Oh, To Be Three Again and 1234 Sad Story

I spend my days observing and interacting with kiddos, especially my own charmingly, spunky three year old.  And I have come to the conclusion that there are just so many things you can do as a three year old, and get away with it, strictly because of your age. 

The other day, I was watching Chase play with a child his age.  Both kiddos were sitting side by side having a pretend picnic when out of nowhere, Chase leans over and gives his friend a good, hardy, lick on the forehead and continued back to his picnic.  Neither of them flinched.  And I just sat back and thought, Huh? That was odd.  Don’t you wish it was age appropriate to just lean over and give your co-worker a slobbery lick on the cheek during a staff meeting? Or maybe not. (On a side note: I’m glad I’m self-employed and don’t have any co-workers to lick me during business hours.  However, I do get my fair share of licks throughout the day, regardless.)

The other night, my quirky three year old, out of nowhere, fell off the bed while he was sleeping.  He instinctually let out a scream, “Mommy!”  I, also instinctually, simply slithered out of bed myself, picked him up and placed him back onto his bed, all while I’m pretty sure he was still sleeping.  What if I feel out of bed and yelled out for my Mommy?  I’m pretty sure there would be one of two reasons why: 1. I am wasted out of my mind and I need to throw out an anchor foot when I crawl back into bed or I have finally hit my breaking point and need to be checked into a cozy white room with padded walls.  Either way, it would take days to recover from falling out of bed at my age, not simply seconds like a three year old.  

Footie Pajamas.  How come it is so adorable when a three year old struts around in a pair, but as soon as I put on one of my six pairs, my husband immediate has a look of shame in his ruggedly handsome blue eyes?  Why isn't it cute for a women, pushing 30, to zip up her loveable, soft to the touch, nighttime attire?   I mean, do we not all put our footies on one leg at a time? (On a side note: My husband calls my footie pjs birth control.  It’s like I’m doing my part to make sure the US isn't becoming over populated.  #moderndayhero)   

Wouldn't it be nice to be three again?

On an unrelated note:  Chase helped my parents pick out their Christmas tree, like he does every year with his cousins, Holden and Adam.  Well, I guess while driving through the rows and rows of Christmas trees at the tree farm, Chase nonchalantly asks my mom how much the trees cost.  My mom responded by telling him that they cost $60.  Chase put his head down and whispers, "Oh, my family doesn't have sixty dollars." My child sure knows how to kill the Christmas Spirit.  I guess Christmas tree donations can be sent to:

Chase Revermann
1234 Sad Story
Deprived Child, MN 12345

Don’t for one second pretend like you don’t wear pirate eye patches while playing in the snow.  My child cannot be the only one. 

Letters, Numbers and a Good Old-Fashioned Hashtag

Chase and I have been working on letters and numbers daily for quite some time now.  Finally, I think I have come up with the some valuable insight on how to teach these things…

Let’s talk numbers.  If you need to teach your child numbers, forget the flashcards and worksheets.  Just simply put a password on your Ipad.   How come we practice numbers everyday with no interest, but as soon as a numerical password goes on the machine that plays Netflix, numbers are suddenly something to be studied?  Genius. 

Now, let’s talk letters.  This one is even easier to teach then numbers.  There is no need to sing the ABC’s every day or pull out worksheets or personal whiteboards to practice letters.  All you need to do is take your child out to eat, excessively.  My child has learned that the letter “M” means McDonalds (and a happy meal toy of course), "B" and "K" from Burger King and “Q” from Qdoba.  It’s like my lack of cooking skills are a benefit to my child’s education (but not necessarily his nutrition).  I knew one day my slacking over the stove would pay off. 

No. I didn’t say I was proud that the Ipad password was the number breakthrough I've been waiting for or the fact that my child would rather learn about letters from a neon sign than me. But hey, every teaching method is different. Right? 

On a side note: Why is it that as I scroll through Facebook, my news-feed is covered with parents complaining about parenting, as if they are the only ones who have ever gone through it (and the only ones who need a nap)?  I can’t recall a single time my mother or her friends complained about missing a party due to having to take care of their children or needing a night out, or five.  And I've come to the conclusion on why I've never heard complaints coming from my parents’ generation about tending to the children they have created.  It’s simply because they don’t know how to properly use a hashtag.  #parentingissohard #butitmightbe #easierif  #istop #complainingand #beanadult

THUMP! (That was just the sound of me tripping on my sweatpants and tumbling off of my soap box.)  

Happy Hump Day!

For the Love of God…

Don’t get me wrong, my Gig as a Mommy is pretty sweet.  But how come no one talks about the terrible threes?  I mean, everyone talks about how hard having a newborn is because of nursing, sleepless nights and raging hormones.  Everyone also talks about the tantrums associated with the terrible twos.  But hell, no one ever talks about the unbearably horrid threes.  In my opinion, threes can be the most challenging, mainly because three year olds are little hormonal teenagers trapped in a small body, waiting to snap or embarrass you at any moment.  Oh and did I mention they always think they're right? So, I have dubbed year “three” as the “For the love of God years.”

For the love of God, child-

I do not wish to run to the bathroom every time you yell, “Mom, I’m done,” only to find you standing, facing the toilet, pants on the ground chuckling “just kidding,” as you start to pee again (mostly in the toilet). I get that you just learned how to control your starting and stopping times when you urinate, but come on you can only be impressed with this for a few times before it starts to become seriously annoying. Although, on a strange level I am proud of him and his newly developed skills, but seriously buddy, some accomplishments should be kept to yourself.

For the love of God, child-

It’s not a little known fact that I don’t enjoy you sprinting across the room, lunging onto my lap and letting out a gigantic fart then running away leaving the smell of feces lingering in the air for all to enjoy.  Way to keep it classy.

For the love of God, child-

Please stop making puking noises after you take a bit of anything that I have cooked. I get that I’m no Rachel Ray, but your distasteful gestures are starting to kill my kitchen self-esteem.

For the love of God, child-

I didn't know that you wanted your peanut butter and jelly sandwich to have-bread, jelly, peanut butter, and then bread- in that order.  Oh wait, I found it out after I made the sandwich because you screamed in disgust at the top of your lungs and refused to eat it.  And for the love of God, child, flipping the sandwich upside down would, in fact, solve the problem.  Who’s right now?

For the love of God, this was just today…  

And this is what I get when I ask my child to let me take a picture of him wearing his Burger King crown....

Intervention

Well, we are a week into our intervention and things are finally starting to look up. 

Flashback to a week ago…

               I walked over to the fridge and grasped the black handle and opened the door with a slight tug.  As I opened the door, I felt a slight wave of cool air rush over me.  My eyes scanned the contents inside and came up empty so my eyes scanned again and once more. Still nothing.  My heart beat started to race and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  I was in a pure panic.  Then from a distance I heard a faint sound.  With every second the sound became louder and louder.  It didn't take long for the sound to become clear, “Mom, I want pink milk.” 

               Gulp. I took a deep breath and sputtered out, “Good Morning Chase.  It appears that we are out of pink milk.”  I took a step back and waited for his reaction.  As you can imagine, Chase thought that running out of strawberry syrup wasn't up to par and frankly, irresponsible of me.  Well, of course he didn't vocalize his anger quite as eloquently as this.  But vocalize it, he did. 

               As Chase was lying on the cold kitchen floor, weeping into his beloved purple blankie, resisting any comfort from an actual human, I figured that this was his rock bottom the perfect time to cut pink milk out of his life.  Cold Turkey.  (On a side note: Chase didn't think it was helpful for me to sing a song from Daniel Tiger that goes a little something like this:  "When you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four. One. Two. Three. Four."  Actually, this seemed to anger him more. Who would have known?)

               To say the first day was pure hell is an understatement.  Chase decided that if he couldn't have pink milk to drink then he wasn't going to drink at all because water was “gross” and regular old white milk was “puke.”  (Although I agreed with his describing words, I couldn't give in and support his and pink milk’s co-dependent relationship any longer.) I felt his love for pink milk was blinding him to the joys of other healthy beverages and I knew I had to be strong for his sake and mine (After all it is a big annoyance to always have to have strawberry syrup on hand). 

               By day two, Chase did drink a sip or two of water.  But not by choice; he accidentally swallowed some water in the bathtub.  But hey, at least he wasn't getting dehydrated.  I swear on day two, he started to get the shakes when his continual requests for pink milk were denied at breakfast.   But by lunch he took a sip of “pukey” milk and didn't die.  So that was a plus.

               The next few days were a roller-coaster of emotions as he started to let go of his long relationship with pink milk and started to build one with white milk.

               We did have a close call this weekend.  Cory and I were discussing what we needed to purchase from the grocery store, when Cory asked if Chase needed more pink milk.  I immediately felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead and I whispered, “No,” hoping Chase wasn't near us, as if Chase hearing Cory’s words might trigger his cravings.  And honestly, I have been too strong during this process to start making Chase’s mouth salivate over pink milk, 6 days clean.  (Note to self:  Cory may be the biggest enabler of our son, ever!)

               As for today, day 8, it’s been okay.  Chase is two sippy cups deep into white milk and hasn't cried out for his once-loved pink colored comfort and it appears that he is over the shakes.

               Things are looking up for us and I am hopeful they will stay up.  

On another note: This was our conversation at dinner the other night:

Me: "Chase I love you and Daddy."

Cory:  "Chase I love you and Mommy."

Chase: "Yup, I love me." 

Boogers and Dressing Yourself

This morning Chase and I were snuggled on the couch watching a very fulfilling episode of Spongebob Square Pants when I could see movement out of the corner of my eye.  When I realized what was moving, I was horrified.  The object that was moving was Chase’s finger.  By this time, his petite pointer finger was knuckle deep into his nose.  Disgusted, but not surprised, by this sight, I told him that if he had boogers he needed to get a Kleenex.  But instead of happily accepting my request by getting a Kleenex and wiping his boogers onto the Kleenex, which would have been the socially acceptable thing to do, he decided to stick his finger back up into his nose and insert the booger back to where it originally resided and continued to watch television as if nothing happened.  That’s right, my child was too lazy to get a Kleenex, which was actually within arm’s reach of him, but instead he decided that booger didn't need to come out after all.

On a side note: My child can successfully dress himself, which is super exciting and saves me a lot of time.  On the downside, he put his shirt on backwards today and it is driving me bonkers.  Every time I see the buttons on his upper back I want to poke myself in the eyes with a pencil so I don’t have to see it anymore.  But I am trying to be a good mother and not stifle his accomplishment by having him change it or pointing it out.  (Finger’s crossed that he spills on it and has to take it off.  Am I going to hell?) 

Toots-Day

No one prepares you for having a boy.  I mean, I can totally discuss superheroes and build Legos all day, but the one thing that I will never get used to is the butt and fart talk. I mean seriously, I didn’t think there was any other way my child could work butts or farts into conversations, but I was wrong.

At our house we do circle time every morning in which we discuss letters, numbers, the day of the week, the weather, etc.  (Yeah, I’m totally one of those moms who works on this stuff rigorously so my child won’t be behind in school.  I mean, if I don’t give him a head start now, some other, undeserving child might pass him up on his trot up the white house steps.  (On a side note: I hope he doesn't inherit asthma from me. I’m sure there have been other presidents who have suffered from asthma.  I could just bedazzle his inhaler with red, white and blue gems.  We would both enjoy that.) Well yesterday my child was in a particularly “butty” mood.  He interrupted all of my daily teachings with butt humor.  

This is how my sweet, sweet 3 year old sung the ABCs:

A-B-C-D- “I am clenching my butt” -K-L-M-N-O-P (and so on and so forth).  (On a side note: Chase learned how to clench his butt cheeks this past weekend and has been working countless hours on perfecting the tightest clench. Did you just hear that bang?  That was the sound of me throwing away Chase’s college fund into the garbage.  I don’t think it will be needed.)

This is how another conversation went:

Me: “Does anyone know what day of the week it is today?”

Chase (excitedly blurts out): “It’s Toots-day.”  No actually child of mine, it’s Tuesday. Not Toots-day.

Although I find his words to be extremely appalling, I do have to applaud his creativity and determination. Then again, who am I to judge, as I type this I totally just picked up a piece of puppy chow that was melted to the side of my shirt from snack earlier this afternoon, and happily plopped it into my mouth. Looks like my college fund was a waste as well; must run in the family.

Any-who, I will snuggle my little guy even tighter today, despite the butt talk, because frankly, I can and he’s my little nugget. (Speaking of nuggets, I’m a little hungry for McDonald's.)     

The Naked Game

Do you ever have times when your child makes you sound like a gigantic creep by not telling a back-story to a statement they word vomit out of their teeny, tiny mouths? Well of course, my child makes me sound like a creep on a daily basis.  I am actually quite surprised I am allowed to live near a school. 

Here is the latest:

Currently, Cory is working on the road a few days a week.  Every night before bed, he calls to say good night to Chase and to see how his day was.  Here is their conversation from Tuesday night:

Cory: “Hi, Chase. How was your day?”

Chase: “Me and Mommy played the naked game. Twice.”

Cory: “Um, Can I talk to your Mom?”

I know what you’re thinking; Jayme is a pedophile (and I don’t blame you, my child tends to make me out to be a creep even in the most innocent of situations). It was then that I ripped the phone out of his small, sticky hands and had to explain the back-story. 

Actually, if he told the story correctly it would have gone like this:

Cory: “Hi, Chase. How was your day?”

Chase: “Hi, Daddy.  It was my best day ever.  Mom and I went to Chuck-E-Cheese.  My favorite game was Operation.  We played it twice.  Oh, and I love my Mommy.”

But of course instead, he belts out that we played the “naked game, twice” instead of playing the gigantic Operation game (where naturally, the character is naked so we can try to steal the bones out of his body.  Come to think of it, that game does seem a little inappropriate and may start some lost kids on a path of stealing human bones and selling them on the black market to fill some internal need not met by their mother in their most formative years. Or maybe not, who knows, I’m sure the ‘effects of the operation game at Chuck-E-Cheese on small children’ studies haven’t been conducted yet.)   

I think it is best that from now on I screen all of Chase’s calls so I don’t get turned into Child Protective Services. 

On a side note:  While we were standing in the checkout line at the mall last night, out of nowhere, Chase roars at the top of his 3 year old, spunky, lungs, “My Mommy is a penis.”

Some days, I’m not so proud. 

Bathroom Conversation and a Pirate's Hook

I think there is a moment in every parent’s life when they think, “Huh, where did I go wrong?”  For most parents this moment comes when their child is a teenager and they are picking them up from the local jail with their child’s breath reeking of $7 vodka (which at the time, the child thinks is darn near top shelf.  You know how many tables I had to wait on in order to make $7?). Well, for me, I have this moment almost weekly.  I’m not quite sure why this moment comes weekly, but I’m starting to think it may be a reflection of my parenting.  No, that can’t be.  It must be something else, like a full moon or something else parents blame their child’s behavior on.

This past weekend my family and I spent the day at a winery, because clearly, when you have a three year old, that is the most appropriate place to bring him.  Right? Any ways, it’s too early in the story to be judging my parenting already.  Before the winery, we decided to stop at a McDonald’s with a play place (because frankly, there is no point of stopping at a McDonald’s without a play place when you have a child or you will be scarfing down your McDouble while your child continually asks you: “Where is the play place?” or “How many minutes until they get a play place?”). Well, after our feast of all-you-can-eat nuggets, fries and soda, Chase and I headed to the rest room.  Not because he needed to use it, but because he has now become like a growth on the side of my body that has curly hair and teeth, and he can’t bear to stand just one second away from me.  (Hey, I’m not saying I mind it, he is my favorite person in the whole entire world and he thinks I’m “Da bomb.”  Well, I’m sure he would think I was “Da bomb” if he knew what that meant. So until he can debate otherwise, I am “Da-bomb.”) Any way, while I am using the restroom, and Chase is staring at me using the rest room (You may think that is odd to have two little eyes peering at you while you pee and so did I once. You know back when I had some sort of dignity.) he decides to strike up a conversation.  A one-sided conversation, made up with strictly facts. He tells me, “Girls have a vagina and my boobs are bigger than yours, Mommy.”    

    

Ouch.

Where did I go  wrong? Oh yeah, I taught him to speak.    

On a side note: Chase and I went to Target to do some quick shopping before we headed off to the movie theater.  Chase decided he needed, “just one toy for being so “not naughty” today” and he was very “not naughty” so any debate I had wouldn't hold up. So of course, he got to pick one toy.  Naturally he decided to pick a pirate’s hook.  It took me 15 minutes into the shopping trip to realize he kept trying to hook women’s purses as they walked by. Apparently, another shopper realized what he was doing because she clenched her purse tight under her arm as she tried to pass us in the shampoo aisle. Cute. 

My Child the Sinner

I’m pretty sure my child, at the young age of three, has already sinned.  

This past weekend my sister-in-law, Mindy, got married.  Cory, Chase and I were all in the wedding party so the weekend was filled with many, many wedding festivities. On Friday, we went to the church to practice walking down the aisle and for Chase to practice walking up the aisle with two of the cutest flower girls in the world.  After some bribing (okay, a lot of bribing), we managed to get Chase to accompany the two flower girls down the aisle, one holding each of his hands. (On a side note: Chase looked like a little Hugh Hefner.  Not that I’m promoting my child becoming Hugh Hefner, but Hugh does have a thick wallet and that could put me into a very nice nursing home in 60 years. Although, I’m pretty sure I won’t need to live in a nursing home.  When I’m in my 80’s, I see my life going in one of two directions: 1. I will be living with Chase and he will be spoon feeding me when I’m too old and brittle to feed myself OR 2. If Chase continues to head down this sinning path, he will be wearing my skin like an apron and my skeleton will be sitting in a rocking chair in his bedroom collecting dust.  But honestly, I would be happy with either outcome.)

Any who, after the rehearsal we headed to the Groom’s dinner at a local restaurant.  After a blessing from the Priest, we feasted on chicken and ribs until I had to go into the bathroom and take off my spanks. I thought the night was going well and my little nugget was on his best behavior.  Okay, maybe not his best behavior, but he wasn’t destroying anything or insulting anyone.  Mindy and her husband, Alex, got up at the end of the dinner and gave a beautiful speech thanking everyone for coming.  I’m a sucker for a good speech and engulfed myself in the words they were speaking.  So engulfed that I momentarily forgot I was in-charge of another human being (oops, my bad).  My little nugget snuck up to the head table where Mindy and Alex were standing.  Then it happened.  My child crouched down, started to shake his derriere and started twerking on the Priest.

That’s right, my child practically twerked on Jesus.  

My child, my child, my child. Forehead smack, forehead smack, forehead smack.

My family at the wedding.  

Forehead Scratchers

Over the weekend Chase said some pretty interesting things to Cory.  Luckily, I heard all of them. Some of these things even made me scratch my head. 

Chase (to Cory): “Daddy, I like Mommy the most because you don’t have hair.  Sorry you don’t have hair, daddy.” (Way to kick Daddy when he’s down, buddy.)

Chase (to Cory): “Can I stick my finger in your belly button?” (Seemed like a legit question, but I didn't stick around long enough to hear the answer.)

But this one had me scratching my head the most.  I scratched so hard I now have a scab smack dab in the middle of my forehead.

I hear a little knock on the bathroom door downstairs.  Then I heard Chase sweetly say, “Daddy, I have something in my underwear for you.”  Of course this peaked my interest so I trotted downstairs to find Chase standing outside of the bathroom door, in his undies, with a light-up Spider-Man toy in-between his undies and his butt.   Then, I turned around and walked right back up stairs. 

Happy Monday!

Chinese and Shopko; A Normal Family Outing

It has been a few weeks since I have blogged and I have no excuse for that except; we have been enjoying the arrival of something wonderful (no seriously, stop thinking we are going to have another child.  “One and Done” is our family motto); NETFLIX.  I thought I knew the meaning of true love, but now I truly understand how you can love something with all of your heart and soul.  (Sorry, Cory.)

Since Cory and I wait to enjoy Netflix until after our little guy drifts off to sleep (not necessarily because of any wonderful parenting philosophy but because we watch shows about serial killers and that may scare- and scar- him), we decided to go out to dinner last night.  We let Chase pick, which actually worked out well.  He chose Chinese, of course.  He doesn’t necessarily enjoy the food, but enjoys getting the fortune cookie at the end with the folded up piece of paper in it with a secret message (sort of like a treasure map).  Last night his fortune read: “To see the light, you must travel through the darkness.”  And of course he had that memorized in a heartbeat and recited it to other foodies on our way out the front door.  He looked sort of like a midget fortune teller.  We’re thinking about investing in a crystal ball and a tent and bringing him to local fairs.

Any who, it’s no secret that my child likes to "spice" up every outing.  And this Chinese trip was no different.  During our entire restaurant experience Chase decided to call me by another name then simply Mom. While we were up at the buffet Chase shuffled behind me saying “no” to any offer of food I gave him except anything that was fried.  But anytime I would put food on my plate my child would say (loudly), “Moo.”  For instance:  Rice goes on my plate: “Moo.”  Egg roll goes on my plate: “Moo.” And so on and so forth.  He even chased after me at one point when I went up to get seconds and said, “Wait, Mommy, Moo, Moo.”  OUCH.  I understand I don’t enjoy working out, but I guess I need to cut down on my trips to the buffet. (Fun Revermann Fact: Cory and I once bought a year membership to Snap Fitness. We went once, but ended up at the Chinese Buffet across the street numerous times in work out clothes.) I didn’t find it all that amusing, but of course everyone else in the restaurant did.

On a side note: After our restaurant trip we headed to Shopko, not for anything specific but to browse, because that is totally the type of people we are.  I realized something about my family during this trip, and it was a little horrifying. While we were checking out I was holding Chase and he had his little curly top laid on my shoulder.  All of a sudden he lifted his head up, stuck his tongue out and said, “Mommy lick my tongue.”  The woman checking us out, who was probably in her early twenties and wearing a name tag with “Liz” printed on it, looked at Chase and said, “Wow that was a little creepy,” and went about her business. 

As we walked out, Cory looked at me and said, “Wow Liz, was a little strange.”  And I instantly became alarmed. What alarmed me was, it hadn’t even dawned on Cory that maybe our child asking me to lick his tongue was weird but in fact the weird one must have been the checkout lady for noticing how strange Chase’s request was.  Wow, having a child can mess with you.  Therapy here we come. 

I may need a few days to reevaluate my life, in multiple ways. Good thing I have a three day weekend coming up! 

My sunshine. 

Cheering for Daddy

There is never a dull moment when my sweet little Chasey is around (I know what you are thinking, isn’t he too big to be called “Chasey?”  Well, depends on who you ask.  If you ask Cory, the answer is yes.  If you ask me the answer is no.  If you ask Chase what his name is, he refers to himself as “Chasey.”  So Chasey it is and Chasey it will stay until his boss feels that “Chasey Revermann” doesn't seem professional enough for his business cards.)

Last night at Cory’s softball game, Chase and I participated in our usual routine; park the car, find what field Cory is playing on, plop down our belongings onto the chilly metal bleachers and race to the concession stands.  We purchased many treats that I always think will last us the entire 7 inning game, but of course they only last through the top of the 1^st inning. (Is anyone impressed with my sports lingo? Because, frankly, I impressed myself a little bit there.)

I have been working on teaching Chase to cheer (well to cheer appropriately.)  All day we practiced Chase yelling, “Go, Daddy!”  We went through different scenarios when Chase should cheer and he was doing great.  Well, at least he did great at home.  When Cory got up to bat, I encouraged Chase to cheer for him, thinking Chase would yell, “Go, Daddy!” I was half right.  Chase took his ring pop out of his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Go Daddy, spank your butt. You like to do it!”  I should also add that Chase was spanking his own derriere as he was yelling this.  And I did the only thing I could think to do... I skedaddled over to the concession stands and bough another Snickers.  I then spent the rest of the game trying to distract my tot from cheering for his Daddy. 

Luckily, for me, Cory’s softball season is almost done.  Every game I pray that Cory's team will lose so I don’t have to live through yet another embarrassing moment.  Sadly, Cory’s team is pretty good. 

Walk of Shame

So this past weekend I participated in my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party as well as Cory attended the bachelor party.  And man, I am not as young as I used to be.  I can’t recover from a night out as well as I did in college.  (I mean I go to a late movie (9:15pm) nowadays and end up needing to take the next day off of work just to recoup).  There were two things that happened to me that night that made me realize that this mama doesn't have her groove back (or maybe never had it to begin with).

1. One of the activities for the festivity was to decorate can koozies to sell at the bars that evening.  So being me, I figured I must make this can koozie as inappropriate as possible but as I started my artwork I drew a blank.  I had to ask a much younger woman to show me how to draw male genitalia correctly.   I found many things to be wrong with that and ended up with what looked like a lopsided rocket ship.

2. The walk of shame.  (I know everyone knows what this is and has done it at least once (a weekend) while in college).  Well as it turns out, the walk of shame is much different as you get older.  A great friend of mine in college used to be my wing woman.  We would stay up late partying (I mean studying at the library-wink, wink) and then in the morning do the walk of shame to the college cafeteria where we would always find ourselves nursing hangovers with omelets and orange juice.  (On a side note: I totally understand how people gain the Freshman 15 in college).  But, as it turns out, those days are long gone.  On Sunday morning after the bachelorette party, I found myself walking to my car a block away from where I spent the night.  But this walk of shame was different and way less cool.  For one, my husband was with me. Secondly, I had an overnight bag packed (and had freshly brushed teeth) and lastly, we discussed rhubarb plants on the walk.  Man, I’m lame.

On a side note: It’s Monday evening and I’m still trying to recover.  I also discovered three shot glasses in my purse this morning that I must have "acquired" from a bar. 

Spencers

So, it’s pretty safe to say that my parenting choices can be questionable, at best.  And last night was no different.  My little family of three spent the evening at the mall (of course) and we had a mission.  I needed to pick up a few things for my sister-in-law’s bachelorette party.  We ended in up at Spencers.  This store has the ability to even make me blush but apparently my child enjoys its ambiance.

I’m sure you are wondering why I brought my child into a store like this.  And I have no real answer for you.  I’m still trying to figure that out as well.

Any who, while I was browsing the bachelorette section of the store (You know which section I’m talking about- the one with the shot glasses that light up and the necklaces covered with plastic replicas of male genitalia. Don’t act like you have never browsed in this section and don’t know what I’m talking about.).

While I was browsing, apparently, so was my three year old.  Chase was standing next to a young couple while he spotted a sucker.  A sucker of a- for lack of better words- man jewels.  Chase looks over at the couple and says, “I want that.  I want to lick it.”  The couple both looked at each other and burst out laughing.  All I could do was look at them and say, “I know, I know, this is inappropriate,” as I hung my head in shame and walked away (with a penis sucker in hand of course).

I completely understand bringing my three year old into this store may not have been a suitable parenting choice, but Chase really does enjoy suckers and his man jewels, so I could see why he wanted the tasty treat.  

On a side note, the store also sports disco lights and my child enjoys dancing under the lights yelling, “I like to dance like my mama.”  I am hoping he is talking about a different mama. 

Chase at Spencers begging for a giant drinking cup. 

Concessions Stand

This Holiday weekend we decided to go to Paul Bunyan Land.  We had discussed this mini-vacation with Chase for a week prior to get him excited.  And excited he was.  Well, he was excited when he kept telling everyone that he came into contact with that he was going to “Disney Land.”  He was always less excited when I corrected him and said we were actually going to Paul Bunyan Land.

Nonetheless, my parents, my sister, her two boys, Chase and I spent the entire day on Thursday going from one ride to the next.  The children had the time of their lives while I tried not to ralph on myself.  As it turns out, amusement parks aren't all that much fun as a parent.  I don’t know what made me more sick… the continuous spinning of the tilt-a-whirl or the fact that I was on a ferris wheel with two preschoolers and no seat belts.  Both made me queasy.  

After going on many rides, I saw a glimpse of heaven in the distance, well not exactly heaven, but close; a concessions stand.  Chase and I both share a love for snacks so it didn’t take much convincing to get him to head in the direction of the greasy, overpriced “snacky, snacks” (as Chase would call them).  Chase and I stood in line and discussed what snacks we were going to purchase.  All was going as planned until the cute blonde girl behind the concession counter asked my curly headed child what he would like.  I don’t know if Chase suddenly got confused or if he was trying to impress the leggy blonde, but he blurted out, “Miller Lite.”  The blonde behind the counter burst out laughing as I muttered (trying desperately to pretend like my three year old child didn't just try to purchase a beer), “He said lemonade. He wants lemonade.”  But she wasn't fooled and replied, “He totally just asked for beer.” 

Anyways, Chase ended up with a lemonade slush and popcorn and I ended up $7.50 poorer, with a tat bit less self-respect. (I know, I know. By now you would assume I wouldn't have any self-respect left. Don’t worry, at this rate, by next Friday there won’t be any left to loose.) 

My Child Fell Asleep With What?

Most children have a special toy or blanket that they snuggle up with to drift off to sleep every night.  My child, on the other hand, finds random things to sleep with.  When I go to check on my sleeping child at night, it’s not uncommon for me to find him snuggled up to an art project or a chocolate bunny, but last night’s find was –to say the least-interesting and quite alarming.

Guess what you think is on his headboard next to his Mickey Mouse Sippy cup...

Here is a close-up.  My child fell asleep with a personal breathalyzer on his headboard next to his "bedtime drink." I'm pretty sure I may be the worst parent ever- or best for making sure my child holds himself accountable. (No driving your Hot-wheels under the influence.) But I guess we won't find that out for years to come. :)

Uniquely Odd and Disturbing Art Project

Lately, my child has fallen in love with art projects.  Interestingly enough, but not surprising, his projects are turning out to be a little (How do I say this nicely without causing long term damage to his self-esteem?) uniquely odd and disturbing.  Don’t get me wrong, I want to encourage Chase’s artistic flare- but come on child, I can only pretend this is normal for so long. 

It all started this weekend when Cory’s mother gave Chase a haircut.  Most children would get their hair cut and move on with their day.  But not my child.  What did Chase want to do with his curly locks that covered the floor in heaps?  He wanted to save his golden locks for an art project (completely his idea). And no, I’m not joking.  He literally looked at the hair and thought to himself- Well this looks like a great start to an art project.

Seriously, an art project with your own hair?  And to top it off, he felt the need to add googly eyes to the hair.  Isn't this how most serial killers started out?  Making art projects with body parts? 

Chase entitled this project, “Little Pretend Chases.” (You can't make this stuff up.)   

My Purse

Today I decided to clean out my purse and I was horrified by the strange things I found in them.  It got me thinking about what my purse looks like now, as a mother, and what my purse used to look like when I wasn’t a mother.  Below are the differences (in poem form of course, because frankly, who can resist a poem?):

I once had a cute purse that I would clutch under my arm as I trotted into the bar,

Now, I have a mom purse flung over my shoulder so it won’t go far.

My purse was once filled with hair spray, make-up and lip gloss,

It is now filled with child friendly snacks like smashed Captain Crunch and a month old banana that I’m sure is full of moss.

My purse is now a desired toy and I just shake my head when I see it hanging from a tree,

 As I watch my nephews cheer with glee.

It is the keeper of quarters for every crane game,

And as I dig for quarters I wonder; will my purse ever be the same?

My purse has transformed not by choice, but because I do things I’m told.

And because of that, my purse is now a holder of all things desired by a three year old.

One day I hope my little guy falls in love with his very own murse,

So I can, once again, have back my purse.  

Side note: A “Murse” is a man-purse.

Happy Sunday- Enjoy your week!

Who Doesn't Love a Little Butt Grab?

On Friday, Cory’s sister Emily graduated from High School (Yay- shout out to Emily).  (No, I am not too old or pale skinned to do a shout out but I do feel that the older you get, the more sparingly you should use them). Chase really enjoyed Emily’s graduation ceremony; well let me rephrase that; he enjoyed the end when everyone was standing around congratulating the graduates. 

After the actual ceremony, we were walking around the crowded gymnasium trying to decipher our graduate from the other graduates in their caps and gowns (it’s interesting how much people look alike when they are all wearing the same thing).  I was holding Chase’s hand to make sure he wouldn't get lost in the crowd of people.  As we got half way through the crowded gymnasium I noticed that guys (of all ages) were turning around and looking down at my child with a confused look on their face, but I didn't think much of it (as this happens more than you would think) and continued on our way to find Emily.  We finally found Emily and after a while of taking pictures and chatting we left. 

This time Cory held Chase’s hand and I followed behind them.  A few seconds into the walk to the other end of the gymnasium to leave, I saw gentlemen, again, looking down at Chase as he passed.  This seemed strange so I took a second and observed as my child trotted through the sea of people and I noticed something- something disturbing, but hilarious.  

Every time Chase would pass a male (of any age, ranging from teens to grandpas) who was facing away from him, he would reach his little hand up to their derriere and give it a little pinch. Obviously the men would turn around to see who had just violated them. As they made eye contact with Chase he would just innocently smile at them and continue on his way.  Chase would then giggle to himself as he scanned the crowd for his next victim.  

Needless to say, we had to hold both of Chase’s hands as we walked out of the graduation ceremony to get him to stop assaulting bystanders.  As we made it to the exit door of the gymnasium Chase looked up at Cory and me and said, “Oh man; that was funny.”  All Cory and I could do was laugh, because Chase was right, it was funny.     

Who doesn't paint with gloves on?

Red-rum and Frozen

So, we spent this memorial day weekend at the cabin and it proved to be another entertaining weekend with my little love (not that I expected anything different from my main squeeze).  Cory and his dad made Chase a tire swing. Chase spent many hours on the swing flying through the air with a slight breeze whispering through his curly hair. Out of nowhere while Cory's mom was pushing Chase in the swing, Chase raised his pointer finger high in the air and curled it like a hook. He looked Cory's mom right in the eye and growled, "red-rum." Cory`s mom, Lynne, did this action back to chase thinking he said, "red worm." I'm sure you can imagine my embarrassment when I had to correct her and say, "No. Chase didn't say red worm. He was actually saying, "red-rum"- which is murder spelt backwards." Cute huh?  (I'm guessing only Norma Bates and I have had this parenting experience.) On a much more pleasant note, one afternoon while I slipped away to my bedroom at the cabin to try to catch a quick nap (wishful thinking) I heard a sweet little knock at my door followed by a familiar tune- adlibbed a bit to fit Chase's needs of course (any parent out there know what movie this is from?), "Mommy, do you want to build a snowman? Or ride our bikes out in the hall? I think some company is overdue." Followed by a squeaky little giggle (obviously Chase was marveling at his wonderful singing voice and his spot on performance).  After hearing this I couldn't help but think two things.... 1. My child is a theatrical wizard (naturally) and 2. When will Frozen finally leave our lives? (It's like the herpes of Disney movies. Just when you think it's gone, you suffer from another outbreak. If only there was a topical cream for this.) Any who, Happy Memorial Day everyone! Artist Chase, completing his morning drawing while still in his pjs.  Isn't that when your best work is done? Painting a bird house.  Doesn't he look like Van Gogh?

Chase: 3, My Self-Esteem: 0

With my passion of writing comes my passion to find meaning in things- even if it isn't always there.  Being a parent has taught me that sometimes, I just need to take things at face value. 

Exhibit A:  The other day while Chase and I were walking outside (holding hands of course, because frankly, he isn't going to want to hold my hand for much longer so I need to take advantage of it now.) Chase looks at me and says, “You can always be my lady.”  As I attempted to hold back tears of simple delight, I looked at my little guy and said, “I will always be your lady.”  Then, looking directly back at me he says, without even blinking, “Yeah, my lady who always eats my snacks.”  (Chase:1, My self-esteem: 0)

Exhibit B: Chase and I were in the living room playing blocks, because I mean what else would I be doing on a Friday night?  Out of nowhere Chase says, “Mommy, you are on my side.”  Thinking this was some sort of relationship epiphany, I replied, “I will always be on your side buddy, no matter what I will be by your side.  You can always count on me.”  He then looked at me and said, “No, you are on my side of the blocks. You are blocking the red block that’s mine.”  (Chase: 2, My self-esteem: (still) 0)

Exhibit C: The other morning I got sick and was throwing up.  (No. It was not morning sickness as my father so kindly asked.) I must have caught a flu bug.  Cory was on a guy’s trip so it was just me and Chase at home.  I was in the bathroom sitting on a children’s stool with my head in the toilet (I was a little happy that I had a child that required a stool to reach the faucet because the stool came in handy and actually made my puking experience a little bit better than simply sitting on the cold tile).  Chase had followed me into the bathroom.  He laid his tiny little hand on my back and patted it.  In between hurling into the toilet I thought, Wow, my child is so sweet.  He is trying to make me feel better.  Moments later Chase asked, “Mommy, if you are puking who is going to turn on Scooby Doo for me?”   

(Chase: 3, My self-esteem: 0)

My self-esteem had one hell of a week. 

My Uterus, A Sock and A Smack in the Face

Hello world.  Sorry I haven’t blogged in a while.  We have had many life changes in the last few weeks (and no, we are not having another child and the life changes are all positive ones- depending on how you look at them.  But from my view- very positive!).

But speaking of having another child; I had a very disturbing conversation with my nephew, Holden, on Mother’s Day (of all days).  My nephew told me that he thinks I should have another child; specifically a girl.  (It seems as though everyone has very strong opinions about how my uterus should be filled right now- even children. And I say- “Uterus, who needs that?  I’ll swap my uterus for an extra liver any day.”) But in Holden’s mind there would be one catch to adding this happy addition to our family (isn’t there always a catch?). 

Holden sat me down and said, “You should have a baby girl.  But it’s too bad you will have to sell Chase to another country.”  Horrified at this statement, but willing to encourage it, I asked him, “What Country would we sell him too?” (I had my fingers crossed that it wasn't somewhere sunny because, like me, Chase has been blessed with skin pigment similar to Casper- and we all know how expensive sun screen can be.)  Holden replied, “Oh probably just California.”  Luckily, he is just in kindergarten and has many, many years to brush up on his geography.    

       

On another note- This past week I have gotten to spend more time at home with Chase.  And you know what more time at home means; more nap times (cha-ching)!  While getting to be a part of more nap times, there are a couple of things I have learned you don't want to hear from your toddler as you are trying to blissfully drift off to sleep:

1. “Open your mouth and close your eyes and you will get a big surprise.” (I actually fell for this one- I know what you’re thinking.  Didn't you go to college?  Shouldn't you know to never ever close your eyes and open your mouth?  But I out of the corner of my eye I saw a Hershey’s chocolate bar sitting on the bed and thought that Chase would pop that into my mouth as my “big surprise.”  But no, I got a stinky sock balled up and shoved into my mouth.  Followed by the sound of a toddler cackling in the background.  (Please don’t ask why there was a chocolate bar in bed to begin with.)

2. “Want to see my magic trick?”  This turned out to not be a magic trick at all.  It turned out to be just a simple slap in the face- Literally; Chase smacked me in the face and said, “Tada.” (As if adding Tada at the end made it magical.)

Anyway, who cares? It was just a measly, moldy sock in the mouth and a slightly bruised face. But I got a three hour nap one day and to me that is a parenting win.  

Homeless Man In My Bed

First and foremost, I apologize for my blog laziness. I have had mono and have become a huge bump on a log. I’m starting to think the fabric of my couch is starting to stain my skin a delightful olive green color as a result of laying on it so much.  Although, who would have thought that having mono is the best way to get back down to your ideal weight?  Mono is doing wonders for my self-esteem. 

Any who...

This week I have learned something about my child; he is very passionate and loves to share.  Well not share his things of course, but my only offspring is certainly quick to offer up my belongings. 

The other day Chase and I were driving down the road to the grocery store.  There is a stoplight in our town that is on the way to the grocery store.  I usually try to avoid at all costs.  Not because I dislike stoplights, but because I dislike being stopped for a grueling 4 minutes in front of a man holding a sign that reads, “Homeless, anything helps.”  

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike people who are experiencing homelessness, I have worked at a homeless shelter for 7 years now, but I would rather the sign say, “Homeless, Can I get someone loan me $2 for a bus ticket to go to the local homeless shelter where I can get connected with a social worker there to help me find a job, save money and secure stable housing?”  But I guess this gentleman’s sign was too small for that.  

So, of course, as I pull up to the stoplight it turns red.  Not just regular red but a red that screams, “ha-ha” (of course in the voice of Nelson from the Simpsons) as I put on my brakes to come to a complete stop. 

All was going well until Chase locked eyes with the man holding the sign.  Of course this peaked his curiosities, which lead to him asking, “Mom, what does hims sign say?”  So I read the sign (or the interpretation that I thought Chase would understand), “I don’t have anywhere to live.  Can someone help me?”  Chase was quiet for a minute as if deciding where he stands on this matter. 

Chase then asked, “Can he live with his family?”  I thought this was a completely logical question and answered, “The sign doesn't talk about his family, but I would guess probably not.  Maybe his family lives far, far away.”  Chase paused for a few seconds then said, “He’s a boy.  He can sleep in your bed.  Boys can always sleep in your bed.”  (Um, come again?  It’s not like my bedroom has a revolving door, but apparently my child thinks that.)  Now this time, I paused for a second to process what he just said and try to piece together my dignity before I answered.  So I replied, “Chase, honey, only you and daddy can sleep in my bed.  We don’t let strangers sleep in our bed.  Please remember that when you are away at college.”  (Okay, so I totally could have left out the college part, but as a parent it’s my duty to throw my parenting plugs in whenever possible.  I saw an opportunity and took it). 

At this point Chase started to become upset and said (quite loudly while flailing his arms in the air), “We have to share our stuff.  We have lots to share.”  (Well, the kid had a point and I have been trying to stress sharing for the last few weeks and I didn't want to be a hypocrite, so the homeless gentleman got in our car and we headed home so I could share my bed.  Haha just kidding.  Do you think I’m that crazy?). 

Trying to get Chase off of the topic of mom and bed sharing, I asked him if we should buy the homeless gentleman some food.  Chase asked, “Where is he going to eat?  We have another chair at our table in the kitchen by Daddy’s spot.” (This is the one time I’m regretting not having a second child to fill that empty seat in the kitchen).  I replied (trying everything I could to distract my child from the fact that he so desperately wants this homeless man to come to our house), “What food should we buy the man at the grocery story?”  Chase replies, in typical three year old fashion, “Well, not the cookies with sprinkles I want.”  (And there it is ,back to reality).

As we passed the corner on our way home from the grocery store, where the homeless man was previously standing, he was no longer there.  I wonder if another 3 year old convinced his mother to bring the gentleman home.

Anatomy 101

Well, the time has come.  I have been dreading this for years, but in no way did I expect it to come this quickly and without warning… 

Last week while Chase and I were in the bathtub, Chased asked where my “pee-pee” was.  (I was simply blind-sided. I always knew the conversation would come up eventually but I thought I would at least have had 2 more years to prepare my speech or find an appropriate YouTube video to have him watch that would alleviate any responsibility that I have regarding this topic.) In a panicked state I blurted out the first thing that came to mind (which actually was correct), “Mommy doesn’t have a penis like you.”  And of course Chase had another question, “Then what do you have?”  So, I told him the anatomically correct parts that allow society (and medical experts) to decipher between a male and female.  (I have never been one to hide things from my child and I am very honest with him, but I do have to say, I cringed after saying, “Vagina” out loud to my three year old child.  Although it wasn’t intended to sound dirty, it did send a chill down my spine.)

A few seconds after Chase and I finished our conversation (right when I was patting myself on the back for thinking quickly on my feet), I heard Cory pipe in from outside the bathroom door (apparently he was listening to the entire anatomy lesson), “I'm glad I wasn't part of that conversation.” 

So, Chase let this conversation settle in his brain for a few days.  Until...

Last Friday, my Mom was over and her and Chase were having an afternoon snack at the table.  Chase looked at her and said, “Boys have a penis and girls have a gina.”  My mom, a little taken back by the blunt statement said, “You are right.”  My mom looked at me with big eyes, hoping I would interject into the conversation, but I did what any parent would do; I shrugged my shoulders to indicate she was on her own.  After all, I was on my own with round one of our conversation. 

But of course my chatty Chasey couldn’t just leave the conversation at that (like me, he always has follow-up questions- I must have passed down my journalistic gene).  He looked, ever so somberly at his Grandmother and asked, “Can you take off your clothes so I can see your gina?”  This is when I exited the room so I could laugh out loud.

Chase totally had a legitimate question but he shouldn’t get into the habit of asking others to see their “private areas.”

(Side note: My mother didn’t agree to Chase's request.)  J

I Swear- At Home, It Isn't Creepy

Have you ever thought that you are turning your child into a creep? Well, this weekend I had an epiphany.... a parenting epiphany. (Of course I would never intentionally turn my child into a creeper, but I think it may have happened, on pure accident.) 

Chase and I often play a game we have named, "Paddle butt." (Well, I guess now when I say it out loud it sounds a bit creepy already).  This game consists of me pretending to "paddle" Chase's butt when he is walking and then he starts running to get away from the "paddle" (Side note: To anyone associated with Child Protective Services: Despite the misleading name, this doesn't actually inflict any pain and I don't use an actual paddle).  We may yell, "Paddle Butt," every now and then while we do this activity.  Well, at home, this game isn't alarming.  But in public (as it turns out) it sounds tremendously creepy.  Here is how I know that.....

The other day, we were standing in line at a local restaurant waiting to place our order when out of no where, Chase starts paddling my butt with all of his might (he even added in some grunting sounds to prove that he is strong).  I quickly turned around and asked him to stop as people were beginning to notice my child touching my derriere.  Then chase asked, completely innocently, in front of everyone, "Why? You like when I do this at home in my bedroom."  (Chase had a totally legit question, but I didn't want the strangers to know that we play games involving others touching our butts at home. (Okay, again that sounds a tad creepy.)

(Insert the sound of my facing turning beat red- if there is a sound for that.)

I literally felt the teller judging me (and I'm pretty sure I saw him fumbling to text social services to report me) with his disapproving eyes and greasy hair (okay, I don't remember for a fact that he was greasy, but to make me feel a tad bit better I am believing that he was).

I turned to Cory (who was clearly pretending he wasn't associated with us) and all I could mutter out was, "I swear, it isn't that creepy at home."  I am very surprised that we are still aloud to eat anywhere in St. Cloud (Although, I'm pretty sure I can't come within 10 yards of any elementary schools anymore). 

I guess now that Chase is getting older, I need to revisit the games we used to play, mainly for the fact that he doesn't quite understand yet what is appropriate to say or do in public (for instance, it's not appropriate to pick both of your nostrils so deep in public that you get two nose bleeds- learned that one the hard (and gross) way.  I wonder at what age he will learn that the most appropriate place to pick your nose at is clearly in your car at a stoplight.)

I don't know about you, but when I think of my great parenting skills I always think......."Nailed it!"