Cat on a Cold Tin Roof

Baby Boy is on Day Four of being sick. So the world world comes to a screeching halt: grocery shopping, errands, personal hygiene. And even though he has a fever, all he wants to do is sit on my lap under four wool blankets...so I can't even do laundry.

The only thing I have managed is to open up all the windows in his room to air out the germs (no screens in yet).

Neither of us has had more than a few hours of sleep. I finally caught myself in the mirror and shrieked, "Oh gosh I look terrible!"

To this BB replied, "It's OK Mama. At least you smart."

As I turned to process this rather underhanded compliment coming from a three-year old, I see our cat walk by on the roof. Apparently, the lure of open windows in still-freezing March was too much for her to handle.

And it's only 8am.

Cowboy UP

In the area around my mother-in-law's house, these are the options for entertaining a toddler: the Final Weekend Sale at Borders, the Mall (which has the word "fair" in it, a slap-in-the-face homage to the fairgrounds that once stood where Sears now does) and...that's about it.

We took Baby Boy to run laps at the mall on Saturday until we came across the carousel. It took some convincing, but finally he decided it was the better option that skipping around Auntie Annie's Pretzels yet again.

After a whole half and hour of circular fun, he had to drag him off. I realized quickly he had soaked through his pull-up and peed all over the prancing white mare with purple flowers in her mane. (Pan to DH, "Are you SURE you don't want the black horse with the sword?").

I guess that gives a new meaning to "ridden hard and put away wet."

Walking the Kid

Having older kids in the neighborhood is as good a reason as any to live in a house. The 10-year old girl and 6-year old boy across the street have taken quite a liking to my 3-year old.

They love to come over and fight over what is more important: getting to ride on his tractor or dressing him up like a teenager, glittery eyeshadow included.

It gives me time to shower and drink wine in peace, so I let them put bows in his hair and ride on toys that are made for toddlers.

They just walked by the house with a giant rope tied around Baby Boy's waist.

"Whatcha all doing with that rope?" I asked out the window.

"Oh, it's just to make sure we don't lose him again."

That "again" part would be enough to make me worry...if I didn't have to take a shower very badly...

Rocketship, Rocketship to the...

I found Baby Boy in the linen closet today surrounded with a pile of open tampons.

"Whatcha doing, Bud?" I queried carefully.

"Found too many rocketships in your closet, mama!!"

Insert me imagining returning all of the toys I have purchased in lieu of much cheaper, store brand, unscented "rocket ships." I am so going shoe shopping.

Death to Book

Some do-gooder mom passed down Satan's Book. It is a giant book with rancid poems accompanied by a button that plays electronic, screeching, piercing renditions of classical music. Not a few bars but like 30 seconds per song. That doesn't sound terrible?

It is like calling someone, getting their fax machine, not being able to hang up and having your toddler scream "ONE MORE TIME!" for an hour.

Not one to ever hurt a book, I have made an exception. I have "accidently" stepped on, stomped on, spilled water/juice/wine upon, tossed to dog as a chew doy...this book won't die. Thanks a lot, "Made in China."

I finally snuck it into the garage and after a small memorial service, Baby Boy had come to terms with the fact that his cousin had stolen the book.

Until tonight, when I got home and heard Canon in D screeching from the living room.

Darling Husband sat with BB, "Look! I found his favorite book behind the trash cans!"

I turned and locked myself in the bedroom. We will see how long before DH runs it over with his car.

Paging Dr. Baby...

The phone rang when my hands were 6-inches into the pizza dough. I managed to get it under my ear without getting flour in my hair.

"Um, yes, hello," said the telemarketer. "May I speak to...uh...Doctor...(insert horrible pronunciation of my son's name)."

"Are you physic?" you wonder. "How did you know it was a telemarketer?"

Well, as smart as my son may be, I have yet to pay for him to complete hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical school. And he is three.

But I politely handed the phone into his sticky, eager hands.

The caller hung in there through several renditions of the ABC's. She called it quits when he asked her if she makes chocolate kisses on the potty.

I guess Capital One doesn't have training for that.

I Like a Man with a Slow Hand

When Darling Husband told me "to go slip into something more comfortable," I don't think he meant "go put on your ratty robe, slather your hands in vaseline and cover them with surgical gloves."

We've been together eight years. I AM comfortable.

These Lips Don't Lie

I had some dental work done today complete with a healthy dose of novocaine. (The dentist told me that I would feel jittery and that was due to the ephinephrine that was mixed in. Gotta love a dentist that helps you lose weight while getting worked on.)

Afterwards I was parched so I drove to the coffee shop and was making some tea when a handsome man came and stood next to me. He started to get his flirt on until his GF noticed and flew over to glare at me as if I was ripping off all my clothes for her man.

She stopped worrying as soon as I took a sip of tea and it dribbled down my still numb face soaking the front of my shirt.