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!

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

what Jon said

J: "Mom, is this Subway also a church?"
M: "No, why?"
J: "Those guys just said 'Amen.' Maybe they don't know it's not a church.  Maybe you should tell them."


J: "Is that guy real?  Because his leg's not. Look. Plastic."
M: "Yes, he is real.  He had a big owie and they had to take his leg off and give him a plastic one so he could walk."
J: "I don't think he's real.  Let's ask him..."


"I'm glad we're home.  I like the toilets here better."


J: "How come you're not eating supper, Mom?"
M: "Because I have a tummy ache today."
J: "Oh.  I had that before.  What kind of chap-stick did you eat?"


"You have to fix my sleeves, Mom.  Look.  They're all jacked up."


J: "Why did you yell at those big boys?"
M: "Because they were talking naughty and being mean."
J: "Why did they do that?"
M: "Probably because their mommies aren't around and they think it's ok to be big jerks when they're by themselves."
J (in awe): "When I'm big, I'm going to be a big jerk and swear too.  I can't WAIT."

Monday, October 10, 2011

What Jon said

"MOM!!!! I CAN'T FIND MY TESTICLES!....Wait....there they are...NEVER MIND!"


Random lady at Casey's: "Oh Honey, you shouldn't put your hands in your mouth, they're dirty.  You'll get germs."
Jon: "That's ok, my mom puts soap in my mouth when I say naughty words, so it gets cleaned out a lot."


J: "Mom, why is that puffy raccoon sleeping in the road?"
M: "Well, I think he got hit by a car and now he's not alive anymore."
J: "Oh.  I bet he didn't like that very much."


J: "We didn't have snacks at Sunday School today."
M: "Well we don't go to Sunday School just to have snacks.  We go to learn about God."
J: "I know that, Mom, I learned about God.  But God doesn't just love people you know.  He also loves SNACKS."


J: "Mom, why's it called 'mooning'?"
M: "Because your buns are big and white and round like the moon."
J: "Not my buns.  My buns are golden."


Monday, October 3, 2011

Big enough

Three-going-on-four is a very big age.  This is when they are officially out of the toddler stage and are turning into full-on preschoolers.

Jon was kind of ahead of the game for a while.  I was secretly smug about how well my two year old could speak and that he was fully potty-trained long before he was three years old.  Little did I know that while he was learning basic little kid skills before most of his peer group, he was also mastering.........The Art of DECEPTION.

Last night I was laying in bed  and at 11:37, I heard yelling coming from Jon's room.  At first I thought he was just talking in his sleep, he does that every once in a while, so I just listened.  And from his bedroom I heard:


I checked the monitor and didn't see any movement in the dark, but I knew he was awake so I went to investigate.  But his room wasn't dark at all.  The lights were blazing, toys were EVERYWHERE and "If You're Happy and You Know It" was cranking out of the CD player.

"JON! What are you doing?! It's the middle of the night!" I don't know why I was doing the loud whisper, it's not like anybody was sleeping with all that racket going on.

"I'm just playing."  If he were a few years older I'm sure he would have followed that statement with "DUH," because that was definitely the look he was giving me.

"It's the middle of the night!  Why are you even awake?! Have you just been sitting here in the dark?"

"No. The lights were on the whole time.  I can't see my toys in the dark." More duh-face.

"I just looked at the monitor and it was dark.  What are you doing in here?"

"Oh.  Sometimes when I play at night I cover the monitor with my blanky so you can't see me."

So that's what's been going on!

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Loud whisper has now been replaced with the Loud Mom Voice.

"If you seed me I couldn't play anymore, so I just covered it up."


"I know how.  I turned on my Toddler Songs."

"This morning you cried for 20 minutes because I was too busy to turn it on for you.  When exactly did you learn how to turn it on in the last 12 hours?"

"I knowed how for a long time, Mom.  I just like it when you do it."

"So you rolled around on the floor for 20 minutes bawling like a baby and you could have just walked over there and started it yourself?"

"Yeah......" He was starting to look sheepish.

"And you knew you were supposed to be in bed, so you covered the monitor so you could play and I wouldn't see you?"


"Do you think those were very good choices?"

Eyes to the floor, ""

"That's called being sneaky, and I don't like it when you do that.  And another thing-How did you get your Legos out?  You can't open the closet door.  Or can you?"

"Sometimes I open it and get stuff out...I know how." More sheepishness.

"So, really you're a big boy.  And you've been acting like a little boy who doesn't know how to do things, when really you can, right?"

"Yes.  I can do lots of stuff.  I can even scoop peas by myself, I just want you to do it for me. And I'm good at taking off my shirt.  You just do it faster."

"Honey if you can do things by yourself, then you need to do them like a big boy and not act like you can't.  When you make Mommy do things that you know how to do yourself that's called being lazy.  Can you start doing things like a big boy?"

"Yes.  I'm good at being a big boy."

"The next time you want to hear your songs, just turn on your CD player. OK?"

"Got it!"

"And the next time you want something out of your closet, just get it.  OK?"


"And all of the big boy things that you really know how to do, but pretend that you don't, you need to do.  OK?"

"Right.  Big boy now.  Doing my big boy jobs-got it."

"And don't EVER cover up this monitor again.  Mom needs to know what's going on."

"Right.  I'm a big boy so I can play at night and not cover up the monitor."

"NO. You still have to go to bed.  It's LATE."

"BUT YOU SAID I WAS BIG! BIG BOYS CAN PLAY WHEN THEY WANT TO!  EVEN AT NIGHT!" I think the lack of sleep finally fried his brain.  Soooo many tears.....

"Honey it's late and you have to go to bed so you can have a good day tomorrow.  You can't play at night, big boys have to go to sleep too..." ...and other calming things in a motherly tone...

I finally got him back into bed and calmed down.  I tucked him in and he gave me sleepy kisses and was drifting off to sleep.

"Good night Mommy, I love you.  I'm glad I'm a big boy now."

"Me too, sweetheart.  Go to sleep. I love you."

"Mommy?" He was so sweet laying there with his eyes fluttering shut.

"Yes, honey?" My heart was melting at how cute he was falling asleep.

"Does this mean I'm big enough to say 'Damn it' now?"

Saturday, September 24, 2011

A prayer for Ellie

Jon's cousin Ellie died on October 25, 2010, you can read about her and her amazing mommy here: .

Last night when we were saying bedtime prayers Jon asked about Ellie.

"Mom?  Do you remember Baby Ellie?"

"Yes.  Do you?"

"Yeah.  Where did she go again?"

"Baby Ellie went to heaven to be with the angels."

"Oh.  Why'd she have to go there?"

"Because she got very sick and couldn't get better so God took her to Heaven."

"Oh.  Where's her bones?"

"Do you remember when we went to Ellie's Park and let go of all the balloons?" Our family refers to Ellie's gravesite as "Ellie's Park", for what it is, it's beautiful.


"That's where her bones are."

"If her bones are there, how do her wings work?"

"When people go to Heaven they get brand new bodies when they get their wings. Ellie has healthy new bones in Heaven."

"Oh. When does she come back down here?"

"She doesn't.  But she watches us from Heaven everyday."

"That's why we send her balloons?"

"Yes, we send her balloons so she knows we love her and are thinking of her."

"I love her.  Is Nanny still sad?" "Nanny" is my cousin Tiffany, Ellie's mommy.

"Yes honey, Nanny is still sad."

"I love her, too. Should we say prayers for Ellie?"


"And Nanny and Doof and Max?" "Doof" is Dave, Ellie's daddy and Max is Ellie's brother.


"Can you help me say it?"

"Yes. What would you like to say?"

"Dear God, please keep Baby Ellie safe with the Angels...And...what else?"

"Should we say 'Please help Nanny and Doof and Max everyday?'"

"Yeah that's a good one.  What else?"

"Should we say 'Thank you for sharing Baby Ellie with us?'"

"Yeah, that was nice that Baby Ellie got to be here."

"And what do we say when we're done?"

"AaaaaaaaMEN! I liked that prayer Mom."

If you would like to learn about how you can help families in the Twin Cities area dealing with the sudden loss of a child please visit  Ellie's Light.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

What Jon said

I promise I'll start blogging more soon, things are just nuts around here lately.  And I've been grumpy.  I will be less lame in a couple weeks.  Until then, back by popular demand...


"Mom, I love you more when you wear that dress than when you wear pants."


Me: "Jon, do you want me to read this book to you?"
Jon: "Let me smell it first...Yep, it's a good one."


"How old do I have to be before we get me a chainsaw?  I mean a real one.  This plastic one doesn't really cut anything."


"Mom you can have this Tootsie Pop.  I don't have the patience for candy that big.


At ten thirty p.m., in the kitchen, LONG after he should have been asleep: "Mom!  Guess what!  We don't need a baby gate on my door anymore, I can climb over it now!  Isn't that GREAT?!"


"Have you noticed there aren't very many submarines around here?"


Jon: "Hey!  What are they shooting out of that tiny shooter thing?"
Me:  "It's called a hot dog gun! They shoot hot dogs out to people in the stands, isn't that funny?"
Jon: "NO. Someone needs to tell him that we only shoot at things, not at people.  He needs to go to time out."

Monday, August 8, 2011

What Jon said.

Me: "I better not see you sticking things through the back of the fan again.   Got it, Pal?"
Jon: "Got it.  Maybe you shouldn't look at me and the fan for a little while..."


"That french toast smells like Costco!  The muffin part, not the tire part."


Jon: "Those roses are pretty."
Me: "Those aren't roses.  They're called hibiscus flowers."
Jon: "Biscuits are things we eat, not flowers Mom."


"MOM!  That is NOT how you hold an invisible baby!"


"These cherries are yummy, they taste like Zyrtec!"


From inside the men's room:
"MOM! You gotta come see these toilets! They're clear up on the wall! And they're RECTANGLES! Come in here for a second!"


"I can't wear this underwear, it's not fast enough for me to save people. I need the ones with lightning on them so I can rescue someone if they need me."


Sunday, July 31, 2011

The fair. And toy guns.

Jon LOVES the fair.  County and state.  And if you're not from a rural community you might thinks that's weird.  But it's not, it's just what we do.

So last week was county fair and Jon had been waiting for a year to go back to the fairgrounds to eat breakfast from the 4H building and see the animals.  Literally every time we drive past the fairgrounds he asks, "Is it almost time to go have breakfast with the cows?"  For people who have never been to a fair: we don't actually eat with the cows.  We order breakfast, eat it at a table and THEN go to the barns to see the animals.

In years past we have just had breakfast, looked at the critters and then headed home.  Not this year.  This was the first year that Jon was big enough to go on rides. *sigh*

I hate rides.

I can't handle the spinning and zooming around.  And then there's the idea of all the germy, sticky hands that have been on every surface of the carnival rides.  And the fact that most of them look like they are a tragic 10 o'clock news story waiting to happen.  "Tonight at 10, death strikes a local county fair as 20 children were flung from the top of the popular ride 'The Zipper'..."

And God don't get me started on the carnies.

But having kids means partaking in carnival rides.  So away we went.

We had a ridiculous amount of ride tickets from my work.  Even though he's tall enough for most of them, I just let him go on the very toddler-specific rides: the train, bounce house, carousel, big slide, funhouse, etc.  And he was ok with that.  THIS year anyway...

Our first stop was the carousel.  It seemed fairly harmless.

"Excuse me, is there an age restriction on this ride?"  (My favorite question because then it's the carny's fault if we can't ride.)

I really just expected the ride operator to say, "Oh no, this ride is safe for all ages, hop on!"

I didn't expect him to shrug and say, "I dunno, it's not too fast."

How comforting.

Jon chose a sturdy looking stallion whom he named "Trotter."  Trotter was pretty high up so I stood next to him to make sure Jon didn't fall off.  Jon thought I should hop on Trotter's neighbor, Lightning.  But I wasn't sure Lightning was up to bearing more than about 50 pounds, seeing as he only had one remaining bolt of four holding him to the floor.

We lurched to a start and Trotter was giving Jon the ride of his life.  I was trying to focus on on the hind end of the horse in front of me so I didn't lose my cookies from the very bumpy circling we were doing.  Ooh.  I kind of feel gross just remembering it.  Hang on...

Ok, we're good.

So we're whirling around having a grand old time; Jon shouting "HELLO!" every time we passed his dad and then laughing hysterically each and every time, like he had no idea his dad was just around the bend.  Again.

Trotter was just winding down when I noticed the engine housing in the center of the carousel was open, gears, wheels and belts a-spinning away, with a grease gun laying in one of the flowery benches on the other side.  Nice.  Carousel Carny saw me eyeing the the lawsuit waiting to happen and assured me that, "We keep the top open cause it gets real hot otherwise, and we have to keep shutting down.  Makes the kids real sad when we have to stop."  Aww, it's all about the kids, how sweet.

After we reigned Trotter in we headed over to a funhouse looking thing with Spongebob characters painted all over it.  I'm fairly certain there were some copyright infringements going on.  That deathtrap didn't look like anything Nickelodeon would endorse. There was a ball pit, a rope ladder, some weird bungee obstacle and a big slide at the end.  He loved it. And the lady runing it loved Jon.  She sounded all loud and raspy like Sally Struthers.  If she had a cartoon bubble above her head, every sentence in it would end in an exclamation point.  "Climb on in, Honey, you got the whole place to yourself!  It'll be fun!  If you get stuck your mom'll have to come in and get you ok, Hon?! My knees won't let me do the crawling anymore!  Too old for that!  But I sure like to watch you little guys!..."

This went on for quite awhile, and being the polite little boy that he is, Jon just stared up at her waiting for her to clam up so he could go in.  She wasn't clamming anytime soon and I don't think she was socially aware enough to be offended if we talked over her, so I sent him in. 

At the very beginning there were some of those weird foamy pool noodles hanging from the top, with a picture of Squidward painted above them.
And taking a cue from Sally the Carny, he began rambling in a very loud run-on conversation himself.

"Mom, look!  It's Squidward!  These are his testicles hanging down by my head!"

"TENTICLES!" (We've had some anatomy questions lately)

"Oh yeah, I forget those sometimes!  Look a ball pit!  Will my shoes get the balls dirty?!" -Yeah, I'm super worried about you getting the funhouse dirty.-  "Watch me climb this rope ladder, I'm really good at it! Mom, look at me, look at me I'm up here!  MOM! I'm at the top!  Do you see me?!  I'm going to the slide now, watch me when I go down!  WHEEEEEEE!!!"

It was a billion degrees, I made Jon sit in the shade and drink some water before we had anymore fun.  Sally thought that was a good idea.

"You gotta listen to your mom, kiddo!  She's right, you gotta keep drinkin' when it's this hot out!  Look!  I got one too!" She pull a barrel-sized mug of Mountain Dew from under her chair and thank god she took a drink because it was the only time she wasn't talking.

Sally droned on while we decided what rides to do next.  I convinced him that Trotter was tired and had to go out to pasture for the night, so we headed for the train. It was kind of lame, there were no other kids on it, so he took one spin and wanted to head back to the funhouse.  Sally was pumped that he was back.

"Hey kiddo! You're back!  Climb on in there!  You know what to do now don't you?!  Yeah, get on in there!  You been taking some drinks?!" She raised her mug to him and offered a one-sided "Cheers!" as he headed in again.  We used all the rest of his tickets at the funhouse. I just gave the whole sheet of them to Sally and let him run wild until other kids showed up and we had to call him down. 

He was having the time of his life and I wasn't sure how we were going to get him out of there without a fight.  And then, like a voice from the heavens: "Pop a balloon and win!  Kids throw til they win!  Every kid gets a prize!" Here was my out.

"JON! Do you want to play a carnival game?!  You get to throw darts at balloons and take home a prize!"


And he was down that slide in no time.  Sally was sorry to see him go.  She was just stuffing her cigarettes and albuterol inhaler back into her shirt pocket and she stopped to give Jon a high five.  "We'll be at Madison County Fair next week Honey if you want to play some more!  Have fun!  I hope you get a prize!..." 

The dart game was the fastest and best part of the fair. It cost me five bucks, but if that meant no screaming on our way out the gate it was so worth it.  We had a deal  that if he won a prize (and I knew he would!) we would go straight home and play with it.  Win-win.

He actually hit a balloon with his second dart, which shocked the hell out of me and I was glad to get our ragtag, not very soft stuffed animal and head out of there.  But Dart Carny had a different idea about prizes for three year old boys.  "You don't want no teddy bear do ya dude? You want a GUN!"


"YEAH!  Mom I never got a gun before!"

I hate toy guns.  I think toy guns are in the ranks of candy cigarettes and the Fisher Price Home Brew Kit. (Ok, I made that last thing up, but you get how ridiculous the first two are, right?)  Encouraging minors to to pretend to do things that are illegal is stupid.  I think real guns for adults are fine.  And real cigarettes for adults, while gross, are fine.  Giving fake ones to kids to pretend that they are doing something dangerous and in both cases sometimes deadly, is stupid.

Water guns are great, they are colorful and whimsical.  Taking your kid hunting is super.  Teach them how to do it safely.  Don't give your kid a fake gun and tell them to pretend to shoot other people.  It's weird.

But what am I going to do now that the freaking carny has placed the forbidden fruit into Jon's hot little hands?  Well, we have called it a "hunting rifle" with specific instructions that it is for hunting animals and that it goes straight to the trash if he pretends to shoot people with it.  Strangely enough all of the plastic yellow pellets that it came with have gotten "lost" and it has lost it's luster. 

All in all it was a good day.  Nobody got maimed on the rides.  Jon made a crazy loud new friend and discovered his hidden talent at dart throwing.  We ended up with a damn toy gun, that has so far been used to hunt water buffalo, aka the dining room chairs with blankets thrown over them.  So not too shabby I'd say.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

What Jon said.

Me: "I need to wash my face before we leave."
Jon: "Because it's gross?"


J: "Mom, why's that bird laying on the steps?"
M: "Because he died, honey."
J: "Oh. That's not a very good choice."


"Dad! I need to show you something. It's in the toilet-and it's NOT pee."


"Here Mom, hold this booger, we're out of Kleenex and I have a clean shirt on."


"That kitty has a little pink nose. How does he get his boogers out? His paws won't fit in there."


Friday, July 1, 2011

The truth about sausages.

Jon has learned to lie. Every kid lies, I knew he would get around to it. It's just very weird the first time you catch your kid in a lie. Like a real lie, when they know what they're saying isn't true.

So we've been having talks about what the truth means and what a lie is and why it's not nice to tell lies. Which of course compels Jon to quiz everybody on what they are saying to him.

"Is that the troof?"

He sometimes forgets that he's one of the little people and that he really shouldn't be giving people the eyebrow wrinkle and asking if they're lying. Mostly he just does it to me. Probably because I deserve it because I told a big fat lie about ice cream once.

"Jon, did you just swallow all that toothpaste?"
"Are you telling the truth?"

"Jon, did you eat three boxes of raisins behind the recliner?"
"Is that the truth?"

One morning we were having breakfast and Jon asked for more sausage, which we were out of.

"Mom, can I have more sausage?"Jon asked.

"We don't have anymore, they're all in your tummy."

"Mom, tell me the troof: Can I have more sausage?"Chin goes down, eyebrows wrinkle.

"No, all the sausage is gone. You ate it." I could tell this wasn't going to end without having to use the Loud Mom Voice.

"MOM. I know there is sausage in here."

"NO. Really there isn't ANY sausage in this house. You ate all the sausage! Look,the pan is empty!"


And, having all the preachy troof talk I could take from a three year old at 7 o'clock in the morning, I shouted:


Which completely stumped him into silence.

OK, maybe my kitchen isn't quite as high-drama as say, a military court room, but sometimes we all need to tap in to our inner Colonel Jessup to get our point across.

Friday, June 24, 2011


Sometimes, Mommy needs a break.

So I like to sneak away to the ice cream store after Jon goes to bed once in a while. It's exciting! I can drive fast, with the music really loud and not have to worry about whether or not the F-word is in the lyrics. I love ice cream nights.

Well, I loved ice cream nights. Back before I got caught.

Lately Jon has been wandering around the house after bedtime looking for me. Usually I'm in the shower or out in the family room watching TV. But Monday I opted for ice cream over watching "Unique Eats" on Cooking Channel and Jon saw me leave! If he stands up in his bed and balances just right he can see the garage door out his window, (if he doesn't balance just right he ends up ass over tea kettle on the floor) and he saw me sail right through it with my purse in hand.

His dad tried to convince him that I was taking a very long shower.

He heard me pull back into the garage and was peeking out his window at me, eating my very delicious ice cream treat in the unmistakable cup with the tall spoon and straw sticking out of it. (For all my homies who know where to get the good stuff-it was an Oreo Krunch shake WOOT!)
I was wrapped up in vanilla-Oreo deliciousness and had no idea I had been spotted.

Dave was waiting by the door, pensive.

"I think he knows you were gone."

"How could he know?! What did you say?!" I felt like I had just gotten busted coming back in the house after sneaking out after curfew.

"I told him you were in the shower, but he didn't believe me. He came out here SIX TIMES. I think you better go in there."

I'm not sure why we were handling the matter of my going to get ice cream with such seriousness, but we were both very tense about the whole thing.

"I'm not going in there! Nothing says 'Hey, I've been gone!' like waltzing into your kid's room in the middle of the night. It's fine, he's asleep." Didn't I wish.

Then the unmistakable sound of Jon-feet came pounding across the house.

"Quick! Hide my ice cream! He's coming!" I tossed the goods and met Jon at the family room door.

"Mommy! I missed you!"

"What are you doing up, Booper? You're supposed to be asleep."

"I need another kiss. Will you come tuck me in?"

"You bet, let's roll." I turned and gave Dave the *whew* look over my shoulder. I thought we'd pulled it off. I was so wrong.

"Mommy, why is your hair not wet?" Jon asked on way to his room. "Dad said you were in the shower."

"Oh. I used the blow dryer in Katie's room so it wouldn't be wet when went to bed," I lied, "hop in there."

"Are you wearing you daytime clothes to bed? That's not your jammies."

"Well I forgot to take my jammies to the bathroom when I took a shower so I had to put my clothes back on." Geez, Columbo you don't miss a thing.

"Oh. Can I have a kiss?" Thank God, it was almost over.

"Mwah! Goodnight, babe."

"Mom? What's that sweet smell on your face? Smells like chocolate." I have to tell more lies! And my ice cream is melting!

"It's chapstick. I have chocolate chapstick in my purse." Yes, hi, is this Hell? Great, reservation for 1 please.

"Oh. Mom? I think I saw you go get some Mario (Jon's word for Oreo) ice cream after I goed to bed."


"Yes, honey, I went and got some ice cream." It felt good to confess. I braced myself for the water works, sure that he was going to be devastated by my betrayal.

"Oh. Can we go get Mario ice cream tomorrow after supper?" That's it? No tears? No shaming of the terrible mother?

"Yes! We will go get you some Mario ice cream after supper."

"Okay, good night."

And that was it. That was the end of my late night ice cream fun. Some how the magic had been lost in my web of deceit.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Serial Killer

Every night we watch a replay of the five and six o'clock news on channel 8.2 while we eat supper. And every night the same commercials are played at the same time. Which is kind of weird, but my OCD loves the predictability. Jon thinks commercials are just really short shows.

First there's a commercial for the show "The Closer."
Then there's a commercial for the News Channel 8 Storm Chasers.

And then there's the commercial for the show "Criminal Minds." You know, the one with the pictures of two human brains side by side? One is the brain of a kindergarten teacher and one is of a serial killer? Yeah, that one is Jon's favorite.

There's something very creepy about hearing your three year old say "serial killer." And he says it in the same menacing voice as the announcer guy, a very sinister sounding "serial killer." OK, I know he doesn't know what a serial killer is and most days I'm pretty sure he won't grow up to be a sociopath, but it's still a little unsettling.

"Mom! My serial killer show is on!"

Maybe we'll switch to PBS at night...

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Jon sweats like no other kid I have ever seen. His head is sweaty, his armpits are sweaty, the backs of his knees are sweaty, it's gross.

And his FEET! His feet are the worst! He has pickle feet! When he takes off his socks and shoes and gets those big white clammy stinkers out it's just awful. His older sister had pickle feet when she was little too, I used to make her put her socks and shoes in the trunk and rinse her feet off before she got in the car after soccer practice. Fortunately the elder pickle footed child has outgrown her grossness and smells lovely most of the time. I think we have a long road ahead of us with the younger set of pickle feet, though.

So apparently, the sweaty grossness of his feet has started making his little toes peel.

"Oh no, Mom, my skin comed off my toes," he told me. "Look at these. This skin is peewing off of them. Why's it doing that?" Somehow he can get his foot two inches away from his face for inspection.

"I think your sweaty little feet are getting too hot in your shoes and it's making your skin peel a little. Or maybe it's athlete's foot." Now the offending pickle foot is two inches away from my face for inspection. Yuck.

"What's a af-lete?"

"Somebody who does sports, like a football player, or a swimmer, or a hockey player is an athlete. Get that stinky thing out of my face."

"Oh, sorry. Why do their toes come off? Do they not like toes?"

"Athlete's have toes, honey. Athlete's foot is kind of like a rash where your skin gets peely on your feet. Your toes are not going to peel all the way off."

"Banana peels come all the way off."

"Yes. They do. But your toes won't."

"OK, good. Can I have a banana?"


"Is it going to hurt when my toes come off?"

"Jon. Your toes aren't going to peel off."

"Oh right, just bananas."



"Well that's good, Honey," was his dad's reply.

What else could he say to something like that?

Monday, May 23, 2011

Mark it with a "B"

Jon loves birthdays. Even if it's not his birthday he's pretty fired up.

Birthdays mean cake and presents and company, altered nap times and eating in a different chair, sometimes in an entirely different room of the house than usual. Who wouldn't love that?

Birthdays at daycare bring treats and games, birthdays at restaurants bring loud singing and clapping from complete strangers. Hooray for birthdays!

But he doesn't understand that not everybody is going to have a big fantastic blow-out birthday every year. To him, it's unfathomable that a person might just want to have a normal everyday-kind-of-day on their birthday.

Que my the morning of my birthday.

"Jon, it's Mom's birthday today. Can you tell her 'Happy birthday' and give her a big kiss?" My husband asked.

"IT'S YOUR BIRFDAY? HOORAY! WHO'S COMING OVER? DO I HAVE TO TAKE A NAP? ARE THEY BRINGING PRESENTS FOR ME, OR JUST YOU? I LOVE PRESENTS! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT WAS YOUR BIRFDAY THIS DAY!" Kisses all over my face and he bounced out of my bed muttering, "This is gonna be great, I have to tell my Buddies..."mumble mumble mumble...

"Calm down, buddy, no one's coming over, " I told him, knowing we were about to have some drama.

"But it's your birfday."

"I know honey, but grownups don't always have parties for their birthdays. Sometimes we just like to go out for lunch and have a quiet day."


"Would you like to help Mom make a cake after lunch?"

"Yes YES YES! Hooray we get cake! I'm going to go tell my Buddies........You guys, we get to make a cake today, it's Mommy's birfday!"(By the way he has since stopped conversing with the Buddies on a regular basis. They do most of their chatting after bedtime now.)

By lunch time I had to wash my face because it was beginning to smell like animal crackers and saliva from all the birfday kisses I had been getting. Then we went out for Mexican and returned home to bake my cake.

We got a Funfetti cake mix and I mixed up some powdered sugar icing to frost it. I even got out a fancy cake plate with a dome, so it would be super special. Jon wanted to frost it green. It looked pretty gross.

"Mommy that cake is beautiful! Now we have to mark it with a B."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, roll it and pat it and mark it with a B. That's how you make cakes. There's a song about it." Thanks for the heads up on that.

"Well honey, that song is about pat-a-cakes. This is just a regular cake. We don't need to mark it with a B."

"Yes. We do. You just take some frosting and you make a B. Let's do it." Clearly we're not getting around this step in the birthday cake process.

"OK, I think I have some squirty frosting in the cupboard. It's pink. One pink letter B coming up."

"It's not a letter mom. It's a B. "

"Honey, a B is a letter. It makes the "buh" sound. Like buh-buh-baby, or buh-buh-boy."

"No-wuh." He likes to make one syllable words into two syllable words when I'm trying his patience. "Not that kind of B! This kind." And he jumps off the chair and starts buzzing around the kitchen, wiggling his fingers next to his face, "Bzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzz. You know? That kind of bee."

Aha! Not a B, a BEE. Well, don't I look silly, thinking all these years cakes were marked with a "B" for Baby and me.

So here it is, in all it's glory, marked with a bee.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


Today we had to do some shopping.
We started at Target. I really love Target. He was pretty good when we got there. Today was his first shopping trip that he got to be outside of the cart. He's been too big for the seat for awhile, but his complete lack of self control made me hesitant to just let him hoof it. So, he's been riding down in the cart. Well now he's getting so big that if he's in the cart, there's not a whole lot of room for anything else.

So he was loose as a goose today.

Apparently he hasn't actually been paying attention to anything on the shelves for the last three years that he's been in the cart, because he found endless amazement down every aisle.

"Mom! They got tacos here! Just like on the commercial!"

Another discovery:

"Mom! I've never seen so much JAM! Lookit all this stuff for toast!"

It was aisle after aisle of fascinating wonders.

After the wonderment of Target we headed to Costco for a few things. And of course, delicious Costco pizza for lunch. Costco has bigger carts so naturally I assumed he was basket-bound when we got there, but after a taste of freedom he wasn't about to go back in the cart. We had a quick run down of the Walking Around Costco Rules.

"You stay right by Mom's cart, got it?"

"Got it."

He's the kind of kid who will try to climb the jungle gym display in the middle of the store if he breaks loose.

"You don't take anything off the shelf, got it?"

"Got it."

I'm already seeing hernias from lifting giant cans of corn, and smashed toes from dropping the aforementioned cans.

"You don't eat any snacks from the poufy-hat people unless Mom sees it first, got it?"

"Got it."

Those sample people like to poke food into cute little kids, hellooooooo allergic reaction.

In we went.


So clearly he hasn't been paying attention when we've been at Costco either.

"Calm down, buddy, we don't need any of these things today. We have to keep rolling so we can get pizza."

"WHOA! What's down there?!" And he was gone, breaking Rule #1.

But he was right back, with merchandise in hand, breaking Rule #2.

"BATTERIES GALORE! MOM WE NEEDED THESE", he squawked as he chucked a billion-count package of double A's into the cart.

"HEY! THAT BOY'S GOT A SNACK, I WANT ONE!" And this is where I lost my cool, there's no way we were going to hit Rule #3 without some interception. I whipped out the Loud Mom Voice, to match his newly discovered Loud Kid Voice.

"FREEZE, GOPHER. No snacks, we're going to get pizza in a minute. And you don't know that lady. And you don't know what her snack is. It might have peanuts in it."

"It doesn't, Mom. I read the 'gredients, it said: No peanuts in this snack. Good for boys to eat."

What a little conniver!

"No dice, pal. It's lunch time, we're skipping snacks today."

Surprisingly enough he went on by, I think he was delirious from the excitement of experiencing Costco on foot.

We finished our shopping and headed over to get pizza at the food court, which was another round of new and exciting adventures.

"Mom! I can reach the straws here!" Perfect. How many fingers have been on that thing today?

"Please don't touch that germy straw holder."

"Mom! Look at that onion cranker! That thing stinks! That guy's putting stinky onions on his hotdog. Yuck." I'm hoping there was enough other noise that Onion Guy didn't hear him.

"Some people like onions, just cool it."

"MOM! They got video games here!" What?

Jon's "video games" were the pop and water vending machines, and here was an opportunity!

"Jon! if you're REALLY good, we can play the water game after we get pizza. Want to?!"


"First, you have to use your inside voice for the rest of the trip, and eat all of your pizza using good manners. Can you do that?"

"Yes, yes, I'm so excited," he said in an excited whisper.

I've never seen him eat so politely, and not a peep out of him. He just sat wide-eyed, staring at the "water game." When he was done I slid two quarters across the table to him.

"Are you ready to play the water game? You've been so good!"

"YES," he bellowed, followed by a whispered, "I mean, yes."

Off we went. Jon put in his quarters, giggling like a fiend, pushed D3, and down came the water.

That was probably the best fifty cents I have ever spent.


"Yes, honey, you can. Jon, how have you never seen this thing? We sit right by it every time we're at Costco. What do you do when you're in the cart and Mommy's buying stuff?"

"I just look at you, Mom. You're pretty."

Tears in my eyes at the food court! (And they weren't from smelling the stinky onion cranker.)
That little lunatic is such a sweetie pie, I bet I gave him a thousand kisses on the way out the door.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

I don't know where you are, but it's GORGEOUS where I am today, so we went outside. In a matter of two hours we (and by "we" I mostly mean "Jon"): Played with bubbles, played on the swing set, cleaned out the dog kennel, had our first tricycle-into-the-parked-automobile collision, played hockey (with a redneck hockey puck), nearly impaled the dog with a pitch fork, got scratched by the cat three times and rounded the morning out with a picnic.

Playing outside at our house pretty much always includes bubbles, Jon's NUTS about bubbles. In anticipation of this beautiful day, I bought a gigantic jug of bubbles and one of those bubble guns with a propeller on it. You'd be amazed at how much bubble solution you can burn through with one of those bad boys.

After bubble fun was over we headed for the swing set for the first time this year, and lo and behold! Jon's legs are long enough to reach the ground. I may never have to push a swing again. Jon was pretty psyched about being "gatnormous" as he put it.

"MOM. Lookit my legs! Them go all the way to the ground! I'm gatnormous!"

The bubbles and swing set time had gone off without a hitch and I was starting to feel pretty confident that maybe Jon was getting to the point that I could try to get some things done outside while he played and we wouldn't have a catastrophe of one kind or another.

So I thought I'd clean out the dog kennel. Which involves a hose. And a pitchfork. What the hell was I thinking?

It was going pretty well to start off with. I put Jon's helmet on him and got out his trike and he was having a hay day on the patio. Until he decided to go full speed into the side of the Tahoe that was sitting in the driveway.

All I heard was, "They call me Speed. That is my NAAAAAME!"

And then a crash and some wailing.

This was our first collision with the trike, and I know it sounds dumb to have a helmet on a three year old riding a little plastic trike in the driveway, but you haven't seen this kid in action.

He crashed into the back tire of the 'Hoe, the trike tipped and he somehow pinned himself under the trike, face down in the gravel. Luckily the helmet has a little visor on it and it kept him from doing a total face plant. He wasn't hurt, just scared and was ready to park the trike for a while and come help in the garage.

"Whoa, you got a big poker-thing, Mom."

"It's a pitchfork, I use it to get the straw out of Cody's dog house."

"Don't take out his hay! What's he going to eat? He needs that!"

"He eats dog food, Honey. He sleeps on the straw in the winter when it's cold. Now it's too hot for him to sleep on it."

"Oh. Can I use your big poker fork?"


"Oh. Just kidding. Can I go through that little door?" Cody has an indoor/outdoor kennel with a swinging doggy door on it.

"NO. If Cody come from the other way he'll bonk into you and you'll get hurt." Cody is 85 pounds of muscle and bone.

"Oh. Just kidding. Is that my hockey stick?!" And he was off. Whew.

After whacking a whiffle ball around for a few minutes, it was decided that Jon really needed a puck. It's just not hockey without a puck. Of course I didn't have a puck to give him, so we had to improvise. This was one of those White Trash Mom moments that we all have.

Don't judge me.

Out of the sincere desire to entertain my child, I made a hockey puck out of an empty chew can filled with sand and wrapped in duct tape. Shut it, I was desperate.

And what was Jon doing while I was so masterfully crafting his custom puck? Well, he was "helping" with the pitchfork, of course.

I stepped outside the garage for less than 30 seconds to see if the puck would sail across the pavement and when I turned around there was Jon with the pitchfork stuck in the wall and poor Cody in the corner looking at me like, "You left me in here with this guy?!"


"It's Ok, Mom, I'm just helping. See?" As he tries to wiggle the fork out of the wall.


"Oh. Ok. Look! The kitty is going through the dog door, I'm going to catch him!" And he bails through the dog door.


"It's ok, Mom! I got on my helmet!" Well , thank God for that I guess.

Back outside, he was entertained by the cat and the trike again for awhile and I finished up the kennel cleaning. I just had to wash out the dog bowls and I would be all done with chores and we could have a little picnic before nap time. I thought, "What a nice end to a sunny morning."

But washing the dog bowls meant getting out the hose. And Jon loves the hose more than he loves bubbles. Which is A LOT.

"The HOSE?! You're getting out the HOSE?! I LOVE THE HOSE, YAAAAAYYYYY!"

"Don't touch the hose. You know you aren't supposed to play with the hose." And I'm an idiot, because I then left the forbidden fruit laying in the driveway while I went in to get the dog bowls.

"Here kitty, want a drink?"

"THE KITTY DOESN'T WANT A DRINK! DO NOT GIVE THE KITTY A..." And then there was more wailing.

"He scratched meeeeee!"

"Well heck yes he scratched you, kitties don't like water!"

"He needed a driiiiink! It's hot todaaaaay He was thiirrrrrsteeee!"

"The kitty does not want to drink from the hose. Ever. Ok?"

"Ok." Sniff sniff.

"Do you want to have a picnic?"

"YES I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE PICNIC!" And the tears were gone.

We had turkey sandwiches, Cheetos and oranges on a blanket outside, with the dog lounging in his newly cleaned kennel and the cat lurking around waiting for picnic scraps.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

An Adventure

I don't work on Tuesdays or Fridays, so we usually spend those days either running errands or doing chores at home. I was planning on this past Friday being a chore day because there was a ton of laundry to do, but Jon had other ideas.

"Mom, is this a daycare day or a stay home day?"

"Stay home day. We need to do laundry."

"Laundry again?! Oh no, no NO! I can't do laundry again! I do that every day! I just give up!" And he flopped over on the floor and rolled back and forth moaning, "Noooooo, not the laundreeeee. Ooooohhhhh noooooo."

This was more drama than I was prepared for, particularly since it was 6:15 in the morning and we had only been out of bed about three minutes.

"Hey, how 'bout we worry about breakfast first and then we'll figure out what we're going to do with our day? Would that be ok? Mommy really needs a Coke."

He very reluctantly gave up the moaning and we headed to the kitchen.

"Mom, I need some eggs before our adventure. And a smoovie." (smoothie)

"Our adventure?"

"Yeah. You know, when we go somewhere today? Our ad-venture. It's gonna be a GOOD one."

Looks like laundry's out for the day.

The good thing about Jon is that adventure is easy to come by. Just throw a little enthusiasm his way and he'll have a great time. And I'm GREAT at enthusiasm.

The first stop on our adventure was at city hall to get our pool pass for the summer.

"What we doing here, Mom?"

"We're going to get our pool pass."

"Oh my goodness! I've never even been in here before! What IS this place?"

"City Hall..." Using a hushed voice and raising my eyebrows made it mysteeeeerious.

"City Hall?! Are you kidding me? Look at all those papers on that bulletin board! This place is amazing!"

"I know it! Just wait till you see where we're going next." This brought a round of anticipatory giggling that was fantastic.

"Where is it? WHERE IS IT?!"

"We're going to the bank, and we're going to use a secret door. AND, we're going to walk there."

"We're not even taking the Tahoe? That's silly! Let's go!"

The bank is less than a block from City Hall, it would have been silly if had taken the Tahoe. And the "secret door"? Well, the school administration office is in the same building as the bank, you just hang a right instead of a left. I had to drop off a sweatshirt I borrowed from a friend who works there. Jon's been there a dozen times. But we've never referred to the door as a "secret door", so you know, now it's an adventure.

"Oh, MOM. There's birdhouses here-inside! And there's candy in that bowl! Do you think it's for boys?" He asked in that not very quiet kid-whisper.

"Yes, they knew you were coming." They really didn't. His eyes bugged out of his head. It was awesome.

"That's amazing!"

Next stop on our adventure was Orscheln (a farm and home store), which is about 20 minutes away. Instead of taking the usual beaten path we went the "sneaky way" which involved a few gravel roads and winding through a couple of new neighborhoods.

Jon always loves a trip to Orscheln. There's all kinds of outdoorsy stuff, farm toys, and a variety of dangerous items for him to get a hold of and give me a heart attack with-insecticide, cattle prods, live animal traps, etc.

"Mom look! A pirate face!" That would be the symbol for "poison" on some rat killer. Good find.

You know the Loud Mom Voice came out, right?


The next part actually was kind of a fun little adventure. Every spring they have baby ducks and chicks and bunnies at Orscheln. Jon went crazy when he saw all that fluff!

"MOM! They got baby chickens and ducks and BUNNIES here! LOOK! Them guys eat grape nuts! Hey, tell that guy not to sleep in the cereal bowl! That one's pooping! Right in his drink! DON'T POOP IN YOUR DRINK, CHICKY!"

Luckily the store was pretty vacant at 11:30 on a Friday morning so nobody heard him going out of his tiny little head over the fluffies. After about 10 more minutes of squealing I convinced him that the fluffies needed to take naps so we headed out. We had to stop and spin every single garden pinwheel decoration in the store on the way out, but he was going without a fight so I was more than happy to wait.

On the way home, right before his little eyes fluttered shut he said, "Mom, this was a great adventure."

I thought so too.

Monday, March 7, 2011


Greetings from the pirate ship, a.k.a. my couch.

I am getting over mono, so we've been on the couch a lot lately. Today Jon decided maybe it should be a pirate ship.

Off came the cushions, which became the port side of the ship and the end table and lamp are the mast. The Buddies are of course part of the crew. And I'm not sure why, but we have a ride-on firetruck on board making it pretty close quarters.

The Captain is pretty bossy, if I were one of those Buddies I would stage a mutiny.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, being on a pirate ship, we are looking for treasure. To my knowledge, the Captain has never seen any of the Austin Powers movies, but for some reason he keep saying "GOOOOOLD" the way Goldmember does and it concerns me a little.

I am apparently the worst first mate ever because I can't seem to drive this ship the right way and the Captain has yanked the pretend steering wheel out of my hands and steering us toward an island. And making race car sounds.

"This is a fast ship, Mom. You're not making fast enough sounds. I will do the driving, give me that steering wheel."

Upon arrival at our destination I received orders to drop the anchor, which I also did wrong.

"Ok, here goes the anchor! Splash."

"Wrong side, Mom. The anchor goes on this side."

"Oh, sorry, Captain. Splash."

"You didn't take it out of the other side yet, Mom." He is clearly disgusted. "You have to pull it up first from in the water."

Geez Louise, Captain. I corrected my anchor error and was given orders to stay with the ship while the Captain went out searching for GOOOOOLD. Which was fine by me because there was a mermaid holding up a TV not far from the ship and I was watching Cooking Channel.

When the Captain returned he did indeed have some gold. Somehow the Captain talked his dad into handing over his wedding band, because apparently we are just throwing those things around willy-nilly at our place these days.

"Hey, where'd you get that ring, Captain?"

"It's not a ring. It's my gold."

"Where'd you get that gold, Captain?"

"From my Papa. He gived it to me. It's my treasure," as he tosses it from hand to hand. Over the gaping crack in the couch that is wide open because there are no cushions on it and a 35 pound pirate is bouncing up and down.

"DAVE. COME GET THIS RING BEFORE THE COUCH SWALLOWS IT." Like it's going to be that easy.

"Jon, can I have my ring back?"

"I'm the Captain."

"Captain, can I have my ring back?"

"Never. It's my treasure." This made me laugh hysterically, which did not help the situation at all.

"I need that back, it's my wedding ring. Me and Mom have those because we're married and we need to wear them." Good call ding-dong, maybe leave it on next time.

"Nope, I'm married now Matey, and this is my TRRRREASURRRRRE!" And he hooked his arm around my neck, claiming me as well, I guess.

They went back and forth like this for quite awhile and finally Jon won. Dave retreated to the basement and I was left with a triumphant Captain and crew, who all got to try on the ring.

As of now, we are still sailing on the open sea. And the Captain just took my remote.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Boys are gross.

The other day Jon and I were doing some super cleaning. The move the furniture and sweep things that never see daylight kind of cleaning. It was kind of a big deal.

So I moved the couch out away from the wall to clean behind it and I noticed some little teeny specks on the end of the radiator that sticks out from behind the couch.

At first I thought maybe it was one of those situations where a little cloud of gnats finds some place to hang out together, then they all die in one place and there's gnat carnage sitting in a teeny pile in your house. Which happens by the fruit bowl in the summer at our house all the time. I hate it. I'm a big fan of tidiness, and to me bugs are sort of anti-tidy. I was assuming that a snack or maybe some juice had made it's way behind the couch and that's why that gnats were there.

Sadly though, upon further inspection, I discovered it wasn't a gnat-pile after all. I had a pretty good hunch as to what it was, but I thought I'd double check with Jon just in case I was mistaken.

I very casually asked Jon if he had any idea what was on the radiator.

"Hey,Booper? Do you know what this stuff is on the radiator behind the couch?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's just something that floated up from the erf."(earth)

"Really? Because they sort of look like boogers. Are you sometimes putting boogers back here?" I'm trying to be super-cool, no Loud Mom Voice here. Nothing makes a kid clam up like an angry mom.

And a very nonchalant Jon replies, "Oh,yeah. Sometimes when I watch TV I put my boogers there!"

"Oh. How come, Jon?"

"BECAUSE. That's where I keep my BOOGERS, Mom."

And there you have it. That's where he keeps his boogers, folks.

We had a quick rundown of all the places he could put boogers, which only included tissues and toilet paper if the tissues were gone. Here's hoping I don't run into any more collections.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Anafakelactic shock

Jon has an allergy to peanuts.

He also has a flare for the dramatics.

When we got the diagnosis from the allergist, we explained to Jon the dangers of peanuts and told him that if he ate a one we might have to use his Epipen. Which involves jabbing a syringe of epinephrine into his thigh and most likely panicking until help arrives. I just told him about the jabbing, not the panicking. I knew he'd pick up on that part himself.

Now, at least once a week, we have an "incident".

The first incident scared the bajeebers out of me. Jon came running up to me panting, holding his throat and said, "Mom, I got a peanut. I can't breathe! QUICK! Get my Epipen!"

I of course freaked out. Where the hell did he get a peanut?! Where is the Epipen?! I can't breathe either! Oh God! I'm going to pass out and he's going to die from anaphylactic shock!

Don't worry, I quickly got a grip.

Only to find out that he's a big fat faker.

I jumped off my stool and ran for my purse with lightening speed and returned, wielding the Epipen like a madwoman.

"JON, WHERE DID YOU GET A PEANUT? ARE YOU OK? MOMMY HAS THE PEN, YOU'LL BE OK." Loud Mom Voice is out of control at this point.

I whipped the pen out of it's protective cover and lunged for him. He threw his arms up and gave me some jazz hands and said "WAIT! I'm just pretending. I don't have a peanut."

If I were a cartoon this is when the black rain cloud would be drawn above my head.


"No, Mom," all sweet and innocent, "I just pretended that."

At this point I was beginning to understand why some animals eat their young.

Instead of eating him, though, I explained that we couldn't pretend he "got a peanut" because peanuts were serious business and we couldn't mess around like that. He understood.

Now instead of Jon having a peanut, it's usually one of the Buddies that falls victim. And instead of his Epipen he gets out a trusty Bic pen. Nothing works better for stuffed animals in anaphylactic shock.

"MOM! Tiny got a peanut! Quick! Get his Epipe-e-e-en!" and he takes the cap off the "epipen" and jabs it into poor Tiny's thigh.

"Now I gotta count to ten, Mom." This part is hilarious because he sort of loses track before he gets to ten.

"Ok, you go call Tiny's mom, I gotta rub his leg. It's ok, Tiny. You just got a peanut. Here comes your mom."

And then it's back to business as usual.

His dad is not as good of a patient as Tiny is. We were all in the living room watching TV one night when Jon decided maybe his dad had a peanut and couldn't breathe.

Really what had happened was his dad had fallen asleep and was snoring.

Without a word Jon jumped up and grabbed a fine-point Sharpie, took the cap off and stabbed his dad right in the thigh.


Jazz hands again from Jon, "It's ok, Papa. You just got a peanut. I need to rub your leg now. Shhhhh."

We had to have another talk about pretending that somebody got a peanut, because nobody wants to get stabbed in the leg with a Sharpie. He understood.

Sunday, February 6, 2011


Jon hates eating leftovers.

Actually he just hates the word "leftovers". If I tell him we're eating spaghetti two nigths in a row, he's fine. If I say we're having leftovers, he has a fit. "I can't eat leftovers! I hate those guys!"

So I have to be careful with my wording. I have explained that leftovers are the same yummy things he liked the night before but it doesn't really seem to sink in. He just has some crazy notion that leftovers are terrible. Even when I am cleaning up after supper and he sees me putting perfectly delicious food into containers he doesn't grasp that that's what leftovers are: food that's leftover from supper. Whatever, I give up on that battle.

Jon's favorite breakfast used to be oatmeal. We ate it damn-near everyday for months.
(I'm going somewhere with this, just read.)
I personally can't stand the stuff anymore, but I make it whenever he asks because it's healthy and hot and that's what moms do.

At some point I think the oatmeal requests started coming out of habit instead of an actual want for that gloppy mess, because he started eating less and less of it when I would make it and I would end up throwing a lot of it in the trash. Which is sort of a pet peeve of mine. So I gave him the "eat what you take, there are starving kids everywhere, don't waste food" song and dance and hoped that would be the end of the oatmeal for awhile.

No such luck.

The next morning I was making oatmeal. Again. I knew I couldn't eat oatmeal another day so I threw back a cup of coffee and just made some for Jon. Then I went downstairs to do the old washer-dryer-switcheroo on the laundry and when I came back up he was done. Clean bowl! No wasted food! Sweet!

What I didn't see, until I got home and was doing laundry that night, was that instead of eating the oatmeal, he put it in "tainers".

In his bottom drawer was one of those little M&M guys with the antlers that came in Jon's stocking (emptied of the M&M's of course) and OVERFLOWING with oatmeal. Alongside it was a zipper pouch that I keep chapstick and band aids in to carry in my purse. Also overflowing with oatmeal.

"JON. COME HERE. NOW." I have no control over my Loud Mom Voice. It just comes out sometimes.

Stomp stomp stomp.
"Yeah, Mom?"

"WHAT IN THE HECK IS THIS?!" Still with the Loud Mom Voice.

"It's my leftovers. I put 'em in tainers for tomorrow."

Now, how do I yell at that? He thought he was being a little saver.


"Got it, Mom. I can go watch my shows now?"

I threw away the leftovers.

And I also threw away the rest of the oatmeal in the cupboard. My apologies to the starving children.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Stomach Bug

*This post is about barf. If that's a problem for you, you might want to check back another time.

I, am a vomit warrior.

Jon woke up throwing up super nachos at 10:30 last night. Poor kiddo! He's never really been sick to his stomach before, so it kind of surprised him. I mean sure he urped when he was teeny and once he got a bad Happy Meal, but he's never actually had a stomach bug until now.

I was settling in for some quality time with the TV when he hollered out, "MOM, I'M SICK!" And I'm pretty sure my feet didn't touch the floor on the way to his room, I have this fear of people choking to death on vomit-not sure where it came from.

Now nobody likes to throw up, but poor Jon has developed a little of his mother's OCD and can't stand to have anything out of order. And when kids throw up everything's out of order.

A very exasperated Jon said to me, "Mom, I have gook on my jammies. And look, it's on my blankets."

I started to strip him down to put him in the tub and came to the conclusion that over-the-head jammies are a tool of the devil and will never be worn in my house again. I almost went and got the scissors and cut them off of him because the hysterics that went along with getting a barfy shirt over his head and off his body were like nothing I have ever seen before. "My face!! You got that stuff by my FACE!! OH NO no no nooooo!"

And then, he spotted The Buddies.

The Buddies are Jon's pack of animals that he sleeps with at night. There's White Baa, who used to be a fluffy white sheep and is now a flat gray sheep; Puppy, a blue dog who for some reason, looks as good today as he did when he arrived at our house when Jon was born; Tiny the Bear, a weird little bear with a beanbag butt; and Meow-Meow, an ugly, scratchy stuffed cat that Jon claimed out of a box of my mother-in-law's stuff that we acquired after she died (she was holding Meow-Meow when she died, and it kind of creeps me out the way he hauls that thing around.)

The Buddies had been hit, and it wasn't pretty. "OH NO! MOM! My Buddieeeeees!"

Fortunately the Buddies are all machine washable, but that provided no comfort for Jon. "Those guys can't go downstairs, they need me for sleeping!" We finally settled it that the Buddies could go down to the wash for the night and that I would stay with them so they didn't get scared in the basement.

So I finally get him in and out of the tub and some clean sheets on the bed so we can get on with the evening, and as I'm tucking him back into bed he says, "Mom, I forgot to tell you, I frowed up behind the door. You need to clean that." Awesome.

I got his room completely barf free, and thank God I have two washing machines so the laundry was washed and dried before midnight in case we had to go for round two in the night.

Before he got up this morning I completely barf-proofed the place. Queen-sized sheets cover all my furniture and carpet, there's an empty coffee can in every room and the Pedialyte is chilling in the fridge. I am SO READY for the A-puke-alypse.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

"Don't panic."

Jon has a love/hate relationship with band-aids.

He doesn't get hurt that often, but by three years old he has had countless shots and just assumes if there's a band-aid in the vicinity it's because there's a shot to be had. The shot is awful but he's usually pretty psyched about the doctor's office band-aids, they have designs on them and we just get the plain ones at home. Then the band-aid is great, but when it's time to take it off he has a melt down because it hurts to yank it off and he gets little welts on his skin. As you can see, it's just a roller coaster of emotions.

Every time we go to the doctor he asks the nurse if he's going to get a band-aid, but what he means is "Am I going to get a shot?" So in an effort to make the visit pleasant the nurse ALWAYS says, "Well sure you can have a band-aid!" Which then sends Jon over the edge thinking he's going to get a shot.

He even has concern about other people's band-aids...

"Mom? You got a shot?"

"No, Honey. I cut my finger"

"Not a shot?"


"Okay, good."

...And their lack of band-aids.

"Oh no! Your band-aid is gone! What happened?!"

"My owie feels better, I don't have one on today."

"But you need it! Let me see!"

"See, not bleeding. I don't need it."

"Hold still, Mommy. I'm going to poke your owie-don't panic."

He's quick, so it turned out I needed a band-aid that day after all.

Monday, January 24, 2011


Jon is really into smells right now. I know, that's a weird thing for a kid to fixate on, but he does.

First thing in the morning:
"Pew Mom what's that smell?"
"That's your breath honey. It gets stinky when you sleep."
"Oh. Smells like catfood." RIGHT ON. I've never made that comparison but he nailed it on the head.

New hand soap:
"MOM! This smells BEAUTIFUL! Like flowers and pie!"

Semi on the road in front of us:
"He got a stinky zost (exhaust) on his truck. He need to go get it fixed."

The little weirdo wants to huff everything in sight! Every hair and skin care item I own has been thoroughly sniffed and deemed either "stinky" or "beautiful" smelling.

It's really not a huge deal unless we're out and about, but he uses no discretion at all and sometimes he sort of gets us into uncomfortable situations. Click here for a horrifying tale about that.

The really weird part is that he ties smells into any recollection he has of a place or an event. Like when he went back to daycare after his cousin's birthday party and his teacher asked him if he had fun and he replied, "Yeah, smelled like popcorn there."
Or when when I tell him we're going to Costco, "That place has stinky tires. But sometimes it smells like doughnuts." What the heck is wrong with that kid?

So my little sniffer and I were out driving last week and our neighbor was burning his burn pile when we drove by.
"I smell something, Mom." Of course you do, weirdo.
"That's Neighbor Jerry's burn pile."
"Oh. Smells like bacon. I looooove bacon. This place smells delicious. I love Jerry's bacon pile"

We live out in the country, so we don't actually see our neighbors face-to-face that often. mostly because the closest neighbor lives half a mile away. So Jon has no idea who most of them are when we see them, he just takes my word for it that we know these people. But old Jerry is forever lodged in Jon's little brain.

We ran into Jerry later that week at Casey's and we did the usual "Hi neighbor" routine and I said to Jon, "Can you say 'hi' to Jerry? He's our neighbor."

And the light bulb went on.

"The bacon guy?!"

Yes Little Sniffer, he is the "bacon guy"