Category Archives: stuff I find funny
My son has been employing an interesting new linguistic crutch lately. He’s in that development stage where kids discover that they can be part of conversation if they participate in the natural back and forth of discussion. The problem is that sometimes he starts to talk before he knows what he wants to say.
“Mommy?” He’ll say, getting my attention. Then nothing, until he feels the need to fill the silence to keep the attention. “I love you but…”
This phrase chafes.
It implies that there is going to be a low blow dealt to my parenting psyce. But it doesn’t come. He says, “I love you but…can I wear jammies with feet tonight?” or “I love you but…are we going to park?” It’s just a verbal filler to him. But it’s a crutch I picture with a big steel-toed boot on the end that’s poised to kick me in the ass.
My daughter, during the same period of verbal development, would say “can I join your conversation?” A much kinder, gentler introduction into the banter of life, no?
But she hasn’t always been the sweet lollipop of empathy she is now. “I love you but…” gets under my skin because she used to say it to me. Usually when I was at my most harried. “I love you but…I love Daddy more.” And she meant it. I am proud of myself that I didn’t throw a four letter word at her. And I mean that.
It wasn’t really surprising, though. The two of them have had an amazing relationship from the start. He was the one who could calm her down best during her colicky episodes. And when real estate kept me out working nights and weekends, they created a bond that I could not duplicate with her.
I’m okay with it now. Time has healed that wound and she and I have our own special (and completely different) relationship. Plus I read The Wonder of Girls and it drove home the importance of a good relationship between fathers and daughters.
So my son can say it all he wants: I love you but…at school I played with Reed yesterday. But…when are we going to California? But…I had a dream that I was. A. Lion!
This morning he said it again. “I love you but… I just love you.”
And of course it made me smile, because their two variations of the phrase sum them up. One honest and open. The other simple and understated. Except when it comes to dancing naked around the house. Then they’re both freakshows.
My daughter told me the other day that the reason she likes Leia/Renesmee is that she likes scary things. That explains a lot.
It explains why she wasn’t fazed when we came home on this blustery day and found that Demon Doll had raided the liquor cabinet. Her thumbs aren’t flexible enough to work the remote, so what else was she to do? Though how she found sherry in the house, I don’t know. Well, make yourself right at home, little lady, because none of us have enough daring to gaze into your bloody-looking eyes and challenge you.
John says that she reminds him of Kirsten Dunst’s character in Interview With a Vampire. So it’s Leia, Claudia and Renesmee. Her various names add up to Claureneia. That is what I will call her. It’s as appalling as she is. (BTW. If you haven’t met Claurenia before, read this.)
File this under “What on earth was I thinking?”
A few days ago, sick of my clothes and wondering how a pair of black pants and a couple of sweaters can get up and walk away every winter, I decided to spend a Christmas gift certificate. Here was my mistake: I brought my 3 year old with me.
A minor stroke must have temporarily cut off circulation to the decision-making cortex of my brain. What else explains the thinking that bringing my son with me was a good idea? In my defense, it was pouring, we had nothing to do, and I felt like going shopping. I know?! Thank God I’m not a lawyer, right?
So off we went to Macy’s, where I promptly lost him in the racks of clothes, and began to panic when I couldn’t find him. I called out to him. Though I knew he couldn’t have gone far, there was no answer. Of course there wouldn’t be. You see, Z has an uncanny ability to ignore. He does it with such resolution and determination that you begin to doubt yourself. You think, Can’t you hear me? Didn’t I just say something? Well, maybe I didn’t, then.
If a tree fell in the forest, he would most certainly NOT hear it. Not if he didn’t want to. Even if he was standing right there.
Eventually I heard the thud-squeak of rain boots on linoleum and gathered him up. I found him holding the most hideous shirt ever, retrieved from the floor under a crowded. I’m sure it was hastily tossed down there as the last person who picked it up screamed out in horror. It looked like something he put together himself. He asked if I wanted it. He looked proud of picking it out. Of course I said yes. I was beginning to realize that shopping with him was a bad idea.
I figured the dressing room would be easier. I could corrall him in there and give him my phone to play with so I could try on a few things. Just a few. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, yes.
I tried on the ugly shirt first. I will say this to my son’s credit – he did not insist that I buy it. I have had this experience with my daughter. She once picked out a shirt for me to try on and was heartbroken when I said it was not my style. “Please stop crying, Honey,” I eventually said. “Actually, I think it is my style after all!” The glitter from that shirt still haunts my dresser.
I turned just for a second. It always starts that way, doesn’t it? The parents say “it was only a second” and something terrible happens. Thankfully, this wasn’t that terrible. It was embarrassing and now, kind of funny. So I turned back and before I could say “Why are you taking off your pullup?” the clothes and pullup were off.
At first it was funny. He just wanted to be naked and dance around to the dressing room music. When he dances he likes to wave his arms and shake his booty, sticking it out. The three-way mirrors gave him the ability to see that spectacle from all angles. That’s why they’re there, you know, so you can check out what your booty looks like. Smart boy.
Then he decided to try on clothes, so he put on a red sweater and danced around in that for a few minutes. He clearly enjoyed the silky feel on his…well, let me just tell you that you might not want to try on any red sweaters on the sale racks at the Lloyd Center Macy’s.
And then he got bored of that and took off. Just opened the door and ran. Nude. Through Macy’s.
He timed it well, too. I was in the middle of changing and couldn’t go after him quickly. By the time I whipped on my clothes he was already being led back to the dressing room by a nice sales associate who had tears running down her face. I loved her. She anticipated my panic and called out to me that she had him before I even saw her. She didn’t make me feel bad about irresponsibly letting my kid run around naked. She was alert enough to see him, catch him, and prevent me from having to retrieve my naked kid from the security office where they would be calling child protective services on me.
I don’t even know if they get commission there, but I made sure to ring up my purchases with her – while CARRYING my now-clothed kid so he didn’t run off again.
The whole thing just makes me realize that I have a bit of an odd job, raising this kid who prefers to be nude. I’ll have to teach him how to do it in a fun-not-creepy way. I think we’ll look into colleges that have streaking traditions so that he has an outlet for his art.
I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of our family.
Fancy, no? Just don’t look directly into her eyes, for she will steal your soul.
This Christmas, my M-I-L gave my daughter a very questionable doll. With a back story.
Apparently the MIL was in the elevator of her retirement/assisted living community, when a woman walked in with a large doll. She was taking the doll down to The Treasure Chest – the building’s equivalent of Goodwill. My husband and I call the shop The Dead Zone. It’s located in an assisted living building, so do I need to explain why? Plus, we’re thoughtful like that.
So the MIL fell in love with the doll and stopped the woman from going down to The Dead Zone with it. She bought it right then and there in the elevator. Yes, you read that right. She bought a doll that a woman was about to give away for free.
The MIL wrapped her in a
body bag trash bag and there she waited for Christmas.
I’m sure she was pissed.
My daughter opened her up Christmas morning and was thrilled. I kept watching her to see if she was being serious. Either she was serious or we need to get her in front of some casting directors, pronto.
My daughter was amazed at this pint-sized beauty with white-blonde locks. I think she was envious of the dress, since she had asked for a similar one, but pink. Santa failed to provide an adequately fancy pouf. Her acting wasn’t quite as good in that scene.
Anyway, I kept looking to see if she noticed the eyes. I was worried. Those eyes are the stuff of nightmares, and my daughter is prone to nightmares. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
I noticed. Want to see why?
You can’t look away, can you? It’s because she’s not done hypnotizing you. When she is done you will become one of her minions.
Stella named her Leah. I think the name stemmed from a girl in her school, sadly, not the bun-helmeted Star Wars princess.
But I know who she really is. More back story: A while ago, when I was in an apparent self-flagellation period, I read the Twilight series. In case you have maintained your dignity and don’t know much about the books, I’ll tell you the only significant part. In the last book of the series, a vampire and a human have a baby. A fast-growing, ultra-intelligent, vampy baby. It took four books for the author to get there.
So now, for some reason, Renesmee has come to stay at my house. It’s such an awful hiss of a name. It’s as if Stephanie Meyer turned off the sound when Cedric Diggory was talking and tried to read his lips. I think we’ll stick with Leah.
For days I’ve tried to find a pedophilic werewolf to take care of the demon doll. It may take a while, so in the mean time I’ll try not to give my daughter nightmares by referring to her as the demon doll.
And I will try not to piss off Renes- er, Leah, because those hard porcelain limbs could probably overcome my supple human flesh pretty easily.
P.S. I just thought of a reason why someone might make this doll. Perhaps someone was obsessed with Toddlers and Tiaras. Let’s weigh the pros and cons, shall we?
PROS: She is less stiff than many of the contestants. Her makeup is already done in the very adult style they seem to like. The dress is perfect. Her talent is hypnosis, so she would hold tremendous sway over the judges.
CONS: She needs more makeup. She would scare the crap out of the other contestants, who wouldn’t then compete, and where is the competition in that?
|Looking a little tired, but still not stabbable.|
I love your tongue and your hair.
I will NOT stab you.
I need to show you dis! Cool!
It came from my nose.
a guy with a face on fire?
That would be cool.
|Shoes worth begging for.|
Please! I only have 4 pairs.
Well, you have a lot.
You must have heard me wrong.
I’m sure I said truck.