"You're my chick"

So at lunch today, the three of us were having a discussion about a friend.  Said friend, (who will remain anonymous) doesn't have a girlfriend  at the moment.  Michael nonchalantly wondered out loud, "who can we set him up with."

Adam, munching on his fries looks at me across the table and exclaims, "Mommy can be (( ))'s chick!"

Michael looks over at Adam and says, "No, mommy is my chick!"

Adam very firmly let it be known that, no, "Mommy is MY chick! You're my chick mommy!"

Yes I am...lol.

"Polar Punch"

The annual New Years Day Polar Plunge.  An unusual (and very brisk) way to ring in the new year and a rite of passage for many a Seattle-ite. (And depending on your heart, probably a passage out of this life and into the next!)

Last year, a few of us brave (or um, not so smart?) souls planned on doing it, but alas, missed out because of well, it was New Years Eve, and we were breaking in our new "Bigfoot Lounge" in the basement. Priorities, you know?

But this coming New Years, my friend Stephanie and I along in our tutu's, wands, halo and horns will be making the plunge, or as Adam likes to call it, the "polar punch."   He informed me that he wanted to jump the "punch" with us.  This is a child who, if the shower turns mildly hot down from "holy hell it's scortching", will resonate a two alarm siren from his piehole.  The same child who wails at the first breath of warm wind in his face.  A child who, when visiting family and friends in California in one hundred degree weather, will not cool down in the pool, but cool down in a heated jacuzzi.   And he wants to jump into ice cold water while no doubt the weather that day will probably be comparable to the Artic Tundra?

He's right about one thing though; the name probably should be changed to "polar punch", because I anticipate it's going to feel like a punch in the gut once my body is submerged!  After the weather this morning and the frost on the cars, I thought to myself "what the bleep am I going to get myself into?"  And it's going to get colder!

(Hey Stef, I've put it out there to the universe, there's no turning back now!!!)



no children were harmed in the writing of this blog...

"Eenie Meenie" Adam version

Eenie meenie miney moe,

touch a tiger by the toe,

if something happens he pays a dollar

it's a cash money thing....

"Grandma Parts"

The following is an excerpt from a conversation the other day:

Adam: Mommy are you a boy or a girl?

Me:  I'm a girl.

Adam:  Why?

Michael:  (after a slight pause)  Mommy has girl parts.

Adam:  Is grandma a boy or a girl?

Michael: Grandma is a girl.

Adam: NO SHE ISN'T!

Michael/Me:  Yes she is. She has girl parts too.

Adam:  No she doesn't, she has grandma parts!

and scene....

"Carlos"

I've mentioned before that Adam is completely, absolutely, unequivocally obsessed with all things Halloween.  Case in point;  the zombie who scared the wits out of the neighborhood children moaning and groaning at the front door, whom we lovingly named "Carlos", has,  per his request, taken up residence in Adam's bedroom. 

Adam's logic?  Carlos will protect him from the "monsters in the closet."

Because, after all, to Adam, "Carlos" isn't a monster.

Yes, we have a bizarre child......

Grandpa in the ground

There are some things, monumental occasions, that always stay with you.  One of those for me was the the events that lead up to the day, and occurred after my father passed away, Sept. 6, 2007.  I remember the last time I saw him and the content look on his face, prior to Michael, Adam and myself taking a quick and much needed family vacation to the Russian River Valley.  Adam was eighteen months old, and the apple of his grandfathers eye.  He hadn't mastered walking without assistance yet, and that morning while visiting dad, Adam had my thumb in his grip as I led him up and down the hall in front of my dads bedroom,  just as I had done many years ago with my dad when I was Adams age.  I saw my dad smile;  he used to tell me, "I hope I live long enough to see Adam turn a year old." And I would always reassure him not to worry, he would.  Once Adam turned a year, dad would then tell me, "I hope I live long enough to see him take his first steps."  Once again, I would smile and tell him of course he would.

I  realized not long after his funeral that the look on his face the last day I saw him - the contentment, the smile - he knew.  He stayed just long enough to see what he really wanted.

I would show Adam pictures and when I would ask if he knew who it was, he would say "Grandpa" , smile and kiss his picture.  I wondered when his abbreviated memories of the grandfather who patiently waited so many years for him to arrive would one day vanish, if ever. 

We soon after decided to make a fresh start, and moved from Los Angeles to Washington state.  As Adam got older, I would show him pictures of his grandfather to keep that memory of him alive.  Even though Adam recognized his picture, his memory of visiting him was dissapating. When Adam would ask where grandpa was, I would just point skyward and tell him that he was watching over us.

We still travel to California regularly, Michael for work and for us to also visit family.  One morning, after dropping Michael off at the studio, I decided to hop on the freeway for the short jaunt to Forest Lawn near Griffith Park.  We hadn't been there since the funeral, and I thought it would be nice to buy some flowers and set them on his grave.  When Adam asked where we were going, I told him to "visit grandpa."  He didn't say a word, presumably thinking we were going to visit other grandpa, Michael's parents.

We purchased our flowers, and Adam picked out a butterfly on a stick. "Grandpa will love this!"  he said.  Then headed high up on the hill to my dad's resting place.  We sat down on the grass,  took some photos,  then Adam became preoccupied with a army of ants.   I was about ready to tell him it was time to leave when he asked me,

 "Where is grandpa?  Is he coming?"

"No honey, he's right here."

Perplexed Adam stood up, looked around, and asked "Where?"

Me not thinking, responded, "He's in the ground."

Adam walked over, knelt down and knocked on the grass.  "Grandpa!  Can you hear me?"  He patiently waited for a few moments, then stood up.  "How come he isn't answering?"

I really dug myself a hole.  "He can't hear you honey."  was all I could muster.  Adam knocked on the grass, stood up then took a few steps back and stared.   "What are you doing now?"  I asked.

Adam, still looking at the ground said, "I'm waiting for the grass to open up."

"Hmm.  It's not going to open honey."  I shook my head, because I knew the inevitable barrage of questions would be coming.

On the drive home, and for several days after, I tried to explain to my almost four year old the cycle of life and death, heaven and all that comes with it.  Adam would say that he didn't want to go into the cycle, or if he did, when would he go into the cycle?  I began visually slapping myself on the forhead.  What had I done?

One night, Michael called his parents and asked Adam if he wanted to talk to grandpa on the phone.  Adam grabbed the phone and asked excitedly, "Is this grandpa in the ground?"  laughing, Michael's dad said, "I sure hope not!"  We explained the meaning behind it and had a good laugh.  Whenever we talk about grandpa Adam always asks which one  we are talking about.  "The one in the ground, or the one who isn't?" is how he distinguishes the two.

My dads birthday just passed.  He would have been 82 on November 4th.  When Adam was told it was grandpa's birthday, he said, yup you guessed it:

"Happy birthday grandpa in the ground!"



no children were harmed in the writing of this blog...

The Heart Puncher

Ah the inevitable "stranger danger" conversation. 

 I've always invisioned this moment, alongside the eventual birds and bees colloquy, the first love and heartbreak tete-a-tete, the holy shit he's sixteen and old enough to drive fiasco.  That grandoise moment of being a parent in charge, teaching this young impressionable mind right from wrong, as they look up at you with wonder and amazement as you explain life, they, bright eyed and awe-inspired with that, "wow my mom/dad is so smart!" look on their face, responding after your spiel, "ok momma/daddy".

You think it's going to go that way.  It's simple; don't talk to strangers. period.  Don't get into strange cars, take that yummy piece of sour patch gummies from a strange person, or listen to a stranger that says something along the lines of,  "Hey your mom told me to come and get you because..."  Never, ever, ever, ever do any of the above.  If you see someone freaky-deaky watching kids at the fence at recess, tell one of the adults in charge out there.  Only go with people you know, and only if I tell you that day it's okay, such as "If I am not at the bus stop for whatever reason, so and so will take you home."

You don't factor in the "but why's" and "why not's" and "huh?" (a favorite of Adam's)

And of course, in the middle of my semi-lecture on the not so niceties of strangers, Adam interrupts with one of his gems:

"If someone tries to take me, I'll just PUNCH THEM IN THE HEART!"  He then proceeds to seriously demonstrate the art of heart punching in the air to me against an imaginary stranger, whilst grimacing his notorious "stink face". (see picture at bottom of blog.)  He continues to exhibit other points on said non-existant bad guy of where he plans to bring on the hurt, in the event he ever (hopefully never, ever, ever) encounters a potential evil-doer.

Yup, I think he's watched Transformers and Iron Man one too many times, as his moves mimic an incognito Tony Stark and Optimus Prime.  But, then again, the kid's got moxie!  I think he's ready for the karate lessons he's been harping me about.

And on a serious note, we do need to re-visit the whole "stranger danger" talk again tomorrow, being that a strange man in a white van has been lurking around a local elementary and middle school this past week, trying to lure kids walking to school into his van, claiming he just dropped off his kid and doesn't want them to be late.  Scary stuff :(






No children were harmed in the writing of this blog...

Lump Sum

Adam has been singing alot lately (suprise suprise, considering his mother!) and of course the whole "Is this a grown up (yay, he's finally saying that word instead!) or a kid song?" everytime something comes on the radio.  It's fun to listen to his interpretations of songs...One of his latest that he's been warbling is Selena Gomez's "I love you like a love song baby."  (Don't judge him, he still likes to sing Master of Puppets by Metallica and AC/DC tunes for my metal head friends)  Anyway, the real lyric goes something like this:

I, I love you like a love song baby
I, I love you like a love song baby
and I keep hitting repe-pe pe pe peat.


And then, there's Adam's version:

I, I love you like a lump sum baby
I, I love you like a lump sum baby
and I keep re-heating peep peep peep peep peeps!!

I can't help but giggle everytime he sings that, why would you need to re-heat peeps when you don't heat them in the first place, lol. Anyway, it got me thinking about how I used to hear certain song lyrics.  For example,  the lyric from Manfred Mann's "Blinded by the light" goes like this:

Blinded by the light,
revved up like a duece
another runner in the night

My version:

Blinded by the light
wrapped up like a douche
another rolled up in the night...

Why the hell would someone want to be wrapped up like a douche and rolled?  I don't know, but that is what I heard and  apparently, I wasn't the only person to hear it that way.  kissthisguy.com Has a laundry list of misheard lyrics, and some are downright funny. Some people have misheard CCR's "Born on the Bayou" as "I'm gonna buy you." or another from CCR "Bad moon rising"

Correct lyric:

There's a bad moon on the rise

Misheard:

There's a bathroom on the right.

What lyrics have you misinterpreted??




No children were harmed in the writing of this blog...

Rated "Why"

“Is that a kid movie, or adult movie?”

This is a question that has been repe-pe-pe-pe-peated for the past month. In fact, Adam’s kindergarten teacher was warmly greeted by him first day of class with this delightful tidbit; “Hi I’m Adam, and when I grow up, mommy says I can watch adult movies!” With a slight snicker on my part, I was quickly reminded of that scene in ‘Kindergarten Cop’, you know the one where the boy informs Ah-nuld his first day of teaching Kindergarten, “boys have a penis and girls have a vagina!” But I digress, allow me to get to the point of what started the whole ‘kids v adults’ convo before not only your mind but entire being has fallen into the gutter!  It went a little something like this: One night, about a month ago, Adam was refusing to become tired and sleepy and was running in circles chasing our golden retriever Sawyer around the house at mach 30, the sugar high minus the sugar, when one of my favorite shows, ‘True Blood" was about to start. (yes, I’m a major Trubie, don’t judge me!) My husband, Michael, finally having enough of his shenanigans, started marching him upstairs, informing him that it was “mommy and daddy time to watch one of our shows” “I can’t watch it?” He stopped, stunned.

“No, but I’ll put a kids movie on for you.”

“What are you going to watch?” Adam inquired.

“Mommy and I are going to watch a grown up show”

Michael tucked him into bed and put one of his G rated flicks on for him. Adam, still not satisfied and still confused asked, “So when I’m an adult, I can watch grown up movies? And because I’m a kid now I watch kid movies? Why?”

“Well, grown up movies sometimes have bad words and scary scenes and other things kids can’t understand yet.”

“And kid movies don’t?”

“That’s right. Goodnight.”

You would think an explanation and a kiss would do it, but no. I forget how inquisitive they are at this age, having witnessed several nephews and nieces grow up. But Adam would take the whole ‘kids v adults’ thing to a new level. Soon it became an obsession.

“Is this an adult commercial, or a kid commercial”

Me: No honey, it’s not a GROWN UP commercial." (trying to instill that word instead)

“Is this adult food or kid food”

Me: No honey, this isn’t GROWN UP food. (still trying)

On the radio, "Is this a kid song or adult song?”

Me:  "No honey, it’s not a GROWN UP song, you can listen to it." (you get the picture).

Recently, on a rare clear sunny fall day, I decided to take Adam kayaking to the nearby lake for perhaps the final time of the season. The inevitable question came up.

“Is this a kid’s adventure, or adult adventure?” he asked as we schlepped towards the boat launch. My answer was simply “Yes.”


No children were harmed in the writing of this blog...

Dress Code

This morning Adam channeled his inner Tim Gunn.  As we stood at the door, putting our boots on and getting ready to meet the 8:40am bus that takes him to school, he sized me up.


"You're not going to wear that when you pick me up, are you?"  A hint of concern in his 5 year old voice.


He's only 5.  In Kindergarten. I thought the whole "I'm so embarrassed by what mom is wearing when she drops me off at school-don't give me a hug and a kiss-in fact drop me off at the end of the street so no one sees you" phase wouldn't commence for another, oh I don't know, 10 years from now.  But it's begun, at 5 years old.


I wake up every morning at 7:30 am.  My routine is fairly common; I get up, make coffee, shower, wake up Adam, get him in the shower, put on my workout clothes, feed Adam drink coffee, drop off at bus stop, head to the YMCA for my workout, come home, shower, yada yada yada....This morning, however I was a tad bit tired (and I got my workout in the night before).  So I woke up, made coffee, woke up Adam, got him in the shower, and got semi-dressed..   A cute lavender fleece tunic, my grey pajama bottoms, black knee length cardigan, Ed Hardy trucker baseball cap and my sparkly warm and cozy uggs.  I thought, even though I had the PJ bottoms on, I looked very 'Hollywood meets NYC junkyard chic'.  It was very Mary Kate/Ashley Olson of me.  I thought I looked cool and somewhat celebrity style presentable. 


But no, he had to go all Tim Gunn on me.  And because we were running late, caffeine fix would have to wait till after bus drop off.


So in the car up the hill on this rainy, cold and glorious Pacific Northwest morning,  I asked him what he wanted me to wear when I picked him up later in the afternoon.


He thought for a moment, then said "One of your dresses."


I just nodded my head.  It's wet, raining, windy and all my dresses are cute summer dresses.  Not gonna happen.   I got dressed up for him though.  He's just going to have to settle with my skinny jeans and sweater, 60's style hairdo outfit a'la Audrey Hepburn.


But, I'm still wearing my sparkly uggs. ;)




No children were harmed in the writing of this blog....

Three Little Words

Toy. Story. Three. 

 Those three little words invoke fear, terror and blood-curdling screams from my five year old child.  Just the mere mention of Lotsa Bear and Co. will send him into an undeniable tizzy. Those three little words are all it takes to get him to finally listen when he otherwise refuses,  after it’s down to my last straw of “pleases” and  begging (I will not negotiate!)  and “I’ll take away your....”  (fill in the choice toy of the day) .  No, the horns just rip through my halo as I finally have had enough and exclaim, " If you don’t pick your jacket up off the floor, I’ll put on Toy Story 3!!!)

He drops whatever he is doing INSTANTANEOUSLY.   The magic expression  of the three little words has been spoken.  "Noooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!" He covers his ears and runs like the proverbial chicken with it's head cut off.  "I'll put my jacket away!" 

Okay, so it's mean,  but it's effective.  And I haven't done it that often. Once or twice.  Don't tell me you haven't gotten to your breaking point and made such a threat at one time or another!  And after all, it's Toy Story 3, I'm not telling him he has to spend the night with Stalin or that I'm dropping him off for afternoon tea with Mussolini.  No, he feels that witnessing Buzz Lightyear having to habla espanol is by far more disturbing then any monster that may be lurking in the closet.  Much more terrifying then any bumps, creaks and (un)settling noises that the house emits at bedtime. Creepier then a bunch of mutant sunflowers being hand-delivered to your door, carried by a member of Insane Clown Posse...(wait, that's my nightmare....moving on!)

Now, let me tell you something about Adam.  This is a child, who since the age of two, has been completely obsessed and fascinated with Halloween.  Forget Christmas, in fact, last Christmas he wanted anything that would resemble  Halloween.  Remote controlled zombies, a book on the undead, a skeleton puzzle....This year, save for a couple of days,we have spent EVERY DAY at one of the two Halloween stores in town.  It's like Disneyland to him.  The gore!  The zombie babies! The jumping spiders! The lurching vampire!  There is even an animatronic "Scream" character that , when you pick up the phone, says random quotes from the movie.  He wants that for his bedroom, to go with his collection of various skeleton wall hangings and outdoor Halloween decor.   But he absolutely, positively, refuses to watch Toy Story 3.

All because of that damn fluffly and pink Lotsa Bear changing the batteries in Buzz Lightyear.....




No children were harmed in the writing of this blog....