Archive of ‘Children’ category

This is f*&@#%! Awesome.……

It is bed­time at the Thomas house. After read­ing a sto­ry, say­ing prayers and every oth­er sweet Nor­man Rock­well pho­to detail, the boys are slum­ber­ing sound­ly ted­dy bear in the crook of their arm and dream­ing about wak­ing up tomor­row to a fresh stack of pancakes.I don’t know this group of Thomases, but being that the name is quite com­mon, I am sure it is hap­pen­ing some­where.

The peo­ple under the stairs have noth­ing on this guy.

We read sto­ries and say prayers here too, but it isn’t all rain­bows and flow­ers. Actu­al­ly, it is none of those things because I have a house full of boys, so think more lizards and trucks, but it isn’t that either. The rou­tine here is cer­tain­ly con­sis­tent, but it always ends with at least one per­son being threat­ened, some­one scream­ing and Scott and I play­ing rock, paper, scis­sors to deter­mine who has to go up and wipe snot off of the weeper’s face. Some­times, they even attempt to escape their hor­ri­ble liv­ing con­di­tions, but sad­ly, they can’t quite make it out.

I have been fight­ing a cold for a few days that has degen­er­at­ed into a sweet case of laryn­gi­tis. My voice is not com­plete­ly gone, much to my husband’s cha­grin, but has tak­en on a more raspy, high-pitched tone, think Kath­leen Turn­er with a side of Cyn­di Lau­per. Although I don’t real­ly feel like talk­ing, my boys don’t give one $h!+ about that and expect me to con­tin­ue on with my dai­ly respon­si­bil­i­ties, on top of work­ing a full-time job, that include, but are not lim­it­ed to, answer­ing 16,000 ques­tions, mak­ing meals, answer­ing a few more ques­tions, doing laun­dry, telling sto­ries and, of course, singing lul­la­bies. I think it is sweet that my boys still let me sing to them while I rub their backs and I cher­ish every sec­ond because I know some­day soon they will only want me to speak to them if it is to tell them how much mon­ey I will be hand­ing over. Since Hand­some #1 was an itty bit­ty baby, I have sung the same songs to him using his name sweet­ly, I then changed the tunes to have Hand­some #2’s name includ­ed, and they are on their third incar­na­tion with Hand­some #3.

Tonight, as 7:30 approached, it was time to get the boys mov­ing. They swift­ly used the bath­room, put on their jam­mies and got into their bunk beds with very lit­tle dif­fi­cul­ty. This is when I should have become sus­pi­cious. After we sang our evening prayer, the Casey Kasem request and ded­i­ca­tion lines opened.

Hand­some #1: Mom­ma, will you sing me a song?
Me: Hon­ey, my voice is real­ly gone. How about tomor­row?
Hand­some #1: Mom­ma! You promised a song.

I nev­er made any promise, but I knew that the tears were com­ing, so I might as well com­ply.

Me: Mom­my loves her Finnegan. Oh she won­ders what she did with­out him.
Hand­some #1: Stop! That is not what we want.
Hand­some #2: No, we want $20 in my pock­et.
Hand­some #1: Yep. That’s the one. Go!

Seri­ous­ly?!?!?! They want me to get my Mack­el­more on? The sim­plest of phras­es com­ing from my mouth sound like the sac­ri­ficing of a small ani­mal and they want an upbeat rap?  Under nor­mal cir­cum­stances, it is a rea­son­able request. I have mad skills at the mic, but I didn’t have time for a cup of tea with lemon to coat my throat or even a Luden’s and they want rap?

Me: Guys, come on. Let’s sing our prayers again and go to sleep.
Hand­some #2: WE WANT $20 IN MY POCKET!

His eyes were red and I swear I saw lit­tle fangs start­ing to grow. I was look­ing at a minia­ture Teen Wolf and thought for sure the next request would be for a keg of beer.

Would you mess with that?

Me: OK.….I’m gonna pop some tags
Hand­some #1: You for­got the bada bada part
Me: Bada, bada, bada
I’m gonna pop some tags Only got twen­ty dol­lars in my pock­et
I, I, I’m hunt­ing
Look­ing for a come up
This is awe­some

Hand­some #1: Um, that’s not right. It’s being awe­some.…..
Hand­some #2: No! It’s ing awe­some.
Me: Guys, it’s just awe­some.
Hand­some #1: Nope it is being awe­some.
Hand­some #2: Hand­some #1!!!! It is not! It is ing awe­some. You mean head.
Hand­some #1: Hand­some #2 called me a mean head, so I am going to punch him.
Me: No body is punch­ing any­one. (First punch is thrown, fol­lowed by a sharp kick to the kid­ney)
Hand­some #1: Bren­nan kicked me!
Me: You punched him, what do you expect? I have had enough. It is time for bed.
Hand­some #1: Nooooo! You aren’t fin­ished.
Hand­some #2: Mom­ma. You haven’t done my favorite part yet about the moc­casins.
Me: Oh, my God! Lay down and be qui­et. I will fin­ish it, but so help me God if any­one touch­es any­one we will nev­er lis­ten to this song again. Do you under­stand me?

Walk in the club like what up? I got a big sock
Nah, I’m just pumped up, bought some stuff from the thrift shop
Ice on the fringe is so dang frosty
Peo­ple like dang, that’s a cold ash don­key
Hand­some #1: Mom­ma it’s cold ash hon­key
Me: No, it’s don­key.
Hand­some #1: Def­i­nite­ly, defin­te­ly hon­key. What is a hon­key?
Hand­some #2: Hand­some #1. It is a cold ash.
Me: OK. It is time to go to sleep.
Hand­some #2: Oh yeah?!?! You are a cold hon­key.
Me: It is time for bed.….good night.….I love you.….
When I am alone in my mini­van enjoy­ing my day, there is noth­ing I love more than a filthy rap track load­ed with f bombs, dot­ted with sex­ism and lay­ered with gang vio­lence. But, when I am say­ing good­night to my inno­cent tod­dlers, I have to bring things down to a G rat­ing. It ruins the integri­ty of the tunes, and frankly, I would much rather keep rap­ping 8 mile style, but if they repeat­ed the lyrics in the mid­dle of music class, Sr. Mary Catholic Teacher would like­ly send home a note, so instead, I cen­sor.
Right before tonight’s bed­time adven­ture, I decid­ed that I had bet­ter run to Walgreen’s to the Health­care Clin­ic to see what is going on with my voice. I left with a diag­no­sis of a virus and no pre­scrip­tion, but was told to drink plen­ty of flu­ids, includ­ing tea. I decid­ed to head over to Tar­get for a few things, but fig­ured I had bet­ter let Scott know. Instead of tex­ting and dri­ving, I thought I would use Siri to help.

Because I’m Bad, I’m Bad.….….…really, really bad.…..

I should have seen it com­ing. I should have been pre­pared. All of the signs were there. How could I have been so stu­pid? There were both phys­i­cal and behav­ioral changes, and yet I did noth­ing to pro­tect myself or to be proac­tive.
He began to grow a majes­tic, yet angry mane
He danced on tables with­out fear
As his broth­er looked on in hor­ror
This hap­pens to novice par­ents, not experts like me. But this morn­ing, as I gazed into those beau­ti­ful blue eyes, it was as if I could see the flames flick­er­ing. I real­ly only have myself to blame.  I have got­ten cocky. One good week at Mass, and all of a sud­den my son is ready for can­on­iza­tion? Not quite, after this morning’s per­for­mance, I think that he may be closer to excom­mu­ni­ca­tion.
It start­ed out inno­cent enough, real­ly it did. We arrived at 10:30 Mass, my strap­ping lads and I, and made our way to the cry room. Bren­nan was get­ting a bit rest­less by the end of the first prayer, but with Thomas the train in one pock­et and a bag of Kix in the oth­er, I was gold­en. He began with the cho­rus of “Up, mom­ma, down, mom­ma, up mom­ma, down, mom­ma.” So, I plugged his mouth with a sip­py cup of apple juice and went on about my busi­ness. Unbe­known­st to me, Hand­some #2 was wind­ing up on the pitcher’s mound ready to beam an unsus­pect­ing parish­ioner in the head. I watched in hor­ror as the cup went fly­ing through the air, miss­ing a gen­tle­man, by mere cen­time­ters.  Humil­i­at­ed, I sheep­ish­ly made my way to the front of the room, apol­o­gized and sat back down.
(Please note, this was tak­en after Mass, and is mere­ly a rein­acte­ment, well sort of, he was real­ly try­ing to get out)
As I made my way back to the pew, he stood on the bench, looked at me and cack­led. He ran back and forth, taunt­ing me with his eyes, “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, you can’t get me.” It was like try­ing to catch a fish with my bare hands, I final­ly grabbed hold of him and he slipped right through my arms and made his way to the cry room door. “Help, help. Peasseeee help!” He screamed as if he was locked in a cage filled with live ani­mals. I grabbed him again and attempt­ed to sit him on my lap. But instead he made him­self as stiff as a board and howled in agony.
At this point, poor Hand­some #1 tried every­thing to get him to calm down. I think he was afraid that the child was either going to burst into flames right there, or that I was going to make good on my threat to leave some­one behind. After hand­ing over trains, cere­al, cups and his own prized pos­ses­sions Hand­some #1took a leap of faith and lead his broth­er by the hand to the stained glass. At this point, my heart melt­ed. He stood and patient­ly told his baby broth­er about the col­ors as Hand­some #2 point­ed and repeat­ed. It was beau­ti­ful to see the love that my boys had for one anoth­er and I beamed. That was until Hand­some #2 caught my stare and imme­di­ate­ly began to scream. “House, Mom­ma! House now! Now! Now!”
Imag­ine this with­out Mau­r­mi and wax fig­ures and insert stained glass and peo­ple try­ing to pray in silence

I soon real­ized that the rest of the cry room’s inhab­i­tants had moved far to the left of the room, I think that they were afraid that the pea soup he was cer­tain to spew was going to stain their Sun­day best. For the next 15 min­utes we fought, posi­tion after posi­tion for him to find com­fort. We nev­er found that mag­ic spot, but it was time for Holy Com­mu­nion and a nice walk. You would have thought that he was walk­ing on to a stage, his demeanor changed imme­di­ate­ly as we walked out of the door. As we made our way down the aisle, he sweet­ly waved bye-bye and said Amen! Mak­ing all of the old ladies smile.

As Mass came to an end, we walked out to the park­ing lot and I was stopped not once, not twice, but THREE times to tell me how dar­ling and well behaved my chil­dren were. I smiled sweet­ly, said thank you, and inhaled deeply to be sure that I was not know­ing­ly let­ting any­one who had clear­ly hit the Bloody Mary bar before church dri­ve home and kill any­one.
I buck­led Bren­nan in first and made my way to the oth­er side of the car to get Finnegan set­tled. He is a big boy and buck­les him­self, so it is a fast effort. As I turned on the car, buck­led my seat­belt and checked the review mir­ror, this is what I saw……….Perfect…….