Even Darth Vader Listened to his Mama

This is one of my favorite commercials. Not only is it adorable, it's hilarious. Zane is often seen dressed in only his Lego underpants, wearing his own Darth helmet. He likes to press the button that makes the *whoosh* sound of Darth breathing. He also likes to press the button to hear Darth say:

"You don't know the power of the Dark Side."

I think that the breathing sound is a little creepy(it reminds of of ICU), but there are worse things in the world than listening to James Earl Jones' voice.

Zane REALLY likes that quote about the Dark Side. Right now he walks around muttering it under his breath like a mantra. His teacher has not said a word about it, but I wonder if he mutters about Darth at school. Kids will latch onto quotes or song lyrics because they like how the words flow; I assume that is what Zane is doing here. Still, it's been difficult not to laugh when Zane gets in trouble. He wanders off, muttering, "You don't know the power of the Dark Side," in his best Darth imitation.

But if you laugh at the things that your child says when you are trying to discipline them, it kind of kills the point you are trying to make. It's sort of like a game of Chicken. If you laugh or show any emotion when you are supposed to be stern, they 'win'. It's the equivalent of blinking first.

I am determined not to laugh. Even Darth Vader listened to his mother, and I am certain that she did not laugh at his hijinks, either.

He Did NOT Get This From Me

Where ever we go, my son makes friends. If we are in line at the bank, he's talking to the security guard. If we are at the movies, he's talking to the people behind us. If we go to the police station, he's back behind the desk with the detectives

Just kidding about that last one.

My son has the gift of flirt. We worried that he wouldn't talk, then we worried that he'd lost some of his language when he turned 15 months. I guess we worried for nothing. But where did he get these particular social skills? Certainly it wasn't in his IEP!

We have a favorite Mexican Food restaurant nearby. We go there as often as we can, because Zane likes one of the waitresses there. She has loved him since he was an itty bitty 5lb baby. Every time we go to the Patio Cafe, she fusses over him and brings him his favorite foods. If no one else is in the restaurant, she will take him to the fish tanks and show him the fish. She talks to him and gives him kisses, and as we leave the place, she gets him a lollipop.

I have no idea where my son learned to flirt like this. My husband and I are supra-introverts. We tend to keep our heads down pointed toward our books or computers. We have in no way been good role models for flirting behavior. Not that I haven't used flirting on occasion; I lucked out of many a traffic ticket using my flirting ways. But I sort of stopped that when I got married.

This past weekend we went to the Patio cafe for lunch. There was a new waitress there. Zane had to tell her all about his soccer game. She bent down to him and listened, and in the middle of his story, Zane stopped. He leaned over to her and touched her face lightly.

"You have pretty eyes," Zane said, smiling. And there she was, right in the palm of his little hand. It was that easy. I haven't seem moves like that since the days of Disco.

There are tons of books out there on flirting, and I have read every single one. My son hasn't read any of them. Yet he seems to know exactly what to say and do instinctively. I guess I am suspicious of such things.

My son does not fake in any way. He is not trying to be manipulative. Zane is too young to completely understand such shenanigans. He genuinely is happy to meet people, and he loves to make friends. It's perfectly innocent on his part.

I love him for that. I love that he is not afraid to put himself out there to make friends. I am a little concerned about the day when Zane's friendliness gets rejected. I would want to go ballistic on the person who rejects my son, but it's not up to me. What will my son do?

Going on a Bear Hunt

Zane sings a lot of songs. Mostly what he hears at school. We have tried and tried to get him to sing Elvis, just because we think it would be such adorable blackmail video for the teen years. But my son is apparently smarter than his parents, so he sticks to the classic children's songs. Big hits such as "Twinkle Twinkle", "Itsy-Bitsy Spider", and "Put Your Bottle on the Roll".

You heard me correctly. That is how my son's brain interpreted what the teacher was singing. There's also a song called "Dizzy Week". It can be a challenge for Larry and I to figure out what the boy is actually singing. Young children tend to have "mushy-mouth" when they are learning new words, at least until they get the feel of the letter sounds.

I have to try to remember the tune, which for the song referring to putting your bottle on a roll turned out to be "Frere Jacques". If I have that down, I can generally figure out what Zane is singing by the rhythm of his words. In this case, my son was singing a song about putting his bottom on the rug. He was supposed to put his bottom on the rug, then give himself a hug.

Once I understood that, I found the song to be very clever as a way of transitioning to a new activity. The kids sat down on the rug AND by giving themselves a hug, they end up keeping their hands to themselves. I'm convinced that such a song might make staff meetings a little more palatable, but my boss is being stubborn.

And "Dizzy Week"? That's actually a little number called "Days of the Week", but I like Zane's title better. Most of my weeks seem to leave me dizzy.

Occasionally when Zane sings his little songs, he'll insert different words in there. He is playing around with language, which is just fine with me. He'll sit back there in his car seat and giggle to himself.

"Going on a bear hunt, gonna bring some..." Zane was back there one afternoon, singing a new song, a song I actually sort of remembered! I had a sudden grand vision of my son and I laughing and singing silly songs together, doing that bonding that I'm always hearing about. I decided that I would participate in Zane's Bear Hunt.

"Pizza." I helpfully inserted.

(silence) Crap. I try to recover the moment with some humor.

"Hey Zane, did you know that bears REALLY like pizza?"

"I know." If I had turned around at that moment, I would bet money that Zane's eyes would have been rolling.

So much for that mother-son bonding thing.

Maybe I Went A Little Overboard

Helmets are important safety gear for a number of occupations and sports, most notably for bike riding. Because some inattentive motorists may be texting/eating/putting on makeup/watching a movie/having a seizure while driving, wearing a helmet makes sense. It won't make a cyclist invincible, but it does make a difference most of the time.

I want my son to wear a helmet if he rides his bike. He is just learning, he is not very steady, and we live at the bottom of a hill. That's a recipe for disaster right there. My husband was not as interested in helmet wearing, offering up the "he'll look funny" and the "none of the other kids will be wearing them" arguments. I refused to budge on this issue. I've seen the results of head injuries, and I don't want that to happen to Zane, not if it can be prevented or at least mitigated. So the boy has a very cool Spiderman bike helmet, perfect for bike riding.

To encourage Zane to wear his helmet, I started to point out to him cyclists and motorcyclists who weren't wearing helmets.

"Look Zane!" I said. "That boy/man/woman/girl isn't wearing a helmet! Think of how sad his Mama will be if he falls down and gets hurt! He/She made a bad choice!"

Soon Zane began happily pointing out to me those who were not wearing helmets. He would say that they were "bad". I would remind him that the person wasn't bad, only that they had made a bad choice. Zane seemed to only hear the word "bad", and I could not dissuade him. Being lazy, I just decided not to say anything more about the "bad". Maybe Zane would get bored with the whole thing and just move on.

Except my son decided to generalize.

"He's not wearing a helmet! He's bad!"

"Uh, Zane...that guy is walking."

Just 'Cuz

"Zane, stop throwing your toys at the television."

"Why?"

"Because you'll break it."

"Why?"

"Because it's a television and it's not made by Fisher Price."

"Why?"

"Because they don't make televisions."

"Why?"

"Because they are busy making other toys."

"Why?"

"AAARGH!!!! Stop saying that!"

"Why?"

(face palm)

"Why you do that, Mama?"

"Because you're driving me crazy, son."

"Why?"

(Rips out hair)

Please, please, PLEASE, somebody tell me that this is a very short phase of development. I am afraid that I am going to start hitting myself in the head out of frustration...and never stop!

By Any Other Name

My husband and I, along with our son, went on a mini-vacation this past week. We drove to Grapevine, Texas, where I was supposed to attend a special luncheon. This was Zane's very first extended car trip. The drive up was relatively uneventful. We had borrowed a friend's portable dvd player, and Zane was occupied with that most of the way. Except for the fact that he only wanted to watch ONE movie over and over and over and over(to be fair, the movie does have Nathan Fillion in it).

We had a lovely time. We stayed at the Comfort Suites, which I highly recommend. While I went to the sixtieth anniversary luncheon for my bestie's parents, Zane and Larry rode the train at Grapevine and had a great time. We all went to a free concert in Arlington to see the Kildares, who play a rock-ish type of music with a fiddle and bagpipes. There were other things we wanted to do, but since we were vacationing, none of us were upset that we didn't get to them. We packed up all our stuff in preparation for the next day.

Today we traveled home. We only watched the movie once, and then the dvd was turned off so it "could take a nap". So there was a bit of quiet.

And so it was that the horror began.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Zane?"

"What's your name?"

"It's Daddy."


Pause.


"Mama?"

"Yep?"

"What's your name?"

"My name is Mama."


Pause.


"Daddy, what's your name?"

"It's still Daddy."


Pause.


"Mama, what's your name?"

"Mama."


Pause.


"Daddy?"

"Yes Son?"

"What's your name?"

"What was my name the last time you asked?"

"Daddy."

"Daddy is still my name."


Pause.


"Mama?"

"What do you need, son?"

"What is your name?"

"I don't know. What is my name?"

"You're Mama."

"Oh Thank you son! I was worried."


Pause.


"Daddy, what's your name?"

"Same as it was the last six times you asked, Zane. It's Daddy."


Pause.


"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"What's your name, Mama?"

"Fred."

"That not your name, Mama!"

"It's not?"

"No! You Mama!"

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But if you knew my name is Mama, why did you ask me to tell you my name?" Even as I asked the question, I could see Larry gesturing me to shut my mouth. Of course my question led to another two or three rounds.

These lovely interchanges occurred, on average, every three minutes, for FIVE hours.
I suppose that this is a variation of the time honored "Are we there yet?" that all children begin asking within a four mile radius of a car. We tried distraction, we tried bribery, we eventually attempted threats. Nothing worked. We were stuck. We did try to respond politely to his questions, and model appropriate behavior. By the time we got home, however, both Larry and I were ready to find a large rock and beat our heads against it.

Just Plain Good Advice

My husband spent most of the day with Zane today, while I attended a sixtieth wedding anniversary luncheon. Just before the food arrived, I received a text.

"Zane says that if you have to pee, try not to pee on yourself."

That text resulted in a "LOL" moment. I actually guffawed.

The Boy Who Fights Monsters

Yesterday, my son and I were playing on the Big Bed(my bed). He was jumping on the bed, and I was trying to get him to stop. It is extremely difficult to get a child who is in the throes of bed-jumping ecstasy to cease and desist, so finally I gave up and put my head under a pillow.

"Mama, you scared?" Zane had stopped jumping at least.

"Oh yes, I am very scared!" I played it up and used my very best 'damsel in distress' voice.

"Okay, Mama," my son told me. "You hide. I kill monsters for you."

I then felt, and heard, my boy moving around on the bed, pretend fighting monsters, complete with strange sound effects.

"Pshew!"

"Pfft!"

I had to take a peek.

"I not done, Mama!" Zane chastised.

"Sorry!" I put my head back under the pillow.

More pretend fighting. More sound effects; from my vantage point, it sounds as though pretend monsters pass a lot of gas while they fight.

"Okay, Mama," I finally heard. "I killed all the monsters for you!"

"My hero!" I yelled, jumping up and grabbing him for a hug.

We spent the next five minutes just giggling and just being silly.

That Nietzsche guy can piss off.

What is Good for the Kid is Good For the Daddy

I have been trying for years to get my husband to eat more fruits and veggies. He is a picky eater, and is always hesitant to try new things, so this has not been an easy task for me.

My son is also a very picky eater. If you put a veggie in front of him he will snub it. It's "chicken nuggets and french fries(he NEVER eats the french fries, even though he orders them)", or "Waffles", or "Biscuits" or "Popcorn".

My son eats a lot of white food, have you noticed?

I've noticed.

Sometimes Zane adds other items to his short menu.

"Zane, what would you like to eat at the restaurant?" My mother asked him. We were on our way to a new joint to try out their fried chicken.

"Chicken nuggets, french fries, ketchup, and Wonder Woman," Zane told her.

Everyone in the car paused, and the ones who weren't driving requested clarification from Zane. Zane was actually wanting watermelon, which sounds a bit like Wonder Woman. You can see how we might be confused occasionally. It's like you're learning a foreign language, and you've got the basics. But the idioms and colloquialisms kill you.

This place, it turns out, does not sell chicken nuggets. No french fries. They did have rolls and ketchup, but Wonder Woman was not on the menu. They did have ham hocks, fried chicken, and catfish. They had actual vegetables--collard greens, cabbage, squash, green beans, sweet potatoes, corn, and rice.

Great, I think. What the heck am I going to get for this kid to eat? I improvised and ordered him some chicken legs and some rice. Unfortunately the lady serving us wouldn't let me leave it at that, and added squash and collard greens. Zane was not happy.

We sat down, and encouraged Zane to eat. We cut up part of the chicken so he would think it was a chicken nugget. He ate two rolls; he didn't buy it. Zane's father had to say that the chicken was good and eat a couple of pieces before Zane would try it. He liked it, so the "chicken leg" may finally be included on Zane's short list.

Larry then tried to get Zane to eat some squash. Larry even took a couple of bites himself. Zane is having none of that.

"Come on Zane, just try some of this," Larry said. "Just one bite."

"No, Daddy," Zane replied. "YOU eat it, Daddy. It's good for you!

All of us at the table, laughed very out loud. And my dearest husband has learned that if he wants his son to follow in his footsteps, maybe there should be more vegetables on his plate.

Five More Minutes

Zane is one of those kids who fights and fights not to have to take a nap. Of course, those kids fall asleep instantly if they are still for two minutes.

Zane has been asleep for two hours.

I try to wake him up.

He doesn't want to wake up.

"Zane, wake up!" I try again, rolling him over on his back this time.

"Five more minutes, Mama!" Zane tells me, without opening his eyes,

I laugh...and I give him five minutes. Children need their sleep.

Cut to the next morning:

Zane is on the bed, leaning over me. "Wake up, Mama!"

I roll over and blearily open one eye.

"Five more minutes, Zane," I mutter, on my way to falling back asleep.

Little hands start pushing on my shoulder.

"No, Mama!" Zane yells. "Time to get up!"

-------

There will come a day, when Zane is a teenager.

A day when my son wants to sleep five minutes longer.

I am so waiting for that moment.

Fun, Games, and Memories

Zane will often come to Larry or I and ask us to play with him. We usually oblige, and thus we both have put puzzles together, played with trains, and played with Lincoln Logs. We each have our way of play that we share with Zane. I think that it is important for there to be special memories of each parent, and play is the way that kids acquire those special memories.

My personal favorite game to play with Zane is "I'm Gonna Get You". In this game I put my hands up like claws and say "I'm gonna get you!". (Yes, this is a variation of the Tickle Monster game I mentioned in an earlier post)

If I catch Zane I get to tickle him.

Zane shrieks, and runs off, laughing.

I "hide".

Zane gets curious, and comes to look for me.

"RARRRRGGHH!" I jump out from behind whatever I am hiding behind.

Zane shrieks, and runs off, laughing.

Rinse and repeat.

Every now and then, Zane will try to turn the tables on me. He will run at me with his hands up, doing his imitation of a growl. I then make a big deal out of acting scared and running away. Zane's laughter fills the house. Which is the whole point.

When Zane plays with Daddy, he will try to explain to Larry what he needs to do to play the game.

"Daddy, you go hide in the doorway so I can see you," I overheard Zane telling his father the other day. After attempting to play the game "like Mama", and after failing to meet Zane's expectations, Larry wisely offered to play on the Xbox with Zane. They played some Lego Batman and Robin game for a good 20 minutes. It was nice to hear Larry talk to Zane about how to move his character, and it was nice to hear Zane asking questions about what to do.

It was a great Father-Son moment. Even for me.

Universal Translator

This morning I spotted a lizard on our back door. It thought that it was hiding, of course, but neglected to realize that if you have your head next to glass, someone WILL see you. I love to give Zane the opportunity to see critters that come into our backyard, so I called him over and held him up to see the 'zizard' (Zane still doesn't have the 'l' sound down yet). We watched as the lizard scurried to the side of the door and did his little threat display, blowing up his throat like a little red balloon. We could see him in the windows of the door.

Just when the lizard thought he was safe, he fell, and our kitten Zena jumped right after him. So Zane and I had to go out and rescue the 'zizard'. I finally was able to grab Zena, and we watched the lizard crawl up a dark green chair and turn the same color. Daddy had to come out and see the 'zizard', too, before we all went back inside.

Later, while I was in the kitchen, Zane had to tell me all about it. He was very serious.

"Mama, last week there was spiderman and he crawled up the wall and there was a zizard on the ceiling and then he (no clue what the boy said here) and then there was a zizard on the chair and the zizard went up to the sky and pooped and then he fell down and bumped his head."

My son was very serious, to have said all that and not taken a single breath.

I rolled with it.

"So the lizard went up to the sky and pooped, then fell down and bumped his head?"

"Yes." Zane ran off to play with his trains. My husband, who was at the kitchen table reading the paper, turned and looked at me.

"How the hell did you understand all that?"

I just smiled.

It's a Mama thing.

Snowclones!

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking that I made an error when I typed the title to this post. The 4000 degree heat has addled my brain, people will say. She obviously meant to type 'snowclowns'. Yeah, that must be it! That blogger needs to stop writing her blog posts after she's had a few glasses of wine.

But you would be wrong. But to be fair, I thought the exact same thing when I saw the word "snowclones". I had to go and look it up.

According to the Wikipedia page:

A snowclone is a type of cliché and phrasal template originally defined as "a multi-use, customizable, instantly recognizable, time-worn, quoted or misquoted phrase or sentence that can be used in an entirely open array of different variants".[1]

An example of a snowclone is "grey is the new black", a version of the template "X is the new Y". X and Y may be replaced with different words or phrases – for example, "comedy is the new rock 'n' roll".[2] The term "snowclone" can be applied to both the original phrase and to any new phrase that uses its formula.

In other words, a snowclone is a ready made Mad Lib. It is not what happens when someone builds a bunch of snowmen who are all exactly alike, a la Calvin and Hobbes.

Isn't language fun? Just when I think I've got a handle on stuff, they up and add something new! Of course, the guy who coined the word 'snowclone' had to have been drunk. Either that or he was doing the linguistic equivalent of that party game where you create your porn name based on the street where you lived as a child and the city where you were born. *cough* Not that I ever played that game at parties.

So...seen any snowclones milling about?

All your X are belong to Y.
X is the new Y.
I'm a doctor, not an X.
To X or not to X.
Got X?
Don't mess with X.

I've been having fun with these since yesterday, using randomly chosen words from the dictionary. Then I found this database of snowclones. And I now I plan to 'get my geek on'. Get it? It's a snowclone!

Sitting in the Angry Chair

There are days when you just, cannot open your mouth at all. Your words on these days are a fast raging river of toxic sludge that must be dammed behind your clenched teeth, at all cost; for to open your angry mouth would release a veritable flood of spewing vile that would dissolve the tongue of a lesser being.

Your husband. Your child. Your boss. Your coworkers. Your friends. These individuals have done, or are doing, something that irritates you, annoys you, or makes you flat out angry. But because of where you are(church) or who is around you(mother-in-law), you can't say the mean words. You can't say those words there. So you swallow them. Then you swallow some more. Soon you have an aching belly full of angry words.

Angry words don't digest well, so they must come back up, somehow. Then you start to spit the angry words back out, in other places. For example, a person I know seems to get sick ONLY when she knows that we want her to babysit our son. And it's not just an "I'm sick" we hear. No, we hear, in graphic technicolor, all about her colon, what she ate that made her sick, how many bowel movements she's had, how many people she has told about the bowel movements, and their particular observations regarding said movements.

After about twelve or so hours of swallowing the words I want to say to this person(that I can't say, because she's a fragile little flower who can't handle it), I have to let some of the angry words out, somewhere. I can't say all the things I want to say to this person--she is a 'fragile' flower with the acting up colon, remember?

So who do I attack with my angry words? Mostly myself, because I know that I can take it. Sometimes my husband. Occasionally my son, and I immediately feel so guilty about it that I completely reverse any punishments I've doled out. I'd give him my car if only he wouldn't give me that big eyed look that says "hurt feelings!"

I hate that look. Even if I haven't done anything, I still want to buy the kid a pony.


Do you have days filled with angry words that you can't say? What do you do?

PMS for Three Year Olds

That is the only adequate term that describes what is going on with my child right now. He's driving us, for lack of a better term, batshit crazy.

One second he's laughing and happy.

The next he's thrown himself on the floor in a fit of pique.

Then he's happy again, as if nothing were amiss.

My husband or I will ask him something benign, such as "Would you like a cookie?"

"Noyes," will be the reply.

What?

"Yeno."

I'd ask him if he plans to run for office, but I'm afraid of the answer.


This morning, he marched into the kitchen and demanded bacon. Bacon.

"Zane, you just ate two biscuits and a waffle. How can you still be hungry?" I was mystified. Zane was adamant; he must have bacon. He even said 'please'. Twice.

So I made him bacon, and told him to come to the table to eat it.

"I don't want bacon," my child told me.

"You just said that you wanted bacon. You came in here and specifically asked for it."

"I don't want bacon," Zane repeated.

I actually face-palmed. I've never done it before, but it's quite possible that I will be doing it a lot from now on. I have a sinking feeling that this is but a shadow of what the teenage years will be like.

I may ask my doctor to prescribe valium for Larry and I when Zane hits puberty.

The Things My Son Learns at Daycare

WARNING: this post may be viewed by some as offensive, due to the topic. If you are this type, don't read this post today. Also, don't read this during breakfast. Or lunch. Or afternoon snack. Pretty much any sort of eating. Actually, this post might make a great diet aid, since it might make you lose your appetite and not eat that giant piece of yummy cake that's sitting on the counter in the kitchen.

Zane and I are heading to the grocery store.

"We don't eat poop, Mama," Zane announces.

"Uh...okay. Good to know." What else was I supposed to say?

At first I thought that I would talk to his teacher, maybe get some context for that comment. Was this a playground conversation? If so, ick.

There's probably a perfectly logical explanation as to why my son would hear that sentence during his time at daycare. And polite society frowns upon poop eating, at least in this part of the world, so this little gem is definitely a good piece of knowledge to acquire. We don't eat poop*.

But a significant pillar of childhood involves exploration. Kids, even kids with special needs, have to be able to look with wonder at what is around their house, their yard, their community, and the world. They must experience the world with their five senses, including taste. Children learn their world during those first critical years by sailing into what is for them uncharted waters. Part of that exploration involves risk.

If you pick up that bug, it will sting you.

Eating that green apple may make you sick.

Poking your sister with a cattle prod will get you sent to bed with no dinner.

Many children have anxious parents(*raises hand*) who want to shield their kids from risk, if they can. This is understandable. Risks hurt sometimes. But risks can also reap some pretty badass rewards, too.

Riding a bike.

Writing an essay that wins a contest.

Hitting a home run.

Raising a hand in class and getting the correct answer.

Scoring a goal.

Parents want the good stuff for their kids, but there needs to be a balance--kids have to learn to problem solve so they can use those skills when they are not with adults. This may mean that your child experiences something that you may find undesirable or inappropriate or just plain weird.

That's when a parent may need to take a deep breath, and roll with it. After all, there will be lots of moments, when the child becomes and adult, when they will encounter people, places, or things that are undesirable, inappropriate, or just plain weird. Sometimes MY child might be the one who fits these descriptions.

It will be better for my son that he is not blindsided by these situations, that he is willing to take some risks and explore the world. It may kill me to watch him climb to the top of the playground equipment or get his heart broken by a girl, but I have to let him do this. I have to let him find his own way. I know all this, I believe all this, but...

I really hope that he didn't eat any poop at daycare, that he acquired the knowledge that "we don't eat poop" vicariously. I don't think this makes me a bad person.


*Unless you're talking about that extremely expensive coffee that is made from beans that have been eaten by a particular type of cat and then pooped out. Well, in that case, poop-eating is okay. For those people. Not for me.

And The Academy Award Goes To...

"My tummy hurts," Zane tells me, holding his hands on his belly. Like every good Mama, I know when my child is faking. Sometimes, however, my attempts at parenting are not as on the ball.

"Are you trying to win an Academy Award with that performance?" I ask my son, a bit sarcastically, looking pointedly at him.

"Yes," Zane replies.

Dang. I hate being the straight man on this comedy team.

Not An Actor?

Zane was having a hissy fit, a conniption, a tantrum. There was the screaming and crying and the required throwing of the self onto the floor as a dramatic flourish. I think that there was some kicking thrown in for good measure***

He yelled that he wanted...

"Boy," I stand over him, interrupting. "You are not getting a single thing until you stop acting this way."

Zane stopped mid-scream.

"I not acting, Mama!" he said, with a completely straight face. Then goes back to his screaming and crying.

I developed a sudden coughing fit and had to go into the other room for a moment.




***I am saving up all these blog posts about my son for blackmail purposes when he's a surly teenager. I am sure that this makes me a bad person, but if it gets him to behave with a modicum of respect when he is hormonal, it will be worth it.

Long Day

Zane is having another hissy fit about something and is rolling around on the floor, screaming. Larry and I, per usual, know absolutely nothing about why this tantrum is occurring. As far as we can tell, nothing was happening right before the meltdown. Zane was playing by himself, with his own toys, all alone.

We are perplexed, but were afraid to ask.

Larry subsequently lost the coin toss, and he asked Zane what was wrong.

"I am tired" sobs Zane. "I had hard day at school."


We all know how that feels!

Colorful Language

To recover from my natural tendency to curse like a drunken sailor on shore leave, I've taken to using alternative words and phrases. By doing this, I hope to steer my son away from acquiring any new words that might get him kicked out of daycare.

"Son of a biscotti" and "Jiminy Crickets" and "crap" seem to have become my favorites. I try to say words and phrases that just don't go with an angry retort, to snap myself out of being in a negative mood. I don't say "Fudge" like some people, because that sounds way too close to the actual word I am trying to avoid, and one day I might slip up.

So when Zane was playing in the living room the other day, I was gratified to hear that my efforts had not gone unnoticed. I heard a toy fall off the table.

"Jiminy Crickets!" Zane muttered.