Conversations With Children : Crime Fighting

This is the conversation that I just had with Verona.

Verona: (Running in from outside.)  ”Mom!  Mom!  Mom!”

Me:  ”What’s up squirrel?”

Verona: “I killed a bug!”

Me:  ”Oh yeah?  Did you squish it on accident?”

Verona: “No.  I punched it in the face.”

Me:  ”Interesting.”

Verona: “I killed it because I’m fighting crime.  I’m a crime fighter.”

Me: “What was the bugs crime?”

Verona: “It just wasn’t being very nice to me.”

Me: “It wasn’t being very nice to you?  You’re the one who killed it.  Are you sure you weren’t just not being very nice to it?”

Verona: “Mom, you don’t understand.”  (stares at me, waiting for me to magically understand)  ”I saved the day.”  (She continues staring, clearly convinced I will understand any second if she just stares in silence for long enough… then gives up, turns, and runs at full speed back outside screaming) “FINNEGAN!  COME HEAR ABOUT HOW I SAVED THE DAY!  MOM DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT CRIME FIGHTING IS!”

Thanks Youtube

Let your children loose on youtube and it’s entirely possible they will

-Become completely addicted to Macklemore and watch all his videos every day.  (Finnegan)

-Watch totally inappropriate amounts of Gorgeous Tiny Chicken Machine Show.  (Verona)

-Discover what becomes one of your favorite hooping videos.  (Finnegan)

-Watch one too many old punk videos and get obsessed with the bright crazy makeup, then watch one too many Blink 182 music videos and get obsessed with Travis Barker’s mohawk, and then this happens.

Just look at her… she’s a little rockstar in the making.  Youtube….

Conversations With Children: Thongs

This is the conversation that happened between Verona and I this morning while I was getting dressed in my room and she was still cuddled in the bed looking at a book.

Verona: “Oh goodness gracious mom!  What is wrong with your underwear!?!?”

Me: “Nothing’s wrong with it honey, it’s a thong.  It’s suppose to be like this.”

Verona:  ”No I’m pretty sure it’s broken.  It’s not doing a good job of covering your butt at all.”

Me:  ”It’s not suppose to cover my butt.  That’s the style.”

Verona:  (looking back down at her book) “Well if you need help finding where the rest of it went I’ll come help you look.”

My Favorite Old Lady

Grandma Olive is the coolest old person that has ever lived… or at least the coolest one I’ve ever known.  She’s hilarious, has INSANE stories from the great depression, WWII, every other war, women’s lib, and anything else you can imagine that’s happened in this century, and she sees us visiting as an excuse to pump my children full of sugar.  And isn’t that what being a grandma is really about?

She’s not actually our grandma, she’s just awesome and didn’t have any grandchild that lived here which was a fabulous coincidence because I am also awesome and I also didn’t have any grandparents that lived here.  So we decided to team up and adopt one another as family.

Verona and Olive even had a joint birthday party one year because their birthday’s are only two days apart. Verona was turning 1 and Olive was turning 92. (Verona’s not as dirty as she looks, her face and hair are just covered with birthday cake.)

Verona and I went to hang out with her every Friday afternoon for a year and a half until her daughter decided to move to out to California to live with her.  We were all super sad, but we write to each other and she comes back to visit occasionally so she can see us and have pizza parties with her friends at the retirement home.  (I’m not even kidding.  She threw a pizza party last night for her friends.)

So today we went with her and her daughter Murial to the park.

Finn got to hitch a ride on her walker.

I’ve come to the conclusion that when people hit a certain age there ceases to be a middle of the road in terms of personality.  Old people are either the coolest people you’ve ever met in your life or they’re miserable and you wish they would just hurry up and die already… something about the loss of memory and bone density pulls one to the extremes I guess.  Regardless, if you don’t have an awesome old person in your life you should go find one, because they’re the best.

Yes I’m covered in urine, but don’t worry, it’s not mine.

Monday the kids and I got back from a trip to Kansas for little brother’s senior recital… his crowning musical glory before he heads off to musical grad school.

Usually when we go back we do it for a week but this time it was a lot cheaper to go the weekend before as well so we ended up being there 10 days.  Being there 10 days made me realize why we usually go for 7.  It’s right around day 6.5 that everything stops being awesome.  Up until then the suuuuper annoying things about my parents, small towns, red states, and being blown away every time you step out side are endearing and quaint because I’ve been gone so long… but then I remember why I moved a thousand miles away from everything and the vacation isn’t fun anymore.

But the trip did finally end and Monday we flew back to Phoenix.  It is not the first time I’ve flown half way across the country by myself with two small children, not even close.  I’m well versed in the art of keeping chaos in bay for a couple hours on an airplane (or at least closing my eyes and breathing deeply while everything breaks down) and in general they’ve both been awesome every time we’ve flown.  Even last summer when we came back and they both developed raging double ear infections that we got to fly with they still did a pretty stand up job of the whole bit.  So naturally I didn’t expect anything different from this flight.

The first half was uneventful.  They played, they opened and closed the window about a bazillion times, opened and closed the tray table about a bazillion and a half times, all the normal stuff.  Then Finn signed that he wanted a bottle so I pulled him up on my lap hoping he’d fall asleep while he had it but when he was almost finished he looked up at  me and grinned… and that’s when I felt it.

Baby dude was peeing, and for whatever reason his diaper was having none of it.  He was peeing all over himself and all over me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Also, this child pees more than most adults.  I don’t know what it is about his bladder but it’s out of control.

Right as I started looking around for a place I could take him to change his clothes they turned on the seatbelt sign so there was nothing I could do even if I wanted to.  I couldn’t even take him off my lap because, since he’s young enough that we didn’t to buy a ticket for him, that meant he had to be on my lap whenever the seatbelt sign was on.

And just then he realized how wet he was.  Poor dude was completely soaked… like, I’m gonna have to wring these overalls out in the sink soaked… and he was pissed.  (Pun intended.)  He wanted me to change him.  He wanted me to take his clothes off.  He wanted me to let him off my lap.  And I couldn’t do any of those things.

And he thanked me by completely losing his shit.  He shrieked at brain shaking volumes and pitches, arched his back, kicked and flailed and I’m pretty sure I saw his head spin all the way around at one point like that freaky little kid in the Exorcist.  And since this was all on my lap I was then also soaked, from nipples to knees, with his pee as well.  The tiny plane reeked of urine, childless people turned and glared, the people across the aisle from us covered their ears (dude’s got lungs), I apologized once or twice but then realized nobody gave a shit what I said so instead started loudly singing Finn’s favorite German lullaby in his ear to try and calm him down.  (It didn’t work.)

This went on for the next 45 minutes.

And just as I thought shit couldn’t go any further downhill I heard a subtle “click… click… click…” coming from next to me.  I turn to find Verona, who had been sitting there quietly the whole time, holding my phone and taking pictures of the shenanigans.

She shrugged and without missing a beat responded,

Well with logic like that.

About nine years later (at least it felt like that) the plane landed, I put Finn in the sling and piled all out belongings on my back like a freaking pack mule, and we made our way at a snail’s pace toddler’s pace out of what was now an incredibly smelly enclosed space to where David was waiting for us.

He hugged me, then backed up with a sour look on his face because he obviously smelled it.  ”Yes.”  I said, “I’m covered in pee.  No, I don’t want to talk about it.  I just want to go home.”

And go home we did.

And because I knew you would all probably ask for it, here is one of Verona’s pictures.  You’re welcome.

Three years ago I pushed an enormous head out of my lady garden. So today, we feast!

Yep, today was Verona’s 3rd birthday.  I’d previously been opposed to themed parties, mostly because they seemed like so much effort, but when she requested an Angry Birds party I decided that was probably something I could get behind.  So I announced my plan to the world, only to then realize I may have vastly over estimated my artistic abilities.  I think it turned out ok though.

The cake was super fun to make.

The pizzas were fun to make but on three of the four their little orange beaks melted into their faces, making me regret not taking the picture before throwing them in the oven.  But whatever.

The boys all escaped into the other room to do… video games?  I don’t know, something that boys do.  The children escaped outside to run around the the shoulder high weeds like feral little monsters.

Adorable feral little monsters at that.

While us mamas sat around chatting, laughing, and drinking an interesting beverage we concocted out of glazed donut flavored vodka and coffee liquor.  It was like an unhealthy breakfast in a glass.

And, as these things tend to happen, one thing led to another until we were all hooping in the back yard.

You know.  Cause we’re cool like that.

My daughter is obsessed with pubic hair.

I recently had my very first, but I suspect not last, awkward conversation with my kids about puberty.  There are two  tendencies I have when my kids ask me questions about things and I’m still not sure if they’re good or bad ones.

1. I can’t seem to formulate cutesy answers fast enough so my automatic response is to just tell them the straight up truth.  Like the time Verona asked me where babies come from and instead of something about a stork or two people loving each other I said “From some lady’s uterus.”

and 2. I’m never sure how much information she’s after, and she’s obnoxiously bad at giving me any readable hints, so I just keep rambling until she stops me.  Like when she asked me what leaves were and I ended up talking to her for about 20 minutes about everything from photosynthesis to the importance of using native plants in landscaping.  I’m assuming at least some of that sunk in though because a few weeks later the babysitter told me they’d gone to the park and Verona had informed her that “pinecones grow on coniferous trees”.  So maybe I’m just creating a super genius.

Anyway, a few days ago I had just taken a shower (my big accomplishment for the day) and was still walking around in nothing but stretch marks and a smile when Verona walked up and pointed at my crotch.

Verona: ”Those are your pubies.  I want pubies too.”

Me: “You’ll get some.  Someday.”

Verona: “Tomorrow?”

Me: “God, I hope not.”

Verona: “Can I get some for my birthday?”

Me: “No.  You’ll get some when you’re older.  When you hit puberty.”

Verona: *stares blankly*

Me:  ”You’ll get some when you hit puberty, probably sometime between the ages of 9 and 14.  Although statically the cases of early onset puberty in girls has been rising dramatically in the last quarter of a century or so, so it really could be earlier, although I really hope it isn’t.  Hopefully I’m avoiding that crazy train by being insane about what milk I let you drink.  I read about that being a contributing factor somewhere.”

Verona: *stares blankly*

Me:  “But uh, all sorts of crazy things will happen.  You’ll grow really tall and get hair in your armpits and other sometimes seemingly random places.  Your boobs will grow and if you got my DNA on that front they’ll grow to be enormous.  Possibly so big you’ll get back problems.  But probably not, don’t worry about back problems, that’s not something you should be worrying about that this age.  Your back will be fine.  And your boobs too.  Everything will be fine.  Oh, and you’ll emotionally go completely insane for a couple years but that goes away so it’ll be ok too.  Oh, except you’ll start having your period so you’ll go a little insane once a month for day or two… but periods aren’t actually awful, they’re actually really they’re cool cause they’re part of being a woman and being a woman is great.  Womanly power and… um… I have a book about that somewhere… I’ll give it you to read when this whole puberty thing happens.  About your feminine spirit and whatnot.”

Verona: *stares blankly*

Me:  “Yeah, so, uh, that’s puberty.  Does that answer your question?”

Verona:  “And THEN I’ll get pubies?”

Me:  “Yep.  Pubic hair and boobs and height and periods and a generally more rounded shape and arm pit and leg hair and…”

Verona:  “But I can’t get pubies for my birthday.”

Me:  “No.”

Verona:  “Ok.”

Because nothing says “Merry Christmas” like showing everybody your vagina.

The Biblically themed Lord of the Flies Christmas Pageant at church was this past Sunday night and Verona had graduated from the sheep that she was last year to a mouse.  Except she refused to wear her mouse hat or mask, so really she was just a kid with a tail, but I digress.  Verona has also recently graduated from wearing diapers to wearing underwear.  (Foreshadowing anyone?)

The pageant went off without a hitch… by which I mean it was complete chaos but they were all adorable and nobody died which is really all you can ask of a bunch of small children in costumes.  When they were done the bell choir from the local middle school played a couple songs, then we all migrated over to where the cookies were to mingle.

I grabbed one of the last available chairs in a room packed with everyone we’ve ever known, plus the majority of the middle school and their parents, and was attempting to keep Finn occupied with the least messy cookie I could find when the person sitting next to me points and starts stammering as her eyes grow wide “Hey, hey you… I think your kid is disrobing.”

I turned around and there it was.  Verona had peed her pants but didn’t want anyone to see her with pee stained pants because she was embarrassed… so instead she just took them off.

Because people are totally more likely to notice a little wet spot on your clothes than that you’re not wearing any at all.  Only about a quarter of the room was staring by now, so I quietly said “It’s ok honey, don’t worry.  We’ll go home and get you in some clean, dry, pajamas and it’ll all be fine.” and took her hand hoping to quietly lead her through the seated crowd to the door when she totally freaked out at the suggestion that we leave.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I NEED ANOTHER COOKIE!”

I bent down quickly, “Honey, you’re naked in a church and covered in your own pee.  We just need to go home right now.”  And continued to lead her to the door while she screamed at the top of her tiny lungs the entire way out to the car, ”NOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!  I WANT ANOTHER COOKIE!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”  Which of course everyone was watching by this point, because who isn’t going to watch a naked child scream?

Merry Christmas everybody, you’re welcome for the show.

Come, let me gently stroke your lifeless feathers.

My kids are masters at entertaining one another.  Don’t get me wrong, they have their super clingy moments… but now that it’s nice out they’ll spend hours in the backyard just moving dirt from one place to another (I’m convinced there’s some super fun angle to the game I’m just not aware of yet) and since the yard is all walled in so they can’t escape all I have to do is poke my head out every few minutes or check on them through the kitchen window to make sure one of the new dirt locations isn’t an oraphis in someone.

This afternoon while they put dirt on each other’s heads and giggled I used the opportunity to make my house look less like a disaster zone, until Verona walked in cuddling with a new special friend.

Yep.  A dead bird.

Now I am not the germaphobic mom… not by a long shot… I think running around like a half naked dirty little monster for the first couple years of your life is the way it should be.  I even consider the 5 second rule germaphobic, in our house we have the “If I remember how it got there you can probably eat it” rule instead.

But even so, there are some lines that just cannot be crossed… and carrying corpses into my house is one of them.  I threw up in my mouth a little bit and my one eye started twitching uncontrolably, but I wrestled all of that down and I kept it cool, didn’t freak out, and said “Ah, a dead bird.  We need to go wash your hands… like a bazillion times.  So go put it back outside please.” in the best not-freaking-out voice I could muster.

But instead of going and laying it back on the ground outside like I meant…

It’s tiny bird body sailed through the air in slow motion, wings and head contoring in horrifying angles, until it hit the ground with the most horrifying thud.  I let out a long, drawn out note in my crazy opera voice because, for whatever bizarre reason that seems to be my default freakout noise.  With that toss Verona crushed not only that dead animals tiny bones, it also crushed my ability to keep not losing my shit.

When things get crazy I get weird… specifically I sing weird things about what’s going on in the afore-mentioned giant crazy opera voice.  Seriously,  it’s weird.  I can’t explain it.  But it was on.

and sometimes random phrases on one single high pitches note,

as I led the kids to the bathroom (them staring at me like I’d totally lost it the entire way) where I started to throw them in the bath but after a short vision of them sitting in stagnant dead bird ick threw them in the shower instead.  Then covered them in about half a bottle of body wash each and gave them the shower head to play with while I went and called the west nile virus hotline.

On the upside, (at least I think it’s an upside because it smells better than bird death) in my crazy freak out state I used David’s body wash instead of the baby soap because I figured it’s meant to handle man sized messes… or something like that… so after marinating it in for half an hour the whole back part of my house smells like man land and my kids smell like tiny frat boys who bathed in Axe before hitting the club.

My biggest accomplishment today was that I didn’t smack anybody.

Verona and I have had a rough week.

Girlfriend is two… and she is very, very two,.  And this week has been a clusterfuck of all the awful stereotypes about two year olds.  Most of the days I have spent almost 100% of my time either dealing with chaos or attempting some serious deep breathing and have gotten absolutely nothing else done.  But I’ve handled it all fairly well.  There has been the most minimal amount of yelling, soooo much deep breathing, and a level of patience that made me wonder where regular Jenna went.

One of the things that happened at the beginning of the week was after explaining that we could use the glitter in a few minutes as soon as I put the baby down for a nap, she climbed up the craft shelf, got all the glitter we had in the house, and emptied it all on the back porch.  So the whole rest of the week every time she wanted to do a glitter craft (which was all the time) I got to explain that we have no more glitter because you were being totally crazy sauce the other day and wasted it all, and she would start crying and be downright heartbroken that she couldn’t do a glitter craft… her absolute favorite thing in the world.  Natural consequences and all that.

But last night I decided she’d suffered enough, and in an attempt to mend the bridges and start the weekend on a good note we made a special trip to the craft store together, a fun mom and daughter only trip, and she got to pick out a giant container of glitter in whatever color she wanted.  A giant, very expensive container that should have lasted us a very very long time.

This morning she asked if she could do a craft with the new glitter and I said yes, that was a marvelous plan!  Give me just a moment to get our stuff together for it and we’d go outside and do it together.

But in the five minutes it took me to do that she climbed like a monkey, got her hands on the glitter, and I came outside to find this.

The entire container.  The entire giant container.  And one very unhappy boy with glitter in every crack and crevice in his body.  And one very unhappy mother over the fact that glitter is the herpes of the craft supply world and what gets tracked into the house will never, EVER leave.

I gritted my teeth and said in the least nasty voice I could muster “BED.  NOW.  GO.  NAP.  GO.”  After I took care of the saddest/sparkliest baby in the world and cleaned everything up I went in to the bedroom where she was still crying a little and said “We can’t talk right now.  I’m still too angry.  I just wanted to come cuddle with you because I still love you so much even when I’m angry.”

Which brings me to this moment, writing a story that I’m 97% sure we’ll all laugh about later.

Now who wants to bring me a margarita?