Friday, April 30, 2010
Nothing about playing with Baby Boy on his new swing set today made me feel skinny or graceful.
The swings, though they appear to be regular adult(ish) size, close like a plastic Venus-fly trap around the thighs causing near fainting spells from the lack of blood flow.
As you can see from the photo, the slide is made for an 8-inch bum. However, Baby Boy refused to try it unless I did first and that opened a Pandora's Box of "More mama slide!!" and schreeches if I said NOOOOOOO MORE!
The slide also is a "wave-style" so there is a bump in the middle. Not only were my thighs smooshed but now I have bruises on the sit-bones.
ATTENTION SPANX PEOPLE: you need to invent a Playground version of your product that slim the saddlebags to fit a standard youth slide but also pads the bum for landings.
I can't wait for Darling Husband's turn to night. Ten bucks he gets stuck at the top.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
A few months back I posted about The Forbidden Kitchen (http://sexynaptime.blogspot.com/2009/12/sexy-snow-day.html) and today, on this very windy day, it made a comeback.
As I sat and observed Baby Boy, I was interested to note he quickly shoved all utensils, pots and plates into the sink. He then grabbed two purple mugs and put them in the microwave. Upon removing them he handed me one and said, "Hot coffee!" and proceeded to blow on it and guzzle it down.
This repeated itself for 45-minutes.
Apparently, this is how I spend the majority of my time in the kitchen. It is interesting to see what habit our kids decide to mirror...good thing Lil' Tykes doesn't make a Lil' Wine Cooler...
Every Wednesday, Baby Boy and I have lunch with Uncle Andrew, or as BB says, Uncadoo.
After surveying the contents of my brother's lunch--large black coffee, corn, Twizzlers and Oreos--and failing to find a theme, I asked, "Are you pretending you live in a Frat?"
"No," he said, shoving two Oreos in his mouth, "I have a dentist appointment at one."
He opened wide so I could see the menagerie of horror stuck in his molars and between his teeth.
"If I go in looking like this they clean me for like an hour and I get to miss more work."
"Or you could just sit in your car and no one would know the difference," I pointed out.
Then Baby Boy shoved a chocolate cookie in his mouth and opened wide for me to see.
Uncadoo laughed. Baby Boy laughed causing a volcano of smooshy, drooly cookie crumbs to erupt across the table.
Oh, what comes from the mouths of babes...
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Because he runs away at top speeds when he sees the diaper coming, Baby Boy spends a lot of time out of breath and naked. So, it was bound to happen sooner or later: the poop on the floor.
What I didn't expect at 23-months old was Baby Boy to look right at me and blame it on the dog, then the cat, then his fire truck then on me.
"Really, Buddy? You're fire truck pooped on the expensive, pretty rug?"
He thought about that for a moment and then decided his stuffed lamb, Ba was most certainly to blame. And to drive his point home, he drove the small, button-eyed face directly into the mess.
Then to prove it wasn't him, the dog resentfully sniffed and peed on top of the proverbial poo sundae.
Ah, and it's only Tuesday.
Monday, April 26, 2010
My son was being unusually quiet during our 35-minute drive to music class this morning. I knew he was alive because he was rhythmically kicking the back of my seat to the beat of the Can-Can.
After trying to figure out if I could get massage benefits from the kicks, I heard a wrapper being tossed on the floor with a satisfied, "MMMMMM!"
Knowing I had given my son no snacks of any kind, I pulled quickly over and turned to see what I can only hope was chocolate smeared all over his face and hands.
"What were you eating??" I shrieked grasping for evidence on the floor.
He threw his head back in laughter and refused to answer me.
I guess the toddler motto is: Don't Ask, (or Do Ask) Don't Tell.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Unfortunately for them, our local supermarket's policy is "If it isn't right, we'll double your money or product back."
As of late, all the produce I buy there has become rotten the day after I bring it home. But true to their word, they have been doubling my squishy cantaloupes, soft watermelons and so forth. But that makes my returns exponentially impossible.
This morning, I was at the customer service desk with a bag of horrible apples telling them perhaps they should reconsider their supplier when the manager politely pointed out why the fruits were becoming squishy.
Baby Boy was gleefully bowling with all the round fruits he could reach.
Guess there is no double-back policy on the destructive hands of a toddler.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Over the past few days, Baby Boy has begun grabbing and yelling, "Mine! Mine!"
I have no idea where he learned this wretched behavior...
...except I do.
Must have been when I caught Darling Husband scarfing the last box of Caramel Delights.
"Damn you! Those are MINE! MINE! MINE!"
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
In a rare blending of perfect events that lead me to having A) a whole hour to myself B) in 75 degree Spring weather C) and having "found" $60 cash (in my husband's wallet, but that's neither here nor there) I decided to go to my favorite bakery for sea-salted shortbreads and coffee followed by a spray tan (not as bad as REAL tanning and does wonders for filling in stretch marks).
Until I got into my car and was befuddled that the key would not start the ignition. Over and over I cranked that thing.
Then a young boy opened the door and asked me why I was trying to steal his mom's car.
Honda Pilot: car of ditzy mothers everywhere.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
We had a bunch of people over for the annual Reggae weekend at our ski place. Since it is usually the last weekend up there for the season, the cupboards are pretty bare-boned.; we ran out of dog food on Friday.
The last thing I wanted to do was drive to the supermarket (a whole 1.4 miles away) so I stared into the fridge wondering what I could feed the dog that would sate him as well as not make him sick. Burritos: No. Birthday Cake: No. Chicken Parm: No.
Then I saw a tupperware filled with perfect-pink pieces of smoked salmon. That would do the trick--people would have to eat their bagels without lox, but whatever.
Then I overhear Paul saying how excited he was to eat the salmon that Chris had not only caught but had spent the week smoking and seasoning into a breakfast treat.
Crap, crap , crap. Good thing I make a mind-numbing Bloody Mary--"What salmon? Here have this while we look..."
Thursday, April 15, 2010
When I picked Baby Boy up from school (when I say school I mean basically a playgroup-but-worth-it-because-I-can-drink (coffee)-in-peace) today the teacher told me BB had his first kiss.
"Really?" I eyed the 3 toddler girls and wondered which one won my son's affections? The skinny blonde? The bookish brunette? The sassy redhead from Ireland? (Yes, they are that stereotypically diverse.)
"Show Mama who you kissed today, " I bent down to his level smiling.
He ran over to the Asian boy who has a constant stream of green mucus running over his lips and gave him a full open mouth kiss.
At least my son doesn't think Purell tastes bad since I sprayed a whole tube of it on his face in the car.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
I make Darling Husband's lunch for him to eat at work each day. (The money saved from his daily restaurant trips goes straight into my Starbuck's fund.) An average lunch consists of a salad with tuna, carrots and hummus, almonds, granola--basically, very healthy.
Yet, over the past few months, Darling Husband hasn't been losing any weight. I have found evidence of Dunkin' Donuts and Funyun wrappers in the trash but since I saw them while burying shopping bags and credit card bills, I figured silence was no harm no foul.
Last Friday he was groaning and whining that his stomach was killing him. Knowing nothing I packed would cause such discomfort, I got him to admit he had a (gag) D'Angelo's Steak and Cheese Bomb for lunch.
"And you wonder why you are dying in pain?" I ask.
"Well, I got it on wheat."
Ah, men and their justifications...
Friday, April 9, 2010
I was at a teachers' conference today and during the break about 200 women rushed to use the 3 stalls. After an 18-minute wait, I was blind with the urge, rushed in and peed.
It wasn't until I turned to kick the flusher that I saw a bottle of Astroglide perched in glistening (and grostesquely unexplained) glory on the back of the toilet.
I saw the handful of women that had gone prior to me. All entered and left without a handsome and out-of-breath man, thus for the rest of the day my imagination (on a mission without my approval) cruelly explored what other tasks that purple bottle has been required to handle.
I should get some sympathy extra-credit for that.
Monday, April 5, 2010
I was hesitant to give Baby Boy an Easter Basket this year but at the last minute decided to make up one up. In a laundry basket. It was all we had.
Darling Husband hid the basket next to the chair before bed and in an Easter miracle, we all got to sleep in until 8 the next morning.
Sadly, the scorching hot sun rises through the window under which the basket sat. Baby Boy was met with a grotesque moosh of melted Peeps, chocolate covered raisins and gummy bunnies.
I do winter holidays much better.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
My husband hasn't been able to figure out why his face has totally broken out in a blotchy, red razor burn.
"Did you change shaving cream?" I ask.
"I have been using that new stuff you bought," says he.
"What new stuff?"
He had been foaming up with Van's mock shaving cream. I guess he didn't see that is was called, "Just Like Daddy" and the flavor was "I'm All Grown Up Grape."
Thursday, April 1, 2010
I have a small bladder. Driving distances more than 30 minutes is torture; I have to carry Venti cups from Starbucks in the car as literal Porta-potties.
Today I drove to Boston (during rush hour so pulling over was not even an option). On the way home I was bent over in serious kidney failure so I pulled over at the New Hampshire Liquor Store. On second thought, using those scary parking lot bathrooms that God knows who is hiding in waiting to catch a glimpse of unsuspecting panty isn't an option, so I scurried around the building to go in the grass.
There must be a "the minute pee hits the pavement an alarm goes off" system because within seconds a police car was flashing a light onto my Cha-Cha.
I had enough dignity to talk myself out of a ticket (though God knows what it would have been for) but I am sure I may end up on You Tube for this...