With Sugar on Top You Hot Mama

Broken records get old. Well, technically they already are old. Repeating myself is old. And annoying. So I have to shake things up a bit. So when I'm trying to get the child to do what I want and avoid a meltdown I go with the role-reversal. I imitate him.

He wanted to run errands with me the other night after dinner but was taking a freaking eon to finish. He'd take half a bite, insist on telling me something. Then insist on a hug and a kiss. Take half a bite. Hear something out front and run to the window. Return, hug, speak. Repeat. This kid just could not sit still long enough for a single bite never mind an actual dinner.

I may have been silently singing "killing me softly with his words, with his hugs....". Can I get the last of my shopping down some time this year? Seriously kid, the clock is ticking. Nothing is working so I resort to what he does to me.

I tilt my head to one side, scrunch up my face and say "Please! Oh pretty pleeeeeease. Pretty please with sugar on top?"

He responds oh-so-matter-of-factly: "Um Mom, I don't eat my sausage with sugar on top".

I'm glad I didn't throw in the towel as he redeemed himself tonight. The subject of The Move came up. His response to The Move can go either way so I've tried to let him know he does have a little (teeny tiny bit) control over some of the events. Like he gets to help me house hunt. He gets to decide if the backyard in the new house meets specs.

John decided to up the ante and told him it was up to Little Man to find a neighborhood with hot mamas. Without thinking of how badly I was setting myself up, I immediately asked Little Man who the hottest mama was.

He hesitated. He actually hesitated. He looked nervous. He knew at almost-5-years-of-age this could go very badly for him. He starts to glance at John and then quickly turns his head back to me and locks his eyes on mine. They get big. Very big. He hold up his forefinger and thumb and oh so slowly points them towards me and says: "You?".

You passed this time kid but next time there should be zero hesitation.

Conversations

Ah the conversations one can have with a small child. They do turn on you pretty quickly. Little Man has it in his head that he needs to go to Disney Land. I have no idea who placed this idea in his head but thankfully I can, on occasion, think quickly on my feet. I told him we would go but not for a few more years. It can be very crowded and very loud. 2 things you really don't like my son.

This segued quickly into a conversation on fears. As we discussed his, he asked about mine. While I answered honestly I did not divulge too much (can't give the kid too much ammunition you know). Apparently my fears weren't juicy enough so he jumped to Daddy's fears.

For the life of me I couldn't think of a thing. I drew a complete blank. While I like to think I'm married to the ultimate fearless He-Man, reality does kick in every now and then. He has to be afraid of something but what? Little Man is badgering so I need to think quicker. As I glance upstairs (since John is asleep), I remember Little Man's horrible tumble down the stairs. So I tell him how scared Daddy was the day he took his tumble. I explain that is the reason we still aren't very keen on him playing anywhere near the stairs no matter how hard we try to be rational.

My darling child responded with: "Oh that's OK Mommy. I was just practicing my Baby Circus Tricks".

And then came the conversation that occurred a few short hours ago; a conversation between John and me that Little Man overheard. The crux of the conversation was a little heavy for such a small child and I didn't want to cause concern so I broke with "Pssst. I love you".

"Mommy, you need to stop saying that".

"Nope. Never. I want you to know that I love you and always will. I never want you to doubt that Daddy and I love you. I may not always be happy with you and I may not always like what you do but I will always love you, no matter what".

He replied with a scrunch of the face and a roll of the eyes: "Pfft... yeah..."

As I told a coworker of mine today. I misnamed him.

His name should have been Karma.

Another First

Little Man went to his first wedding today. I was dreading the church ceremony. I wasn't sure how he'd behave. I talked to him last night and this morning. I explained what would happen and how he had to be quiet during the ceremony. He did great. Not a peep except to shush his parents who had the nerve to talk in church before the ceremony started.

On the way home this afternoon I complimented his behavior for the day. His response?

"Sometimes I poop when I'm quiet so I can't be quiet anymore."

Repugnant

Mama's boy may be slowly migrating to Daddy's boy. In some respects I knew I'd be OK when it happened. You know - go to Daddy when you wake up in the middle of the night. Call for Daddy when you've pooped in the potty and need a little help on the clean up. Go to Daddy when you scrape your knee. Go to Daddy when you are sad, tired, sick, scared....

Yeah, I crack myself up too.

That's not how it works but a girl can dream.

Tonight involved yet another conversation in which I needed to explain Mommy's and Daddy's opposing views, specifically politics.

Last time he said he was a Democrap like Mommy.

Tonight?

Little Man: "Daddy, you are a boy and I am a boy. So I'm a Repugnant too".

I nearly bit my tongue clean off.

Fini

Come on buddy. Time to get up. We need to go have breakfast.

"grumble, mumble, grumble mumble".

John: Come Little Man. Time to break the fast.

"No Daddy. We break the slow".
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John stayed with him one night so I could socialize with the adults. He read while Little Man was supposed to be sleeping:

"Daddy you better not read too much or you’ll fall asleep".
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"Daddy, you are a ferry boat and you have to take me around the pool".

As he attached himself to John's back in the pool.
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There are some things we adults take for granted as they are so ingrained in our heads from the time we were little. So ingrained in fact, we sometimes forget to pass them along. Like it is never a good idea to stand up in a kayak in the middle of the lake. The immediate rocking was enough for him to stop before he managed to get all the way up and send us swimming.
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 The best moment of the entire week was not courtesy of my darling sweet son but a moment all on my own. For eons, my mother has been trying to get Mother of the Year out of me. She's managed Mother of the Hour, Mother of the Day, and maybe Mother of the Week. We can't remember completely. The night we officially celebrated her 70th birthday, I arrived early to place an award at the head of the table officially granting her Mother of the Year award.

For the year I was born.

Vacation Part Deux

The week actually started at Ahma's house in Franconia with just two cousins. The zip line was not quite Little Man's cup of tea but hide and seek was. Thankfully his cousins were more than happy to partake in the festivities but even they can only play so many games of hide and seek. So it was time to introduce him to one of their favorite activities: the good old Slip and Slide. No, not the hard plastic with all the ridges in it that would rip your butt to shreds of our childhood. This was the homemade version their mother introduced them too several years back. Take a plastic tarp, spray it down with some water followed up with shaving cream and you have hours of fun (and major mess but isn't that part of the word fun in the first place?).

He was covered head to toe and every place in between. Literally. But let me jump back a bit to right before the mayhem ensued because you can't have mayhem without Little Man.

Sean and Maya were explaining the whole process to Little Man including the fact that he needed to go put his bathing suit on before starting.

"I don't need my bathing suit" he promptly informed them and started to strip right there on the front lawn. Being Franconia and considering the house is on the side of a mountain, it's not like he was truly in public (thank you Ron White). His cousins, being older and understanding the concept of Modesty were slightly horrified and came running inside for me to correct his misconceptions. Little Man follows them inside the house and promptly tries to explain to me that he doesn't need his bathing suit. Frankly, having seen how much of a mess this whole thing can make, I was kind of on his side but I need to go to the immortal words of my husband: "Going Commando would guarantee you had the whole thing to yourself".  That wouldn't exactly be fair to the other kids and it was their idea in the first place so I convince Little Man that he really does need to put his bathing suit on.

"OK Mommy. No Problem!" And proceeds to strip in the middle of the living room. I didn't know Sean could move that fast. How can a child of my sister's be so shy? So easily freaked out? I'm not sure which was funnier.

So a slippin' and a slidin' they go. No one married a tree or a boulder (although they did come close a few times) and there were lots of laughter and squeals. OK, the squeals came at the end when they all decided to rinse off a bit first. Yes, well water is cold but that isn't was caused the loudest squeals. Little Man realized he had shaving cream everywhere and asked Ahma to rinse everything. Yup, my little guy dropped trou yet again 'cause ya know, "my penis is covered Ahma. Rinse it! Rinse it!" All while shaking it for the world to see. The squeals were his cousins running in horror. 

He managed to fake modesty for the rest of the week with only one slip. One night at the lodge he decided opening the door while all his cousins were out in the hallway was a great idea. Even if his mom was standing in perfect line of sight. In nothing but a towel. A very small hotel towel. Screw squeal. I shrieked. Just in time. Thankfully he remembered to remove his hand right before he slammed the door on it.

Vacation Part I

Nothing like a mini family reunion to bring out the best in my son. The single most over-used phrase of the week? My cousins. As in, are they my cousins? Where are my cousins? Are my cousins eating breakfast/lunch/dinner with me? Where are my cousins? Why aren’t my cousins here? Are my cousins sleeping in here with me? Cousins, cousins, cousins, cousins.

As over-used phrases go, this one was awesome to hear. It was the first time in Little Man’s life he had all of his cousins around and he had them for a whole week.  “I have sooo many cousins Mommy!”.  So many in fact, he frequently forgot names. I love his little scrunched up face when he’d try to remember which one he wanted. He’s four. He doesn’t live near any of them and rarely sees them so he has an excuse. Unlike his mother who couldn’t get names straight to save her life (I cannot apologize enough Ms. Gracie and believe me, I feel your pain. I am still called by my sister’s name).

The ages ranged from 4 to 21 (Sorry Nathan but when you start dancing to Cotton Eyed Joe with a bunch of grade-schoolers, you get dumped into the kid category *wink*) with Little Man taking the youngest spot but that didn’t stop him from keeping up. Tennis, ping pong, soccer, volleyball… you name it, he was right in the thick of it. Ok, so maybe not so much on the rock climbing wall but in all else, he was right there.  Oh and the air hockey - he ruled that table. So much show that we actually had break down and get a roll of quarters to feed his habit. We’ve been back 2 days now and he has yet to ask his favorite, most beautiful, wonderful Mother in the whole wide world for an air hockey table. If we make it a full week, I may, may be in the clear.

He is getting a tennis racquet. That I can afford. He’ll have to wait a few more weeks though. I don’t do sports in the dog days of August. I’m a cool weather kind of gal when it comes to chasing balls around the court. He just needs to learn to hit the ball on the first bounce, not the 4^th when it is barely coming up to his ankles.

He also ruled the soccer field. Literally. I headed inside to get him some water when I heard him cry. A glance showed him face first in the grass but John was right there so I continued on with my mission. A good thing too but more on that a little later. When I returned he was still whimpering or I should say, he started whimpering again since I hadn’t yet added my condolences to the mix. I asked who was responsible for taking him out but he couldn’t remember the correct name. Unfortunately for the guilty party, he’d already been ratted out by 2 other cousins (we are such a tight-knit family, really). So I told him to go take out the guilty party. Mind you, this is all in jest. I’m just trying to get the kid to laugh again. He may have taken me a little too seriously.

Guilty party was in luck as there were way too many people playing and Little Man was confused as to which one he was supposed to target. How he could forget one of his two favorite cousins is a little beyond me but OK.  He targeted poor Nathan instead. Ever see a 21-year old trying to play soccer while a 4-year old wraps up his legs? I’m amazed he didn’t injure himself trying to avoid injuring Little Man. I’m also amazed he managed to keep his shorts up around his waist. Nathan finally managed to extract himself and the game continues. For all of 20 seconds because that is how long it takes for Little Man to come charging over to the side lines to confer with the referees. According to him “that kid in the red shirt” wasn’t sharing the ball (oh, did I mention this kid couldn’t decide which team he was on so he’d just go with whomever had the ball?). The referees, in their infinite wisdom, told Little Man to put the “kid in the red shirt” in a time out. A ruling he was most enthusiastic (and vocal) about carrying out. So there is Nathan, in the middle of the soccer field sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce in time out.

Play resumes minus any more drama until Little Man runs up for some water. As he heads back for the game he pauses to tell me “Mommy I threw up in my mouth a little. Just a little.”

WHAT?  Oh no you don’t. Come back here. What did you just say? Did you say you threw up?

“Yes Mommy but it was in my mouth and just a little.  It’s no big deal Mommy. I fine.”

Yeah. Nice try. Water! NOW! Oh, and shade. Get your butt in the shade. No you are not going back to play until you cool down a bit.

And I proceed in an extremely lame attempt to explain heat stroke. To a 4-year old. He lasts all of 3 minutes in the shade and he’s off and running again with a promise that he won’t throw up again; that he’s fine. He did pinky swear that if he felt nauseous or faint he would come back to the shade and sit… for a very, very long time.

He really was fine which was good because otherwise I would have tossed him in the lake to cool him down and the poor kid can’t swim.

Lock It Up

I got home late tonight. As I was wolfing down dinner, I was asking John a ton of questions. Trying to squeeze in a ton of things in a short of period of time as possible as Little Man still hadn't taken a bath and it was pushing 9 PM.

Little Man was also trying to squeeze in as many conversations with me as possible. Juggling 2 conversations at once if very difficult but I managed. Or so I thought.

I wanted Little Man to clear his bowl and cup. He wanted to keep talking to me. No he can't clear and talk at the same time. He's my son.

So I'm sitting there. Trying to explain to him that he needs to clear his bowl and cup and then he can tell me his story. He thought it better to do it in the opposite order. I wasn't having any of it and insisted he listen to me.

He walked up to me and placed his hand over my mouth. I raised my eyebrows (can't do the single eye brow raise still) and reached for his hand. I was about to tell him quite sternly that he was not allowed to do that to me. You know, the whole "I'm the Parent" thing.

Before I could get two words out, he makes a twisting motion with his hand and says: "Lock it up".

I may be the parent but he's got me locked in his sights. I'm done for.

Vacation

Nothing like an impromptu vacation to revive the soul. John was planning on taking Little Man to New Jersey the weekend before the 4th. An off-hand comment from John wishing we could check out the Cape May fireworks sent me running to my boss the next day. Luckily I had more than enough time and with a promise to make all my deadlines, the vacation was set.

A full week at the Shore. Clean salty air. Beautiful ocean breezes. Plenty of sun. Most importantly, no sunburn. OK a can of sunscreen a day may have helped there. Daywalker I am not.

Vacation is supposed to be relaxing. Calm. Easy-going.

Apparently I don't do relaxing, calm, or easy-going. Little Man was finally old enough to enjoy all Cape May County had to offer and I was determined to cram in as much as possible.

The zoo was a definite. Unfortunately that was as impromptu as the vacation itself. After breakfast at Duffer's (cool train, not so cool food. Seriously, how do you mess up pancakes?) we decide to hit the zoo. For the first time in my life, I was subtle. John didn't pick up on the whole - hey we don't have sunscreen and your wife is Ginger who can make Casper look healthy so maybe we should swing by the house (which is on the way) and grab the sunscreen.

For the record, the Cape May County Zoo gift shop does not sell sunscreen. Bad zoo. Bad. I would gave paid the 100% markup. Trust me.

Crisis averted by staying in the shade as much as possible. Yes, I wandered the paths jumping from one shaded area to another.

I rushed Little Man a bit due to the lack of sunscreen and felt a tad guilty so I shelled out for the train ride. He then surprised me by asking to go on the carousel. He wouldn't get on any of the animals, opting instead for one of the carriages to sit in but hey, we got him on a carousel. I'll take it.

That was just the beginning of my lil imp discovering his inner daredevil.

A trip to the beach was next. 2 years ago proved unsuccessful as it was too loud for him. This time he was willing to go but refused to put his bathing suit on so I through it in the backpack. No sooner do we pick our spot then he plops down in the sand and starts digging with his bulldozer while his father and I try to get the towels laid out. Less than 5 minutes later he is covered in sand. 20 minutes later John convinces him to go check out the water. He wouldn't go deeper than his ankles but he loved it. Enough where I convinced him to return to the towels so I could get him in his bathing suit. He discovered the joys of wave jumping and even let me carry him further out where we spent a good amount of time jumping waves and spinning around in circles. Oh the memories and the wish that Dad was there to take part.

After several hours at the beach we returned to the house to clean up. John's parents redid the bathroom. They removed the bathtub and put in just a shower stall.

This kid doesn't do showers. He takes after his mom. I didn't like water in my face at his age. Neither does he. Rinsing the shampoo out of his hair involves a soap-eating shark (a facecloth) slowly devouring all the suds. Do you know how long that takes with extremely hard water? UGH! We were going to be there for hours. Thankfully they have a detachable shower head which he adored. I told him what I was going to do and then didn't give him a chance to think about it. John grabbed the shower head. I practically jammed the shark over his face and doused he was.

And he practically screamed.

With laughter.

2 successes in 2 days. Dare I press it? Hell yeah!

Once dressed we returned to the beach to hit the boardwalk. After many a skeeball games and a few others, we convinced him to leave the arcade (prizes in tow of course) and check out the rides. I figured the little cars and the boats that go around in a circle without leaving the ground would be the extent of it.

Nope. Airplanes and he wanted it all the way up. Carousel again (still no horses but no problem). Then on to the bumper cars. The look of poor joy on his face each time he bumped another child was hysterical. According to John, he showed signs of being a Boston driver. I couldn't have been more proud.

From there he wanted to hit the Tea Cups and the Tilt-a-Whirl. I managed to convince him to watch each first and then decide. Thankfully he decided they went to fast and he would wait until he was older. 8 PM and he's still jumping up and down for more rides. I distracted him with ice cream and managed to keep him from realizing other piers had different rides. He would have stayed until the place closed if he had his way.

I wasn't sure how to top that. Thankfully Aunt Lori came through with a great idea - mini golf. While he showed shades of Tiger Woods in the beginning, he would slip occasionally. He'd forget he was playing golf and play hockey instead. Said he was practicing for when he played for the Black and Gold. Man I love this kid.

Exhausted, I came home early leaving the boys to play for two more days. My grand plans for Sunday quickly faded as I took the day to recover. He kept up with me and then surpassed me. I need more energy. If he keeps this up, I'll need a month to recover from August.

Allergies

"Mommy, I have to tell you something and it's a little scary."

OK, what's so scary?

"Well, I'm a little scared of my room. It's telling me that it is a little creepy and too dark in there."

OK, well how about I turn on the lamp for you and then it won't be so creepy and dark. There. See, not so dark  and creepy now. You are fine. Go back to bed.

"Well you see Mommy. I'm allergic."

You're allergic? Allergic to what?

"Um, well, the dark. I'm allergic to the dark."

You're allergic to the dark?

"Yes, I'm allergic to the dark. My doctor told me so. I'm allergic to three things. I'm allergic to sleeping alone. I'm allergic to the dark. I'm allergic to the bright."

You are allergic to the dark and to the bright?

"Um, well... yes. I'm allergic to sleeping alone and to the dark. But if I sleep with someone else, I'm not allergic to the dark. I'm only allergic to the bright when I sleep with someone else. See, my doctor told me I am allergic to these three things and you know when I am allergic to these three things?"

No dear. Please enlighten me.

"When I turn 4. My doctor told me."

So if you sleep by yourself, it has to be bright otherwise if it is dark, you need to sleep with someone or you will be allergic?

"Yes Mommy. My doctor told me so."

Good thing your lamp is on. Have a goodnight sweetie.

"But... wait. I need to think about this. Let me scratch my head."

No problem child. You let me know when you've figured that one out. In the mean time, have a good night. I love you and I will see you in the morning.

To Have... or not to have

I have one child. A son.

For the record I done. No I am not having anymore.

The craving is gone.

I'm happy with what I have.

And yet people feel the need to ask me constantly when I'm having another.

I tell myself it is because I don't look my age. People think I'm younger than I am. Still in my prime baby-making age. Man ego is a great thing, isn't it?

I'm not but that isn't the reason. Like I said, the craving is gone. The factory is closed.

You'd think I praised Hitler or swore my undying love for Mussolini the way some people react. An only child? But only children are spoiled brats.

Really? Citation please and by citation I do not mean your own anecdotal evidence because my anecdotal evidence blows yours away. You'll tell me you knew an only child growing up and he/she was the biggest spoiled brat ever. My response? Without thinking I can list 5 that I know quite well and not one is a spoiled brat. All 6 are intelligent, thoughtful, caring individuals. 2 of the 6 are teenagers and 1 isn't even close to his preteens. Doing for others unselfishly is second nature of all 6 so pfft.

Believe it or not, some of us don't want large broods. Some of us are perfectly content with having one child.

I believe in population control. I do not want to contribute beyond what I have to the ever burgeoning overcrowding on this planet.

I also believe strongly in adoption. My own personal belief is it is incredibly selfish to have more than one child when there are plenty in this country alone in desperate need of a loving home.

This is my belief and I don't force my beliefs on anyone (except my son who is too young to know otherwise for the time being and I'm playing that card for as long as I can).

So if you want to have 2, 8, 10, 20 kids, go for it. That is your decision and I respect it. All I ask is you respect my decision.

By the way, respecting a person's decisions means keeping your mouth shut and not making comments.

Besides I already deal with the "I'm not touching you", "I know you are but what am I", "Why are you hitting yourself?" between my husband and my son. Why the hell would I want to add another to the mix?

Oh wait, I'm the one who does the "why are you hitting yourself"....

The Game of Life

No it isn't some catchy title for this entry. I'm not very good at those anyway. I am talking about the Milton Bradley game: The Game of Life.

Little Man discovered it in the closet today and wanted to play. John, being a good sport and having an overwhelming amount of patience today decided what the hell. I watch him set it up expecting Little Man to implement his own crazy rules after the first couple of spins. I mean what 4 year old isn't going to be instantly bored by the Game of Life.

Not mine. Granted, John did most of the work acting as his financial trustee but the kid stuck it through. He even announced right away that he wanted childrens (his word): 2 babies and 2 childs (again, his words. Mrs. Poole would be lecturing me on my lack of skills when it comes to teaching this child the English language). After all he had already obtained his college degree (doctor) and being a 21st Century child, why bother with the whole marriage thing first?

He convinced me to join in right as he was hitting retirement. I quickly became a teacher. Switched careers (on my husband's advice) and became an accountant. Then I promptly lost my job and had to start over as a professional athlete. Let's just say by "professional" they were talking the minor leagues based on my salary and I never made it to the Majors.

It was funny to watch the dynamics of the game play out. John and I, being somewhat seasoned at the real Game of Life, weren't willing to take too many chances. It panned out somewhat OK for each as we both retired with over a million (me barely, he was just shy of 2 million).

Our darling son? Cleared well over 2 million even after the gamble of the risky path didn't quite pan out. It was a minor hiccup in the grand scheme. As the first to retire, he played it smart and chose the option which would protect his assets in retirement. One that wouldn't allow the rest of us the opportunity to take advantage of the elderly. Fool... not this kid.

Typical of a normal day in this house. The parents weigh all the options and chose the safe route while the 4-year-old with little life experience to dim his optimism, jumps in feet first, eyes closed and steals the day.

Here's hoping it pays off in the long run for you kiddo.

Since your parents will retire one day.

And decide your house is the perfect retirement spot.

Just makes you all giddy with excitement doesn't it?

Say What

Conversation after bowl #2 of pasta:

Little Man: "I need more pasta".

John: "Why don't you let it settle for a bit and then see if you are still hungry".

Little Man: "My tummy is telling me it needs more pasta so it can settle".

Me: "Do you want more pasta or do you want dessert? We have ice cream and Ice Box Pie...."

Little Man: "More pasta please".

Say what?

The Seemingly Innocuous

Having a child results in many a changes in a household. For example: baby proofing your house. You spend the first several months taking quick eye measurements to make sure things such as hot food or drink, cleaning solutions, beer, wine, etc. are out of flailing arms reach.

Once the crawling and standing stages hit, you spend your time taking eye measurements to ensure cleaning products and breakables are up high, electrical outlets are well protected and knives, scissors, hammers, hedge clippers, etc. are no where in the vicinity.

Then the walking stage hits and with it comes the ever-present stool in the bathroom so all medications, nail scissors and such that are stored in the medicine cabinet need to be moved.

It's never-ending.

There's the brother that was able to get a hold of a metal object, I believe a table knife, and decided to see if it would fit in the electrical socket. The shock sends him flying backwards (hardwood floors aid the slide). Not deterred, he goes back for seconds (still convinced those covers were invented because of him).

There's the sister who thought the cover to the pilot light on the stove looked like a trolley and wanted to play with it. Same child is also not allowed near sharp knives as an adult. It is still considered a small miracle that all ten fingers are still intact.

There's the same brother who almost lost a finger thanks to electric hedge clippers. Actually, not that I think of it, he's the poster child for baby-proofing for life.

There's the lie called Child-Proof Caps and the numerous pre-schoolers I know who can open them faster and easier than their parents.

How many of you heard the one about the child who thought a PB&J sandwich went into the VCR (for those of you who know what a VCR is without hitting Google)? Come on - you know that one has to be true. It's too good not to be.

So early in the whole Parenting thing, most of us become very adept at the whole child-proofing thing.

Until something seemingly completely innocuous enters the picture and you have to rethink your entire safety plan.

Take your every day band aid. In general, this is not considered harmful to a pre-schooler. In fact, they are the complete opposite and can even help heal the pain of an imagined boo-boo. The worst danger posed is a child using an entire box on his arms and legs, or one of his favorite toys, or maybe your walls. Outside of having to buy another box, no harm, no foul. Right?

WRONG!

Little Man hasn't been feeling well and was starting to feel a little warm this morning so we decided to take his temperature. He immediately starts in on a super-fast set of instructions that we need to follow before taking his temperature. Something about not messing with his band aid. The last band aid I put on him was the other night to protect a blister on the back of his ankle. How I could mess with that while taking his temperature is a little beyond me so I'm trying to explain to him that I'll be very gentle and not touch his ankle.

Only problem was that wasn't the band aid he was referring to.

He was referring to the band aid that he put on.

By himself.

On his scrotum.

Missing

Some years it hurts worse than others. This year is one of those years. I thought it would get easier as time went on but that isn't always the case. A neighborhood child went for a ride with his dad on the bike. The look of joy on the kid's face brought back some great memories for me. The first and last ride of the season belonged to me. No one else went on the bike with Dad until I did. Of course it didn't hurt that I still lived at home for most of those years.

It was like Christmas all over again. I'd be up at the crack of dawn and perfectly willing to skip breakfast so we could hit the road immediately but "breakfast is the most important meal of the day" and Dad had to eat. He could have dragged it out to torture me but he'd be torturing himself in the process. After a long winter it was too much even for him. The open road called and he was a big Bob Seger fan. "I could go east. I could go west. It was all up to me to decide."  And so would start the riding season. You name a back road in the middle of nowhere NH and I've traveled it. We didn't cover as much in VT but we got close.

Nothing beats the feeling of being on a mountain road on a motorcycle. Even though NH doesn't have a helmet law, I never felt the desire to have the wind through my hair to quite that extent. Besides, the helmet was the only thing keeping my hair from whipping my face bloody.

I remember one ride - the last ride of the season. We really pushed it on the season that year and by the time we stopped for lunch I was so cold, I almost couldn't get off the bike. We walked into a small restaurant attached to a gas station. My hands were so frozen I couldn't get my helmet off never mind unzip my jacket. Dad had to do it for me. I went straight to the coffee urn and wrapped my hands around it trying to get some feeling back in them.

When I finally detached my hands from the urn I noticed the dirty looks my Dad was getting from the few people in the restaurant. Talk about shooting daggers out of one's eyes. It was bad. Then they would turn to me with such a look of pity. It took me a second to realize they had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Normally I would let something like that go but this was my father. How the hell could they think such a thing of him? Yeah, I know. He was a stranger to him but how dare they? I was PISSED. So I purposely waited until he was half way to a table across the room before I yelled out "Hey DAD, do you want some coffee?"

Yeah you judgemental little twerps - he's my FATHER.

I think if I hadn't done that, we wouldn't have gotten served.

I can look back now and laugh. Dad did. He never let anything like that bother him. He didn't know these people. He'd probably never see them again in his life so why waste a minute of his time worrying about what they thought. It had no effect on his life unless he allowed it so he chose not to allow it.

I've tried to drill that philosophy into my head. I'm not always successful but I try. It's the only thing I know to do at this point. I miss him like crazy. I can't bring him back (believe me - I've literally dreamed that dream) but I can try to live my life like he did.

I think about him more and more these days it seems. I'm back to wishing I could pick up the phone when Little Man does something that is my Dad all over again. He can't stand to have his hands dirty. Something that is 100%  his grandfather. Something I never understood since he was an elevator mechanic. I used to ask him why he didn't just buy some surgical gloves and wear them when he worked. He never really answered me leading me to wonder, if I ever actually looked in any of the rooms on one of his jobs, how many boxes I would find.

It hurts that he isn't here to show Little Man the hippo in the stream or introduce him to the first ride of the season (I've already instilled in him a love of Harleys). I'm left with memories only but at least I have those. Little Man never even had the chance to meet him. He's not yet connected the dots. He knows the man in the pictures is my father and his grandfather but he hasn't yet asked me where he is and why he hasn't met him. I'm dreading that day.

I idolized the man. He was perfect in my eyes. Still is. To this day I struggle because he's not at the other end of the phone to help me solve a problem, walk me through the steps of replacing the garbage disposal so the food doesn't shoot out of it when it turns on, teach me the proper way to tile a bathroom, install a ceiling fan (of course it took him ages to do most of these and he suffered the sarcasm and jokes from his darling children but that's what children are for yes?). Yet again he wasn't there for me to call when another Boston team finally took the championship.

I think of these things sometimes and I mourn. Times like this I want to crawl up in a ball and just stop for a day or two. But I won't. I'll get over it. I'll start remembering all the good times, all the laughs we had over the years and I realize I'm lucky. I had him for 30 years. Its better than never at all. I'll take the memories. I'll cherish. I'll cry like a baby occasionally but it's OK. And one day, I'll share all these memories with Little Man. It's the best I can do.

To Match or Not to Match - That is the Question

Filed under Out of the Mouths. Nah, scratch that. File under: Save for Future Bribery:

John: Here, carry these flowers for Mommy.

Little Man: I don't want to carry them any more Daddy. They don't match my outfit.

Karma Requires a (Twisted) Sense of Humor

Karma has an amazing sense of humor if not truly twisted.

So a few months back, my sweet darling husband thought it would be a good idea for us to bet on the Redskins/Patriots game. Ya'll know how well that worked out for him.  He's been saying for awhile he can't wait for the Rangers to meet the Bruins in the playoffs. He plans on his Rangers crushing the B's so he never has to where a certain sweatshirt/t-shirt ever again. He may even be planning a shirt-burning party.

He did not foresee his ultimate payback.

So we've been married for 5 years now. Five years and we still have separate bank accounts, credit cards, etc., etc., etc. That arrangement worked fine but recently we've been talking about switching to a joint bank account. In the process we decided it was time to consolidate credit cards as well. We'll keep his and add me to it. I'll dump one of mine and add him to my other card.

Apparently after 5 years we've decided we'll keep each other so it's OK to officially merge finances. As usual, John is faster to respond then the Queen Procrastinator. He put in the request with his bank to add me to his card. It arrived today.

Apparently our thoughts on what is/is not apparent was off. I'm just glad I didn't close out my bank accounts and dump everything into his bank yet.

My darling husband customized his credit card over 10 years ago when he got it.

The bank sent me my card with my very own name on it.

Customized just like his.

Ms. Born-and-bread-died-in-the-wool-hard-core-never-forget-where-you-came-from-all-things-NY-sucks-Beantown-Rocks-OFD-Mother@#$%#$-and-Proud-of-It is the proud (sic) owner of her very own.... oh I'm ill just having to type this..... Yankees credit card.

Well Karma may have met her match. I'm calling my bank and asking for a very special customized card with his name on it.

A one-of-a-kind Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins, and Democrat credit card. 4 corners to a credit card. 4 logos. Oh yeah baby.

Stack.... Snack....

Neighbors are outside chatting and Little Man's window is open so the noise disturbed him. John goes up to head off a freakout and of course Little Man angles for our bed. John says no and immediately goes into redirecting. I'm listening to this conversation over the monitor:

John: You have Jonah, and Blackie, and Banana and... what's this one, Short Stack?

LM: No he doesn't have a name. I'll name him right now. His name is Short Snack.

Big Trouble

Sunday 10 PM. I've just finished my workout and shower when there is a knock on the bathroom door.

"Mommy, I'm not tired".

So I should ignore the red eyes and toothpicks?

"Yeah, I'm not tired and I don't want to be alone anymore".

So of course I tell him to crawl into my bed while I braid my hair. I lay out strict ground rules: lie down, close your eyes, go to sleep AND NO TALKING.

He fails. Miserably. 5 minutes after I crawl into bed and crack open my book.

What happens when you don't listen?

"I get into big trouble?"

Exactly. I told you to lie down, close your eyes go to sleep and no talking. Did you listen?

"Ummmm. No?"

No you didn't listen so now you need to return to your room.

Huge sigh for such a little body. "Oh OKAY".

He slides off the bed, slumps his shoulders and walks into his bedroom.

Wait a second. Rewind that.... Where's the NOOOOO. Where the whining? Where's the Mother of All Tantrums?

Oh OKAY? That's it? And you are off to your room with no argument?

Seriously - who are you and what have you done with my child? No, no, no, no. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not exactly suggesting you should go get him and bring him back. Maybe not entirely....

Fast forward to breakfast this morning. For the life of me I can't remember what he was about to get upset about. It's not like I'd had my coffee yet. I stopped him just as the whine started to slip out and asked him what happens when he whines, won't take no for an answer and/or throws a tantrum.

"I get in big trouble?".

Yes. Now do you remember last night? Uh huh. And do you remember how well you handled it? How you didn't cry or whine or throw a tempter tantrum? Yes and mommy is very proud of you for being so mature.

Yes, mature. I used the word mature with a 4-year old and then am left struggling with a 4-year old definition of "mature". Before I've had coffee. I'm impressed I could even conjure the word and now I have to define it? Sheesh, when will I learn.

It means you proved to me you really are a big boy. It's a very good thing honey. A big compliment.

Et voila. I've found my magic trick for the week. So, who wants to start a pool as too how long my new, calm-collected-always-in-control-no-nonsense-accepted attitude continues to work with this child? Bonus points if you can come up with the exact scenario in which it fails because the key to this whole thing really seems to be me remaining 100% calm, cool, and collected.

Turning a Debacle into a Victory

I'm not big on what the experts say. I'm not one for child books. Technically, I didn't really read the whole What to Expect When You're Expecting. John did. I read one or two chapters that I remember. Then, as I hit the next month, John would read the first section of that chapter to me so I would... know what to expect. Read it cover to cover? Yeah... no.

I'm not much of a planner. Hell most of the details for my wedding weren't taken care of until 3 days before. Let things fall where they may, it will all work out. No worries. If you spend all your time planning, exactly when do you live your life?

The only thing John and I discussed prior to having Little Man was the United Front. Which means no matter what we think, in front of him, we are united. Privately we can disagree as to punishment, etc. but in front of him, no cracks in the veneer darling. 'Course the kid is still under the delusion that he can play us off each other. One parent says no, turn to the other. So what if both parents happen to be in the same room sitting right next to each other and can hear everything being said in said room?

Oh and we also discussed spanking. As in I said we wouldn't spank, no discussion. With one exception each, we've maintained that one. Thankfully we've had no exceptions on the United Front. Again... why the delusion then? I seriously hurt my brain attempting to wrangle some sort of logic in this one. It's not like we share DNA or anything. It's not like he doesn't have two incredibly stubborn parents.

So that's it. That's my parenting strategy. Judge me as you may, it has worked for me so far. See, I'm new to all of this parenting thing. I only have one kid so the way I see it is I'll always be new to it. Each phase, age, stage will be new to me. I'm untried, untested, and a tad naive. Hmm, sounds like life in general. So why should I treat parenting any different then how I treat the rest of my life?

So each new phase requires a new strategy. Sometimes I strike gold first time around. Sometimes I swan dive very ungracefully into a bottomless pit. Not once have I hit platinum but I don't believe in perfection so tis all good. Consistency is one key I stick by. I'll be consistent for 2-3 days max. If it don't work, it's broken and I'm fixing it.

After yesterday's debacle I wasn't exactly looking forward to this morning. Things would go one of two ways:

1. Little Man would be quite contrite, loving, sweet, practically angelic or
2. Little Man would be furious, holding the ultimate grudge, whining incessantly about not getting books, songs, flips, life isn't fair, he has the worst mommy in the world, yada yada yada.

I forgot about number 3. Little Man is his normal self and completely forgets about yesterday's debacle until I mention it at which point, he immediately begins to agree to anything and everything I say. (I'll remind him  of this in several years when it comes time to put me in a retirement home - sorry kiddo but I'm coming to live with you!). So we started today with a little reminder about whining and temper tantrums. A very simple discussion. If Little Man has either, I'll start filling up that garbage bag sitting in my room.

He was a saint for about an hour maybe two before the first tantrum started to rear. One verbal reminder and he managed a milestone - he calmed himself in record time. I'm talking Guinness Book of World Records record. Sainthood stayed for most of the day too. He was the most helpful child today. Running up and down stairs. Telling me "no problem". Offering to move heaven and earth so I could clean today. It was wonderful.

This evening provided test # 2 of my consistency battle. 2nd battle of the day I claim victory.

Of course I have yet determined the depth of the scars I have laid upon this poor child. Threatened to have all his beloved toys thrown into a garbage bag and tossed. Well OK, donated. I could never actually throw away perfectly good toys. He's slowly grasping the concept of donating toys that he know longer plays with. Maybe he needs old enough to learn the concept of deserving toys. Although I do wonder if I could actually follow through should he decide to test my resolve one of these days. I also wonder the depth to which he will try to lay his guilt later in life. Eh, he's my son. He'll start in on the guilt immediately. He's already perfecting that routine.

So again a possibility of scarring my poor child. Again, questioning my resolve, my parenting ability. Eh. No one is perfect. I'm sure I've already screwed up and expect to screw up even more. He'll survive just fine. Besides, how dare I be perfect? What would he ever have to complain about in his teenage years if he can't complain about how horrible his mom is?

That's My Boy

From a very young age Little Man was always told to save his meltdowns for home and not have them at daycare.

Hindsight like Murphy's Law loves to kick me in the ass. I really need to shrink that target.

I should have changed daycare to "anywhere in public ever".

Yes, he was that child and I was that parent today.

He refused to listen. He refused to take no for an answer (not a clue where that comes from). He ran away. I refused to run. Think Ron White when you read this: I was IN PUB... LIC. I think more people would rather hear my son shriek than see me jiggle trying to run after him.

The poor Girl Scouts chose that exact moment to approach me. Nah, don't worry. I didn't make a snack out of them. I smiled sweetly but the "not now" that came out of my mouth may have been a little more clipped than intended. They also ran.

MY child finally responded to my command and snapped to. He even took my hand but at this point he has lost all privileges. I've already sent John into the grocery store to pick up the two items we need so I'm taking my darling, wonderful, sweet, even-tempered child to the car. Once he realized that he morphed into banshee child.

Seriously, I think the banshees were in pain. John could hear him from inside the store. I asked if he shouted out with pride: "That's my boy!" I'll let you figure out the answer to that one.

So here I am, trying to leave the mall and head back to the car but I've got banshee child who thinks he can throw himself on the floor.

Seriously kid? That's all you've got? Fine. You will now be carried out quite unceremoniously - tucked under my arm (gotta be able to protect my body from flailing limbs).

I get him in the car and he is still shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he adds in kicking the door and the back of the seat. So I decide to stand outside the car and entertain myself a game of mahjong on my phone.

All the while keeping a wary eye out for the cops. The looks I got - I'm convinced someone thinks I'm beating my child and is making the call. Considering some of the laws in this state, I'm amazed I'm not speaking with the police right now.

Needless to say someone went to bed as soon as we went home. Of course getting him to actually get into his pjs, get in bed, stay in bed and stop screaming involved threatening to empty the content of his play room into a garbage bag.

I've decided to leave the garbage bag in my room for future possible use.

Anyone with any suggestions on how to deal with banshee child...I'm listening. The only thing I can think of is a trick my grandmother supposedly used - she threw cold water on a child. I'm so tempted but part of me wants to save that one for a truly glorious moment - namely when I have someone who can record it.

Wonderful Great Ideas

Good-bye toddlerhood. Hello preschooler. Hello whiny. Hello Wonderful, Great Ideas. Hello logical arguments. Hello independence (when it suits him).

Up until this point, most phases have been gradual allowing me to somewhat ease into things. This one decided to smack me upside the head as I staggered in exhausted from work one day.

The second he moved up to the preschool, he went through a drastic change. He wants to do everything himself and when I say everything, I mean everything. I had to draw the line on him trying to he me change into my pajamas.

The whines became overbearing until I snapped. A simple, (very) firm, "No whining. I will not tolerate it" does the trick. The time between reminders is growing and instead of having a meltdown I get the big sigh, eye roll, and "Ooh, okaaaay". Shades of the teenager to come.

Which brings us to the Wonderful, Great Idea.

"All right buddy, time to go to bed"

"But I want to watch.... (insert whatever show is about to start on Sprout or Nick Jr).

"Nope. Not tonight. It's bedtime"

"I've got a Great, Wonderful idea". (Been reading way to much Dr. Seuss of late). "Let's watch (insert show) and then we will go to bed."

The above also combines with his logical arguments. A preschooler's logic vs. a redhead's logic. Life is never interesting.

Oh and the whole reverse psychology? Going out the window. Either that or he's found a way to use it to his advantage. I'm not sure yet. He's up to something. I will figure this out:

John: You need to try the veggies and eat some more chicken.

Little Man: I'm full. (his standard response when a parent insists he try something new)

John: You either eat some more or you go to bed.

Little Man: No. I'm going to play in my playroom

Me: Hey, what did your father say? Come back here!

Nothing. Ignored. Completely.

I choose to finish my dinner while it is still warm and delay the fight that is about to occur. The only ending I see is one screaming child being tossed unceremoniously into his PJs followed by his bed. No sooner do I finish eating than I can hear Little Man calling out to us, asking where we are (right where you left us...).

He makes his way to us and begins to lecture us. For not reading to him.

Huh?

"Its bedtime. You need to come upstairs and read books. It is book time".

I say again, HUH?

"Its bedtime. Daddy said."

Triple HUH? It isn't even 7 PM yet. Just like that, your father says eat your dinner or go to bed and you go to bed with no fuss, no scream, no temper tantrum, no questions?

So why am I questioning this?

The Bane of this Generation

When we were children the most embarrassing thing one's parents could pull out was the dreaded naked baby picture and embarrassing stories but they were normally reserved for the first significant other brought home or to knock the child down a peg or two when cockiness got out of hand. Then came the Internet and with it social networks and blogs bringing a whole new level of embarrassment to the next generation. Picture, if you will, a child born in 2008. Now picture this child 40 years in the future running for office.

Politicians of this age deal with issues of Religion, ethics violations, tax returns, citizenship, number of divorces, and whether or not they inhaled. Most issues going only as far back as college. The generation coming up could potentially have their entire lives laid bare from the moment they were conceived for all the world to see thanks to social media and blogs.

There's a reason the warning stands: don't post anything online you wouldn't want on a billboard in Times Square. Unfortunately for my son's generation, family members who do adhere to that adage usually only adhere to it in relation to their own (mis)deeds.

Ever try to expunge something from the Internet? Yeah, me neither. There truly is something that is impossible. Part of me looks forward to those election years. They could prove to be much more entertaining the the recent ones I've lived through.

So will this foreknowledge change anything? Nope. In 200+ years, this country has seen 44 presidents. Statistically the odds are not in any child's favor. But add on members of Congress, Cabinet members, Political appointees, CEOs and a myriad of other high profile positions available and the statistics lean a sliver more in favor.

BUT not enough to stop me from laying bare all sorts of embarrassing things about my darling son which I find absolutely hysterical:

Little Man's conversation with his father the other night consisted of informing Daddy that he needs to get sleep so he can grow big and strong and when he gets older he can drink ginger ale and beer. He then commences to watch Super Why. On this episode they were discussing following directions which Little Man immediately translates into "following erections".

Tonight's conversation? Well, I'll just paste in the email I received as I was leaving the office tonight:
"Little Man told me his penis was magic. I told him where did he hear this, and he told me he heard it from himself."

Drama King

We are in the basement watching TV tonight when I have to ask John to mute the TV as I think I can hear Little Man over the monitor but not clearly which means he's calling from the bathroom:

"Can someone please make my cough go away? Can someone please come take care of my cough?"

[insert fake cough here]

"Can someone please come take my cough away? It's killing me".

I take my time meandering upstairs. Mainly due to the fact that it wouldn't be nice to face him when I'm laughing that hard. Sure enough, there he is, sitting on the potty. In the dark.

"Mommy I trying to go potty but my cough is making it difficult. I'm waiting for the poop to come out but the cough isn't helping my cause. I can't concentrate on the poop".

Well... that was my night. How was yours?

Happy Birthday Little Man

Tomorrow I will no longer be the mother of a 3-year old. Tomorrow I will be the mother of a 4-year old. 4 years into this and I am still wondering why they required me to get a license to drive a car but no one intervened when I decided parenthood was a brilliant idea.

I have a few more white hairs and the memory definitely isn't as sharp as it once was (oh bite your tongue) but I remember the day I took the pregnancy test quite vividly. I also remember the day I had you quite vividly. Other memories have blurred a bit but not those two.

Yes, I also remember the whole peed-in-his-eye-what-if-he's-blind episode. A little too vividly.

So I'm watching you watch TV right now as you suck down a cup of milk. Your swinging your legs back and forth on the couch. Part of me is amazed your legs can't reach the floor yet as you seem to have sprouted yet again. Part of me is thrilled that while I may no longer have a baby, I still have a little one. One who will run up to me for no reason at all and ask for a hug. One who will call out for me several times each day simple because "I want you Mommy". One who still have no problem curling up in my lap at story time, bed time, anytime. As I watch you, I remember lots of things. Vividly.

I remember how you didn't come back to the room with me. One of your lungs hadn't inflated properly so they swept you away to check you out. Drugs are a wonderful thing as I remained calm through the whole thing. Several hours later the sense of calm was starting to wear thin and I ordered your father not to return from the nursery without my son. By this time we knew you were OK but I had yet to hold you. Not cool. Your poor father was run out of the nursery as they were in the middle of a shift change. My nurse took pity on him and had his back when he returned. Hence the reason why he is still alive. Shortly after his return they decided it was time to move me out of L&D and into my own room. The nurse was awesome. She bit her her tongue when I came out with the reason why they couldn't move me. Yup - my son hadn't arrived yet and how would they know where to find me. Andrea witnessed that brilliant thought process and has yet to say anything about it. Talk about a great friend.

I remember your horrendous fall down the stairs, double flip in the air and all. I remember the time it took for you to raise up on your little hands and cry - all of a split second that felt like an eternity because we thought we'd lost you. A little over 3 years later and I still have internal panic attacks when you are around stairs. They've lessened drastically but I suspect I'll still suffer from them when we drop you off at college.

I remember your first steps at Amah's house in NH followed promptly but a loud smack on the hard wood floor. You looked completely stunned but hey - I'd been warning your for days those floors were harder than ours. Carpeting does serve a purpose.

I remember the look on your face the first time I tried to feed you cereal. A look I still get when I try to get you to try new food. So if you are reading this... not all the beef stews I made contained stewed beef. Some contained... kidneys. Not getting Mother of the Year award now am I?

I remember each Christmas. Each birthday. Hell, I remember each time you christened a new part of the house. I remember running out of ideas to keep you entertained when Daddy was on the campaign trail so I came up with the coolest game ever - the Shouting Match. It turned out to be a practice session for you - practice for when you needed to yell and lecture me a year later.

I remember you running from the back door to the couch shouting "SWISHY SWASHY SWISHY SWASHY" over and over and over and over again after Mom introduced you to Going on a Bear Hunt. I also remember your father reminding you several time that there was no carpet and hard wood floors were slippery. Yet again you learned the hard way. At least you avoided the coffee table... until you rolled of the couch while wrestling with Amah and smacked you head on it. Another thing we warned you about. I can honestly tell you child - you have one hard skull. Don't get any (more) ideas though.

I remember the first time you called me Mama. I especially remember how you said "I love you" to Elmo before you ever said it to me. Your MOTHER. The woman who gave birth to you. Fed you. Burped you. Cleaned up all your puke, pee, and poo. I've wiped away blood and tears. I've kissed boo-boos all better. I've sat up all hours of the night with you soothing away nightmares. And you told Elmo you loved him before you told your own Mother. First car? Start saving kid.

I remember first blood, second blood, first ER trip, first stitches. Sweet Mother all this before you were 4? Enough already OK? That is one area in which you are NOT allowed to try and outdo your uncle. Actually let's not try to outdo your uncle in most things OK? I'll explain why when you are older. Much older.

I remember when I could finally understand Toddler-Speak and now that I am fluent all toddlers I meet now seem so incredibly articulate in comparison. So thank you for being an amazing teacher in that subject. For awhile there, I never thought I'd pass the final exam.

I remember your first truly horrific temper tantrum. I couldn't be in the same room as you without you going nuclear on me. Your father was working late as usual. All I could do was stand at the front door and will him to drive faster. The poor man didn't even get to the front door before I flew out of it declaring you were all his. I felt the love that night. I did.

I remember almost all of it and what I don't remember your Father does so don't think you will be getting away with anything. You know what I remember the most of the 4 years though? I remember how many times I'd be upset or feel sad and all I had to do was think of you and I'd feel better. If I was lucky enough to have you actually around when I felt down, you'd give me a hug to make me feel better. So while there are times you can drive me absolutely freaking insane - you always manage to make me smile if not outright laugh.

You've moved from the chaise in order to curl up with your father. Bedtime is fast approaching and I hate to be mean because you look so comfortable. You spend so much time wanting me, its nice to see you want daddy. Of course it is only because you want snuggle time and the computer has invade my lap but at least you didn't try to dump it on the floor this time. That's not going to get you any brownie points.

So tomorrow you will be 4. In a little over a year you will start kindergarten. Then I'll blink and you'll be in high school, then college. You'll move out on your own. You will grow into a man and I can't stop you but it won't matter because no matter how old you are, you will always be My Baby. My Little Man. My Precious. My Little Imp.

My Heart.

Happy Birthday Baby Boy and here's to many, many, many more.

Expectations

Found yet another draft for which I forgot to post. What a surprise.

I've said this countless times. As children, we were sold a lie: (as they ride off into the sunset) And They Lived Happily Ever After.

Bullshit.

Do you like your parents all the time?

Do you like your friends all the time?

Is life easy all the time?

Then why the hell do you think you are going to like you partner all the time?

You pick out the white dress. You find your dream location, the perfect cake, a great caterer (and what you hope) is a great DJ. You plan down to the minutest of details (details, mind you that only YOU know about but that is a lesson for another time). You stress, you whine, you cry and if you are really lucky you have at least one great friend/family member who smacks you upside the head at least once but most likely several times.

You have your dream wedding. The Reception is a hit. You've blown your life savings and now its over. Do you ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after?

Fuck no. You head off on your honeymoon.

Which you are also expecting to be perfect. Time to put your expectations in check folks. Ok, so this maybe a little bit of an extreme situation but always go with what illustrates your point perfectly right?

You fly off on your dream honeymoon to the Caribbean which involves a sailboat which you have chartered... from a company that apparently went out of business a few weeks back and decided not to tell you. You scramble. Another company steps in to the rescue. Its not the boat you want. The supplies are not what you planned on but hey - roll with the punches right? Nope. Married no more than 24 hours and you are curled up in a ball, rocking and crying for mommy. Unfortunately for you and your groom - she ain't taking you back.

Nah - wasn't me but it was someone who does share DNA with me. While we didn't go to Vegas on our honeymoon, I think I will adopt the What happens in Vegas....

So nothing is perfect folks. Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes it knocks you so hard on your ass, you are left grasping for breath. Sometimes. Sometimes it sucker punches you with a right while the left hands you a Sam.