"What. The. Actual. F"

It is no secret that my Ryder Jaymeson is hard on me.  It's like he was born to keep my self-esteem in check.  Like this kid looks for reasons to be upset with me.  Daily, he scans the garbage can to see if he can sniff out any candy wrappers that may show that I have broken my Lenten challenge to refrain from chocolate, just so he can shame me.  Which in reality, I just gave up eating chocolate in front of my children for 40 days.  But it's a little hurtful that Ryder is expecting me to fail and is simply waiting for the proof to appear.  

Well, this morning at 6am after I had already fed Ryder, showered him, dyed his hair blue, hand-washed his clothes from yesterday so he can re-wear his favorite shirt again today and packed his cold lunch, I was cleaning out his backpack only to stumble upon an art project.  Ryder must have been instructed to write about and draw someone who is 'worth more than gold' in honor of St. Patrick's Day.  I started admiring the project until I saw the drawing and noticed that the drawing didn't look like me. The cute little character Ryder drew didn't have any hair.  Then I started reading what he wrote and let out a loud, "What. The. Actual. F*ck." 

The project featured Cory.  Yes, you read that correctly....CORY.  To be more exact the project featured Cory helping Ryder complete his homework.  Excuse me? What? I'm not even sure Cory knows our kids have backpacks yet alone homework.   

I was also annoyed to see the sun shining in the background of the picture through what appeared to be our kitchen window.  Because, let's be honest, if we were being realistic, it should have shown an icy snowstorm from when hell froze over.  Because that is when Cory would be helping Ryder with his homework. 

There's nothing like an emotional kick in the crotch before the sun comes up to make you really optimistic about your day.

"My Dad is worth more than gold. He helps me with my homework." 

Little Feminists, Consent, Jack Daniels

I am trying so hard to do my part to raise two little feminists that will- hopefully- eventually turn into two grown-up feminists who will support others around them.  But I think sometimes my teachings may have missed the mark...  

Ryder has started this new thing where he likes to flash his man jewels at unsuspecting individuals. Like all of the time. And he thinks it is the funniest thing in the world.  I can't even count how many penises I see in one single day.  Probably more than a urologist and I can't even bill insurance for it.  

So the other day I had a conversation with my little tot about consent.  Well a kid's version of the conversation.  I told him that it is not appropriate to show someone your underwear area if they do not ask to see it and it's not okay to kiss someone if they do not want to be kissed.  Of course he was a little shocked to learn that not everyone wants to see his beloved penis.  You know, because he loves it so much.   

There are times in parenting when I look back on a teachable moment and think, You know what? I nailed this conversation. I think I really got through to him. And after that conversation I was feeling really upbeat about my parenting skills.  But apparently I jumped the gun on this one.  A few minutes later, I walked out of the laundry room minding my own business, reflecting on my stellar parenting, trying to ponder if there has ever been a better parent that has walked this earth, when all of a sudden a little Ryder jumps out in front of me with his pants and underwear around his knees, dangling his man jewels while yelling, "Consent!"   

Me: "That's not how consent works."

Ryder while pulling his truck underwear up while simultaneously rolling his eyes : "I think you're wrong."

But I thought I still had some hope for the big kid... 

Chase has recently learned that he will need to get a tooth pulled. He didn't quite understand in the dentist's office what would happen so on the way home we discussed it.  

Me: "The dentist said that your tooth needs to come out."

Chase:  "No, it doesn't. It will stay in my mouth."   

Me: "I know it's probably not what you want but there isn't a choice.  If the tooth stays in your mouth it could cause an infection."

Chase: "So what? Now you don't believe in my body my choice?"

Me: "It doesn't work like that."

This is what Ryder looks like when he is disappointed in me for only giving him "One finger" of Pepsi, when he clearly wanted 2.  Who are you kid? Jack Daniels?

'Shrooms, Porn Voice

 Parenting Ryder is 10% disciplining him and 90% trying not to laugh at something we should be disciplining him for. 

Ryder puts on a Luigi costume from the Nintendo video game and lunges towards me as if he’s flying in the video game and asks me, “Want to try 'shrooms?” 

I reply, “I don't think Luigi runs around asking people to try 'shrooms.” 

Cory quietly whispers to me, "Did our 5 year old just ask you to try 'shrooms?"

Me: "I'm going to walk away before I start laughing and pretend like this conversation didn't happen."

Cory: "Fair."

On another note, we went to the park this past weekend with my parents.  Ryder was being his typical, naturally loud self on top of the jungle gym just babbling away to no one in particular.  I saw my mom step away for a second to take a phone call and all I heard was, “Hi.” Followed by a pause.  Then, “Yeah, that’s just Ryder using his porn voice again.” And then she continued on with her conversation as if it is normal that Ryder has a porn voice.  

And it was true.  So true.  Ryder does have a porn voice. Sometimes he talks in this voice that sounds dirty, especially coming out of his little baby toothed mouth. He doesn’t know why we hate when he uses that voice.  But of course, he uses it all of the time because he knows we hate it.     

You know how you always see those Facebook posts that tell you how to come up with your porn name?  Like you add your first pet's name and the street you grew up on to come up with this porn/stripper name. Well, according to those, Ryder's porn name would be... just kidding.  Even I have some discretion. I'm not going to give my child a porn name.  But for those curious (and I'm sure you are), mine would be Cocoa Marshall. 

Any who, we've almost made it to Friday my friends.  

Doctor's Office, 4-Square, Doritos

Last week, Chase had a well-child check at the doctor’s office. I decided that Chase should be the one to answer questions from the doctor and I would just help answer any questions if he needed assistance, as a way to help him take control over his own appointments and learn to communicate with health professionals. As it turns out, I make poor choices. 

Doctor: “Is your mother healthy?”
Chase: “Yes.” 

Doctor: “Is your Dad healthy?” 

Chase: “No.” 

Doctor: “What’s wrong with him?” 

Chase: “He eats so much junk food. He eats too many Doritos.” 

Doctor trying to control her laughter: “Does he at least share with you?” 

Chase rolling his eyes: “Not usually.” 

 ****** 

Doctor: “What do you like to do for fun?” 

Chase: “Play 4-square.” 

Doctor: “That is fun. Who do you like to play with?” 

Chase: “I like to play with my Mom and Grandma Klein because it’s usually an easy win.” 

 ****** 

Doctor (while doing, what I’m assuming to be, a mental health screening): “Is there anything concerning you in your life?” 

Chase quickly and with confidence jumps to the edge of his chair: “Yes, I have a little brother.” 

Me with my facing turning red *quickly interjects*: “I don’t think now is the appropriate time to air your grievances about having a little brother.” 

Doctor: “These appointments are fun.”

Happy 12th Anniversary- What I appreciate about Cory!

It's our Anniversary! Who would have thought that two college drunks would make it to 12 years? From the moment my eyes landed upon the cute blonde headed guy who helped me find a toilet to puke in at a college party, I knew you were a keeper.  (Ok, well my eyes were a little glossy due to the booze and my judgement may have been a little questionable at the moment, but I still knew you were cute and a keeper.)   

There are so many things that I appreciate about Cory...

I appreciate that Cory understands that my work life has to make my soul happy and has always been supportive of that. (Except for that one time I quit that one job on the spot and called Cory after to tell him.  Cory, have you fully forgiven me for that yet?)  

I appreciate that Cory tries all of the meals that I make.  Even the stupid things. Like really stupid things like black bean brownies. And I appreciate how nicely he told me that I “never need to eat salmon again” as a hint for me to stop making it for every meal.   

I appreciate that Cory is adaptable.  For instance, Cory hates that I take my shoes off as soon as I get in the car and he always ends up waiting for me to put my shoes on when we are already at our destination.  Now (after 12 years) he has adapted to this cute quark of mine and gives me a 5 minute warning before we reach a destination so I can start finding my shoes and putting them on so he doesn't have to wait for me.  

I also appreciate that Cory is always down for a good time.  Remember “game night” at our house?  Don’t worry, I won’t publicly share with the world what a great time Cory had.  And what a great time our toilet had.   

But mostly, what I appreciate about Cory, is that he doesn't want to have any more kids. 😊  

But for real.  I do think we are slowly getting our shit together. And we are doing it as a team. #TeamKleinermann. 

70% Dead, Fort, Rappin' Ry

I get it.  Parenting isn’t always glamorous.  And kids are great at keeping your ego down.  Like way down.  Like if I were looking at a puddle of quicksand, my self-esteem would have been swallowed up by the quicksand and my self-esteem would just be yelling “help” until it is finally sucked all the way under the sand.  Never to be heard from again.  Also, elementary-aged Jayme thought that quicksand would play a larger role in her everyday life.  Who would have known that it would play no role in my life, other than to swallow up my self-esteem.     

At the end of the school year, Chase got to invite his family into his school for a tour and to show us all of his art projects he had made throughout the year.  Chase goes to the same school that I went to in elementary school. I was feeling a bit nostalgic as we reached the landing of the stairs in-between the top floor of the school and the main level.  I stopped there and told Chase that when I was in his school, we got to create a giant box fort on the landing. We all got to work together to build it, color it and then read in it during reading time.  Chase waited patiently until I was done with my story and replied matter-of-factually, “You should have spent more time in math class and less time in the fort.”     

Also, the other morning as I was driving Chase to my parent’s house to play, I was yawning.  A lot.  I’m pretty sure I was so tired that my yawn was yawning.  Chase asked me if grown-up are always tired.  And I told him yes.  I believe my exact quote was, “Being an adult just means that you get tired, then more tired, and then more tired until you eventually die.”  Then Chase responded, “On a death scale, you must already be a 7/10.”  Then I replied with a quiet, “Probably.” And that was the whole conversation.  My child thinks I am already 70% dead.  I must really be looking on-fleek these days. (Yes, I did have to look up how to spell fleek to make sure I was spelling the new, hip word correctly. Also, is hip still a hip word to use?) 

So, in other words, parenting has been pretty soul crushing for me recently.  

Introducing Rappin' Ry sporting his favorite outfit.  Yes, he is wearing a hat that has the name "Austin" written on the inside bill.  And yes, he is wearing jeans that he bedazzled. (Thanks, Grandma Jan. Cory was happy to see you helped Ryder bedazzle.)

Puke, Depantsing, Train Wreck

While the years pass, my ability to not get sick in the car is fleeting away.  Apparently, so has my family’s ability to feel compassion towards me.

Me: *Motions to Cory to pull over quickly and I puke out the car door.*

Ryder: (as he’s watching me still gag after pulling away from the side of the road):  “Mom, do you know what I do when I have to puke?  I tell myself not to puke and I just don’t.”

Me *rolls eyes*: “Ok, I will try that next time.”

Five minutes later we get to our destination and I get out of the car and start puking again.  I look up with my tear filled eyes while trying to kick snow over my pile of puke only to see Ryder, hands on his hips, tapping his foot in the snow and he says, “You didn’t listen to me,” and then walks away in the other direction as if I have somehow disappointed him.

 

On another note, I picked Ryder up from Preschool the other day.  He climbed in the car and said, “Something terrible happened to me today.  My diamonds depantsed me.  Right in front of my friends.”

Yup, my 5 year old had so many heavy “diamonds” in his back pocket that his pants slid right off of his butt.    

Cory and I laughed about this for a good 2 days.

I took this picture last night of Ryder and me.  This picture really illustrates what it feels like to be a parent. At the end of the day, I look (and feel) like a train wreck while the actual train wreck sleeps blissfully on top of me trying to smother any last surviving breath out of me before we get up and do it all again.