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.