The Tooth Fairy's Ripping Me Off

"Mom, I think I swallowed my tooth." So says my six year old son.

"Why do you think that?"

"One's coming in way back here, and I don't remember one falling out."

Ah. So I had to explain that, as we grow and our mouths get bigger, we grow molars, or "big teeth" back there to fill the space.

Dmitri was relieved to hear he hadn't swallowed a tooth and missed out on a chance to collect a dollar from the tooth fairy. Until he connected more of the dots...

"Hey!" He pouted. "I get a tooth, but I don't lose one? The tooth fairy's ripping me off!"

I didn't have the heart to tell him how the IRS works... :)

Wordless Wednesday: February 6, 2008

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Thursday Thirteen #12: 13 TV Mysteries

13 TELEVISION MYSTERIES

1. If the Professor could make a radio from a coconut, why couldn’t he make a boat?
2. Why was there no racial tension on that Gary Coleman Diff’rent Strokes show?
3. How did the Fonz pay rent?
4. Why did Timmy fall all the time—just so Lassie could save him?
5. Did Jack ever sleep with Janet or Chrissy?
6. Where did Ginger get all her clothes?
7. Did the old Darren from Bewitched and the old Becky from Rosanne get shunted into another dimension?
8. How did Jeannie fit in that little bottle?
9. Did the L on all her blouses really stand for Laverne?
10. What did Doogie Howser do with all his money?
11. What happened to the cat from the Brady Bunch? Did Tiger eat it?
12. Was Shaggy’s love for food really just the “munchies?”
13. Why didn’t Jo from Facts of Life ever realize she was really secretly in love with Blair?

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One of These Things Just Doesn't Belong

Can you see the accident waiting to happen here in my night table drawer?

That's right. And yes, it DID happen. And no, it wasn't the kids. It was ME.

YUK!

Mommy Zen

I'm resting on my bed flipping through channels. Thinking about sleeping. But not. The kids are running up and down the stairs, screeching at each other and the dog, which pretty much precludes the sleeping part of our program.

Zoe opens my door a crack, "Mom, Dmitri's chasing me."

"Okay."

The door closes. It's starting to snow outside. Big, fat flakes.

"Mom, Dmitri's trying to color on me with a blue crayon!"

"Okay."

There's nothing on TV. I should get up and do the dishes, but every time I get up to do something, I remember I'm still not feeling 100%.

The door opens again. "I meant a green crayon. He's trying to color on me with a green crayon."

"Okay then." I just watch it snow. More interesting than Oprah.

What? You would have taken the crayon? You underestimate the power of mommy zen. Being, not doing. Trust me, young padwan.

"Mommy, here's the crayon." Zoe puts it next to the TV. "Dmitri wants to go outside and play in the snow."

"Okay."

"Can I go, too?"

"Sure." I listen to her bounding down the stairs and call after her: "Snow pants!"

And off they go to play in the big, wet flakes.

Yes, okay, so the dog's ear was a tinge green when he came up to join me on the bed. But, remember, crayons are non-toxic. Didn't you read the box?

Being - not Doing. The Art of Mommy Zen.

Chatterbox

Our little Zoe is our resident chatterbox. She never stops, unless she's sleeping. Michael says she's going to grow up to be a reporter. She has to tell us everything, even as it's happening.

Yesterday, she had a fever and I kept her home to take her to the doctor. Since Dmitri had strep last week, I figured that's what this was, and I was right. She missed her "special person day" at school, though. The "Student of the Day" gets to lead all the lines and share at show and tell, etc. Last night, she kept insisting, "I'll be fine tomorrow. I can go to school tomorrow and be the special person!"

"We'll see." That's all I'd say.

This morning, however, she poked her head into our room before our alarm went off.

"I'm dressed and ready to go!"

I groaned. "Zoe, it's still dark. Daddy hasn't even taken a shower yet."

"But I feel better!"

"I'm glad. Now go back to your room and wait until Daddy gets up."

Michael turned off the alarm with a sigh.

"Did I tell you about Stef's daughter?" I asked in the dark.

"No."

"She's fourteen now and living with them now. They got her a cell phone--for emergencies."

"This isn't going to turn out well."

"They told her they were sharing minutes and to only use it if she had to."

"Uh-huh."

"Seven hundred dollars later..."

"Oh my god."

Our bedroom door opened again."Daddy, when are you going to take a shower?"

"In a minute."

"I've got my shoes and coat on. I'm ready to go."

"Okay."

Michael asked, "Did they at least take her cell phone away?"

"I think so."

"Mom, today's my special person day, I'm going to bring my whoopsie doll!"

"I know, honey. Can you go back to your room and play until it's time to go?"

"Are you going to take a shower yet, Daddy?"

"In a minute."

Zoe shut our door.

"They're making her get a job to pay it off."

"Good. Jeez. Teenagers."

"I know."

Our door opened again. "Mom, I get to lead the line on my special day, and I get to turn off the lights at nap time. I'm taking my whoopsie doll for show and tell. Can I take a muffin for a snack? We're having hamburgers for lunch today and I told Jordan I'd sit by her. She's my bestest friend. She brought her Bratz doll for show and tell last week. Can I have one? I'm going to ask Santa for Christmas. Daddy, are you going to take a shower yet?"

Michael groaned and sat up. "She is never, never, ever going to have a cell phone."

Agreed!

Thursday Thirteen #8: 13 Queens

1. Elizabeth



2. Queen (the band)




3. Queen from Snow White

4. Queen Latifah

5. Dairy Queen

6. The Snow Queen (Narnia)

(Angelica Houston was the best one!)

7. Prom Queen: Carrie

8. Drama Queen

9. The Queen (movie)

10. Nathan Lane from The Birdcage

11. Queen of the Damned (Anne Rice)

12. Queensryche

13. My Queen Size Bed

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11. Raggedy 12. Deb 13. Holly 14. julia

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I Hate DVRs

I take back everything I said about DVRs. I hate them.

I'm happily watching a show, tralala, something totally uninteresting (you'd think!) to the masculine, like Dr. Phil or something, and Michael comes into the bedroom and sits down. And suddenly, he's interested. Brightest thing in the room, and he's instantly entranced.

But, of course, he has to get up and do something. Pee. Get a snack. Chop down a tree. Build a fire. Fix the garbage disposal. Whatever.

"Pause it!"

Okayyyyyyy.

Twenty minutes later, he comes back. I'm sitting there twiddling my thumbs, waiting, watching Dr. Phil's face frozen like he's got a tick in one eye. I know I'm developing a tick in one eye.

He sits down. "Okay, go ahead." I juuuuuuuuust get involved again, and "Oh, wait, I forgot to get a diet Coke."

ARGH!

I hate DVRs. The word "pause" should be struck from the dictionary!

Laughter is the Best Medicine

They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but I honestly think the saying "laughter is the best medicine" carries more weight. (Do you think I could have fit some more trite phrases into that sentence if I tried a little harder?)

I've had people tell me they love my laugh. I don't get it, but all my life people have said it enough that I'm tempted to almost believe them. Apparently, it's infectious. My husband says my smile and laugh lights up a room. (But he has to say that, he married me, right?)

Still, I do love to laugh. My ex and I used to go to comedy clubs and come home with our sides aching from laughing so hard. I'm lucky now, though, that my husband makes me laugh every day. And he's especially good at it when I'm feeling sick or grumpy or headachy or premenstrual.

Michael has the goofiest sense of humor. He loves puns, plays on words, and strangeness. He comes up with thoughts and ideas that never would have occurred to me, which is why, I suppose, he surprises a laugh out of me at least twice a day.

Yesterday he came home for lunch and I was feeling cranky. It was one of those days I didn't feel like doing anything--including getting out of bed. Although I did anyway--begrudgingly.

We were cuddled on the couch while he idly flipped channels on the remote. (Ever notice how guys like to do that to sort of relax and zone out?) And inevitably, he skips over the shows I would stop at and stops at the ones I'd skip. It never fails.

So he paused briefly at one of those cop chase shows, "Disorderly Conduct" or some such thing. The voiceover is low and serious: "The suspect is driving ninety miles an hour, endangering life and limb, but the officers must proceed with caution, because they believe the suspect may be armed."

Michael snorts. "Of course he's armed. It would be hard to drive a car without arms, now wouldn't it?"

Surprised, I laugh out loud, shaking my head at his interpretation.

He flips for a while, we talk a little bit, he passes over good stuff like "The View" and "Family Feud" and somehow ends up back on the cop show again. We're watching a different car chase this time, a white Bronco going much faster than OJ's ever did, all over the road.

The announcer comes on, still deadly serious: "The driver, after failing the breathalyzer test and escaping in his vehicle, is now weaving, giving the officers a run for their money."

"Well no wonder he's all over the road," Michael says. "Thank god he wasn't knitting."

It took me a minute... what the--? Knitting? And then it clicks... ohhhhh, weaving... knitting. And again, I'm laughing, rolling my eyes and groaning, but laughing anyway.

And on it went... like a Mystery Science Theater in my living room. By the time he left again for work, I was in much better spirits than I had been before he came home for lunch.

He kissed me goodbye and said, "You know, you always cheer me up."

The feeling's mutual.

Bathroom Humor

Dmitri spent quite a while in the bathroom this afternoon. For some reason, he feels the need to give me a report every five minutes or so.

"I'm still in here, Mom!"

"Okay."

"I'm going potty, but I'm okay!"

"Okay."

As if I think he's going to flush himself down the toilet or something?

When he came out this time, he sat on the couch next to me and lifted his shoes to show me. "Mom, every time I sit on the toilet, my feet wrinkle."

That made me put down my book. "They what?"

"When I have to sit there for a long time, my feet start to wrinkle."

Okay, I was truly puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Not like in the bathtub, when they get all funny. Not like that."

I sat there for a moment, staring at his Lion King tennis shoes and wondering what he could possibly be trying to say. "Do you mean they tingle?"

"Oh, is that what it's called?"

"Yeah." I laughed. "Tingly or prickly or pins and needles. It just means your feet fell asleep."

"I don't blame them." He sighed. "I was sitting there a long time!"

Blue Barb Vs. Eerie Eddie

I've been creeped out by dolls since I was a kid. Not all dolls, but some dolls. You know the ones. The CREEPY ones. My mom says one of the first things I ever had nightmares about was a movie where a doll is burned in a fire and melts. I woke up screaming about that creepy doll for weeks.


I thought I found the creepiest doll ever on a blog recently, but now I'm not so sure. A friend of mine turned me onto this great blog called Looking for George. She's a mother of four and adopting a child from Vietnam to add to the chaos, and is also, as her blog title implies, looking for an old friend named George.

She also blogs occasionally about one of her daughter's beloved, yet decidedly creepy dolls, called Blue Barb. We all know some dolls are just strange. They don't have to look like Chucky to be a little "off." Now, if you've clicked the link and gone to see Blue Barb in all her disturbing glory (go ahead, click. I'll wait) you've been subject to Barb's particular brand of ghoulish charm.

Today, I was cleaning Zoe's room, and nearly had a heart attack when I looked into her closet, where we keep three baskets filled with stuffed animals and dolls. In the corner, I found Barb's long-lost cousin, or perhaps her bizarre and bloated future-boyfriend? Zoe calls him Eddie (although sometimes transforms him with a barrette operation into Edwina) and I've named him Eerie Eddie, because... well, he is.


If you think Blue Barb is scary, you haven't experienced the horror that is Eerie Eddie. For one thing, Eddie is a big boy. A BIG boy. He also reminds me of a cross between the Heat Miser (remember that Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer Christmas special?):



...and the clown from "It."






The latter is mostly because Eddie came wearing a clown outfit. (He had a clown hat at one time, too, but it's long been lost.) As if a creepy doll couldn't get creepier--they had to add a creepy clown costume to the deal?!


And Grandma looked at this thing in the catalog and thought: Awwwwww! I just have to get this for my granddaughter!



Really???


Me, I look at it and think: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

*shudder*


I think maybe Blue Barb has really met her match this time...

Herrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre's Eddie!

What do you think? Should we introduce them?


I told Michael about the freaky doll in the closet (and of course, took Eddie out to take this picture but put him in the back of the closet when I was done with him.)



When I came into our bedroom later, I found this:





I turned to Michael and said: "Ha. Ha. Very funny, dear."



He looked at me, puzzled, and asked: "What?"


I pointed and said: "Eddie and the Chainsaw? Very funny."


"I didn't put him there." Michael blinked at me. "I thought you put him there."





Creepy damned dolls.