Category Archives: Kids

World’s Most Boring Post – Stroller Suggestions?

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Yeah.

I suck.

I haven’t written anything in forever.

I’ve got several posts halfway finished, but between packing, and work, and the two kids, and stomach flu (Yay! I lost a pound!), and blah, blah, blah, nothing is really getting finished.

Don’t worry – The Bean won’t let me forget about this blog.

“When are we going to see a new post?”

“Got any posts in the works?”

“You know, you haven’t updated in awhile….”

Anyways, I’ll get something out soon.  Pinky swear.

Meanwhile, I have a question – and I apologize in advance to all you people without kids, because this is gong to be one of those boring mom questions.

It’s okay – you can click away now.  Maybe there’s something interesting on Youtube?  Have you logged onto Facebook lately?  Maybe one of your friends has posted something funny over there?

Anyways.

I need to find a good double jogging stroller. I don’t really run, so I don’t want a fixed front wheel.   I just want to find something a little more rugged than my Sit-and-Stand so it can go over grass or lumpy sidewalks. I have a Honda Civic, so it needs to be able to fit in a smallish trunk.  Got any suggestions?  Pretend money’s not an issue – Well, okay, it is a little bit of an issue (have you seen some of the prices out there? $700 for a STROLLER?!  I’ve bought cars that were cheaper than that!), but I’m addicted to Craigslist and can probably find a good deal, so don’t let price stop your suggestions.

Okay.  I’m done with the mundane, boring questions.  Sorry ’bout that.

Here’s a funny XKCD comic for putting up with it:

Knives Make The Best Baby Spoons

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The DragonMonkey’s sitting on the kitchen counter, eating popcorn.

Our counter tops are pretty tall.  I’m not really sure how he even got up there.  I guess I’m a little impressed.

And come to think of it, where the heck did he find popcorn, anyways? I don’t remember making any recently. And yet, there he is, with a bag of popcorn in his lap, legs dangling lazily over the edge of the countertop, happily munching away.

This is a drastic improvement over the scene I walked into five minutes ago.

Five minutes ago I walked into him shoving a knife into his brother’s mouth.

“Here ya go, Squid! Peanuh buttuh! Yum!”

“STOP!” I screech.

“No, mama,” he says, annoyed at my obvious ignorance. “No ‘stop’. Yook.” If he knew how to physically roll his eyes at me, he’d be doing it.  He has an open jar of peanut butter under one arm and in his other hand is a butter knife with a glob of peanut butter on the end.

The Squid stands patiently in front of him, mouth gaping like a tiny, peanut-butter smeared baby bird. It’s on his cheeks, it’s in his hair, it’s on his shirt, and it’s smeared liberally around his open mouth.

“Yook,” he continues patiently.  “I feed da Squid peanuh buttuh.” His hand comes up and he starts to shove the knife into his brother’s mouth again.

My heart stops. Admittedly, it’s only a butter knife, but still.

“NO! STOP!” I swoop in and grab both the knife and the jar out of his hand and place them on the computer desk, out of reach.

“Nooooooo!” howls the DragonMonkey, heartbroken and screaming in frustration.

“MWEEEEEEEEHHHHHH!!!!” shrieks the Squid, suddenly inconsolable.

“I don’t care,” I say coldly.  “No, I’m not giving it back.”

I am an evil, heartless woman, and from the sound of their desolate howls, they both know it.

I do the best I can to explain why shove-the-knife-into-your-brother’s-mouth isn’t an appropriate game, but they’re both too upset to really listen.  I clean them up as best I can, and then leave them alone for a few moments so they can get over their broken hearts.

I pick up my Nook and perch on the edge of the computer chair, trying to get to the end of the chapter before they heal from their sorrow and I need to monitor them again.  We have the house kid-proofed… how much trouble can they get into? Besides, if I’m not really sitting in the chair, but just kind of leaning on the edge of it, so it doesn’t really count.

It’s a good book and a good chapter, and it sucks me in.

I’m brought back to reality when Squid tugs at my knee.  I glance up suddenly, taking in the DragonMonkey’s new perch, the mystery bag of popcorn, and then the Squid, who is patiently watching me.

I look at him for a moment, and silently he points to the peanut butter on the desk in front of me.  I look at the still-open jar, then back at him.

“Da.”  It’s his version of please. 

I glance at the peanut butter, the silverware drawer (which is in a completely different room), and then at the DragonMonkey, who is oddly quiet, lulled into a brief moment of inactivity by the novelty of sitting on a forbidden surface.  If I move, I’ll have to tell him to get off the counter, and the brief, rare moment of peace will be broken.

“Da,” repeats the Squid quietly, staring at me with equal parts patience and hunger.

I glance again at the DragonMonkey, but he’s calmly staring off into the distance in another direction, absorbed in his thoughts.

I pick up the jar of peanut butter, and then the knife.  The Squid opens his mouth and waits, eyes locked on mine.

Oh-so-carefully, using only the rounded tip,  I feed him a scoop of peanut butter.  He slides it easily off the knife with his lips, with a practiced ease that unnerves me, and in that moment I realize I will never, ever be able to judge another parent for the rest of my life.

But you know what?  Those three minutes of still, quiet peace were so worth it.

In other news… have you guys seen the countdown-to-Oregon clock?  It seems like we just broke triple digits, and now we’re only 52 days away.  Craziness.  
In preparation for the big day I’ve been reading up thunderjackets, and calming collars, and medicines and whatnot…  we will be traveling for two days with a nervous/neurotic dog and two cats who have never really been in a car before.  What kind of drugs/medicines/goodies do you recommend we get to make it go smoother?

Things I Never Thought I’d Say: Part Three

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“Don’t pee on the dog.”
“You pick that up off the floor and you eat that…..right now, mister!”
“Don’t lick that.  It has pee on it.”
“Don’t choke your brother!”
“NO.  You may not pee on me.  We don’t pee on Mama.  I don’t care if you said please.”
“If you do that one more time I’m going to let your brother bite you.”
“Get your hands out of…. Eww!  Don’t drink the fish water!”
“I said put that away!  For the last time, we do NOT PEE ON THE DOG!”
Parenting:  it’s not for the faint of heart.

Mom Of The Year. Again.

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DragonMonkey slams to a stop at the bottom of the plastic playground slide, dangling his legs over the edge and burying his feet in the sand, bracing himself with legs that have recently begun to look less like a toddler’s and more like a little boy’s.

He twists around, looking over his shoulder, and grins up at Squid expectantly.

Squid is on his belly at the top of the slide, and once he sees his older brother’s waiting grin, he wiggles forward, sending himself down headfirst.

SLAM!

The slide is slick, and the momentum catapults him into DragonMonkey’s back in a tangled slam of limbs that looks incredibly painful.  The impact knocks the air out of both them, and they each give a little grunt.

There’s a pause, while they try to catch their breath, and then they both burst out into hysterical laughter.

DragonMonkey wiggles off the slide and races around to the steps, ready to start the whole thing over.

Squid, who is capable of walking but a little too lazy to learn how, crawls quickly after him.

They climb again.

DragonMonkey slides down first, then waits.

Squid wiggles down after him.

There’s a painful collision, an explosion of laughter, and then they race to do it again.

Over in the corner of the playground,  on the new, child-safe, politically-correct, boring version of the teeter-totters, I see two moms eyeing me.  Their daughters are playing politely, quietly, bouncing up and down in a controlled, sedate fashion.  If their little girls are talking, I can’t hear it.  They look like adorable, sweet, well-behaved little robots. Up.  Down.  Up.  Down.  The moms stand protectively beside the little girls, ready to steady them if it looks like they might slip.  Up.  Down.  Up.  Down.  I’m kind of jealous.

From behind me, I hear the solid slam of body limbs and another screeching round of belly laughter.

Both moms glance my way, then away, trying to hide their looks of growing concern.  Briefly, I consider trying to distract the boys into a less-violent form of play….. but they’re having so much fun.

I turn back to watch the boys, just in time to see another round of “SmashBrother” about to go down…. only this time, DragonMonkey has changed the stakes.

Instead of presenting the solid plane of his back for The Squid to crash into, he is standing on the ground in front of the slide, cocking one knee and placing his foot on the slide. 

Squid is already laughing, excited by this change in the game, wiggling on his belly and trying to get enough momentum to send himself shooting face-first into DragonMonkey’s shin.

Oh.  Crap.  That’s not going to end well.

I lunge forward, shooting my arms between the protective slats of the slide that keep the kids from falling, just in time to grab Squid’s ankle as he starts to shoot down the slide.  I’ve caught him, but that’s about all I can do – there’s no room to maneuver with my arm between the slats.  He’s flat on his belly, arms extended in front of him, dangling headfirst down the slide.  Confused, he turns his head to look at me, face beginning to turn slightly pink as gravity makes the blood rush to his head.

“DRAGONMONKEY, MOVE YOUR LEG.”  I’m using my no-nonsense voice, because I can see the moms starting at me with horrified looks and I want to get this over with as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, the DM recognizes my “obey-now-or-suffer-the-wrath-of-mom” voice, and freezes with a deer-in-the-headlights look.  He knows he’s doing something wrong, but he’s not quite sure how to correct it, so he decides to play it safe by not doing anything at all.

“MOVE YOUR LEG.”

He twists his leg slightly, as if showing off his calf.

I realize I need to be more specific.

“Sit down on the slide!”

Squidgelet is running out of patience – he’s been dangling patiently by one leg, but his face is now beet red, and he begins to squirm and whine.

Obediently, DragonMonkey hops up on the slide and sits on it – facing me, with his legs straight out in front of him.

“No, not like that!  Turn around, so I can let go of your brother and he can smash into your back!” 

Did I really just say that out loud? 

The DragonMonkey freezes again, trying to figure out what I’m meaning.  Squidgelet is actively thrashing now, and I can feel my grip on his ankle loosening.

I eye the drop at the end of the slide, and the steepness of the slide, and decide to take my chances.  Maybe Squid will come to a stop before he goes off the edge into the sand?

“Off the slide, DM.  Hurry!  Get off the slide!”

Obediently, the DragonMonkey leaps off the side into the deep sand.  I let go of Squidgelet’s leg, and watch helplessly as he slides down the slide…gains momentum… and shoots off the edge of the slide like he’s doing one of those escape-from-a-burning-building movie dives.

I’m moving as fast as I can to intercept him, but it won’t be nearly quick enough.

He soars an impressive distance from the slide before landing face-first in the sand.  Apparently the ability to brace yourself with outstretched arms is a learned ability…probably brought on by face-first experiences such as this one.  For a brief, almost comical moment, he’s actually stuck upright in the sand, rigid body at a 45 degree angle.  He looks like a  cartoon, or a little bitty human javelin.

I burst out laughing.

I mean, I don’t just sit there and point at him, laughing.  Give me some credit.  He’s stuck headfirst in the sand, not even able to breathe.  I’m trying to get him as fast I can…..

 But at that moment I can’t help myself.  He just looks so funny.

And it’s at that moment, as I’m rushing forward, laughing at my poor kid suffocating in a pile of sand, that I happen to glance up the two moms.

It’s really hard to describe just how horrified they looked.  Proper decorum completely forgotten, they both stand there, their own kids forgotten, staring at me with dropped jaws.  I mean…wouldn’t you?  Not only did I just dangle my one year old baby by an ankle and then drop him headfirst down a slide, but now I’m laughing at his misfortune.

Finally reaching the Squid, I kneel down and scoop him up, wincing at the sight of his sand-encrusted face.  Even his nostrils are blocked by two tiny little plugs of damp sand, which I manage to mostly clear while he’s still drawing in breath for his first outraged shriek.

“Ssshhhh,” I say in my most soothing voice, trying to make up for the fact that I just laughed at him.  “Awww, poor baby…shhhhh….”  I’m using my sleeve to try to clear clumps of sand out of his eyes, ears, nose, and hair, but I can tell it’s going to be a long chore. 

With a piercing shriek of a wail, Squid finds his voice, announcing to the entire playground that he is the victim a terrible, horrible, no-good, baby-throwing, misery-mocking mom.

I cuddle him to my chest and continue to soothe him, and take solace in the only fact that makes me feel like I can show my face in this park again:

I’m moving soon.  In two months I’ll never have to see those moms again.

Why The Idea of Homeschooling Frightens Me

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Welcome to your first day at Becky Bean Academy!  As the principal, teacher, and leader of this fine institution, I’d like to welcome you to–

DragonMonkey, GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF THE TOILET!  SQUIDGELET, YOU TOO!  You guys are not babies anymore… why are you still doing that? SIT DOWN IN YOUR CHAIRS!

Ahem.  I’d like to welcome you to this place of learning.  Within these walls I will —
 
BOTH OF YOU – LEAVE THE CAT ALONE!  NOW!

Where was I? Ah, yes.  Within these walls we will dedicate ourselves to the processes of education, and higher—DragonMonkey, quit picking your nose— learning. 

As my children, I know the depths of your intelligence, and I expect great things from – Squidgelet, quit biting your brother!  NOW! — great things from both of you.  Now, if you will please open your booklets…

Yes?

Fine.  You may go potty.  Squidgelet, do you have to go?  No?  Okay, just read your book quietly until DragonMonkey returns.

<17 minutes later>

Now, if you will please open your booklets…

YES?

Why didn’t you go at the same time as your brother?  I asked if you had to go… No, fine.  Go. 

<14 minutes later>

Please open your booklets.  These booklets list the classes you will be taking this year.  In addition to the regular courses you would expect to find, such as Reading, Arithmetic, and History, you will find that you can sign up for some extra credit courses.  These courses have been specifically chosen as a result of the strengths of our faculty.  Here at Becky Bean Academy we want to offer the finest of education, and as such we are only offering courses that are commiserate with our current instructor’s experience.   If you are seeking any clarifications or would like further information on the courses before making your decision, feel free to raise your hand and ask a question.

You in the front— DragonMonkey?  Yes?  Oh, yes, “Forgetfulness 101” – that is a lovely course.  Well, the course is an in-depth study on how to forget… uh, stuff.  What kind of stuff?  Well, it should be listed under the main header…. right beneath “Course Description”….

What? There’s no course description?  Whoops!  I know I wrote one up – I must have accidentally printed an earlier draft.  My bad.  Well, it’s a great class – all about forgetting stuff.  I’ll get you more info later – try to remind me after class – I can’t find my pen to jot down a reminder note right now.  I will let you know that you might consider taking it, as “Forgetfulness 101” is a prerequisite for some of our more popular advanced courses:  “Where’s My Cell Phone?” and “Have You Seen My Keys?” 

Yes, Squidgelet?  Oh, yes, I see you’re looking into the Humanities section of our electives…. “The Art of Being Scattered“.  That’s a great course.  The teacher in that course has a lot of life experience and training to share with you.  Oh, What’s it about?  Well, it’s kinda about a lot of stuff.  It starts off with a really neat, well-researched article about right brain versus left brain dominance – there’s even some really pretty graphs!  Then it just kinda… I dunno.   The teacher kind of shows a lot of stuff on the Internet, and tends to get distracted by XKCD comics…. There’s something about butterflies?  And a lot of references to horses?  The attendance policy is really lax – the teacher sometimes gets distracted and forgets to show up, so she’s pretty easy on the students. 

I’m sure you all have a lot of questions about the courses,  but if you can turn your attention to… CRAP!  Where’s the smoke coming from? 

Oh, man, I was cooking something in the oven… Crap, crap, crap…… NO!  Don’t say crap—crap’s a bad word.  Yes, Mommy said it… just forget about it! Open the windows!  Get me a pot holder!  Uh… class dismissed!

Not My Brightest Moment

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“Awr we moving to Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“We awr moving to Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“Is da car moving to Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“Is Max moving to Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“Is da baby moving to Portwand?”

“Yes – Squid goes with us everywhere.  He’s your brother – you’re stuck with him, kid.”

“Is my bwankey moving to Portwand?”

“Yes.”

“We awr moving to Portwand?”

“YES.”

“Portwand?!?”

“YES!  WE ARE ALL MOVING TO PORTLAND.  BUT NOT UNTIL THIS SUMMER.  LET’S TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE.  PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY, PLEASE JUST TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE.”

……..

…………….

………………………

“Portwand?  We awr moving to Portwand?”

Dear Internet,

If I ever get the bright idea of repeating the same phrase over and over again to my son in hopes of having him repeat me…

Just shoot me.

Please?

Sincerely,

Becky Bean

Email from My Mom

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Here is a little background information you need to know:

We are deep in the throes of potty training the DragonMonkey, a process that has good days, bad days, and oh-wow-is-this-kid-really-my-responsibility days.

Apparently he is shy when it comes to using the toilet, because as soon as you put him on the toilet he immediately begins waving you away with his hand.   It’s almost a ritual at this point.

“Go away, Mama.  GO AWAY!” he orders rudely.

“You do NOT talk to adults in that tone of voice, young man.  You apologize this instant.”

“Sowwy, Mama.”

Pause.

“Pwease go away, Mama?  Pwease?  Shut da doowr?  Pwease go away?”

I am mollified by his polite tone, and leave him behind, shutting the door behind me and standing outside for what seems like hours, awaiting  his demanding bellow of, “Awww done, Mama!  Awwwl done!”. At that point I am graciously allowed to enter the bathroom again where I have the unbelievable priviledge of wiping his heiny for him.

It’s the little joys in life that make it all worth it.

The other bit of information you need to know is that the DragonMonkey is the proud owner of a cute little purple octopus bath toy.  It’s a cheap plastic toy that floats in the water. It’s made up of three parts:  the top part (the body) the bottom part (the legs) and and a string you pull on which causes the the legs to spin around like a boat propeller, causing the toy to move sluggishly through the water. 

Okay, now onto the email from my mom:

*****

Dear Becky,


When the DragonMonkey goes to use the toilet, we shall no longer let him have his privacy anymore,


After pooing a truckload in the toilet, he then took his little purple octopus, pulled the string, put it on top of the poop, and then had a blending party in the toilet.  After he was done with the blending he tossed it in the tub and proceeded to further his fun and games.


Your stepfather was not very happy.


At the time, I was in my studio blending for real with a real blender, making baby food for the Squidgelet.  I came in and saw a face on your stepdad that I do not ever want to see again, and the little DragonMonkey taking a much-needed bath.


Have a good day,


The Nanny

*******

Come on.  Admit it.  Aren’t you glad he’s not yours?

It’s All Worth It

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Yesterday was an…err… “trying” day with the DragonMonkey.

From the moment he woke up he knew exactly what he wanted out of life – he wanted whatever it was we, the parents, didn’t want.

Don’t jump on the couch? What’s that we just said?  He’d look slyly over at us from over his shoulder and then….. Jump.  JUMP.  JUMP JUMP JUMPJUMPJUMPJUMPJUMPJUMPJU—

When he is accidentally bad, he gets a stern talking to.  When he is just plain bad, he gets time in the corner.  When he’s really bad, he gets time out in his crib until he is finished with whatever tantrum he’s currently throwing.

When he looks at us with that angry little smirk and deliberately does whatever it is we just told him not to do, he gets three spanks (sorry, Internet, but them’s the breaks – I hate people who hit children, but I do believe in spanking.  If you don’t understand the difference, then you should probably stick with time outs.) followed by time out in his crib until he’s in a better mood.

Yesterday was chock-full of spank-then-cribs.

He fed the fish a big bowl of peanut butter.

He deliberately jumped on every piece of furniture we had – even going so far as to holler out, “Mama! Yook!  Yook at me!  Yook!” when I didn’t notice he was being bad.

He colored on furniture.

He smeared food on the ground.

He screamed and chased and hit at the dog with his blankie, until we finally locked poor Bad Max up in the kennel to save him from the monstrosity that is my three year old.

He ripped apart his train table and scattered the pieces around the living room.

When we bought the train table the pieces were all screwed down into the board to prevent him from destroying the track.  He has managed to do it anyways.  The buildings are lopsided and threadbare from his rough handling, and the tracks are misaligned and missing sections from where he spent days on end using his fingertips to pry them up from the table.  Instead of the cheerful, happy train table we had when we bought it,the whole thing has a desolate, desperate, half-abandoned air. The Bean calls it Chernobyl Station.

He threw fits every time we denied him anything.

No, DragonMonkey, you may not touch the kitchen butcher knife.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

No, Dragonmonkey, you leave poor Bad Max alone!

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

No, DragonMonkey, you be nice to your brother! Don’t you dare rip that toy out of his hands!

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

No, DragonMonkey, stay out of the toilet!  No, DragonMonkey, get off the kitchen table!  No, DragonMonkey, no coloring on the furniture!  Quit kicking the cats!  Don’t pinch the dog!  Don’t throw your toys!  Leave the DVD player alone!  Get off the furniture!  No hitting your dad!  Don’t jump on me!

Etc, etc, ad nauseum.

When I took him out to go splash in rain puddles and play along the riverbed in hopes of improving his mood, he threw a fit when I took Max’s leash from him for a brief moment.

I don’t know if I mention this before, but about once a week he throws a pass-out kind of a fit.  He’ll silently cry/scream until he runs out of breath and turns blue.  Then, before he can suck in a huge lungful of air to turn his silent crying into a loud shriek, he’ll completely run out of air and crash to the ground and pass out.

It scared the crap out of me the first few times it happened.  Then, on the third time, I decided to employ my grandma’s technique.  Apparently I used to do something similar – whenever I would get angry enough, I would deliberately hold my breath until I passed out, simply because I knew it bothered my mom.

Yes, yes, I know.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Anyways, the next time the Dragonmonkey initiated his pass-out-tantrum mode, I did what my Grandma did to cure me:  I gave him a firm, no-nonsense swat on the behind, designed to startle him into a normal crying sequence.

It worked on me.

Unfortunately, it did not work on the DragonMonkey.  Instead of startling him into breathing, the air whooshed out of him in surprised shock, turning him from kind a purplish-blue to a completely brilliant shade of cyan, and he dropped like a stone and stayed unconscious for about 10 full seconds.

When someone suggested I try water (spraying him with a water bottle), I got the same extremely stressful reaction.

Needless to say, when he wants to cry-to-passing-out nowadays, I just kind of let him do his thing.  I stay close by to so I can catch him and lower him to the ground when his legs give out, but I just kind of ignore the theatrics in hopes he’ll grow out of it.

So, yesterday, when I took Max’s leash from him as we passed a jogger, to make sure Max didn’t escape and go make a new friend, the DragonMonkey threw a fit.  Once I lowered him to the ground and watched him begin waking up, I decided I might as well capture it on film, so I can torture him when he gets older.  Man, I just really can’t wait until he’s a teenager.

The day didn’t go much better from there. While I escaped off to the library to see if I could catch up a bit on my NaNoWriMo wordcount, The Bean accidentally grabbed the baby snacks (I bought some wheat puffed snacks to test The Squid’s allergies…looks like he might be okay!  Woohoo!) and fed them to the DragonMonkey.  Oh, boy.  GLUTEN.  And loads of it.

By the time I came home, I no longer had a three year old child running around the house – I had a skittery, screamy, anger-filled, gluten-infested monstrosity of a child.

Unfortunately for me, The Bean had some work he had to catch up on, so I was on my own.  Moping about the house by myself, I decided to head out to the local mall to let the DragonMonkey run around and burn off some of his gluteny energy.  Frustrated, lonely, and vaguely depressed, I decided to try and curl my hair in hopes of making myself a little better before heading out into the world of carefree teenagers and gorgeous young 20-somethings.  The end result was really pretty, but the fact that I had nobody around to show off to just made me feel even worse.  I couldn’t get grumpy at The Bean – the poor guy was working on a Saturday night.

Still.  Poor me.  Poor, poor Becky.  All alone. Again.  Nobody to share things with.  Again.  All by herself…. with only two whiny, angry babies to keep her company. Again.  Poor, poor Becky.

With a trample of toddler hooves, the DragonMonkey screeched around the corner, and skidded to a halt in front of me.  He stared at me for a moment, with wide eyes, pointed at my hair, and then petted his own head for emphasis, so I could know exactly what he was talking about.

“Mama!”  he sounded breathlessly surprised, and he smiled widely.  “You yook so cute!”  It came out clear as day – this entire sentence from a kid who still speaks mostly in mumbles and two or three word sentences.

I stared at him in amazement…. had I just heard what I thought I heard?

“What’d you say?”

He pet his head, and then pointed at my hair.  “Mama.  You yook so cute!”  He smiled at me in admiration for a moment longer then tore down the hallway and skittered around the corner.

So worth it.  All of it.  All the screaming, and the tantrums, and the stretch marks, and the bigger hips, and the sleepless nights, and the projectile puking, and the diaper blowouts and the lack of freedom, and the toys I step on in the middle of the night – all of it so worth it, just for that one moment.

Halloween and Allergies

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I’m a huge fan of Halloween.

It’s kind of strange, and almost hypocritical.  I really don’t care for the actual holiday, as there is some really bad stuff that goes on during that holiday.

On the other hand… it’s a holiday in autumn, which is kind of my favorite time of the year.    There are pumpkins, and decorations in reds, and yellows, and oranges, which are my favorite colors.  The air is crisp, and has a hint of winter in it.  (Well, actually, it doesn’t.  I live in Southern California, so the air has a hint of 70-72 degree weather in it, instead of 72-74 degree weather.  I just buy a Pumpkin Spice latte, put on a sweater, sweat slightly and pretend the air feels cool and seasonal.) 

It’s a holiday that revolves around dressing up in silly costumes, which is kind of one of my favorite things to do.  I like silly costumes, even if I’m not terribly creative.  I usually wear a great big Lion-From-the-Wizard-of-Oz costume. When I’m not feeling fat I throw on my chaps over my jeans and boots and go as a cowgirl. One year I went dressed up as Octomom.  Another year I went as a cow.

In exchange for celebrating a holiday in autumn and getting to dress up in silly costumes, people give you candy.  Why?

Because it’s a holiday.  In autumn.  And you’re wearing a costume.

It’s like a great, big, happy circle of sugar-laden happiness.  Halloween makes me happy.

This is why it makes me sad that the DragonMonkey can’t participate in Halloween.

The DragonMonkey is allergic to gluten.

The DragonMonkey is allergic to dairy.

The DragonMonkey is allergic to all food dyes.

If you can find me a tasty candy that has no gluten, dairy or food dyes in it, I’m all ears.

Even if there is a good candy out there that meets the criteria, I seriously doubt the houses in our neighborhood will be giving it out.  They’d probably get egged if they tried.

I’ve thought of dragging him with me from door to door to get the candy, but it just feels kind of mean.  “Happy Halloween, DragonMonkey!  Look at all the yummy candy!  Now give it all to me.  You can’t have any.  Go eat an apple.”

See what I mean?  I love the idea of trick-or-treating with my son, but it just seems cruel. 

This why I was absolutely THRILLED when Sensitive Sweets  offered a solution to my dilemma.

Sensitive Sweets is a new bakery that opened up down the street from us in Fountain Valley.  It specialises in custom cakes and desserts for people with allergies.  Everything they serve is gluten, dairy, nut, soy, and egg free.  They’ll also make it dye-free, upon request.

To be honest, after listing everything their food doesn’t have, I’m not really sure what they ARE making their desserts out of.  Sugar and unicorns?  Happiness and rice flour?    Special wishes from a trapped leprechaun?

I mean, I’m lucky if I can successfully bake brownies from a box.  These cakes are gorgeous – and the fact that they’re completely allergen-free is just mind blowing to me.

For the record, this is not a paid advertisement – they don’t even know I’m writing about them.  I’m just that grateful to them.  Not only is it actually tasty stuff, but it really is gluten-free.  I know, because DragonMonkey can sniff out a speck of gluten from five miles away.  Sometimes it feels like he can get a rash if he just thinks about bread often enough.  He has eaten several cupcakes from Sensitive Sweets over the past few months and never once had a speck of a reaction.  I know they’re careful about cross-contamination because the owner understands.  She’s a mom, she has kids with allergies, and she just plain gets it.

So, like I was saying, Sensitive Sweets recently posted a solution to my “Halloween vs. the Allergic DragonMonkey” scenario I’ve been facing, and it totally made my day.  I thought I’d share it with the rest of you, in case there is anyone else out there who is facing the same issues.

Halloween Candy and Allergies:  Trick or Treating with Allergic Children 

Camp Spooky

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Congratulations! You’ve been selected by GigaSavvy as a VIP member to attend…

Those weren’t the exact words, but still.

Spam. UGH. I hated getting all excited when my phone told me I had an email on the weekend, only to find out it was just junk mail. I slipped my phone back up on the mantel and went back to herding the boys.

Monday morning was busy, so it was almost noon before I had a break to check my emaill. A little bored, I decided to actually read the email before completely deleting it.

Boy, am I glad I chose to do that.

It wasn’t spam. It was a legitimate email from a marketing company, inviting me and my family to Knott’s Berry Farm’s Camp Snoopy.

It took a moment to sink in but when it did……Holy crap.  My writing just got us into Knott’s Berry Farm for FREE.  There would be breakfast with The Peanuts Gang.  There would be rides.  There would be costumes and candy.

Did I mention there would be rides?  And that it was free?  And that they chose me because of this blog?  And that it was free?



Did I mention that I have a slight obsession with free stuff?  I’d probably line up to get my head chopped off if someone advertised it as a “Free Guillotine Ride!”

After bouncing around and squealing in excitement for the better part of a day calmly sharing the news with friends and family, I did what any good parent would do:
I immediately set about hand sewing two adorable, classy little costumes made out of organic dye-free hemp.
Ha.  Haha. Ha.
No, I didn’t.  I procrastinated about getting the boys’ costumes all week long, waiting until the last possible moment on Friday evening after a long day of work.  I decided to ignore the fact that it was dinner time and that we were all cranky and chose instead to drag two tired, hungry children to a Halloween Superstore.
The flickering lights, demonic masks, lifesize blood-covered dummies and soundtrack of anguished screams were all a REAL hit with the DragonMonkey.
Not.
About fifteen seconds after we entered the store, he began pulling at my pants leg.  “No yike.  No yike dis.  No yike.” 
“Shhhh.  It’s okay.  We’ll be out of here soon”.

“NO YIKE.”

“Here, it’s okay.  Oooh, look at this!”
“No Yike.  Outside.  Pease.”
“This is a cute costume. Your baby brother could be a fishie!  And look, it’s on sale.  What do you think, should The Squid be a fishie?  Seems kind of appropriate, right?”
“NO!  NO FISHIE!  OUTSIDE!”  He stared in horror at the wiggling skeleton above him.
“DragonMonkey, don’t look at that.  It’s just… it’s fake.  It’s silly.  We’ll be out of here soon.  Don’t be scared.

“OUTSIDE.  OUTSIDE!!!“

“DM, give me thirty more seconds.  That’s all I need.  Please.”  I knew I had about 30 seconds before I had a full-blown meltdown, but if I could just pick something reasonably priced in the next 30 seconds…

“OUTSIDE!  OUTSIDE!  OUTSIDE!  NO YIKE!  OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE!”

His volume was increasing, and he was tugging even more earnestly at my pants, trying to lead me out of the store.

“Baby, it’s okay…  Don’t be scared.  We, uh… we just need to find you a costume.  Squid will wear the fish, and you will get….”  I reached down and snagged his collar as he tried to bolt.  He twisted, whines building up.  Uh-oh.  I recognized that look.  I had about two seconds before we had a complete, screeching, red-faced/sweaty meltdown.  “Without a costume you can’t ride the train tomorrow!”  It was mean of me, but it got him to stop and think.
“No twains?”  He chewed his fingers, shifting his weight nervously.

“No.  No trains.  Knott’s Berry Farm won’t let you on without a costume.”  I was rifling through the packages at top speed, trying to find anything…ANYTHING that would fit him.  It didn’t matter if it was a fairy Princess or a clown costume… just please…. something that would fit him…..

The skeleton above us, apparently set to go off at intervals, came to life with a howl,  shaking suddenly, eyes flashing red.
“NO TWAINS!  NO TWAIN!  OUTSIDE!  NO YIKE!”  He screeched and pressed close,  jostling me, and I dropped the fish costume.
“Fine, DragonMonkey, we’ll leave.”  I bent down to pick up the fish costume I’d dropped to return it to the hanger, and by the time I stood up, he was gone.
I was standing in the middle of an empty aisleway, baby on my hip, fish costume in my hand, and no DragonMonkey to be seen, anywhere.
With a heavy sigh I dropped the costume and trotted to the front of the store, certain I’d find him there.
Nope.
I checked a nearby aisle.
Nope.
I checked another nearby aisle.
Nope.

Losing your 2 year old in a store is such a fun, calming, totally not-panic-provoking experience.
I found him about a minute later, but oh, what a long minute that was. 
I located him when I finally heard a familiar screech.  I bolted over to find him crouching away from a snarling witch mannequin, sweaty, crying, and trembling with terror.
“Aww, baby, come here.”  I picked him up with a grunt, ignoring the fact that he was choking me with his clinging grip and lumbered outside of the store, doing my best to keep Squid from lunging over and pulling his brother’s hair.

I popped them both in the car and headed over to bright, happy, non-ghoulish Target, where to my delight I was able to find a pair of pinstriped overalls in the little boys section.  One red handkerchief later and we were done. 

He could wear his Thomas the Train hat and be a train conductor.

The Squid could go dressed as an 8 month old baby.

Like a responsible adult, I put off getting everything ready until the next morning.
I also failed to set my alarm clock properly..
If being a mom was a job, I’d probably be fired.
Instead of everyone skipping into the car, well-fed, dressed, and in happy moods, 7:15 in the morning found our house in utter chaos. The Squid was howling, DragonMonkey was jumping up and down on the furniture squealing, “Twains!  Twains!  Wide Twain!  Wide Twain!  Twain?  Twain?  Wide Twain!”The Bean was loading the stroller in the car and I was slapping together Gluten-free ham and soy cheese (eww) sandwiches and other snacks.  Breakfast might have been provided, but the DragonMonkey is apparently allergic to everything except noise so we we always have to bring our own food.
We arrived 45 minutes late and stood at the back of a small group of latecomers.  I hadn’t been to Knott’s Berry Farm in years, and neither had The Bean.  I think we were both more excited than the DragonMonkey.  It was exactly the same as I remembered it – wooden planks and warm western decorations clashing with the brightly colored roller coaster tracks twisting overhead, promising excitement.

Nothing had changed a bit, not even me.

Ha.  Ha, ha, ha.

The last time I was there I wore stretchy jeans and tennis shoes – the better to run in.  I had a flat stomach and a smaller butt, and I crowded the gate at opening time and dashed headlong along the aisleways to the best rides so I could be first in line, laughing with friends and reveling in my freedom.   I carried a wallet, and an extra scrunchy around my wrist to hold my hair back (in case the first one broke.)

This time I had a husband, a baby, a toddler, a double stroller, a diaper bag, a bigger butt, a bag of lunches, a baby blanket, two binkies, a nursing cover, an extra pair of pants for the DragonMonkey (just in case), two hats, my purse, my phone, a sippy cup, and, of course, an extra scrunchy to hold my hair back, in case the first one broke.
Ah, well.  I guess if I were feeling optimistic I could add “cleavage” to the list above.  There are some benefits to being a nursing mom.
We stood at the back of a group of stragglers as a woman with a badge handed out flyers, VIP wristbands – and cowboy hats.

“Oooooh!”  I brightened as she handed us a stack of four hats.  Fun!

I immediately put on one The Squid – it fell around his ears, blocking his view.  He began whining.

I sighed, took it off, and tried to put it on The DragonMonkey, who ducked and twisted away.  “No.  No wide howsies.  Wide TWAIN,” he said forcefully.  No way.  Uh-uh.  He wasn’t falling for it – if I put a cowboy hat on him, that meant he would have to ride a horse, and he was here for the TWAINS.
I sighed again, and put the hat on my own head — where it perched uncomfortably high, several sizes too small.
And NO, I am not full of hot air – I have a big brain.  That’s why my head is big. Yeah, that’s it.
With an even bigger sigh, I tried transferring the hat to The Bean – who stood there stoically, staring at me with one eyebrow raised as I placed it on his head.

“You look good!” I said hopefully.

“Are you done yet?”  He stood there, waiting for me to take it off.
I snagged the hat off of his head and stuffed the stack of hats grumpily into the overflowing double stroller.  Fine.  No hats for anyone.  We’d all just be hatless, and get skin cancer from the sun.  See if I cared.
We followed a volunteer past the front gates and western-themed stores and paraphernalia and up to the restaurant at the entrance to Camp Snoopy— or rather, since it was Halloween time, Camp Spooky.  I’d never been in the park before it opened, so it was kind of exciting.  The decorations were light and tasteful – a couple of cobwebs, etc, etc.  It had a nice Halloween-ey feel without creeping the kids out.

We parked the stroller in a small herd of strollers and set about unloading.  I handed the baby to The Bean and unstrapped the DragonMonkey from the stroller. All around us there were parents with children in various adorable costumes, all of them smiling politely and clutching their parents’ hands happily.

“Welcome to Camp Snoopy!” said one of the volunteers brightly.  “Would you like to follow me?”  A group of well-dressed, polite, VIP-type families began calmly ascending the stairs.

“TWAIN!!!!!” shrieked the DragonMonkey, twisting out of my grasp and bolting in the opposite direction at approximately 37 miles per hour. 
I bolted after him, catching up after a couple of steps and grabbing his hand to drag him back to the group.  I was blushing.  He was not.
“Is this where we get breakfast?”  I tried to seem intelligent, mature, and a respectable, good mother, but the DragonMonkey had other plans.  Why were we wasting our time here?  There were twains to be ridden.
“Twains!  TwainsTwainsTWAINS!”  He shouted happily, twisting out of my grasp again and bolting in the other direction.  
This time, when I caught him, he fought me, twisting wildly and letting his legs buckle out from underneath him.  “Twaaains!  Twaaaaaaains!” he screamed. 
I grabbed him by the back of his overalls and marched back to the restaurant, carrying him beside me like an angry, striped, howling little briefcase. He was beyond discipline – all of his little neurons were on sensory overload.

“Is this where we eat?” I gestured with my chin at the restaurant, ignoring the raised eyebrows on the volunteer.  Whatever.  Judge all you want, lady – let’s see you do any better. 

 “TWAINS!” howled the DragonMonkey.
“Uh, yes.  This is breakfast – just head on in.” 
“TWWWAAAAIIIINS!!!!!”
“Thanks,” I said, starting up the steps.
“TWAAAII—“  And then, suddenly, there was silence, and the thrashing bundle under my arm went still.
There, in the doorway, stood a giant masked figure.  The notice had said we would be invited to a complimentary breakfast with “The Peanuts Gang!”  I anticipated Snoopy, or Charlie Brown.
I had no idea who the costumed person in the doorway was supposed to be, but as far as I could tell, it was “Leprosy Man”.
Look, I’m sorry if that’s not PC, but that’s what he looked like. 
He was dressed all in black, with a flowing red hood, and had a giant, misshapen, lumpy face and goggly eyes.  He blocked the doorway, and waved cheerfully – which was at complete odds with his “I’m-Going-To-Kill-You” mask.

(Hello.  Welcome to Camp Spooky.  Please come closer so I can eat your soul.)
The DragonMonkey instantly went into prey mode – maybe if he was still, Leprosy Man would be distracted and wouldn’t see him.  He was hanging tense and silent from his overall straps, so I lifted him up to my hip.  He buried his face against my shoulder and his hands tightened painfully around my neck. 
He wasn’t the only one.

“Daaaadddy!” shrieked the little girl ahead in front of us as she scrambled up into her father’s arms..  “No!  Make him go away!”

“No yike,”  The DragonMonkey whispered in my ear.  “No yike.  No.” 

“DADDDY!  NO! Make him GO!”  the little girl shrieked.

“No yike,” DM whispered again.
Hey, Knott’s Berry Farm?  When hosting an event for little bitty kids, you may want to rethink having Leprosy Man as the door greeter.  It’s just a thought.
Breakfast was a short, noisy affair.  The Bean and I ate.  DragonMonkey screamed “TWAIN!” at regular intervals.  Eventually we managed to convince him that it was too early morning and that the trains were barely waking up and were off brushing their teeth.
Then, instead of hearing “TWAIN?” screamed every two minutes, we heard “BWUSH TEETH?”  It wasn’t much better, but after hours of “TWAIN?!” hearing anything else was kind of a relief.

Trains are very big on oral hygiene.  Didn’t you know that?

The Squid smiled placidly from his car seat before falling asleep for the next few hours. 

Snoopy came by to say hi, but after his encounter with Leprosy Man the DragonMonkey wanted nothing to do with him.  Snoopy did an admirable job trying to seem friendly and approachable – he knelt down, waved, pretended to be sad that the DM found him scary, and otherwise did everything possible to seem sweet and adorable.  I bought into it.

“Awww, DragonMonkey, look!  Snoopy likes you!  Look, that other kid likes him!”

“No yike,” The DragonMonkey whispered tensely, poised to either bolt or scream.  No way.  He wasn’t going to fall for the nice act.  Snoopy obviously liked to suck children’s brains out of their heads with a giant straw. 

“You’ll be fine, little man.  Come on.  I’ll hold you.  We can go together.”

Okay, fine.  No picture with Snoopy.

Breakfast was tasty but not terribly memorable, Being the incredibly observant parents that we were, The Bean and I never realized that DragonMonkey’s breakfast was served in an adorable little lunchbox. We thought it was just a piece of red plastic and we threw it away when we were finished with our meal.  We didn’t realize our mistake until about an hour later. 

“Do you think… uh…. Do you think they’ve emptied the trash cans where we tossed it?” I glanced at The Bean.  What I was really asking was whether he would be extremely embarrassed to be seen with me if I started digging through the trash in public.

“YES.  The trash cans have DEFINITELY been emptied.”  Translation:  If you go dumpster diving I’m drawing up divorce papers.
I moped about for a few minutes before I had the bright idea of begging a new lunchbox off of the kitchen crew.
They were incredibly gracious and gave us another one. 

 Yaaaay!

I was annoyed when The DragonMonkey saw me with it and claimed it for his own.  Being the adult sucks sometimes.  I’m still waiting for him to get tired of it so I can steal it back.

After that, the day kind of blurred.  Chasing two kids around a theme park is exhausting, but worth it.  The rides were pretty incredible.  Going out in public with The DragonMonkey is usually a chancy affair at best, but this time we.  HAD.  A.  BLAST.


We had the park practically to ourselves for the first bit.  It was pretty cool. The DragonMonkey went on all the rides.

He jumped on the bouncy house.

He flew the airplanes.

He rode in the little cars and smiled the whole time.

He rode in the little semi trucks with the annoyingly loud horns and smiled the whole time.

 He pushed the kid ahead of him on the little go-cart ride and smiled the whole time.

He smiled the entire time we were at Camp Snoopy.  I didn’t even know that was possible.  I knew he had that many teeth, but that’s only because we’re used to seeing them while he’s in the middle of a meltdown.

Even The Bean had fun.  At one point the Squid got hungry, so we took a break in the shade while The Bean snuck off to ride one of the big roller coasters.  When he came back he was smiling and relaxed.  If you look, you can see him waving happily to us, swinging his feet like a little kid.




 I don’t think I’ve seen him that happily relaxed in months.

After the rest of the park opened we left Camp Snoopy and went to visit the trains.

 
Yook!  A twain!  Yook!  Yook! Yook!  YOOKYOOOKYOOKYOOK!


 Once we boarded the the train, the DragonMonkey became very quiet and very still.

Apparently riding in a train is something to be taken very seriously.

 Hey, DragonMonkey.  Psst… Over here.



No, over HERE.

How do you feel about being here at Knott’s Berry Farm on a train – an actual, moving, chuffing, train?  Are you enjoying yourself?  How do you feel about Camp Spooky?

Yeah.  Me too.

As far as I can tell, Knott’s Berry Farm sprinkles Kid Crack on their streets every morning.  You know what? I’m cool with that.  Sprinkle away – if it can produce happy, relaxed DragonMonkeys, I’m all for it.

I mean, last night (in a fit of spite after I told him he couldn’t jump on the couch anymore) the DragonMonkey snuck into the bathroom and got the toilet brush – oh, yeah.  THAT toilet brush.  The one that makes your skin crawl at the thought of touching it?  The one I keep meaning to sanitize after I scrub our toilets?

When I heard the ruckus in the kitchen I thought he was playing drums with the kitchen utensils.  Silly me.  He was actually systematically “washing” all of pots and pans with the toilet brush.

When I took too long noticing how “bad” he was being he came over, grabbed me by the hand, led me into the kitchen, pointed at the disaster and said, “UH-OH.  Bad.”  You know, just in case I couldn’t realize on my own how horrified I was supposed to be.

If I’m really nice, maybe Knott’s Berry Farm will give me some Kid Crack to sprinkle in my house, too?    Pretty please?  With sugar on top?