got Little Man rooting for the Lions. A personal foul negates a great run that may have been challenged any way. "Aw Man" complete with a hand smack on the cushion. Followed by something that could very easily have been the "F" bomb. The first part had us giggling. The 2nd part had me checking my vocabulary yet again. Yes. If he really did say it, it would be my fault. *sigh*

3:00 PM: We prepare to head back to the neighbors. Little Man chases me down the hallway and up the stairs. I forgot how fast he has become. As I head up the stairs, I don't realize he is literally right there behind me. As I lift my foot to hit the next stair, my heel smacks right into the poor kid's mouth.

Happy Thanksgiving kid. Here, let me kick you in the mouth. I felt horrible. I think I apologized for a good 20 minutes straight, to the point where the kid was consoling me.

Dinner was great. Little Man chose not to eat so his payback to the foot in the mouth earlier took me completely by surprise. The nastiest, smelliest, ghastliest diaper ever. All for me. Happy Thanksgiving mommy!

Aw Man

I've instituted a new rule in the house. No shoes in the house. You walk in, you take 'em off before stepping on my rug.

I suck at maintaining my own rule.

I'm watching the Pats and Little Man notices my shoes are still on. So being the wonderful child that he is, he decides to help mama follow the rules, her rules.

He works the Velcro like a pro but is having a bit of an issue actually removing the shoe from my foot.

"Awwww Man!"

Mama doesn't stink

I have a quirk. I will not leave the house unless I've showered. I have trouble running just to get milk or gas if I haven't showered. I have a very weird hang-up about it. I know. I can't help it. I must take a shower every day unless I am sick and can barely stand. Even then I will shower to go to the doctor.

I got to sleep in this morning. Until 11! I woke up right before Little Man went down for his nap. It was wonderful. The plan was for me to do some stuff around the house, take a shower, feed Little Man his lunch and then run errands.

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future....

Little Man woke up and I hadn't showered. Its not like I can take a 2 minute shower. Washing my hair alone takes 2 minutes. Rinsing can take another 4 (I have a lot of hair and it still hasn't grown out all the way yet). Taking a shower at this point in time will really screw up my ability to run all the necessary errands, having dinner at a decent time and getting Little Man to bed on time.

So I contemplate the unthinkable. I contemplate getting dressed and leaving the house without a shower. Before I can follow through on this dastardly deed, I must determine the degree of stink.

"Do I stink?"

"I can't smell you."

He's across the room so that is very good.

So I perform the time honored test. Raise my arm and sniff the ole pit.

"A little stink maybe. Don't think I really stink."

Little Man walks over and says something undecipherable.

"What's that baby?"

"ablah blah blah" and points to my pit.

"You want to check if mama stinks?"

Nod.

So I lean down and lift my arm for the wee lad. He sniffs a big ole sniff and promptly shakes his head.

"Mama don't stink?"

"Nooo".

Dad swears he put his finger and thumb together to indicate a little but thankfully I didn't see it. So based on the very perceptible little snout of my highly intelligent Little Man, I proceed to dress and leave the house without showering.

You will all be happy to know I did not discern anyone keeping an obviously large distance between me and them but truthfully, I kinda forgot and wasn't paying attention. So if you were at Lowes, Ikea or Cheeseburger in Paradise today, I profusely apologize and it was all my son's fault!

Last Child

I was fighting with my laptop last night. Actually, I was fighting with my router and the router was winning. I was definitely not at my best. I would get extremely frustrated, give up, and then refuse to be beaten and try again, get frustrated... It went on for what seemed like hours. It probably felt like weeks to my poor husband sitting next to me willing me to shut the hell up and chill the freak out.

While this is going on, I hear music over the monitor. It is distant so at first I think the neighbors may be having a party but no. I shove the monitor up to my husband's ear (you expect your child to pick up your bad habits not the other way around). He says it is probably just interference. In my head I am thinking no way. Those days are over. It's digital. So being the smart woman I am, I ignore my instincts and listen to my brilliant husband (after all he wasn't the one who killed the router's IP address).

Awhile later I still hear the music and I know I am not losing my mind. Then something pops into my head.

"Honey, did Little Man have my iPod by any chance?"

"Yeah, I took it away from him".

"Mmmm. Yeah, his new favorite toy. That's my iPod playing in his room."

Climb 2 flights of stairs and sneak into his room. Yup - I can hear the iPod loud and clear. Aerosmith's Last Child is going full blast through the buds. Not only did the kid manage to set up his own play list (he fell asleep to System of a Down!) but he also set 2 alarms; DC time and Abu Dhabi time. Didn't realize he had his passport. I am so glad I caught the alarms. 3 AM kid. Really? I didn't bother trying to figure out the time difference for Abu Dhabi. Knowing my kid, he managed to set them both for 3 AM.

I've been griping about how he'd expect his own laptop for 1st grade, if not kindergarten and a cell shortly after. I never once thought he'd be expecting an iPod for Christmas.

Milestones and Perspective

First tooth, first crawl, first step, first word - all major milestones that parents wait impatiently for. You cheer. You clap. You tell the entire world what a great, smart, amazing, awesome, fantastic, wonderful little baby you have because no other baby has ever attain such an amazing milestone the way your child has. Then, some how, some where common sense starts to seep its way back into your conscience and you calm down about the milestone. You stop counting every new tooth that comes in. You stop scouring the books to make sure your child not only hit every milestone for the month but hit them on time if not early. You show up at the Well Baby visit and have to think every time the nurse or doctor asks whether or not your child has hit a milestone. It's not that you don't CARE about the milestones anymore. It's just that you no longer worry about exactly WHEN your child hits the milestone. As long as the kid is not seriously behind who cares?

I did notice that Little Man was throwing over hand quite early. Yes I was impressed but I'll be more impressed when he learns to catch a ball with his hands and not his face. Perspective is important as a parent. It wasn't like I was jumping up and down and screaming to the world how smart my kid was. Mainly because everyone already knows and I don't want to be perceived as rubbing it in.

I'M KIDDING PEOPLE! Sheesh! He has half my genetics. If he had 100% then we could claim genius.

So milestones aren't huge to me anymore. Or so I thought. It turns out there are some things that can still make me want to throw open my front door and yell to everyone within earshot what a great thing my son just did.

Take the other night for example. His temperament was good but bordering on hyper so I tried to keep play time as calm as possible (yes, I am still setting unattainable milestones for myself ). I thought I had failed when he started to kick his legs. He likes to lie down and kick both legs. If you aren't close, he will inch closer until he is kicking you. This is not a behavior I approve of and I've been working on with only some success. So he kicks his legs and of course I am in reach. I grab his legs and remind him that we do not kick. I expected him to ignore me, continue kicking, and prepared for a timeout.

Shock of all shocks. He stopped. He also apologized countless times.

"Saw'ree. Saw'ree. Saw'ree".

Strokes my face.

"Saw'ree. Saw'ree".

And he goes back to playing quietly.

Apologizing without being told? It's possible before adulthood? Seriously? Holy SHIT!

Then tonight, we are looking at pictures. Of course, they are all of Little Man. He points to one and says "baby" (I call him baby boy and baby a lot - maybe its time to stop). I reply "That's you". So what does he say when he points to the picture? "Yew".

English may be my mother tongue but I never realized how difficult explaining certain concepts would be.

So I resort to saying his name. He is almost 2 and never said his name. He answers to it with no problem but ask him who he is or what his name is and he turns mute. Not any more! Not only did he point to the picture and say his name but he also answered when I asked him what his name was.

Ok so that was premature. 30 minutes has passed and he is back to Mr. Mute when I ask him. So I guess the question I should be asking is at what point should I be concerned? I mean, I still have a few years for this one right?

All in One Day

Sunday started out as a normal day. Breakfast, play, nap, a vain attempt at lunch and more play. Little Man's favorite past time is to gather his stuffed animals on the couch, wrestle with them, fling them from the couch and then retrieve - face first. Of course he became more and more rambunctious the longer he played this game which meant he flung the animals farther - far enough that he could not hang from the couch face first and retrieve. This led to his cries of "Ree, ree" (reach, reach, as in I can't). After watching me make him say please and retrieving the flung items about 20 times, my darling husband comes out with the comment "enough of the self-imposed martyrdom. You flung 'em. You get 'em."

Time for a distraction. My husband takes him outside to play while I clean up some more. They end up back inside as his little friend across the street has decided Sunday's are a great day for a marathon nap.

His friend wakes up and comes over just as I am about to toss Little Man back outside. Who ever thought I'd be that excited to see a 3 year old. So the boys throw the balls around, run like little wind gusts, screech and basically enjoy the beautiful day we had. We end up behind the neighbors house. The boys are chasing each other while the mamas talk. I watch Little Man run down the hill and think to myself "he's going to fast". He disappears behind the fence. I can only see a blur between the slats and then nothing.

"He fell" said my neighbor.

"Eh, he's fine".

Then we both cock an ear as a faint cry reaches us.

"Hmmm." I jog toward him thinking he just scared himself. And then I see his friend. His friend is looking right at him and is frozen in fear. My heart stops and I turn into the Flash. How I managed the turn at that speed with out skidding into the fence myself I still don't know. Little Man is pushing up on one hand. The other reached out to his friend like he is begging for help. That wrist is limp. My stopped heart now jumps into my throat as I think he has broken his wrist. I call out to him and the wrist moves. Phew. Not broken. But then he moves his head and in slow motion I see the blood splattering all over the grass. I scoop him up and bury his bloody face into my shoulder hoping I'll hit the spot or spots that need pressure to slow whatever is bleeding.

As I run past my neighbor for my house I simply say "we have blood". I was moving so fast I was well past her before I heard her say "go to my house". It was closer but I didn't want to drip blood all over her rug. See - I can be a conscientious neighbor even in the middle of a wee crisis.

Upstairs into the bathroom, away from the mirror with cold damp cloth in hand I start to wipe away the blood so I can assess damage. Yet another fat lip. It takes a bit before I can ascertain for certain that all the blood came from the lip and no where else.

Little Man is calm. The bleeding has stopped.

"Can mommy change her shirt"

Shake head.

"Ou"

"Back outside?"

"Dup"

"Ok. Mommy will wear your badge on her shoulder".

Back outside we go and I tell the boys no more running that fast and that far. Let's take it down one notch.

"Sly"

He wants the slide which is in our neighbor's muddy backyard. So Matt, being the saint that he is, drags it out the back gate to the boys can slide in a less muddy area. It is a small "house" with a slide attached. Little Man walks through the door and climbs up on the landing to go down the slide but his friend has jumped up on the side. He is not impeding Little Man's sliding abilities in the slightest but the earlier incident has put my son in a mood. He wines. He fusses. I walk to the front of the slide and put his legs on the slide so he can see there is no impediment. He gets mad at me, kicks my hands away and slides back on the bench/ledge. Then he slides back again for emphasis. Yup. You guessed it. Pushed himself backwards off the ledge. His butt slams into the ground and his head whacks on the door. Thankfully these things are made of hollow plastic so there is no real damage done but of course he cries and of course I feel like shit.

I decide it is time for some quiet indoor play and intend to take him home but Natalie decides we'll take the boys inside their house. As Matt said, "Enough of the drama already".

It goes quite well. The boys play relatively quiet for boys of their age and only squabble over sharing (or rather, NOT sharing) a few times but no real tears. They end up behind the couch. Natalie and I aren't even really paying attention because they are so well behaved.

And then my son cries for the 3rd time in one hour. I roll my eyes expecting a sharing issue. Until we hear his partner in crime apologize to him. Hmmmmm.....

Call Little Man over. No blood, no visible red spots. Just tears.

What happened?

"My eye"

Your eye?

Turns out Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum decided to play catch. They both excel at throwing the ball but neither one of them knows how to catch the damn thing. Yup, you guessed it. Little Man caught the ball with his eye.

So now I am explaining to a 3 year old that it is ok. It was an accident and I appreciated that he apologized. Then I am explaining to a 22 month old that no, his friend is NOT in trouble and to stop glaring at me. How the hell do you explain "accident" to a 22 month old? Still not sure how if I succeeded or if Little Man has learned to choose his battles.

Thankfully it was a soft ball, what we refer to as an indoor ball so when Little Man was dropped off at day care this morning, an explanation was owed only for the fat lip and not a fat lip AND a bump on the head AND a black eye and no you really don't need to call social services.

And yes, I tried to explain to him one more time that the fat lip was not going to get him adopted by Angelina Jolie and that he was stuck with me. Apparently a battle he still chooses to fight.

Phrasology

It is well documented that my son has been speaking for quite a long time. I just didn't understand him. My Babel Fish finally arrived and we are communicating quite well now. I still struggle occasionally but who doesn't with a toddler.

If anyone has any ideas on "see me" let me know and no, context does not allow for the obvious.

We have "I git you", "I find it", and come heyah (Bostonian mixed with New Jersey oh my poor baby!) but my favorite new word came today.

I called out to my husband to see where he was. One second later, Little Man pipes up.

"John"

"John"?

"John John John"

Can't get the kid to say his own name but he can say his dad's name. I give up.

Changing the Rules

Boston drivers are notorious. Its not that we are bad. We are actually very good drivers. No, the problem lies with that dreaded sub group of the human race that likes to invade our precious roads. Tourists.



Boston drivers have rules that we drive by, hell we live by them. They are ours and ours alone. We sure as hell aint' sharing them with some damn tourist. Come to our wonderful city, spend some time, see the sites, spend some money, stay awhile, spend some more money. Just don't drive. Boston is a very walkable city. If you don't like to walk (what the hell is wrong with you?), we have a wonderful mass transit system. If you have an aversion to public transportation, take a cab. You have a 50-50 chance of getting someone who should be driving in NYC. Those are good odds people. Play them. Trust me. The odds of surviving a two block drive behind the wheel of your own car are not as good.



I spent the first 25 years of my life in Boston. I spent my first time behind the wheel on the J-way. I've heard the only thing worse is getting behind the wheel for the first time in Paris. I conquered the rotaries like a seasoned pro. Ok, I'll break with tradition and share ONE rule with you: How to master a rotary - it depends on the rotary, the time of day, and who has the bigger and/or faster car that determines right of way. Have fun.



Shortly before my 25th birthday I left Beantown for our Nation's Capitol. A city with drivers not just from all over the country but all over the world. Here's the best way to describe driving in DC. Things are so bad, they've had to put LIGHTS in their rotaries, excuse me, CIRCLES. I found out about the lights after a very nice DC cop pulled me over for running 3 red lights in a row. The last light I went through was 1/2 mile back and you are just pulling me over now? He kept saying something about a circle and the lights and I didn't know what the hell the man was smokin'. Took a bit before we both realize that rotary and circle are one in the same.



"You have LIGHTS in your rotaries? How stupid are you people?"



Always one for making great first impressions. He was the second cop that week to ask me to get back in my car, drive back to Boston and never return. Please don't tell either one I ignored them.



It took a bit but I finally learned to blend in with the drivers that make up the DC Metro Area. Oh how I longed for the common sense of the Boston roads. So now that I've been in DC for awhile, I decide it is time for a trip home. My mom is having folks over her house. Her cousin needs a ride so I volunteer to pick her up. I am a block from her house when I have to slam on the brakes to avoid running into the back of a cab. I finish my Sailor/Truck Driver/Pissed-off Redhead screamfest and proceed the final block without incident. I even make it back to my mom's without incident but I am still furious. Freaking IDIOT stops for a damn pedestrian. Freaking idiot can walk a block to the light or play Frogger like the rest of us. What the hell was he thinking?



"There's a crosswalk there".



What the hell difference does that make?



"We stop for pedestrians in crosswalks now".



WHHHAT? WTF? Since when? WHAAAT? NO WAY! WTF? WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME?



"You're a tourist now".



God Damn Son of A What the change the rules and not tell me of all the stupid ridiculous can't freaking believe this... Pout.



I return to my homeland this past weekend for my 20th high school reunion (go ahead, do the math. You still won't know my age because you don't know how many grades I skipped or how many times I was held back). At the end of the night, I am standing outside the front doors with the rest of my classmates still yakking so I light a cigarette.



"What are you doing"?



Smoking and finally being legal about it. He (new headmaster is walking by me) can't bust me.



"No but the cops can".



For what? I'm over 18.



"It's illegal to smoke on school grounds in Massachusetts".



WHHHAAAT? Since when? WHAAAT? Are you shittin me? You people went and change the freaking rules again without telling me? God damn it. Oh well. Not like I haven't had a conversation with a Quincy cop before.

Counting

Wah

Do

Foh

Fi

Ni

(one, two, four, five, nine - forget new math, the kid has come up with a whole new number schema)

RAY!

"We have to put you coat on".

"Nope".

"Do you want to go outside?"

"Dup".

"Well its raining out so you have to put your coat on. AND YOUR HOOD. Don't want to melt now."

Coat? Check. Hood? Check. Puppy? Check. Walk or be carried to the car? (Please walk. Please walk. YIPPEE. He'll walk.)

"RAY!"

"Yes sweetie. I told you. It's raining."

"RAY! RAY! RAAAAAAYYYYYY!"

Run down the sidewalk.

"RAYRAYRAYRAYRAY".

Shake head side to side, scream at the top of his lungs and then dance to the car.

"Ray ray ray ray ray ray ray ray ray".

In case you weren't aware, it rained (and still is raining) in our area tonight.

3 Years Today

3 years ago today I stood at the top of the aisle on my brother's arm staring at the most handsome man. The minister had said to pause for a moment so everyone could see me. My brother had to put the brakes on me. He told me to wait. "But he's right there!".

"Wait"

"But he's right THERE".

3 years ago today, I forgot the 120 guests gathered. I forgot the Minister. I forgot the bouquet in my hand. And I forgot I was in a huge ass dress and heels. Even if my brother did allow me to run down the aisle, the dress and heels would have applied brakes all on their own and not the anti-lock kind either.

3 years ago today, once again, my brother proved stronger, kept me from face planting in front of 120 guests and led me gently (and way too freaking slow for my tastes) down the aisle to my moments-to-be husband.

I've been told by friends who know me all too well that I found my perfect match, my soul mate and even when we face challenges, bicker, and fight, I know it to be true. What stands out the most to me from the last 3 years besides the look on his face as I walked down the aisle?

Playing thumb wars during the ceremony so both of us could hold it together.
The tear in his eye when I showed him the pregnancy test.
The look of sheer joy the first time he held our son.
The truly childlike joy and laughter when he pulled our 4 day old son's arm over and over again and over and over our son farted (over and over as I begged him to stop, clutching my stitches and trying so hard not to laugh myself. I failed).
His unwavering support each time the loss of my dad becomes unbearable.
The look of horror on his face when it came time to change the first diaper and how someone who had never changed a diaper in his life accomplished it like a pro.
His never-ending promise that all I'll get for birthday, Christmas, anniversary, etc., is a hand shake.

3 years married. 5 years together total. A very short time on one hand. A wonderfully long time on the other. 3 years celebrated in quiet fashion.

Happy Anniversary baby. I love you. Thank you.

Woodward Strong

20 years ago I sucked it up and actually went to my High School graduation. Yes, I actually tried to miss it. This past weekend I returned and joined 6 of my classmates (hey - that is almost half the whole graduating class!) for wine, cheese, a tour of the school and a trip down memory lane. Considering they had some current students in attendance, they may think twice before inviting us back for our 25th.

It is amazing how stepping into a building where you spent a good portion of 7 years can make you regress. As Linda and I cut through the boiler room for old times sake, I found myself looking over my shoulder for a teacher to bust us.

I giggled as I drank a glass of wine in the Greenleaf room and half expected the current Headmaster to take it out of my hands and send me to detention (considering I hadn't eaten all day, he probably should have).

I toured the old classrooms. The Clash screamed in my head as I entered 6th grade home room. "Name your antecedent", The Merchant of Venice sprang to life when I walked into Mrs. Poole's old room. It was sad to see her unabridged dictionary was no longer there. I cried when I saw the new Macs in the computer lab. We had a computer lab when I was there. I took a Logo class right after my typewriting class - a class that consisted mostly of manual typewriters - a machine the current graduating class will probably not see unless they visit the Smithsonian.

There is a plaque in my old history classroom in honor of Susan Hayes. Everyone has that one teacher that made a difference in her life. Susan Hayes was mine. Just wish I had the chance to tell her.

I looked in on the old science lab and cried again. So clean. So new. So MODERN. It took everything in me not to pull the handle on the shower head in fond memory of a teacher who, needless to say, is no longer teaching there.

I cringed at the white boards. They gave me nasty flashbacks to a science teacher who would yell my name and then peg me right between the eyes with a dry erase marker to wake me up. Poor guy. It wasn't his fault every class I had with him was right before or right after lunch. I wonder if that particular legacy of his lives on.

I went in search of the art room and stumbled into *gasp* a SECOND science lab! Are you Kidding me?? *sigh* Do these kids realize how great they have it? Oh wait - maybe not. The door to the outside is closed off. Not cool.

As my other classmates reminisced about sneaking off to the bushes to smoke, I laughed. I would walk outside the art room door and smoke right there. Others would get busted in the bathroom. I'd be outside the art room door. With an art teacher calling out rather loudly whenever another teacher walked in the room. Didn't realize we had that many teachers with hearing problems.

It was weird going back but oh so wonderful to catch up with women I grew up with. Women who have more blackmail on me then God and women who cannot be begged, cajoled, or bribed to cough up the goods on me because for every story they have on me, I have one on them.

Two of the six I never lost touch with. They are my best friends, my sisters. We've been through it all together; hormones, boyfriends, shared crushes, the Mean Girls phase, Elvira, The Mean Girls phase, the Prom, weddings, births, death of a loved one. They've kept me sane. They've smacked me upside the head when I needed it.

The other 4, after having gone through puberty and high school with me still sought me out and speak to me. See, miracles can happen. In 6th grade, there were 25(?) of us. By the time we hit our senior year, some had moved on to other schools. New ones joined and for some reason, stayed. Come the beginning of June, 19 of us put on robe and mortar board and accepted our diplomas. High School is brutal but as I look back as the friendships I made and those that I've rekindled, I wouldn't change it.

That which doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. Forget Army Strong. This bitch is Woodward Strong.

Exhaustion? Give Chocolate

Normally I dread the exhausted state. Especially on nights when when it is just me and Little Man. I picked him up late tonight and his eyes were as red as mine. It did not bode well; two of us having meltdowns at the same time? We haven't installed the padded room yet.

I bribed him at dinner time - I had him help me make the chicken. Defrayed meltdown #1. Defrayed meltdown #2 with some much needed chocolate (my meltdown). I thought we made a great dinner. Little Man thought it sucked. Meltdown #3 avoided with some cheese while I scratched my head (he tried, he hated, he gets a different meal). Avoided meltdown #4 with more chocolate. He avoided meltdown #5 by telling me he would have a waffle and a banana. Hey - what about the chocolate to go with?

Dinner done. He goes to dry my tears and gives me a "good job" pat instead when he finds my cheeks dry.

Work trucks RETURN to do God knows what. It is pitch black out. How the hell do you pave now? The sounds threaten to set off meltdown #6. I distract with puppy - not puppy as in his security blanket. Oh no. Puppy as in the huge, over sized stuffed animal I decided he just HAD TO HAVE on Sunday ($5 for this monstrosity - how could he not get it? Of course it was $5 if you spent X # of dollars. I am not stating what X equals and not because I failed algebra. I excelled at algebra and I am not stating how we got to X... toy trucks... ahem...Nerf balls... ahem... all things he HAD TO HAVE).

Nothing like having your little munchkin crawl up on the couch, grab puppy and curl up in your lap for one big massive snuggle session. He even managed to find room for puppy #1.

Which made me realize my naming schema for his stuffed animals has finally hit a speed bump (rhinoceros = rhino, monkey = monkey, puppy = puppy and puppy = hmmmm).

"So what's his name?" I ask, pointing to monstrosity puppy.

ROOAARRRRR!

"What does puppy say?"

WOOF

"So what's his name?"

ROOAARRRRR!

Halloween

Ah, the joys of Halloween - the one night a year that parents get to torment their wee ones with costumes they hate and send them out to beg for candy that their parents will eat for them.

Oh you mean that is only in my house? Oops!

Well, fine then. At least I will admit to doing it for purely selfish reasons even if no one else will.

We spent money on a costume this year and as soon as we did I thought "well, there's $25 done the drain. The kid will never let us put it on him". Thankfully his little friend across the street put his costume on ('rents aren't fessing up to what they bribed him with). So Little Man agreed to his costume - a lion and I wasn't completely convinced we wouldn't end up with the Cowardly lion when we were going for the Lion King. He did great. Right up until we put his hood on. Oh the look of utter horror! The crocodile (um, do lions cry huge tears?) tears! The Torture! Where is Amnesty International when you need them? The Humanity!

Eh. He survived. It took a few minutes but we managed to coax a smile out of him and in no time he was off with Daddy to try this whole Trick or Treating thing. It wasn't long before Cowardly Lion was replaced with the Lion King and true to form, my boy ruled his Universe.

The plan was to hit 3 or 4 houses and then let him hang outside and hand out candy. Nope, he had other plans. He hit the whole court - all 26 townhouses. He is officially a trick or treat pro. He said "Tank Do" each and every time. He only had one minor mishap. At one house, he was handed an extra lollipop so he reached into his pumpkin, took a piece out and tried to give it in exchange. Hmm, mishap or was he doing a trade for a less-liked piece of candy? Maybe he instinctively knew mommy didn't like Sugar Daddys (oh I like the OTHER kind, believe me. At least I think I do, never actually had one...).

So yes, I put my son in a costume he hated (in part) and sent him out to scam candy out of neighbors knowing full well he wouldn't eat a single bite of it. All so I could claim my favorite standby - taking one for the team. So excuse me, I believe there is some chocolate calling my name...