A Tooth Fairy Intervention

It isn't a secret that my introduction into the world of tooth fairydom has been rocky.  It hasn't helped that the tooth wizard (Jay refuses to have the word "fairy" in any way attached to himself) is also a novice.  And between the two of us we've thoroughly besmirched the good name of the tooth fairy/wizard.  So, apparently we were in need of an intervention.

Drew's second front tooth had been hanging by a thread (or a root...is it a root?...gross) for weeks.  Any time he jumped up and down or let out a hearty guffaw that tooth would wiggle around inside his mouth like a pendulum on a clock. I was just waiting for it to fall out or get stuck in another hot dog and Jay was ignoring the whole thing altogether because "he just doesn't do teeth."  (Except his own, which he brushes quite regularly.)

Just when it seemed like Drew's tooth was going to be around for his junior prom, Auntie came out for a visit and swooped in to save Drew's rather raggedy smile.  If ever there was a person that knows teeth, it is my sister.  She is somewhat of an expert, I would say. Carly takes her teeth quite seriously and knows what it is like to have a snaggle-toothed grin. Recently, while at a fancy out-of-town wedding, she had a run-in with a lettuce wrap wherein she lost a veneer and was left with a vampire fang that would make "Twilight" fans shudder with envy.  (And while I'm on the subject, lets talk about how our brothers relentlessly tease her about being a "potty mouth" because her beautiful smile has a few porcelain veneers.)

Being kindred spirits, Auntie and Drew set out to get that tooth under the pillow instead of sticking out of his mouth, parallel to the ground.  And what better way than the old-fashioned doorknob and string trick?

Auntie and Drew closed their eyes, crossed their fingers, slammed the door and the tooth shot out of his mouth attached to my mint dental floss.  Huzzah!

But the intervention could not be considered a success until the tooth was safely under the pillow ready for the exchange.  And...............

I had no cash.

Just as I was starting to tell Drew, "The tooth fairy won't come when a tooth is pulled out past 8:00 because she has already started her route," (oh, man I'm getting really good with tooth fairy excuses) Carly interrupted and said that "we should try it anyway" (with a wink, wink).

So my sister donates two dollars to the tooth fairy intervention and calls it good.  Crisis averted, innocent child still remains duped about people flying around and magically giving him things while he sleeps, and I'm off the hook.

Until the next morning....

I realize that Drew left his tooth under the pillow in the top bunk of Owen's room because he thought we would move him there after he fell asleep and Auntie went to sleep in his bed.  But Auntie decided to sleep on the couch, and Drew is sleeping in his room without the tooth, and now I have to explain how the tooth fairy knew to go to another pillow to retrieve the tooth and leave the cash under the pillow he actually slept on.

I'm not a tooth fairy.  I'm a tooth fibber.

Pizza, Plasma and a Plight

We had a lovely dinner tonight.  And I don't usually describe our dinners as lovely, more like feeding time at the zoo complete with flying food and gnashing teeth.  But tonight consisted of Jay walking through the door at 6:45 with 2 boxes of pizza to 4 ravenously hungry people drooling on the empty paper plates in front of us.  You see, I boycotted cooking dinner for numerous reasons.  And if Jay wasn't going to make it, Papa John's was!  And just to quiet the responsible, nutrition conscious parent inside of me that was slinging guilt mud balls at me for not having anything green or "full of fiber" within a 2 mile radius of our house....I threw in a container of yogurt for the boys to eat.  Guilt assuaged!

While we gobbled up pepperoni, Hawaiian, and cheese slices of heart-attacks-waiting-to-happen (that was the guilt slinger popping back up), we talked of the beach.  (It has been a hard, cold, gray January.)  I talked about how I would go to the very same beach for 2 whole weeks when I was a little girl.  We giggled about Auntie's childhood dreams of opening her own "Carly's Coquina Care" for the thousands of colorful little clams that burrowed in the sand. And about the posh little bed and breakfast for the sand fleas that she opened......in her underpants drawer!  The boys sat riveted when I explained the complicated biological process of why the sand fleas began to stink after their untimely demise....right there amongst her carefully folded days of the week underwear.  (Not my normal dinnertime conversation.  Mind you, these are little boys, there had to be something stinky or otherwise objectionable to hold their attention.)

With crusts tossed on plates, the empty, greasy boxes still in front of us, and not a grumpy face among us, we continued to dream of our vacation to the beach (which is only 141 days away).  I mentioned that it would be so amazing if we spent 2 weeks there instead of just one.  You know, so we could really unwind and make the effort of putting our clothes from the suitcase into the rattan dressers completely worth it! 

Continuing with the dream, I casually (and completely jokingly) said to Jay, "The only way we could afford an extra week would be to sell our plasma.  Do they pay extra for cute little boy plasma?" 

And, of course, Drew was listening and ready to ask questions about whatever word or concept he didn't understand.  (Being his mother often makes me wish I had paid closer attention in school.)  He asked, "What is plasma?" 

Realizing that my degree in musical theater was not going to help me in this particular situation, I referred Drew to his Daddy.  

Jay says, "It is the liquid stuff that your blood floats around in."  (I knew I married this man for a reason!)


Drew: "How do they get it out?"


Me thinking:  this is not the direction I intended this conversation to go.


Jay:  "They stick a big long needle in your arm and they draw it out."


Definitely not the direction I wanted it to go!

Complete silence.


Drew's face falls and he admits, "But I don't want to do that.  It will hurt me really bad."


My completely literal and believing little 6 year old was feeling shame for not wanting to do his part in our fantasy quest for one extra week of sun and sand!  In my moment of levity I had unwittingly heaped a burden upon Drew's boney little shoulders that he just didn't feel he could bear.  (And now, the guilt slinger was throwing 90 mph fast balls in my direction!)

I sat there carefully crafting my reply.  As I started to explain that I was only JOKING, that one week is a perfect length, and that I would never ask him to sell a piece of his DNA so we could frolic a little longer at the beach, Drew cut me off and very seriously proclaimed....

"Well, I think I could give plasma.  

I'm pretty brave.

I didn't cry when I got my shots.

I'm grown up now."

He was oh, so proud of himself for being willing to sacrifice.  And I was oh, so proud of him for wanting to take one for the team! 

I learned several valuable lessons:  1.) Teach Drew to recognize sarcasm and jokes  2.) Be careful what I say  3.) Study up on science 4.) We all need a vacation.  
These pictures from last June will have to do....for now.

 *Notice the sand on Owen's shoulder and the sand bandit making his getaway.

*Auntie toting around the hooligans on her barge.

Recipe for Disaster

I make a "mean" chili, if I do say so myself.  Kai is my biggest fan.  Oh, to have a fan club!  And the things he does to manifest his veneration for my culinary greatness are just heart warming!  He gobbles up my chili when other children (who shall remain nameless....Owen) complain as if I were feeding them watery gruel and burned toast.  

But as with all fans, when they have an object of affection, they can sometimes go overboard with their displays of adoration.

Behold.....Kai and his beloved chili.  Proceed with caution...it isn't pretty.

He is working on his spoon skills.

He's taking it one step at a time.

The orange color of the chili really makes his blue eyes "pop."

The spices in the chili sting his baby blue's.

My "mean" chili stains tender skin.....for days.

In light of these disturbing turn of events, it will be a long while before I make chili again. There is too much involved with having to scrub down a slippery, perturbed, ox of a little man in a bathroom that was designed for one and that smells faintly of little boy pee, only to have him look like an orange pumpkin despite all my tedious washing.

We're sticking to rice. Or rather, it is sticking to us...whatever the case may be.

Captain Owen's Prayer

So, our superhero returned....refreshed and revived.  And he is ready to resume his superhero duties of looking after the health (mental and otherwise) of those he loves.

For example, last night he said a fervent and heartfelt prayer that went like this.....

"And please bless that Daddy can

go to the junk yard tomorrow
and find all the parts he needs for the

blasted jeep."

Can I get an AMEN?!

Captain Owen's Winter Retreat

Super heroes work hard.  They must be ready to spring into action at any given moment.....and that is exhausting!  For example:  when Captain Owen notices a tube of toothpaste, he feels compelled to squeeze as much as super-humanly possible on to his toothbrush and subsequently the wall, mirror, sink, counter and cabinet!  That takes skill and depletes the superhero's reserves of energy rather quickly.

And if Captain Owen smells bread he feels particularly compelled to warn other bread-hating humans of the imminent danger of toast fumes when the lever is pushed down on the toaster.  Every morning one can hear our superhero exclaim, "I SMELL BREAD!  I JUST CAN'T TAKE IT!  MAKE IT GO AWAY!" 

Every.

Morning.

Such vain repetitions are taxing on the super hero's soul.

And being charming....Oh, being charming is so much work!  During a particularly loving moment, Captain Owen said to me with a twinkle in his eye, "Mama, I love you.  You're my prettiest princess!" 
  
Be still my beating heart!!!  I returned the loving lines with, "Thank you, Owen.  I love you, too!"
  
Without missing a beat and an uncharacteristic firmness to his voice, he replied, "Call me KNIGHT!"

The cracks were beginning to show in his carefully manicured superhero facade.  He was being overworked.


So what is a super hero to do?  He can't just hang up his cape and refuse to be super.  He can't just ignore the greater good and brush his teeth cleanly or eat his Honey Nut Cheerios in silence or bark orders at his prettiest princess. 

The decision was made for Owen to get away to recoup and reinvigorate.  Captain Owen is on a winter's retreat in Utah with Auntie and Uncle Neil.  He packed his cape in his suitcase and traded it for a regular four year old's backpack and boarded a plane with Grandma bound for solace and spoiling.

Oh, the fun he is having!  Super deep baths with jets and insane amounts of bubbles.  Chuck-E-Cheese's, pizza, unlimited games of Uno, Wii, hours of play-doh sculpting with Uncle Dane, pigs-in-a-blanket, hanging with Grandpa Spencer and Korinne and Kristen, not having to share toys....and the list goes on and on!

And how do I know that our superhero has been recharged and is ready to come home to tackle his superhero duties once again? Because...

Last night he visited Auntie's in-laws and was required to have impeccable manners and behavior.  Upon greeting the father-in-law, Captain Owen shook his hand.  When Auntie asked, "What do you do when you shake someone's hand?"  Owen grasped the large hand firmly and......added in a little superhero wink.  A wink!

The charming is back!  


And I can't wait for him to come home.

Thankful Thursday

It is hard to see the images of the destruction in Haiti and not reflect upon my own good fortune.  The other night I watched the news and listened to the stories of desperation and despair from my cozy, warm bed.  After I turned off the light and was drifting off to a peaceful sleep I heard Kai cry.  Like any good mother, I crossed my fingers and wished like a 6 year old blowing out birthday candles, that I wouldn't hear another wail.  But, alas, as his cries escalated to screams of "Mama! Mama!" I went in to get him and put him in bed between me and Jay.

As he snuggled in and struggled to go to sleep he would occasionally reach over and put his chubby, round hand on my cheek and say, "Mama."  (That just about made up for the fact that he was in our bed in the first place!) I knew he felt content and safe and happy, as every child should.

I was so thankful to be able to provide him with the basic things every child deserves.....a warm bed, loving parents, healthy food, medicine if he needs it, a happy home and comfort when he feels afraid.
I'm thankful I don't live in Haiti and sad that there are mothers there who can't comfort their children as I comforted Kai.

I'm thankful Jay has a great job. (I keep repeating that to help me get over the anger of the hours that said job robs me of seeing him!) And I'm grateful for these flowers that appeared after a particularly difficult day.

I'm thankful for this view of the sunrise from my bedroom window that reminds me that I'm lucky to have another day to raise my children and love my husband and to remember to try, try, try to enjoy the fun AND the challenges of each new day.

All Work and All Play

 I am a generous and giving little boy.  I don't ever want to keep all the fun to myself.


So, I've discovered a wonderful creative outlet that really gets Mama involved. It is called "The Magical Marks Game."

It goes like this.....

I take a metal aircraft of my choice (I prefer the F-4U Corsair. It is made of good sturdy metal). The next step is to vigorously and rapidly rub the plane on the walls that are painted flat white....and...Ta-Da!!!
 
Black marks magically appear all over the wall that is my canvas. My inner painter is released!  I think Mama is really proud because she makes me stand here and take what she calls a "mugshot" at the "scene of the crime."  She also says that she can't wait to pull this picture out and show me one day when I dare to complain that I have too many chores.  What a thoughtful Mama!

And the fun doesn't stop there. Pretty soon after I've made my masterpiece, Mama magically appears with a sponge that she calls her "Magic Eraser." And it must really be magic because it is the only thing that erases my marks. I can tell she really likes this game because Mama always comes back with her Magic Eraser....so I keep flying my plane on the walls. And pretty black marks keep reappearing. Good times!


But my life isn't all fun and games. I work, too. When I really need to buckle down and get something done at the office I shout, "Bye!" and Mama replies, "Have a good day at work!" I give her a little wave and then off I go to the office. 

I just close my door for a little privacy. 

The dress code is quite relaxed. They even let me bring my own toys.

My commute is really easy, too. When I'm done with work (which consists of examining the effects of a cheese grater on the inside of a cabinet door) I just pop out of my office and head off to find something to destroy. 

My life is really quite simple. I have no complaints. However, the one indignity I must endure is getting my diaper changed and clothes put on. Mama tortures me with these tasks EVERY day! It just isn't my style to hold still while someone wipes at my nether regions with a cold cloth. Or when I have to poke my gigantic noggin through a tiny hole in my shirt....I just can't take it!!

So my solution is easy. Whenever I hear Mama say, "Kai!  It's time to change your diaper!"   I take off as fast as my chubby legs can carry me and dive into the shirts hanging in Daddy's closet.  I wait under the clothes until she inevitably discovers me and hauls me out by my ankles. 

I'm really striving to live an exciting and meaningful life.  I believe that all the energy that I have been blessed with should be put to good use.  And I strive to do that each and every day.  I think it keeps my Mama young.  

She disagrees.

She points to the sides of her eyes and says, "See this?  This wrinkle and this new one and these dark circles are from YOU!"

I told you I was generous and giving!

To Whom It May Concern....

*I forgot to post this back in December!
 

Dear Egg Nog,
We have to stop meeting like this.  I do not appreciate your fat content.


Dear Christmas Tree,
Must you shed like a sheepdog? Really? For a fresh cut tree you've got a lot of work to do in the freshness department. Are you paying us back for yanking you violently from your peaceful, tranquil farm life and thrusting you into a home where you have to support hundreds of twinkling lights and homemade ornaments dripping with Elmer's glue, glitter and popsicle sticks?

Was it necessary for you to hide Drew's game cartridge in your branches for 2 weeks? I yelled at Drew for losing it AND I lost my dignity as I rumaged around the garbage looking for that thing! Only to find it squirreled away in your needle-ly clutches. I know that Kai was your accomplice....I found his sippy cup in there. Are you hoarding all the lost socks, too?  Shameful, I say! Shameful!

Dear Insomnia,
You have reduced me to watching FaLaLaLa Lifetime. It is a new low. I just watched a holiday movie with Glinda the Good Witch (rather, the lady that played her in "Wicked") trying to woo lumberjack fellas in rural Montana to pose for a hunky calendar wherein she inevitably falls in love and leaves behind her high-powered Manhattan life and trades her Manolo Blahniks for hiking boots and lives happily ever after. Blech. I just felt 10 billion brain cells spontaneously combust.

Dear SpongeBob Square Pants,
Thank you for teaching Drew alternate lyrics to "Oh Christmas Tree." I enjoy it infinitely more than the boring and uninspiring lyrics of the original. Hearing him sing "Oh Krusty Krab, Oh Krusty Krab! Oh how I love you, Krusty Krab! Your patties from the grill...."
It delights me to no end!

Dear Whoopee Cushion,
Thank you, thank you, thank you for the days of laughter you have afforded me. Hearing your flatulent exclamations and the ensuing giggles is priceless. You are Owen's new favorite toy; however, I wish that you would refrain from allowing him to use you as a "way to call Mama when I need her." A simple, "Mama, could you please come here?" would suit me better than your potty mouth salutations.