That's my boy...
I thought about turning this picture so it was upright but, I realized it didn’t honestly matter how it was flipped. It’s still a hilarious picture.
Last week was the twins’ last week of preschool so their teachers bussed them to the Children’s Museum for a party. The kids ate sandwiches and grapes and played until they were exhausted.
My child, of course, put on a heavy Lycra Spider Man costume the second he walked in the door and wouldn’t take it off til he was forced to at the end of the day. He was sweating like a bull, but was completely okay with that. I guess that just ties in to the great power/great responsibility Spider Man thing.
This was a picture I took of him seconds after asking him to pose “Like Spider Man”. It’s quite a unique interpretation…
Cereal Killer has developed mystery hives over the last few days. We haven’t quite been able pinpoint the cause of the hives. (The doctor thinks it’s a new food allergy. GOOD TIMES.) Nor have we been able to completely get rid of them. (The podunk pharmacy here doesn’t have dye-free Benadryl. SUPER.) So, poor Cereal Killer has been suffering through lots of big, red, painful hives. They crop up randomly and quickly. I’ve been teaching him to tell me right away when he starts hiving away so I can put some cream on it or throw him in the bathtub. So, now every half hour or so I hear him behind me,
“Mooo-oo-o-om, I gots more bee hives!”
He may look like he got in to a fight with a herd of angry mosquitos, but he sure is precious.
We were discussing the impending
doom birthday party of one of the twins’ classmates today.
“There’s probably going to be cake,” I told them, as if an incentive is needed to attend a 4 year old’s birthday.
“No!!” cried Cereal Killer in horror.
What? Like, seriously? We’re freaking out about cake? Who is this kid?
“I can’t eat cake!” he sobbed. “I only eat cake with this hand and I have a Band-aid on it!”
My thoughts: 1) You eat it with your hand. Oh really? How about you eat it with a fork so your friends don’t get confirmation that you were raised by cavepeople. 2) You’re going to let a Band-aid get in the way of cake consumption? Were you switched at birth with my real son? I could have no arms or legs and a jaw that’s wired shut and I’d still find a way to eat cake. You just aren’t trying hard enough.
I wonder what kinds of notes home from the teacher normal kids get. Talking too much in class? Sassing off to the teachers? Not doing their homework? Instigating a food fight?
That would be refreshing because I am pretty sure the only notes home I get are actually envelopes containing pennies. That were in Cereal Killer’s mouth. Origin: unknown.
And I am a little confused about this note-velope. Should I, like, have a talk with Killer about this or congratulate him for making money? It is very unclear.
Cereal Killer has been drawing pictures at school that absolutely kill me. I can’t imagine what his teachers must think.
This is a picture he drew of his father:
A stunning likeness.
The teachers encourage the kids to explain the pictures so they can write it down on the picture for them. I love this. There is a fighting chance I can figure out what the picture is of. Here’s what Killer said about his picture:
This is my Dad. This is his neck. He has a big neck. He should bring me to the pool. That would make me feel good. But he doesn’t have shorts. When he buys some shorts he will come in the swimming pool.
I had no idea my husband A) had such a big neck and B) that Cereal Killer took such an interest in it. I was not surprised he slipped in something about swimming, though. He is just dying to make good use of those new Toy Story trunks.
The next picture he drew had no glorious narration but, Killer assured me that I was the subject of the picture.
Wait, how many arms do I have?
And this is the last one:
This guy has a hat!
I asked him who it was a picture of and he looked at me with disgust.
“Mom, that’s a potato.”
Oh. My bad.
Sorry about the delay in today’s blog post. We had a pretty epic power outage that spanned most of the state for a large portion of the morning. Apparently the one hamster running on a wheel was hit by lightning or something and it was hard to find a replacement because the pet shops were closed because there was no power. Or something like that.
Anyhow, I was kvetching all morning about the power outage. No lights, no power, no COFFEE. It was like living in a third world country.
Cereal Killer comes up to me, trying to be all positive about the situation. He is adorable, but sometimes he doesn’t quite understand what we are talking about because he came out with this gem: “There’s no TV right now. It’ll be back soon when we get some white power. WHITE POWER!”
Oh, Jesus H. Christ on a cracker. My little blonde boy who just yesterday got in to a fight with the hair clippers and now has an incredibly close buzz cut NEEDS to learn how to pronounce “light”. Immediately.
At least that stopped my complaining about the power outage right quick.
Killer came up to me last night and said, “Look mom! I have long underwear! See? LONG underwear!”
There was a wrist watch in his Lightning McQueen briefs.
A watch. Long time. Underwear.
Hey, I have heard lamer jokes from some rather famous comedians (I am looking at you, Bill Engvall) so well done, Killer.
Remember me when you’re famous.
Watch your back, Jim Carrey. There's a new kid in town who is planning on making a career out of goofy facial expressions.
Unless you’re going to remember me posting that picture on the internet. I don’t want to be put in Shady Pines, dude.
This story is just too good to pass up re-telling and hands-to-God, it’s all true…
A few months ago I was sitting down to lunch with the kids. The boys were having a “naked phase”. Any time was nekkid time for the guys. So long as they didn’t pee on anything, I was okay with it.
Until That Day.
I was precision cutting up organic vegetables for a healthy lunch platter (Or making a box of Kraft Dinner. Same difference.) when I heard Mr. Cereal Killer rustling around behind me.
I turned around and – here is where time slowed down – I saw Cereal Killer with his penis in a glass of milk.
Okay. I was not going to freak out at him. I don’t want to give him some weird body issues because his mother screamed at him for dunking his weiner like an Oreo. So, I was very calm.
“Whatcha doin’, kiddo?”
“Drinkin’ my milk,” he answered without hesitation. I was still not quite sure where this was going but I stayed silent to allow him to continue the thought train.
“My straw isn’t suckin’ it up,” he said with frustration as he waved his little winkie around in the cup. You could see the logic deep down in there but still…no.
After that, I insisted my children wear pants at the table. No exceptions.
I wonder what my life would be like without children. I imagine I would lounge around nibbling grapes while being fanned by a well-oiled romance novel cover model.
Not so likely? Well, at least it would be quieter in here. And I would probably devote less of my mental energy to devising ways to remove substances and objects from my children…
This morning Killer came downstairs with one eye gooped shut. My Ick Sensors went off because I know from experience that pink eye sounds like Hello Kitty’s cute new pal but it is, in fact, not cute. Or a kitty. It is contagious, however.
I asked for Killer to show me his eye and he hid on the couch. Oh, hell no. That is never a good sign. After a brief struggle, I caught a glimpse of his goopy eye.
It was purple.
Now, I am not a doctor but, I am pretty sure Nasty Eye Crud does not produce purple goop. (These are all highly technical medical terms.) Upon closer inspection, I realized his eyelashes were fused together with…
“Son of mine, how did you manage to get Silly Putty stuck in your eye hairs?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Because I want to be a pirate! Duh!”
Well, duh. I should have guessed. I mean, obviously. If I wanted to be a pirate, surely my first action would be to find the nearest supply of Silly Putty, fashion it in to a glistening circle, and slap it on my eye at bedtime so it could harden in to a newsprint-collecting eye patch by morning.
This past winter the twins joined the local luge club. They learned and practiced on the super awesome Naturbahn (a fancy, German way of saying outdoors and natural) track. This picture was at the awards ceremony after their very first meet. They were so proud of their dinosaur trophies. If I would have been actually planning, this would have been an Easter-themed picture. But, alas, I am a wretched planner.