Soft Kitty

It all started on that faithful New Year’s Eve night when every kid was spewing their guts all over the house while I pushed on with the New Year Cheer.  We are not big Dick Clark fans, so we had chosen The Big Bang Theory, which happened to be in marathon mode, as the background noise to our chorus of vomit.

I will admit I had tried watching the show several times before and never got it.  Frankly, Sheldon reminded me a little of Sam in his most annoying times.  I watch TV to escape, not to relive similar events to my daily life.  But it kept the kids happy while I went between cleaning vomit and making appetizers as our traditional New Year’s Eve meal.  Sounds delish, doesn’t it?

That was the day we all would fall for the science hilarity that is The Big Bang Theory.  Now, Amber will often break into an intimation of Mrs. Wolowitz.  While Evie exclaims that Sheldon is her favorite.  And, of course, we all know the words to Soft Kitty:

 

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Louisiana Kind of Fun

This story was told to me by SoHubby, who played a minor role and heard the result.

SoHubby and his business partner, T, needed to install some equipment in Houma (about 45 minutes away from the homestead).  Apparently, T had a stuffed alligator in the back of his truck.  You will just drive yourself crazy asking why, so move on.  I am not talking about a winning prize from a carnival, but a real 4 foot alligator that was taxidermist.  It seems the alligator has been in the back of the truck for a while and somehow lost its eyes.  So are we all on the same page: a 4 foot taxidermist blind alligator in the back of a pick up truck.  Because of the large equipment the gator needed to be removed to make room.  DUH!!!  Now, other people who live in other places that just so happen to have an alligator in the back of their truck, would probably just put it in their garage and continue on with their business.  But that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?  T got the bright idea to lay the blind gator on the sidewalk.  You know the sidewalk where people walk and children play?

SoHubby and T leave to do their thing and don’t give the gator much thought.  Later T’s wife would call to relay the results of their little neighborhood prank.  It appeared that kids got off the bus and happily walked past the blind gator without nary a notice.  That right there fills me with fear, because how self-absorbed could you be that you don’t notice a large, scaly, sharp-toothed creature sitting on your sidewalk?  I guess to the level of kid self-absorption.  Later would prove that adults are a little more observant.  T’s wife would grill him on what he did to have the police, animal control and a News crew outside of their house.  The story goes that the neighbors across the street DID see the gator and refused to get out of their car until the police arrived.  I am unclear of who tipped off the News crew and since we don’t watch the local News that is all I know of the story. Really there was no reason to watch the News, because it is just another day in a hot, steamy, swampy New Orleans neighborhood.  You laugh, but I check under my car for gators regular.  However, our problem seems to be snakes and wayward lizards and geckos, but that is another story for another day.

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And the Smartassness is Passed On.

I think it is safe to say that my children have smartass on both sides.  My father is a smartass, therefore so am I.  SoHubby is a smartass, therefore so is his first born.  I have seen some small bits of smartass from Sam, but I think it is too early to tell at this point.

Yesterday as we were getting out of the car, Amber stuck her finger into a melted M&M that was wedged into Sam’s carseat.  Why is there a melted M&M in Sam’s carseat?  If that question crossed your mind, you don’t have children.  So instead of asking for a napkin or babywipe, which I can whip out like a ninja when the moment arises, she decides that a better course of action is to wipe her finger all over the the fabric of the carseat.  I am horrified, because at first I wasn’t sure what was on her finger and, next, WHY THE HELL WOULD ANY SANE PERSON…. okay I just answered my own question.  So the conversation goes like this:

ME:  AMBER, sometimes, I really don’t know where you head is.

Amber: Ontop of my neck. (Complete with a where else would it be look.)

She was dead serious with her answer, but once I laughed she knew she had struck Smartass gold.  Parenting mistake number 2, laughing which then encourages more of what you don’t want.  *sigh*

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When You are the Parent You are the Crazy One

Many times in my parenting life I have felt like I was living out one of the many comedy routine I had heard several times while I was a child.  (Bill Cosby and Eddie Murphy)  The reasons I laughed at those routines then and now are very different.  Back then it was because I was a child and thought, “Yup that sounds like my parents and, boy, are they a bunch of whack-a-doodles”.  Now, I laugh out of being a member of the parent’s club where you are always the one that looks crazy. 

Sam perfected this when he was still an infant.  He would cry and scream when it was just him and me.  About the time I was losing all patience with him someone would walk in, he would coo and I would look like the out of control mother.  If you want to amp that up, just do what my husband often did and tell me I needed more patience and to just calm down because he is just a wittle baybee.  Yeah, well BITE ME, ASS, I have been around this wittle baybee and his well working lungs all DAMN day and I am on the brink of jumping off the nearest cliff.  Isn’t it lucky we live in Louisiana one of the flat states?  Now, Sam makes me look like a nut because he hides.  He will hide behind the car, the clothes rack, shelves, etc and all people see is this crazy mom yelling, “Come here.  COME here.  COME HERE!!!”  The whole time he is laughing his little ass off while people are at the ready to dial 911 when I finally snap and turn on them, because obviously I am not talking to anyone.   Then there are the bathroom conversations when any small child is concerned.  I am whispering through clenched teeth for him to be quiet while he is yelling out that I “tooted” and “What are you doing, Mommy?”  Or the ones where I am trying to get him to go on the potty:

“Let’s go potty.”
“NO, I want to do it, mommy!”
“Okay, pull down your pants.”
“NO, I don’t want to go potty.”
“You have to learn to go, before you go to school.”
“I don’t want to go to skool.”
“Well, you are going to sit on the potty no matter what.”
“NOOOOOO!!!”
“Wait, WAIT!!!  POINT IT DOWN! POINT IT DOWN!!”
“Hey mommy, I went peepee.”
“Yeah and mommy needs a little pill and an hour with the therapist.”

Amber is more subtle with her torment.  The whole homemade Lunchable thing, reminded me of Eddie Murphy’s routine on his Houseburger.  I may not have sent her to school with green and red peppers hanging out of a hunk of meat in the middle of some Wonder bread, but still my Lunchable didn’t compare to the store bought that all her friends had.  I might as well had made her go to school with a welfare check taped to her forehead.  I guess it doesn’t matter the cheddar cheese I sent in her homemade Lunchable cost more than about 3 of those craptastic things cost.  Amber, also, gets me with her drama.  To people who do not have the pleasure of hanging around Amber all day, see me as the mean mom who just lets her child cry and cry while I am casually shopping at Target.  It doesn’t matter that Amber is crying, because she is remembering something from 3 weeks ago, like a friend being mean to her.  Many times I am left there rolling my eyes while she cries asking her if she is ever going to be done.  Amber’s drama is the stuff Lifetime movies are made out and I hate those, too.

I don’t think any of my kids have mistaken themselves for Jesus Christ, but I have often yelled that when they do most anything.  It is true it perplexes me that humans, a step up from primates, can’t hold a cup without spilling it on my recently cleaned floor or trip on nothing while walking or never look where they are going only to want sympathy moments later when they smack their little heads on a low lying shelf.  It is true that I have to remind my kids many times that God put eyes in the front of their head for a reason and that main reason is so they can see what the hell is about to smack them in the head before, you know, it smacks them in the head.  It gets even better when I have to constantly remind my son not to lick surfaces out in public or to eat things found in the trash or on the floor or that the trash can is not a treasure chest to be dug through for baubles.  I laugh, now, at these comedy routines because I am a member of that elite club, Parents, where you give birth to your own crazy and constantly wonder what the hell?!

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Comedy Time with Sam

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The Mystery of Sweet Pea is Solved

 After almost 20 years the mystery of the rescued child of Popeye and Olive Oil has been solved.  As I sat and watched Popeye the Sailor learning all about love triangles and getting free burgers, one problem plagued me, where the hell was that child’s feet.  We would never see his/her feet.  The baby would crawl, no feet, just a little trail of fabric bringing up the rear.  It was weird, to say the least, but no one else seemed to notice, so maybe I shouldn’t rock the boat.  Then we took a trip to Alexandria, LA and all questions, on this topic, were answered.

I present my son, the new Sweet Pea:

Yes, my son sleeps in a bag every night.  Matter of fact, he insist on it.

Don’t worry your little head, he seems to have no problems in getting around.
Dammit!!!

Whew!  I can mark this mystery as solved off my list of about a billion.  I can rest a little easier knowing that the sac children around the world are doing just fine.  And to think I thought Popeye and Olive Oil were the worst kind of parents, stuffing their kid in a sac for their own convenience.  I guess you have to sleep a mile in someone else bed next to their screaming child to totally understand.

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Look! Who came for a visit?

It seems that not only are those LOL Cats!  posing for crazy pictures, but they are fixing phone lines, too:

Thanks, Cecil, but I think the problem is coming from inside the house.  MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!

 

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Blindsided

It always seems like a good idea to bake cookies with a small child.  You have these glorious pictures in your head of smiling kids, happy moms and perfect baking.  Then you start the process and realize that you have been duped by TV commericals. You find yourself making a pointy cookie with which to impale yourself. 

Amber is annoyed because she is not at the decorating part; just the standing around watching mom go crazy part.  I am trying to keep the mess to a minimum and still have fun.  So the smile is plastered on my face, my voice is a little too high-pitched, a little too sing-songy and most said through clenched teeth.  Finally, the interrogation from the pint-size detective has gotten to me.  I can’t take one more time of “Can I put the sugar on them?  Can I cut them, now?  When, when, when, when…”  

I say out loud:

“Why don’t you have any patience?”

Without skipping a beat Amber says,

“Because I am not a doctor.”

Ba, dum, dum.

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Life as Seen Through the Eyes of the Godfather Movie: Part I The Extortionist

I have mentioned before that I am of Italian hertiage.  It could have been when I mentioned a recipe for Sunday Gravy or when I ran from a scene of a crime.  Really, I am only half Italian with a story of a great grandfather who jumped the boat and swam into America.  The story is unclear, but it has been alluded to that he may have had some troubles in the old country.  However, I would like to believe that the ride to America was over crowded and he needed a dip to cool off.  At least that is what I am sticking to, to avoid any strange occurences from happening.  Anyway, we are law abiding, hard working Italians who have blended into the fabric of America rather nicely.  However, on occassion you may see some of our old country ways peek out and say Hey! How YOU doing? 

I can keep my rumblings under my hat most times, but it is strange to see those rumblings in your kids.  Amber, being only 1/4 Italian, had such a moment recently.  I am unsure of what caused the intial throw down, but the result has become quite messy.  Now, when I pass her in the hall I get the Evil Eye and on occasion I have sat straight up in bed scared that I will see her standing over me ready to even the score.  One must never forget what happened to Fredo. 

It all started one afternoon when I was cooking dinner and trying not to step on little people.  Amber was watching her allotment of SpongeBob Squarepants and drinking in all that the TV had to offer.  Here is where it gets fuzzy, because there are often altercations during this time of the day.  I do remember threating her Spongebob watching if she continued whatever it was she was doing.  I can only guess it to be torturing her brother, jumping on the sofa, or pressing her nose to the TV screen to get her daily fix.  A few of her favorite past times.  When the threat was laid down Amber employed her usual tactics: whine and cry, but then she reached down into her inner being to find her innermost Italian and with a breathy tone said, “If you don’t turn that TV back on, I will never love you again”.  Being the cold hearted mom you have all come to love and loathe, I laughed at her.  You can’t threaten me with that since I know that as soon as the new Barbie/Princess thing comes out you will be in my graces once again.  Then she stepped it up a notch, “I don’t care what you say, I am WATCHING SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS WHETHER YOU WANT ME TO OR NOT!”.  That sealed her fate and I turn the TV off.   No one threatens me and especially a person smaller than me who  had to be extracted through major surgery.

I thought the ordeal was over and Amber knew who the BOSS was in this house, but I would be wrong.  This morning she left a clear sign that I should leave her SpongeBob alone. 

I am not entirely sure what the message means, because it is her unicorn that she scarficed.  However, I will be taking the advice of that great Italian, Robert DeNiro, and keep my eyes on her.  I think it is time to go to the mattresses.  There is a war a brewing and only one will be left standing. 

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Totally Normal Conversations

After a particularly bad morning I was talking on the phone with NOLA:

“Sam was screaming in the grocery store and I just let him.”

“Don’t you think some sign language will help him?”

“I think it is too late, now.  And how do you sign, that he didn’t want the Honey Bees he wanted the Teddy Grahams?  I was trying to explain to him that it was too early for Teddy Grahams and it was Honey Bees or nothing.”

“Wendy, do you hear yourself?”

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 Scene:  Meeting NOLA, Captain Sarcastic and little Sun for lunch to help me with my bad morning.

“What did you do just gnaw that fingernail off?” asked NOLA.

“I save my pinky nails for biting.”  I answered.

“Huh?” inquired NOLA and her husband with shocked looks.

“You see I use to bite all my fingernails, but now when I am stress I allow myself my pinky nails.”

Eruption of laughter.  I am not really sure what they are laughing at.  It seemed rather clever to me.

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What NOLA and Captain Sarcastic don’t know is that I have saved my McAlister’s cup, because it is large and I like the sound the ice makes inside of it.  Okay, really it is because the weed selling mama in the show Weeds is always carrying around a half filled plastic see through cup of fancy coffee and I think it is cool.  I don’t drink coffee.  It will now be my to go cup.  And yes, I washed it.  You may think I am weird, but I am far from filthy.  I am a clean kind of freak.

Filled to the brim with my own special ice tea.

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There was, also, a conversation about a meat banana, which was totally innocent on my part, but CS made it dirty.  I think that makes him a dirty kind of freak.  I just like when my bananas don’t taste like meat, grocery store baggers.

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And because he was part of my bad morning, but is still so cute:

Coming soon to a house fire near you.

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