MotherBunker

The Half-Rights

Beth — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 02:56:38 +0000

I know that our little people have to grow up and act like big people eventually. It would certainly make life easier on the parents. For example, my almost-4-year-old has unlearned how to walk up and down stairs without being carried, and how to lift her own fork to her mouth. Meanwhile, I've got an 18-month-old who refuses (and this is the right word) to walk but who crawls up the stairs whenever she can and can do the Electric Slide ... on her knees. Go figure.

Still, there are a few childish habits that I'd like to preserve long after it's socially acceptable for them to exist. And one of the biggest among these is the Half-Rights: The quirky little sayings that communicate completely what a preschooler wants to say or show -- sometimes quite logically -- but not quite sensically:

-- One of the things we hear quite a lot of in our house, being in Generation DVR, is: "Pause! You pause, OK Mommy? I have to go to the bathroom." Now, however, we'll be heading down the stairs, and MJ will say, "No, pause! Pause! Will you carry me?" Or I was reading a book to her the other day and she said, "Will you push pause, Mommy? I have to say something."

-- When she has trouble falling asleep, she looks at me, squints her eyes, pops them back open again and says, "See? I can't sleep. I can't close my eyes." Similarly, if someone turns out the lights while she's awake, she'll say, "My eyes! Help! I can't see my eyes! Turn the light on!"

-- Last month, when it snowed here -- in the South, where it was 75 degrees today -- MJ was so incredibly excited that she had to call Grammy and tell her (even though Grammy lives well within the radius in which the snow fell). I dialed the number, handed her the phone, and she said, "Grammy! It's snowing! Look!" She then held the phone up to the window for Grammy to see. I guess if you've never lived in a world where you had to watch commercials, it really would seem right that everyone could see through phones, too.

Young at Heart

Beth — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 04:29:15 +0000

Before our ongoing bouts with illnesses last fall, I bought a Lightning McQueen cake pan, and all the party materials that go along with it (plates, napkins, tablecloth, etc.) for Randy's birthday. He was turning 40 and didn't want a big party, so I wanted to at least do something a little different or memorable for the extended family get-together we always have. And I knew MJ would get a kick out of it.

And then everyone got sick, the family party was called off, and Randy blew out candles on top of a piece of cheesecake from Chick-fil-A with a box of tissues and a bottle of Theraflu nearby. It's true. Sad, but true.

So I've had this cake pan and all the decorations sitting around lonely and forlorn, and it seemed only obvious that I should make it for my dad's birthday this weekend, instead. And while I was at the grocery store the other day, I figured I might as well go all out and pick up a Lightning McQueen balloon, too.

The Harris Teeter Balloon Lady saw me checking out the inventory and came over to help.

"Is there a particular one you're looking for? Because I've got a bunch more at the desk we could blow up for you."

"I'm looking for a Cars balloon," I told her.

"Oh, you know, I don't have that one. I don't know what the kids are into these days, and I didn't order any of those," she said, with great concern, I might add. She really wanted to get to the bottom of this whole "what the kids are into these days" question.

"Can I ask, how old is the child having the party?" she wanted to know.

"Uh ..." I said, "well ..."

"Oh, you can tell me," she said. "I've heard it all."

"Um ... 67."

"Oh. Well OK. Maybe I haven't heard that one."

Pop! goes that guy from The Fast and the Furious

Beth — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 21:49:20 +0000

One of the new toys that came to live with us this Christmas was a good old fashioned Jack-in-the-Box. I've looked forever for one of these puppies, and you wouldn't believe how hard they are to find amid all the Fisher-Price/Playskool/Disney items in the stores.

Both MJ and Little L love this thing, and every time I watch them play with it, I'm reminded of the movie Elf (so many things remind me of that movie throughout the year ... I just love it). There's the scene where Buddy is sent to the Toy Testing Department after he falls behind on his Etch-a-Sketch production, and he has a pile of Jack-in-the-Boxes to get through. Every time the clown pops up, he jumps and lets out a little yelp, and you think: OK, pal, don't you get the how the thing works?

But it's really true: It makes you jump every time. So much simple fun.

But I digress. The other night, as I was cleaning up the remains of dinner, MJ got it out. Randy was teaching her the song that it plays -- you know, "Pop! goes the weasel." And pretty soon, she started singing it, too. In her own way, of course. The words get a little muddled. This is, I'm pretty sure, what she actually said:

All around the mudberry bush,
The monkey chased va weasel,
The monkey stopped ... and
Pop! goes Vin Diesel.

I swear it's what she said.

What I Love About My MJ, Holiday Edition

Beth — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 02:25:23 +0000

So, it's been a long, long, loooong time since the Bunker has been updated; so long, in fact, that the people at BlogHer knocked on my e-mail inbox last month to inquire if everything is OK. Yes, well, I've been fine, but the kids? Not so much. It's been one long string of illnesses since Halloween, basically -- maybe one or two weeks of reprieve in between. A few cases of croup here, a touch of bronchiolitis there, a really miserable brew of virus and infection.

Do I sound whiny? Yep. That's because I am. It's been a real drag. In fact, if you were to happen upon me on the street and ask me what's been going on, I wouldn't be able to think of much else but illnesses. We've been to the pediatrician's so much we sent them a Christmas card.

And then, there's MJ last week. She got one of the dooziest doses of yuckiness a kid who's already had croup three times this fall could get, and she got it on Christmas Day: Pneumonia. I don't think I've ever seen her feel so miserable. She would cough, and then she would cry. She had no energy. She walked around mumbling, "I'm so tired. I'm very, very so tired." (That would be a direct quote.) Some kids might be up all night listening for Santa; she was up all night in pain. I felt so bad for her; 3 1/2 is such a fun time to be a kid at Christmas, but not like this.

But despite how awful she felt, she managed to surprise me that morning. She had asked Santa for a couple of items -- and these were the only two things she mentioned whenever she was asked what she was getting for Christmas. We had put them both into a red Santa bag that we left by the fireplace, so it would be a big finish after she opened the rest of the gifts -- "Oh look, Santa must have dropped his bag" ... that sort of thing. But she was so thankful for everything she got that she didn't even notice that the "robot" and the Screaming Banshee (from Cars) that she asked for were still missing. She even came over to me and hugged me and said, "Oh, thank you, Mommy!" when she opened two presents I had given her -- a Curious George t-shirt, and a hockey jersey "just like Mommy wears to the games!" which I was certain she'd care little about, given everything else under the tree. You'd have thought it was Lightning McQueen himself in that box.

Those hugs were the best presents I got Christmas morning (even better than the GPS, which is pretty cool, I have to say). She didn't let her misery get in the way of the magic of being grateful, and being grateful is really my favorite part of Christmas.

The softest post you’ll ever read

Beth — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 02:21:48 +0000

My MJ has really advanced this fall in her badgering skills. Or maybe it's just the content of her badgering. You see, back in September, if you were to be plunked down in the middle of our living room -- first of all, heaven help you, for who knows what you might have landed on -- you might have heard her saying something like this:

"Mommy, can I have juice? Mommy, can I have juice?"

or ...

"Mommy, can I have cheese stick?"

or ...

"Mommy, can I have cheese ice cube?"

(In case you're wondering [and really, how could you not?], a cheese ice cube refers to those little cubes of 2 percent cheese Kraft sells. We don't actually have cheesicles. We do also have cheese triangles, though, and these are pieces of quesadilla cut like pizza slices. What I'm saying is: We have many shapes of cheese.)

Well, no more of this cheese and juice. Actually, wait -- yes, she does still ask for those things. But these days, if you were beamed into our home, you would see MJ wondering the floor holding her juice cup and chanting, "PBSKids.org ... PBSKids.org." That's right. She says the dot and the org parts, too. She is all about the games on the laptop these days, and I really can't decide if this is a good thing or a disturbing thing. Mostly disturbing, I think. Talk about limiting TV ... this computer stuff is truly like crack for a preschooler, and you really have to limit it, or they will seriously sit in front of some site called "Boobah" all day long. And giggle. Without explanation.

But as the husband likes to point out, "It can't be worse than sitting in front of the TV for an hour. At least on the computer, she's learning something." Well, that would be him justifying his decision to open up the world of the Interweb to her ... or at least, PBSKids.org. And he needs the justification after this morning, when, while talking to my mom on the phone, I looked over and saw that MJ had spread cocoa butter hand lotion all over the laptop. Yes, that's right: on the monitor, on the keyboard, on the mousepad, in every nook and cranny imaginable.

Yes. Maybe we're not quite old enough to play with anything made by Hewlett Packard.

The upside is that it smells incredible now. In fact, this post is infused with skin-healing goodness. You're welcome.

Skull Cruncha in da House

Beth — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 23:34:25 +0000

So a fellow Beth over at The Couch Confessional sent me this little tag in which I get to talk about myself, and not my kids! Sweet. And because not one, but two, doctor's offices laughed at me today when I called to see if someone, anyone, would see me to get this large boulder off my sinuses before Thanksgiving, I think I deserve it. Here goes.

7 Super-Exciting Facts About Me

Fact 1: True story: My best friend growing up was also a Beth. We were both born on the 22nd. Our parents used to unknowingly buy us the same Christmas presents. The same purple raincoat with matching umbrella, etc. (Creepy, eh?) Both of our families moved south after we graduated from high school. We went off to college, lost track of each other a bit, and when we resurfaced, discovered we had both married Canadians. We both host a Canadian Thanksgiving party for our friends every year. We had both named a daughter after our sisters. The one thing we don't share: She lives in a faraway country that I cannot spell, pronounce or find on a map without great struggle and tries to help people for a living; and I live in a suburban home a mile or two from Target and a mall and try to reconcile my extensive television viewing schedule with the needs of my children. Minor details, minor details.

Fact 2: I am spatially/directionally challenged. If my husband tells me to turn right, he will usually have to follow up by saying, "No, your other right." I'm hopeless.

Fact 3: Many people say "Heroes" jumped the shark in the season one finale. I say it jumped the day Hayden Panettiere went on the "Today" show and said her whole family had gone to Duke [sic].

Fact 4: I recently read a story about a study that found that people who watch a lot of television are more likely to be unhappy. I completely reject this notion. I am actually unhappy because of the aforementioned giant boulder still sitting on my sinuses. I really need an antibiotic, people.

Fact 5: I was once in a gang. OK, no. Technically, that's not true. Here's the thing: Once, in grad school, I drove into the South Side of Chicago in my sweet, beat-up Escort with my UNC Tar Heels vanity license plate and bumper sticker in search of a blues club for an article I was working on. I didn't find the club (see Fact 2) but a few weeks later I found out that there were gangs in that area that identified themselves with UNC paraphernalia. So for those few minutes while I was lost, I was actually totally gangsta. So gangsta, and I didn't even know it.

Fact 6: If you type my name into the Original Gangsta Name Generator, you will find that I am actually called the Off Da Hook Skull Cruncha, yo.

Fact 7: I believe in the medicinal value of the Frosty, which I am currently enjoying.

Kids Who Smell Like Parsley

Beth — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 02:13:21 +0000

When you've been gone for a month, you have to come back with a strong headline ...

MJ and I have been having some interesting conversations lately, and I kind of have to make time to share at least one of them, even if both my children are trading fevers of 102 degrees every other day at the moment and the inside of my head is screaming a scream that only my tired, tired bones can hear.

(SIDEBAR: Actual discussion between Randy and I: "I'm so tired." Him: "You could have gone to sleep 30 minutes ago instead of reading that book." Me: "No, I don't mean sleepy tired. I mean bone tired. You know, the kind that's like, stuck in your marrow and never coming out. When do you think it will come out?" Him: "In another 15, 16 years.")

Anyway ... Tonight I was making pasta sauce, and MJ picked up a box of frozen parsley flakes from the counter.

"Mommy, what it smell like?" she asked.

"I don't know, peanut. Why don't you tell me what you think it smells like."

"OK."

[Flips top open, sniffs from about two feet away.]

"Smells like friends," she tells me.

"Like friends?"

"Yeah! Friends."

[At this point, as in all examples of her comparisons of what things taste, smell or look like of late, I had to bend down to her level and ask her again to make sure I heard her right.]

"What are friends?" I asked her ... because I don't know, it's possible she has confused them with some type of food, like Goldfish crackers. She is 3, after all.

"You know! Kids!" she said, with much glee. "It's very stinky, Mommy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I very like it."

She later "counted" the individual flakes in the box ... which she called a jar ... and drew this picture of them. I think it's the best picture I've ever seen. I kind of very love it.

Potty Mouth

Beth — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 02:23:21 +0000

Take one silly, teething baby ...

Add one dollhouse potty WITH ATTACHED BOWL BRUSH ...

Laugh heartily. (At least it's not a real toilet brush):

When an Engineer Marries a Journalist …

Beth — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 21:15:05 +0000

... they might have conversations like these:

I walk into the family room, where there are people wearing what looks like 18th-century garb on my television set and a deeply portentous narrator's voice filling my entertainment space. Great. Educational crap.

Me, exasperated: What are we watching?
Him: "Nova"!
Me, amused: I'm sorry, "Nova"? With dramatization? Since when does your beloved "Nova" offer dramatization?

Minutes go by, although let's face it, it could have been just seconds ...

Me: Why are we still watching this? I'm in no mood to learn anything. Can you turn on "Greek" instead?
Him: But this is really exciting stuff. It's leading up to how they figured out E= mc2!
Me: What is that anyway?
Him: It's like the greatest equation of all time!
Me: Yeah, but what is it?
Him: It's the key to ...
Me: No, what does it stand for?
Him: Energy equals Mass times the Speed of Light squared.
Me: But that doesn't make any sense.
Him: I know! That's what is so incredible about it. Think about it: energy, mass and speed of light in the same equation!
Me: No, I mean that "C" would stand for "speed of light." That doesn't make sense.
Him: No, but: Energy is related to mass times the speed of light squared! It's amazing. Doesn't that just blow your mind?
Me: What blows my mind is that they decided that "C" stood for the "speed of light," when there is clearly no C in the phrase. And also, that we're watching this instead of "Greek."

Pronouns Are Hard

Beth — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 15:50:01 +0000

As previously mentioned on this blog, the biggest little person in our house has a problem with the pronouns. So, "he's" are "she's" and "she's" are "he's" and "I" or "me" is almost always third-person "MJ." (Although, she has a very fun ongoing joke right now in which if you tell her she's a silly goose or a funny bunny or what have you, she smiles and responds with great glee, "No, I'm not! I'm MJ!" Which I love. They really ought to bottle the cuteness.)

She's sort of like Stephen Colbert, except instead of not seeing race and color, she doesn't see gender.

Anyway, because of her pronoun confusion, she's come up with a new twist on an old favorite song. This is how she sings it:

Twinkle twinkle, little star
How you wonder what you are
Up above the clouds so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Twinkle twinkle little star
How you wonder what you are

... every single time.

A twinkle twinkle star with an identity problem. Preschool really is advanced these days.