Chopped Liver, My Name is Mom

Switching schools mid year can be tough. From day one at his new school my seven year old has been super excited about his school's version of Star of the Week. Top Dog, it's called in his classroom. He has been patiently waiting for his turn to finally roll around, and here it is- his Top Dog Week!

He spent the weekend creating his poster and deciding what special items he would bring into school.



Notice how he is wishing for a pigeon. Keep wishing, kiddo, not gonna happen.

He has been talking about me, his mother, coming in to read to his class during his special week. Non stop. For months he has been planning for this, and now it is finally here. He spent the weekend reviewing his book choices. This morning he bounced down the steps yelling, "Today is the day you are reading to my class!", which prompted him to trip and fall the last few stairs. He popped right back up. "I'm OK! And you are READING TO MY CLASS TODAY!"

As he hopped up the bus steps he looked at me over his shoulder, calling out, "See you at school- I can't wait!"

I arrive at his classroom and stand in the doorway, listening to 19 students sitting at their desks reciting a poem, in unison. My son spots me and a huge smile breaks out on his beautiful face. His eyes sparkle and he can hardly contain his excitement. Finally, the poem is complete and his teacher asks my son to please come to the front of the room and introduce his special friend.

I stand next to my son, who has wrapped his arms around me, giddy. My child is giddy. My heart fills and I am so happy that I made the choice to be here, right now, in this moment, with my oldest son.

"Tell us who you have brought today, Matthew". his teacher asks.

"This is my mother."

"And tell us why you chose your mother to be your special guest today?"

I smile down at the thick dark hair on my child's head. He is twisting his fingers together, standing there in front of his peers. He is being brave, his nervousness at standing in front of so many people seeping out through his constantly moving fingers and they twist around each other. My sweet angel. This child who has been inexplicably connected to my heart from the moment he was placed in my arms. More so than with my youngest son, who is often a mystery to me,  I know this child's heart. I feel him. I know what is thinking, feeling. I know him like I know myself. My heart fills again with joy at this moment. I am his favorite person! I am his special guest!

"And tell us why you chose your mother to be your special guest today?"

"Because my daddy works an hour away."

I smile, ready to accept his sweet accolades. Wait, what did he just say? His daddy?

This is the child who fights to sit next to me on the sofa. Who pouts if he has to sit next to his father when eating out. Who always wants to ride in my car and not Daddy's. Who whines if he doesn't get to sit next to me at our dining room table. We actually have to rotate who sits next to me so that both boys get what they want. This is the child who is physically attached to me at all times. He complains if I run errands without him. He acts as though I am his everything.

Turns out, I am his second choice. Bummer.

"Tell us what you like about your mother. What does your mother do for you?"

"I like her cooking."

OK, we are back on top! I relax a little. Cooking, this I know a little something about. Daddy doesn't cook. Daddy only shops if I give him the list. Daddy doesn't have this all sewn up.

"What does your mom cook for you that you like?"

"Chicken nuggets."

Dang nab it. Dang.nab.it. I plan healthy and creative meals. I shop. I cook. And yes, occasionally, I make chicken nuggets. Frozen, throw on a cookie sheet and pop in the oven, not the best nutrition chicken nuggets. And now everyone knows. Thanks, son.

"What else does your mother do with you that you like?"

"I like it when she takes me to the grocery store."

Uh sure. To buy chicken nuggets.

Obviously, I was quite the hit at school today. If you need me, I'll just be under the bed. My sweet husband, the one who works too far away to be brought to school- he can be in charge. Just turn on the oven to 425 and toss the nuggets in. You'll be famous...



 



 

this curse word is not gratuitous

My tiny toddler loves to say the word "poop". I have no idea why. Well, no idea why other than the fact that he is a 2 year old boy. He says it all the time now- adds it in to songs we sing, tells me he wants it for breakfast...

The POOP on the bus goes round and round, round and round, round and round....

The Daddy on the bus goes POOP POOP POOP...

"What would you like for breakfast, Mishka?" "POOP MAMA! POOP!"

It could be worse, I guess. While my big five year old never really jumped on the "poop" bandwagon he did choose the perfect moment to share another new word. When he was three years old my sweet husband and I took our then three year old on a weekend trip to New York City with my sister and her young daughter. It was the weekend before Christmas and the city was beautiful. We walked through Times Square, we watched ice skaters in Rockefeller Center, we visited the toy soldiers at F.A.O. Schwartz and watched the horses pull their elaborate carriages through Central Park. The entire weekend glittered with twinkly Christmas lights and sparkly snow. Holidays in New York City, right?

We didn't even mind the long, (OMG long) taxi line at Penn Station. Well, at first we didn't mind. Eventually, after what felt like hours of the line not moving, we hopped into a black car. (I don't know what they are called- the private black cars that really only cost a little more than a taxi and are so much easier to track down in a tourist laden city.) We all pile in, my sweet little cherubic son, my older sister, my impressionable niece... And one of us says something like, "Wow, it was certainly hard to get a taxi out there!" To which my three year old responded by sharing a word we didn't even know he knew. "F*#*ing taxi's!"

I have to say, I was a little proud. At least he used it the right way...

the sweetest litte compliment...

My boys are so cute. They have sweet smiles and they both love to make silly faces, usually right after saying or doing something that they know will get them in big trouble. They give great hugs and kisses and they know just how to melt my heart. And now I know that God created them that way for a reason. Yes folks, there is a reason that little kids are so darned cute. Because if they weren't, we would spend much of our days mad at them for the backhanded compliments that come out of their mouths.

They mean well, right? I am sure the compliment made sense in their sweet little heads. But something happens between thinking the compliment and actually saying it.

• I love to hug you Mommy, you are so squishy! ("squishy" is the medical term for "need to exercise more".)
• Mommy, I like how your hair is kind of white on top, it is pretty. (obviously it is time to color the roots again...)
• Mommy, please don't dance.
• You hair looks crazy like mine! ("crazy" is a good thing in my big five year old's mind, but not really a look I wish to sport.)
• Mommy,  your teeth look clean but I don't like your toothpaste, it makes your mouth smell funny. (uh, honey, I'm thinking I need MORE toothpaste...)
• Look Mommy! This pillow pet is the same size as your bum bum!
• Mommy, I am smart like you and I am not even OLD like you are!

And all of that is just from the big five year old. When the tiny toddler starts complimenting me I may just have to go into hiding!

police cars, whores, the zoo, and the cleveland browns

"Mommy, who do you need to call about securing me a police car?" What? Did he just say securing a police car? For a brief moment I was totally stumped. Who does he think I am? What events have occurred  in his young life up to now that would make him think his mother is so super amazing that I can secure a police car for him? What is he planning? Is he going to knock over the local candy shop? Hop himself up on leftover Valentine's Day candy and take his little brother on a pixie stick induced crime spree?  I remained stumped for about 10 minutes, until I finally realized that he was talking about those little motorized cars he sees other kids, from families with clearly more organized garages and storage space and lots more expendable cash, driving up and down the street. Thank God. We need the bail money for our beer of the month club.


"Mommy, I need scissors, tape, and, uh, maybe a band aid. Oh, and don't come up here for a few minutes!" When I did, in fact, RACE up the stairs I saw no blood. I did see the boys bathroom totally torn apart, with all the soap and toilet paper pulled out from under the sink and a tiny toddler shoved in the cabinet instead. I am not sure, but I think the older one may have been planning to either:

A. cut his little brother's hair. Which, actually, does need done.
B. tape the cabinet door closed with his little brother inside. Which would have produced a really cool Hulk-like effect as the amazingly strong tiny toddler fought his way out, pushing through the scotch tape.

I never did find out why he needed the band aid.



Conversation overheard between one of Mommy's friends and  my now Big Five Year Old the other day while he was playing a football game on his DS.

Friend: "What teams are playing?"
Son:      "I am the green Bay Packers and I am playing the Cleveland Browns."
Friend: "You're not the Browns?" (I am sure she was amazed that we let this kid play teams other than the Browns, especially out in public...)
Son:      "Sometimes I am the Browns, but sometimes I just want to win."

This needs no further explanation, but you can imagine how well this went over with my husband.


"Mommy, can we get a whores?" What? Did he just ask me for a whore? Actually, I think he asked me for more than one whore. So he is growing up way too fast and he has bad grammar. As I am considering grabbing the car keys and running out to the local pharmacy to pick up a safe sex brochure or maybe one titled "How to Talk Your Big Five Year Old Out of Bringing Home a Whore" the Tiny Toddler began dancing around the kitchen yelling "Whores! Whores!". oh. my. god. crap crap crap crap crap. Now the little one wants one too. I panicked. I should get dressed, I thought, because social services is going to be pulling into my driveway any minute now and I refuse to be on the news, being dragged out my house, wearing pajamas with ice skating penguins on them.

"Maybe we can just go to the zoo and ride a whores?" What the hell kind of zoo is this kid talking about? And no kid of mine is riding, well, you know...

The Tiny Toddler then started neighing as he danced around the kitchen and it dawned on my that my innocent child may, just may be talking about riding a horse.

I have got to start drinking more coffee.