Parental Learning Curve

They say there's a learning curve to everything, right?  For example, you wouldn't expect a teenager to jump in a car without driver's education and arrive safely at their destination.  You wouldn't expect a pre-med student to perform brain surgery on their first day of classes.  You wouldn't even expect your five year-old son to master the remote control without nearly ordering questionable pay-per-view films.

So why, as parents, do we expect to hands our kids over at age eighteen without having made a single mistake?  It's just not possible, and we shouldn't beat ourselves up.  But I probably didn't have to make the kid cry, either.

If you and I are friends on Facebook, perhaps you saw my status yesterday regarding Cael's unusual school attire.  (And if we're not Facebook friends, what did I do to you?)  But in case you missed it, here's what happened.

Yesterday began as any other day, my son waking me up at 2am, wondering why 1-4 is pronounced "fourteen" and 1-3 is not "threeteen".  After he was coerced into returning to sleep, we began the day at eleventeen minutes after 7am, when I pulled out some clean clothes for Cael and Graham to wear.  I stayed long enough to see that Cael had his clean jeans and underpants on, and figured that he could take care of the rest while I started breakfast.  Our morning was normal, albeit chaotic, and when I dropped Cael off at school, I had no idea that things would take a really bizarre turn.

Well, several weird turns.  But I'm not writing today about finding the cat asleep in the training potty or Graham's realization that the two white buttons on Mickey Mouse's pants are, in fact, buttons and not "really big nipples" as he had previously thought.

It wasn't until Cael had returned home from school and we all sat around the table for lunch that I noticed him repeatedly adjusting his pants and sitting in a contorted position on his chair. 

"What's wrong with your pants, Cael?"

"Nothing.  I just have a scratchy itch."

"Do you need to go potty?"

"Nope, I just need to scratch."

And with that, he dropped his pants to reveal his round cheeks, sans underpants.  Before I let myself question that decision, I could see that the source of the itch was the inside of his pocket, which had rubbed uncomfortably on his bare bottom all morning and left a red spot brighter than Rudolph's nose.  (See, now this is a Christmas story, too!)

After he retrieved some underpants to act as a barrier between his sensitive skin and his insensitive (and insensitively priced!) Gymboree jeans, I simply had to question his motives.

"Cael, were you at school all morning without underpants?"

"Yeah... but it's okay because my nutters stayed warm in my pants."

"That's not the only reason to wear underpants, honey.  You need to wear them everyday, no matter what."

"But you said my cheekers were cute!"

"They are cute, but you still need to wear underpants.  Wait-- you didn't show the other kids your cheekers, did you?"

"No, we were very busy today."

"That's a relief.  Now you need to promise me that you won't show them your private parts, okay?"

"But Mommy--"

"No, I want you to promise me."

"Ugh.  Okay."

Thinking that the issue was settled, I did what any modern mother would do.  I put it on Facebook.  I thought it was funny.  I mean, it is funny, right?  Obviously other people found it funny because before I knew it, I was fielding texts and repeating the story on the phone with a few friends, all the while not noticing how Cael's face was growing redder by the minute.

And this time, I was the culprit, not a scratchy itch.

Without realizing it, I had embarrassed him badly enough that he erupted in a Vesuvious-like fashion and shouted at me to stop.  Honestly, I hadn't considered that his nerves of steel would be penetrated by my teasing, but they had and I felt terrible.  This wasn't like a scraped knee or a paper cut-- this was a bruised ego, and Mommy did the bruising.

I tried to snuggle him extra for the rest of the night, and to make sure he took his mind off of the Bare Bottom Debacle of 2012, but he made sure I would remember.

"Mommy, why did you tell everyone about me not wearing underpants?"

"I'm sorry, honey, I should have asked you.  I just thought it was a funny store and I didn't think it would hurt your feelings."

"No, Mommy, I mean why did you tell them about me not wearing underpants, but you didn't tell them that I have cute cheekers?"

"Oh, Cael..."

Correction:  Cael did not wear underpants to school yesterday, but it's okay because he has really cute cheekers. 

Ism of the Week

"Mommy, how come Santa doesn't bring you presents?"

"Well, Santa just does those special things for kids.  I guess he decided that grown-ups could get gifts for themselves."

"That's not very nice.  In my school we're not 'sposed to give something to just one boy and not give something to all of the other boys."

"What about the girls?"

"I don't give anything to girls.  Santa can take care of that."

North Pole Bound

We believe.

Move Over, Marvel

"Hey Mommy, I drawed you some pictures!"



"See, this is a bad guy and there's a good guy shooting him with this tank because tanks are worser than punching."


 
"And then I drew Mr. Incredible when he was still fat, so he has big muscles but they're not as big as his huge belly because he's been eating a lot of Christmas candy.  Like you, Mommy!"

"And here is Captain America!!  He's really strong because he was frozen but now he's not frozen and he doesn't know people any more because they were here before he was frozen but then they weren't here after he got not frozen.  He's cool because he was frozen.  And he has an 'A' on his hat!"

"These two guys are fighting because they just like to fight.  They weren't frozen, they're just fighting guys.  This guy has a sword but this one has glasses so that he can see better.  The guy with no glasses can't see good, so he's not hurting the other guy.  Because he can't see, Mommy.  Isn't that funny?"


 
"This is Violet from the Incredibles.  She has dark hair and I put her in her force field.  I just think it's cool that she can make a force field.  But what if she farts in the force field and it's really stinky and she can't breathe?  Maybe it's not very cool that she makes a force field."

"Oh!  Oh!  I almost forgot that I drew Hawkeye!    He is really good with his bow and arrow, like Daddy.  Except Daddy only got one deer and if Hawkeye was hunting I bet he would get fifty-sixty deers!"

"Iron Man is over here.  He's still my favorite because he has a really cool suit and he's a normal guy inside but he has this funny shiny thing on his stomach.  I thought it was a necklace but now I think it's not a necklace.  Maybe it's a sticker.  Or a reflicktor like on my bike!"

"But the BEST one is the Hulk!  I like him because he gets so big and green and he can smash things and break walls and stuff.  So I drawed you a Hulk."

"And here are the Hulk's nipples, Mommy!"

"Wow, Cael.  Those are some impressive pictures.  And I think I know what your super power is!"

"What?!?"

"Drawing superheroes.  I think you're superhuman at drawing these guys."

"Yeah, that's true, I am.  But what is your super power, Mommy?"

"Patience."

Have Yourself a Blasé Little Christmas

Somehow, against all odds, we made through five years of parenting and Christmases without ever meeting Santa Claus.  He was around, of course, but when Cael was brand new I wasn't keen on the idea of photographing the traditional terror-filled Christmas cry, and as the years went by we had always come up with alternative Christmas activities to get in the spirit.

But this year, with both boys a bit older and really invested in the magic of Santa, I thought it was time.  The coincidental arrival of Kris Kringle in Mt. Vernon was just a bonus.  So last Saturday, we loaded the kids up and headed over to the bank, where St. Nick was taking requests and encouraging delusions of grandeur that parents would never be able to achieve. 

Honestly, I was really excited.  I dressed them in clothing nicer than their usual play attire, charged all of my camera batteries and loaded up the car.  When we arrived at the bank mere moments later, Joel and I let the cat out of the bag.

"It's time for your surprise!  What do you think it could be?"


At that point, there was excitement.  There was maybe a little bit of apprehension, and there was definitely some syrup stuck to Graham's face.  But Santa is a pretty forgiving guy who clearly has a sweet tooth, so we let it slide.

But as soon as we headed down the steps of the bank and into the hall where Santa was waiting, Cael became a wall.  He showed no signs of emotion or anticipation despite my near-manic ramblings of "oh-my-gosh-it's-Santa-Claus-and-he's-here-like-RIGHT-here-in-the-bank..."  Graham was slightly more enthused, offering to chat with Santa first and when prompted for his Christmas requests, asking Mr. Claus for "Christmas toys, presents, gifts and things." 

So much for specificity.



When he was done, Graham took the candy cane given by Santa's "elves" and stepped aside so that Cael could have his turn.  Given his lackluster reaction, I wasn't sure if I could expect an I-want-to-hang-myself-with-these-dysfunctional-Christmas-lights level meltdown, or if he'd give the jolly old elf the cold-shoulder in typical I'm-avoiding-your-in-laws-and-my-family style. 

The latter was closer.

Cael lumbered up onto Santa's lap, and without asking, made sure to clarify that he would be needing a Captain America toy.  And then he shut down.



"Have you been a good boy this year?"

"Mhmm."  (That's debatable.)

"Are you excited for Christmas?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Nah."

I'll remember that come Christmas morning.



Cael eventually plopped down, retrieved his candy cane, and turned down the opportunity to decorate his own sugar cookie, choosing a pre-made treat requiring less effort and minimal Christmas spirit.  When we returned to the car, I couldn't help but question Cael about his disinterest in the experience.



"Why weren't you more excited?  Didn't you like Santa?"

"He was nice.  It was fine.  Oh, and Mommy?  I know that he was the real Santa because his beard was real."

"You should have told him that."

"He knows he's real, Mommy."

And I guess that's all that matters.

Pain in the Head

Do you ever get headaches?  The unfortunate members of my family are prone to headaches, and not the type you get from yanking your hair out from the root when your son emerges from the bathroom with a tampon hanging from the back of his pants like a tail.

No, the headache I'm talking about feels on the inside the way my boys' bedroom looks on the outside.  Disastrous, disheveled and in a state of emergency.

But as a mom, when you are sick or not feeling well, there are no sick days.  No opportunities to lay down and take a nap while someone else picks up the slack.  In fact, if you have a headache in my house, this is what you get.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"I'm okay, honey, I just have a really bad headache and need you to make your voice quiet."

"So you don't want me to yell?  LIKE THIS?  AHHHH!"



"Cael!  That is not nice!  You should use a quiet voice anyway because we're not outside."

"But why does your head hurt?"

"I don't know, it just happens.  Sometimes because of the weather, or what I've eaten."

"I think I'm starting to get a footache."



"Your foot aches?"

"Yes.  A footache.  Oh, OH!  It hurts.  It hurts because I ate a muffin this morning."

"I'm sorry your 'foot hurts', but would you please stop shouting?"

"I can't.  It hurts!  IT HURTS!"

"Wow, if your foot hurts that much, I guess you should go lay down in your bed."

"Oh, well, it's not that bad.  It's still worse than your head, though."

"You think so?  I think maybe I should go lay in MY bed."

"I think you should make my lunch instead."



It seems that, along with the health of his foot and his sense of compassion, my son's respect for women has disappeared.  And while I'm hoping that some ibuprofen will cure my pain, I can't help but wonder if a nice, big dose of Benadryl for Cael would achieve the same result...

Christmas Public Service Announcement

This is your Christmas tree.



This is your Christmas tree "on children".



This is also your favorite bra.



Any questions?

This public service announcement is brought to you by the Commission to End Parental Embarrassment.