Introducing My Oldest

Okay, so I have mentioned that I have two boys but as of yet have only told stories about the youngest. That is about to change. This is my oldest Cade. He will be 8 years old next week. This is one of his favorite photos of himself with his large bass. He is a wonderful kid. Very bright but lacking common sense. I swear he has the memory of a flea. You can almost see the words you say going in one ear and right out the other. Maybe a word here or there gets caught in his brain if you're lucky. I want to start with some of the things he said to me when he was a lot younger and eventually I will work my way up to the present. This kid gives me so much material to work with. The following is a list of some of those things:

1. We were walking and he was lagging behind. I told him to pick up the pace and he stops and starts to look around on the ground. When I ask him what he is doing he replies, "Where is it?" I say, "Where is what?" He says, "The pace, you asked me to pick it up."

2. (This one was on a Crayola commercial but I swear my son said it prior to my seeing the commercial.) We were looking at a map and he was pointing out states having me name them. He points to Mississippi and I tell him it's name and he asks me, "Where's Mr. Sippie?"

3. At his daycare there was a cardinal that kept flying into windows and the teachers dubbed it "The Mad Cardinal". My son was playing outside there and saw the cardinal. He said, "Look, the mad cardinal!" His teacher ask him why he thought it was mad and he said, "I dunno." She then asked him what would make it happy. My son, gentle soul that he is, replied, "Shoot him." His teacher told him that that probably wouldn't make him too happy. He then said, "Okay, give him a coconut." What???

4. When Cade was almost three, I pulled a muscle in my leg and was limping a bit. I dropped Cade at the daycare and went to work. When I came to pick him up later that day, a few different teachers came up to me to ask if I was okay. I said I was fine, just a pulled muscle. The teachers sighed with relief and then began to laugh. Confused, I asked them what was up. They told me that Cade had told them that a "bad man" had broken into our house and shot me in my leg. I swear. I don't know where he got this idea from. I guess I should have monitored his T.V. watching a little better than I did.

That's all I can think of at the moment. I know there are many more, but these were the ones that stuck out the most to me.

Headboards and Headaches

So yesterday, not long after Max made his mega mess, I was in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher for the second time (we have one of those mini dishwashers which can be a pain in the butt, but at least we have one) when I hear from Max's bedroom, "Mommy! I stuck!" I walk into my son's room and am confronted with this:

Well, I did what any good mom would do and ran for the camera. Hey, he wasn't going anywhere. After recording this incident to use for purposes of embarrassment when he is a teenager, I proceeded with the arduous task of removing my child's head from in between the headboard posts. After a few minutes of tugging and screaming I began to panic a bit. Should I break out the cooking oil? Do I use corn oil or olive oil? It doesn't say on the bottle which would be better for extracting a kid from his headboard. By this time my son is catching on to my panic and begins to scream and pull at the posts. That's it, I was calling for back-up. I dialed my husband at work and his assistant Matt answered. I'm sure he was confused at first as to what was going on since I'm sure all he heard was a child screaming and me saying, "Mommy's trying to get you out. Calm down sweetie." I barely got a hello out when my son somehow dislodged himself from his prison and shouted, "I fee! I fee!" I was so relieved. I had to explain to Matt what all the fuss was about and then got off the phone. I was exhausted. Not Max though. He was on to his next adventure of climbing to the top of the toy box, standing proudly like he had just conquered Everest. Will the excitement never end?

Messy Max

I won't make it a habit but I am actually writing my second post of the day. I normally wouldn't do this but Max has given me more to write about.

About a half hour ago I went to use the restroom and while doing so I noticed just how gross my bathroom floor was starting to look. I decided to vacuum and mop pronto. All of this, from start to finish, including me actually using the facilities didn't take but 10 minutes. That was enough time. Enough time for Max to push out his bed from the wall, strip it of it's covers and push the mattress half way onto the floor. I found him on top of the skewed mattress and under the mattress pad grinning and laughing. Then I scanned the room and noticed his dresser draw was open. Upon closer inspection of the mess I saw his pajamas scattered over the box spring and on the floor. Who knows what he would have done with another two minutes.

Poopies!

Max loves to go in his brother's room on the rare occasion that the door is left open. He is still working on those tricky doorknobs. Lord help us when he figures them out. Anyways, Max will run into the room and straight for the aquarium. He pushes his little face to the glass and yells out, "Poopies!" Yep. My son thinks, for some odd reason, that fish are called poopies. They used to be "pish" which when said quickly always sounded as though he was yelling out "Piss!" Try taking this kid to the Shedd aquarium. The possibilities for embarrassment are endless.
I really feel sorry for the fish when Max is around. If we aren't fast enough to stop him, he beats his small fists against the glass while laughing with delight. The fish however, are far from being delighted. They swim around frantically not knowing what in the hell happened. And being called poopies just adds insult to injury. Thank goodness they have short memories or we would have some traumatized fish on our hands.

Potato Peels and Pipes

This morning I was peeling potatoes over the sink not really thinking of any one thing in particular. Just wanting to get the veggies and meat in the crock pot and get started on folding the laundry since it was highly unlikely that it would fold it self. (Not to say that I haven't tried that approach in the past.) Anyways, I digress. Back to the potatoes, rather the potato skins that I was unceremoniously flinging into the disposal to be pulverized. Once I finished this menial task I ran the water (on cold, never hot when running the disposal because, well, not sure why. I've just been warned from my husband and my father. I think in has something to do with cooling the disposal motor or something.) Shoot, there I go again on a tangent. Where was I? Oh yes, potatoes. I ran the cold water into the sink and flipped the disposal switch. Everything seemed to be going just fine. That is, until I noticed that my socks were suddenly sopping wet. In a panic I threw open the cabinet doors and a small tsunami of minced potato peels and dirty water spread over the kitchen floor. I peered underneath the sink not expecting to see a pipe hanging unattached to anything, spewing water out at me but that is exactly what I was presented with. (Yes, in my panic I forgot to turn off the faucet. Idiot.) I jumped up, careful not to slip on the mess and shut off the faucet. That should take care of it right? Nope. Genius that I am didn't think about where my running dishwasher drained it's soapy contents to. Yes, that is correct. Just as I kneeled back down to make a second attempt to examine the pipes, a blast of water came soaring out barely missing my face. Okay, once again jumping up - not as carefully this time but dammit my kitchen was flooding- I opened the dishwasher door a crack and the flow of water thankfully ceased. Yay! Now for the repair. This was really very simple. Just a matter of replacing a poly seal and tightening the pipes. Voilà! Fixed in under 15 minutes. Apparently, according to my dad, you need to check them every so often to make sure they aren't coming loose. What? Tightening the pipes? Who knew that you had to tighten those things periodically? Had I known that I could have avoided this whole fiasco in the first place.

From One Bitch to Another

Today I found out that my dog Gypsy does not like other female dogs. Hates them. Tried to tear one apart. Had it not been for her choke chain I don't believe she would have been stoppable. Choke chain...I hate that name. Maybe I will call it a correction collar. The term choke chain conjures up images of dogs with their tongues hanging out, eyes bulging from the sockets. Okay, well, I gave a good tug on her "correction collar" and was able to pull her away. I didn't realize just how strong she actually is. I'm not sure why exactly she dislikes other female dogs with a passion. I don't know if dogs have the same shortcomings as we do when it comes to relationships and jealousy. I imagine it could be much the same as humans. I know that I have a jealous streak in me when I catch a woman checking out my husband. The difference between humans and dogs though is that it would be extremely inappropriate for me to growl, bare my teeth in warning and then attack said woman. Although it may be quite satisfying. I guess we are all just bitches no matter what our species.

To Poop Or Not To Poop

My youngest, Max, won't poop when we go out of town. Seriously. We spent Labor Day weekend at the lake with my family and Max did not poop. Not even one little rabbit turd. As you can imagine this makes for one cranky kid. He was a little shit all weekend. (Pun intended) Now I don't know if he isn't comfortable pooping outside of the comfort zone of home or if he was just too caught up in the excitement of the weekend. All I know is that when we returned home, the kid pooped four times in one hours time. I mean he completely filled his diaper each time. He was much happier after that and I can't say I blame him.

Mindless Morning...

Somewhere between my morning mood improver (coffee) and taking the dog out to do her business, I lost my mind. It was there when I woke up, albeit in a fog. But alas it has departed. It silently slipped away as I sipped at my creamer with a splash of coffee. They only reason I noticed was because my head felt instantly lighter without the weight of the world inside. I'm not worried though. It always returns none the worse for the ware. If anything it comes back a bit lighter and slightly rejuvinated as though it spent the day at the spa. (If only the rest of my body could endulge in that luxury.)

A summation of suburban life...

Pink Stucco Dreams

Strangely picturesque and unusually desolate.
Personality skipped the geography of suburban life.
Noiseless Betty Crocker wives, pleasing Ward Cleaver husbands lives.
Stable financial standing.
Good children not needing reprimanding.
The epitome of boring.
The sum of repetitive individuals that have but one mind.
With cunning minds and perceptive natures we are different with our normalcy.
Our yawns we carry like attaches.
Living our lives in a suburban haze.
Knowing more that adequate requires.
It is this knowledge that to us inspires.
So go on living your pink stucco dreams.
Believing that everything is as innocent as it seems.

-Devonee Labriola Copywrite 2007