It's 7:30 am; Do You Know Where Your Boobs Are?

Sometimes a young child’s take on the world and the things around them can be imaginative and inventive. Anything can happen. Elves can spend 364 days making toys for a fat guy to fly around the world and deliver in one night every child on the earth.


Reality is not concrete and the line with make believe can blur.

The confusion can sometimes be amusing for us adults.

One Saturday, I’d been doing laundry and wishing that a laundry fairy would appear and take care of this tedious, boring task. Later when I noticed that a bra had fallen into the kitchen floor, I quickly stuck it on a kitchen chair where it could hide under the table until I put it away later.

Having the memory of gnat, I forgot about the bra in the chair.

Sunday morning I was enjoying my cup of coffee curled up on the couch, while CJ ate his breakfast.

“Mommy?” CJ entered from the kitchen, his little forehead scrunched up in concern.

“Yes, baby.” I motioned him to come closer.

He hurried over and stood in front of me; leaned in close. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Your boobs are in the kitchen chair.”

Grandchildren- A Parents Revenge

“These people are not the same people I grew up with.” –Bill Cosby.




The other night on the way home, my kids were in the backseat of the car. They’d spent that day with my mom and were happily raiding the plastic bag of goodies between them in the seat. They retrieved a plastic object in the shape of a duck bill- they each had one. And they proceeded to repeatedly blow into it and a noise that was supposed to resemble a duck’s quack filled the car.

CJ had blown his spit into the noise maker and it sounded like a duck that needed to hock a loogie back there.

Why does my mother hate me?

I thought we’d put to rest the issues between us when I was in my early twenties. Then I had a child. The gleam in her eye and the maniacal laugh when I announced my pregnancy should have been a clue. She’d figured out that sweet revenge would finally be hers.

What could I have possibly done as a child to this woman? None of the stories I’ve been told seem that I was that bad. I was far better than my sister (tooting my own horn here). I’m the good one. Just because she doesn’t have kids, why do I have to pay the price for both of us?

After each visit they arrive home with bags of stuff (i.e. crap I’d never buy them). Usually the stuff is of a noisy nature- duck bill whistles (hello, they are boys...they come with their own built in noise makers), or millions of Legos that are scattered to the ends of the house and hurt like hell on the bottom of a bare foot. Or messy- the color bubble incident is by far the worse. I could stock a daycare with the amount of modeling dough that’s been sent home.

I’ve been told that I colored on her walls as a small child. I don’t remember it but will be paying for it until my kids destroy my house.

Then there’s the food- she once sent home a box of chocolate covered honey buns. I read the nutritional information (more calories and sugar than an adult should consume in a day). She introduced them to children’s chocolate breakfast cereal, chocolate pop tarts and pre-packaged snack cakes.

She wonders why they don’t sleep well when they spend the night.

Usually she loads them up and sends them home to me. And they crash and sleep like they’ve been on a three day bender.

I’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to talk to her. She will nod along and then go and do whatever she wants anyway. Probably similar to me as a teenager.

My motto for the kids is “Whatever happens at Nana’s, stays at Nana’s.”

They Call him the Streak...

On Saturday the kids went out in the backyard to play. While I run around the house folding and putting away laundry, I look out the window every now and again to assure that they are still in the fence and aren’t beating each other and they’ve been known to get into mischief. Like the time they took all the 2x4’s out of my neighbors driveway and brought them one at a time over to our yard in order to build themselves a house. What they thought they were going to fasten the lumber together with, I don’t know.


Of course you know that since I’m telling this story that mischief was afoot.

At some point between my glances out the window they managed to get into the garage, commandeer a shovel and return to the back yard. I’d swear it had only been a few minutes since the last time I looked out on them. But there they were- it took both of them to maneuver the big shovel- a hole in the middle of the backyard and two muddy little boys.

“What are you two doing,” I yell.

“Digging” replied the little one.

Thanks for the update, kid. “WC, put the shovel back into the garage and put your jacket back on.” It was cold and there he stood in a t-shirt. At this point, I don’t care why. Just stop.

I go back inside. A few minutes later, I check on them. And guess what? Oh my two, darling little angels were in the backyard- still digging. I take several deep breaths before opening the back door.

“Put the shovel up and get in this house, right now,” I yell. (sorry neighbors). “And you still don’t have on that jacket.” (Why did I bother to bring that up? Oh, yeah, I was mad that’s why.)

A few minutes later, two mad, muddy little boys were stripping in the kitchen. I ran them a bubble bath. “But it’s not bath time,” they protest. I gave them the ‘look.’ It only works on WC. CJ is almost oblivious to non verbal communication. So I tell him to get in.

They bathe and then use the time afterwards to run through the house stark naked. Then they each round the same corner going in opposite directions and collide- fall to the floor and CJ hits the wall.

He’s crying and WC is upset about hurting his little brother.

CJ recovers from most things extremely quickly. He barely cries when he’s hurt. He bounces off most things and shrugs it off. So it only took a minute for him to calm down. But WC runs to the laundry room to hide. I keep telling him to come back. But he announces he’s running away (still naked by the way). And this upsets CJ even more. He yells for his brother not to leave; he’s okay.

But I hear the door that connects to the garage open. No. He wouldn’t. He’s naked. Surely not. The door closed. I thought for a second he was still inside.

Then I heard him screaming. And see the flash of skin colored blur across the front window. My 8 year old is running bare ass naked across the front yard.

He runs up the front steps and starts ringing the doorbell and knocking at the same time.

I pull the front door open and he runs inside laughing.

“What in the hell are you doing,” I ask. I don’t usually use that word with the kids, but I think I get a pass on that.

He didn’t know.

Later he wrote about it in his journal. He showed me the picture he drew of what the neighbors saw. It was a stick figure with little round butt cheeks ringing the doorbell.

Somethings Not Right...

You know the feeling. If you have kids and the house is quiet while they're home and they're not hog tied in the closet and it isn't the middle of the night. They're doing something they are not supposed to. In my household that is pretty much the only time they aren't loud enough to drown out the TV at top volume.
Last Friday night, Jay and I were eating dinner. I decided to allow them to stay up past their normal bedtime. They were watching a Bugs Bunny DVD on the television in our room. That's right, my kids love the old Bugs Bunny and Looney Tunes cartoons. New computer animation be darned, the old classics stand the test of time in the entertainment department. Even though they are allowed to watch minimal television, they are seldom quiet for very long even when it's on. So when they were quiet for several minutes it caught my attention. I'd began to feel uneasy when Jay asked me if I was just as nervous as he was. I nodded and agreed that I felt uneasy. Not thirty seconds passed when WC rounded the corner. "CJ peed in your bathroom floor," he announced. Jay and I stared at each other. "Then I had to take off my sock," WC continued. "Cause, I'd stepped in the pee and my sock was all wet."
"Where's your brother now," I ask (scared of the answer).
"He's standing in front of the potty waiting for you to come whip his butt." (I highly doubt that)
Jay falls over laughing. WC stares at him looking appalled. "This family is disgusting." He declared and stomped off.
Before I reach the bathroom I just assume that he'd stood in front of the toilet and simply missed. He's not supposed to use our bathroom because the toilet is three inches higher than the one in the hall bathroom and he can't reach over it easily while standing. But when I reach the bathroom and open the door the scene unfolded. There stood CJ in front of the toilet-yes. But facing the opposite direction. And the giant puddle square in the middle of the floor. I had to return to the kitchen to retrieve the roll of paper towels and to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
WC, even more appalled, is wondering aloud how we find peeing in the bathroom floor funny. It wasn't funny but sometimes if we don't laugh...we might go crazy instead.
While CJ was verbally reprimanded for his actions, I did not "whip his butt."