The Next Alex P. Keaton

I don’t know where he gets it. Count Waffles the Terrible, who is all of 4 and a half years old is a quick study. After suffering yet another sibling indignity (his sister stole a car out of his hands) he declares, “Mom, can we just have a ‘no hot wheels for Hala’ policy in the house?”

Actually, I just posted this because it’s exactly the kind of thing I’m sure would drive Bill Maher crazy. Mommy drivel. I just might talk about potty training next. Lord knows if you’re not talking about Iraq or fill-in-the-blank political scandal you can’t possibly be making a difference in the world or understand satire.

Bitter much?

Well, that and my kid is cute as hell.

To Iraq With Love

“Dear Uncle C. Be careful and have a good time. Get all those guys that are bad. Helps your friends. I love you.” -Count Waffles the Terrible, age 4.

Lyrics for PreSchoolers

“Mommy why can’t he have a screw?”

Turning down A/C in car to hear the 4-year old…

“What honey?”

“Why can’t he get a screw, that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy on the song. He needs a screw. And he can’t find one.”

…thinking…thinking…listening closer to music on radio..day after day…I get angry…and I will say…OH.MY.GOD.

“So the guy singing the song???? You think he needs a screw???”

“Yeah. That’s what he said. I’m sure Daddy can get him a screw out of his tool box. Then we can give it to him and he will have a screw.”

“Suuuuurrre. We can do that…”

“OH WAIT! Its ok Mommy-he FOUND it!”

“Oh…did he?”

“Yes, he found the screw in his PANTS!”

“Good for him.”

“Why would he keep a screw in his pants? Now THAT is JUST HILARIOUS Mommy!”

Sigh

Space RobotBoy Invades Sam’s Club

People look at him funny. Kaiser even made him a tin foil hat to go with it…

When Creative Bites You in the Butt

We Have Reason To Believe You May Be A Terrorist

Stall. Stalling. Stalled. Staller.

How many times did my Mother yell “no more stalling, get to bed” and how many times did I lower my head and shuffle back down the hall?

The all-American bedtime stall is has begun in earnest around here and its kinda cute. Annoying, but cute. I only say its “cute” because a 4-year old can’t really trick me yet. For instance, if you get in your bed and I walk down the hall, there is NO WAY you have already fallen asleep and had a “bad dream” by the time I turn around. I mean, maybe you’ve fallen asleep in record time, but I’m guessing you haven’t had enough time to have any sort of thought other than “ok, I’m getting out of bed and telling her it was a bad dream.”

So yeah, the Count exiting his bed 1 full second after I’ve put him there is annoying, but rather hilarious that he thinks he’s pulling one over on me.

HRH Princess Peanut is much more slick. She’ll lay her wee head on my arm and pet me. All she says is “sleep Mamma? Sleep?” Which means, “crazy lady, lay down with me.”

They pull the usual need to go pee, need a drink of water, forgot my stuffed animal, etc. etc. etc. But I’m starting to like it when they run out of the regular excuses and try their hand and manipulation.

“Mom, you said 5 days ago that one day we would look at the stars and moon when its dark and we would make telescopes. So let’s GO! What do you mean NOT TONIGHT? But you SAID that…that ONE time…like a WEEK ago!”

“Mom I forgot to finish that game we were playing downstairs. And if I don’t finish it the game will never end. It will NEVER END, Mom. I have to go now and finish that game.”

But even better than the really lame excuses that don’t even make sense, are the reactions when I say “no.”

“Oh MOM this is my WORST NIGHT EVER. I have to go get that one puzzle piece to sleep with or this will be my WORST NIGHT EVER and I will NEVER SLEEP. I WILL NEVER SLEEP.”

I’ve been trying to remember what was so god-awful about going to bed. Why is it such torture? Obviously we all did this as kids. Its not like our children invented the bed-time stall. I think I used to fake sick. Or maybe need LOTS of water.

Whatever the reason I’m still trying to remember WHY I didn’t care to go to bed. Life was too exciting? I was way to busy? I had too many things to think about?

I want to know this because I think I can reason with my kids. Its my downfall as a parent. I want to reason with them. As any of you know, you can’t reason with a temper tantrum throwing 2-year old any better than you can reason with your couch. Yet I try. As Sarah and Bush say, “we don’t negotiate with terrorists.” I only adopt that reasoning part of the time. I need to implement it ALL of the time.

Assume children are terrorists. Do NOT attempt to reason with them. Always be on the offensive. Maybe stop short of Gitmo, but think about barbed wire for beds.

Alright, that might not work for us either. Its not a huge problem at our house yet, but I can see those little wheels spinning in those little heads and I can tell they will be champion stallers before Christmas. There is no bedtime battle as of yet, I’m just trying to be a good dictator and avoid one. You know, fight them now so I don’t have to fight them later.

Or is it inevitable? Maybe I can just bomb the shit out of their bedroom, you know…f’ up their infrastructure a bit. Then walk away. NOW SLEEP! HAHA! I mean, that sends one hell of a message. I’m in charge. I can make your life hell. Don’t mess with me. Go to bed.

Or I can try reasoning with them.

Or not.

I don’t know. I do know I’m lazy and don’t really have the energy to fight them there so I don’t have to fight them here. In fact, for now maybe I’ll just be amused at their attempts. Silly little terrorists.

Healthy Teeth, Hold the Whine

I’m not sure which was worse, seeing my son in a vegetative state-eyes open, mouth agape, carried by a doctor–or walking into a room where my baby boy was laid on a chair-tubes in his nose, iv in his arm, EKG monitors on his chest.

We had to put Count Waffles under general anesthesia for dental work on Friday and my mind is still playing tricks on me. I lost my shit at the dentist office, to say the least. He was given a shot to get him *mostly* sedated before they inserted the iv and really knocked him out, and it left him looking like he was in a coma. It was horrible. The doctor told us his eyes would remain open but he would be asleep. I was not prepared for what he would look like. Mouth open, eyes open, pale, but totally out of it. The doctor grabbed him from my husband’s arms and I was SURE he was still awake. I was SURE he was scared some strange man was grabbing him from us and that he was TERRIFIED yet unable to talk or scream or cry.

That’s when I started to lose it. They ushered us into the waiting room where I sat and not so silently freaked out. I Twittered. I read magazine articles on things like planting a fall soup garden and how to buy the best bathingsuit. I imagined the doctor coming out to tell me there was a problem. I imagined paramedics rushing in. I imagined things I can’t even type.

46 minutes later our dentist emerged to tell us all was going well and it would be awhile longer. It was like I didn’t believe him. I felt better, but not convinced my son was ok.

63 minutes after that, I was summoned to the back so I would be the first face my son saw when he awoke. He was asleep, oxygen in his nose, red marks from the tape and the heart monitors. Things were beeping. The doctor was talking to me but I couldn’t hear him. I must have gone white at the site of my son on that chair. I was told if I couldn’t handle seeing him this way I could leave. The look on my face showed my answer as I turned my head at the doctor and he quickly and shamefully turned away.

Count Waffles awoke and did, what I am told, only 10% of kids do in this situation. He did NOT just groggily fall into my arms and sleep it off. He did NOT do the drunken, happy, I’m all doped up thing. No. He GOT PISSED and tried to WALK HOME.

My husband had to carry him to the car, as I was not strong enough to handle his flailing. He then spent a good hour on our living room couch freaking out. His world was spinning. It was his “worst day ever” and he was miserable.

An hour after that he was sound asleep in my bed.

I realize my son is lucky. We are lucky. He doesn’t have a life threatening illness or disease. We don’t have to go through this on any sort of regular basis. However, just those visual of him…the coma-like state, the tubes…I can’t get them out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know how to make those images go away. I want them wiped from my mind forever.

I also want to apologize. I get on my kids for whining, yet as it turns out, I’m the biggest whiner of them all. I use the blog to bitch and moan about how the kids drive me crazy and how I want to escape from it all. The truth is…I would die without them. Die.

Had anything happened at the dentist office, I’d die. DIE.

While the blogging community gives me a great feeling of “you are not alone” when I complain about being a Mom, I’m going to try not to FOCUS so much on the more difficult aspects of motherhood. I invite you to do the same.

Sure, we all need to vent here and there…but lately I vent more than I praise. I bitch more than I thank. GOD I forget HOW LUCKY I AM and how I’d die without these kids. I’d throw myself off the nearest bridge. I’d crash my car into a tree. I’d without question be killed by the heartache.

So I’m going to try and curb the whine. Yes, motherhood is hard. Yes, bad days are frequent. But just like I tell the kids…no whining.

I don’t want to hear it.

The Great American Spirit

Of course I tell my kids they can do anything. I tell them they can be anything. I tell them anything is possible.

What I didn’t realize, was 4 years of telling my son the world, nay, the universe was his to take-now means 24 hour viewing of the Science channel and every single thing in my home being taken apart.

EVERYTHING.

destruction by 4-year old

My remotes don’t work. Which is fine since we only watch the Science channel.
ALL of his toys are in various stages of dismantling.

poor scoop-didn't even see it coming

I step on screws everywhere I walk.

it still works, he's figured out how to reconnect the wires

My kitchen floor is caked in goo and water and flour from his “experiments”-which he calls his “experiences.”

Damn me and my positive parenting.

Happy 4th of July.