toddler

The Intensely Named Custom Lego Minifigures For Dad’s Birthday

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After deciding that he wanted to make his father custom mini-figures for his birthday present, 5 year old Harrison put together somewhat normal looking figures…with intense back stories…

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Me: So…what’s this guy’s story?

Harrison:  He’s a warrior…and he uses a bow and arrow that was his brother’s because his brother got kidnapped.  He wears his hair like his kidnapped brother now because he misses him and has been searching for him for YEARS but the bad guys have him hidden.  So his name is, “Warrior Guy Who Got His Brother Stolen And Now He’s Looking For Him And He Uses His Bow”.

Me: Nice.

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Me: Why doesn’t this guy have arms?

Harrison:  He isn’t a guy, he’s Slimer from the Ghostbusters movie. He has the cat because he eats cats because he hates them. Only he doesn’t eat the cat like WE would eat the cat (side note: we don’t eat cats in this family) he just kind of gobbles him up in all the slime.  So his name is, “Slimer From The Ghostbusters Movie Who Eats Cats Because He Hates Them”.

Me: (a little creeped out by the cat bit)…okay…I guess I can see that…

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Me: This guy?

Harrison: MOM!   He’s a scientist…and when he isn’t doing experiments he dresses up like Darth Vader.

Me: Hm. He’s for sure my favorite.  So…is his name, like, “The Scientist Who Cosplays As Darth Vader In His Downtime”?

Harrison: Mom. Stop. He’s just a scientist!

Me:…um…who cosplays as Darth Vader on the down low, so we’re using my name.  Next, son.

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Me: Who’s this guy with the shirt and the cuffs?

Harrison:  “Rockstar Dancer Who Got Arrested For Dancing Too Much”.

Me:…where was he dancing…?

Harrison: What?

Me: Nothing.

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Me:  So…a king?

Harrison:  Yeah.  “King Guy”.

Me:  Really?  That’s it? “King Guy”?

Harrison:  MOM!  Geez.  Fine. “King Guy Who Wears A Big Crown And Can’t See Good Because The Crown Is In His Eyes And He Sometimes Falls On His Sword”.

Me:  Better.

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Me:  Ninja?

Harrison: A SAMURAI, not a NINJA.

Me: He’s holding a club…

Harrison:  THAT’S because he got his sword stolen when bad guys came and killed his father, so he uses a club like a caveman until he can kill all the bad guys and get his sword back.

Me: Intense.  So…is HIS name, “Vengeful Samurai Who Uses A Club Because His Sword Was Stolen By Evil Father Killers”?

Harrison:  I guess.  Can I have fruit chews now?

Me:  Sure, kid.

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Happy Birthday, Dad.  

Love,

Your Highly Imaginative & Creative Son

It Was Time For a Puppy

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IMG_5224Dear Darling Children,

In honor of National Dog Day I’m going to share the story of how Gaston Alexander Frazier came to be part of our family.

It was a warm, drizzly Sunday.  The night before I had far too much wine because both of you had been screaming, hitting and spilling your juice all over the house.  After your father put you to bed and I was sufficiently intoxicated I started sobbing about how much I missed my sweet dog, Alexander, who had passed away just a month or so before.

“I miss him. I also miss the unconditional LOVE he gave me.  These kids hate me today, they hate me because I won’t let them have 20 bags of fruit chews or watch Caillou.”

I whispered this, my voice cracking, huge teardrops running down my face.

Your father stared at me, at his absolutely stunning and wonderful wife who could do no wrong and was HIS REASON FOR LIVING and he made a decision.

If his perfect wife wanted a dog, she would get a dog.

Cue the warm & drizzly Sunday.

After we undid the hog ties we had to use to get you both into appropriate non-pajama clothing, we all climbed into the car to “visit” the pet shop.  You yelled at each other the entire ride, angry because you had wanted to go to McDonalds but I had said no since neither of you would quit picking your noses or making gagging sounds.

I ignored you both, anxious to see what kind of puppies the shop had.

Your father picked up a mini dachshund immediately.  I wasn’t sold and kept pushing a slightly older light brown puppy in your father’s face, making it speak in a British accent about tea and whatnot.

You both lasted about 10 minutes before imploding, bored, making robot noises and dancing around like a college student on crack.  I put the dog back in his cage and walked out, tears already forming in my eyes.

“They don’t even want a dog. I’m the only one who cares.  How can they not care?  It’s a PUPPY!  A FREAKING PUPPY!!!!  WHO DOESN’T WANT A PUPPY?”

I sobbed this to your father, hysterical once we got to the car.

“You’re right.”

Your father said this calmly, taking my delicate bird hands in his strong ones and gazing at me with his piercing blue eyes that see right into my soul.

“They don’t care.  I don’t care, either.  You’re the one who cares, and that’s all that matters.  So go inside and find yourself a dog.  Find YOUR dog and we will all love it because YOU love it.  This isn’t for the family.  This is for you, my perfect, beautiful wife who I love more than the moon and the stars even though you don’t cook and typically leave the laundry on the couch until I finally fold it while you’re taking a 2 hour bath.”

I’m paraphrasing, but some of that is what he said.  So I listened to him and while he took you little monsters to get some food I went back into the pet shop.

Upon my re-entry I caught sight of something bouncing wildly to my left.  Turning, I spotted a black ball of fur, peppered with tiny spots.  Was it a dalmatian/dachshund/chihuahua hybrid, a brand new designer dog?

No.  It was a mini dachshund.  THE SAME MINI DACHSHUND YOUR FATHER HAD BEEN PLAYING WITH JUST MINUTES BEFORE!

He recognized me when I came back in.  He KNEW we were meant to be!

I picked him up and carried him to the puppy play area, sure that he would do something to make or break the huge decision that was upon me.

I sat down.

He immediately crawled onto my lap and fell asleep, snoring like a drunk, overweight old man.

I realized that I was exhausted, too.

We were perfect for one another

$105,985 later I walked out of that puppy shop, rounded the corner and saw your father leaning up against the car.  He looked at me.  I looked at him and immediately started sobbing.

“I love him.  I love him.”

Your father smiled knowingly.  He had been eyeing a $400 Lego set.  No way would I try to block that purchase NOW!

Just kidding.

He smiled LOVINGLY and said, “Anything to make you happy.”

Anything.

I love him.

…and my new puppy.

Happy National Dog Day, Darling Children.

The End.

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They Should Just Build a Garden

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Yesterday, after turning up his nose for the umpteenth time at a wonderful dinner because it wasn’t a corn dog,  my son said he was starving.  In justifiable anger I whipped out my cell phone and brought up pictures of starving children, telling him to look at them.  To look at their ribs, their bones, their faces and that THEY were starving.  That is what starving looks like, I said, and for you to say that YOU are starving…YOU, who just ate a corn muffin and 3 brownies even though you didn’t eat your entire meal…for you to say that is insulting to the people who are actually starving.  So don’t say it.

This opened up a whole conversation on world starvation and why it exists and hearing such simple ideas from a 5 year old was…heartbreaking.

“Why don’t they just build a garden and plant orange trees?”

We weren’t sure, but figured it had something to do with the location and proximity to water.

“Why don’t they just borrow some money and buy some food from their parents?”

Because their parents are starving, too.

“We can give them food and money. They can have my dinner since I don’t like it.”

It just isn’t that simple. I don’t now why it isn’t that simple.  It should be that simple.

I don’t know why the planting a garden idea has stuck in my head.  Something so theoretically easy, obviously someone has thought of it.  Someone must have tried it.

Sometimes my darling 5 year old says things so heartbreakingly simple and my hope for a better future doesn’t seem so unreasonable.

Dear Darling Children: Barbie is FINE…

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Dear Darling Children,

It is perfectly acceptable to like Barbie.  Don’t let anyone tell you differently.

It has been my experience that those who dislike Barbie don’t read fine print or understand the world.  They complain about toys and how they’re messing with our babies minds because they don’t realize that the real problem for our children involves the ozone, social security and possibly the fallout from a potential Donald Trump presidency (but who really knows, what a wild card, politics has never been so entertaining, BREAK OUT THE POPCORN!).

If someone tells you they hate Barbie because she gives people unrealistic expectations of what a woman should look like, just slap the donut out of that person’s hand and let them know that Superheroes & My Little Pony are FAR more unrealistic.

Mention how they shouldn’t let toys dictate their self worth.

It’s a DOLL!

Scream that in their face.

“A DOLL! IT’S JUST A DOLL!”

After your fit, if they haven’t run away from you yet and you care at all about salvaging the friendship, try to fester out the underlying problem.

Then go save the world, one real problem at a time.

Kisses,

Mother

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Donated: No…I Haven’t Seen That Toy…

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Has anyone else ever gone so completely mad at the mess the kids make that you just do a sweep through the house with a garbage bag and donate a bunch of stuff you know they won’t miss and then when your husband comes home and asks if you’ve seen a black Lego piece that’s missing from HIS Lego modular thing you lie and say you have no clue what he’s talking about even though you remember seeing that black Lego piece and being all, “What the heck is this stupid Lego piece doing in the middle of floor, DONATE IT”?

…I  know there is no way I’m alone on this…

My Daughter: The Future Plastic Surgeon

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…or the future Dr. Frankenstein…

I just clean the room.  I don’t ask questions.

There Are Those Days

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IMG_0921There are days that I cringe when I hear you running toward my room.  I curl up under the covers, pretend to be sleeping and pray that you decide to make TODAY the day that you learn to play by yourself.

On these days I am sulky and mean.  I yell at you for not moving your little legs to the table fast enough. I yell at you: Eat your waffles, I’m not a maid, you must drink milk/water/juice, stop asking so many questions, I can’t stand the dog, you’ll wake your sister, you can’t watch the iPad, you have to wear pants, you peed on the toilet, stop asking so many questions, I told you the answer already, we’re going to be late, I just need coffee, I don’t have chocolate, you can’t have chocolate for breakfast anyway, stop asking so many questions, don’t ask why…

I yell and yell and yell and yell because…

Because sometimes, my darling little child, sometimes when you’re a stay at home parent you feel like nobody ever hears you.  Nobody is listening or understanding. You can manage this feeling for a bit, for days or for weeks but then one day…one dark day when the child who you love more than life itself asks you for the 1000th time if he has to brush his teeth…

…on that day you’ll completely lose your mind.  You’ll wonder if you’ve gone insane, if anyone can actually hear you.  DOES your voice work? You’ll feel useless because if you can’t even teach your child that he has to brush his teeth every morning you MUST BE FAILING and soon his teeth will fall out and the dentist will judge you.  You’ll start looking for a desk job because at least at a desk job you’ll have more control over the results.

You’ll cry.

I cry.

Because parenting is the most rewarding but stressful thing I have ever done in my entire life and the guilt at not being constantly & overwhelmingly grateful is crushing.

Then you, my slow walking, darling little child…you slowly walk up and sit next to me, knowing that I’m overwhelmed.  I feel guilt that my almost 5 year old knows what the word overwhelmed means.  You hold my hand.

You tell me you’re sorry for asking about brushing your teeth again.

I tell you I’m sorry for yelling.

The clock tells us both it has been 10 minutes since all of this began and now it has already ended.

We acknowledge that it was a rough start to the day and vow to get McDonald’s for lunch.

High five.

…and I vow to be a better, kinder, more patient mother tomorrow…

 

 

 

Superheroes & Pirates & That Guy

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Harrison: When I grow up and am finally a REAL superhero…

Me: Wait, when you GROW UP?  I THOUGHT you were a real superhero now.

Harrison: (annoyed) Well…yeah, I mean, I AM but I still want to be one when I get older.  I don’t want to be a pirate or like…(cue about 10 solid seconds of him trying to remember who he doesn’t want to be like)…that guy, you know, THAT guy.  You know. You KNOW. That guy.

Me: …Hm. Yeah. I hear ya.

…really, pal, NOBODY wants to be THAT GUY.

 

 

To My Darling Early Riser

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Dear Darling Early Riser,

This morning when I felt your tiny baby fingers pawing at my face I felt a rush of anger. Opening one eye just enough to see that it was still pitch black outside I grumbled that it wasn’t time to wake up and to go back to your room. I pulled the covers over my head as I heard you scurry out, back through the dark hallway and into your bedroom where you would probably hurt your feet stepping on the millions of toys that litter your floor.

Chastised. Sad. Frustrated. Confused.

Because you didn’t understand why, when YOU were so awake and felt like playing, I was being such a grump.

I didn’t hear you crying because you do it silently, which makes it even sadder. But I just KNEW. Because I’m your mother and totally psychic about these things.

As I always do when something like this happens (when I start feeling overwhelmed/tired/frustrated with you), I start to imagine all the horrifying things that could happen to you. My imagination takes me from a normal scary thing (car accident/bike fall/stairs slip up) to things that I know are insane (a random plate of glass falling off a skyscraper and crushing you/ants getting into your bedroom and eating you alive/poltergeists). I do this and then feel immediately grateful that you are alive, healthy, sweet, loving and kind. It is such a morbid thing to do but it really does help me gain perspective.

I lasted maybe 10 seconds before hauling myself out of bed and coming into your room, where you were (I called it) crying silently in your bed.

So at 6:17 am I started my day with you. We made coffee and chocolate milk. I repeatedly hissed “SHHHHHH! YOU’LL WAKE YOUR SISTER!” because you have absolutely no volume control on your sonic boom of a voice. You watched Iron Man while I paid bills online and when you turned to me at 6:47 am, smiled your sweet smile and said, “This is the BEST DAY EVER” in your crazy loud voice I was filled with such joy.

I know that one day in the not so distant future I’ll be DRAGGING you out of bed at 10 am. You’ll be grumbling about my kisses while I remember how you used to always say “One more hug” at bedtime to slow the process down. I’ll offer you chocolate milk and you’ll smirk because chocolate milk is for babies. Instead of waking me up in the morning you’ll be super quiet because you’ll be sneaking in from a late night party where you’ll have tasted vodka mixed with kool-aid and made out with a girl named Oliva who’s number you didn’t even bother to write down because you were too drunk off the vodka/kool-aid concoction and now she’s going to go and tell all her friends that you’re a jerk because you kissed her and then just left her in the closet.

I know this.

So I will appreciate my short time with you as a sweet child who thinks I’m the most awesome person in the world because soon I’ll just be your old mom who embarrasses you by not dressing age appropriately.

I promise to be more patient. I promise to be more kind. I promise to not yell.

Much.

You kind of inherited your sonic boom voice from me. Nobody is perfect.

Kisses,

Mommy

 

Throw Away the Chips & Put on Some Mascara

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While socializing with Anna & Elsa, my daughter makes sure that even Grumpy Cat makes an effort to not look like a total mess.

One cold, drafty Sunday many years ago I was an enchanting 12 year old wearing a lovely deep blue lace dress and waiting for bible study to start when an awful girl named LeeAnn sauntered up and snarkily asked why I was “SOOOOOO” dressed up.

“For Jesus, LeeAnn. Your ripped jeans and NKOTB t-shirt make him cry. Jerk.”

…is what I wanted to say.

But I didn’t, because even at 12 years old I had class.  I also didn’t have much of a quick wit, so I was stunned into silence, appalled that someone could ask something so rude.  My boyfriend at the time (yes, even at 12 I had admirers) came to my defense and told LeeAnn he thought I was beautiful and gave her a look insinuating that she was not.  He then turned back to me and said something that I have parroted to many people throughout my life:

“I think it’s nice that you always look good.  She’s stupid.”

I suppose I don’t quote EXACTLY what he said since I’m no longer 12. My quote is more like:

“Don’t ever be ashamed to be the best dressed person in the room.  It is far better to be overdressed than underdressed.  Nobody ever throws an overdressed person out of a dining establishment and  you can get away with far more minor crimes if you’re wearing a lovely pair of heels.”

I have been off my A-Game with pulling myself together lately.  Sweatpants have made frequent appearances even though I don’t work out. My hair lives in a ponytail. I’ve worn sneakers with mismatched socks.

I consistently blame this on having 2 children but, honestly…

No, I won’t lie, it really is because of the children.  It is ALL their fault.  They are two of the greatest loves of my life, but they exhaust me to the point of wearing tacky clothing on a fairly consistent basis because I’m too tired to put a decent outfit together.

Today I will begin practicing what I preach to my children.

Darling Children,

*Dress for the life you want, not the life you have.

*Dress for great success, not for mediocrity.  

*Dress like you’re going to randomly see your own LeeAnn in Target and she’ll be wearing knock off Juicy Couture terry clothe pants and a coffee stained white turtleneck and when she sees you wearing a black shift dress with your hair in a trendy bun she’ll think back to the day she tried to fashion shame you and feel immediate regret.

*A single strand of pearls or a tie can make an incredible difference in any ensemble, and you can use both items to choke any muggers who think you’re rich and carrying cash simply because you look lovely. 

I promise, you’ll be shocked at how much better you’ll feel about yourself when you throw the chips away, peel off your sweatpants and put on some mascara.

“The thirst for revenge and fear of random social embarrassment is the greatest motivator in the world of fashion.” -Me

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Even at the always enjoyable young age of 2, my darling daughter has a unique and classy style she likes to call, “Anything But What Mommy Picks Out For Me”.