Walk of Shame- Church Style

As I walked out of church today looking at my one year old strut through the parking lot in his Mickey-Mouse high tops while holding a box of raisins and his sloth stuffed animal, I realized that my experience with walks of shame hit an all-time low today and there is not a damn thing I can do to change it… 

I took my 6 year old and 1 year old to church this morning.  Taking two children out anywhere is stressful enough, but taking them to church (a quiet, soothing environment) is stressful on a whole different level.  When we arrived, my mom was waiting for us by the front door and we went and found a seat right by one of my mom’s friends that we have known for years.  (And as it turns out, Ryder is obsessed with my mom’s friend, Shelly.) So we sit. And the priest says, “Let’s all start by watching this video.”  The first thought in my head was “sh*t”. It’s hard enough to get my kids to sit through mass, but adding a video before the hour long mass is almost making my parenting mission impossible.  I can’t even tell you what was on the video because I was too busy picking up raisins off of the floor and putting a necklace on a sloth (don’t ask- I don’t have a good answer). 

Any who, we made it through the video. But the singing- the singing killed me.  Ryder decided that singing was fun. So fun, actually, that he needed to yell, hallelujah at the top of his lungs after the music stopped because he has found a love of his echoing voice during periods of silence. You know who doesn’t love his echoing voice during quiet periods?  The person who is supposed to be keeping him quiet during this time.

I finally got Ryder quiet for 30 seconds until he remembered that Shelly was sitting down the pew from us.  He then decided to repeatedly ask “Where Shelly?” Over and over and over until the entire congregation was wondering where Shelly was. 

At some point Ryder dropped a handful of raisins on the seat in front of us while everyone was standing and I had to quickly pick them up before the parishioner in front of us plopped down onto a pile of wet, sticky, already sucked on raisins.  After those raisins were consumed, we had ran through all of our activities and snacks and I was sweating from embarrassment.  I grabbed our coats and hightailed it out of there.  I got into my car and looked at the clock.  We had lasted 36 minutes in church.  Quite possibly the longest 36 minutes of my life.  As I turned my head to back out of our parking spot, I made eye contact with Ryder who was raising his hands in the air and yelled, "Hallelujah" as if praising the fact that we were out of church.             

The Day I Accidentally Bought My Child A Porno

Okay, so it’s not like I went out to an adult store and picked out a porno for my kid.  It was completely and utterly an accident.  Here is what happened….

So on Saturday, Chase, Ry and I went to Goodwill shopping, in an attempt to stay out of the house when Cory was working on some home-improvement projects.  So into Goodwill we walk.  Chase is a sucker for a good thrift store- mainly because he can get a ton of crap with his $2 he manages to find searching through my purse on the way to the store and claims he “earns” it.  And frankly, I'm also too excited to shop for good deals and give in. Every. Single. Time.

Anyways, we get to the DVD aisle.  Chase browses through a few cartoons and quickly passes them up.  He is more of an animal documentary kind of kid these days.  I am watching him as he sees a movie with a giant fish on it that peeks his interest.  He looks at me and asks what the title is.  I respond, “Mega Piranha.” I skim the cover and it looks similar to “Sharknado” but for piranhas and I non-reluctantly agree to this purchase.

Fast-forward to Sunday morning (you know, the day dedicated to God) at 8am.  Chase asks to watch the movie while I am getting Ryder ready for the day.  Not more than 3 minutes into the movie and I hear Cory yell to me in a surprised tone, “What the hell kind of movie did you buy him?” And sure enough, the first scene is a boat full of well endowed, topless women.  I hear Chase mumble to himself, “I like this movie.”  Cory gets up, not to quickly, and turns it off. 

Fast forward to a one year old’s birthday party we were at a few hours later.  Cory and I were discussing our stellar parenting skills and the Mega Piranha movie and without skipping a beat, Chase walks into the room and nonchalantly says, “Boobs.”

Parenting.  Nailed it. 

3 Chickens, 1 Dog and a Whole Lot of Dysfunction

Wowza; has life gotten away from me this summer.  This has been a season of change for my family between moving, unpacking, work and a new school- we have hit our all-time high on the busy meter. And we all know how well I do with change.  (Little fun fact about me- when I was little, my parents bought a new couch.  I was so upset about getting rid of said couch that my parents had to move it out of the house in stages.  I shit you not, first from the living room to the dining room, then to the porch and then to the yard.  And at each station, I would sit on it and cry.  Wow- attachment much?  Looking back- this should have been an indicator to sign me up for therapy.  I guess we missed the early boat on that one.)

Any who- we have some introductions to do from this summer:

We now have three chickens named Prime, Delta and Other Chicken. (Two were named after dinosaurs in a Jurassic Park movie and the other one was named out of Chase’s pure laziness. That chicken must be the middle child.)

               Ya know, now that we live in the semi-country we can welcome farm animals into our family (luckily for Cory, I am allergic to most farm animals so I think the chickens will be the extent of our farm).  Every day we get fresh eggs.  Usually blue/greenish eggs and some brown.  The boys love to snatch them from the coop and bring them to the house to get washed and then to sit in our fridge until we run out of Doritos and corn dogs and have no other choice than to eat Revermann farm-fresh eggs.

Our first night with the chickens was a little traumatic- Prime (that asshole) got out of the box we brought it home in.  We spent the next hour chasing a frantic chicken around a yard full of pine trees with a snow fence and a fishing net.  I’m not going to give myself props by letting you know that I’m the one who ended up catching the chicken, but if you are wondering- Cory wasn’t the one who caught it.  So anyways, our new neighbors think we are straight up hillbillies who should be medicated- heavily medicated.  

Lastly, Trixie.

               Trixie is our geriatric dog that we are fostering (to adopt) from the Tri-County Humane Society.  She is 10.  I’m a wiz with math so I did the numbers for you; she is 70 in dog years.  Why didn’t we get a new puppy, you ask?  Because nothing is sweeter than a grandma dog who already loves children (even toddlers who ride her), “snores” even when she is awake (try explaining an old, wheezing dog to your 6 year old) and is semi-house broken. (Cory, I threw in the semi-house broken part for you because you know I like to give her the benefit of the doubt and insist that our toddler peed on the carpet and not my sweet grandma dog- who probably needs Depends.)  On a side note- Chase will not let me refer to Trixie as a “grandma dog” but instead likes to call her a “teenage dog.”  Whatever dude, when she turns grey next week and starts knitting you socks, I will force you to call her a grandma dog.

On a side note: One day Trixie decided to break into the chicken coop and attacked our chickens.  Delta and Other Chicken ended up missing a few feathers, but I think it was Chase that was traumatized from the situation.  He ran into the house yelling to Cory that, “Trixie is killing our chickens.”  Cory ended up saving the chickens and no one sustained any serious injuries, but Chase spent the next week randomly telling Trixie, “We don’t kill our family.”  I hope he keeps this in mind when he is having urges to skin me.

So here we sit, at the end of our first summer in the country, with 4 new family members.  I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A Pokemon Loving, Grudge Holder

Chase, Chase, Chase.  What else can I say about this kid?  He is a fantastic, Pokémon loving, jungle gym climbing, grudge holder.  Yes, I did say grudge holder.  This kiddo can hold a grudge like no other.  But I can’t say that he didn’t get this from me. Because, sadly, I think I’m the culprit of this character flaw (or maybe character strength?  It’s still too early in the game to tell).

On a side note- I kid you not, I have not one- but two arch enemies.  But that’s a story for another day.

So here is a prime example of how my nugget holds grudges…

The other night Chase wasn’t quite ready for bedtime, but Cory was ready for Chase to go to bed, so he told our little curly-headed child to head to his bed.  Shortly after said child retreated unhappily to his room, I went to tuck Chase in when he announced his great plan, “Let’s get a step-dad.”  After a second I stopped my laughter and said, “You know bud, you only get one dad.”  Of course, my witty child provided me with examples of other people who have a step-dad and proceeded to tell me how lucky those individuals are.  He ended the conversation with, “Getting a step-dad would be the best Christmas present ever.”   

Chase laid his curls on his pillow for about 2.35 minutes when I heard his footsteps climbing down from the ladder on his bed. Within seconds he was standing in front of me with a heart-shaped gem he found somewhere in his room.  He said, “Here, this is your present.  It’s a heart because I love you.  Do you want to know what present I would give Dad?”  I reluctantly said, “Yes.”  He then responded by saying, “A picture of my new Step-Dad.” 

He then skipped joyfully to his room while telling me that he is going to keep his eyes peeled for a step-dad.

The Moral of the story is two-fold:

1. My child can hold a grudge and replace anyone in a heartbeat.

2. Don’t be a Rockstar Dad around Chase or he will recruit you for himself.

On a side note: Chase and Cory both fell asleep snuggled up in Chase’s bed- so I’m pretty sure they reconciled. 

A Bunny's Butt and String Cheese

So, we all know that my family is colorful. Yeah, colorful.  Because that sounds better than bat-sh*t crazy.  And why would any holiday be any different?

So for Easter, we decided to do something different and we took a trolley ride with my sister, her husband-Eric, her two boys and my crew, to a cute little Easter farm fully equipped with a petting zoo and an Easter egg hunt.  (Little fun fact about me- I’m allergic to goats.  I know, right- strange.  Who’s allergic to goats?  Well, me and my Dad.)

Our trolley ride started off by the bigger boys being goofy, and loud.  My sister was sitting across the aisle from Chase and playfully did the famous “I’m watching you” motion with her two fingers being extended from her eyes, pointing in Chase’s direction.  Chase looked at her, stuck his thumb in the air and pointed his pointer finger at her- in true gun fashion- and in a monotoned voice said, “Boom.”  And with that the trolley headed off. 

To add extra excitement to the trolley ride, the Easter Bunny was a passenger.  The Easter Bunny walked down the trolley aisle high-5ing all of the kids.  Well, except one kid.  You know, it’s easy to miss the 1 year old jumping out of his seat, waving and uncontrollably repeating the word “hi” over and over and over at the top of his squeaky little lungs.  As the Easter bunny walked past my littlest nugget, Chase instructed Ryder to “give the Easter Bunny’s butt a high-5.” 

Apparently, Ryder follows directions like a champ because he leaned over and smacked that bunny right in the butt.  And then of course, he turned around, looked at me with a gigantic grin and busted out laughing.  He then looked over at Chase for his approval, in which Chase greeting him with a thumbs-up.  This is the exact moment that I lounged back in my seat and thought, “f*ck- I am raising two “Chases.” The original and his apprentice.    

We get to the farm and go about our business.  The kiddos spent time hunting for colorful eggs, petting an array of farm animals, and feeding carrots to horses.  As we were getting ready to leave and counting our kids to make sure we didn’t leave any behind (although, in hindsight, leaving 1 or 2 behind wouldn’t have been the end of the world) we noticed we were missing one.  The biggest one- Holden.  And coincidentally, we see a line of 8 adults lined up standing outside of the one, single port-a-potty in the entire farm.  We wait for a few minutes and finally Eric went to check and see if Holden was still alive in there.  Holden said he would be out shortly.  And he was.  He strutted out moments later eating string cheese. #WTF 

  

But after all of this excitement, I know Chase really appreciated all of his Easter activities.  I know this because he ended the day by asking, “When am I going to get my real Easter basket that doesn’t have stupid stuff in it?” Forehead smack. (Insert the sound of me reevaluating all of my previous parenting choices- I'm pretty sure that is the same sound as a beer opening.) 

Enjoying our trolley ride.

Watching You Sleep

Chase and I definitely do our best communicating in the car. You know, when we both have no other options than to listen to the other person.  Our discussion on our way home from a good old Catholic fish fry was disturbing.  And when I say “disturbing” I mean, skin crawlingly disturbing. 

So here we were, riding along in our automobile (try and read the last five words again without singing it- I challenge you), and out of nowhere Chase says, “So, you know how I watch you all of the time when you sleep?” My first thought was, “Um, oh, F-no I didn’t know you watched me when I sleep, you creepy, creepy little man.”  But I refrained myself because I was a tad interested to see what this question would lead into and to know how well I need to start locking my bedroom door.  Would I need a simple lock? A deadbolt? Both? So I muttered out, “No, I didn’t know that.”  He shrugged his tiny, bony shoulders as if it weren’t relevant and continued, “Well, I do.  I think the next time I watch you, I will grab Dad’s phone and record a video of you sleeping so I can watch it later and say, “You’re so pretty, you’re so pretty.”

Huh.  I’m pretty sure somehow something went seriously wrong with my parenting and I’m raising a teeny, tiny, serial killer.  But in all reality, who wouldn’t find a cute, curly, mop-headed, sweater-vest wearing serial killer at least a little charming? Let’s hope in 30 years, a jury of 12 find him charming.     

But just for my own enjoyment, I said, out loud to Chase, “Do I have to worry about you killing me in my sleep and then using my skin to make yourself a dress?”  I was totally thinking this comment would go over little Norman Bates’ head, but to my surprise he matter-of-factly replied, without skipping a beat, “Well, I wouldn’t make a dress.  Maybe a sweater.  It would be soft and I could wear it to church.”

I then had to switch the subject so I would eventually be able to fall asleep that night.

On a positive note: my take-a-ways from this conversation were as follows:

-Chase thinks I’m pretty (totally a win).

-Chase could become a fashion designer, make a ton of money and support me.  And, ya know, pay for my spendy skin grafts.

-Also, my child is a devout Catholic. 

Politics From A Child

Politics from a child…

Children have heard a lot about politics in the last year between learning about it at school, hearing it discussed in homes, on the news, in grocery store check-out lines, on the radio- pretty much anywhere, and my child is not exempt from hearing these discussions.  But, looking back, I have never asked my child what his views were.  Afterall, he was 5 when the last elections took place.

On Saturday, Chase and I went to Coborn's to pick out his Birthday breakfast.  (Yes, my child gets to pick out anything at the grocery store on the morning of his birthday to eat for breakfast.  He chose chocolate donuts, cupcakes, and orange tic-tacs.  A strange combination- just like him.) 

Any who, as we were walking out of the grocery store Chase was trying to open his container of tic-tacs not paying attention and he walked directly into the sliding glass doors.  And I don’t mean he tapped into it.  He smacked the glass, hard.  Like there were grease marks from his face on the glass (Side note: my child may be in need of “hygiene night” according to his body outline that was smeared onto the glass).  

As my child pried himself off of the glass door, he took a step back, shook his head, looked me directly in the eyes and said, “Wow, that must be how Trump feels. You know, because he’s a loser.”

And with that, I found out which political party my child sides with.      

The Zombie Attack

So there have been some exciting things happening in the Revermann household. 

Just Kidding.

There has been pretty much only a lot of watching Netflix going on here.  Well, you know, not so much for me but for Cory.  Do you want to know how I can tell that he has been watching too much?  Well, let me tell you a little tale about a man with too much time on his hands…

Once upon a time there was a dad.  A dad who liked to stay up late and watch Netflix.  Not one, not two, but seven nights a week.  And this dad, he has been watching a show called “The Walking Dead” for a few weeks now.  I believe he is currently on season 468.  Well, this show is about Zombies.  This dad’s wife didn’t know anything about The Walking Dead until one night.  One night when their 5 year old child crawled into their bed at midnight.  The child crawled ontop of the covers inbetween his parents.  Apparently this alarmed the dad.  He yelled, “Don’t trap me under the blankets.  If I’m trapped I won’t be able to get away from the zombies.”  The 5 year old looked at his, now wide awake, mother horrified and the mother didn’t know what the heck just happened so she simply whispered, “Daddy is just kidding. I’ll help you get under the covers so we don’t trap Dad,” and went back to sleep.

Why the h*ll is this my life and how did I get here? 

On a completely unrelated note: Our joyful Ryder turns one next week! You know what that means?  We have one more week to take his 11 month pictures.  (I can’t decide if I feel like I am a horrible mother to a second child, or a totally chill (yeah, chill- not lazy) mother to a second child.)  Either way, I’m sure Ryder’s 11 month pictures and first birthday pictures will be taken minutes apart.