Breakfast Song

If you are going to take the time to teach your kid a song, make sure it is one that is worthwhile.  It should be a crowd-pleaser and deep with meaning.  

Eli has really made the song his own, complete with his own words and ending.  I believe this is the mark of a true artist.  

Toilet Toss

We spent this weekend with a few friends from college.  For the first time, we got together with all of our spouses and children in tow.  It is a funny change from days past.  Suddenly we are all (basically) grown-ups.  

When  you are about to present your child to friends, there are certain insecurities that arise, particularly if that child happens to be a rambunctious toddler boy.  I had hopes that he wouldn't misbehave, that he wouldn't embarrass us, and that he would not scare other parents with the threat of what their child could become.  For the most part, he was well-behaved (not counting a few major meltdowns), taking into account that we deprived him of sleep for several days and demanded excellence in his behavior.  But as usual, his Eli-ness was shining through and things happened that you would never believe were possible.  

Let me give you an example.  I tell you now that the following story is not fiction.  If I were to make this up, it would be too unbelievable, no one would believe it.  Therefore, it could only be fact.    

One evening, after a long, hot day at the zoo and no nap, we all went out for dinner to unwind.  While we were waiting for our table to be prepared, I took Eli to the bathroom for a preemptive pee (no sense getting up from dinner when you're already eating).  Eli was dawdling as we got into the deluxe stall so I shuffled him forward.  My foot accidentally caught the heel of his right shoe and I flat-tired him (foot gets pulled up out of shoe).  In one swift motion, without any thought at all, Eli violently and rebelliously kicked his foot up in the air, the way a professional goal keeper punts a soccer ball.  The movement launched his shoe off his foot and sent it flying through the bathroom air.  I watched this all unfold as if in slow motion.  The shoe hit the back wall, changed directions and landed down in the toilet.  Unbelievable.  This was a huge stall, what are the chances of such a lucky shot? (I blamed Mark for this.  He passed on his athletic, coordinated genes which make such a thing possible.  If it were me, the shoe would have flown backwards and hit me in the head)  I think I yelled something like "NOOOOO!" and raced to the toilet, hoping for the best situation there (what that would be, I have no idea, maybe that someone put a piece of wood over the toilet where the shoe could land without ever touching toilet water), but found the result to be dismal.  It seems the toilet had been used recently and had not been flushed to rid it of the toilet paper and pee floating in there (now along with a small shoe).  I was shocked.  I quickly wrapped my hand in fresh toilet paper to retrieve the water/pee-logged canvas Converse.  I dropped it on the floor next to the toilet where Eli correctly identified it as his missing shoe.  He asked me to put it back on him.  I had to explain to him the evils of putting a pee soaked shoe on over your sock and inform him that he would be operating with only one shoe for the rest of the night.  I might mention there were two ladies standing near the sink talking when all this went down.  I overheard their snickering.  I should have taken the soiled shoe out and beat them with it, but I thought it would be a bad example for my child.  

A few moments later, Eli and I emerged from the bathroom looking defeated.  He, hobbling with only one shoe and an exposed white sock, and me, carefully holding a toilet paper wrapped canvas bomb.  Since our party was sitting right outside the bathroom, we had to relate the whole story in detail.  Eli's sock got a lot of work that night since we had more stops to make before going home.  

This is the kind of impression we made on our weekend friends.  But if you know anything about me and my child, you know that this is exactly the kind of thing that happens to us all the time.  

So we wrapped up the weekend with hugs and great memories, including babies jabbing each other's eyes and flying canvas shoes.  It's nice to have someone to share your life and laughs with... 

Solo Act

This weekend we drove to Kentucky to visit friends. For the five hour ride, we hoped to have our DVD player to play Eli's movies, but discovered not long after leaving that the lighter in my car (power source for player) was not working, so there would be no entertainment for the fidgety toddler that accompanied us. But he did surprisingly better than expected. He is often very good at self-entertaining. This afternoon, as he examined an alphabet plate, it brought to mind the ABC's song. He sang it over and over loudly like he had been programed to repeat. When Mark tried to sing along, Eli let him know he did not approve of the assistance. He wanted all the stage to himself. After about the 20th time around, I decided to video him. Sorry the sound quality is so bad. We were driving on the interstate and I had the phone hidden in the head rest hole of the front seat, Eli doesn't perform as well when he knows it's being documented.

The video is a little long. But the funny stuff is at the end. Eli reminds Mark what he has already told him before, "What did I tell you!?", he was not to sing with him. Then at the very end, he warns Mark that he should not be singing because singing is dangerous.

I'm too tired right now to put a witty ending on this blog. I hope you can hear Eli in the video, I think it's great.

Milk happens?

This morning after Eli had his breakfast, he was sitting at the kitchen table playing with his cars when I told him I had to run upstairs and change my shirt so we could go to the store.  He said he was fine with this.  The foolish move I made was to leave him with a "big boy" cup of milk.  I was not upstairs for 1 minute when I heard Eli call to me.  Something about his milk falling down.  Of course I knew what this meant so I hurried down the stairs.  What I found was not exactly what I expected.  

Eli was lying on the ground on his stomach, not crying or upset, just lying there.  His milk was in giant splashy puddles all over the floor.  I asked him what happened.  He said his milk fell down.  I asked if he fell down too.  Yes, with no other explanation.  I have no idea what happened.  But as I was cleaning up the milk, Eli said to me repeatedly, "Sometimes things just happen.  Sometimes it happens."  I told him that was true.  Sometimes cups of milk just fly off the table.  It turns out that he is using the "sometimes it happens" response for everything today.  Why are the cats fighting?  Why don't my pants fit?  Because Mommy, sometimes it happens.  

Here's a picture of the unaffected toddler.

Turd Pie

I've never really believed I was a culinary genius, but lately, I thought I had been making some headway and could at least throw together some decent meals.  I was wrong.  It only takes one meal to knock you down to culinary-challenged status.  

While surveying the contents of my refrigerator, I discovered that my meal options for tonight were somewhat limited.  Rather than feed my husband Ramen or macaroni and cheese, I branched out.  I would try a quiche tonight.  Like usual, I googled my recipe (even though I have dozens of cookbooks) until I found one with ingredients I have, and without too many steps.  In the final steps of preparation, it dawned on me that all the ingredients would not fit in the 9" pie pan it called for.  It was like trying to stuff an elephant in a tennis shoe!  But using my gift of blind perseverance in the face of certain defeat, I pressed on.  I filled the flimsy pie pan full of ingredients until it spilled out the sides.  It occurred to me that I might want to put the quiche on a cookie sheet, lest it spill inside the oven and burn every time I turn it on.  

I am attaching a photo of the work in progress.  This literally looks like one of the single most unappetizing meals ever created.  Notice the continued spill in the oven from the uneven cooking device we have. 

Also, I might mention this.  Eli was playing at the table in the midst of my cooking crisis.  As the quiche started to bake, he kept looking around and wrinkling his nose.  Then he said, "Mommy, it stinks!  It smells like cat poop.  Mommy go change the cat poop!"  This patronizing commentary went on for many minutes.  It was not cat poop that was offending his small nose, but a broccoli mushroom quiche burning in the oven.  

I'm letting myself get to ravenous hunger before I sample my cooking gift for tonight...

Holy Smokes

Eli got some "real" golf clubs for an early birthday present. As you can see, the kid's got some serious talent. The ball actually smokes and disintegrates on impact. In fact, already twice this week he has taken on our neighbors and won at a Longest Drive Contest (I might mention now that one of them has no arms, so it might not be considered a fair fight). We will be touring the country soon, exploiting his talents.

Dress for the Job You Want

When I go grocery shopping, I usually choose the store based on my morning appearance.  If I am showered and wearing something somewhat acceptable, I will go to Meijer or some other normal grocer.  But on a day like today, when I am wearing old sweats and a tattered t-shirt,  with no desire to change and my hair looks frazzled like an explosion, Wal-Mart seems to be the clearest choice.  I blend in there.  No one asks me if I am using food stamps to pay, and no children run away crying after I make eye contact.  

Today is the first day of Linda the-impulse-buy-kitten's diet.  She has become a statistic.  Childhood (or kittenhood) obesity can last a lifetime.  I am hiring a personal trainer for her.

Eli has recently been very interested in the rotisserie chicken at the grocery stores.  He points them out and always asks what they are doing.  My answer is always the same - "going for a ride in the oven".  But today after looking at them for a minute came this worried question, "Mommy!  Where are their heads?"  

I thought about giving him an education on the process by which the chicken is beheaded all the way to when it gets to the grocery store but instead I said this, "They are all hiding their heads because they are scared of the grocery store".  

Eli replied with, "I better call them so they don't have to be scared.  CHICKENS!  CHICKENS!"  After several rounds of this he looked worried and said, "They can't hear me."  

For some reason I thought it was funny that he was calling loudly to the chickens and I decided not really to tell him to be quiet.  Yes, judge me all you want for having the unruly kid at Wal-Mart.  I had a role I felt I needed to fulfill to match my appearance.   

Park Politics

Apparently the park is a place for the cool moms to hang out.  I was not aware of this, as I am not a cool mom.  Today, I made Eli take a long walk with me in exchange for the promise of an extended play time at the park.  He patiently sat in his wobbly stroller while I huffed and puffed around the lake (that is, after I had to drag him screaming from the house because he didn't want to go outside or do anything that had to do with fun).  As we walked up to the park, I saw there were already kids playing there.  It can be awkward if you are a little anti-social, as I am,  to have your child interact with another kid and be forced to talk to the brat's mom.  As more moms arrived at the park, I noticed they all had three things in common:  Starbucks cups, nice clothes, and designer sunglasses.  I took a mental survey of what I was wearing:  wrinkly pants that are 2 sizes too big, old brown t-shirt that is too small these days, no sunglasses, no Starbucks cup.  Great!  I already felt inferior.  I would just have to use my kid to make me feel better.  He must be more athletic than your designer kids.  Wait, my kid is the one that is afraid to go down the slide when your two kids are passing him up and flinging themselves down.  One boy kept trying to get Eli to play with him, but since Eli is an only child, he had no understanding of "Follow the Leader" or "Hide-and-Seek".  Instead, he is more of a laborer.  He quickly busied himself with finding all the suitable sticks in the park for an intricate building project which he would soon embark on.  He also needed to test the durability of said sticks by throwing them down the slides today.  I generally just observe him and keep him from walking off the side of a platform.  

As the other boy took more interest in what Eli was doing, he picked up a few of Eli's sticks and immediately a shrill screech came through the air, "CADE!  Put down those sticks!  You could poke your eye!"  Eli was standing right next to the boy and I was letting him play freely with the  eye-gouging sticks.  It's not like he was running with spears in his hands, he was standing still, or carrying them to a slide.  I felt like she was not only reprimanding Cade, but my parenting skills too.  I chose not to check Eli's behavior.  Let him play with sticks!  He did, however get a slight scolding when he began chucking the sticks (probably to test their aerodynamics).  Poor Cade got yelled at least three more times for stick infractions as he was copying Eli's permissible actions.

As the yelling mom was packing her kids up to go home (likely to escape more negative influence at the park), Eli turned to me suddenly and said "I gotta go potty!"  My rebellious spirit flared.  Should I allow my child to pee on a tree at the park in front of this disapproving woman?  There were no available toilets in the park, what other choice did I have?  Finally, my good sense won out and I scooped my kid up and ran for the car.  As we were fleeing, I saw the strict mom give her 4-year-old a sip from her Starbucks cup.  Who was the bad mom now?  I brow beat her and judged her as I ran.  Eli's impressive bladder made it to grandma and grandpa's house that was one block away.  

To reward him, I took him to Dunkin' Donuts for a doughnut hole (wait!  Crap!  does that make me the bad mom again?)

Here are some pictures of my little stick-thrower from a few minutes ago.  I cut his hair this morning and as usual, got a little short on the crown.  He looks like a miniature Mark Clinton.

  

  

Toddler Talk

I love it when the most simple thoughts and words of Eli make me smile for the entire day.  We always have funny little conversations when he first wakes up and I am changing his clothes.  Sometimes he is still a little sleepy so his thoughts are extra funny.  

Here is this morning's dialog:

Eli:  Mommy, Jesus is making my wiener bigger (this is his opening line every day.  I have no idea where it comes from or when it will end.  I try not to make a big deal out of it so maybe the idea will fade).  

Eli:  I love Jesus.  I love God too.  

Me:  I do too.  

Eli:  We are going to get another kitty, Mommy.  We are going to get the biggest kitty ever and then we are going to give him to Jesus.  We can give Lorenzo too.  

The other day, in a desperate act, fueled by sleep deprivation, we allowed Eli to sleep in our bed in the middle of the night.  He tossed and turned and talked in his sleep for the majority of it.  But the thing that made Mark and me laugh out loud was to hear what he was talking about in his dreams.  We kept hearing "Ladybugs!" and "Butterflies!" He must have been enjoying a pleasant dream sequence like you see in a movie.  That's better than the past when it has been giant monsters that Eli has to save himself and his best friend Sofia from.    

Maybe I should stop letting Eli watch the Alien movies and reading aloud from the Lord of the Rings books right before bed...  

House Skills

If you said that Mark and I are rather inept homeowners, you would be correct.  Often times, things break or go into a state of disarray and we don't know what to do, so we generally ignore it until it goes away on it's own (which really never happens).  I did, however, make a big step by calling the refrigerator repair man last time after the fridge leaked water for 3 months straight.  We haven't done anything for the past year and a half about all of our toilets that run forever after they are flushed, we have just mastered the art of the 3/4 flush (which takes some talent).  

Here's our latest situation.  Eli shot [another] car under the stove the other day so Mark pulled it out to retrieve the lost vehicle.  The stove space in between the counters is a pretty tight one so after the stove came out, it would not go back in.  We have each taken our turns trying to shove it back in but nothing seems to work.  We also don't want to over-jostle it since there is a gas line running behind it that probably shouldn't be broken.   So now, we are living our lives around a stove that is partially pulled out.  We each take a crack at it now and then but that beast won't move.  I think we are both suffering from hernias now too.  

We need Bob Vila to come to our house for an intervention.  Here's two pictures of this stove nonsense.  At least it is not in the middle of the floor; it's only out a few inches.