It was the sort of laugh that means they are up to no good.... The laugh that is not so much a laugh per say, but an evil cackle.... Every Mom in the world knows this sound. While entertaining to the ear, it usually ends up two ways: Either they are up to mischief, or they are up to something totally disgusting. Since I own boys, the later usually applies. So with anticipated fear and curiosity I followed the noise to where I last left my children. I was met with neither mischief nor disgust, but rather something else. Something I, in a million years, thought I wouldn’t have to deal with until at least puberty.
Touching themselves.
Or in this case, each other!!
Oh Goodie….
GULP!
Now before you think you have entered the freak zone of this blog let me clarify a few things. No, they were not naked. No, they were not being gross or perverted. They were just “playing”…If you will. Evan was the fondler, and was using his foot. Ryan was lying on his back and laughing. “That Tickles” he kept saying in between the evil cackling.
Dear God Please Help Me…..
Before I knew it words come pouring out of my mouth, and I had no control over the volume.
"GUYS.... WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"
Both boys de-tangled themselves from each other and even though they sensed I was mad proceeded to laugh even harder.
Okay so I knew the day would arrive. The "private area" talk. I really totally swear I knew it was coming. Especially, with Ryan. The child came out of the womb fondling himself.
I begin my approach with a brief pit stop at what I like to call 'Mommy Rationalization.' They are after all just kids... no harm here right? These are the same children who not only pee together but have contests as to whose stream goes the furthest. Yes they have ventured down "there" before and yes it is a thing I am sure all kids do. But Still, I have to say something….
Anything….
Ryan pulls me out of my current state of shock.
"Hehehehe....Mommy" He begins with a laugh. "That was ticking me!"
Oh the innocence.... the pure innocence.... Think woman think! What to say what to say.
"Guys" I begin (I tend to favor the word guys).
"We need to have a talk about your private areas."
"Our what?" The ask in unison.
Ummm.....
"Mommy can we have a snack?"
"No, we need to chat about your penis!"
More laughing!
Why oh why isn't Daddy home for this moment. But no, this falls on me. Just like everything else. Must educate the children pronto!!!
But they are only 5 and 4. Really??? I am at this point already?
I look at the clock. OH BLOODY HELL! Too early for a cocktail. Too late for ignoring what I started. I round up my best serious face and sit down on the floor next to the boys who have shifted expressions from sheer happiness to the onset of boredom.
I try again.
"Guys - " Your private areas are your own business."
"The penis you mean" The five year old offers.
"Yes, that's right, your penis. Okay so now, we don't play with each other’s penis okay. That is private."
“Like your Boobs are Private Mommy?” Once again, the ever informative and observant, 5 year old offers.
“Yes Evan, that’s right. Some things are personal to girls and some things are personal to boys.”
“What about your penis Mommy?” Ryan says.
“No…Yes, I mean I don’t have a….” Sigh….
“What I am trying to say guys is that you and ONLY you are allowed to play with your OWN penis.
Yes, I said it. I did. Play with yourselves dear children. Need a magazine????
And right on cue they crack up again. It’s like they know I am in Hell right now. This so sucks!!
I want to be mad but I can’t find my voice.
So I call my Mom.
"Mom, you won't believe what I caught Evan and Ryan doing?"
"What?" she asks with her ‘my perfect grandchildren could do no wrong’ tone.
"Well, Evan was using his foot and uhh.. stroking Ryan in his privates. And Ryan was laughing.”
"Oh, that is hysterical." My Mom replies perfectly calm like.
Hysterical?
"What do you mean hysterical, its weird right?
"Now, honey it's classically kid like. They don't know any better and it feels good.'
"MOTHER!!!"
"What?!?! Now, it's not a big deal sweetheart really. Why when you and your sister discovered-"
I hang up on her before she can finish her sentence.
Next I call my husband.
"And." he replies unimpressed with the story I laid out for him. Maybe he didn’t hear me right. Maybe he isn't concerned that they were engaged in such activity." So I repeat it again, this time using major graphic descriptions
"Well, they are dudes." Is all he has to offer.
"But shouldn't I engage in some sort of chat here?
"Nah."
Nah?
"Hey what's for dinner?'
I hang up on him too.
I am alone in my journey. I am. I realized this a few years ago. A house full of penises. Its’ like a circus half the time. I look back towards the boys. They have moved on to their Transformer toys and probably don’t even care anymore.
So I cave in and get over it. Me and my non-penis schlep off in to the other room. Waiting.... Anticipating the next evil cackle that has become both my friend and enemy. Friend because it has saved me from many 'screwdriver in the light socket' moments. Enemy because case in point today, in a split second, they have the nerve to grow up a little bit more.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Classic Sumer funk and PLEASE Stop Talking!
Today is a weird day.
Okay it's a weird "weird" day. I don't know why exactly. No rhyme no reason....It's a Friday which is cool... It's summer which again, is cool. The sun is shining the birds are chirping, cool, cool, cool. (or as my four year old would say Blah Blah Blah...)
Yet I am in a classic summertime funk.
And it's not even July 4th.
Sigh...
So I have decided I need a project. Something that doesn't involve putting on sunscreen and endless searches for the kids swim goggle, and funny enough I do have one in mind.
Get rid of all toys that talk!
This actually came to me yesterday after I stepped on 'Buzz Lightyear' with a hand full of laundry. "I come in Peace" the little shit responds.
You come in Peace?? Do you now?? Here's your peace... And I sideswiped him with my foot where he slid underneath the dining room table and had the nerve to speak again. "I am Buzz Lightyear defender of the universe!"
I hate that dude!!
However, the real reason all these talking toys need to go is what happened a few weeks ago. I am just now recovering from this so I can talk about it openly. Let me start with the fact that all toys whose voices come over on a child's monitor usually sound silly and cartoonish. However at 3:00 a.m. they sound like Freddie Kruger. I am not exaggerating at all (okay, slightly....) But still....
Since becoming a mother my ears went from blocking everything out to I hear everything including the "swoosh" sound a pin makes when it drops to the floor. This is a miserable yet necessary part of parenting. I mean sure I sleep, but any little thing...I am up. Case in point the 3:00 a.m. Freddie Kruger incident. It sounded like evil whispering actually, but I bolted right up immediately. What the Hell was that? I looked over at my husband who was sound asleep or playing dead (which he has a history of doing when there is ruckus via the children between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m.).
It's funny what goes through your mind when you think there is an ax murderer in the house. I am happy to say that after the mind numbing fear registered, my first instinct was to yes- check on the children. In my sleepy stupor I ran up the stairs, realizing half way up that I failed to bring a weapon. Crap!! No matter no matter, must check the children will figure something out. However my heart was pounding. All I could hear was that voice. What (or rather who) the heck was that? Better question what the heck was I doing? Last question, did I turn the oven off?
I tip toed gingerly into the kids bedroom, and thankfully the children were indeed safe and sleeping. Breathing, lost in their sweet little la la land. There seemed to be no monster in their room, no alligators under their beds or nightmares in their closets (I really do need to get the boys new books to read as I have turned into one of them)
But then....there it goes.... It happens again. A muffled creepy voice it is coming from the other room. It says something to the effect of "Do it again Hot Wheels" It is dawning on me now that this may not be an ax murder but indeed a child’s toy. An irritating talking toy that has woke me up and given me a major panic attack at 3:00 a.m. I find the toy. It is a Hot Wheels track with a big shark head that talks, or more specifically- taunts. It's evil. It's also lying slightly underneath another toy, somehow its button being pushed setting it off in random rants. I kick it and it shuts up. I go back downstairs, mission accomplished. I am supermom, defender of the universe. I fall back to sleep making a list of all toys that need to go:
Item # 1) anything and everything from the Madagascar movies, mainly the Happy Meal toys. We have 100 of these. For years Chris Rock, Jada Picket Smith and the Penguin dudes have filled up our house with sayings like "You Guys Are crazy." and "Let's Go." Sure it's stuff I say on a daily basis but who needs miniature zoo animals mocking you? Nope, not this mama. They need to go.
2) The GI Joe Doll - Who does this guy think he is? With his Al Pacino be voice and his "Hoooohaaaa." Sounds. "Take that you Cobra!" It says constantly. "Oh yeah? Take this you Ken doll wanna be, and guess what your lime green jumpsuit and crew cut is NOT a good look for you!" Ass....
"
**I might have a minor GI Joe hatred thanks to one of my childhood neighbors (we will call him crazy evil Johnny) who used to tease me and my sister with his GI Joe dolls. But I digress.**
3) Robots! Especially ones that inform me when I walk by that "The enemy has been attacked" and follows with rapid gunfire. I know I am the enemy. You see shiny red robot that was greatly over priced, I am Mommy. Of course I am the enemy. I am the one who doesn't allow the children to chew gum. I also don't allow Chocolate milk for dinner anymore. I put my foot down when there is a child standing or walking on the back of furniture and I really, really come down hard on all sentences that start with the word “Poppyhead.” I am a buzz kill for sure. I didn't used to be. I used to be cool and in charge and the fixer of all problems. Now apparently, I suck but don’t need to be reminded. Robot be gone!!
4) Diego. Yes, "Go Diego Go" got me through a lot of "phases" in this house. The toddler phase particularly. You remember that phase right? The one where they can talk but can't reason yet? The tempers, the learning of the word "no" themselves, the emptying of trash cans and pouring juice all over the sofa... That one. So yes, my little amigo Diego helped me out by memorizing both two year olds to that much loved catatonic state. He is a real pal and I am grateful. But the dude has one of the most irritating voices on TV. So transfixed into toys it's even more irritating. Especially the talking camera. "Click.....Take a Pic....." Yeah Yeah Yeah.... Blah Blah Blah.. Go....Diego....Go.
5) Last but not least. Any and all Laser Guns. These are extra special and usually given to the boys by one or both set of retired and relaxed grandparents. I can tell they love watching my husband and I suffer on Christmas Morning when the boys open a loud obnoxious toy that requires 18 batteries and ear plugs. I am being shot with one right now actually. My sweet innocent first born is pointing aiming and firing. A sound follows that resembles what would happen if I tried to steal an article of clothing with the plastic sensor still attached. It’s a lovely sound really. Good mix of high volume and sheer obnoxiousness.
“I shot you Mommy.”
“Yes Thank you Evan. You got Mommy.”
“Play dead.”
And so I do. And he is happy. He run’s off to go shoot his brother who defends himself pretending to be Buzz Lightyear. It’s kind of cute actually. I smile, my funky mood lifted slightly.
Maybe that guy is not so bad after all.
And in all honesty neither is Summer.
Okay it's a weird "weird" day. I don't know why exactly. No rhyme no reason....It's a Friday which is cool... It's summer which again, is cool. The sun is shining the birds are chirping, cool, cool, cool. (or as my four year old would say Blah Blah Blah...)
Yet I am in a classic summertime funk.
And it's not even July 4th.
Sigh...
So I have decided I need a project. Something that doesn't involve putting on sunscreen and endless searches for the kids swim goggle, and funny enough I do have one in mind.
Get rid of all toys that talk!
This actually came to me yesterday after I stepped on 'Buzz Lightyear' with a hand full of laundry. "I come in Peace" the little shit responds.
You come in Peace?? Do you now?? Here's your peace... And I sideswiped him with my foot where he slid underneath the dining room table and had the nerve to speak again. "I am Buzz Lightyear defender of the universe!"
I hate that dude!!
However, the real reason all these talking toys need to go is what happened a few weeks ago. I am just now recovering from this so I can talk about it openly. Let me start with the fact that all toys whose voices come over on a child's monitor usually sound silly and cartoonish. However at 3:00 a.m. they sound like Freddie Kruger. I am not exaggerating at all (okay, slightly....) But still....
Since becoming a mother my ears went from blocking everything out to I hear everything including the "swoosh" sound a pin makes when it drops to the floor. This is a miserable yet necessary part of parenting. I mean sure I sleep, but any little thing...I am up. Case in point the 3:00 a.m. Freddie Kruger incident. It sounded like evil whispering actually, but I bolted right up immediately. What the Hell was that? I looked over at my husband who was sound asleep or playing dead (which he has a history of doing when there is ruckus via the children between the hours of midnight and 6:00 a.m.).
It's funny what goes through your mind when you think there is an ax murderer in the house. I am happy to say that after the mind numbing fear registered, my first instinct was to yes- check on the children. In my sleepy stupor I ran up the stairs, realizing half way up that I failed to bring a weapon. Crap!! No matter no matter, must check the children will figure something out. However my heart was pounding. All I could hear was that voice. What (or rather who) the heck was that? Better question what the heck was I doing? Last question, did I turn the oven off?
I tip toed gingerly into the kids bedroom, and thankfully the children were indeed safe and sleeping. Breathing, lost in their sweet little la la land. There seemed to be no monster in their room, no alligators under their beds or nightmares in their closets (I really do need to get the boys new books to read as I have turned into one of them)
But then....there it goes.... It happens again. A muffled creepy voice it is coming from the other room. It says something to the effect of "Do it again Hot Wheels" It is dawning on me now that this may not be an ax murder but indeed a child’s toy. An irritating talking toy that has woke me up and given me a major panic attack at 3:00 a.m. I find the toy. It is a Hot Wheels track with a big shark head that talks, or more specifically- taunts. It's evil. It's also lying slightly underneath another toy, somehow its button being pushed setting it off in random rants. I kick it and it shuts up. I go back downstairs, mission accomplished. I am supermom, defender of the universe. I fall back to sleep making a list of all toys that need to go:
Item # 1) anything and everything from the Madagascar movies, mainly the Happy Meal toys. We have 100 of these. For years Chris Rock, Jada Picket Smith and the Penguin dudes have filled up our house with sayings like "You Guys Are crazy." and "Let's Go." Sure it's stuff I say on a daily basis but who needs miniature zoo animals mocking you? Nope, not this mama. They need to go.
2) The GI Joe Doll - Who does this guy think he is? With his Al Pacino be voice and his "Hoooohaaaa." Sounds. "Take that you Cobra!" It says constantly. "Oh yeah? Take this you Ken doll wanna be, and guess what your lime green jumpsuit and crew cut is NOT a good look for you!" Ass....
"
**I might have a minor GI Joe hatred thanks to one of my childhood neighbors (we will call him crazy evil Johnny) who used to tease me and my sister with his GI Joe dolls. But I digress.**
3) Robots! Especially ones that inform me when I walk by that "The enemy has been attacked" and follows with rapid gunfire. I know I am the enemy. You see shiny red robot that was greatly over priced, I am Mommy. Of course I am the enemy. I am the one who doesn't allow the children to chew gum. I also don't allow Chocolate milk for dinner anymore. I put my foot down when there is a child standing or walking on the back of furniture and I really, really come down hard on all sentences that start with the word “Poppyhead.” I am a buzz kill for sure. I didn't used to be. I used to be cool and in charge and the fixer of all problems. Now apparently, I suck but don’t need to be reminded. Robot be gone!!
4) Diego. Yes, "Go Diego Go" got me through a lot of "phases" in this house. The toddler phase particularly. You remember that phase right? The one where they can talk but can't reason yet? The tempers, the learning of the word "no" themselves, the emptying of trash cans and pouring juice all over the sofa... That one. So yes, my little amigo Diego helped me out by memorizing both two year olds to that much loved catatonic state. He is a real pal and I am grateful. But the dude has one of the most irritating voices on TV. So transfixed into toys it's even more irritating. Especially the talking camera. "Click.....Take a Pic....." Yeah Yeah Yeah.... Blah Blah Blah.. Go....Diego....Go.
5) Last but not least. Any and all Laser Guns. These are extra special and usually given to the boys by one or both set of retired and relaxed grandparents. I can tell they love watching my husband and I suffer on Christmas Morning when the boys open a loud obnoxious toy that requires 18 batteries and ear plugs. I am being shot with one right now actually. My sweet innocent first born is pointing aiming and firing. A sound follows that resembles what would happen if I tried to steal an article of clothing with the plastic sensor still attached. It’s a lovely sound really. Good mix of high volume and sheer obnoxiousness.
“I shot you Mommy.”
“Yes Thank you Evan. You got Mommy.”
“Play dead.”
And so I do. And he is happy. He run’s off to go shoot his brother who defends himself pretending to be Buzz Lightyear. It’s kind of cute actually. I smile, my funky mood lifted slightly.
Maybe that guy is not so bad after all.
And in all honesty neither is Summer.
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