Animated Animosity

The other morning Baby had a funny look on her face. When I asked her what was wrong, she replied by throwing up. So she spent the day on the couch with her favorite blanket, watching cartoons, which means I was right there with her. Here are a few observations:

• There are far too many kids' shows featuring pigs. What is it with pigs? They look weird, are smelly, aren't at all cuddly, and it's just odd to have them walking on two legs, with their knees all backwards and such. I think the cartoon executives ought to learn from the Germans and feature a loaf of bread instead.
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• The opinion I formed of Dora the Explorer years ago still holds with child #3.
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• While watching said "unsupervised child," my daughter was completely focused on helping Dora reach her destination. Toward the end of the show when it came time to climb a ladder, Baby was asked to put her hands out in front of her and help Dora climb. Baby didn't miss a beat and replied in a very stern voice "You're a big girl now, Dora. and big girls need to try all by yourself before I help you." Gee, maybe I've been saying that a lot lately or something.
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• Why is it that some cartoon characters can spend the entire show running around buck nekkid, but when it's time to go swimming, they put on swimming suits? Really, what's the point by then?
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• When I mention that I don't like Max & Ruby, other parents usually concur, stating how Ruby is just soooo bossy. But it's not Ruby; it's Max. Ruby isn't exactly mean about her instructions. Heck, their parents are nowhere to be seen (probably eaten by a wolf) so she's just doing the best she can. And Max constantly disobeys. And when he disobeys? It ends up being the right thing to do! Anyone with an annoyingly perfect little brother knows what I mean.
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• I have to remember that these shows are geared toward the preschool age-range, so I won't over-think the plots. For instance, if the three clues in Steve's handy dandy notebook are a mat, a twirling thingy, and a leotard, then don't assume that Blue wants to be Olympic gymnast. That stream of thinking is way too high level for a show that features salt and paper shakers that gave birth to paprika.

After an afternoon as a captive audience, I have to say that cartoons might have actually raised my IQ. Hey, I learned how to say "jump" in Spanish, the life stages of a caterpillar and the effects on bug friendships, and how easily a koala bear's feelings can get hurt by ants. Much more productive than cleaning a house that gets torn up every afternoon anyway.

Don't Quote Me On That

It's late. I can't sleep. So I'm gonna blog. Lucky you.

(I reserve the right to delete this post once I get some rest.)

Sometimes I have to watch what I say around the kids. It's not like I swear like a drunken sailor but it's the phrases, sometimes the seemingly innocent ones that the kids pick up on. Take this evening for example...

I took the kids out because I was feeling a little cabin fever from getting over a cold. Perhaps staying indoors so long had deluded me into thinking that this was a good idea. We were at a local bookstore. Boo found a joke book (See? Total lapse of judgement) and Baby found a flip-book. The Boy couldn't find anything he liked. There wasn't anything Lego. Or Star Wars. Or Lego Star Wars. So I let him get a bag of chocolate covered pretzels instead. As I swiped my credit card, I noticed that half of the pretzels were dipped in white chocolate. Suppressing a shudder (and perhaps a little bile in my throat), I signed the receipt and we were off.

Once the Boy had a couple of his treats, he was all smiles and beneficence. So he offered me one. A white chocolate pretzel. After I stopped foaming at the mouth, I then had to explain several of the words I'd used, such as "abomination" and "blasphemy." Care to place any bets on how quickly those little gems are going to stop popping up in conversation? Maybe they'll get bonus vocabulary points.

While the Boy acquired his passion for chocolate (however impure it might be) from me, he also got my temper. Just a little.

The Boy, like most boys his age, likes to build forts out of couch cushions and sheets. I usually don't mind as long as he abides by a my rules, like don't attempt to take the cushions I am currently seated on and he has to allow all siblings to enter. Which means Baby gets to come in.

Baby is not exactly gentle. Nor is she careful. And she doesn't pays attention to structural support. The fort fell down. A lot. Finally, the Boy let his frustration get to him.

"Baby!" he shouted. "You are gonna be the death of me!"

Hrmm. I wonder where he got that little quote? Why is it that he can't remember what I asked him to do two minutes ago, but he'll remember what I muttered under my breath last month? Maybe I ought to change my strategy. Starting tomorrow, I'll start mumbling when I want him to do something. Hey, asking nicely doesn't get me anywhere. Maybe my passive-aggressive grumblings will be the thing that gets him to clean his room. It's either that or using the Force.

The Boy Brings Me Joy

And yes, I like that my title is a cheesy little rhyme.

Here are two recent happenings that just make me want to squeeze my little mini man and never let go!

We were getting ready for a family trip and I had him pick out four favorite movies to bring in the car.

His selections:

Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

Star Wars: A New Hope

My Little Pony: Friends Are Never Far Away

Then, just tonight, after the kids were in pajamas, we said family prayer. When the prayer ended, instead of saying "amen," the Boy indignantly pointed out that the little penguin tag was missing from his pajamas.

Boy: The penguin is gone!

Me: Boy -

Boy: It's supposed to be right here! (emphatically patting wrist)

Me: Boy -

Boy: It's gone! (Much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth)

Me: ...

Boy: (sniffles)

Me: First of all, your pajamas are on inside-out.

Boy: Oh.

Girls are fun but I sure am glad I have my Boy.

One of those moments...

...when you really can't help but laugh out loud at something your kid says!

Boo: Mom, Baby smells funny.

Me: Is she poopy?

Boo: I don't think so.

Me: Does she smell like she has a wet diaper?

Boo: No, she smells like the geysers at Yellowstone.

Space, the Final Frontier

The Co-ed left on Thursday and already, I feel the loss. If you haven't met the Co-ed in person then you probably don't get just how fun she is to be around. She's like the little sister I never had. (And I really like reliving my college days vicariously through her.)

It's not just the Co-ed's company I'm going to miss. In exchange for weekly dinners, free laundry facilities, and the occasional raiding of our refrigerator when her's was empty, the Co-ed would babysit for us. One such event, the Co-ed was subjected relentlessly to the mediocrity that is programing created specifically for children. The kids had borrowed a movie from a friend and were currently watching it non-stop. It was called "Space Buddies." Remember that show a while back called "Air Bud," about the dog that played basketball? These are his puppies. They have "bud" in their name: Rosebud, Buddha, Budderball, and Mudbud. Then there's B-dawg, who must be the black sheep of the group, with his mad turn-table skills and obvious collar bling. The story was about as bad as any talking animal movie you've ever seen. By the end of the evening, the Co-ed's brain was leaking out her ear.

(If you want a taste of the awesomeness, go here, but don't stay too long or your IQ may suffer.)

We almost got her the latest installment, "Snow Buddies," for Christmas. I got her a leopard-print Snuggie instead. Only slightly less evil. (Kristina P. would be so proud.)

Telling you all that was simply backstory for what I'm about to tell you.

The Man is a outer space fanatic. The space program fascinates him. If he had been born thirty years earlier, he would have worked for them. He loves the movies, tv specials, and special five-disc series made about the space program. As I type, he is watching "Apollo 13" for around the 53rd time. Not in a row, of course. He shows more restraint then the kids.

Whenever he watches tv, the kids migrate toward it and want to watch, too. It just so happened that they arrived close to the launch sequence. Both kids stared in wide-eyed silence as the shuttle lifted off in a blaze of glory.

I waited for their response.

The Boy was still silent, fascinated.

The Boo frowned.

"That wasn't like 'Space Buddies' at all!"

Indeed not, Boo. Indeed not.

Quality Father/Son Time

The other weekend, the Man was all alone with the Boy. Boo went on a special outing for her birthday and I was at a write-in (NaNo-speak for a bunch of us sitting around with our laptops, listening to each other type while we eat cookies). So the whole afternoon, the Man and the Boy could spend some quality time together. Their planning session went something like this:

The Man: Okay, Boy, you and I get to play together today!
Boy: Woot!
The Man: So what do you want to do?
Boy: ...
The Man: We could go shopping. We need to get Mommy a Christmas present.
Boy: ...
The Man: It could be fun, going to the store. You might get a treat.
Boy: ...
The Man: Or we could play Lego Sta-
Boy: LEGO STAR WARS!
The Man: Yeah, we could play that.
Boy: Okay, let's play Lego Star Wars.
The Man: Are you sure you don't want to-
Boy: No, I wanna play Lego Star Wars.
The Man: Oooookay...

And they did. For three hours.

The Boy is mildly obsessed with Lego Star Wars currently. And since I've been writing instead of giving him attention, he gets to play it pretty much all day long (I can kiss that "Mother of the Year" award goodbye). When he comes down for breakfast in the morning, he tells me all about his Lego Star Wars dreams. If his grandparents or relatives talk to him, he updates them - in minute detail - on his latest achievements.

We might have a problem.

What is your child's current addiction?

Brainwashed

Along with the phrases that are banned at our house, I thought it was only fair that I tell you the phrases that I make my kids say. There's "thank you" and "I'm sorry," of course. I never make my kids say "I love you" but they are very spontaneous about it and will say it anytime, any place. Including in the very crowded public restroom at Target. I just inspire that sort of devotion, I guess.

One thing I insist on is the way they must ask "please." Da Boo started this when she was very young. She has since indoctrinated the Boy. I suspect that Baby will be the same way, once she gets past coos and blowing raspberries as her main forms of communication.

Example...
Boo: Can I have a cookie?
Me: What do you say?
Boo: Please?
Me: Please, what?
(and keep in mind, I was originally asking her to repeat her question, as "Can I have a cookie, please?")
Boo: Please, oh most beautiful of the Mommas?

Now, who can say no to that?

Banned

There are a few phrases that are not permitted in my house. Along with the usual suspects, the kids aren't allowed to call people "dumb" or "stupid." You can call the Wii stupid or your wrong-side-out-mega-frustrating pajamas dumb, but you cannot call a person that (or the fish because they can cry, too). "Crap" is no longer welcome, although it slips out more than I'd like to admit, but it's just not cool when your little boy, while trying to shake hands with the bishop at church, accidentally drops his paper from Sunday School, immediately followed by him exclaiming "Oh my freaking crap!" (True story.)

New item on the banned list? Saying "Awwwwww!" And I'm not talking about the "Awwww, Baby is so stinking adorable!" (because really, she is) I mean the nasal-toned "Awwww...I don't wanna wash my hands!" That one. While as a parent, the whine-manifested-into-speech never had much convincing power, my kids have used it so often that it has become a knee-jerk reaction whenever I ask them to do something even mildly unpleasant. Here are some examples from recent days:

Me: Boy, you need to get your shoes on-
Boy: Awwwwwwwww!
Me: -so you can go play at your best buddy's house.
Boy: Awesome!

Me: Hey kids, time to turn off the Wii-
Kids: AWWWWWWWW! (in unison, no less)
Me: -because we're going to Krispy Kreme.
Kids: Oh. Okay!

So if I were to keep track of Things That Are Dead To Me, the phrase "Awwwwww!" would make the short list. Along with white chocolate. And Sponge Bob Squarepants (he's the one except to the "stupid" rule).

What phrases are banned at your house?

Older Than The Hills

We were driving through Provo the other day when the Boy looked out the window and saw the Provo temple. He asked if that was where we saw "the play" (the Manti Pageant that I somehow never blogged about...).

Me: No, sweetie, that was the Manti temple. This is the Provo temple.
Boy: In Manti?
Boo: Yeah, Manti is where Mommy and Daddy got married.
Me: That's right, Boo.
Boo: So it's really old.

Yeah, thanks, Boo.

Wonders of Technology

I'd like to think that I'm fairly tech-savvy. The Man knows all kinds of random facts and figures about all the newest gadgets and sometimes, I remember what he said. It only took him giving me a short (two-part) tutorial before I could use his itouch without having him fix my mistakes constantly. So, normally, I get it or I can at least figure it out. But my ipod had me stumped.

I mainly use my trusty ipod in the kitchen or on the treadmill (and we all know from my recent pictures how often I actually use the treadmill, so I pretty much have it in the kitchen...while I'm baking something calorie-saturated). I have this nifty little device (that I stole from the Man) that plugs into it and then I can listen to it through any radio. My ears are tiny and those little earbud things just don't stay in. And of course, it took me a whole paragraph to get to my point: I don't usually have my ipod in hand while I'm listening to it.

While we were on the cruise, I listened to my ipod the old-fashioned way, using headphones. We would be up on deck, lounging in those comfy chairs, no little kids to watch so they didn't fall overboard, flagging down the drink boys to bring us more Dr Pepper, completely greased up with sunscreen, and listening to our own music. Bliss, I tell ya. BLISS.

It was during one such afternoon that I finally asked the Man about something I had noticed but couldn't quite understand.

Me: See how it goes to this odd display once my song's been playing for a bit?
The Man: Ooookay...
Me: What is that? I thought maybe it was the time left on my play list or something but it counts up instead of down.
The Man just gives me that look that he gets when I suggest he might want a nice glass of water instead of Dr. Pepper.
Me: I know it's not how long I've been listening to music because it always has a different number on it.
The Man: (more of that look except now he's starting to smirk...)
Me: So, ummm...what is it?
The Man: That's the time. It's a clock.
Me: Oh.

Surely, I am not the only one! Anyone else made a ridiculous technological assumption or mistake? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Overheard Conversations #2

Boy: Daddy?
the Man: Hang on a minute, son.
Boy: Daddy? Daddy?
the Man: Just a bit, almost done, Boy.
Boy: Daddy? Daddy?? Daddy?!? DADDY!!
the Man: Geesh, Boy! Hold your horses!
(quiet pause)
Boy: We have horses?

Overheard Conversation

This conversation took place an hour and a half after bedtime.

Boo: Tell me how many people are in the Mother Hen.
Boy: One? Two? Three? Four?
Boo: No, three.
Boy: Three?
Boo: Yes. There's God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost.
Boy: The Holy Ghost?
Boo: Yes, but you can't see him. They are three people who all look alike.
Boy: Oh.

I'm not exactly sure where she got the name "Mother Hen" but at least she's certain about who's in it.

Scene At Church...

INT. CHURCH CHAPEL (AFTERNOON): During services.

Extremely attractive The Man, dressed in black suit and looking amazing, sits in back pew holding on his lap the Boy, dressed in white shirt with cute clip-on tie. As the Speaker talks, Boy squirms. The Man proceeds to keep the Boy occupied with saying words he knows.

THE MAN: Where's you're belly?

BOY: Belly. (pats belly.)

THE MAN: Where's your belly button?

BOY: Button. (yanks up shirt and pats belly...realizes that's not his belly button and begins to frantically search for it). Button? Button!

THE MAN: Shhhhh! Shhhhh, Boy.

BOY: Button! GONE! (search now includes the pew and the floor.) Gone, Daddy, GONE!

THE MAN: Shhhhhh...Here's your belly button, it's right here! (guides Boy's hand to the right spot.)

BOY: Button? Button.

THE MAN: Good job.

BOY: Juice?