My troops latest number definitely warrants them a place in Bill Cosby's hall of toddler fame.
We were recently at Disney World enjoying our family vacation, when duty called. The General desperately needed to use the latrine, so the Bear took him to do his business. No sooner does the Bear disappear, when my other two mouseketeers decide that they too have to relieve themselves. So we head off to the restroom.
After my guys were done, I figure that I better make use of the facility as well. So, there I am hovering over the toilet when the Destroyer asks, in the loudest voice possible, "Mommy where's your pee-pee?"
To which the Tank responds, "Mommy doesn't have a pee-pee. She pees out her butt!"
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
That's the BEST FRIEND'S Job
"A good friend will come bail you out of jail, but a best friend will be sitting next to you saying..."Damn that was fun!" - unknown
A statement so meaningful that even my 6 year old gets it.
The other day the General exited his school bus with a sour look on his face. "What's with the puss?" I asked jokingly.
The General followed up my question with one of his own, "How come you never let me bring toys to school?"
"Well, because toys don't belong at school. They belong at home." I answered.
"But, Ralphie brings his toys to school!" voiced the General.
All that I could come up with was, "If Ralphie jumped off a bridge would you do it too?"
Without hesitation the General answered, "Yes!"
I was actually shocked by his answer; after all, I call my first born the General for a reason. He is a leader by nature, not a follower.
"General, I was trying to make a point. You don't have to do something just because one of your friends is doing it."
To which the General responded, "Mommy if I don't jump after Ralphie, who will help him up?"
Man is he good. And he actually does have a point. I can recall many of times following my friends into danger, purely to help them emerge unscathed, of course!
A statement so meaningful that even my 6 year old gets it.
The other day the General exited his school bus with a sour look on his face. "What's with the puss?" I asked jokingly.
The General followed up my question with one of his own, "How come you never let me bring toys to school?"
"Well, because toys don't belong at school. They belong at home." I answered.
"But, Ralphie brings his toys to school!" voiced the General.
All that I could come up with was, "If Ralphie jumped off a bridge would you do it too?"
Without hesitation the General answered, "Yes!"
I was actually shocked by his answer; after all, I call my first born the General for a reason. He is a leader by nature, not a follower.
"General, I was trying to make a point. You don't have to do something just because one of your friends is doing it."
To which the General responded, "Mommy if I don't jump after Ralphie, who will help him up?"
Man is he good. And he actually does have a point. I can recall many of times following my friends into danger, purely to help them emerge unscathed, of course!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Job Opening
After my refusal to turn the Tank's inside-out Darth Vader costume the right way, the Tank walked over to me, frustrated and irritated. Then, in his most Donald like voice, told me, "Mom you're FIRED!"
I was shocked, "Fired? You can't fire me, I'm the boss!"
"Fine. Then you're grounded," quipped the Tank.
I couldn't help but laugh, "Sorry, can't ground me either."
Annoyed the Tank asked, "Why?"
"For the same reason you can't fire me...I'm the boss!"
Totally unsatisfied by my answer, the Tank demanded a new boss.
Seeing as how I don't know many people willing to take on my troops, at least not without reinforcements, I was feeling pretty confident in my job security. I even agreed to help the Tank create a job posting.
Mom Wanted.
Job Duties include but are not limited to:
Must ensure that all our costumes are turned right side out at all times, especially Darth Vader. Must be able to locate all our toy's missing limbs, on demand; and must be able to successfully reattach them them. Must let us eat what we want, when we want, even though it has been proven that we turn into Gremlins, when fed after 8pm. No bed times, EVER! Not to worry though, we've never stayed up for more than 18 hours straight.
After reviewing his want ad, the tank wanted to know what I was going to do with it.
"Well, I guess we should post it, and see if we have anyone interested in the job," I told him.
It's been about a month and The Tank is still awaiting his first applicant.
I was shocked, "Fired? You can't fire me, I'm the boss!"
"Fine. Then you're grounded," quipped the Tank.
I couldn't help but laugh, "Sorry, can't ground me either."
Annoyed the Tank asked, "Why?"
"For the same reason you can't fire me...I'm the boss!"
Totally unsatisfied by my answer, the Tank demanded a new boss.
Seeing as how I don't know many people willing to take on my troops, at least not without reinforcements, I was feeling pretty confident in my job security. I even agreed to help the Tank create a job posting.
Mom Wanted.
Job Duties include but are not limited to:
Must ensure that all our costumes are turned right side out at all times, especially Darth Vader. Must be able to locate all our toy's missing limbs, on demand; and must be able to successfully reattach them them. Must let us eat what we want, when we want, even though it has been proven that we turn into Gremlins, when fed after 8pm. No bed times, EVER! Not to worry though, we've never stayed up for more than 18 hours straight.
After reviewing his want ad, the tank wanted to know what I was going to do with it.
"Well, I guess we should post it, and see if we have anyone interested in the job," I told him.
It's been about a month and The Tank is still awaiting his first applicant.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Mom isn't ALWAYS Right...
It's hard for me to admit, but I'm not ALWAYS right, except for 99% of the time! And it's that 1% that the Bear remembers the most...
Except for lately it's more like 2% and that 2% is definitely riding on my hubby's side. Believing that I have a tendency to jump into false hysteria, the Bear has dubbed me the Chicken Little of the family.
But in my defense, I believe that most moms would become distressed if their kid's front tooth was kicked out of his head, by his menacing brother.
After noticing what looked like a shard of tooth left in the gum, (it was kind of hard to be sure through all the blood) I became alarmed and called the dentist. Of course not being able to see the gum and tooth over the phone, the dentist wanted me to bring the General in to be examined.
I called the Bear in a panic, saying that he needed to take the General to the dentist. I explained the whole tooth kicking incident and insisted that he bring the General to get checked out because it looks like a piece of the tooth might be stuck in the gum.
After listening to my recap of events, the Bear calmly asked," Was it a baby tooth that was knocked out?"
"Yes! But I think part of it is still in the gum!" I replied.
To which he Bear followed up with, "Are you sure it's not the new tooth popping through?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure. That's why I want you to take him to the dentist to find out!"
I could hear the annoyance and restrain the the Bear's voice, "Is this going to be like the time I paid $90 for the Dr. to tell me that the kids had bug bites, which you insisted were the chicken pox?"
God, I hate it when he's right!
Except for lately it's more like 2% and that 2% is definitely riding on my hubby's side. Believing that I have a tendency to jump into false hysteria, the Bear has dubbed me the Chicken Little of the family.
But in my defense, I believe that most moms would become distressed if their kid's front tooth was kicked out of his head, by his menacing brother.
After noticing what looked like a shard of tooth left in the gum, (it was kind of hard to be sure through all the blood) I became alarmed and called the dentist. Of course not being able to see the gum and tooth over the phone, the dentist wanted me to bring the General in to be examined.
I called the Bear in a panic, saying that he needed to take the General to the dentist. I explained the whole tooth kicking incident and insisted that he bring the General to get checked out because it looks like a piece of the tooth might be stuck in the gum.
After listening to my recap of events, the Bear calmly asked," Was it a baby tooth that was knocked out?"
"Yes! But I think part of it is still in the gum!" I replied.
To which he Bear followed up with, "Are you sure it's not the new tooth popping through?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure. That's why I want you to take him to the dentist to find out!"
I could hear the annoyance and restrain the the Bear's voice, "Is this going to be like the time I paid $90 for the Dr. to tell me that the kids had bug bites, which you insisted were the chicken pox?"
God, I hate it when he's right!
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
When I Grow Up...
Every kid dreams about what they want to be when they get older. My boys have already started their "When I grow up list..."
The General wants to build houses with the Bear during the week and on the weekends he wants to be a super hero, so he can "rid the world of punks!"
The Tank wants to be a Fireman, build houses, fix snowmobiles, and change car tires.
And the Destroyer, who is the biggest brute of them all, wants to be a princess, and if that doesn't work out, then he'll settle for being Glenda, a good witch.
I keep assuring the Bear that if the Destroyer is anything like me, he's got nothing to worry about.
When I was little I use to dream of being the lead drummer/singer in a rock band. I thought I was going to be the next Don Henley. Until I realized that I didn't carry a musical note in my body.
When I realized that music wasn't my forte and sports was, I decided I'd be a pro football player. I was going to be the next Dan Marino. Until I realized that the NFL doesn't take five foot three inch girls that are afraid to get hit.
When music and sports didn't work out I needed to figure out what I was good at, that's when I turned to my folks for guidance.
"What am I good at?" I asked them.
To which my parents honestly responded, "relentless talking."
Great, I think I'll go in to politics. I'll put my chops to good use and help change the world. For about the next 12 years, I aspired to be the first female president of the United States. This dream lasted until I went off to college and sat through my first Poli-Sci class and realized that there were more relentless talkers out there besides me, and I couldn't tolerate people that differed in opinion so drastically from my own.
For the first time in my life I wasn't sure what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had no direction, no clear plan. All the while my parents continued to support me as I tested the waters. They supported all my phases that were to follow, my art/photography phase, when I wanted to be the next Margret Burke White; they supported my computer phase; the list continued to grow through college.
Even when I graduated from college, I was still clueless as to what I wanted to do with my life.
It wasn't until I got married and started my own band of trouble that I found my true passion in life. Being a Mom is the one job that I never thought I'd ever want, but it's the most fun, the most rewarding and the most fulfilling job I could do. I only hope that I'm as patient and supportive with my kids as my parents were with me.
Now if I could just get paid for doing it, it would be PERFECT!
The General wants to build houses with the Bear during the week and on the weekends he wants to be a super hero, so he can "rid the world of punks!"
The Tank wants to be a Fireman, build houses, fix snowmobiles, and change car tires.
And the Destroyer, who is the biggest brute of them all, wants to be a princess, and if that doesn't work out, then he'll settle for being Glenda, a good witch.
I keep assuring the Bear that if the Destroyer is anything like me, he's got nothing to worry about.
When I was little I use to dream of being the lead drummer/singer in a rock band. I thought I was going to be the next Don Henley. Until I realized that I didn't carry a musical note in my body.
When I realized that music wasn't my forte and sports was, I decided I'd be a pro football player. I was going to be the next Dan Marino. Until I realized that the NFL doesn't take five foot three inch girls that are afraid to get hit.
When music and sports didn't work out I needed to figure out what I was good at, that's when I turned to my folks for guidance.
"What am I good at?" I asked them.
To which my parents honestly responded, "relentless talking."
Great, I think I'll go in to politics. I'll put my chops to good use and help change the world. For about the next 12 years, I aspired to be the first female president of the United States. This dream lasted until I went off to college and sat through my first Poli-Sci class and realized that there were more relentless talkers out there besides me, and I couldn't tolerate people that differed in opinion so drastically from my own.
For the first time in my life I wasn't sure what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had no direction, no clear plan. All the while my parents continued to support me as I tested the waters. They supported all my phases that were to follow, my art/photography phase, when I wanted to be the next Margret Burke White; they supported my computer phase; the list continued to grow through college.
Even when I graduated from college, I was still clueless as to what I wanted to do with my life.
It wasn't until I got married and started my own band of trouble that I found my true passion in life. Being a Mom is the one job that I never thought I'd ever want, but it's the most fun, the most rewarding and the most fulfilling job I could do. I only hope that I'm as patient and supportive with my kids as my parents were with me.
Now if I could just get paid for doing it, it would be PERFECT!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
The Gift of Giving
With Christmas closing in and my kids lists and demands growing at an exponential rate, I started to panic...my children were turning into unappreciative spoiled brats. They actually started to catalogue their gifts that they expected to get and from whom they excepted to get them.
Before they reached the point of no return, and turned into a pack if "give me" savages, I decided I should intervene and teach my impudent brigade how to politely receive gifts, especially if it is not the giant $100 Devastator, which I think is appropriately named, because what parent wouldn't be devastated when they found out that their child's number one toy on their Santa list costs a hundred bucks! And more importantly I want my boys to experience the merriment of giving to others.
So, I devised a game to help teach some proper gift giving and receiving etiquette. I gave each boy a shopping bag, and told them that they would be shopping in the playroom for gifts to give each other. Before I set them off to do their shopping, I set up some ground rules. 1. Everyone would take turns being the shopper/gift giver and everyone would get a turn to be the recipient 2. You must pick only one gift, so be thoughtful in your selection 3. Upon receipt of your gift you must clearly thank the gift giver 4. Once you open the gift you must say something constructive and positive about it, whether or not you like the gift. 5. Never say "I hate it" or "this isn't what I wanted."
Once I was certain that each boy understood the rules, they set off to do some shopping. Two boys would feverishly shop for the perfect gift, while the other would patiently await to receive his present. The first couple of rounds went surprisingly well, I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't have anything to worry about after all, "my kids are such thoughtful little Santa's," I thought to myself.
THEN, it was time for the Tank to shop for the Destroyer. I feel like I must preface this story with the fact that the Tank and the Destroyer's relationship is more like Tom and Jerry's than Wallie and the Beaver.
The Tank was in playroom on the hunt for the perfect present for the Destroyer, when all of a sudden he broke out in to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. When I went to see what was so funny, he was laughing so hard that he was crying, tears were literally streaming down his face.
"What's so funny?," I asked, starting to laugh myself.
Still laughing the Tank was unable to compose an answer.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
The Tank shook his head and off he went to allege the Destroyer with a token of his brotherly appreciate. By the time we reached the Destroyer, the Tank's laughter had ceased and had been replaced with a grin that could rival the Chester Cat's.
The Tank presented his masterpiece. It was a beautiful exchange of hugs and thank yous. I couldn't have been prouder.
Then, bursting with excitement the Destroyer opened his present. He pulled out an old crusted up Lighten McQueen sneaker, that went missing about six months ago. The Destroyer squealed with delight, "Oh, THANK YOU! I was missed this!"
I like to think that the Destroyer wasn't really oblivious to the Tank's intentions of sticking it to him; but rather, he just really understood the point of the game and was truly appreciative.
Before they reached the point of no return, and turned into a pack if "give me" savages, I decided I should intervene and teach my impudent brigade how to politely receive gifts, especially if it is not the giant $100 Devastator, which I think is appropriately named, because what parent wouldn't be devastated when they found out that their child's number one toy on their Santa list costs a hundred bucks! And more importantly I want my boys to experience the merriment of giving to others.
So, I devised a game to help teach some proper gift giving and receiving etiquette. I gave each boy a shopping bag, and told them that they would be shopping in the playroom for gifts to give each other. Before I set them off to do their shopping, I set up some ground rules. 1. Everyone would take turns being the shopper/gift giver and everyone would get a turn to be the recipient 2. You must pick only one gift, so be thoughtful in your selection 3. Upon receipt of your gift you must clearly thank the gift giver 4. Once you open the gift you must say something constructive and positive about it, whether or not you like the gift. 5. Never say "I hate it" or "this isn't what I wanted."
Once I was certain that each boy understood the rules, they set off to do some shopping. Two boys would feverishly shop for the perfect gift, while the other would patiently await to receive his present. The first couple of rounds went surprisingly well, I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't have anything to worry about after all, "my kids are such thoughtful little Santa's," I thought to myself.
THEN, it was time for the Tank to shop for the Destroyer. I feel like I must preface this story with the fact that the Tank and the Destroyer's relationship is more like Tom and Jerry's than Wallie and the Beaver.
The Tank was in playroom on the hunt for the perfect present for the Destroyer, when all of a sudden he broke out in to a fit of uncontrollable laughter. When I went to see what was so funny, he was laughing so hard that he was crying, tears were literally streaming down his face.
"What's so funny?," I asked, starting to laugh myself.
Still laughing the Tank was unable to compose an answer.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
The Tank shook his head and off he went to allege the Destroyer with a token of his brotherly appreciate. By the time we reached the Destroyer, the Tank's laughter had ceased and had been replaced with a grin that could rival the Chester Cat's.
The Tank presented his masterpiece. It was a beautiful exchange of hugs and thank yous. I couldn't have been prouder.
Then, bursting with excitement the Destroyer opened his present. He pulled out an old crusted up Lighten McQueen sneaker, that went missing about six months ago. The Destroyer squealed with delight, "Oh, THANK YOU! I was missed this!"
I like to think that the Destroyer wasn't really oblivious to the Tank's intentions of sticking it to him; but rather, he just really understood the point of the game and was truly appreciative.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Next Stop, Pea Pod!
Yes, that was me with Will Turner, Captain Jack Sparrow and the Knight in Shining Armor at Stop and Shop today.
Sounds like something out of a dream, right?
If only I was dreaming. Every outing is literally an adventure for my little band of trouble. They look forward to dressing up and heading out on the town. Everyday is a new Halloween here at the Putnam patch.
Sounds cute and even at first glance, they look cute. But if you look close enough you'll see that they are really just wolverines in sheep's clothing.
It's usually just a matter of minutes before the claws come out and I'm in total disarray. Today was actually different.
It only took about 15 seconds into our shopping trip, when the Destroyer spotted some contraband... balloons. I purposely try to avoid any stores that carry balloons and now Stop and Shop has moved them from their small corner in the flower shop to the front and center of every aisle of the store.
"Balloon!" squealed the Destroyer! "I want a balloon!"
"Shoot me now," I quietly thought to myself.
"We'll see. Let's get all our shopping done and maybe we can stop and look at the balloons on the way out." I said as I quickly rolled past the balloons.
I quickly developed a game plan in my head, mapping out my shopping list to get out of the store as quickly as possible. But before I was able to finish my planing, the Destroyer started his tenacious attack.
The next seven or eight minutes seemed like the most daunting of my life as the Destroyer relentlessly pressured me for his balloon. "Mommy, I be good. I get a balloon? Mommy is it time to see the balloons?"
My constant promises that we'd check out the balloons on the way out of the store did little to calm the Destroyer's offense.
The Destroyer's cute and coy pleas for a balloon, quickly turned into ferocious demands. "I want a balloon," he screamed.
Looking over my shoulder to be sure the no one could report me for child abuse, I grabbed the Destroyer's arm and threatened to sell him on e-bay if he wasn't quiet.
To which my sassy three year old stood up in the cart and pointed his little finger at me, stomping and screaming, "YOU MEAN MOMMY! I WANT A BALLOON!"
Embarrassed, I grabbed all three of my troopers without saying a word and dashed toward the door leaving my cart in the middle of the aisle.
The General concerned brought up a very important fact, "But Mommy, what about our food?"
To which another shopper, who I sensed was pleased at our exit, suggested, "Honey go home and order from Pea Pod, they deliver!"
Sounds like something out of a dream, right?
If only I was dreaming. Every outing is literally an adventure for my little band of trouble. They look forward to dressing up and heading out on the town. Everyday is a new Halloween here at the Putnam patch.
Sounds cute and even at first glance, they look cute. But if you look close enough you'll see that they are really just wolverines in sheep's clothing.
It's usually just a matter of minutes before the claws come out and I'm in total disarray. Today was actually different.
It only took about 15 seconds into our shopping trip, when the Destroyer spotted some contraband... balloons. I purposely try to avoid any stores that carry balloons and now Stop and Shop has moved them from their small corner in the flower shop to the front and center of every aisle of the store.
"Balloon!" squealed the Destroyer! "I want a balloon!"
"Shoot me now," I quietly thought to myself.
"We'll see. Let's get all our shopping done and maybe we can stop and look at the balloons on the way out." I said as I quickly rolled past the balloons.
I quickly developed a game plan in my head, mapping out my shopping list to get out of the store as quickly as possible. But before I was able to finish my planing, the Destroyer started his tenacious attack.
The next seven or eight minutes seemed like the most daunting of my life as the Destroyer relentlessly pressured me for his balloon. "Mommy, I be good. I get a balloon? Mommy is it time to see the balloons?"
My constant promises that we'd check out the balloons on the way out of the store did little to calm the Destroyer's offense.
The Destroyer's cute and coy pleas for a balloon, quickly turned into ferocious demands. "I want a balloon," he screamed.
Looking over my shoulder to be sure the no one could report me for child abuse, I grabbed the Destroyer's arm and threatened to sell him on e-bay if he wasn't quiet.
To which my sassy three year old stood up in the cart and pointed his little finger at me, stomping and screaming, "YOU MEAN MOMMY! I WANT A BALLOON!"
Embarrassed, I grabbed all three of my troopers without saying a word and dashed toward the door leaving my cart in the middle of the aisle.
The General concerned brought up a very important fact, "But Mommy, what about our food?"
To which another shopper, who I sensed was pleased at our exit, suggested, "Honey go home and order from Pea Pod, they deliver!"
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