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?

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.)

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.

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.

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.