Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Honesty - Always the Best Policy?

While I was getting Monkey Man ready for bed tonight, hubby decided to indulge his chocolate craving that is likened to that of a pre-menstrual woman’s. Salivating and shaking, he opened the pantry to find some brownie mix that, lucky for him, I just happened to score in a nice grab bag gift this past weekend. Because he couldn’t wait to eat the actual cooked brownie (but really, who can?) he licked the bowl before going upstairs to say goodnight to Monkey Man.

And this is what our incredibly sweet, incredibly honest child said to hubby:

“Please lay with me, but I’m gonna roll over because your breath smells like chocolate, and I don’t like it. Sometimes I don’t like your stinky breath…but I really like you, Daddy.”

Monday, December 14, 2009

Wish I Wrote This!

Just in case you have children and didn't already know about their psychosis...
New Study Reveals Most Children Unrepentant Sociopaths

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Letter to Santa 2009

Last year, Monkey Man was almost 4 as we headed into Christmas. Last year, Monkey Man had concrete ideas of what he wanted for Christmas - he listed about 4 very specific toys. This year, I assumed that as Monkey Man got older, he would continue to know exactly what his heart yearned for during this season of receiving, err, I mean, giving. When will I learn?

As Monkey Man likes to do to me everyday, he surprised me with his wishes. I thought it would get easier as he gets older. When he was a baby, 1, 2 years-old, we just bought him what we thought he'd like (read: what WE wanted him to have!). Now, as he turns 4 and three-quarters (yes, we are at that stage, fractional ages with days counted until he turns 5) he has made it significantly more difficult. Or maybe it's easier. He wants EVERYTHING.

He sits with the Toys R Us and Target Wish Books before him drooling like Mommy does with a J. Crew catalog. "I want that. And that. Put a check next to that. Let's tell Santa I want that, oooo, and that, too." And that's just what I say while perusing J. Crew. Monkey Man doesn't care if the toy is for infants, toddlers, or 30 year-olds. He wants it.

I explained to Monkey Man that once we wrote our letter to Santa, we would have to stick to the list. Because Santa only goes by the list. Santa is not making mental notes and making 4 more trips to the toy store because that friggin' commercial on Nick just sucked him into yet another ridiculous toy that is not for someone his age. Monkey Man said okay (i.e. yes'd Mommy to death just to shut me up and move the letter writing process along) and here we have our Letter to Santa 2009. This letter is Monkey Man's exact words as dutifully scribed by Yours Truly.

Dear Santa,
I have a knock knock joke for you.
Knock Knock
Who's There?
Banana.
Banana Who?
Banana that almost bumped into the orange!

Can I please have a Ninja Turtle Wii game? And I want Astro Boy Wii, please, Santa. And I want the Woody game from Target, please, Santa.
I would also like:
- A big Star Wars Lego ship that comes with guys, a blue light saber, and it's huge!
- Spongebob Operation game
- A paint easel
- Crayola lightbrush
- Lego City
- Checkers game
- Leapster Star Wars Reading

Thank You Santa for bringing all these toys to me.
Merry Christmas,
Love, Monkey Man

This letter was written on November 25, 2009. Monkey Man has since added 63 more toys to this list.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Because I Said So!

“MOMMM! I just jumped from the top stair!” Monkey Man yelled to me this morning from the family room.

“I asked you not to jump from that step,” I replied ever so sweetly, although we’ve gone over this rule 12,000 times. We have about 3 steps that go from the kitchen to the family room and he is insistent on jumping from the top step. Since he was like 2 years-old.

“Why can’t I jump from that step?” he asked, ever so inquisitively, as if this conversation had never taken place, like he had never heard of this rule or the answer that would follow.

“Because I love you and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Translation: Because I really don’t feel like spending my Sunday in the emergency room. Because the $100 co-pay could be better spent in the following ways: feeding you, clothing you, or going towards the thousands of dollars I'll need to pay for my time in some mental health facility for repeating the same 10 phrases 22 times per day.

That's why.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

MEMO

TO: Monkey Man

FROM: Your Mother

DATE: October 23, 2009

RE: Your Sleeping Habits


As per this past week’s wake-up schedule, I am ordering you to sleep later. We’ve had several discussions about your readiness to take on the day at 5:30, and after ignoring my 5 requests, I’m making demands. You are not a 4 week-old with a tiny belly unable to hold more than 3 hours worth of food. You are 4.7 years-old and completely capable of waiting until the sun rises to start screaming at me that, “I want waffles. No, I want oatmeal. No, no, waffles. I want to play the Wii. I want to put on my Luke Skywalker costume.”

You wonder why your mother is a cranky bitch in the morning? It’s because mornings and I already don’t get along very nicely, and then we add in your very cute, but constant chatter. I don’t enjoy the simple sound of your father’s breathing in the morning, let alone questions like, “Do you think a tiger or a shark would hurt worser? Who’s older, you or daddy? Is a spaceship faster than a car? Do I have swimming class the day after tomorrow or the day after the day after tomorrow?” It’s just exhausting.

You will be 13 in just 8 ½ years. I am fully expecting on the day you enter your tumultuous teen years, you will sleep until noon. I dream about that day, the day when I, too, can actually enjoy a Saturday morning in bed. Without some Disney or PBS show on in an attempt to keep you quiet. I will not be that mom who yells at you to rise and shine and start your day. Nope, no worries there, Monkey Man. I will be in the next room in sweet, Saturday morning slumber, enjoying every minute getting back the sleep you’ve stolen from me since that precious day you were born.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

They're Not Called Bunny's Best Friend for a Reason

A few weeks ago, hubby almost mowed over three baby bunnies that were in a nest burrowed into our backyard. He came into the house telling me about his find and that he’d almost taken their lives on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Upon hearing the lawnmower, one of the bunnies jumped out of the hole and made itself known. “Yo, buddy! What the frig? We’re like 5 days old. Cut the freakin’ mower already,” the bunny seemed to say. This bunny was clearly born in NJ.

Hubby reassured me that the bunnies were all fine and we took Monkey Man out into the yard for a real-life lesson in bunnies living in our backyard. Whatever that means. How the hell do you take care of wild bunnies?

We stayed out in the backyard for a while with the bunnies, as the three siblings curled into one another. Even though we had no clue what to do for them, we enjoyed sharing the time with Monkey Man and letting him experience a little piece of nature in sub-plot suburbia. Each time we visited over the next 2 days, we never let our dog, Walt, out with us so that we did not draw his attention to their nest.

On Monday, I arrived home from work to a frantic Monkey Man yelling to me from the backyard. He was in the yard with hubby’s parents and Walt. Hubby’s parents and Walt, all huddled near the nest.

“MOMMMMMMYYYY! Walt’s eating the bunny! He’s got one in his mouth!”

I started screaming at Walt to drop the bunny. No yelling in the world would make Walt drop that poor, sweet rabbit. That bunny was to Walt what the chocolate variety is to me on Easter morning. Ain’t no letting go of the bunny. He practically swallowed him whole. As I stood far away gagging and convulsing (I can’t even see road kill on the street, I begin to shake and I even close my eyes while driving the car) my father-in-law proceeded to tell me in front of Monkey Man that Walt ate all of the bunnies.

Now, Monkey Man was only clued in to the assault and murder of one bunny. I “shushed” my FIL so as to protect Monkey Man from the evil, heinous crimes of his dog. Wasn’t it enough that he already knew that Walt chewed the life out of one? Did he really have to know that the dog was a serial killer and his M.O. was clearly cute, infantile rabbits with velveteen fur?

“Mommy, there are no more bunnies in the nest,” Monkey Man stated matter-of-fact, blue eyes wide waiting for me to give him an explanation.

I delivered. My brilliant reply, so as to protect my child from the harsh realities of life and the cruelty of his wild dog that sleeps in our house, was “The other two hopped away. They got scared and got the hell out of Dodge before Cujo here could enjoy them for dessert.”

Really, Walt. Enough with the life lessons.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Heaven Forbid!

Monkey Man: "Why can't we get a cat?"
Me: "Because I'm very allergic to them. We will never have a cat in this house."
Monkey Man: "Can I get a cat when you go to Heaven and I'm with daddy?"

Okay, let me stop here. Before you think there is something wrong and I'm sick, I am not. If I didn't have 9 bajillion conversations with Monkey Man already about Heaven, this statement might have caused me panic. Like, seriously kid, do you know something I don't? Do you have some creepy, clairvoyant bizarre kid in a horror movie thing going on? Because I totally love that in a horror movie, but not sitting next to me on my couch. Monkey Man has asked us a lot about Heaven since his great grandma passed away last November, so I knew where this was coming from. So my simple answer was:

"Yes, you can get one when you're with daddy." It'll be one less thing I'll have to deal with.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Mother Nature is a Bully

Something is going on outside which makes me want to meet up with Mother Nature at 3 p.m. on the playground tomorrow and give her a little piece of my mind - It is snowing. On October 15. And I don’t live in Wisconsin, North Dakota, or Antarctica. I live in Northern New Jersey, and although it may not be the balmiest of places in October, it does not snow. I repeat. It DOES NOT SNOW. I do not enjoy cold weather during the real winter. It's not so much the snow that bothers me, but the cold weather that makes it scientifically possible for it to snow.

Because of this cruel joke that the bitch is playing, Monkey Man is insisting that Christmas is just ‘round the corner. He is sitting on the couch looking out the window as I type asking me to go outside and have a snowball fight. A snowball fight with all ¼ of an inch that is on the ground.

Monkey Man: “Mommy, is Santa coming? I want Santa to come!”
Mommy: “No, it’s not Christmastime yet.”
Monkey Man: “But it’s snowing! Santa comes when it’s snowing.”

He does not understand yet that we just “celebrated” (i.e. enjoyed a nice day off from work) the fact that Columbus supposedly discovered this country. For God’s sake, the freakin’ Great Pumpkin hasn’t even showed up yet.

Mother Nature, you ripped this summer from our hands and gave us 50 degrees in June and 60 degrees in July. I have one simple request, Mother Nature. Cut the crap.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Flagoons Have Landed

While looking at the box of Benderoos (wait, quick aside: Benderoos suck. They are quite possibly the worst piece of crappy, waxy, sticky toy ever. You can't make one thing that they give you directions for unless you have your Ph.D. in Benderoos. But thanks Mom, aka Aga, for bestowing these upon Monkey Man and therefore forcing me and hubby to attempt the impossible with these things. Not that I'm ungrateful. This was just an honest review.)

So anyway, while looking at the box, Monkey Man noticed a duck-like animal on the front. I say duck-like because it's white with a yellow beak, but made from Benderoos, so it's like this twisty, demented duck that could be a swan. Or a white dog with a yellow nose.

He pointed to it and said, "It's a flagoon." My dad was sitting next to me during this revelation, which actually could be right considering these Benderoos configurations really are ridiculously impossible to achieve.

"Flagoon?" I responded, with a smirk on my face and my mind quickly coming up with what he was trying to say. "Do you mean a flamingo?"

"Yes, a FLAMINGO!" he cackled, then added a Homer Simpson, "Doh!" to the end. Thanks to hubby for teaching him that response.

It's not often that he mixes up words anymore, so it was even more amusing, heart-warming, and a little bittersweet. Those Benderoos aren't so bad now that I can look at that picture of the Flagoon.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Hey Readers! Mommy Needs Your Help!

Hi everyone on the computer,

This is Monkey Man. My mommy writes stories about me that are going to make me roll my eyes and yell, "MOMMMMMM!" when I'm older, but she just keeps doing it. I guess kind of like when I ask her questions over and over again and I know I'm annoying the poop out of her, but I do it anyway. Because it's funny to see her get so frustrated.

Anyway...Maybe you've been reading this blog since the beginning or maybe you are new to it. Maybe you've seen some weeks go by when mommy hasn't written a thing. She said she's sorry and mumbled something about "having a job that pays the bills when I really want to be writing and if I could just win the lottery I would even donate most of it..."

That's where I'm hoping you can help.

Mommy is working on a project and she needs to find out from you what your favorite posts are. If you have the time, energy, or slightest desire to help a girl out, please do. It won't cost you any money, just a few minutes away from Facebook or your child or the dinner you didn't want to cook anyway. And trust me, as a 4 year-old, don't even bother cooking. All we want is some chicken nuggets and ketchup. Don't bother with a roast pan.

Please pick your favorite 3 posts and if you are really feeling ambitious, let Mommy know why you like them. And because I love my Mommy so much, please keep reading her blog. Now I'm going to remember my manners - Thank you.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Walt Disney World - I Need ANOTHER Vacation!

I certainly don't go to Walt Disney World in the summer for it's mild, spring-like weather. Or for a relaxing, peaceful getaway to recharge my batteries and come back refreshed and ready to take on life until the next vacation.

But I do go to Disney World to see this smile:



And this smile:



Oh, yes, and the innocent joy of seeing the REAL PINOCCHIO!



Wait, wait - and the REAL PLUTO!



MOMMY! Forget that Rick Springfield just walked by us! It's CHIP AND DALE!



Oh, and Mommy! Look! It's MICKEY!



DONALD & DAISY! MOMMY! DADDY! LOOK!



It's exhausting. It's hot. But, it's THE BEST.

Meet the Lollipop Lady

On our recent trip to Disney World, my parents didn’t spoil Monkey Man one bit. They clearly understood that their money would be better put to use being squirreled away in a sock under the attic floor boards just in case this here economy decides it really doesn’t want to improve.

Please note sarcasm as thick as the New Jersey air that is lingering outside my window right now.

My parents CAN’T NOT buy Monkey Man something. Anything. Everything. And here for your reading pleasure, is a list of what my mom bought during our 2 week trip to Disney World and the Western Caribbean on the Disney Cruise:

1. Double light saber – because the 5 single ones he owns aren’t enough?
2. Pirates of the Caribbean sword
3. Hans Solo laser blaster
4. Pirates of the Caribbean gun (don’t get me started on the gun thing)
5. Swirly rainbow lollipop
6. Epcot light saber during the laser light show
7. T-Rex restaurant light-up cup
8. G-Force Hamster toy
9. Assortment of ice cream, cookies, whatever other sugary treat he so desired. I just hope she foots the bill for dental care.

Early on, during one of her wild-eyed, crazed Grandma spoiling sprees, I looked at my dear, giving mother and said, ”Do you like lollipops?”

She replied, oh so innocently and wondering what the hell I was talking about, “Why?”

“Because you sure are a sucker!” And hence, her nickname The Lollipop Lady was born.

I think I might try my hand at writing bad pick up lines.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Q & A Session #264

Mommy: "I have a baby shower to go to tomorrow."

Monkey Man: "The baby is going to take a shower?"

Mommy: "No, it' a party because my friend is going to have a baby."

Monkey Man: "Where is the baby, is she on Earth?" (he now asks if everything is on Earth. "Am I on Earth? Is the house on Earth? Are the clouds on Earth?" This last question led to a one-sided discussion about the atmosphere in which I not only bored Monkey Man, but myself, too. I think I confused myself, too. I didn't realize I needed a degree in astronomy and meteorology to become a parent).

Mommy: "Yes, the baby is on Earth. She is in her mommy's belly."

Monkey Man: "How will she get out of her belly? How did I get out of your belly?"

Mommy: Silence. Do I tell him now how his birth was the most excruciating pain I've ever felt? Is this the time that he learns his head was the size and shape of a ripened watermelon right off the vine? "You just did. You came out." BRILLIANT!

Monkey Man: "You had a zipper on your belly and I just unzipped it."

Mommy: "Yes, that's how you got out."

Friday, July 24, 2009

I Spy

While riding an extremely crowded Disney bus yesterday, Monkey Man and I played I Spy. Monkey Man went first and his very clever, very secretive clue was:
"I Spy with my little eye, something with hair."

Then, without giving me a chance to think long and hard about this all too puzzling enigma he exclaimed, "Everyone's head! Except THAT guy!" Yes, he pointed out the one bald guy on the bus.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Twas the Night Before Disney

Twas the Night Before Disney, when in this here house,
The preschooler was not sleeping, too excited for Mickey Mouse.
The luggage was lined up by the front door with care,
Mommy hoped that sweet slumber would waft through the air.

Monkey Man tried to sleep in his bed,
But visions of 5 a.m. danced through his head.
For the 90th time he asked, "Mommy, will you wake me to go?"
And for the 90th time, exhausted, I replied, "It is so."

When up the stairs there arose such a clatter,
I dashed to the foot of them to see what was the matter.
There Monkey Man sat on a monogrammed stool,
And declared, "I will sleep here" I replied, "No! You fool!"

"Get into that bed, I know you're excited, but please,
If you don't get some rest you'll disappoint The Big Cheese.
He's watching you (yeah, I pulled the Santa threat, so sly),
And if you don't sleep this instant kiss Mickey goodbye.

The questions fired at me, excitement built up
"Is there a couch in the hotel? Water, and a cup?
Why does Pluto walk on two legs, instead of four?
Is Ariel a Princess?" (Um, no, she's a whore)

"Is Pirates of the 'Bean scary? Or no?"
Do you like the Buzz Lightyear ride or the Indy Show?
Am I tall enough for Splash Mountain? Can I bring Snuggly, too?
Can I ride on Peter Pan with Daddy and you?"

My patience was wearing thin like sunscreen upon,
a Disney World tourist in July's summer sun
So I threw on my best Mommy Smile and cooed,
"I know you're excited!" (But, c'mon. DUDE.)

Thoughts of children's Benedryl danced through my head,
For this night ahead of me filled me with dread.
Then I looked over to see a drowsy Monkey Man sleepy,
Into sweet Disney Eve slumber, it made me quite weepy.

For I know these precious times I hold dear,
And we've been blessed to spend time like this each and every year.
The innocent excitement of a 4 year-old's brain,
So pure, so real, you just cannot feign.

I went to bed cursing the alarm (set for 3),
But, admittedly, sharing Monkey's Man's glee.
And you'll hear me exclaim as I fly out of sight,
"Pass the Xanax, I'm scared to death of air flight!"

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

God Bless the Chicken Nugget

Dear God,

There has been an issue weighing heavy on my heart lately. I understand that our world is in turmoil now, nations are at war, and there are people in Beverly Hills that cannot afford a 5,000 square foot home and have to settle for a 4,000 square foot home due to the economy. But selfishly, I need some help.

I find myself struggling with the nutritional value of the chicken nugget. See, Lord, I really need for the chicken nugget to be the next Super Food. I need it to appear on Oprah with Dr. Oz proclaiming that the chicken nugget, alone, can fuel the body and fight disease.

As you look upon our dinner table each night, you see the battle that wages in my kitchen. On most nights, I tell Monkey Man, “You will eat what I’ve made for dinner. This is not a restaurant. I do not cook different meals for everyone…blah, blah, blah…” I’m sure you are as bored and irritated with the whole scenario as I am, but you are much more patient than I.

Then there are the nights that I just do not have any fight left in me. Like Rocky without Mickey, I just can’t do it. That is when the pre-cooked, baked chicken nuggets (the McNugget is not a frequent guest, fortunately) get pulled from the freezer. Defeated, I heat up the toaster oven and try to convince myself that one day Monkey Man will eat salmon. And asparagus. And mashed potatoes. I guess it would help if I cooked salmon and asparagus, but you get my point.

Lord, I want what is best for Monkey Man. And what is best for Monkey Man is that Mommy doesn’t lose her mind over dinner every night. He will fare so much better down the road if mommy doesn’t feel the need to eat Xanax like Skittles every day at around 4:30 p.m.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Really? I Had No Idea.

At dinner the other night, Monkey Man made an announcement:
"I'm not really much of a vegetable guy. I'm a fruit guy."

I am so thankful that he informed us of this. I had been wondering all along, what with all the,"I DON'T LIKE BROCCOLI! I DON'T LIKE CARROTS! I DON'T LIKE GREEN BEANS! I DON'T LIKE FOODS THAT WILL SUSTAIN MY BODY AND ENSURE THAT MY GROWTH IS NOT STUNTED."

If it weren't for this dinner revelation, I would still be wandering around thinking, "Hmmm, I don't know, maybe he just doesn't like vegetables..."

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Monkey Man's First Favorite Song

I'm both proud and embarrassed to report that "Let's Get Rocked" by Def Leppard is Monkey Man's first favorite song. He demands it as soon as we get in the car and can be heard singing it at various times throughout the day. Hubby and I love it - we never have to listen to children's music that makes you want to poke out your eardrums slowly and deliberately with forks.

Note: I have placed Monkey Man's version of the line in parenthesis next to the real line. He is 4, after all, and to make matters worse, has the lyric deciphering skills of his father. I have also added my own notes to give you a better feel for dramatic effect.


"Let's Get Rocked" by Def Leppard

Do ya wanna get rocked?

Let's get, let's get, let's get, let's get
Rocked...... (Sang at top of lungs, for all of the neighborhood to know just what kind of music we let our child listen to)

I'm your average, ordinary, everyday kid,
Happy to do nothin'
In fact that's what I did.
Got a million ways to make my day, but daddy don't agree
'Cos when I try to get away he says
He get plans for me

Get your butt right out of bed - Stop buggin' me
Get up and move your sleepy head - Don't shake my tree.

He said
Mow the lawn - Who, me?
Walk the dog - Not my style, man!
Take out the trash - No way!
Tidy your room - C'mon get real!
Sorry dad, gotta disappear,
Let's get the rock outta here. (This stanza is a great teaching tool for when Monkey Man is 13. We are grooming him right)

Seven-day weekend, (Send in the weekend)
Up all night,
In at the deep end, (Today Monkey Man asked, "What's the deep end? Why does he say that?" This lead to a discussion on metaphors and literary tools that are beyond a preschoolers thought process. And then, shockingly, the conversation lost his interest)
Hang on tight
Won't take a minute,
Won't take long,
So get on in it,
Come on, come on, come on

Let's get, let's get, let's get, let's get rocked (Last rocked is SCREAMED!)
Let's get, let's get, let's get, let's get rocked (SCREAMED AGAIN!)
Let's go all the way, get it night'n'day (Monkey Man says, "night annay." When I try to tell him it's "night 'n' day" he adamantly tells me, "NO! It's night annay." Okay, whatever.)
C'mon let's get, let's get, let's get, let's get rocked.

I'm your average, ordinary, everyday dude
Drivin' with my baby, To get her in the mood
She's dialin' through my radio and I'm ready to make my move, (Monkey Man has been asking us this line, and thanks to my intensive research, I can now enlighten him with complete lyrics)
But what she got ain't rock'n'roll and it really blew my groove (see same note above)

It was - Chopin, Mozart, Beethoven
It makes me wanna scream - Bach, Tchaikovsky, violins (This is our way of introducing Monkey Man to OTHER musical geniuses, other than Def Leppard)
Turn it off! - That ain't my scene
Well I'm sorry girl, here's my confession
I suppose a rock's out of the question? (Monkey Man only sings the last line, which is very funny to hear him sing with such gusto).

[Repeat Bridge]
[Repeat Chorus]

Oh, all I wanna do is take a ride into the blue
Ev'ry time I want to love you I get stuck inside my room (He does not sing this line, thank the Rock Gods. However, he does sing the line below...)
Heaven knows I'm sick'n'tired of dancin' with this broom (At least he just thinks the man is literally dancing with a broom!)
I feel lucky today
Hey, look at that man!
Do ya wanna get rocked?
Do ya wanna get rocked?

It won't take you a minute,
It won't take that long,
So get on, get with it,
Oh, c'mon
Everybody!

Let's get, let's get, let's get, let's get rocked

Do ya wanna get rocked?

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

The Sweet Smell of Mother's Day

I woke up this morning, my nose attuned to the sweet smell of syrup in my bedroom. Monkey Man and hubby served me breakfast in bed with pancakes, syrup, and tea on Mother's Day, but I was a little bewildered that the room still smelled like syrup. It's a warm, homey, yummy smell, but two days later, still, the syrup?

After I got out of bed, I reached up to the alarm clock that sits on top of hubby's tall dresser. As I switched the radio alarm off, I realized just why the room has smelled like syrup since 9:30 a.m. Sunday morning. There upon the dresser taller than I sat a plastic Superman plate of syrup from when Monkey Man joined me on the bed Sunday morning to eat his pancakes. I guess Hubby stuck it up there after Monkey Man finished and forgot about it. And since the Cleaning Fairy took the day off, she never bothered to look on top of the dresser, taller than I, to check for leftover food from the day.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Light Sabers and Screen Doors: The Birds and Bees Talk Prequel

There is a hole in our screen on the French doors that lead to the back patio. The hole has been there since we moved in almost 2 years ago. Replacing this screen was on our to-do list the summer we moved here, last summer, and again for this year.

Just moments ago, I was reminded of this hole and why it needs to be replaced. I walked into the family room and saw Monkey Man sticking his light saber through the hole. I looked at him shocked, as if seeing a 4 year-old stick a light saber through a hole in a screen was ridiculous. But really, why WOULDN'T a 4 year-old boy stick a light saber through a hole in the screen? Seems a perfectly good place to stick a light saber.

"Monkey Man, please don't put the light saber through the hole in the screen."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not what you do with a light saber. I know testosterone tells you otherwise, but listen to your mother. And remember this conversation when you are 16. I beg of you, PLEASE."

Toilet Riddle #45

Hubby had bath duty last night while I was at the gym beating the hell out of a heavy bag. So this story has been passed down to me, but I think I can still do it justice.

Scene: Monkey Man was in the bathtub filled with fresh, clean water with Baby Aveeno Sensitive Skin Body Wash bubbles. Hubby realized he needed a cup with which to rinse Monkey Man. Hubby left for a brief moment. Upon his return, Monkey Man asked:

"Daddy, what happens when someone pees in the tub?"

Multiple Choice (all quotes are being said by hubby):
a. "We are an environmentally friendly family and NEVER waste a tub of water. Urine is sterile, boy, you continue your bath and afterwards we shall hug the trees."
b. "Ooh, let's see if it turns the bubbles yellow! Mommy will love that trick! If I add blue food coloring to the water, maybe the bubbles will turn GREEN!"
c. "What happens is I'm getting you out of that tub pronto, kid. Mommy will be getting back from kickboxing class in about 10 minutes. If you stay in there, she might want to continue her punch-kick combinations on me."

Monday, April 27, 2009

101 Uses for Cotton Candy

While at the beach yesterday to celebrate an unusually hot, but very welcome, beautiful day in New Jersey, Monkey Man's sophisticated palate demanded none other than a boardwalk delicacy, cotton candy.




"Monkey Man, keep stuffing more cotton candy into Daddy's mouth. Maybe he'll stop talking," Mommy urged.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

It's All About Me

I'm turning 35 tomorrow. Part of me is amazed and freaked out by this, the other part doesn't really care. I don't care too much because I still feel like I'm 16 (and act like it, except when I have to be all Mom and pay a mortgage, feed the family, buy groceries, make appointments...I'm boring myself). That's the amazing part, too. How did I get here? Really, 35? I'm responsible for human life and the roof over my head? Wow. The more I think about it, the more I need a Xanax.

In honor of my birthday, here is some useless information about the person I am at the ripe old age of 35:

1. When I retire, which at this rate will be when I’m 85 as I watch my retirement fund jump off a building, I want to travel the country in an RV with the hubby. Of course, I want it to be one of those crazy apartments on wheels with the walls that extend out, granite countertops, and a master suite. I like the comforts of home, but I want my home to go all over the country. When we are done traveling, I want to move to Hawaii. It’s a simple plan, really.

2. I am pretty quiet around people I don't know well. But once I get to know you, I’m not so quiet anymore. People are sometimes surprised at just how different I can be. It's all about my comfort zone, and I enjoy my comfort zone.

3. I am a neat freak. It gives me great peace and joy to throw out stuff and organize. I am that person that can have someone tell me they are stopping by in 10 minutes, and my house is usually neat. Even with a 4 year-old Monkey Man, I manage to keep his toys and everything else contained, probably to a point where I am raising a neurotic, OCD child. Oh well. The bright side is hopefully his future significant other will appreciate me.

4. I'm afraid of birds, fish, serial killers and flying. Birds are unavoidable, so if they swoop down too close, I freak out. Fish are pretty avoidable and my fear of them is why Monkey Man will never have a goldfish named Goldie. As for serial killers, I’m pretty much convinced they lurk around every van ready to pull me in. And flying, I absolutely HATE it, but I love to travel, so my fear won’t stop me.

5. I found out I was pregnant with Monkey Man in a restroom in Wendy's in Kentucky (on our cross country road trip for my 30th birthday). This is a sign of my impatience. I could not wait another few hours until we arrived at hubby's grandmother's in southern Illinois. Nope. Had to know right away, even if I had to pee on a stick in a public restroom. I walked in to that bathroom not knowing what was about to show up on that stick, and walked out feeling like my world was about to change forever. Although Monkey Man was totally in our plans, that feeling was right on.

Tomorrow I will don a birthday hat and eat cookies for breakfast. Because it's my birthday, and there's almost nothing I love more than cookies. Except naps. I'll try to sneak that in tomorrow, too.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Soo BIG!

Monkey Man's bedtime routine was just beginning tonight - teeth were brushed and potty time was coming up next. As is the case every night, upon my urging him to go potty, he announced, "I'll just try." (We always encourage trying, constantly saying, Just Try It - particularly with foods. Most specifically with vegetables. I'm sure we are setting ourselves up for complete failure when he gets lured behind the school building to "just try the vial of crack." Crap. You just can't win.)

So he tried, and had success, then yelled with his usual vim and vigor, "I gotta go poopy!" So I left the bathroom to give him the privacy that he always requests so that he can read through the latest Sports Illustrated or Entertainment Weekly. I went into his bedroom to get his pajamas out when I heard him cackling with laughter.

"Mommy, I had a really big poop! It's bigger than me! Come look!"

Sometimes being a mom can get a little monotonous. But not tonight. When I looked into the toilet, I understood his sheer excitement. The kid was right. It was pretty damn big.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

SPRINGfield has Sprung

Ahhh, the sun is beginning to shine a bit warmer. Birds are chirping. Flowers are popping up along my walkway. And to kick off a much needed spring season after a bitter cold, snowy Jersey winter, Rick Springfield will be just 20 minutes from my house in less than 2 weeks. I will be enjoying his rippling biceps with a renewed spring in my step.

However, I’m in a bit of a quandary. My last concert in Virginia Beach in September gave me more than I could imagine (well, I could IMAGINE more, but I have to leave it to my imagination – I am a married woman!). I’m now looking to up the ante next week.

I need suggestions, and this is where you, the readers, come in. Remember, I love my husband and intend to stay married so let’s keep it within reason. I’m hoping to plant my butt in the lobby of the hotel, wait for the man, and take it up a notch. So before you let your creativity flow, let me give you a recap of Virginia Beach:

•Album signed
•Kiss on cheek
•Signature on butt of jeans
•RICK tattoo with Sharpie done by Rick himself, on small of back (yes, ladies, a tramp stamp. Is the big, green monster rearing its ugly head?)

You may have guessed, but I like to have fun and I like to take opportunities when they present themselves. Therefore, if I should have the great honor to be in Rick’s presence yet again next week, What Do I Do?

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Watch Your Mouth!

This morning, while preparing breakfast – toasting a bagel and pouring cereal – Monkey Man began telling Hubby about the man who moved the bucket in the parking lot. Hubby was completely confused, not understanding what Monkey Man was talking about. Monkey Man is almost 4, and tells very coherent, logical stories, so Hubby was thrown. It was then that I needed to step in and fess up.

Yesterday, while parking at Target with Monkey Man, I patiently waited with my blinker on for a car pulling out of a parking spot. As soon as the car was almost fully out of the spot, a car pulled around the front of the lane and zipped right into the spot! There are several things that make this situation BAD: 1) I am hormonal 2) I am from New Jersey 3) You freakin’ took my parking spot!

And this is what could be heard in my car:

Me: “You f***in’...” (I stopped myself from using the next word that rhymes with witch after I realized I just said a VERY BAD word)

Monkey Man: “Mommy, why’d you say f***in’?”

Me: (thinking, crap, crap, I need a diversion)

Monkey Man: (who still didn’t get an answer) “Mommy, I asked why’d you say f***in’?”

Me: “Oh, I said BUCKET. There was a bucket in the parking lot and I almost ran over it!”

Monkey Man: “Where’s the bucket? I don’t see it.”

Me: “The man took it away so I wouldn’t run over it.” (At this point, Monkey Man is probably thinking he’s lost his mind – there wasn’t a man in sight, and certainly no bucket)

Monkey Man: “That was nice of the man to move the bucket.”

Me: “Yes it was. Yes it was.”

(Special apology to my mom who reads this blog and taught me better– sorry for my potty mouth.)

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Monkey Man's Life Lesson #104

Toilet seats are cold. Especially in the winter.

Overheard while Monkey Man was doing his Monkey Business:

Monkey Man: "Mommy, the seat is cold."
Me: "Sorry about that, buddy."
Monkey Man: "Can you warm it up?"

Hmm, let me check my job description:
Wipe butt, okay, got that.
Clean puke, yes, check.
Endure tantrums in public places, yep.
Oh, so sorry, but pre-heating the toilet seat is not on the list.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Happy Anniversary, You Are Kidding Me!

One Year Today! I'm looking forward to another year of Monkey Man's antics and other ridiculous happenings in my life. My catchphrase , "Are you kidding me?" still applies daily, although I've found myself adding, "Dude, Seriously?" when I'm thoroughly annoyed or in awe of the reality of my life. I'm not sure why "dude" comes sputtering out of my otherwise educated mouth. But "seriously" is such a great substitute for the expletives that SO WANT to escape. Fortunately, for me, Monkey Man's grandparents, and his preschool teacher, my brain overrides the really bad words at the risk of sounding like a surfer or Valley girl. Totally.

Hey Big Spender

It started out as an uneventful trip to Target, but this time I had hubby with me. I usually go alone, as I enjoy my Zen-like time at the Greatest Store Ever Built on This Here Planet Earth. There is one upside to hubby tagging along – he keeps me focused and redirects my Target ADD. We went in for a bookshelf, and be damned if I walk out with a shower curtain, sweater, Kashi Go Lean Crunch, a greeting card, or Band Aids.

We went to Target a few nights ago to buy a bookshelf. We found what we wanted, and a nice Target employee put it on a cart for us and wheeled it out to the car. He helped us put it in the car, and hubby gave him a tip. I was sitting in the car during the tip exchange, and as hubby approached the car to get back in, he started laughing and went back to the helpful employee.

Why was hubby laughing? He realized he didn’t give the employee the money. After his “big tip,” he happened to put his hand back in his pocket and realized that the $5 bill that was supposed to go to Very Helpful Employee was still there. (Thank God for this revelation—had hubby realized the error after we left, I would have faced future humiliation by association on every one of my tri-weekly visits to The Motherland).

When he went back to the Target guy to give him the money, hubby apologized and asked what he had actually slipped into the man’s palm. The very nice and slightly dumbfounded young man said, “This,” and showed him his “big tip”: a crinkled yellow Post It with a co-worker’s tuna salad sandwich lunch order.

Yep, that’s my Sugar Daddy.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Cha-Cha-Cha...Chia See- See- See... See Ya


As was to be expected, Chia has left our physical world and joined the great Chia in the sky. Chia's ending was inevitable because 1.) I have never owned a plant I didn't kill (if a Chia can really be classified as a plant??) 2.) I just didn't care. Pure and simple apathy killed Chia.

Chia didn't have much time to do all the things I wished for him. Snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef. Travel into space. Dinner with President Obama. The list goes on and on. A better owner would have tried harder. A better owner would have filled the cup with water and simply poured it down it's terra cotta hole. But really, who needs that kind of responsibility?

Chia, in his more lush, youthful days.

Urinetown

Never saw the play, but I’m living it. Monkey Man is completely potty trained and has been for quite some time now. Gone are the days of chunky baby legs and a squishy tooshy in diapers. I’ve found new things to buy with diaper money like more big boy underwear thanks to those times when Monkey Man waits until the ABSOLUTE LAST MINUTE to go potty and the pee explodes out of him like a kid holding a Super Soaker on a hot, humid day in July. Thereby super soaking the toilet and surrounding walls. I am very confident that my bathrooms are so clean you could theoretically1 eat a Pop ‘Em off them because they are scrubbed down at least once a day due to my child’s camel-like quality of holding liquid in his body for hours on end.

Tonight, I discovered that not only do I need to watch out for my own child’s pee, I now need to be on the lookout for other small people’s bodily fluids. I took Monkey Man to our local McDonald’s for dinner. Hubby was working late, so I called a friend to meet us there for the kids to play in the play area. The play area is great when it’s cold out or raining in the summer. And I’m sure I’m not the only mom that tries really, really, really hard not to think about the viruses and other infectious diseases that lurk in those tubes, tunnels and slides. The play area ensures that the moms get at least 30-45 minutes of talk time while the kids are corralled because there is no way out unless you choose to ignore your spawn walking right past you out the door. Always an option.

My friend and I were happily chatting away. We yelled out an occasional, “Keep your socks on!” or “Don’t touch him!” but other than that, sentences were completed and tea and coffee were imbibed sans interruption. Until Monkey Man approached me.

Monkey Man: “Mommy, my pants are wet.”

Me: “Did you have an accident?”

Monkey Man: “No.”

Me: Upon inspection, the back of his pants were wet. So were the bottom of his pants, and his socks. The front of his pants were totally dry, so he definitely didn’t have an accident. I looked at my friend, grimaced and said, “I’m going to smell it.” I thought she was going to pass out. Hello, I’m doing the smelling!

The verdict: Dear God! My child sat in someone else’s pee! EWWWWWWWWWW!

We reported the incident, gathered the children, and all 5 of us puked in the parking lot.

1. Please note: I totally mean this in theory. I know I have professed my love of the Entenmann’s Pop ‘Em but I would never eat one off of a bathroom floor, not even my own. Not under any circumstance. Unless…, no, really, I wouldn’t do it.