Saturday, September 24, 2011

on Vacay...

We are on vacation and the scrolling on my phone really bites, so I will be back in October. You can always let me know you missed me! Love me! Please, for God's sake, LOVE ME!

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Trick Questions???

First of all, as we were getting out of the bathtub tonight I checked on Little M's forehead, which he bumped against the soapdish earlier when we were getting our first bath of the day to wash out the vomit of the second throwing up of the day (it was a rough morning, and by the way, I love how they conveniently place those at the forehead level of toddlers). He's fine, a little bruise, but it brought the episode to his attention and as I'm carrying him to the bedroom he says in a sad voice, "Poor little boy. Poor little boy Matthew." And I can't stop myself from giggling. He's just so overly dramatic! It was cute. Maybe you had to be there. Maybe I am a terrible person. Anyway...

We're reading The Runaway Bunny, like we do every night, with questions about the pictures and counting and colors, etc. And Little M decides he's going to test me, too! Fun! So we get to the end of my questions and have this conversation:

Him: What color are the red flowers?

Me: Um, Red? Is this a trick question? What color are the blue flowers?

Him: Blue.

Me: And what color are the yellow flowers?

Him: Red.

Me: What color are the YELLOW flowers?

Him: Yellow.

Me: Good job. Next page.

Silly boy! But I did learn today that if I tell him that he'll get a cookie later for eating all of something else, and then eat all the cookies I've brought over with me, he notices. ("Hey! Where's my orange cookie!" "I'll get you another one when you've finished your dinner.") So I'd better make sure it's not the very LAST cookie! Cause he's pretty observant these days...except for the trick questions...we'll have to work on those.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Road Trip

First hour into a three hour road trip and we've got the iPod shuffle on, listening to the set of 10 copies of "Life is a Highway" per toddler request until he goes to sleep.

Me: OK, these cars need to get with the program. This is "Kassie's Lane". When I come up on you at speed, that means you are going too slow. GET OUT OF MY WAY. Thank you.

My loving hubby: Obviously they did not get the memo.

Me: Well, that's no excuse.

Him: So is Kassie's Lane a moving hundred yard area or does it just stretch out in front of you ad infinitum?

Me: Stretches out. And if I wanted to I could just flick them out of my lane like this (*mimes flicking bugs off windshield*), but I choose not to use my powers for evil.

Him: I see.

Sometime later...

Me: Oooh, a yard sale at that elementary school! Let's stop!

Him: Uh, no.

Me: Why not?

Him: Because no, and it's not till next weekend anyway.

Me: But that car is going now.

Him: Not unless they want to get a REALLY good parking place. Because it doesn't start until NEXT Saturday.

And later still...

Me: Oh. My. God. Get your camera out!!!!!

Him: Why?

Me: Because there's a GIANT METAL CHICKEN over there! Take a picture as we go past!

Him: No.

Me: OK, then I will just have to come back and buy it.

Him: Uh, no you won't.

Me: Um, yeah, I will. I can put it in the backyard. It will be fantastic.

Him: Not with our HOA.

Me: They can't tell us what to put in our BACK yard.

Him: I don't want to start anything with the neighbors. Please do not buy a chicken.

Me: But it's full of whimsy!

Him: They start fights with people. Over leaves!

Me: Fine, then I'm buying new bath towels.

Him: What?

Me: Exactly.

See why I love him so? You rock, honey.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Good Night (Abbreviated)

We were running behind, so tonight's good night routine was a bit hectic. But the kid knows his routine, I will say that for him. I tried to speed things up in the book department, but he knows that he usually gets to look at the pages in The Runaway Bunny and talk about what is going on in the pictures, so there was NO skimping on those pages. And there was no skipping them either, he was not having any of that, even if it WAS accidental. The first time, anyway.

And we did do Lullaby, two times, as usual, with his newly chosen wording. Every since we watched the HBO special, Goodnight Moon and Other Stories (or something like that), with Aaron Neville singing Lullaby with some NOT Old English lyrics, Little M wants THOSE in his nightly routine. And since we've been singing the only lyrics I could find on the internet for as long as he's be alive it's hard to switch over, so we do it a verse at a time. We're up to one verse switched so far...

Then the good night. I told him, "Good Night, little man."

He says, "I'm not a little man." (*sniff*)

I said, "Are you still my sweet pea?"

He says, "Yes, I'm a sweet pea." (*phew*)

Me: "OK, then, Good Night, sweet pea. I love you."
Him: "Love you too, Mommy."

It's the highlight of my day.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

The Story of Sandy

This is the text I sent to the SPCA where we adopted the greatest dog ever. If you can open your heart and home to a dog from a rescue organization, the rewards are endless.

My name is K****, and I was 10 in the summer of 1983 when my mother brought me and my 7-year-old sister to the SPCA to look for a dog to adopt. She had been researching breeds and we had decided on a cocker spaniel, but all the dogs we looked at kept barking at us, and didn't really seem very friendly. As we were about to leave a woman at the desk told us there was one dog that they had to put all by herself because she was too scared to be around all the other dogs, but that we might want to see if she was the dog for our family.

She took us in another room with some couches and brought in a small light brown mixed terrier who was just shaking from fright. When the woman put the dog on the floor, the dog went straight under the couch, crouched in the back, and we spent the rest of the time there trying to get her to come out. We finally managed to get her out, and Mom decided we would go home and talk to Dad about this dog, then come back the next day.
My sister and I were in LOVE. This dog needed us! So we came back the next day and picked up Sandy, named after the dog in the movie "Annie", even though she bore a resemblance only in color. I got to hold Sandy on my lap on the way home, and she shivered the entire ride from Salinas to Monterey.

We were told that she had been found on the highway by someone, and there were marks on her tummy that suggested that she'd been beaten. Even at 10 I knew that was a horrible thing to have to go through, and wanted to protect her from ever having to be hurt again.
There were some psychological scars as well. For the first two years Sandy would not go anywhere near Dad. She was afraid of all men for about that long, too. And we had to get a new leash for her after seeing that she was afraid of the chain one we tried to use to walk her, so we surmised that someone may have used one of those to punish her at one point.

After a couple of weeks with us, though, Sandy had learned her name, and was responding to it by wagging her tail with such force that we were afraid she'd hurt herself on the furniture. But we knew where she was! We'd just call her name, then look to see where the tail wagging thump was coming from.

We took her back to the SPCA Open House about then, and she was a little more comfortable being around other dogs at that point too. We even entered her in a contest, the Waggiest Tail contest. I got to be her human for that event, and while other contestants were being fed treats, I just stood with her and called her name and pet her, and she wagged like she was the happiest dog in the world. And she won first place. I truly think she was the happiest dog in the world at that point. She had a new home with a Mom, Dad, and two little girls that loved her unconditionally.

Over the years Sandy would sleep on my jacket, no matter where I'd put it, teaching me the only safe place was hanging in the closet where it belonged. She'd also put up with the indignities of little girls dressing her up and parading her around the neighborhood, but I think she may have secretly loved it. My Uncle T somehow found out that if you meowed at her she'd howl back at you, we're not sure if she thought you were singing and she wanted to sing too, but he made it seem like he was giving her pet therapy. He'd meow and get her going and then go, "There, there, let it all out. We know how your mom treated you like a cat!" It was a little bizarre, but we thought it was pretty funny, too.

Most of all, she liked to sleep touching me. In the chair on my lap, or in bed with me at night, it didn't matter, but she had to be touching me.
Sandy lived to be about 17, having to be put down in 1997 when her organs starting failing, but she went through a lot with our family. Lots of moves with the Navy, a divorce, college with me, and my first apartment. She was a loving and wonderful companion and growing up with her love meant so much to me.

I want to thank the wonderful people at the SPCA, and especially that woman behind the desk, who cared about a scared little dog that someone had discarded on the highway, who went on to be a great set of paw prints on my heart.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Drinking and Assault!!!! It's a crime wave.

This day was crazy. After a quick breakfast we headed out the door to the local recreation facility where I volunteer in the daycare center to get a free membership. Today is one of the days where I can actually USE the membership and the free childcare I get by volunteering for four hours instead of just two, and so I do a class while Little M plays in the daycare with the other kids. He loves it, and is a little angel for the other women who work there, so it all works out pretty well.

We leave there and go to my doctors appointment. It's the pain doctor, and they do random drug testing since they give out the good stuff, so it's my turn to pee in a cup. I have to take Little M with me to the bathroom because he will FREAK OUT if I try to leave him in the exam room alone. So I grab the diaper bag and figure I'll at least get him a clean diaper, if not get him to sit and go on the potty while we're in there.

As I am walking to the bathroom it occurs to me that at some point he will be old enough that they won't let him come with me to the bathroom, lest he actually be able to do the peeing in the cup that they are assuming I am doing for the test. At the age he is now, he'd pipe right up and let them know EXACTLY whose pee was in the cup, so the jig would be up immediately, but they might not know that. I decide it's probably best not to mention any of this to the nurse.

We get to the bathroom and I try to convince him to go on the potty, but after a few minutes it is obvious that the conversation is going nowhere, so I go ahead and change him into a new pull-up, and get on with my test.

"Mommy, what you doing?"
*sigh* "Mommy is going pee-pee in the cup."
"Can I drink da pee-pee?"
"No, you cannot drink the pee-pee." (Another sentence I never thought I'd EVER have to say.)

The rest of the appointment goes just fine, and at lunch Little M reports to Daddy, "Mommy went pee-pee in da cup!" "Oh, she did?" "Yeah, and you can't drink da pee-pee." I have taught him well. My job here is done.

Later in the evening, after his bath, Little M throws this gem into the conversation, "M got hurt on da forehead!"
"M got hurt on da forehead!!!"
"Did you hurt your forehead? Your forehead looks fine. What are you talking about?"
"M hurt da forehead!"
"OK, was there another boy named M at the today?"
"Yes, and he hurt on da forehead!"
"OK, did someone hurt him?"
"Did you hurt him? Because if you hurt someone you're supposed to say I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
"Did you hit him with something? A toy?"
"Or did someone else hit him."
"Someone else."
"OK, I think I have the story now, sweetie."

I don't think I have laughed this hard in awhile. Poor M, whoever he is, I hope the kids' forehead is OK. But I don't think it was my child who hit him, or I would have been told when I picked him up. And I don't recall anyone crying. What a day.

Monday, September 5, 2011

I'm Naked!

I feel for those of you who have a child who refuses to wear clothes. Or one who takes OFF the clothes you have wrestled them into. I know not your pain.

My pain is that he likes to shout out "I'm NAKED!" and it's driving me up the wall!

Now, I actually have to nag my child into undressing himself every time we go into the bathroom for potty time, then help him back into his pants, and then nag him again every night before bath time. It usually goes something like this:

Me: OK, Little M, time to get undressed for the bath, can you take off your shirt?
Him: NO! You help me!
Me: I think you can do it, why don't you try?
Him: *grunting* Can you help me? (pulling one arm out of his shirt)
Me: You're doing it! Now do the other arm!
Him: *more grunting, shirt now wrapped around head* I'm a pirate!
Me: OK, take off your pants!
Him: *more grunting, takes shirt off head* I'm NAKED!

My problem is not that he spouts, "I'm NAKED!" at the drop of a hat, my problem is that it's not an accurate statement. I'd be fine with him saying that, any time, any place, IF IT WERE TRUE. (No, I really don't know WHY this bothers me so much, it just does.)

He still has his pants, diaper, and socks on at this point, so clearly he is not naked by any stretch of the imagination. He could even show up at some outdoor eating establishments, order food and be served so-attired. So not even in the ballpark, big guy!

So after my latest attempt at explaining this to him, I decided that I would attack it from another angle. I told him that he could say that he was "scantily clad". Then we practiced it. "I'm scantily clad! I'm scantily clad!" "Yes, you are."

I honestly can't wait till he busts that one out in public, and am currently thinking of more ways I can increase his vocabulary, and get rid of my own pet peeves in the process.

Sunday, September 4, 2011


He's learning! And since I last wrote I also put my cell number on the insole of each of his shoes and told him what it is.

Now we are at this conversation:

Me: What's your name?
Him: I don't know.
Me: You know your name, what's your name?
Him: M McFarland.
Me; And what's Mommy's name?
Him: Cindy McFarland.
Me: And what's Daddy's name?
Him: Will McFarland.
Me: Good job!
Him: And you're Mommy McFarland.
Me: OK, and where is Mommy's phone number?
Him: On da shoe.

Good boy.

Now never get lost. Ever.