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Monthly Archives: March 2011
We had a rule in my family about lies. Off course lying was unacceptable, but white lies were exempt. In fact they were encouraged. My Grandpa, otherwise very virtuous and strict, was also of the mindset that what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. And I was privy to mostly nothing. So to sum up I was not to lie, unless for the greater good and about something harmless, not to know about much and not to ask about the rest.
Which of course led me to be an exceptionally observant individual. I can scan the situation and know mostly everything about anything. My husband thought I was a trained spy when we first met. I think he just secretly wished I was. Just like he still tells people I am 26.
I just threw that in to brag a little. What I was trying to say is that I am a product of a very failed system. So you would think that I would bypass it as a parent, since I have proved it to be nonfunctional. Not to mention, my son surpasses me in math at the age of three. Is there possibly anything I can lie about or hide from him without being caught? Seems I keep thinking there is.
Little J likes to help me bake, so we make muffins. Mostly all bran. Except I call them cupcakes. Of course his teacher Mrs. Ada makes cupcakes too, for special occasions. Real cupcakes. Frosting and all.
So these days when I ask if we should make some cupcakes Little J says: “The ones with no white stuff on?” No thanks, let’s make cookies.”
Little J likes me to stay with him after his bedtime story. Not until he falls a sleep, but not quite a NY minute either. Sometimes I try to sneak out and get a sleepy “Not yet Mama”. Sometimes I come up with pathetic ones, like I’ll go put my PJ’s on and come back.
Little J standing by my bed at 2AM asking if I am not wearing my PJ’s.
I got him a whale rescue boat for Christmas. It is one of those toys you would never consider, until you get to know your child and what makes him happy. I think they used the same figurines from the Somali pirates set. So they came with binoculars, knives and guns. I hid the guns. Don’t know why I did not throw them away. Little J finds them off course.
Asks me what they are for. I tell him it’s for the marine biologist to administer a sedative so they can safely tag the orca.
He comes back from school where his buddy had a Transformers gun for show and tell. Apparently he was very helpful during Q&A session. Thank you five year old whom my child looks up to.
I could go on but you get the picture. Honesty is the best policy if you don’t wont your child to view YOU as a three year old. Don’t you think?
I read a tweet that led me to a blog this morning. If you would like a good laugh CLICK HERE.
Anyhow it made me think of a lady I met walking Big M with Little J last summer. She was coming down the path with her four Siberian huskies. She was going to rush by, but I told her my dog is friendly and eager to meet hers. So we got to talking and ended up having a lot in common. She told me about growing up in Siberia, her grandma having same kind of dog Big M is and her wearing sweaters made of dogs hair.
Mrs. O is stunning. Not only pretty,but classy. Which in my neck of the woods makes you stand out. She is the only other person I met on the island who wears rubber boots. They are Burberry, but still. She sounds great too. And I like her sense of humor, a lot.
So when I saw her car parked at the dog park today I thought: what are the odds. I just thought of her.
Little J and I were playing under a huge fir tree pretend house and he was making me a pretend cup of tea. Big M was sitting on the pretend porch. We saw her dogs running towards us. Because they are a pack I suggested to Little J to stand on the nearby bench, so he can be taller then them. He said he can handle it. In no time my three feet tall kid was surrounded by four Huskies, a Great dane and a Highland terrier. Think it was the little dog that freaked him out, once he started jumping on him. So he screamed. Only once, but he gave it his all.
The owner of the dane and terrier started running towards us and apologizing. Mrs O walked behind, looking fabulous. She stood next to me, looked at Little J and said: “Who is this screaming like a little girl?”
I told you I like her, a lot.
There should be more women like her in this world to insure my son will grow up to be a man!
Today was the day. The one every parent dreads.
I knew it was inevitable. My friends have warned me about it, told me their horrific experiences. I laughed, because when it happens to others it makes a great story. Not so funny now that I am the main character. More like an intense drama that will keep me awake.
Due to spring break no Preschool today. I asked a friend at the farm if Little J can play with her son while I ride. We were about to leave the house, I was making lattes for everyone and in the middle of running around something must have happened that made me say shit. I honestly am not famous for using profanities. Little J is not famous for listening to me, ever. So what are the odds of him looking up immediately, adopting the new word and coming up with his own version:”Oh Man, Oh Shit”
As it happens very high. For the next few minutes he was repeating it like he just mastered the word otorhinolaryngologist. I read somewhere you have to ignore it. The more you make a big deal about it, the more interesting it is. I tried. I was also busy cleaning whatever caused me to so drastically express my displeasure of the situation. But he kept entertaining himself by coming up with elaborate ways of using his new word.
That coupled with the fact my son was about to spend a few hours with his buddy made me act irrational. I could just see Little J teaching Little T how his mom talks, who in return will tell his mom, all of my friends at the farm, horses and goats too. Pretty soon I will forever be known in the Pacific Northwest as the mommy who made the word shit popular again.
I got down on my knees, looked my son deep into his eyes and admitted to making a mistake. Strike one: mommy is human. Then I told him he is never to say the word again, please. Strike two: mommy is begging me to not do something she does. Then I asked him to make me a promise. Strike three: mommy owes me one, big time.
We left, boys had a wonderful time and the childminder never said anything about my kid being rude. We spend the rest of the day together having a great time. I even forgot all about it. Then as we were getting ready for a bath I tried taking Little J’s sweater off and must not have unzipped it fully. From under the cute Norwegian pattern came a little voice saying “shit Mama, that hurt me”.
Now if you will excuse me I shall go and punish my self the old fashion way. By rinsing my mouth out with soap.