Tag: fun?

humor, marital blissishness, mommyhood, self-discovery

Loose Change

WFAM

We are on our way out the door and Full Speed says, “I’ll hold the door for you, Mommy.” As I pass through he follows and I close the door behind us.

“Don’t forget to lock the door, Mom. We don’t want anyone to sneak in except for the Easter Bunny.” Then he proceeds to recount his glorious memories of Easter and how that magical bunny made his way into our home and left him lots of cool stuff.

I love the random things that come out of his mouth. twenty eight

When I picked up the boys from school they were wild with enthusiasm and not behaving in a calm manner (no surprise there!). We get to that door (oh, that darn, alarmed door) and Full Speed cocks back his leg and lets a swift kick go. Fortunately, his kick wasn’t strong enough to budge it open and everyone’s ears were saved from the piercing alarm sound.

I look down at him and say in my most exasperated Mommy-voice, “How many times do I need to tell you NOT to touch the door until I push the green button?”

He pauses and looks at me. “Twenty-eight.”

He says it like I’m suppose to know this number. Apparently, I was only at twenty-seven even though it feels like I have to remind him every single time NOT to touch the door. I hope we hit twenty-eight soon.

I decide to take them to Wendy’s for drive-thru cuisine (somehow it makes me feel like less of a slacker if I refer to it as cuisine) because Mad Dog is away on business and I am tired. When Mad Dog told me a few weeks back he would be gone for the four days leading up to Full Speed’s second surgery I was mostly calm. I told him that even though I was taking this bit of information calmly, that I would most likely be passively aggressive as his departure date approached. Then I said, who am I kidding? I’m going to be overtly aggressive. And true to form, I was (your welcome, my dear).

We get to the speaker-thing you order your stuff at and I tell the boys to stop fighting or Wendy’s won’t be able to hear me. This shuts T.Puzzle right up because the only thing he loves more than his Mommy are chicken nuggets.

I end up sounding like I have a screw loose. I awkwardly stumble through our order like it’s a complex math equation as opposed to a simple, fast food order. The man taking my order seems slightly perturbed as he has to ask several, qualifying questions because I’m not making a whole lot of sense. I’m frazzled. I have Full Speed asking me a million meaningless questions, I have about forty-seven more things to accomplish before bedtime and I wish my husband was home to lighten the load. The man tells me the total and I pull around to the second window to pay my $12.08. I thought to save the patient, Wendy’s employee some time that I will make exact change for him. So I hand him two tens and exactly eight cents. I’m proud of myself for doing it, too.

He returns shortly with my food and then hands me some cash and a heaping pile of change. I have no idea what the true total was but I know I had it totally wrong. This guy must think I’m an idiot to only give him eight cents towards whatever the amount was (which clearly was a whole lot more). So I’m making trouble instead of saving trouble. Now I see where my boys get it from.

health, humor, life in pictures, mommyhood, terrible twos

I Like to Move It

WFAM

Today is all about T.Puzzle. It’s his turn for some serious one-on-one time with Mommy. This special treatment is because he has been quite allergy-prone in the past. When he was eighteen months old we found out he was allergic to eggs and a couple months later learned of his severe, dog allergy (we had to remove our beloved dog, White Fluffy Dog  from our house it was so bad).

The time had come for his periodic allergy check-in at the Children’s Clinic. We arrive and Madagascar (the animated kids’ flick) is playing in the waiting room. He looks at it a nanosecond and promptly starts to sing ‘move it, move it” and shake his booty from side to side. It’s his favorite song in the whole movie. Maybe his favorite song in the whole universe the way he has committed so passionately to singing it. He also says it in two-year-old speak so it sounds more like ‘mow it, mow it’. Any way you slice it, it’s freakin’ adorable.

The nurse calls us back after a few moments and asks that T.Puzzle remove his shoes. The happy part is that Mommy had actually found his missing spidey croc so his shoes matched today. The unhappy part was that T.Puzzle was less than pleased to part with them. He was pretty miffed at the nurse for requesting such an unreasonable thing of him.

She then asks him to step up onto the scale. It’s only an inch off the floor. You would think the way T.Puzzle is teetering on it back-and-forth in fear that it was hundreds of feet from the floor. Yeah, I get that he has some depth perception issues but an inch? Really?

I can’t get him to stand still and he is fast approaching a level 7 meltdown. The nurse is not offering anything except judgment and we are getting nowhere. Eventually, there is a loud, curious noise that escapes from one of the other exam rooms. I have no idea what it was, but its sudden strangeness was enough to make T.Puzzle freeze. We were able to get his weight and cut our losses at that. The nurse didn’t feel like attempting to get his height. Five minutes with T.Puzzle in all his glory and I could tell that was more than enough for her.

We are shown to the exam room and the nurse quickly exits as if there is a fire never to return. When the doctor, who is kind and caring, arrives I warn him that T.Puzzle is two and that ‘defiance’ is his middle name. I told him that T.Puzzle’s ever changing mood might make him difficult to examine. The doctor said he could handle it (he has a three year old son who apparently puts him through the wringer, too).

I place T.Puzzle on my lap and proceed to hold my breath. I hope that whatever level tantrum he reaches at least it stays under a five.

The doctor moves in with his stethoscope and…..,

T.Puzzle let him. He let him look in his ears. He let him look in his eyes with a bright light. He even sat calm as could be when the doc tilted his head back and stuck that long, skinny looky-in-your-nose thing up of each of T.Puzzle’s tiny, tender nostrils.  T.Puzzle didn’t even bat one of his extremely long, extremely gorgeous eyelashes.

I had a realization. Not only does T.Puzzle like to play with the truth as it pertains to the details of his life, he likes to manipulate his behavior so that I am forced to do the same. He behaved like an angel because I said he was going to act like a devil. Now Mommy is the liar.

Frick, 2 – Mommy, 0

health, humor, mommyhood, parenting

Orange You Someone I Know?

WFAM

Since Full Speed’s surgery he hasn’t been allowed on the playground at his school. At morning recess time he heads down to the three year old classroom while the rest of his class goes outside. For the second recess in the afternoon, I have been picking him up beforehand so he doesn’t have to feel like he is missing out twice in one day. So far it’s working out great. This is good because he has a least three more weeks of no outside play assuming all continues to go well with the second eye surgery and recovery.

When I picked up Full Speed today, I was early of course and the class was running a little late. They were in the midst of finishing their afternoon snack of pretzels. Full Speed  wanted to stay longer because they had made jello with orange soda that morning and they were going to eat the finished, chilled product now. I wanted him to partake in the jello madness so T.Puzzle and I hung out with Full Speed’s class for a few minutes.

Full Speed was as proud as a peacock to have his Mommy there during snack. I appreciate at this age having Mom around is super-cool. It will be a sad day when I inevitably became super-uncool. So, I soaked in his excitement and talked with his friends.

At their tables they have their names spelled out so they know where to sit. I started to refer to them by name and they were amazed. I said, “Jacob, your jello looks delicious.” Jacob’s eyes grew wide with wonder.

“How do you know my name?” he asked.

“Well, it’s written right here on your table. See?” I leaned over to point out his name and proceeded to spell it out loud. “J-A-C-O-B.” As I said each letter I pointed to it.

I still had them all stumped. I guess when you aren’t technically a reader yet, anyone that reads, spells or says your name without really knowing you is mysterious.

“You can SPELL my name, too? How’d you do that?” he couldn’t believe my magical powers.

Eventually, I gave in to their adorable delusion and told them I was in fact psychic and knew things that no one else did. I proceeded to go around the room and work everyone’s name into a classroom discussion about orange jello. They each laughed and giggled as I said their names. Very, very cute.

Ultimately, I predicted that everyone would eat their jello and it would be delicious. Not surprisingly, I nailed it.

Garden

health, humor, life in pictures, mommyhood, parenting

Well I Never!

WFAM

The surgery was a success. Full Speed’s right lense was removed and it went smoothly and quickly. We learn how much his vision has improved in the days and weeks to come. He handled everything beautifully.

Even though he was a champ, waking up from anesthesia was a bit of a challenge. The drugs can alter behavior and demeanor. That certainly was true for Full Speed.  Granted, he is a stubborn boy by nature, this took it one step farther.

He initially woke up yelling, “I WANT MY PATCH OFF OF MY FACE! I WANT THIS STUFF OFF MY ARM!” He wanted everything off from the patch to his IV immediately. He wanted to let the world know it, too. He looked at me with anger in his eyes and proceeded to successfully yank off his pulse/ox (a tiny contraption that is bandaged to your finger to measure your oxygen level). I managed to stop the yanking and pulling off of everything else, but the pulse/ox fell limp to the floor.

He yelled and yelled. He demanded and yelled some more. Mad Dog and I did our best to redirect. It only made him angrier.

I noticed (as Moms do) that it had been four hours since Full Speed had last used the facilities. The previous time he had emerged from surgery, he peed all over himself and all over me. Moms are pretty on top of things so I had extra clothes for him packed. For me I had nothing. I had to wear scrubs home. Of course Mad Dog thought that was kind of hot. I remember feeling exactly the opposite of hot in that moment.

I asked Full Speed, “Do you have to use the bathroom?”

“NO!” he responded.

“Do you want Mommy or Daddy to take you?” I said.

“I WANT NOBODY TO TAKE ME!”

“Sweetie, you need to use the bathroom….,” I say again. Before I finish my thought he shouts, “NO! I AM NOT GOING TO THE BATHROOM!”

Mad Dog tries to intervene. “Full Speed, you are going to the bathroom. Let’s go.”

He whips his head around and faces us both. He is clearly angry. “NEVER!”

He is never going to the bathroom again apparently. Someone find me some scrubs. Looks like I’m going to need them.