Friday, 30 November 2012

Damn Omniscient Angels

To Hell with the Tattle Tale Angel

My sons are decorating their own little tree in their bedroom. There are the usual battles. Kaelan wants to put decorations all over. Reece wants them in organized rows of all green, then all red. This was solved by a rock-paper-scissors smackdown.
Then Reece has a small, plastic angel he places "oh-so-carefully" on the tree. He says it's his Tattle Tale Angel.
"The Tattle Tale Angel sees everything," Reece explains to his brother. (I'm hoping she doesn't see she wasn't hung up by her string, but stuffed up her bum onto the tree!)
"No she doesn't," disagrees Kaelan.
"Yes, she does! She has all-seeing eyes."
Aaand now we have two religions converging. Christmas' omniscient Tattle Tale Angel becomes one of the three Graeae who share one eye in Greek Mythology. It's the Christmas Crusade!
"No, she doesn't! People have TWO eyes. That's it... I'm going upstairs."
That's how you bloodlessly win a crusade...and an argument.

My Good Friend Santa

Tuesday Family Dinner Night (or my personal Disaster Night) rolled around again. After dinner I asked Kaelan to go get his jammies on. OH, the HUMANITY!
"No, I'm not going to bed!"
He's storming off, magically transformed from 10-year old boy to teenage drama queen. Stomp-stomp!
I leeeaaan back in my chair, relaxed and call out "That's okay, I'll just e-mail Santa...right now!"
I pick up my iPhone (don't you just friggin LOVE those things?), and tappity tap on it... "Dear Santa, my good friend..." I say. (Since the big guy and I are on SUCH good terms and all.)
Thump-thump-thump-thump! As a little boy comes FLYING up the stairs at the speed of Christmas-panic!
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Heh, heh.
"Go get your jammies on, please."
Game, set, match.
"Wow, you're evil. All I had was the Tattle Tale Angel, it was only good for the living room," says my mom.
"Don't say that," warns my brother. "She'll e-mail Santa."

I Love Echolalia

I've said this before. But, it's true. It's useful AND entertaining.
My biggest boy had a crappy day at school. He had a meltdown due to not understanding a game (frustration, frustration). This led to explosion after explosion. End result was - EWWWW! Consequences! Boy, do you have to HATE those.
BUT, how else do you learn? So, he lost his rubbermaid box of paper zombies until tomorrow. He is VERY angry, so the echolalia and tourettes are SKY HIGH.
Since we have watched the Grinch so many times AND the Grinch is SUCH a happy fellow, this is some of what I'm hearing.
"My heart is two sizes two small."
AND I had visuals! I was torn between feeling badly for him, and being entertained...
"For fifty-three years I've put up with it now!" Which I found VASTLY impressive given that he's 10...
Another one was:
"We have to stop Mr. Feller from coming, but HOW?"
Omg! The inflection and tone is EXACTLY the same as the cartoon! I couldn't help it, I snickered.
He's a mean one... Mr. Feller...

The King

Reece was educating me on popular culture learned on the playground.
"Mom, did you know Michael Jackson is the King of Soda?"
...Close enough.

Friday, 23 November 2012

Passing the crown and Christmas Bombs

A New Reign...

I was able to pass my Queen-of-Sick tiara on to my youngest son this week. (It's okay, he likes shiny things.)
He awoke EXTREMELY pale... I should explain.
We may be Scots, but there remains a stubborn thread of my mother's Norwegian (or as I tell her - Scandihoovian) that clings to Reece and myself. This DNA makes one believe sugar is a food group, oatmeal is evil (or belongs in cookies...or possibly industrial paste), AND makes one - shall we say "pigmentally challenged."
So when I say Reece awoke pale, he could've glowed in the dark.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"I don't know. I think so."
Call me crazy, but if you DON'T know - chances are there's a man sick coming on.
And it DID!
"Mom, I was sick, but I hit the potty."
Oh, he did...technically. HIT it...and the floor...and the cat box.
I bet Lucky the cat didn't feel so lucky, either.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly...

Especially if You Add Rum and Musical Explosives

Learning to do things on my own has been an adjustment, to say the least.
I have been asked day and night about decorating for Christmas. Where is the tree? Can we watch The Grinch? All of which I have packed away in the shed. (And seriously, have I taught them NOTHING? Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is the best show EVER!)
I wait until my children are in school and go hunting in the shed for "the goods". I find the elusive Rubbermaid box and RIP it open! ... CRUD! Mold on everything!!! WHAT?!
Y'all, I did it to MY OWN SELF! Ugh! WHAT is more frustrating than having a massive disaster and nowhere to point your finger?
My stupidity? I packed snow globes...lots of pretty, musical snow globes in the box.
I wonder if they sang as they exploded like Christmas bombs.
Not so Siiiilent Niiiight - BANG!!!

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Caffeine deprived...but passed the stud test


"Ooooh, coffee!!!" It's the morning coffee dance.
"Mom, does coffee make you crazy?" Reece asks me.
Valid though this question may be...oh, if only it were THAT easy.
"No, sweetie, NO coffee makes Mommy crazy."
"See? I just karate chopped off your sandwich slice of bread. That's because I didn't get my coffee yet."

MOvember strikes again!

I just imagine the French chef from the muppets...


Family Dinner Night with Martha gets me on the Naughty List

My oldest brother, Paul, has discovered baking. He's like Martha - if Martha was a brunette, lost a bunch of hair, had a sense of humor...and had balls I guess (Ewww! Now I need to BLEACH my brain!).
He makes fabulous things that inflate your ass just by being in your airspace. Think chocolate ganache on EVERYTHING - with sprinkles... My arteries are clogging just describing it.
Paul and his daughter made a beautiful chocolate birthday cake - covered in chocolate icing and pretty sprinkles.
First I get served the MOTHER of all pieces of birthday cake. It's like a slab...or a mountain...or a future gastrointestinal attack.
Everyone else gets a slice of cake, I get enough to feed Ethiopia.
"Holy crap!"
Gasp! from my 10-year old son. "Oh, sorry K."
I became the target of much jealousy, evil eyes, drooling and fork stabbing!
THEN I hear how much oil goes into this cake... After hearing about the gag-fest following the FIRST cup of oil Paul poured in I'm eyeing my mountain-o-cake suspiciously... You realize how much oil is on my plate?
"Holy crap!"
Gasp! from Kaelan again.
"Oh, sorry! I mean dingles!"
"Mom! You keep saying that you'll end up on the Naughty List and I'll never go to bed!"
It took super-human control not to snicker there...not to mention I almost peed.
That IS a threat that carries weight. Needless to say I didn't say crap again.


My grandson checked me out with the stud-finder.
It went off, beep-beeping and blinking away! It was like I hit the Vegas-style studly lottery in my genetic code!
STUD POWER blazing away in my head, arms, hands... I may be girly, but it just goes to show my awesomeness goes bone deep.
After all, Stanley wouldn't lie...

To pick, or not to pick? We don't worry about that...

Usually you teach your children to NOT pick their nose... If you've been here before you know that, well, how do I say this? Picking a giant schnauze for kicks is the least of our worries.
My son's therapist came with a game called Gooey Louie. The object of the game is to pick Louie's nose, CAREFULLY (after all, we want to learn some skills). He with the most boogers is the winner - YAY!

Louie talks and talks while you pick his nose (I don't think I could be that casual, personally). Pick too hard and his head explodes... (Which looks disturbingly like a big vibrator popping out of his skull).
This - I'm guessing - would be the skill set portion of the therapy session.
I joke, BUT there is turn taking, a tolerance of texture, sound, fine motor skills AND your parents get to take future wedding reception photos!

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Mom's picked last for never grow out of it.

Whose team are you on?

"I can read your shirt, Kaelan. It says Team Awesome," Reece proudly informs his brother.
"Is that what team you're on?"
"Yup," Kaelan decides.
There comes a time in your life when you look back and think WHY did I ask? I have too many of those moments. But, like the Mom-who-learns-from-her-mistakes (feel free to read the sarcasm between the lines), I ask anyway.
"You know what team I'm on?" Nobody knows...or cares - and NOBODY begs Mom to be on THEIR team, not that I'm noticing (I see a future grounding). "I'm on team old."
"What team are YOU on, Uncle Dennis?" they ask my BROTHER (humph).
"Team Splendiferous." And someone is SO not getting a Christmas card.
"He's just too cool for Team Old," I inform my kids.
Kaelan says "I'm on Team Young."
"I thought you were on Team Awesome, Mr. Two Timer. Are you double dipping the teams?" (Yes, if you don't invite me on your team - I will harass you...bthhh.)
"I'm Team Young Awesome," he says.
"I'm on Team Nerd," says Reece.
"Well, they make all the money."
Go team!

Zombies...popping up in the damndest places!

I hear from my 10-year old son down the hall while in the potty "Stupid zombie!"
Excuse me?
My response...
"If there are zombies in the bathroom, I'm not cleaning it."

Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek is a very hard game sometimes. Especially when there is all that WAITING!
Kaelan is playing Hide and Seek, he comes FLYING upstairs - looking for a spot to hide. He leaps onto a chair and we throw a blanket over him fast.
He's squirming and giggling away...
"You're going to have to sit still," I whisper.
"I'll try, but everytime I can't breathe it makes my butt wiggle," he informs me.
...Fair enough.

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Stuffies are Created by the Devil

Who's the sickest one of all?

 "Kaelan tells me he sneezed 15 times. Maybe he has a man cold," my mother informs me at dinner.
My son gazes at me with pride in his eyes (and I am secretly amazed his eyes are even in his skull after 15 sneezes).

NOT to be outdone, Reece (of the zero-immunity) announces:
"One time I had a MAN fever."
... And get THIS - he survived!
"And one time I had MAN sun stroke."
I can just imagine his germs all covered in curly chest hair... Cause he's THE MAN!

Stuffies are Created by the Devil

"Mommy, have you seen the two-headed Terrible Terror stuffie?"

I have heard variations of this for MONTHS. Ewwww! It's starting to rank right up there with "I've gotta get this one!"

THIS is the cry of the pre-Christmas child. They could have an episode on Animal Planet...

"Just watch closely as the child's cries become louder at the beginning of the holiday season...
See how the female rips at her hair? This is common in all races across North America...
Amazing they don't eat their own young, really..."

OMG... How to explain that there is NOT a stuffie created for everything?

The DAY after Halloween (when children should either be gorging on candy in the darkest shadows making scary snuffly noises before breakfast - or nursing the candy hangover with bloated bellies, bloodshot eyes, wobbly gait and hair standing on end) MY child is all "Oh good! Where's my plushies?"

...Now I'm kicking my own ass for putting it all on Santa's head.

The conundrum: when one believes in the omnipotence of Santa and the uuber skills of the elves...there is NO arguing with a 10-year old that there is not a stuffie created for every item on the planet. After all, the stupid elf could just whip one up!

...Not that I'm bitter (or have elf-envy, those shoes are ridiculous - although I do like the idea of unlimited cocoa access).

Epic wisdom... 

"Mom, what's a mistress?"
This question from my 8-year old almost causes me to crash my car.
"Do you mean the castle type of mistress?" And OMG, please let that be it!


"Oh! (Whew!) That's like the lady of the house."

"So she's like the boss and tells the man what to do." (Can you IMAGINE the willpower it took here not to say YES?)

"Ummm, no," I not-so-calmly reply (while trying to drive straight and not laugh. See? You CAN do two things at once!). "If you were rich, she directed the servants. If you weren't, she did the cooking and cleaning."

"That's not fair. If men are stronger - THEY should be doing all that stuff."

Ahhh, such wisdom... 
So remember, REAL MEN have dishpan hands.

Monday, 5 November 2012

Poop and Pizazz

I Got Crapped on Repeatedly and Enjoyed It...

This is not a phrase I ever expected to use in my...I was going to say in my adult life. But that WOULD be kind of icky to limit it there, wouldn't it?
I allowed my eight year old son to fling crap at me - which he understandably LOVED. (It was probably a venting thing...) The part I won't admit out loud is that I flung it back with relish (that would be delight...not the condiment).
The game is Poo, and dude - the makers are sick and twisted in a way that makes me HAVE to get to know them!
This has to be some kind of Social Services wet dream come true - adults throwing King Kong Poo at their kids! Tons-o-stinky fun for the whole family.
There is actual counting involved. You get five cards each. You have to keep track of how many poo's land on you. First person to get 15 poo's is OUTTA THERE!
How fantastic is that? Feces and mathematics in one game? We had a blast!
I almost crapped my pants laughing...

Pretty Sure Miss Manners Non-Seal-Of-Approval...or How to Piss Off the Newbie Green Arrow

I arrive at my my children's father's house for an evening of fun-filled frivolity.
He is busy attempting to complete an online hunting safety course so he can pick up his hunting license in the morning and go shoot Bambi.
Since adding frustration to the recently armed is SUCH a good idea, I cheerfully greet him...
"Beer me wench!"
...too much?

Saturday, 3 November 2012

Let's Pretend...Or Get Stuffed (all a matter of perspective)

Let's Pretend... Or Get Stuffed (all a matter of perspective)

Pretend is not the FAVE game on the Autism spectrum. This is a game that makes NO sense (basically it turns all of us into big fat liars) and it's unpredictable. So I shamelessly listened in (stalker that I am) as Reece tried to get my oldest to play pretend with K-bob's stuffies.
The entertainment went as follows...

Reece: "K, pretend he can fly."
Kaelan: "...pretend baby giraffe can't fly."
Reece: "They're trying to experiment on me and have powers!"  (That's it Reecie, be persistent!)
Kaelan: "Pretend you're fat and full."
Now I'm hiding around the corner and snickering. Okay, veering from reality is maybe not so fun. BUT, the play continues and I think I need popcorn...
Kaelan: "Say: that's what you think cat."
Reece: "That's what you think cat."
Aaaaand we're back to Kaelan's FAVORITE game!
Kaelan: "Say: pew!"
Reece: "Pew!"

You can spot the kids who have learned to talk with IBI therapy. "Say juice!" Then - reward! It becomes their favorite game EVER!!! (A close second is NO TALKING...lmao.)