A Week Of Parenting: The Before And After Photos

May 21, 2013
Posted by critters and crayons

It has been a busy couple of months and there have been a lot of projects being tossed back and forth. It’s really cut back on my ability to write about all of the funny things that really do happen every day.

This is a photo run-down of our Week of Parenting.

As with all things in our universe, our week in parenting starts with one constant, and that is THE LAUNDRY.

THE “BEFORE”

After getting that pile under control using the technique that I wrote about on Scary Mommy in The Myth of The Super Mom, it looked pretty ugly, but it was finally folded.

Sometimes, I just let the laundry sit in neatly organized bins once it’s been cleaned and dried. It’s the folding that I loathe. I’m really doing my kids a service.

If you are lazy enough, spirit-sucked enough, or otherwise looking for a unique way to justify NOT finishing your own laundry, feel free to do what we do, and pretend those laundry piles serve an actual, developmental purpose.

You can read about how my laundry pile encourages play HERE.

THE “AFTER”

OK, this photo was taken before this past week, but I’m including it because it’s relevant to the ups and downs of being a parent on any given week.

I visited a friend who just had her newborn baby. She’s a precious, sweet, little thing.

I was reminded of what it would be like if I had a newborn, again.

When you have a BABY, you can be sitting contently feeling like you are Super-Mom, or Super-Mam (if you are nursing), in one moment……

THE “BEFORE”

And you can be quickly reminded that you are not Super-Mom, Super-Mam, The Baby Whisperer or any other superlative that implies you know what you are doing.

Look at this child.

Her TOES are mad.

THE “AFTER”

As our children grow from stages like the one above, we start to feel wistful as we remember their chubbier, tinier days.

We look at photos and scrapbooks and wonder whether we’ve been present enough, or if we’ve done the best by them that we could.

We promise to do so if we realize there was some lapse or failure in that quest to be a conscious parent. We also remember how our little girls posed so innocently for PHOTOS WHEN THEY WERE TODDLERS…

THE “BEFORE”

And then our baby girls learned how to cock their hips out, with the slimming arm pose at the very young age of 5?

You realize, that even though you don’t pose in your photos like that, all of those waif-y models in magazines at the grocery store DO.

This gives you troubling rumination material for the rest of the week about the premature exposure to provocative images that might impact your daughter’s self-valuation and reliance on temporary and superficial beauty traits before she even enters the first grade.

Then, you long for the days of random infant tantrums (see photos above) so you can start over and put horse-blinders on your girl-toddler for all grocery store trips so that your 5-year old will pose for photos like she’s actually 5 years old and not Eva Longoria on the cover of Vogue.

The truth is that you’re not ALL that worried about it, but you tell yourself you are, because you would otherwise have time to fold that laundry pile that’s pro-creating like a bunch of randy fruit-flies. (See photo above.)

THE “AFTER”

But, eventually, you run out of things to do that help you put off completing that soul-sucking laundry task and you GET THE LAUNDRY DONE. AGAIN.

WAHOO!

THE “BEFORE”

And then, you realize that you have 3 more loads ready to go in. AGAIN.

**&%$#@##^$**

THE “AFTER”

So, you start that whole dysfunctional laundry cycle anew.

You walk up to the play room and see that your kids have been engaging in some very cool fort-building and dramatic play!

“My kids are so smart and creative!” you think.

THE “BEFORE”

You walk a little closer to see what masterpiece is under construction by your Little Renaissance Progeny.

And….Um….

I have absolutely no freaking idea what to make of it, either, folks.

But, I’ve decided it’s okay to blame the grocery store magazine rack magazine covers for this one, too.

THE “AFTER”

One day, if you are lucky like me, your husband offers to LET YOU SLEEP IN, and he takes the kids in to school.

He’ll need your mini-van but you can take his sedan, he says. No problem!

But, when you open his car door, you are met with a couple of dirty, dessicated Longhorn skulls in the passenger seat.

This happens to everyone, right?

THE “BEFORE”

I didn’t think much of it, until I saw about 6 spiders of various sizes crawling in and out of the skull’s eye sockets on my way to an appointment.

When I sent my husband a message asking “WH…WH…WH…WHY????!!!!!!???” with copious interrobangs (that is what you call a combo of question marks and exclamation points), and explained the spider infestation of his car, his response cracked me up,

“DON’T TOSS ‘EM! I NEED THEM FOR A PROJECT!!!!!”

My hubby’s Man-Project came out pretty well, I must admit.

Although, I haven’t decided if it will be allowed inside the house just yet. I’m waiting on the “All-Clear” order from our pest control guys.

THE “AFTER”

And there are always TEETHING MILESTONES that we parents get to witness like we did this week!

We get to look forward to being the cool parent who helps to expertly extract a loose tooth.

My dad used to tie a string to an open door with the other wrapped around my tooth.

Then he’d slam that door.

It was totally cool.

THE “BEFORE”

But, as with most expectations and plans, things don’t always work out like you think you will. (See Angry Baby Toes Photo above).

We didn’t help our daughter’s loose tooth out at all. It fell out on its own.

Sorta.

We were at a celebratory graduation party with friends and children. As we were all enjoying some relaxing banter and sangria, our daughter ran out to us profusely bleeding from the mouth.

Everyone panicked thinking she’d been horribly injured.

Nope.

Turns out she and another kid were playing “Crocodile” and she bit her to make that role-play more convincing.

There were no teeth marks, of course.

That was a technique for tooth-extraction I had not considered. I’ll have to stock that one away or submit it to a Tooth-Fairy-themed blog round-up.

THE “AFTER”

And that brings me to the end of our parenting week in BEFORE & AFTER photos.

If you think this post is long, you should just thank me for deleting all the other photos I originally uploaded.

But, I’ll close out on the positive note.

There were moments in the past week (and WE ALL HAVE THEM) where things just weren’t going great for Mom.

As a matter of fact, they might have even seemed to be going NOT GREAT.

But, here is what is so interesting.

At one very moment when I was actually giving a lot of thought to the NOT-GREATNESS of a particular thing, THIS happened RIGHT OVER our house.

Really, it totally happened.

I watched my kids dance underneath it as the rain started to come down again, barefoot on the sidewalk so that they wouldn’t miss it before it ran away.

And, it reminded me that…..

SOME DAYS ARE LIKE LAUNDRY: UN-GREAT, TEMPORARY AND MAYBE EVEN RECURRING.

BUT THE PRIVILEGE OF PARENTING THROUGH DAYS LIKE THAT IS PERMANENT, GOOD, AND BEAUTIFUL.

THE “BEFORE”

And, then I walked back into the house and saw this.

THE “AFTER”

I HATE LAUNDRY.

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When Readers Try Your Crafts…

May 8, 2013
Posted by critters and crayons

Do you know what bloggers love?

They love when they throw an idea out there and some busy person reads it.

They love to see comments and shares, because most bloggers are also busy people who barely have time to even write the stuff they’re blogging about!

But, more than anything, bloggers love to hear about how people not only read something they put out, but that they tried it.

Back in September 2011, Critters And Crayons ran a post about making Fresh Strawberry Cream Cheese Cake Pops.

Some readers gave them a go. Here’s what happened.

And a lot of factors can affect whether or not the outcome works out for a reader-tester.

Is the tutorial sound?
Is it too brief?
Is it too long?
Is it descriptive enough?
Are the photos accurate?
Does the reader have any innate crafting or cooking skills?

So, please imagine my surprise and thrill when I happen upon something like this after Critters And Crayons has been tagged on Facebook by someone who read a craft post and then tried it:

Critters And Crayons ran a post a few days ago about the school supply cake the kids helped to make for our daughter’s Kindergarten teacher.

And, look at what Local Laredo Rotarian, Catalina Zaragoza, DID!

Catalina’s Supply Cake: Getting All The Supplies Together!

The “Cake” Assembly!

Um….Can you say GORGEOUS???!!!

Classy And Beautiful!

Bam!

The Tutorial Worked!

(Bloggy Brow-Wipe)

But, none of this is to say I don’t love reader submissions of crafts and recipes that have gone wrong, either.

I mean, let’s look at that sorry cake pop, again.

Critters And Crayons is not, after all, solely a crafting blog.

I like to think it’s about making us all laugh.

Sometimes, I’m the only one laughing at my own jokes.

Loudly.

But, that is not the point.

I happen to know that no one laughed harder than the awesome reader who submitted that failed cake pop to the Critters And Crayons Facebook Page two years ago.

Bravo, Woman!

Keep on baking those Pin-Tastrophes and broadcasting it to the world! It’s a mood-booster for the rest of us!

And it brightens a blogger’s day, ESPECIALLY, because the thought that anyone might even LOOK at something that we put out and then think,

“Hmmm….of all the ideas out in the Insta-Pinterest-o-Gram-Twitter-a-Faceb0ok-&-Google-Plussed-Up E-Verse, I think I’ll give THAT idea a try” is simply AWESOME.

And, in closing, I want to just leave this one last bit about how great it is to hear that a recipe or a tutorial actually worked for a reader.

Recently, I posted the accidental recipe for “Battered Candied Bacon” on The Critters And Crayons Facebook Page

You can find that recipe HERE.

On that post, I received one of my favorite comments ever from a reader, and fellow blogger, Tyuana of The Fuzzie Chronicles.

It went like this.

She made it.

She ate it.

She liked it.

BLOGGY SCORE!

SO……Lastly Lastly…. ( I meant to put two “Lastly’s…..I said, “in closing” up there and then didn’t close anything up.)

Things have moved so fast this year that I nearly forgot to wish The Critters And Crayons Blog, which is now part of the newly formed Critters And Crayons, LLC, a Very Happy 2-Year Blirthday!

So, Thank You!

Thank You for reading and supporting Critters And Crayons since it started two years ago.

Thank You for trying any of the ideas that get thrown out there!

And, THANK YOU for sending in the photos of your Successes and….. Other Things.

Oh!

Lastly Lastly Lastly!

There are still a couple of days left of Teacher Appreciation Week….if you need some more ideas, you can always check out the Critters And Crayons Teacher Appreciation Ideas Pinterest Board!

So…..Feel free to send photos!

PINNABLES AND PIN-STROSITIES WELCOME!!!

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Why Rollerblades And Training Wheels Do Not Mix

March 21, 2013
Posted by critters and crayons

Tonight, our nighttime book was Fancy Nancy’s The Show Must Go On!

In it, Fancy Nancy and a lion-obsessed boy named Lionel must prepare for a talent show.

This sparked conversation with our pre-schooler and kindergartener about what a talent show actually entails.

So, I asked our daughter what her talent would be if she were in a talent show.

“Well, I really like art. I would do art,” she said.

“And I’m good at Batman stuff! I’m gonna be Batman!” our son added.

It had been decades since I thought about the first talent show I’d ever been in, and this seemed like a good time to talk about when mommy was in a talent show once- and the telling went like this:

” So. I was in the 2nd grade. Pretty much your age, a little older….

and back then, kids did things like square dance, or play chopsticks on the piano,

and I thought I was a really good roller skater so that’s what I did.

I remember practicing in our garage for weeks leading up to the talent show!

Way back then, we wore roller skates…and there were four wheels on each foot, but they weren’t in a straight line like the rollerblades you see today!

I totally did figure eights to that tape recorded song “It’s A Small World After All!” and roller-skated backward like this!”

The kids watched me as I moonwalked like a mildly suffering epileptic across their bedroom floor.

My husband laughed. So did the kids.

“BUT things didn’t go like I planned for them to!

On the day of the talent show, the whole auditorium was full of all the students in the school, the teachers and all the parents of the kids performing in the talent show!”

The kids were excited to hear the rest, and our daughter asked me what went wrong.

“Well, there was a part of the routine where I was supposed to skate on one foot with the other foot lifted up behind me as I skated across the stage…”

And, I did that motion (for the kids’ visual benefit) with my arms outstretched to my sides with my left leg lifted to the back as I looked at the audience of my family.

I was standing in front of them like a ballerina dancer but without the grace or flexibility.

“And, I remember skating across the stage like that, and looking out at the audience, and it was a sea of people! And, I saw my dad, your papa!

And, then I didn’t see anything anymore.”

The kids asked me why.

“Because I wasn’t paying attention and I skated behind the drawn curtain and unceremoniously crashed into the piano on the other side of the stage.”

I made crashing sounds to replicate the sound.

“What did you do, Momma?” our daughter asked.

“Well, I got up and skated out across the stage on my other leg, smiling like nothing happened.”

We laughed.

My hubby asked what my father did when I did that, and I told him that I remember asking him about it in my twenties and he said he just put his hand up to his face, like, “Oh My Gawd. That’s MY kid.”

That was second grade. Now, fast forward nearly 30 years.

About a year ago, I saw a photo in a parenting magazine of a couple of roller-blading parents pushing their kids on bicycles equipped with training wheels.

I can’t find the photo or the article now, but the point of the snippet was to convey that parents and kids should get out together and be active despite varying motor abilities.

And, I remember looking at that picture and thinking, “THAT IS JUST A HORRIBLE IDEA”.

I thought that because about a month before seeing that photo, my hubby and I had the exact same stupid idea, and we actually tried it, to the detriment of many things.

On the day that we thought we were going to be innovative, adventurous and fun-loving parents, at least one of us ended up in the Emergency Room. (uh- that would be ME), and at least two of us ended up with some cross between PTSD and an irrational fear of anything wheeled for the next year and a half (and those would be OUR CHILDREN).

The bottom line is that it all started well.

Our kids were on their little baby-bikes with baby training wheels.

My husband and I were on our roller-blades which we had not strapped on in at least 5 years.

He and I were equipped with the hubris that either one of us remembered how to roller-blade.

And, it turned out the rollerblading was the easy part and our arrogance was warranted because we were proficient at that.

However, I soon found that MY pride was misplaced because I could definitely GO, but I had completely forgotten how to STOP.

This became apparent as our family approached a slope that is mild in appearance from the vantage point of the mini-van driver’s wheel- but that greatly increased the momentum of two training-wheeled bicycles that were angling into each other, each dangling an incompetent roller-blader behind it.

I bit it.

Hard.

But, not before I took out the entire family in the middle of that residential road.

I remember trying to stop and realizing that it wasn’t working.

Our daughter’s bike was accelerating dangerously down, down, down that slope like a bowling ball.

I tried to steer our daughter away from our son when impact appeared imminent.

Then, my rollerblade caught her rear tire and we were history.

I tripped over our daughter who crashed her bike as I landed a few feet in front of her on my wrists.

Her now rider-less, rogue bike careened into her younger brother who fell over and then skidded a foot or two on the pavement.

My husband, seeing the carnage in front of him and with the quick wits to know that he might flatten our wailing son literally did an airborne Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle forward roll into someone’s lawn.

And, when the bells stopped ringing in my head, I looked up, and saw all four of us splayed across that sloped road, bicycles upside-down and wheels spinning.

There was a lot of groaning.

I had piercing pains up my forearms. I was pretty sure my right wrist was broken. (The ER x-rays showed it was just a bad sprain.) Our son’s chin was bloody and scraped. Our daughter’s knees and palms had road rash. And, my husband jammed his neck doing that commando roll.

Other than that, we were totally fine.

My husband just looked at me in disbelief.

We were a mile from home and the kids refused to get back on their bicycles.

Speechless and limping, our kiddos walked those bicycles home.

Our 3 and 4 year old would not get back on those things for another year.

Seriously.

A YEAR.

The brilliant plan my husband and I had to roller-blade with our training-wheeled kids totally back-fired on us.

So, if you come across that article in a parenting magazine I saw, or any future suggestions like it, consider this your Public Safety Announcement and just DON’T.

Just Don’t.

And since I’m giving out handy advice about roller-skating and such, should you ever find yourself balancing on one leg while skating on the other in front of a large audience, and you’re a beat or two ahead of the routine to “It’s A Small World”, do NOT take your eyes off the edge of the stage.

Because, it only takes a second to crash into a piano.

Or a kid.

Or two.

Take it from a woman who knows.

But, remember. If you DO crash, just get up and act like nothing happened.

There’s a small chance no one noticed.

Right?

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A FAMILY ACTIVITY BACK-FIRE?
DO TELL!

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You’re Not Lying To Me. ARE YOU?

October 17, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

Today was a normal school day with all of the normal hurdles.

After my son and I engaged in our morning Starbucks ritual (me with a Venti Hot Chai Tea Latte-Nonfat, and him with a Kids Hot Cocoa with one ice cube-no whip), I dropped him off at pre-school and the rest of the day was a blur until bedtime. The brief beverage time with him in the morning IS a relaxing part of any school day.

The only major change to our routine was that today was the day before the turning in of the science fair project tri-panels.

This involves some last minute taping, setting and question and answer periods which you hope your child will remember in 10 minutes.

When you have two children, and you are myopically engaged with only one of them, interesting things can happen.

As we worked with our daughter on her newest sight word “Hypothesis”, I realized that the house had become very, very quiet.

I stopped for a minute or so to just listen.

I had no idea where our 3 and a half year old son was in the house because there were no audible indicators of his location.

This is very odd. Very, Very Odd.

So, I called him.

“Son?”

And there was a disturbing quietude.

“SON??!!!”

Then, I heard the cupboard door in the kitchen being shut carefully culminating in a very gentle, wooden “tap”.

There were Hershey Kisses in that cupboard.

There were many, many Hershey Kisses in that gargantuan, economy-sized bulk warehouse bag of chocolate.

“Son…Come here, please.”

His caped Super Hero silhouette appeared from around the corner.

His mouth was frantically masticating SOMETHING but I couldn’t see just what yet. Maybe he was really in the healthy DIY snack station we’d set up. Perhaps, he had been eating those cashews in the breadbox…..

“Son. I said to Come Here, PLEASE.”

He walked slowly toward me.

I could see a telling brown dribble down his chin and shirt that reflected a very cocoa-licious sheen. It was not cashew-ey at all.

“Open Your Mouth.”

“WO,” he said.

His mouth was so full of Kisses that he couldn’t even get his tongue to touch the back of his teeth to make the “N” sound required to defy me for the chocolate abatis he had created across his bottom molars.

“Open Your Mouth, Son.”

“WO!”

“Son? Are you eating chocolate?”

By this time, his saliva had effectively broken down the massive quantity of candy in his trap. The only problem was that he had forgotten to swallow the now watery mixture of liquified sugar, spit and chocolate that oozed out of his mouth with every word, onto his shirt and then onto the floor when he innocently said….

“Wo, Wom. I WOH eawing awywhing.”

The whole time he spoke, unable to close his lips to form a coherent phonetic sound as his salivary glands worked overtime to deconstruct that candy, that Spit-Kiss cocktail dribbled off his little, fibbing lips.

I’m supposed to be mad….Right?

So, why is it that I had to look down at my lap so he wouldn’t see me trying not to laugh?

We talked about lying and not sneaking and asking for permission (and all of those things we must address as parents) to inculcate a sense of self-policing integrity that we are expected to extol.

But, I really, really can’t think about that drippy-brown conversation without smiling a little or a lot.

I think it’s because I know my son hasn’t reached a major milestone yet- and that milestone would be the one where he can look me in the eye, having concealed or transformed any incriminating evidence, and with conscious manipulation, lie right to my gullible face.

I believe I want to laugh during these moments, because he’s really, really bad at this lying thing. He hasn’t grasped that ardently-delivered but contradictory words in light of indisputable evidence of abject culpability glare like the shredded Hershey Kiss wrappers at his feet.

Remember the case of the crossed-eyes and the missing chocolate mini-eggs?

I believe this stuff makes us laugh because it IS a little cute, and it is such a relief that our kids are still innocent enough to not understand how to manipulate and lie convincingly just yet.

And, I’m pretty much banking on the idea that things are going to stay at this benign level for….well, for FOREVER.

It could happen.

In the meantime,my hubby and I will keep perfecting our poker faces while we chuckle internally about this stuff. I plan to do it for many more years.

Yes, we will do it for many, many more years…. just AFTER we put a sliding bolt on that cupboard door.

*****

Image Credits:

Abatis: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abatis

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How Do You Punish A Kid When You Cannot Stop Laughing?

September 1, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

And the bloggy blessings have been bestowed again upon us….And this episode sparked another opportunity for me to learn how to discipline my kids even though they were cracking me, and everyone else around me, up.

Yesterday, we had to go to a local mail pick-up store that I’ll refer to as RED-X Worldwide Shipping.

After picking both kids up from school, we shot over to get a package containing a large photo canvas (that I’ll be writing about next week). It had already been routed back to the shipper and re-routed back to us for having missed too many RED-X/Residence link-ups. I needed to get this thing.

I really didn’t think much of the task.

It was pretty simple really. I was heartened to see that I was only fourth in line.

This would be microwavable mac & cheesy-easy.

Upon walking in, our son noted that the warehouse had a disproportionately wide floor sensor that triggered the sliding screen door.

So, my son engaged in playful long-jumping that caused the door to nearly convulse for the mixed messages it was receiving. Open. Shut. Open. Shut.

I can’t really blame the kid- but it just can’t be allowed.

The people in the store all turned around, of course. Each opening would let in a whoosh of solar-furnace heat.

To his credit, he stopped once I gave him a sour look.

But, then he noticed those retractable Line-Forminator-Separators (my word for lack of a better term). You know- the ones they have in movie theaters and red carpet events and at RED-X shipping warehouse worldwide?

(Waiting Line Image from Becoming Madame)

Our son seemed intent to rest his neck against the black nylon strap. But he was wiggling his neck back and forth against it and I had no idea why. I figured he had concocted an innovative way to scratch an itch.

But, what followed was not what I expected. Nope. Unbelievably, I never saw it coming.

My son was NOT scratching a physical itch- maybe an adrenaline-inducing and potentially brain-hemmorhaging one- but his neck was not itchy like I thought.

He backed up about 3 feet with his neck against that black strap until the strap was as taut as it could be creating a V with his little body at the apex.

In the next horrifying moment, he sprinted toward the shiny treaded aluminum wall 6 feet away, jumping up (surely to compensate for the lack of acceleration, velocity and vertical height possible with that lame non-elastic nylon cargo strap).

He went SPLAT against it.

He slid to the floor with his hands dramatically outstretched above his head.

His left cheek, pressed palms and splayed fingers made squeaky sounds as he slid like a boneless carcass to the floor.

I ran over to him!.

He’s gotta be hurt! What? What! What-Why? How?!!!!

I knew he had to be injured after an impact like that. Everyone in the warehouse was looking over at my son who just stood up laughing hysterically! He yelled, ”MOM! I’M A BLACK ANGRY BIRD!!!!” He ran to do it again and I grabbed his hand to stop him this time.

I scowled at both my kids face to face and nose to nose, and parked them against that treaded aluminum wall.

(Treaded Aluminum Image from Lowes.com)

At this point, I knew I had to take a visual inventory of any potential attraction-hazards. There was a dolly to my right and a reachable box cutter on the countertop.

I watched both kids like Hawk-Eye watches Red Skull and thwarted any movements toward those things.

By this time, I was further back in line. There was a very young and amiable nun standing behind me now. She had one of those beautiful faces that doesn’t need make-up because her inner sweetness and compassion shades her entire aura with the color of kindness.

She kept smiling at me and back at the kids. They really seemed like they were on the cusp of explosion for needing to chatter and fidget.

When their impulses could not be self-regulated anymore, they both started to loudly count every raised tread in the aluminum wall they had been sitting against , “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! HAHAHAHAHA! FIVE!!!! LET’S DO IT IN SPANISH!!!!! UNO!!! DOS!!!!…..”

I was next in line. I couldn’t go back over there.

I commanded, “Kids! C’Mere! Sit Down. Right by my feet. On your bums. Cross your legs. Hands in front. I have to get this. Quickly. Just sit and SHHHHH……..”

They sat there, knee to knee looking up at me with big eyes.

The sweet nun smiled at me again and shook her head- but not in a bad way. It was in an “Oh- Your kids are really delightful” kind of way. All the other customer head-shaking in the room was not of the same sort, I could tell. This Sister made the package pick-up line a little more pleasant for THIS mom, for sure.

I worked with RED-X to try to sign for my canvas finally and I heard rustling.

I turned around and held my pointer finger to form the number “1″ up to my 4 year old son’s face and said loudly “Look, guys! If you say ONE WORD…” and then I shifted that numeralized finger to my five year old daughter’s face and said, “OR if you get up ONE more time, we are NOT gon….”

But I never finished that sentence.

Even if I had, no one would have heard it over the deliciously loud fart that had emitted from one of my cross-legged children’s reverberating Southern cheeks. And, I had no idea which one did it!

The sound was so surprisingly loud that the normally discernible focal point was blurred between my two children.

I mean, it was Drunken-Filthy-Fat-Man Loud.

It was impressive not only for the high decibel level achievement that most Soldiers would pretend to own for the sake of bragging rights, but also for the anomalously long duration of the thing.

Every customer in the store, (maybe 10 now?) had either scowled at me at some point for failing to get a grip on my kids, or nodded to me with a supportive ”Been There!” wink, or smiled sweetly at us like the compassionate Woman of Grace in her diaphanous white and gray frock to my rear.

But, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM was doubled over laughing- even the guys holding boxes half their size. Even the workers behind the counters!

It truly was The Fart of Unification, a vapor that bonded even the most divergent of parenting philosophies (Free-Rangers and Tiger Moms and Whoop-Em-Good-Grandpas alike) amongst the RED-X waiters-in-line.

And, right or wrong, it was a comically SIN-ERADICATING move by my kids.

I turned away from the kids so they wouldn’t see me laughing even though it was clear everyone else was.

When I could look down stone-faced, both kids were still looking up at me like nothing had happened.

Their eyes were big and their mouths were open. They had looks of contrition and a their expressions denoted fear that they had, in fact, blown Super Hero Theme Night at the local eatery.

During our laughter, the kids had been silent throughout, quietly pondering their imminent play-fate.

It turns out, that the secret to keeping them quiet was to leave them hanging on a sentence that confirms or denies their dramatic play future and opportunities to commune with mini-Boy Wonders and Captain Americas on indoor play parks.

Through all that, my kids were actually still waiting for me to finish that unfinish-able sentence. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do. I couldn’t really remember what happened before the deafening wind-breaking. I still wanted to laugh and laugh. But, I was about to say something very adult-like and authoritative when I heard my Waiting Line Ally in a white habit say in her honey-smooth voice,

“But, Mom….. You Never Said They Couldn’t Do THAT….”

…and this time, she playfully had her pointer finger swagging back and forth at ME.

She was still laughing, of course. I realized that this time, they hadn’t done anything horribly wrong other than demonstrate some bad manners.

Or was it more than that? A calculated, noxious rebellion? A way for my kids to channel their protest and defy authority using their only available biological tools?

We’ll never know.

Anyway, after I finally loaded the canvas and strapped the kids in their seats. I asked,

“ALRIGHT. SO WHICH ONE OF YOU DID THAT IN THERE?”

And both of them looked at me with confused looks and seriously said,

“DID WHAT?!!”

Bwahahahahahahahaha! Oh, my kids. This job of mine is a good one, I think.

All I can say is that Iron Man and Batgirl really enjoyed Super Hero Theme Night munching on their chicken strips. What can I say? I’m a real toughie.

SO, HOW ABOUT YOU?

ANY SIMILAR EXPERIENCES?

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Giant Costumed Characters Are Just Not Natural, Mom!

July 24, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

Our 3 and a half year old son loves to dress-up like a Super Hero.

We are at the point where he has interchangeable Batman, Super Man, Spiderman, and Green Lantern outfits with capes that I attach with little velcro stick-on squares every day.

This is his newest obsession:

The ironic thing is that our son, the fearless and brave Captain America, loves to pretend he is something other-worldly and supra/super-human every second of the day (to include bedtime where he sleeps wearing quick-relase capes), but he is deathly afraid of any unnaturally large figures in real life.

Take, for instance, our recent Chuck E. Cheese visit.

That is our son cowering behind me, on the look-out for the imposing, gigantic rodent.

Whenever Chuck E. Cheese comes out to greet party guests, we know.

The entire facility knows. All are alerted by the scream that would seem to signal some kind of mortal wound.

If he happens to be slamming gopher heads with that giant hammer when The Mouse emerges, he nearly dislocates his shoulders trying to get away- with instinctual fear-vice grips on the hammer as he tries to simultaneously dart toward us, his parent sanctuary from The Unnatural.

Last year, we attended a Chick fil-A family event. One of the attractions was the gigantic cow who frolicked with the children as they colored pictures of his trepidatious bovine brethren wearing persuasive sandwich boards beseeching us to eat something, anything, but THEM.

The PR Manager thought it would be a grand surprise for our then 2 and a half year old son to turn around to find the Chick fil-A Cow standing right behind him while he colored those timid creatures.

Oh, he WAS surprised.

The hysterics that ensued alarmed the entire restaurant.

Some families thought it was funny.

Some families thought paramedics must be on the way.

The PR Manager was horrified and worried we might sue for causing our child some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

The Chick fil-A Cow was retired for the remainder of the event for fear of driving away customers because of our son’s unending wails.

And, just this past week, we attended a Christmas On The Potomac Event featuring human-filled characters from Shrek: Princess Fiona, the Ogre himself, Puss & Boots and the Gingerbread Man as the kids decorated Gingerbread Houses and sat on Santa’s lap while eating peppermint cookies, truffles and cotton candy.

Sounds like fun, right?

Here’s who he was hiding from.

But, then again.

There have been indicators that our son could be forever averse to the Unusually Large & Scary.

A year ago, our son clued us in on just how terrified he was of a large tooth mascot for a local dentistry at the Children’s Museum 4th of July Parade.

I have to admit, that thing was pretty creepy.

I, mean- cows who walk on two feet, a giant green hippopotamus-eared man with a speech pattern more odd than a toddler’s, and a sleepy-eyed mouse who wears baseball caps and knee pads really just aren’t NATURAL.

We’re not too worried about it.

It’s a double-edged foam pirate sword.

One day, he won’t be enchanted by Super Hero dress-up and the passing of this phase will likely coincide with the day that he sees those huge costumed creatures for what they truly are: just normal, everyday people who are probably sweating a lot under those cartoon layers.

HOW DO YOUR KIDS REACT TO LARGE COSTUMED CHARACTERS?

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Being Pregnant…Honesty In The Seaweed Aisle

June 10, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

No, I am not pregnant.

But, my littlest sister is.

And, since being around her these past few weeks, I have been able to re-live some of the niceties I had forgotten about being pregnant through her.

My poor sister.

For instance, there was this morning.

My son sat next to her, looking at her belly- but not quite directly at it. He was looking, a little north of it, actually….

The reason became clear when he asked my baby sister “Why are your boobies on Knox’s head?”

That wasn’t the first odd question he’s asked her about Knox, his future cousin- so she’s getting used to the funny kid-inquiries.

Oh, my poor sister.

But, perhaps, the funniest reminder of one of the most obvious indignities of a third-trimester pregnancy happened at the Korean Market recently.

We all started in the seafood section where our kids became fascinated by a new and odd-looking form of edible ocean-life: The Sea Squirt.

This has given rise to the new demand for us to follow the kids so they “CAN SHOW US THE SQUIRTS!!!!!” So, remember this if you’re ever around my kids and they ask if you’ve ever seen “the squirts”. This is the type to which they refer.

At least, for your sake, I hope it is.

Once we passed the seafood, our entire family including my sisters, my parents, all our husbands and our children- stood in the middle of a crowded aisle separating 10 varieties of coconut milk and about 30 types of seaweed.

A Korean woman running one of those sampler stations stopped us all to chat while she handed out steamed dumplings with chopsticks.

She was very blunt.

Blunt honesty is a sort of lost art form in Western cultures, I think.

I wrote about my own Asian mother’s penchant for the raw truth once, myself.

This woman, The Dumpling Lady, was making a type of kimchi potsticker and it was quite delicious.

She said to my middle sister “OH! You are so beautiful! You look like Kim Kardashian!!!”

And my mother said to her, “Almost as beautiful as her mother, right?”

And the lady shook her head, curled her nose and made a motion in the air with both hands that looked like this:

and said, “Nah. Old Woman Body.”

Ah…we did laugh at that. Even my Korean mother.

Then, the woman looked at me and said, “Oh! YOU are so beautiful! You look like Demi Moore! You know? In Ghost?”

And, I picked up the box of potstickers to see if the list of ingredients included any known hallucinogens that might make a woman ingesting the steam to have any goofy delusions like that. And, if it did…who else could I feed these things to?

But, of course my mother agreed with her. ”Yes. Yes. My daughters ARE all beautiful!”

And, then the Korean potsticker lady turned on my pregnant sister.

And she said, “You! You look like your FATHER!”

My poor, poor sister.

My poor, poor pregnant sister.

She looked at my dad.

It was a look of total un-amusement before bursting into laughter.

And my dad laughed and said, “Look, Kid. I’m SORRY!!!!!”

My 8 month-pregnant sister said, “I get it. SHE looks like Kim Kardashian. SHE looks like Demi Moore. But, I look like….I look like…YOU, Dad. I’m PREGNANT. I’m BLOATED. I’m FAT. Awesome. Thank You, Lady. Thank You Very Much.”

I’m pretty sure my baby sister walked away hoping the Dumpling Lady would choke on one of her own potstickers.

Being pregnant, with all its miracles and glories, can be the real pits, can’t it?

But, look, Little Sister.

It COULD Be Worse.

I mean, she could have said you looked like Gary Busey, right?

And you definitely don’t look like Gary Busey.

And, besides all that….you really ARE one gorgeous pregnant woman.

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Start Music: “Mom Of The Year!”

May 22, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

Sometimes, when I do something that is, perhaps, on the lower end of the advice scale for parents (like forgetting to make sure my little girl has underwear on for Kids Yoga day), my husband has taken to singing a funny phrase…with vigor. It goes like this:

“MOM OF THE YEAR!!!!!!”

It starts in a low octave and builds to a loud crescendo at the end.

As a result, my kids have started to sing it whenever an appropriate situation comes up. The good thing is that it is not all directed at me. Dad sometimes gets his own chorus, too.

Just such an incident happened at Cracker Barrel recently.

We were having brunch. The kids were picking out their choices from the kid menus.

We opened them up after we ordered to see what there was to color. There was a “Syllable Game”. The objective of the game was to look at the photos of Cracker Barrel breakfast items and to identify which ones had one syllable and which ones had two.

Our 5 year old daughter correctly identified several of them using the clapping technique we were using.

“Pancakes!” Clap Clap. 2 Syllables!

“Eggs!” Clap. 1 Syllable!

“Milk” Clap. 1 Syllable!

And she made it through the whole sheet with just one left.

And so I asked her, “Okay. Last one. How many syllables are in that word?”

With confidence, she yelled, “ONE!”

“Really?” I said. ”Clap it out.”

And she did.

“BEER!!!!!”

Ah, yes. We raise children in a home where maple syrup looks like beer to a young child thanks to

“DAD OF THE YEAR!”

But, that wasn’t all that had us cracking up on this vacation over the last two days.

The best came today after our children decided to interrogate my youngest sister, who is expecting her first son (who will be named Knox) in a couple of months.

Standing in the pasta aisle of the local Safeway, our 3-year old son seriously asked her,

“Why did you eat Knox?”

He really wanted to know.

My sister laughed and said she hadn’t eaten Knox.

She just looked like she had eaten Knox.

So, our daughter then asked,

“Well, how did Knox get into your belly?”

And my sister and her husband both looked at me (who pretended to be reading generic pasta labels).

This was excellent practice for the new parents-to-be.

They said,

“You need to ask your daddy that question.”

And both of my kids shook their heads and said, almost in unison and definitely immediately:

“Oh, no.

Daddy doesn’t know anything about that.

He doesn’t know THAT.”

Both kids were adamant. Both shook their heads and walked away.

We made it home to prepare dinner pretty uneventfully.

As my sister made the Strawberry Field Green Salad and I chopped the kale for the Zuppa Toscana, our kids struck again.

“Aunt Jenny?

“Yes?”

“Are you MARRIED?”

And Aunt Jenny started to explain,

“Well? We are. On PAPER. I mean, technically, we ARE married. So, technically Knox is coming and we haven’t had a FORMAL wedding, per se, but ….well, it’s complicated.”

And do you know what our daughter said to her?

“MOM OF THE YEAR!!!!!!!!”

Well, actually, she kind of sang it to her.

And, my husband would like me to clear up, for the record, that he DOES actually know exactly how Knox got into my sister’s belly.

OH, KIDS. THEY ARE FUNNY.

WHAT FUNNY THINGS HAVE YOUR KIDS SAID LATELY?

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Knock Knock Around The Dinner Table…

March 24, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

The other night our daughter started a round of “Knock. Knock” jokes around our dinner table.

“Knock! Knock!” she shouted.

“Who’s There?” my husband and I answered.

“Poo Poo and Pee Pee!”

At this, she and our 3 year old son erupted in laughter.

There was no need to finish the joke.

So, I chimed in with the only clean “Knock Knock” joke I knew that I remembered from my own childhood joke books.

“Knock. Knock.” I said.

The kids screamed, still in stitches from the knee-slapper our daughter had just belted, “WHO’S THERE???!!!”

“Orange.” I said.

“ORANGE, WHO!!!???” they yelled.

“Orange you glad I knocked?”

This was somehow EVEN FUNNIER than the pee pee poo poo joke that lacked a punchline.

So, my husband joined in.

You might remember my husband if you’ve followed this blog for any amount of time.

In short. He is pretty awesome.

He does dishes.

He wins trophies that don’t fit in any closet.

I’m sure he regrets having a blogger for a wife because his first response after he does something hilarious is, “Are you gonna blog about this???!!!!”

Guess what my response is.

Or you can just read about him here, when it comes to things I’m so glad he’s taught our children, how he dresses my kids, how we resolve major issues (like who should be the designated toilet paper replacer) or how he dresses my kids. (Yes, I meant to post about how he dresses my kids twice there. There are two different posts about it.)

So, anyway- Back to our benign little game of “Knock. Knock” jokes.

It’s daddy’s turn.

He thought for a second.

“Knock. Knock.” he said.

“WHO’S THERE??!!!” the kids screamed, again.

“Madame.” he said.

“MADAME, WHO???!!!” the kids yelled, again.

“MADAME LEG IS CAUGHT IN THE DOOR!!!!”

At this, the children started to fall on the floor with laughter but I could barely hear them over the deafening guffaw coming out of my husband’s wide-open jaws from across the table.

I just looked at him.

And he said, “WHAT????!!! That’s the only “Knock. Knock” joke I know!”

Well, in that case……

I have to admit.

It WAS kinda funny.

Don’t be jealous of our parenting skills.

We only make this look hard.

WHAT GOOD KNOCK KNOCK JOKES DO YOU KNOW THAT ARE ACTUALLY APPROPRIATE FOR CHILDREN???!!!!

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Saint Patrick’s Day Then and Now…

March 17, 2012
Posted by critters and crayons

These days, whenever holidays come around, I try to remember what our lives and celebrations were like BEFORE.

BEFORE Before.

BEFORE parenting, sippy cups, spit up, potty training, sleep deprivation, worry, fellow-parent empathy, stepping on legos, band-aids, kisses on boo-boos, and understanding the meaning of what it means to truly love another little thing more than you love your own life.

I happened upon some photos from a visit to Ireland over Saint Patrick’s Day about 10 years ago, when our children were still five years from being in utero glimmers.

I laugh when I look at photos like this from this month. In honor of Spring and March and St. Patrick’s Day- A day of Rainbow Crafts and Cooking with the kids…

But, 10 years ago, a much thinner me (and hubby) got off the Ryan Air plane in Killarney, Ireland just before St. Patty’s Day to party like only the Irish know how to.

We got off the plane, and went to rent a car. The rental company offered us a discount if we would be willing to take the “transit”. They gave us a key.

We went out to where this “transit” might be picking us up. And we waited. And waited and waited.

Then, we went back into the airport. ”The transit never came to get us to take us to our car.” ”Oh, no!” They said in Irish accents. You get a discount for RENTING the transit.” We walked out to the lot that they pointed us to.

There sat a gigantic van with floor to ceiling windows all around and it could seat the entire Partridge Family. The gear shift was literally 3 feet long from floor to shoulder while sitting and the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car (the right).

Uh. No.

We went back in and got a smaller car. But, the coolest thing ever sat in the back seat of the rental….a small package with a complimentary disposable camera!

How cool and hospitable!

We snapped these pics as we drove down the wrong side of the road throughout Ireland.

Fast forward 10 years.

I spent St. Patrick’s Day making gold thumbprint pots of gold with the kids. And, it was every bit as fun as dodging cars coming directly at us as we forgot the local driving customs.

But, 10 years ago, my husband and I made our way to Blarney Castle, home of the famous Blarney Stone that you’re supposed to kiss.

My husband kissed it.

I did not.

I had a theory that there was a reason that the Blarney Stone Dude smiled like this. All that space on the Blarney Stone and that spritz bottle of sanitizer he never used once while I watched tourist after tourist kiss that same spot that local kids probably pee’ed on at night.

He planted everyone’s kissers right smack on the same exact spot every time.

Back then, I was, like, “Um. No.”

The irony is that I come in contact with more bodily fluids than that on any post-motherhood day since and don’t even think twice about it. Nothing some spit or a wet wipe can’t clean up nowadays. :)

St. Patrick’s Day now means painting rocks like green-colored animals….

But, BEFORE….it was just looking at miles of man-made boulder fences in pastoral Irish fields. One day, we would love to take the kids to Ireland so they can see this part of their heritage.

I can see the photos in my mind that we will take of them standing on this natural boulder fence.

At night, we went to Irish pubs and drank delicious Irish beer (Kilkenny- the best beer in the world, people- and you can’t find it in America. Drat.) We listened to awesome Irish music and sat with fun and boisterous Irish people.

But, we noticed no one wore green on St. Patrick’s Day and there was no green beer to be found.

When we asked the locals why that was, they told us, “Oh, we don’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day here. That’s an American thing.”

We found this a little funny.

During the days we were there, we snapped and snapped photos throughout Ireland using that awesome disposable camera the Irish car rental company had generously supplied us as a tourist gift…..

And when our trip came to a close, we went to turn in our miraculously crash-free car to the rental company.

The lady at the window asked us where the “accident kit” was.

Epiphany.

We were the dumb American tourists.

Accident-kit?

You mean that wasn’t a complimentary tourist camera?

We told them they could have the camera back but it was full of awesome trip pictures.

She rolled her eyes.

Something told me this was not her first rodeo.

I think other Americans had pulled the same shenanigans on her. Only, we really, really DID think it was a generous tourist gift.

We should have noticed the chalk and warning triangle in the kit, too. I suppose.

Anyway- That was St. Patrick’s Day THEN.

But, this is St. Patrick’s Day NOW.

And, to be quite honest.

I think it’s a toss-up.

Nah.

NOW is definitely more awesome.

Here’s why…..

It’s more awesome because my kids are HERE. NOW.

And, it’s more awesome because there was a time when I loved my work (and the work was good), but that I didn’t notice the beauty of things like this rainbow that we saw together the other day….

I notice these things because I want my children to notice them.

Having kids has opened us up to slow down and see real beauty in nature and simplicity.