seldnei: (converse who white)

Birthday sleepover tomorrow — baking cupcakes and dyeing eggs with two 7 year old boys.

Chuck E Cheese birthday party Saturday. Loud, but with bonus I-don’t-have-to-do-anything. And Guitar Hero!

Easter on Sunday. Egg hunt!

Oh, and did I mention that he lost his first tooth today? He totally lost his first tooth today.

That’s Laura with an A, committee people.  I hope this award comes with cash.

(side note: the number of adults coming to this party is hilarious. Video games, man.  Just saying, there’s a siren song going on here.)

seldnei: (converse who white)
My husband is now 42. He is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. But don't tell him that; he'll get a big head.

Waiting for the family to arrive, then Jason and David. Z is currently distracted by Plants vs. Zombies on Scott's phone.

Last night was the monthly Chuck E. Cheese night for the elementary school, where they give a portion of whatever you spend back to the school. Z loves Chuck E. Cheese night. One of his little friends was there, and they ran around playing games, sharing whatever extra tickets they found, paying for each other. His friend wasn't allowed to play shooting games, and I thought this would be an issue for Z., but he just ... didn't play any shooting games.

(We don't own very many shooting games, and he doesn't play the ones we do have for a variety of reasons, so I don't get too uptight when we go to Chuck E. Cheese and he tries out the Terminator game. But I respect other parents' decisions on these things--you raise your kid how you raise your kid.)

Anyway, it was nice. We had another round of "How old is your son?" because, as usual, Z towered over his friend. There is only one boy we know who is Z's age and is taller than he is. The girls seem to be as tall as he is, but I think girls actually do grow faster than boys for a while? I remember being the tallest kid in class until about 7th grade, and being as tall or taller than a lot of boys until 9th grade. We hit high school and every guy I knew had a growth spurt. It's weird going from being called "Too-Tall" to being short.

Scott baked a Dr. Pepper cake for his birthday, and that was an adventure. It's been a while since I've baked a cake, and I don't think I've ever done one totally on my own, so I wasn't much help. One layer stayed half-in the pan. I got the other half out without totally destroying the infrastructure, so we pieced it together and Scott frosted it (I think this was supposed to be more a drizzle than a frosting, but whatever), and it's pretty good! And looks-wise, whenever Scott brings up my coco puff lump o' doom, I now have something to come back at him with.

But now I want to bake a cake myself. And we don't need another cake. And I promised Scott some hot sauce bread tomorrow as a birthday gift, so ... no cake baking for a while.


Nov. 11th, 2011 08:19 pm
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The boy successfully Trike-A-Throned on the school trikes. He got a little license. Since Scott had the day off from school for Veteran's Day, he accompanied us to McDonald's for the sort of weekly after-school gathering. He was an immediate hit with S., Z's little girl friend. Not girlfriend; Z. has informed me he's too young for that sort of thing. (I agree. He'll be too young for that sort of thing until he's about 25.)

So the day did improve. And got slightly warmer. I brought jeans for the McD's thing, too.


Nov. 11th, 2011 09:16 am
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We got a late start this morning, and so I quickly checked my weather app as I was getting clothes for Z. 64 current, going to the 70s for the high. This has meant, in the past, that when we get outside it's reasonably warm. So I grab shorts and a long-sleeved shirt. Get him dressed, go get myself dressed, realize that we need to leave RIGHT NOW, and start telling the troops to assemble (the troops being Scott and Z.).

Usually on mornings like this, I forget something. Nope, I remembered the folder, the glitter turkey, the bike helmet (for the Trike-A-Thon today) ... we are ON IT.

Go outside. It's cold. Oh, no matter, it's going to warm up, and we're running late. Off we go.

Get to school. Still cold. Other kids have brought their bikes, but I didn't know that this was an option. Z is sad that he'll be riding a little kid bike, when he has a big kid bike at home. Still cold on the playground. All the kids are in jeans or sweats. Luckily, Z has a hoodie at school, so I get him into that.

Check the weather channel on Scott's phone: 55 currently. High of 67.

Kill me.

There are just some days when my tag is completely un-ironic.
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All right. So Z. had a hangnail, and I was cutting it off with our manicure scissors. Now, I'm running on about 4 hours of sleep, and I accidentally poke him with the scissors (not hard, but where his toe is tender).

Z: Ow. Jeeesus.

L: What?

Z: Jesus. It's what you say when things hurt.*

L: I don't think you should be saying that, though.

Z: Why? Daddy says it all the time.

(At this point, Scott jumped in with an explanation, because I was so space-ily bemused at the fact that Z had come out with Daddy says it that I never actually formulated an answer.)

*This is what happens when the atheist and the agnostic have a kid. That and, "God lives at the center of the earth."

I posted this on Google+, too, because you can, apparently, do blog-post-length entries over there! (My experiments in this regard have been relatively short thus far.) I won't be leaving LJ anytime soon, though, because, a) I want to stick it to the Russians and their DOS attacks, and b) Google+ doesn't have cool tags and stuff.

That said, let me reiterate that I will never cross-post other people's content to any other platform, because that would be rude.

Also, if you are one of the people to whom I sent G+ invites, and you have not set up an account, AND you're getting email about my posting on G+ ... let me know if it's bugging you, because there is a setting that I think I've got situated, but who knows with computers. They want to kill us, you know.

And now, I am off to melt into a puddle of sleep-deprived goo. As soon as I scribble some notes on the new Corwyn Teachout story. (Let's hope I can read them tomorrow.)
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There are a lot of things about being a mom that I find cool. Some of them are the traditional things--little hands in yours, sloppy kisses, hearing "I love you," crayon scribbles--and some of them are more individualized. Like the kick I get out of Z's hands being big enough finally so we can interweave fingers when we hold hands, or how when we go to the park he likes to play Evil Scientist #2. This morning he told me our favorite show was on, and when I came out of the bedroom I found that Scott was watching Doctor Who.

(The Scooby-Doo obsession is one I find disturbing. Spongebob I can chalk up to being something kids just like, like ceiling fans and dinosaurs, but I never liked Scooby-Doo when I was a kid; this is going to kill me.)

My mother had this thing: when she was reading, you could call her name and she would never respond the first time. You could ask her a question and she wouldn't answer. So you'd ask her again, or repeat her name, and she'd look up and say, "What?"

I was convinced she was just ignoring me all those years. Except today I was reading, and Z said, "Mom!" and I looked up and heard Scott saying, "I'll take care of it, buddy," and I realized I vaguely remembered Z talking, but I didn't remember actually hearing anything he said.

Ah, motherhood. What will Z be convinced I'm doing (or not doing) on purpose, when it's actually not?

On the other side of the reading issue ... I have found that motherhood has increased my discipline ("I only have an hour and a half to do this while he's napping--MOVE MOVE MOVE!") and my patience (mostly); I like watching my kid grow and learn and all that jazz; I am absurdly proud of tissue-paper glued to paper cutout crafts and Line Leader/Teacher Helper badges. But dear god do I miss being able to read for two or three hours at a time without interruption or getting so sleepy my eyes won't focus. Also, having an awake, uninterrupted adult conversation with my husband every single day is something I would not have expected to consider a luxury.

Seriously, it's like he has some sort of kid radar that goes off five minutes after I open a book. I'm pretty sure there's a switch that flips based on the timbre and tone of Scott's and my voices: ADULTS TALKING ABOUT SOMETHING BESIDES THE CHILD. QUICK, DEMAND JUICE!

In fairness, though, he's been an incredibly polite kid the past few days. He shared, didn't have tantrums when faced with a one-year-old grabbing his stuff, and has been asking nicely for things. He's also been doing the "Excuse me, Daddy" and "Sorry to interrupt, parents, but ..." things that I taught him half because he was driving me crazy one day, and half because I thought it would be hilarious.

I have to go look at a beautiful drawing right now, so I will wrap this up ... (no, really, I do! He's got quite the sense of timing.)
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Last night, during Bedtime Reading, we were looking at a photo of a shark. In the face of this, Z. told me he needed one more thing--the strongest thing, and he would go get it. I was feeling pretty expansive, so I watched, amused, as he bopped out of the room.

He went and found Scott and brought him back in the room. "Daddy is the strongest. If he sees a shark he will pick it up and toss it!"

Today we went to the ENT for the adenoids follow-up (shhort version: he's doing great. That was also the long version). On the way there, we had another round of Mommy's Playlists, which went something like this:

"You Oughta Know" playing in background

Z: What is that girl singing about, Mom?

L: She's angry at her ex-boyfriend.


Z: If he's bad, he should go to high school. That's where bad kids go.


Z: He should say "sorry," like I do when I make someone angry.

L: I agree, he should say "sorry."

"Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)" comes on

Z: What's this song about, Mom?

L: Well, this girl is also mad at her ex-boyfriend, but she has a new boyfriend, too.

Z: Oh, so he cleaned up the mess.

(Go look at the lyrics)

Just for the record, my new playlist is called, informally, "Charlie's Angels Join Torchwood, as Directed by Quentin Tarantino," and it is awesome.

At the doctor's, in the waiting room, Z. was playing with another kid who was maybe four or five. This child's mother looked decidedly older than I do, so I think the little boy was having a hard tome figuring out who I was in relation to Z.

Kid: Is your mom here?

Z: Yeah, she's right over there. (Points. I wave at him, and at the other kid.)

Kid: But she's [something I can't make out].

Z: No she's not. She's the coolest.

We made a movie today called "Runaway Aliens" that was about aliens who help a space dinosaur. It's more of a radio show than a movie, but anything entertaining that is not a book or a video game is a movie right now, so hey. Scott just needs to edit it.

My father got the boy a set of swords and a shield. "My very own knight kit! Mom, look! My very own knight kit!" Now he needs a helmet.

My plan for tomorrow is to go to the park, and then decorate for Halloween in the afternoon. Because I almost forgot I had halloween decorations, it's been so long since I put them up!
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Today I showed Z. a photo of Harry Potter--because he's aware of Harry Potter, but he doesn't know a lot about him--and he said he hadn't seen those movies yet.

"Grammie has the movies," I said. "But I have the books."

"Can you read me those books, Mom?"

So I just read chapter one of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone to the Zweeble. Here's what he got out of it (paraphrased):

1. There are two cats. One was orange, one was purple.

2. There were owls flying in the daytime? Why were they flying in the daytime? Whaddaya mean "keep listening to find out"?

3. No, no, no, the cat didn't turn into a person, the person showed up and the cat stayed on the wall.

4. Why did the cat sit on the wall? (argument ensues after this question is asked and answered 10-15 times whilst Mom is reading three freaking lines of text.)

5. The cat turned into a person and was waiting for Dumbledore.

6. Wait, that's it? Where is "Harry Potter's Stone of Doom"*? That's the whole reason I wanted to hear this book, read that book! "Chapters"? Who came up with a stupid idea like that?

7. Hang on, a snake in chapter 2? I don't like snakes. Will it eat me?

8. A motorcycle that can fly is silly. Even if Pop drove it, it would be silly.

I do not know how far we will get into this book. I don't know if it's remotely age-appropriate (though we will be stopping with this one if we do make it to the end). But he asked for it, so we're going to give it a try.

*exact quote

a mom-rant

Nov. 23rd, 2009 12:10 pm
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The Zweeble has fallen in love with my DS. But he's 2 and not very gentle, and today we got into it over the fact that he can't just mess with it, I have to help him with it. It wasn't pretty. Time out was involved.

Anyway, we're recovering from time out, and I start wondering about a little hand-held he could have for himself. I'm not planning anything, as he's already got a boatload of toys and stuff coming for Christmas, and getting him his own kiddie laptop wasn't a giant success in keeping him away from mine, but I was turning the idea over. Thus, I went looking.

And, seriously, what is it with everything like that for toddlers/preschoolers being "educational"? I have serious doubts as to how much that sort of thing actually teaches a kid, to begin with, and then ... what, the kid can't just have fun and run a car around a track or play with a pretend dog? Apparently not--until they're seven or eight, anyway.

It's kind of like how almost every kids' show for that age group is about solving problems. Handy Manny, Imagination Movers, Little Einsteins, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse--if it's on Disney, it's a problem solving show. (PBS has that, too, to a certain extent, but I have to say that Curious George hides it a lot better.) What about just a story, rather than this connect-the-dots plot thing?

Because you learn from stories, you know. You can even learn while having fun. But you learn better when you get to just have some fun, when your entire life isn't based around work or structure or stressing out over solving a freaking problem.

(I may be the only parent on the planet trying to find a video game player with no redeeming educational value whatsoever.)
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So during the half hour or so before bedtime, the Zweeble, Scott and I watch TV. We usually watch something more aimed at grown-ups, but relatively kid-proof (no Law and Order SVU, for example). Usually it's the Daily Show. Now, this means we're watching Comedy Central, which has lent itself to hilarity in the past.


There is a business called Adam and Eve, which sells adult-oriented paraphanalia. It runs ads on Comedy Central. They're actually pretty tame, just the name and various articles of clothing tossed through the air. Some giggles, restrained whoops, and a sexy-voice voiceover. No actual people anywhere in the ad.

Tonight we were watching Scrubs. The Adam and Eve ad appears.

Zweeble: Mommy, why dey takin dere clothes off?

(Daddy giggles. Mommy considers answers.)

Mommy: Well, it's the end of the day, they want to be comfortable.

At this point, the Zweeble starts naming clothes as they cross the screen.

Zweeble: Belt, shoooes, shiiiirt, bra!

(Mommy and Daddy are cracked up.)

Later, on Scrubs, one character says, cheerfully, to another, "Burn in hell!"

Zweeble looks at Mommy, smiling. "Burn in hell, Mommy!"

Scott cracks up. Zweeble looks at Daddy, bounces on the couch, and chirps, "Burn in hell, Daddy, burn in hell!"
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So we're out of milk, and things were getting pretty dire. My itty-bitty milk junkie needed a fix, but he didn't want to go to the store. And you can't argue logic with a 2-year-old, especially when you yourself don't want to go to the store, either.

I finally wrestled him into clothes, and he was complaining about not wanting to go to the store ... and I knew that, in this mood, taking him in and putting him in a cart was not going to be a fun time, and I am tired and do not want to deal ...

... so I asked him, "You want lunch from Burger King?"

Because BK has milk. And, it turns out, bigger milk bottles than McDonalds. And we could hit the drive-through, so if he was pitching a fit we'd be in the car, so no wrestling.

Now, I was thinking that this was, you know, not perfect parenting. Perfect parents serve all-organic fopod to their children every day no matter what and either always have milk or deal gracefully with the child who doesn't want to go to the store.

I, however, am not a perfect parent, and I have come to terms with that. Mostly.

Burger King got him in the car. Then we headed out. He wanted to hear a certain song on the iPod, so I had to hunt it down because of course it's on the album that came up weird in iTunes, so it's not in the Children's genre playlist, and it's not anywhere logical on the Albums playlist. But I found it, and off we go. I resigned myself to hearing "Special Agent Oso" over and over on the way.

After "Special Agent Oso," iTunes decided to play "We Will Rock You."


"Yeah?" I asked, reaching down to hit the "back" button.

"Can you turn it up?"

I turned it up, he listened, concentrating, then began clapping his hands and kicking his feet. (Not really in time, exactly, but getting there.)

The song ended. "Mommy, I want more stomp!"

Whilst in the drive-through, "We Will Rock You" ended and "Kings of the Wild Frontier" by Adam and the Ants came on. The Zweeble knew I was busy, I guess, because he didn't ask for "more stomp" immediately this time. Instead, when "Kings" ended, he asked me to play it again.

On the way home, though, he asked me to play "the stompy one" and then made stompy noises as I flipped back to it.

So apparently his current favorite songs are "Move It" by, "We Will Rock You" by Queen, and "Gitchee Gitchee Goo" by Phineas and the Ferb-Tones.
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The Zweeble dumps some of my ear plugs into my water glass. I'm only mildly annoyed by this, so I put the glass on the vinyl entryway floor so he could mix the stuff. I am a touch concerned about him putting them in his mouth, though, so I'm keeping a wary eye on him from the dining room. Where I have come after being in the bedroom; the Zweeble's in front of the bedroom door.

He squishes an earplug, and starts to put it in his mouth.

Me: NO!

Zweeble jumps guiltily, looks around, peers into the bedroom as if to say, "Where is she?"

And now I'm giggling so hard I can't effectively correct him.
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The other day I was, again, playing my iPod playlist. No, I haven't edited it yet, why do you ask?

So "The Scotsman," from the Dr. Demento greatest hits album, came on. And when it was done, from the back seat I heard, "Ring ding did-ell. Again!"

Three times we played that one.

Eventually the calls from school are going to be highly entertaining.

I am, in this vein, working up a "We're better parents than this, anyway" playlist. Thus far I have:

The Rake's Song - the Decemberists
one or the other of the Queen's songs from The Hazards of Love
The Mariner's Revenge Song - the Decemberists
Stay With Me - Into the Woods
Mother - Pink Floyd
Whatever that "Is that my mother on the phone?" song is by the Police
Something from Sweeney Todd, probably Todd's version of "Joanna." Or maybe both versions, actually, when you think about it.

I'm sure there are more. In fact, as I write this I can think of two more. But that's the start.
seldnei: (Default)
1. So I had the iPod on my playlist because, amazingly, the Zweeble wasn't complaining about my music (he gets that from his Dad). We were headed out to Babies R Us to get a cover thingie for his car seat, since we plan to check it on our trip to Ohio in August. This is a long trip that goes out past 75 *and* toward the airport, so traffic gets a little hairy as everyone scrambles for the correct lane. Thus, I was not paying much attention to the iPod.

Things get a little less hairy, and the Zweeb chuckles and says, delightedly, "Cookie Monster."

Now I have to find my turn, so I'm still not paying attention to the iPod; thus, I say distractedly (like you do), "Oh yeah, Cookie Monster." I make the turn and realize ... I don't have the Cookie Monster on my playlist.

What's playing? "The Internet is for Porn."

Everytime Trekkie Monster started singing, the Zweeb would say, fondly, "Cookie Monster."

2. Z. has this toy cell phone, and he was making calls yesterday. He called Daddy and had a whole conversation, which was really cute, so when he hung up I asked him, "Can you call the doctor for me and ask for some medicine?"

I hear the phone open and the buttons beep, and then he says, "Hi doctor, it's me, Zweeble**, I need a pwescwiption for my mom."

3. We were playing outside and raced to the hibiscus bush. Which had fallen over, due to our recent week of rain. So I said, "I'll have to have Daddy help me tie the tree up."

When Scott got home, Z. told him that I needed him to help tie the tree up. And kept nagging him to do it.

**He said his actual name, though.


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Laura E. Price

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