WW... House Robinson

Oh yessss....

Because of this...

And this....

AAANNNNDDDD this...

Exhaustion Is Coming.

Now THAT'S some good parenting!

Hubbs and I know we are good parents because:

1.  My 18 month old thinks she can hang with the big boys... and then actually can.

2.  My son won't take crap from anybody... not even us.

3.  As Sass and I flipped through Googled pictures of wasps discussing why we should never try to catch those in our butterfly net, he began to ask questions like "Where is dis one from?",  "Is dat its nest?",  "Where are da nests?", and *gulp* "Can I see one?".  Genuine curiosity... albit about something that may become problematic later on, but curiosity nonetheless.

4.  Sass can unwrap a foil covered chocolate egg all by himself in less than 10 seconds and Sprinks is in the early stages of figuring it out.  Got to start them early!

5.  Have you seen Spinks "Shark-Eye"?  Legendary....

6.  Both children can identify McDonald's, Burger King, and Wendy's separately... and have their favorites. (Yet they still both eat broccoli with great gusto... luck of the draw, I guess.)

7.  As I was vomiting loudly and uncontrollably one evening, this conversation happened:

Me:  *Huuuurrrrrlllll*

Sass:  "Momma, are you sick?"  I turn to see both children watching me intently from the bathroom door.

Me:  "Oh Honeys, you don't want to be in here.  Momma is just fine.  I just need a moment..."  *Huuuuurrrrrlllll*

I feel a small hand begin to rub little circles on my back as the other attempts to hold my hair back.

Sass:  "Momma, is da baby blob making you sick?"  more back rubbing...

Yeah... these are some good kids....

What little things do you see in your wigglers that make you feel like a successful parent?

Oh.... I have a sign for you....

     My daughter signs.  She is getting really good at it, too... but no wonder as she refuses to speak.  And she can, speak that is, it's just that verbal communication is too boring... or beneath her.... or too frustrating.  Who knows, right?  At 18 months she only uses a handful of words consistently (by this point her brother was using complete sentences) but understands a whole lot of scary about what we say.  She gets it, but verbal communication isn't her bag, baby.  All Hubbs and I know is that teaching her to sign has been the difference between ear splitting shrieks of anger and frustration and fewer.  We are going with fewer.

     You know how some kids, when they learn that they can finally be understood by those lumbering food machines called adults, will use every opportunity to tell you as loudly as possible everything that they think?  Yeah.... she's not one of those BUT she WILL walk up to you, thump you on the chest with her fat little fist, and throw the "milk" sign at you like she is a Crip and you are a Blood and shit is about to go DOWN.  I have never been told "Now, bitch!" in such a quietly forceful way.  It is a little intimidating....

We have gotten no small amount of attention from strangers in public over this.  For example...

     Last weekend at the zoo, we had stopped to get lunch at their wonderful little cafe (with the badass hamburgers) but we had waited a little too long so the kids were completely batshit with hunger... you know.... because we OBVIOUSLY never feed them.  *sigh*  Hubbs went up to order and I sat with them at the table attempting to keep the situation under control.  Sass was his normal Speedy Gonzales of words and whining and Sprinkles decided to add her two cents.  "EAT!" she signed at me.  "EAT!  MILK!  FOOD NOW!", while thumping the table for emphasis and punctuation.  Being a natural hand talker I told her "Wait" and pointed to Hubbs in line up front,  "Daddy is coming soon." I spoke to her.  Not pleased with my answer she kept up with the signing with an angry face and a few guttural shrieks thrown in for good measure.  I began to roll my eyes until I noticed one of the Yuppie Moms (yeah, I judge like that.  When you have the perfect ponytale, a monogrammed and quilted diaper bag, with eight screaming and incredibly unruly kids, I am just going to assume you are hauling this hot mess back to a White Esclade and let's be done with it.) having one of those "that kid is "different" but don't stare" moments with her child.  Ponytale looked up and saw me watching.  She gave me a sweetly conspiratorial smile and turned back to her boy for a hug.  What the....?  Wait.  She thinks my kid is deaf?  And that was one of those "The More You Know" CBS syrup moments?  Huh...  

     It wasn't that she thought Sprinks was deaf that made me want to get all bitey (if she was, we would learn sign language and move on) it was the smile afterward.  It was... condescending and pat-you-on-the-head belittling.  It was "Aren't I Such a Good Parent For Explaining This Unfortunate Situation To My Sweet Baby Boy".  It made the hair on the back of my neck stick up and my hackles rise.  Is this how it is for families with children who have disabilities?  How do you not kill folks?  You are saints!  You are amazing!  Why are playgrounds and PTA meetings not covered with the broken bodies of parents like Ponytale?  I would call it justifiable ...   I was a hairs breadth from standing up and pulling something primal... but then the food came... so I didn't.  And because we are, after all, somewhat civilized.  *growl*

But you see Ponytale, it's not me you have to worry about....  She's fierce.

Pants Ass-assination....

I love Dr. Seuss.  I love his Red Fish and his Blue Fish!  I love his Sneetches with stars or not upon thars!  I love his Cat, Hat, and all of that.  I even love the Zax (but I will admit to being partial to the South Going one).  Oh mah gawd.... and "Too Many Daves"?  There are never too many!  (Especially You, Oliver Boliver Butt, you are my favorite.)  But when I saw Ninja Mom's "Character Assassination Carousel", I wanted IN... because of those damn green pants.  You heard me.  The.  Green.  Pants.  The story is actually called "What Was I Scared Of?" but in my scarred preschooler psyche it was (and is still) called "The Pale Green Pants With Nobody Inside Them!"

Doesn't sound too bad, huh?  Well, just let me show you....

It starts out innocently enough.  That cute little yellow guy is out for a walk in the moonlight....

Doesn't he look sweet?  Not a care in the world... until...

Wait?  What's that up there in the corner of the page coming from the deepest, darkest part of the wood?  Ghost Pants?  Pale GREEN Ghost Pants?  Now, I'm no fool but I have seen "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and I know that when ghosts missing their important bits come streaking out of the deepest, darkest part of the wood, they are hell bent on blood and total destruction.  Run Little Yellow Man, Run!

What kind of children's book is this?  I mean, look at him!  He's terrified ..  And the pants don't stop at chasing him through the forest... Oh no!  They find him at the Supermarket...

(What is Up with that pale green Butt?  How can you have a finely sculpted pair of glutes when you have nobody inside you?  Talk about an unattainable body image!)

They find him while he's trying to relax and go fishing....

(Wait.... how are the pants rowing?  Super spooky pants magic, that's how!)

Then there is the most disturbing of the attacks.  *The following may not be suitable for young viewers* After spending an inordinate amount of time wedged uncomfortably in a Brickle Bush trembling in abject terror...

(Just look at that poor little yellow face!  Oh when will this emotional torture stop?)

our thoroughly abused yellow friend is forced to leave the relative safety of his Brickle Bush by starvation and dehydration.

(Just look at the rings around his eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders... this guy is one small sneeze away from a nervous breakdown)

Having lost all patience, the malevolent outerwear decided to pounce...

Ah!  The lost innocence!  The capturing of this egregious act in such lurid detail between the cardboard covers of this bedtime-book-gone-wrong is almost too much to bear!  How I weep for you, Little Yellow Dude!  You can almost see his mind begin to break in his red ringed eyes as the Stockholm Syndrome begins to take hold...  Survival at its most base and desperate level....

See the blankness in his eyes?  His brain has shut down to spare him the conscious understanding of his personal hell....  The horror!  No Sweet Yellow Man!  The Pants are not your friend   ... but he can't hear me for he is lost..... *sob*

Check out all of the awesomeness here.  There is an amazingly hilarious list of past assassinations that will leave you wondering why you thought "Goodnight Moon", Curious George, and many, MANY other "beloved" children's classics were ever a good idea.  :)

And check out Lisa at Wine & Glue for her take on that naughty, subversive little Pigeon in "Don't Let The Pigeon Stay Up Late!", and "TAG" Jesse at Do Your Job!  You're it!  Let the hijinks ensue.....

Substitutes ARE awesome!

Hi ya'll!  May I introduce Christy and her delightful blog called Mother of the Year.  Don't let the title fool you, though... she's just as depraved as the rest of us.  ;)  This incredibly brave woman actually wanted to have her work appear on my blog!  Really?  You're sure about this, Christy?  ;)

So, without further adieu, I will hand the mic to Christy and let 'er rip, girl!

My name is Christy and I am today’s substitute blogger…kind of like a substitute teacher, only cooler. I don’t know about you but I had some pretty lame substitute teachers in my time. Of course, we all loved having subs because subs didn’t know the rules, your seating chart, or even who was who. You could sit wherever you wanted and claim to be your best friend and the sub wouldn’t know the difference.  “Yes, Mrs. Substitute, our teacher always lets us pass notes and have pop in class!”

 Sometimes I wonder if subs really were as dumb as they seemed or if they just didn’t care….like when I babysit. “Sure kid, cuss all you want. Not my kid, not my problem. Have as much candy as you want. Not my kid, not my problem….unless you’re staying overnight, at which point your sugar-induced self becomes my problem.” Joking (especially if any of my friends are reading this)!

 I definitely don’t do these things when I babysit. The children are fed strictly healthy foods, watch only educational shows, and recite *insert personal religion here* verses all day long when I babysit. *snicker, snicker* If you’re not religious at all, we discuss the meaning of life, but we don’t go over the circle of life unless it pertains to the Lion King.  I don’t even want to have that talk with my own daughters, let alone another kid. That’s your job!

I have every intention of having “THE TALK” with my kids via handing them a couple of pamphlets and asking if they have any questions. Of course, they will be horrified and answer no. They probably won’t look me in the eye for a couple of weeks, but that’s okay. Once the awkwardness passes, my husband and I will no longer have to have code-words so that’s good. We currently spell things out but I know it’s a matter of time before my oldest daughter says, “What’s birth control?” We will then act dumb and pretend to not know what she is talking about. “I just heard you say that you hoped to get your p-e-r-i-o-d next week because the b-i-r-t-h c-o-n-t-r-o-l failed last night when you were having s-e-x! So what is birth control?” Damn kids and damn schools for teaching the damn kids to spell. Who says literacy is good thing? I can’t even have private talks with my children anymore. Forget having a little privacy, there isn’t a place in this house that doesn’t get busted in on by a little person within 30 seconds. Spelling was our last plan of action. Now what?

As you can probably tell, I’m not ever going to win Mother of the Year. If you want to read more about my failures as Mother of the Year….or just need to feel better about your own parenting, check out my blog at http://notgonnawin.blogspot.com/. It’s great and guaranteed to prove to you that you are not the terrible mom you think you are!

I hold THESE truths to be self-evident....

     Ya'll c'mon now...  If you think that all marriage really is about is how your bits match up in the bedroom, then you are doing marriage WRONG.

     If you think that having 2 mommies or 2 daddies will create an unstable household then I will ask you to pull your head out 1845 and really take a look at the marriage/divorce rates for heterosexuals these days.

     If you think that gay marriage is wrong and GOD SHALL SMITE THE WICKED WITH THE FIRE AND THE BRIMSTONE AND THE ANGER.... then may I remind you of a little thing called the Separation of Church and State.  You know... just something that your beloved Founding Fathers insisted on.  You have your freedom of religion to say it can't happen in your Holy House... that's fine, your loss... but you cannot dictate what happens in EVERYBODY ELSE'S HOUSE.  That smacks of a dictatorship and ya'll gone Commy on me now?  

     You would tell a soldier boy he couldn't spend the last precious moments with his beloved in the hospital just because his beloved doesn't have boobs?  That is unpatriotic.  You will make the bald eagles cry.

     Awww.... you're worried that a homosexual marriage would threaten a heterosexual one?  Why's that?  Concerned that someone with the same bits as their partner might know a bit more about the good stuff during the SuperHappyPrivateTime?  Wouldn't want other couples to blow each other's minds while you are still fumbling with yer zippers in the dark!  ... *sigh* ... Just buy a damn book and pay attention.

     You are going to tell the children of a blended family that they can't get covered under Mommy's health plan because Daddy is a Mommy too?  You tell them then.... look those sweet babies in the face and tell them.  You let them know that your prejudice and anger is what is keeping them from the dentist, the doctor, the optometrist...

     Homosexuality is immoral, is it?  Fine... you are entitled to your "opinion" but I think teaching your girls that all they are good for is breeding and feeding is immoral, I think that teaching children to hate and judge is immoral, but am I doing anything other than rolling my eyes and telling off color jokes about you?  No I am not.  I'm not even telling the jokes to your face...  But don't you worry, I'm going to start.  Tit for tat....

     If you think it can't be a marriage because they can't have children then.... whoa, this one is too easy....  *snort*  What about couples who are infertile?  What about older couples on a second go 'round?  What about all those babies that are being made right now, as you read this without the couple being married?  Wow, that's a bad argument... like fartin' in the wind.  More holes than Swiss cheese.  You see where I going with this...

     So let's get out noses out of people's bedrooms and into other things like ending world hunger, fixing the national debt issues, arresting global warming, stopping sex and drug trafficking, finding a cure for cancer, or any of the other hundreds of issues that need our time and attention.  The sooner we all start to see each other as HUMANS and a WHOLE and not groups of folks we need to hate on, the better.  Let's all just move forward and work on not destroying ourselves, hmm?  We've all seen Planet of the Apes......

You say "crazy", I say "pregnant"...

Okay...  Now, I know I'm not the only one to have crazy dreams when I'm makin' people.  And when I say crazy, I mean Hubbs backs away while I'm narrating, kind of crazy.  I thought ya'll might enjoy....

Dream one: (These both happened in the same night.  Maybe I need to lay off the chili beans.)

I was a student at a British Boarding school and I had been chosen to captain a rocket on a mission to outer space.  I was thrilled until I saw my motley crew comprised of the most delinquent of the school's student body.  I began to protest mightily claiming they would kill us all.... no dice.  We ended up getting through the blast off but the crew began to fight and wouldn't listen to me.  It all went downhill from there....

Story of my life, right?  Captaining a ship full of little thugs.... yeah, that's about right.

Dream two:

Hubbs and I were driving down the interstate on one sunny, spring afternoon (sans kids) and were shocked to find a group of viking/mongol hunters dismounting from their hairy little horses.  I say viking/mongol because they were very tall, light haired but wearing furs and had almond shaped eyes.  My dream was very detailed on this.  As we kept driving we began to see more and more nomads who had stopped to rest in the grass covered median and cars were beginning to stop and watch.  Why were they resting, you ask?  Because they had been hunting moose and their leader had just felled his prize!   He was busy field dressing it in the traditional fashion while his men prepared the bonfire to roast his kill.  Makes perfect sense, of course.  Hubbs and I ended up stopping and ingratiated ourselves with the chieftain by admiring his noble, furry little steed.  He offered us a leg up but I had to decline, being pregnant and all.... Hubbs would have been furious if I taken him up on it.  ;)

Scared yet?  And Game of Thrones hasn't even started yet....  Things will get really good, then.  :)

Winter is Coming.... and so are my effed up dreams......

Just wait until I get to the Vole-Duck... I miss him so....

Monkey Musings

The night before the digestive eruptions started:
Sass:  "Mom, I have thpiderth in my tummy."  *looks at me like an abused Precious Moments figurine*
Me: "What are the spiders doing?"
Sass:  "thpinning webth."  *moans and clutches his tummy*
Me:  *Lightbulb!*  "Are they doing this?"  *wiggle my fingers like skittering spider legs*
Sass:  "Uh huh."  *practically oozing abject misery*
Me:  "Oh honey, your tummy is all gurgley and upset...."


In the car last night:
Sass: *random rambling conversation with himself involving monsters, what's for dinner, and other people's yards*
Me: "Honey, how many people do you have living in your head?"
Sass: "Sixth."
Me:  "Sounds about right."
Sass:  "A lot, Mom.  A LOT, a lot..."


This one just about broke my heart.
We had just seen one of those commercials for the nanny/baby-sitting/pet-sitting websites:
Sass:  "We would need a DOG sitter, Mommy.  Because we have dogs."  *triumphant grin*
Me:  "That's right.  But no cat sitter?"
Sass:  "We had a cat Mommy!"
Me:  "We did.  Do you remember Cephalie?  Do you remember what color she was?"  *Ceph was 2 months shy of 18 when she passed last year.  She was  was born on my bedroom floor right before my very eyes when I was 16.  She was the most difficult, persnickety, and beloved cat to ever walk this earth.  I miss her terribly.  She is buried at our old house next to her brother who died 16 years before.*
Sass:  "She was black and white."
Me:  "That's right!  It's nice that you remember her."
Sass:  *eyes wide*  "Oh no!  We left her at the old houth!"
Me:  *physical heart pain* "Oh honey, she... she died.  We had to bury her there, but she is with her brother so I think she is happy."
Sass:  *looks at me like he isn't quite happy with my answer*  "Okay Mommy."


Upon being told he was going to get another sibling:
Sass:  *looks hard at my tummy and lifts my shirt*  "Where ith it, Mom?  I can't thee it!"
Me:  "Well, it's growing in my tummy so you won't be able to see it for a while.  You will see my tummy grow though, just like with sissy."
Sass:  *lays on the floor and tries to look up my nightgown*
Me:  "Good try, honey.  But that won't work either.  And don't look up people skirts..."


The next morning:
Sass:  *pointing at my stomach*  "Where's the black thpot, Mom?  Is it out?"
Me:  *I had showed him his ultrasound photo a few days before and so now he thinks all babies look like "black spots" when they are on the inside*  "Oh honey, you are going to have to wait longer than that..."

Love now, civilize later.

My husband calls it a "trigger" and I call it a "mildly opinionated observation".  We are both right.... for once.

     My children's teachers fall into two categories for me; those who get my children's ferocity and those who do not.  This is not to say that to be on one side or the other is bad, but I will watch you a bit more closely if you fall in the latter category.

     My children love un-abashedly, whole-heatedly, and violently.  As I have mentioned before, a hug from Sass can leave deep tissue bruises and Sprinkles is not far behind.  All she lacks is the coordination to cling like a dug in cockle burr.  This behavior is not something we have taught them.... it is their natural expression of affection.   Love for them is full contact and strong.  If either had, at any point, showed any sort of reticence concerning a full body mugging, Hubbs and I would have discouraged it.  We only want them to feel safe in all their expressions, but neither did... so here we are. Explaining yet again to ANOTHER teacher that our children like a full body experience and that these actions do not come out of any place born of negative emotions.

     Now, if Sprinks takes a whack at someone or Sass starts trying to pin his friends in the mulch then, yes.... you get 'em and you get 'em good...  (Especially if Sprinks keeps sitting on her classmates and squashing them flat out of some primal display of dominance... she's no joke in the chub department.), but leave them alone on the love thing.  Learning the boundaries of proper social behavior is important, and love should not be painful to other people, but I will not curb my children's natural linebacker-of-love approach to enthusiastic affection.  I want their beginning forays into self expression to be true and whole and (mostly) limitless.  I want no boundaries in their subconscious.... that is what your consciously learned manners are for.

Love now, civilize later.

     I get that some of the other parents won't like this and I'm okay with it.  I don't want my child to hurt yours on purpose, far from it, but treating my child's early overtures at sweet social interaction like they are trying to stab your snookums is a bit over the top.  She came in for a big hug and fell over... don't get yer panty's in a wad.  Judge me if you'd like because, with an over-reaction like that, I am sure as hell wondering how many therapists your sheltered progeny will get to know in their life time... and how many marriages...  *Digression Warning!*  Besides... they are little kids.  They hurt themselves allthedamntime, anyway.  It's because they are learning and doing.  If you aren't letting your child rough-n-tumble a bit then you are basically telling them to "Do Not Do" and then hells yeah, I am going to judge you like mad.  Boundaries are great... but let them bounce off those walls a little, hmmmmm? *FIN*

     As they get older, we will work on "civilizing" these interactions a bit.  It would be inappropriate for a 10 year old boy to dive bomb his teacher for a squish each morning.  And we don't want Sprinks to keep this up into her 20s... I mean, this girl is going to be substantially taller than me.  It could be seriously hazardous to my health!  That being said,  I don't want them to ever have to think about it before they love.  I want it to be a natural and a profoundly good thing.  So many people these days have a terrible time with love and loving and we are so easily taught to hold it back or to fear it.  It is a huge emotion; one that needs to grow with us and be as comfortable as a beloved blankie, not one we need to learn to squeeze into in our 20s, like an new pair of Wranglers.

So watch out classmates of my supa-wigglers... my children are coming in for a hug.  Brace yourself.  :)

*BOOM*  Love!

WW... Head-in-ya-bed kinda feeling....

"No more cookies, Mom?  I don't think so...."