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Thursday, August 30, 2012

No, I Wasn't Watching That...

Admittedly, we are TV junkies.  I have this bizarre fascination with educational TV and documentaries.  On any given cold wintery day (or most any late evening) I can be found plopped on my couch, snuggled up with the hubs watching either of the aforementioned.  And then, I have a guilty pleasure.  A self-indulgence so wicked I'm nearly ashamed to go into it.  But discuss it I did, and found that many parents of small children share my obsession.

Thank you, Disney Channel for Phineas & Ferb.  Many nights, I find myself still watching enthralled long after my children have gone to bed; having selected yet another episode from our Netflix queue.  And I'm not alone.  These two fun loving and genius kids, along with their pet platypus turned secret agent, can keep me endlessly entertained.  The show is witty, hilarious and horribly addicting.  Let me explain their magic.

The show has offensive stereotypes straight down to their fat white trash bully or the Indian kid who yearns for extra credit, yet the show is hardly offensive.  There is creativity and song abound.  Song?  Yes, song...  Most recently we watched a repeat episode where they circumnavigate the world during the solstice to truly make the most of the longest day of the year.  They stop in the Himalayas to visit Baljeet's uncle's rubber band & ball factory.  This clip is not for the faint of heart....

This song was stuck in my head for days on end.  Just when I thought I might be rid of singing it at my desk while at work, my husband goes out for the night.  During our bedtime routine, my son was lollygagging through his shower.  I promise music should he continue in a timely fashion.  I play the clip.  This bubble laden kid starts to shake it.  "Rubber bands....RUBBER BALLS"  [insert a pelvic thrust here for good measure]  I snort.  "THEY CAN BOUNCE BLAH BLAH MMMM MMMM SOME AYYYYYYEEEEE".  This kid belts for all he is worth.  His bubble covered body poof becomes a microphone.  [throw in some more tiny hiney shaking]  I bust out laughing and have to leave the bathroom.

Moments later he emerges, only to stand in his robe in the living room shaking his posterior like it's his full time job.  His sisters get up and join in.  Suddenly, everyone is singing.  Loudly; and off-key, "RUBBER BANDS, RUBBER BALLS....THIS IS WHERE THEY TEST THE STRETCHING..."  I get up and attempt to corral the next one into the bathroom.  For any parent out there, you know this is as pointless as herding cats.  Finally, everyone is bathed and rubber-banded out.  I breathe a sigh of relief and plop on our couch.

My husband strolls in an hour or so later, to find me in the same position, and totally engrossed in - you guessed it: Phineas & Ferb.  And it never once occurred to me to change the channel.  He begins to laugh at me...that is until I get up and sing, "Rubber bands, rubber balls..." Let's just say the kiddies aren't the only ones who can shake it to this catchy beat...

Friday, August 17, 2012

Show Me Yo Teef...

This past week has been an adventure, as we have assembled our family for our yearly reunion.  This is something I look forward to every year.  We took the week off.  We visited.  We went places.  We laughed...a lot.  And most of all, we learned all about dentures.

My son is a precocious little boy.  Not your typical little boy.  He likes dinosaurs, but not like most boys do.  He likes to learn about them, to sit for hours studying their anatomy, to dig for their bones in my back yard.  He wants to be a paleontologist when he grows up...well, for now.  After this week, I think he might want to be a dentist.

See, I needed someone to watch my kids while I went out to the car.  Bring in: Aunt Mary.  Come to find out I didn't need to go to the car, so I walked in on a run amok game of Simon Says.  I stepped in.  My oldest was horrified when I shouted, "Simon says take out your teeth!" and Aunt Mary complied.  My son was transfixed.

Aunt Mary's teeth that night became something akin to a rock star in my house.  "She can take them out, that is SOOOOOO cool."  We had more conversations than I can count.

"I want to be able to take out my teeth, but they're in there pretty good."

"I wonder if her teeth hurt her?"

"Great Grandpa Hausler had fake teeth too, which allowed him to eat hard things like rocks!"

Really?!?!  Rocks?  It's become fact that I cannot argue against, because all three of my creative children have seen him eat hard things, such as rocks and boulders, when he was alive.  Nice.  I'm glad you all will remember your Great Grandfather fondly, but must you really call him Great Grandpa Rock Biter?  Sigh...

At dinner I sit my son next to Aunt Mary, knowing full well I can bribe him to eat his dinner if she takes out her teeth once more.  He walks in, and lights up when he sees her.  "Aunt Mary, will you come sit by me?"  He proceeds to plague her with questions about her dental apparatus.  This poor woman.  Our rides home every night are spent answering and  dodging questions about how grown ups get fake teeth, while staring at this little boy who is plotting on getting his own pair.

"George Washington had wood teeth," pipes the oldest from the back seat.  Oh Boy.  "Well, if wooden teeth are good enough for our first president, they are good enough for me."  And that was that.  At least birthday present shopping this year has been made easier for me.  "Hi, I'd like one set of archaic wooden dentures, please?"

And for anyone who encounters my son on a go forward, please be patient when his first question is, "Can you take out your teeth???"

Friday, August 10, 2012

$20 To The Therapy Jar

When my husband and I thought about having children we joked about making a Therapy Jar.  A jar in which we'd input $5 anytime we did something that would be the catalyst to send our at the time hypothetical children into therapy.  Then we actually had kids.  And I actually made a jar.  And money was deposited.  And then it got robbed...by me.  And an IOU was written.  Needless to say, I owe the therapy jar unquantifiable amounts of money.  For my own therapy, here's my most recent need to deposit...

I have the utmost respect for single parents.  I was raised by one.  I do not want to be one.  Every now and then I get a small taste of what it might be like, as my husband travels for work.  No thank you...even for a week.

I'm not sane normally, but when he's gone I become something else.  Something...terrifying.  I have zero patience.  I have no tolerance for shenanigans.  I have negative time to myself, and those brief moments before falling asleep, I many times just lay in bed and cry.

Isn't being a parent grand?  Thankfully, I've found I'm not alone.  It's that one dirty secret that most parents will keep from everyone - you know, that you occasionally turn into a psycho-hose beast.  Most recently, my oldest was getting ready for bed.  The youngest had to go potty.  In the two minutes they were alone in the bathroom, one had screwed around, kicked the other (who was seated on the toilet) in the throat hard enough to break skin.  To say I lost my shit would be an understatement.  To say I went bat-shit crazy would be putting it lightly.

By the end of my tirade, I had not one injured crying child, but a second crying child from what will probably take years of therapy to undo.  In one brief moment, I realized what I'd accomplished, immediately sent the oldest to bed.  Then onto the youngest.  I bathed her in silence.  I tucked them in.  I bit my tongue and stifled my tears.

Then onto my middle.  Somewhere between the shampoo and hair rinsing, I put my head on the side of the tub and just cried it out.  I was tired.  I felt alone.  And most of all, I needed a hug because I remembered that I was human and for the past 45 minutes, I had sucked being a human and I lost control as a parent.  Two scrawny, wet, bubble covered arms encircled my neck.

"Mommy, why are you crying?  Are you sad?"

"Yes I'm sad.  Tonight I failed as a Mom.  I didn't think before I spoke (or hysterically screamed as it were), and I acted in a way that didn't make me proud.  I hurt your sister's feelings and I can't undo that."

He looked up at me with his big kind eyes and proceeded to tell me all the ways that he didn't think I was a flop.  "I love you.  You are fun.  You keep me safe.  You hug me.  You love me.  You protect me.  And I'm always proud of you."  It's hard to explain to a five-year-old why their sweet words made you cry even more.

I didn't deserve any of that tonight, but this tiny voice inside me told me that to keep what he said true I could never give up.  I have to remember to kneel down to their level and talk softly no matter how much I want to yell.  I have to remember to grab them and hug them when I'm so frustrated I'm going to break.  And I have to remember I'm human, and that when I flounder next (as I'm sure to) that I don't let it beat me.  I wrote my daughter an apology and I said a prayer to God that when they're older, all my hugs are what win out in their childhood memories...