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.