Noodle Boy is a nickname my son had when he was a tiny guy and I started this blog. His nickname changes all the time. (Don't worry, we keep his real name the same.) He is completely awesome. Read on and see for yourself!

Monday, July 13, 2009

Bubble Trouble

My son was traumatized by a bubble bath tonight. He has super-sensitive skin so when he was a just a little peanut we started using hypoallergenic-no-smell-no-color-no-fun baby wash to keep him from getting all rashy and skipping the bubbly stuff because most of it smells good and good smells=bad rashes on this kid.
Then wonder of wonders! Last week I discovered hypoallergenic-no-smell-no-color BUBBLE BATH! Wheeee!

He hates it.

Evidently we missed our opportunity in his early days to introduce him to the joys of a bubbly tub.
He wouldn't sit down! He screamed until I cleared the bubbles away so he could see his feet. I think he thought they disapeared forever. "FEET MAMA! FEEEEEEEEET!!!!!" He calmed down a little when he got his feet back, but then I made the mistake of putting some bubbles on his hand. "Mess.MESS. MESS!!!" He turned his head away and held his hand out as far as he could until I wiped the suds off. After thorough inspection he accepted the hand as part of his body again and tried to bail out of the tub which resulted in a splash down and his entire body covered in the offensive fluff.
*hysteria ensues*
I opened the drain and started the faucet in an effort to wash the bubbles down, while trying to rinse Jon with the cup part of the toothbrush holder. This only created more bubbles/hysteria. Finally in desperation to stop the tears and get rid of the horror that is bubble bath I scooped arm-fulls of bubbles into the toilet, which delighted Jon to no end. Imagine a bathtub's worth of bubbles towering out of a toilet. At this point how can I not laugh right along with him? He was finally able to stand at the very back of the tub and not touch any bubbles I got him rinsed clean. He has fully recovered from the incident, however he does give the toilet a sideways glance when he walks past...

And if anyone would like a barely-used bottle of hypoallergenic-no-smell-no-color bubble bath I have one.

Monday, July 6, 2009


Lately Jon has enjoyed putting things on his head that are clearly not hats and pretending that they are. It was really cute for a while, especially since he can't pronounce the letter "h" at the beginning of a word. "At, mama, at." Shoes were "ats", toys were "ats", pillows were "ats". Then he started doing it at the table and the cuteness screeched to a halt when he thought spaghetti was a "at". So we had a talk about how food and silverware were not "ats" and they belonged on a plate or in his mouth, not on his head. Food and silverware are not "ats".
With exception of tacos, evidently.
We were out to eat at our favorite Mexican restaurant and Jon was being the Mr. Hyde version of himself that always seems to make its way out when we're in public. After throwing all the silverware on the floor, dumping a glass of water and loudly proclaiming "MINE!!!!" when the waitress tried to take the menus back, our food arrived. Jon's was only luke warm, not "ot" so he got to dig right in. They always make his first so it cools and he can eat it right away. I think they do that so we can feed our demon spawn and get the hell out of there faster.
After about two bites he decided that maybe eating a taco was too last season and thought it would be more fashionable to try it as a hat. Orange grease was everywhere! Running down his arms and the sides of his head, ground beef crumbling down on his shoulders. I could have killed him. But being the super in-control mom that I am I kept it together and calmy told him that he was getting food everywhere, that he was being gross and to knock it off. Yeah, like that worked. So I yanked the taco out of his hands and (in a not very motherly tone) said, "I don't care how many tacos you put on your head you're not getting another bath today!" There's a sentence I never thought I'd say. By this point people are staring, smiling uncomfortably at the horrible mother who not only lets her child substitute tacos for sombreros but also refuses to bathe him regularly. Nice. I'm sure they thought I was going to take him home and let the dog lick him off before I put him to bed with a sippy cup full of Diet Sprite.
We left. Jon got a bath. I ate a soggy reheated chimichanga after he went to bed.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

That kid

Jon has become "that kid". You know, that kid who is always yelling at the grocery store. That kid who manages to get out of the highchair at the restaurant and run through the place, terrorizing everyone in his path. That kid at the doctor's office who climbs up on the chair and pulls over lamp, knocking a bunch of magazines on the floor and then rolling it off the table onto some poor kid's head.

Yeah, that's him.