Cheese Mustache and the World of Make Believe

Comment 1 Standard

2015-09-02 09.06.57

A note from last week.

“Being a girl is difficult. Being a girl in a boy dominated grade school is down right maddening at times. Despite being part of the minority, Pheobe continues to push forward in her world of unicorns and rainbows. Today she will subject “Cheese Mustache” and her brother to this glittery world of make believe at “Cheese’s: house. Thank you, Brandi (aka Mom)”

We May Never Be Heard From Again

Comment 1 Standard

My sister is getting married this weekend, and has asked the kids to be in her wedding. Because the wedding is in Uniontown, PA, we are splitting up the drive and leaving 2 days beforehand. This means I have to take the kids out of school early. This also means another bus note. Each one has its own tweak for personalization, naturally.

image

Armed Apocalypse Patrols

Comment 1 Standard

2015-09-02 08.48.12

“As the days wear on, the troops grow more and more restless. Rumors from outside the school walls spark hope of the afterschool program re-starting next week. This small spark of hope is, at least, something to hold on to. Until we get certified proof that the program will resume, Theo will continue armed apocalypse patrols on the golf cart with “Shoe Cheese”. Thank you, Brandi (aka Mom)”

The Apocalypse and Necessity

Leave a comment Standard

image

“Day 2 of the after school apocalypse and the tribe is holding strong with multiple offers for child watching, the youngest members of the tribe have decided to go with necessity…the friend with the golf cart and pool. It’s all about priorities during these trying times. Therefore Theo will be taking the bus home with “telescope”. Thank you, Brandi ( aka mom)

Untimely Demise

Comment 1 Standard

I’ve become well know at my children’s school because of the bus notes I send with them from time time. Here is today’s:

note

“Due to the untimely demised of the after school program, and my inability to obtain alternate childcare, I have absolutely no idea what to do with my children after school.

Therefore Pheobe will take the bus to the top of the hill where they will continue to practice the fine art of driving my boss crazy.

Thank you,

Brandi (aka: Mom)”

Back to School and Shitty Shoes

Comments 2 Standard

I’m not sure what it is about new shoes that gets kids so excited. You buy them clothes and they shrug it off as they mumble something about “more new clothes, yuck.” You buy them new shoes and it’s like you just brought home rocket boosters. Coolest thing EVER!!! You could have the most tired kid in the world, but as soon as you put new shoes on them, they take off like a rocket. “Look how fast I can go!” “Mommy! Look at how cool l look in these shoes!” I’m pretty sure a new pair of shoes every time I failed as a parent would make me the best mommy in the world.

School starts back up again next week. Praise the lord! Back to school means back to school shopping. Despite upcoming trips threatening to drain my back account, I knew I had to at least get the kids new shoes for school. Especially seeing as how Theo’s current shoes smell like cat piss and cabbage…at the same time. So away we went to go buy new rocket boosters shoes. Naturally that day became the best ever as the kids got to wear the new shoes out of the store (shopping highlight for all kids) AND for the rest of the day. Mind you, this was not until I threatened them both with their lives if they so much as got a speck of dirt on them. “Run, jump, whatever…but get them dirty and you are both done. Got it? Good.”

Both pairs of new shoes made it through the day still looking like new. Mission accomplished. Well done, minions! While folding laundry that night, I kept getting a slight whiff of poop. I knew Pheobe had pooped before she went to bed, so I naturally blamed the odor on her typically pungent poo. The next morning I woke up, went down stairs, and happened to look down at the pile of shoes. There it was. Dog poop. On the bottom of Theo’s new shoes. When I woke him up for the day being the awesome mom I am I whispered to him, “Theo, there’s dog poop on your new shoes.” I’m am fairly certain I have never seen Theo wake up so quickly.

“No way,” he said. “Not my on my shoes. Maybe on Pheobe’s, but not on mine.”

I assured him it was, in fact, on his shoes and walked out of the room. Fast forward a half hour. “Mommy, you were right, there IS dog poop on MY shoes.”

“Told ya so.”

“Mommy, I checked because I thought you were lying to me.”

Because I obviously lie about dog poop all the time. What? “I would NEVER lie about something as serious as dog poop! However, when we get home from camp today, you get to clean it off. Awesome, right?”

Needless to say, he hasn’t worn his new kicks since. Instead they sit by the entryway, quietly and dress neatly next to one another. I can’t figure out if he scared of getting them dirty again, or waiting to completely destroy them the first day of school. With school stating in two days, we shall soon find out.

That Is Definitely NOT A Garden Shed!

Comment 1 Standard

The morning commute in my car is never short of interesting. Especially when it so accurately details the different ways my kids’ brains work.

Theo: Look!!!

Pheobe: *GASP* A garden shed!!!

Theo: No, it’s a hawk! Look!

Pheobe: Yeah…no. I’m pretty sure it’s a garden shed. It’s a little house…in a garden…soooo…it’s a garden shed.

Theo: Pheobe! *angrily* Look up! On the wire! It’s a hawk!

Pheobe: Oh! Yeah, that is definitely NOT a garden shed.

It’s conversations like this that caused my son to look at me the other day and say, “You know mommy, sometimes I don’t really like Pheobe. When I don’t like her I think it would be better to just go sleep outside where it is quite.”

My response, “Theo, honey. A lot of us feel that way, but remember, she lives in Pheobe Land and we are all just visiting.”

Pheobe Zen

No Escalator? No good.

Comments 2 Standard

This summer my kids became “world” travelers. Jetsetting across the United States from the East Coast to the West, they quickly adapted to air travel. People bringing them snacks and drinks as they watched movies with their trays down and seats back, life in the sky was good. On the ground they enjoyed the mall-like atmosphere of the airport, beyond the security checkpoints. Duty Free and news stands, even a Chili’s!

Perhaps their favorite part however, were all the escalators and moving walkways. Like most kids and grown-ups they were overjoyed by the thrill of attempting to walk backwards or running on all these people movers. As they tested their new found escalator skills, I leisurely rode behind them at a safe distance ready to catch a fall or release a snag.

They have since returned safely to the East Coast, but are eager for their next in-flight adventure. Yesterday, as we passed through downtown, Theo noticed there was a sign for an airport. “Mommy! Did you know there was an airport here?” After traveling over two hours to get to the airport for their jet setting adventure, the realization that there was an airport just minutes from our house was a stumper. Why on earth would we wake up before the sun and drive into the heart of Boston at the beginning of rush hour when we could have slept in and basically walked to the airport?

I tried to explain to him that it was a very small airport, and very expensive to fly out of. “Small? How small?” He asked.

“Really small. So small it doesn’t even have an escalator.”

“Or a moving ramp?”

“Yes, that small.”

The world suddenly stopped moving as Mr. Jetsetter tried to wrap his head around an airport without the trill of people movers. How do you get from flight to flight? What if your feet are tired? What if your bags are too heavy? What if you have to get from one end of the airport to the other really, really fast and you can’t run that fast? How can this even be possible????? After the barrage of questions and a meaningful pause, his only response was, “We can never fly out of there.”

I guess this means flying into/out of Dutch Harbor, Alaska or Guam are out of the question. Bummer.

Driving Into The New England Stereotype

Comment 1 Standard

I did it. I hate to admit it, but I did it.

I’ve joined the club of soccer moms, obsessed with their kid’s athletic abilities.

The moms who delay the drop off/pick up process every day at school.

I’ve become a Birkenstock wearing, earth loving, hippie.

Someone who covers every last inch of their bumper with social injustice bumper stickers. Free Tibet! Equality! Legalize medical marijuana! Boring women rarely make history! NPR! Warning, I stop for Goodwill stores!

Move over cautious drivers! This momma is now on the road!

I will no longer be able to park properly in parking lots.

I can now sneer at Honda Pilot drivers.

Finding my car in when coming out of a baseball game will now be impossible without activating the panic button.

Coupled with my short hair, I will now solidify my place in the lesbian community. Thus resulting in never being asked out on a heterosexual date again.

In short, I bought a Subaru. I now fall into all the aforementioned stereotypes, and then some. Despite my need for speed, previous Pilot ownership, and brightly covered tattoos; I am now one of “those” moms. This new purchase has given me the urge to go to the nearest Newbury Comics location and buy up all the Slayer and Anthrax bumper stickers they have in stock. I will have to blast Portishead and Primus albums as I roll through the drop off line in the morning. The struggle is real my friends, and I have thrown myself into the thick of it.

Cock Swabs and Steamy Penis Creatures

Comments 4 Standard

I thought raising a penis person would be easy. I mean seriously, what’s there to know? Yes, there’s that whole spontaneous erection thing and wet dreams, but I didn’t think it would be much more than that. Now men, before you get your boxers in a bunch, I want to start off by saying women are complicated messes. We are like a magnetic compass, without the magnet. We tend to spin in circles, talking ourselves into a tizzy and crying because little Johnny killed a spider. With that being said, men…are simple. You grunt. You puff up your chests when another man looks at your woman. Do you even lift, bro? You compare penis sizes in the locker room. Girls do this as well, but with their boobs. It’s all so simple, or so I thought. What I didn’t know, is just how fascinated males, as a whole, are with their penises. Not to mention how literally they take the saying, “Reach out and touch someone (or something).”

As I’ve learned in my eight and a half years of raising a penis person, nothing about the penis is normal. Flash forward past the days of failed attempts with pee pee tepees, and watching my infant son pee in his own mouth and my eye at the same time. Past the point where I could trust my little guy to run around the house completely naked without the fear of him peeing in the cat dish. This is where I first started to notice just how fascinated with the penis these people are. There I was, a young mother of a two year old boy,sitting on the couch in the early morning hours feeling like death warmed over, and probably looking ten times worse. I watched as my son, completely oblivious to the fact it wasn’t even 5 am yet, joyfully frolicking about in the living room. I had since given up on drinking one cup of coffee at a time, and wandered into the kitchen to find a straw to stick in the pot. When I came back into the living room, coffee pot and straw in hand, I noticed my son doing push-ups in front of the tv. Baffled and amused, not to mention completely caught off guard, I couldn’t figure out why my toddler would be doing push-ups before the sun even came up. Of course I had also been trying figure out why his little mind thought it ok to be up for the day at 4 am for two years prior to this sudden oddity in behavior. Carry on, dear boy. Finish your push-ups and let’s have some breakfast. Then it hit me, he wasn’t doing push-ups. Oh, no! He was cock swabbing my carpet!!! I can only imagine this was all brought on by a quick tumble to the floor while I was in the kitchen, thus resulting in an unexpected “feel” of said carpet.

I have a vagina. I don’t “feel” anything with it. At least not randomly. It stays tucked away where it belongs. Away from random objects. Away from the elements. Away from, well, carpet. As my son continues to cock swab the perimeter of the living room,I can do nothing more than watch in disbelief. Perhaps this is why people call the penis a “third limb”. Either way, it’s gross and it’s weird.

Flash forward, yet again. Past the moment where little boys discover that nut shots are funny, as long as the shot isn’t on them. Past where they start pitching little tents in the morning, and you question why you have yet to buy them their own alarm clock. Let’s flip to last week. My son loves taking showers. The only argument we come across in the bathing aspect is what time of day to do it. He prefers night because it doesn’t waste his time in the morning. I prefer morning because it actually forces him to haul his carcass out of bed. Because I’m awesome and always win last Wednesday my son agreed to shower in the morning. Win! This is where I should add how he likes his showers so hot, I am amazed his skin doesn’t slough off while in there. As you all know, extremely hot water creates a LOT of steam. My bathroom often ends up resembling the Amazon Rain Forest in summer. It’s any wonder my son can safely climb out of the shower when finished, seeing as how one can barely see the edge of the tub through the steam.

I’m used to my son taking long showers. He likes to stay in to the point where the water starts to turn cold, and he knows he can’t go on any longer without the fear of sudden hypothermia. In all honesty, if I wasn’t the one paying the bill, I would probably do the same thing. However, this past Wednesday, something was off. Yes, his shower used all the hot water in the town, but for some reason he wasn’t coming out of the bathroom. I thought maybe I had a bad mom moment, and missed the sound of a dangerous fall, or perhaps the steam had swallowed him whole. So, yes, I had a slight moment of panic. I ran upstairs, threw open the door…..right into my son’s face! “Theo!” I said, “what are you doing?”

“Mommy! Nothing!” He then quickly wrapped himself back up in his over sized towel, and scurried out of the bathroom, throwing the door the rest of the way open. As soon as he was out of sight, I peeked around the back of the door to where he had been standing, naked. As I looked at the full length mirror, covered in condensation, I could see little marks all covering the area about where my son’s waist would be. Upon closer inspection I could see that the little marks were actually little penises. My dear sweet boy had been standing naked in the nice warm bathroom pressing his little penis against the mirror, so he could feel the coolness of the reflective surface and then get a chuckle out of the little shapes that resulted.

It is clear to me now that the need to stick penises places and feel things on it starts at a very early age. I can only imagine what else in my house has been cock swabbed and stamped. God help me when he figures out what masturbation is, and locks himself into his bedroom for hours. Boys are gross, boys are weird, and I am officially baffled by this thing called a penis.