Dad is a psycho!

Are you familiar with Handy Manny? He is a Hispanic cartoon character who owns a repair shop. Together with his talking tools, he successfully repairs any broken item in town, meanwhile teaching several Spanish words in every episode. Parker loves him.

He got a Handy Manny toy for Christmas. It includes a large, plastic Handy Manny, a motorcycle, and some tools. If you press a button, he says certain phrases.

One day, Parker came to us with his new Handy Manny riding atop the motorcycle with a perplexed expression. "Why does Handy Manny say, 'Dad is a psycho?'"

We, too, were confused. We pressed the button, cycling through the phrases until we happened upon, "That is a sidecar." With Manny's accent (and a healthy imagination), he could be mistaken for saying, "Dad is a psycho."

I looked at Aaron, raised my eyebrows, and told him that Manny knew him well.

Jesus Christ makes chickens!

"Jesus Christ!" Parker exclaimed (and not in a loving way either). My jaw dropped. I asked him where he'd heard people use that phrase. He told me the names of some friends (who shall forever remain nameless, so don't even ask).

He kept saying "Christ! Christ! Christ!" all night. I waited until bedtime to address the issue. As I was tucking him in, I said, "You know, Jesus has another name...Did you know that? Sometimes He's called Christ."

Parker nodded.

"And God told us in His Word, the Bible, He doesn't want us to use His name in a bad or mean way or when we're mad."

Parker looked confused. "But we say, 'Jesus Christ' when we're mad."

"No. We can't say that when we're mad."

Parker suggested, "We could say 'Jesus Goust...'"

"No, that sounds a lot like Jesus Christ. We can say His name when we're praying; we just don't want to use His name when we're mad."

Parker: "We could say, 'Jesus makes chickens!'"

"Ummm..." (What the heck?)

Parker insisted, "No, we can say, 'Jesus makes chickens!' when we're happy. It's a good thing to say."

(Sigh). "Okay, we can say, 'Jesus makes chickens!' when we're happy."

Lesson learned? Probably not tonight.

Where's My Underwear? - Part II

Bubble baths are a thing of the past. These days, I lock the kids in our room with me, leave our bathroom door open, hop in the shower, and am out in under 4 minutes.

Then I begin the clean-up process. Amazing what can happen in 4 minutes.

Part of the process includes picking up my hastily discarded clothes and putting them in the hamper. Only, recently, I couldn't find my underwear. I didn't understand it. Why wasn't it with my jeans in a pile on the bathroom floor? Where could it be?

Did I mention Maddie likes to play dress-up? Lovely little girl, but underwear worn as a necklace? Just not a good look for you, honey.

Just me?

Is it just me? Or do other parents "lose it," too? I mean, really. You all seem so darned perfect at playgroup or at the park or at the zoo...Do you scream - ever?

I can hold it together for a certain amount of time, and then bam! I find myself yelling.

Today we were preparing to visit some preschools that Parker might attend in the fall. He was sooo excited. It was adorable. He packed his backpack with things he might need...a book, some binoculars, snacks, his blankie, etc. He got dressed. He practiced pulling his underwear up and down (as he understands he must be fully potty trained to attend school). He was completely ready to go by 7am.

Our first appointment was at 9:15.

You can imagine just how antsy he became as time passed. I tried to explain that I needed to get myself and Maddie ready, prepare breakfast, pack a diaper bag, print directions, etc. He groaned, "Mommy, this is taking forever!"

Then the fighting began. He wanted the stupid play keyboard Maddie was holding. I calmly told him to find something he could trade her. I repeated myself about a zillion times and helped him make successful trades about a dozen times. Of course, he would put the toy down, move on, and then wail when she picked it up again. This went on and on and on. Finally they seemed content, so I darted upstairs to throw on my clothes. Then I heard Maddie's distinctive he-snatched-a-toy-from-me-scream.

I had had it. I bellowed (and I mean bellowed) as I bolted down the stairs, "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! Sounds like SOMEONE isn't ready to go to preschool! Because at preschool you have to know how to share! And clearly, YOU do not!"



Wounded. That was his little expression. Tears welled in his big blue eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mommy! I can share. Please let me go to preschool! I really want to go! I'm really sorry."

Knife in my heart. I knelt and held out my arms. I rocked him and apologized and together, we started our day over again.

What terrible and awesome power we have as parents. Oh, let it be my daily prayer I don't abuse it.

Demon Child

Maddie was my "Angel baby." The kind the books wrote about...fed easily, slept well, smiled all the time. She was just plain easy.

Recently, however, she has woken from her naps, screeching, flailing, making gutteral, growling sounds, and stiffening (when held). I thought perhaps she had more teeth coming in, maybe an ear infection. But now I'm pretty sure the only logical conclusion is demon-possession.

See, all of her teeth are in. She does't have any of the other symptoms that accompany an ear infection (lies down for nap easily, no fever, etc.).

Now, I'll admit my only experience with the possessed consisits of watching the Excorcist, but Maddie really does bear a striking resemblance to Regan during these fits.

Maybe if I put some holy water in her sippy...

Psychic Abilities

I'm pretty sure I have them. Read on.

Yesterday, after running a few errands, I decided to take the kids to a new park. I simply searched on the GPS for the closest "park" to our final errand. I knew the minute we pulled up, this was not going to be a "mommy-friendly" park (no benches, infant swings, toddler equipment, etc.). In fact, there was no playground equipment period. Well, today would be the day to broaden Parker's definition of "park" to include more than just jungle gyms and slides.

We entered the gate and ran through a grassy field. We came upon an awesome tree whose enormous branches began right at the ground - great for climbing! Then, I saw it...the hill. Muddy, steep, treacherous, taking us down, down, down to deep, dark, damp paths below.

That is when my psychic powers kicked in. I could see in my mind's eye, the three of us trudging back up the hill a mere 30-45 minutes later. Parker would be crying he didn't want to leave. Maddie would be in my arms, horizontally (kicking and screaming).

And don't you know it, we went down anyway? Yup! We slipped and slid across mossy bridges, splashed in mud puddles, and ran down paths bordered with tall, spooky reeds.

I think my vision was a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, as I knew we only had so much time to play before lunch and nap. Of course they'd be cranky. So, yes, going back up the hill was much as I'd envisioned.

Still, I'm glad we took the road less traveled by [toddlers and mommies], for that has made all the difference.

No, Honey.

Today in the van, Parker was pretending to be me. I decided to take on the role of Parker and give him a taste of his own medicine. I wailed for gumballs. I insisted I needed to get out of the van immediately. I disrespectfully told him, "Yes you will [comply with my demands]!"

Unfortunately, this little social experiment blew up in my face. Parker, acting as me, was very calm and consistent. That part was good.

The bad part was how annoying he was (I am). He never raised his voice, but it was sickeningly sweet. Plus, he never said, 'yes.' Ever. All of his responses were as follows:

No, honey.
I'm sorry, honey.
That would be a 'no.'
That means time-out.
No, honey.
No, honey.
Sorry, honey.
No, honey.
If you do that [hit me], I will lock you in your room [close the door with a childproof lock].
If you do that [throw things at your door], I will set the timer for hours and hours [4 minutes] and you will never ever get out. Ever.

So this is how he sees me. Friendly prison warden. Fantastic.