The Comparison

Out of the blue on the ride home from the grocery store, Baby Boy asked me, "Where is God?"

Not affiliated with any religion, I still believe that there is a powerful spirit that unites all beings.

"Well, God is everywhere and in everything," I said. "God is always looking out for us and making sure we are doing our best."

He sat with that for a moment and concluded, "So God is actually like a toddler and Santa mixed together?"

Whatever works for you, Buddy!

The Personal Shopper

Baby Boy has swim class today.

While I was packing his stuff, he looked with distain at his (rather nifty) shark bathing suit and began to describe the suit he would much rather wear.

"It would be like a Batman suit, but shorter so I wouldn't get too hot but there would be real wings that would float and I would have a helmet with ears so I could hear underwater and even teeth so I could scare away bad fish but not so I would scare away the babies also at the beach and boots but not like my smelly winter boots but ones that would make me swim really fast and a belt that could hold my toys and then we can eat ice cream. Do you think we can get that? And then get the ice cream?"

"That sounds pretty involved for a swimsuit. Where do you think they sell that," I asked.

Long pause for thought.

"Um, in my 'magination. Or Target."

The Must Have Button

Baby Boy was getting awfully impatient as I folded two giant loads of his and Darling Husband's laundry.

"When can we go play outside??????"

"When I am done folding all of your clothes."

Insert pause long enough for me to fold two pairs of I-want-to-be-just-like-daddy boxers, three have-seen-whiter-days white undershirts and match you-are-close-enough-to-black navy with black socks.

"Mama? What if there was a button you could press that would make someone else come and do this instead? Can you get someone like that?"

"Yes, sweetie. It is called 'you'."

"Oh. I guess I can wait to go outside then."

"I thought so."

The Big Question

Baby Boy had his 4-year well-baby check up today.

The nurse jumped right in with a plethora of judgmental questions that had me lying quite early in the morning.

"Can he draw a person with more than three parts?" she asked.

"He's a regular Picasso!" (If scribbles in one color count.)

"Can he stack a tower with more than 12 blocks?"

"I think he will be an architect!" (He usually smashes then down by number 7, but I am sure he could...)

"Does he know fantasy from reality?"

We both gaze at Baby Boy who is decked out in full Bat Man garb and who introduces himself as such.

My long pause gives me away.

"He's four," I said. "Does he have to?"

A Wish List for Mom

Our babysitter helped Baby Boy make a card for Mother's Day. It was titled, "The Reasons I Love Mom."

Here is what he dictated:

She...
lets me eat gum for dinner.
takes me to Chuck E. Cheese everyday.
lets me use the oven.
lets me drive her car.

lets me cut down trees.
lets me make fires in the fireplace.

If any of these thing were true, I would win Mother of the Year in the eyes of my 4-year old and a night in jail courtesy of DHS.

Patrick

The kids from across the street came running over after school. As I unloaded the dishwasher, I was vaguely aware of them huddled with Baby Boy in the kitchen. I was too tired to try and interpret their whispers. Within minutes they were running out the door, anyway.

Minutes after they were gone, I hear a scraping on the floor. The dog was busy licking the cabinet, so it wasn't him.

I peered around the corner.

There was a turtle there. A TINY TURTLE.

"KIIIIIIIIDS!!!!"

They came running back.

"What is that?" I pointed at the small object by the stool.

"Oh, that's Patrick. We found him in the road on the way over," they explained. Duh. And they were off again.

Before the dog tired of the tasty cabinets and went looking for something more lively to eat, I popped the turtle into a cup.

A teacup turtle.

I am not sure what to do next, but I think baby turtles may be the new labradoodle. You heard it here first.

The Real Classroom

I met my brother and niece at the playground this morning. There was a mother who was pushing her 14-month old son on the swing. Each time the infant made contact with her hands she would shove him away but not before screaming a Spanish number at him.

There is nothing as harmonious as Spanish with a Maine accent.

"OOO-NUH!"

"DUH!"

"TREES!"

"QATT-RAH!"

Well, no Red Neck was going to outshine me. I decided to bellow German numbers at Baby Boy.

(Keep in mind I know not a word of German, yet I suspected no one was about to call me out on my attempt. It also helped allergy season has arrived early.)

"OONCH!"

"DUSCHE!"

"TRECHGGZZZZFF!"

My brother chimed in with Sanskrit, while I was about to start carving heiroglyphics on the picnic table. Mama Espanol quickly fled.

My brother and I weren't very popular in high school and now I am starting to figure out why.

Backhanded Compliment o'the Day

Darling Husband, after eyeing me eat a (Vegan, mind you) chocolate chip cookie. "Yeah, I like you better when you aren't skinny."

Me: "And I like you better when you aren't 'giving me compliments'."

I've Got My Eye on You...

I took Baby Boy out to his favorite diner for Vacation Chocolate Chip Pancakes this morning.

As to be expected he ate two bites and was full.

I told him when the waitress came over to, "Ask for a doggie bag. Make sure you say 'please' and look her in the eye."

When she approached, BB started whipping his head wildly back and forth.

"What are you doing??" I hissed.

"I not sure what eye you want me to look in," he replied.

Is THIS What It's Come To?

I know I am in the minority here, but I HEART me some Valentine's Day. It helps that DH, historically, has been very good at it: jewelry, candy, flowers, lingerie...someone trained him well.

This year, I said to skip the jewelry and candy. But I was very excited to see a shiny pink tell-tale box from Vicky's.

DH is one of those men that loves lingerie. So imagine my surprise when I opened it up and saw a long-sleeved, knee-length (the most unflattering of lengths) red NIGHT SHIRT in a size LARGE with LOVE in gold letters across it. (See that model is like 90-pounds and SHE can't even make that look sexy!)

As I kept the vomit from rising and shook the house frau-esque garment hoping at least some M and M's would fall out, I realized he was serious.

Married eight years and THIS is what it's come to??

Steak and BJ, what?? He is SO getting a tie and socks for his birthday.

The Tourists

There is a hotel around the corner from us that has a cool roof top bar that looks out over the city.

We have been promising Baby Boy we would take him on an elevator ride to the top "to see the mountains" (since the sun sets at at 4:30 and the bar doesn't open until 5, seeing the mountains translates loosely into "watching mommy and daddy drink very dry martinis). Last night was his special date with 14 vertical floors up.

After the utter disappointment with the lack of mountain views and too-much-vermouth martinis, we decided to grab a cab across town for dinner. Noticing us waiting, and mistaking us for guests, the concierge called the complementary hotel town car.

Playing the part of grateful tourists, we queried the driver (in thick southern accents) on how business was this time of year, asked about local hot spots and commented on how much brick there is in the city. We told him all about Atlanta (a city we have never been to), the snakes in our pool and the humidity.

The car was at a red light when Baby Boy loudly pointed out that we were stopped right next to our house.

Getting busted for scamming free rides in the hotel car? I wish I could say it was priceless, but it cost a humiliated $20.

Basketball Diaries Week 5

Baby Boy missed the previous two weeks because of the flu. That is the equivalent of missing a day of high school biology, coming back and realizing everyone is ready for the MCATS. While we were absent, the kids learned to run and dribble…at the same time.

“In your final week,” boomed Coach. “You will put together all of the skills and play a real game!”

This was terrifying enough. But then he grabbed a red mesh bag and started rummaging through it. Oh no. Flash backs to gym class dumped over the parents like a Gatorade bucket of seawater. The children took a subconscious step back.

Pinnies.

These horrible, never-ever-to-be-washed, germ laden, disgusting items were being chucked toward our kids. Some screamed. Some ran. One lone ranger donned his with pride.

After a warm-up wrestling match to get the Reds and Yellows in their battle garb, the game began.

Every skill that Coach had patiently gone over in the preceding weeks was forgotten. It was every man for himself. Kids kicked and hissed to get the ball. Their hands turned into Death Grip mitts. They flung the ball into whatever hoop was furthest away. They squealed and hit the deck if the ball landed anywhere near them.

It was brilliant.

And even better? Tee Ball starts next month.

Pee Times Three

When I picked Baby Boy up from school, I was informed that he had peed his pants three times today.

He has been potty trained for like a year.

Out of embarrassment, I said, "Well, that's OK. I peed my pants until I was in third grade."

And while that is 100% the truth, I am not sure it was the reassuring answer the teacher was hoping for.

A Mini-Outing

Baby Boy has been sick since Sunday. He had no appetite so it wasn't an issue that we had no food in the house...until about an hour ago when he announced he was finally starving.

If he wanted Champagne and chocolate chips, he would be all set, but I am not about to share my secret stash of 5:30 treats. So it was either give him a mug of Perrier Jouet or head to Trader Joe's.

Luckily, we made it without him throwing up in the car AND there was even one of the kid-sized carts available. Much to BB's chagrin, they are always being used when we go so I grabbed the red metal distraction and, like a superhero, presented it to my sick lamb.

Interest in the mini-cart feigned when we were as far from the entrance as possible. Keeping in mind this thing is about two-feet high, guess who got to push it for the rest of the trip IN HEELS? Guess whose back is killing her? Guess who is SO breaking into the Secret Stash a tad early today?

The Gift

A dolphin appeared, like a gray miracle. It sat in the school hall next to a giant bag of forgotten clothes destined for donation.

Before I could stop him, Baby Boy saw the stuffed mammal and quickly snagged it as his own. Not having the heart to tell him that he wasn't the rightful owner, I told him to stop rubbing it on his mouth until it could have a very hot bath with disinfectant.

The bearer of such gifts: The Lost and Found.

I wish this scraggly toy would again become "lost" and I hope the kiddo that dropped it on the playground did it on purpose. If not, know dear child, Flipper now has a good home, despite the fact that he got vomited on last night by the cat.

The Basketball Diaries, Week 2

Last week I shared Baby Boy's first experience with team sports: http://sexynaptime.blogspot.com/2012/01/lil-ballers.html

Today was his second.

After my fashion faux pas of last time, I knew better. I came prepared in my finest sports gear i.e. black yoga garb covered in dog hair and hiking boots. Take that white velour track suit lady!

This week, the kids were much more confident in their ability to get away with shenanigans. "Walk" is not a recognizable word in the vocabulary of 4-year olds. They zoomed around the Coach, who screamed, "No running!! Just walk! Stop running!" He looked embarrassingly to the parents for help, who avoided eye contact. (What else are we paying him $50 for?)

The one girl in the class was decked out in head-to-toe pink. Her mother was apparently using this as an excuse to complete her "well-rounded" portfolio for Miss Little Sunshine. She cornered the girl in a well-lit corner of the gym with a basketball forcing her to pose in various "sporty" positions. I stopped gawking after she pulled out the lip gloss.

"NOW," yelled Coach. "We are going to play a game called Sharks and Guppies! Your parents, the weak little guppies, are going to swim by and you, the HUNGRY sharks, have to hit them with basketballs. That means you ATE them!"

The evil gleam that appeared in the eyes of 11-tots was scary to even the biggest Dad. This was my chance to escape into the bathroom and reapply my own lipgloss. After a calculated 6-minutes, I opened the door. Baby Boy was waiting for me with a wicked grin and a ball.

As it ricocheted off my chin, I heard him say, "Don't worry Mama, you are still handsome."

Lil' Ballers

Moms that say they never want their kids involved in team sports that have the potential to grow into weekends driving to Newark and Worchester for travel team tournaments have never had a 3 1/2 year old during a New England January.

It isn't a rumor that the sun sets a 3:20pm. Do the math.

So Baby Boy started Lil' Ballers Basketball last night.

I should have known it was a bad fit when I joked, "I hope no Kardashians will be here searching for future husbands." And no one reacted.

The second tip was that all the parents were decked out in gym suits and white sneakers that matched those on their children...(I guess Payless has a Family Plan?)...while I was in skinny jeans and Uggs. I never read the fine print where it stated this was a "program that allows children AND their parents to learn--or relearn!--the FUNdamentals of basketball!"

I thought I was getting 45-minutes to read and catch up on FB.

And it shouldn't be called "basketball." It should be "floor ball." Dribbling isn't a skill most people learn until they are 12. So after one failed attempt, the kids (my son) figured out he could whip some ass by kicking his ball down the court, much to the chagrin of the parents that seriously thought "lil' ballers" was code for "NBA training event."

After it was over, I asked Baby Boy if he had fun "playing hoops."

"WAIT!!," he started to cry. "There were supposed to be Hula Hoops here? All they did was make us play soccer!"

I can't wait for next week...

NO, Thank You!

I have been attempting to get Baby Boy to write, nay scribble, upon some Thank You cards for his plethora of Christmas gifts. It was easier to potty train him.

He loves to draw, so it is my fault for putting the Big Scary THANK YOU CARD label on it. He won't even go near the stamps and crayons I set up for him. Rather, he very cautiously walks in a 10-foot loop around the table eyeing the supplies as if they are snakes ready to go for his neck.

This afternoon found me holding colored pencils in my left hand in an attempt to mimic the pressure and intensity of a 3 1/2-year old's scribbles.

He got close enough to watch my lame attempt.

"I want you to remember this," I said. "As the only time I will ever pretend I am you in order to get something crossed off my to-do list. I will not fill out your college applications or take any driver's test for you."

He crawled up on my lap to inspect my forgeries.

Then he sighed in disappointment.

"Is that the best you can do?" he squinted.

And there it is, Tiger Mom coming back to bite me in the ass.

Post Holiday Memory

I asked Baby Boy this morning, "When your friends ask you what you got for Christmas, what are you going to tell them?"

He stared at me blankly.

"What was your favorite thing?" I pressed?

"Uhhhhh, Daddy made me eggs."

"You asked me for a rocket ship every hour for two months and you can't even remember to say that??" I squeaked.

"When's my birthday again?" he asked.

Next year he is getting socks and a comb.