Happening Right Now

My husband volunteered to change a diaper. In the dark. With a flashlight.

Why this has me giggling, I'm not sure. Maybe it's because when I change Smiley's occasional night-poo diapers I have a completely different method and every now and then it strikes me as funny that two parents of the same kid can have a completely different approach to solving a problem.

Way to go, hubby, way to go.

Food of Heroes

I'm not the kind of mama who cuts the crusts off her kids' sandwiches. When Turbo first starting eating full sandwiches he would eat the whole thing, crust and all. Now he'll eat the middle bits, but not the crusts. I continue to try to convince him that the crust is the best part and I most certainly continue to give him sandwiches with crusts on. I do, at least, spread the PB&J all the way to the edges so that when mommy or daddy inevitably finishes the meal at least we have something more tasty than plain bread crusts.

It occurred to me recently that the only sandwiches we offer the kids is PB&J. Hmm, something wrong with this picture if you ask me. Personally, I love a good non-grilled cheese sandwich, but the couple of times I've offered it up, both kids seem not to know what to do with it and often pick the cheese out of the sandwich and ask for more... cheese, that is.

I'm on a slow-paced acceleration in my mission to get Turbo to eat more varieties of foods. Smiley will eat pretty much anything, as was shown to me recently when she ate most of the salad from my plate and ignored the mac & cheese in her own bowl. Turbo, that's another story.

The four food groups according to Turbo are: pizza, mac & cheese, chips, and milk, with the runner-up being candy. Not that we get a lot of candy around here, but it is an animated discussion whenever the topic comes up.

I do keep trying, keep offering Turbo more choices on his plate and not taking 'no' for an answer. This usually ends up in him skipping dinner, but at least I'm not giving in - I don't really count this as a win, as a true win would end in him eating the new food.

So last weekend I thought maybe if I made these cheese sandwiches into fun shapes that would appeal more to the kids. It works in the movies, right?

I put these on the table for the kids' lunch and both kids were a little confused. Smiley warmed up more quickly and exclaimed, "Stars, mommy!" I smiled, proud of my little creative invention.

Star sandwiches = yum, right?

Turbo, however, was less impressed.

Me: "Turbo, I don't know if you know this, but star sandwiches are Sheriff Woody's favorite lunch."

Turbo, eyebrows raised: "Really?"

Me: "Yes. Woody called me on the phone the other day and told me that he really likes sandwiches that are in the shape of a star."

Turbo eyed both me and the sandwiches a little skeptically. I turned my back on the kids and started cleaning up the lunch prep area and then heard the kind of comment that makes me laugh out loud every time I remember it.

Turbo: "What does Buzz like to eat?"

Turbo 1, Mama 0.

A Lesson in Anatomy

It's important that I mention here that I've had countless conversations with Turbo about who does and doesn't have a penis. I feel the need to make that known before sharing the following story.

Turbo is a funny, playful kid. I love his mischievousness and I continue to learn and practice being patient when his level of mischievousness rises a little too high on the trouble scale at less than perfect times. Like when I'm trying to get him into bed.

Turbo sleeps like a rock all night long, which wasn't always the case (thank you, God, for the passing of that phase), but sometimes it's an uphill battle to get the kid into bed. There are plenty of nights when he's more than willing to climb into bed, cuddle, read four books, cuddle some more, and then drop promptly off into slumber-slumber land.

But tonight I made the brilliant choice to feed our family pancakes for dinner. I put ground flax seed in the batter (good goin', mama!), but pancakes also means maple syrup and that means hyper before-bedtime-kids. But whatever, today had snowflakes coming out of the sky and it was cold all day and I didn't want to cook real food. I was willing to pay the price.

I have to admit the kids weren't all that hopped up, so my gamble mostly paid off. Until it was time for bed and then Turbo could not settle quickly. He jumped into my bed (which is where we read his books each night), but he was fully clothed and quickly realized he was overdressed for the book party and instead of going right to the bathroom door in our bedroom, which is conveniently located right-next-to-the-laundry-basket, Turbo walked all the way around to the other door just to waste a little more time. I should put a pedometer on this kid.

It ended up in a game of, go in one bathroom door, take off one piece of clothing... go all the way back around to the other entrance, take off another piece of clothing, etc. etc. etc. It was funny, I laughed, and didn't mind him working off a little more sugar before reading time. At one point I realized I needed to pee, and I entered the bathroom, apparently through the wrong door.

Turbo, scowling: "No, mom! Go through the other door."

Me: "I need to go to the bathroom. I guess I'll wait."

Turbo: "Hold your penis."

Me: "Why should I hold my penis?"

Turbo: "Cuz. When you don't want to go, you hold your penis and it keeps it inside."

Mmkay. Good to know. Thanks for the lesson, Turbo.

Lipsie the Elf

Here's a question: have you ever heard of the Elf on the Shelf? Yeah, me neither... at least not before about five weeks ago.

In late November I was chatting with some friends on Facebook about Christmas traditions and one women mentioned this elf thing and being curious I googled it and low and behold this thing is everywhere. I had never heard of it before and now I see, hear, and spot these little elves all over the place. It's very, very Shrodinger - maybe we should have named the elf Shr odinger. Or cat. Cat would have been a nice name too.

I'm nursing the end of a terrible cold and it's getting late so I'll cut to the chase. The kids get to name the elf, and I love, love, love the name that Turbo came up with for this little lady: Lipsie. When I told Turbo that it was our job to name our elf, he didn't hesitate. It was like, it was her name, not that he gave the name to her. I'm famous amongst my friends for naming things, so it fills my heart with pride that the apple didn't fall far from this tree. :)

It is the job of the parents to move Lipsie into a new location each evening, or at least before the kids get up (more on that later) - under the guise that the elf flies back to Santa each night to report on the good and bad choices made by our children. If she can fly, it would, of course, make complete sense that she would settle her little elf butt in a new place each night. Let me just note here that moving the elf has not been an easy task to track.

It's December and we're busy and there have been mornings when I mutter obscenities under my breath and stumble downstairs just ahead of my kids to move the elf. Thank goodness no tiny Lego pieces have been in my path or the obscenities would have been loud enough for all to hear, including my kids, and including Lipsie, who undoubtedly would have made a special day-time flight up to the North Pole to tattle on this new member of the Naughty List. But, so far so good, and I have my husband to thank for that.

In fact, my husband is way, waaaay into this. I have come downstairs some mornings and can't find the darn elf and wonder if she fell to the floor in the middle of the night and as my blurry morning brain takes in the room, my eagle-eyed son shrieks, "There's Lipsie! I see her!" as he points to some new location that I clearly couldn't reach, being five-foot-two-ish... or maybe she can fly!

So to give you an idea of the creative locales, here is a comparison. I hope to post more photos of all the locations, but here, at least, is a starter set:

Lipsie, day one: mom places her atop stereo. Rather dull, really.

Lipsie, day 20: dad has her riding Bullseye (only because she wouldn't fit on a giant dinosaur, but I bet he gets the dinosaur to work tomorrow night)

I told Turbo the other night that Lipsie will go to live with Santa at the North Pole again on Christmas Eve and that we won't see her again for awhile. He was visibly upset. Good thing Santa is bringing him a Spider-Man action figure. That'll push the memories of a little girl elf to the very bottom of his 'things to worry about' shelf.

Merry (almost) Christmas!

Mourning

The phrase 'not in my backyard' has been ringing through my head since noon when I learned that there had been another school shooting today. But this isn't another anything - these were little babies, six years old many of them, and things like this are not supposed to happen, not in real life. No. No!

I pray for you, families of Newtown, CT

My eyes nearly swollen shut, my heart heavy, my legs leaden as I walked to my car to get home to my own family. I was finally brave enough at 10 PM tonight to watch some news footage and the first thing I heard was "this kind of thing doesn't happen here."

Where? You mean on earth? Because that is where it shouldn't happen. This is not OK and my thoughts are still very scattered and difficult to summarize except that I know one thing: I will hug my kids too tight tonight and tomorrow and for every day of their lives. I will look them in the eyes and tell them they are loved and that I see them and that they are beautiful.

I love you, Turbo, and all your wickedly delicious four-year-old smarts. You are my first born, the one who made me a mother, and I am fiercely in love with you.

I love you, Smiley, you beautiful creature full of charm and personality and the kind of hugs that I can still feel late in my work day. You meld into me and we are one.

Precisely Six

Turbo: "Mom, my watch is a six!"

Me: "Hey, that's cool. It does look just like a six."

Turbo: "No, mom, it is a six."

You may notice that I put a lot of exclamation points at the end of Turbo's sentences. Do not think this is accidental or inaccurate. He is fond of exclaiming this discoveries with much ado and I would not want to misrepresent him with a lowly period.

Where Milk Comes From

Oh, it's begun it has. I have such fond memories of my parents asking my sister and I questions that made us ponder and guess and struggle to serve up the right answer. Questions like, "Where does beef come from?" When our parents finally admitted that meat comes from animals, I think the first guess when asked again about the beef was a tentative, "Giraffe?"

Sometimes I think I had kids just to hear the funny things they say.

Tonight at dinner Turbo declared, "Cows give us milk."

Ooh, goodie! A perfect opportunity to see where his kid logic would lead...

Me: "How do cows give us milk?"

Turbo, matter-of-fact-ly: "It comes from their bodies. They give it to us from their bodies."

Me: "Where in their bodies does milk come from?"

Turbo: "In their bottoms... where the babies are also."

Me: "The babies are in there too?"

Turbo: "Yes and the babies will never, never, never come out of there."

Me: "Why won't the babies come out?"

Turbo, shrugging: "Cuz they don't."