Bless His Heart

Mouth told me I was "the best mom in the whole world!"

Poor little guy. He wouldn't know a homemade chocolate chip cookie if it bit him on his ass.

Lawn Mowers Are SO Yesterday

Mouth: "Wouldn't it be cool if our lawn was emo? Then it would cut itself!"

Me: "Ha!!! Wait...how do you know about that?"

Mouth: "Psht. PuhLEASE. I'm going into sixth grade."

Me: "....."

Mouth: "But what does emo mean?"

Me: "It means no more internet after 7 pm."

Now I Lay Me...

Excerpt from Mouth's bedtime prayer last night:

"...and please keep us safe from all sicknesses, accidents, death, nuclear explosions - well, explosions regardless - and please help Japan and Haiti recover. Amen!"

Too much television? Xbox? Both???

Come Here, My Little Pretty!

Tonight's weather involves rain, a smidge of lightning and thunder, and a severe thunderstorm warning. So imagine my surprise when I heard the familiar jingle of The Ice Cream Man.

Seriously? Are your over-priced popsicles worth the risk of kids running out in a thunderstorm just to purchase your products???

Hell yeah, it is!

What is it about The Ice Cream Man? When I was young, I'd hear the bell and the music from a block or so away and race to find my mom (or rather, her wallet.) A colorful van would pull up to the curb, and a group of us neighborhood kids would gather round and heartily snatch up his tasty treats. It was frikkin' magical!

As an adult, I think back to many moments in my childhood - moments that seemed "normal" and "okay" then...but now? Not so much. Like running the neighborhood at seven years old, returning home only because it was getting dark. Or sledding down 'Kill Hill' because supposedly two kids died in a toboggan mishap. Or riding a bike WITHOUT A HELMET.

Or running out to The Ice Cream Man, whose lecherous looks and creepy music beckoned kids from afar. Things I swore I'd never let my kid partake in.

Yeah. Mouth can hear The Ice Cream Man eight blocks away. No lie. At the first tinkle of music, he bolts down the stairs (many times falling down the last four steps) and yells, "He's here! Gimme some money!!!" And of course I cave. The Ice Cream Man pulls up, and he's just as creepy as I thought he'd be. Although he had professional-looking pictures of his merchandise on the side of the van, I still searched for some sort of health department license to guarantee he wasn't selling poison. I also asked his name so I could run it through the sex offenders database.

But he turned out to be okay. Nice guy...mostly toothless but drives reeeeal slow by our place so Mouth has a chance to fall down the stairs and find money. And no poison in the popsicles yet.

Yesterday Mouth again sensed the now-familiar creepy jingle and flew out the door. I went with him (mostly because I was digging change out of the bottom of my bag.) We ran around to the service side of the van...and stopped. This wasn't the regular Ice Cream Man. This was a skeezy imposter!

He said, "Heeeey there...what can I get you two darlings?" He only sold six items - and his menu was spray-painted on a board he taped to his van.

Oh. Hell. No.

I grabbed Mouth and ran back across the street. Mouth was all, "Dude, he's creepy!"

THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.

About 30 minutes later we heard music jingling again. I cautiously peeked out my window - and saw our familiar Ice Cream Man coming down the street. I yelled, "He's here! The legit guy is here!" Mouth and I both ran out, and I honestly wanted to kiss that creepy guy!

So now to my surprise, and to Mouth's pleasure, I'm more than happy to buy (and eat) ice cream from a toothless guy who prolly lives in his van.

But I'm drawing the line at drinking vodka tonics while driving an RV cross country.

Not that my father ever did that.

(It was the 70's, for christ sake!)

Another Sign I'm Getting Old

Tonight I took Mouth to his first concert: Sevendust, Three Days Grace and Avenged Sevenfold. Perhaps it's because it's not my type of music, perhaps it's because this is the first concert I've attended without indulging in beer (in fact, I don't think I've ever been to our local arena without a big ol' cup of beer) but I'm spending most of the concert sitting here on my Blackberry. Facebook, Bravo tv blogs (gotta catch up with my housewives!), and blogging.

(Although I will admit I jammed to Three Days Grace. 'I Hate Everything About You' kicked ass!!!)

Good lord, it's already past my bedtime and the main act isn't even on yet.








Mouth and his friend August rocking out.

Maybe It's Because I'm Sick. Or Just Sick Of It All.

Mouth had a cold last week so it was no surprise that I woke yesterday with a scratchy throat (thanks a lot, kid!) However, I woke this morning completely miserable and have been in bed most of the day. At one point, I quickly checked my email on the BB and found this (names have been obscured to protect petty people):

"Hi Mrs. Shute,

Zane got a checkmark today from Mrs. M******* for talking back. He was talking with another boy while she was addressing the class and she politely asked him to move to another table. He replied, "Why, I don't want to move." She asked him again to move and he said something else (I don't remember what was said the second time.)

Also, when we came back to class we had a new seating chart and he complained to me that he didn't want to sit with the other two students that I put him with. I spoke to him about him questioning my decisions and why I or Mrs. M******* ask him to do something.

Have you seen some of this attitude at home?

Mr. A***"

Seriously? SERIOUSLY. My response, which I magnified because I'm too tired to figure out how to make the email more clear:

I Have No Clue Who He Gets It From

Mouth attended a classmate's birthday pool party tonight. I asked him how it went.

Mouth: "It was fun but the girls were making fun of my moobs."

Me: "Aww. I'm sorry. What jerks."

Mouth: "It's okay. They'll all be starting their periods soon and their parents will be cowering in the corner, wielding pitchforks, as they scream, 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN ONCE A MONTH????"

God, I love this kid.

Love, Exciting And New

Mouth has been bugging me the last few days about asking a girl in his class to go to a movie during Spring Break next week.

Me: "Seriously? You're ten."

Mouth: "So? I'm ready."

This coming from a kid who has given flowers to two girls he had crushes on - the first being in third grade.

Tonight, he mustered the confidence to dial the numbers and hit 'Send' (which was only after ten or so aborted dials.)

Mouth: "Um hi, is Makayla there? This is her classmate, Zane. Okay....hi, Makayla? It's Zane. I was wondering if you'd like to see a movie with me this week. Um, okay."

And he puts the phone down.

Me: "Well?"

Mouth: "She said no and then hung up. What a little bitch!"

Me: "..........BUAHAHAHHAHAHHAAAA!!!!"

I totally couldn't punish him for cussing because it was so appropriate. Thankfully, he's fine with it. I had prepared him that she would probably say no - if not for lack of attraction then for the fact that she was ten years old and probably still thought boys had cooties. As he walked back to his room to play Xbox, he muttered "How rude!" over his shoulder.

I am SO SCREWED in the next few years, aren't I?

Good News, Bad News

Email exchange:

The Kid's teacher: "Hi, Ms. Shute. Zane won our classroom spelling bee today so he will represent our class in the school-wide spelling bee. But unfortunately, he was suspended from recess because he was teasing some girls on the way to PE by calling them drug dealers."

Me: "Great! And...great."

Merry Christmas!

The Kid: "This was the BEST Christmas ever! I still can't believe I got an Xbox 360 AND an iPod nano!"

Me: "Yes, it was. Boy, you would think I was working a good job and making a lot of money, huh? You should thank Grandma...she took care of us this Christmas."

The Kid: "You know, Grandma can be seriously annoying but dude, she's like a fairy. She makes things happen."

Indeed she does.

Merry Christmas!

Retro Christmas

I'm one of those parents who constantly remind their children how good they have it. For instance, television. When I was growing up, we had 13 channels - one of them was a "U" and at least three of them aired only news! Internet? HA! Not even invented yet.

"Woooooow. How did you survive your childhood???"

I ask myself that same question at most family holiday dinners.

This year The Kid is begging for an Xbox 360. He is so pathetic in his quest that he has started sniffing around the presents under the tree saying, "Do I smell an Xbox 360? I think I smell an Xbox 360!!!"

Tonight I was at the grocery store, and I was passing through the Christmas aisle when something caught my eye. Something familiar...

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

It's an Atari.

Yes! The old game system in all its janky-ass, stiff-joystick self! They're bringing it back! I'm SO SO getting this for The Kid for Christmas! Can you imagine his face when he opens THAT present???

And I would buy only one game - Pong. Oh yeah. He wouldn't be able to figure it out! The boy could probably rebuild your computer but a classic like Pong??? No way. His brain would explode with the simplicity of it.

Nah, that would be too cruel of me. He would KILL ME if Santa gave him the Atari versus Xbox.

Then again, he has it soooo good. And he DOES need stuff to tell his therapist one day...

Here We Go Again

The Kid came home from school today and told me of a conversation he had with his teacher.

(*Side note: The Kid loves the band Slipknot. I don't know where he gets it but I'm starting to have serious doubts that I'm actually the baby mama.)

Teacher: "Do you really think Slipknot is appropriate for a kid your age?"

The Kid: "I don't know, but do you really think Justin Bieber is appropriate for a white guy your age?"

Well, shit. Can't wait for the next parent-teacher conference.

Good Luck With That!

After reading the note claiming he was running away, I asked The Kid where he was going. He choked out between sobs:

I'm *sniff* going to Canada *sniff* to get a job as a *sniff* Canadian bacon salesman. *SNIFF*

Vomit, Diarrhea and Boogers, Oh My!

In the car, driving to The Kid's drum lesson:

Kid: "Ewww...there's ear wax on my ear plug. Get it off!"

Me: (While driving, I take the aforementioned cooty-filled ear plug, lick my finger, clean off the wax, and hand it back to him.)

Kid: "Wow. You really are a mom."

Me: "Huh?"

Kid: "You really are a mom for doing that for me."

Dude....you have NO IDEA how many of your body fluids have landed on me in the last ten years.

No More Valium For Me

I had my six-month dental check today. The hygienist informed me she would need to take x-rays (which is fine because I don't need five people to hold me down like The Kid does.) But today was different because the hygienist asked me to follow her down the hall. Hmmmm.

I entered a room with a panoramic x-ray machine (which goes around your head, unlike bite wings that go into your mouth) and we took panoramic pics of my teeth. Afterward, I asked her why we did the panoramic x-rays instead of the normal bite wings. She said, "Oh, we don't do bite wings anymore. We can see more of the teeth in the panoramic x-ray."

What? WHAT??? SHUT. THE. EFF. UP.

Now some of you may not be familiar with The Kid's aversion to bite wing x-rays. I usually need a valium after he goes for a check up.

I asked if they took children. She said, Absolutely! OH YEAH. The Kid has never thanked me for giving birth to him and having to endure painful constant contractions and a long-ass needle stuck into my back (which I was SO grateful for that I wanted to have the anesthesiologist's child. And she was a woman.) No, not even a "Good job, Mom!"

But this? The Kid is going to bow down and kiss my feet when I tell him he can switch dentists. He SO owes me. Like, for life.

I think I'll start by making him clean my room and paint my toenails.

Sweet, Sweet Nitrous

The dentist appointment got a little hairy until the hygienist turned on the gas. Then it was alllllllllllll good.

Heaven Help Me

It is once again time for one of my most dreaded and horrible duties I have as a mom. It drains me physically and mentally every time I have to do it, and I swear every time I will take every measure to ensure that I don't have to do it anymore. But here we go again.

The Kid has a dentist appointment tomorrow.

I was never afraid of the dentist when I was young because he was my dad. I liked the "Mickey Mouse" gas (nitrous) he gave me, and I knew he wouldn't intentionally hurt me. (Although there was that one time I groaned as he was pulling a loose baby tooth and he said to his hygienist, "Don't mind her. She always complains." Bastard.)

(Side note: I grew up mostly in the 80s so dental regulations weren't exactly adhered to. Or passed yet. My sister, who was around 14 or 15 years old, spent her summer vacation acting as my dad's hygienist. She did a good job...until I came in for a filling. Back then, dentists used the silver fillings that had to set for ten minutes or so. After my dad filled my cavity, he instructed my sister to keep the suction tube in my mouth until he returned from checking another patient. Long story short - I started playing with the filling with my tongue...it slipped down my throat...my sister went after it with the suction tube...and did NOT retrieve the filling. My dad came back in, and we acted like nothing was amiss. That was the last time he left us alone during my dental visits.)

Anyballs, The Kid HATES the dentist. And when I say hate, I mean he would rather chop off his arms and legs and be a flopping bloody torso than go to the dentist. The last two times he had to have x-rays it took five of us holding him down to get the pictures. FIVE.

I don't know why he's so afraid. He can never come up with a valid answer when I ask him. You would think he'd be flossing every night to avoid the dentist, right? NOT. Hence, our pending visit tomorrow to get a cavity filled.

Perhaps when the hygienist isn't looking I'll sneak a whiff off the Mickey Mouse gas. Hell, I'm paying out the ass for it, and I'll probably need it more than The Kid does.

*Dear God, please be with me and The Kid tomorrow. Let the dentist appointment go smoothly and keep us all safe. Especially the poor hygienists. Amen.*

Hmmmm.....

The Kid: "What's a navel?"

Me: "It's your belly button."

The Kid: "Ah. What's tequila?"

Me: ?????? "It's a liquor. Pretty harsh stuff. Sometimes they call it 'to-kill-ya'. Almost killed me in college..."

The Kid: "Ah."

Me: "Why the questions?"

The Kid: "Well, I was just wondering what they meant by 'pour tequila in my navel and lie to me.'"

That's it. I'm cancelling our internet service TODAY.

Hallelujah

I recently discovered The Kid can't say the word "hallelujah", as evidenced below:

I know, I know...I probably shouldn't be laughing but it's JUST TOO DAMN FUNNY. On a different note, this "Hallelujah" is hauntingly beautiful. RIP Jeff Buckley.

My Work Here Is Done

"Mom, you are SO inappropriate. And I LOVE IT!!!"