Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Good manners or oppressive parenting?

"This is a store where kids shouldn't touch, right Mommy?"

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Sick Day

Tuesday J was sick. He came home from work early, ate a little dinner, and then slept for 14 hours.

Wednesday I got it.

"Thanks for the germs. I'm miserable."
"Just go to bed. Sleep it off. I'm feeling so much better today."
"And what? Let our son roam the house unattended until you get home from work?"

I think not.

I take up residence on the couch and moan. Suddenly PBS Kids turns into Charlie Rose and while I'm stoked the Cracker is quite perturbed.

"Go find the remote! Then press 5-5 for Disney. Two fives!"

(I've started pushing PBS because of, duh, the Doddlebops. Death to Deedee, Rooney, Moe, I say.)

But he can't move, because 10 feet away from me he's somehow managed to get his fingers stuck in the slats of a chair.

And I can't get them out. And now he's screaming. The headache I thought couldn't get worse is now worse. And his fingers are getting more swollen by the second. And I'm trying butter. Olive oil. Regular mayonnaise. Vegan mayonnaise.

It's not working. It’s going on a half hour.

"I need you to be brave. I will be right back! Mommy's just going to run to the garage and get a saw..."

"NOOOOOO!!!" Apparently "saw" upset him further.

I try again. Nope, not budging.

I know I'm not thinking clearly. Surely there are more things around the house to try, but I cannot for the life of me fathom what the might be with the splitting headache and hysterical screaming child in my OTC drug induced haze.

Call J at work. No answer. My Dad is overseas. My Mom is back East were her cell is worthless.

Think woman! Think!

The Pediatrician's office! Because this is so something all little kids do at some point. Hell, I remember two different times that the fire department got called to my Kindergarten class to saw someone's head out form the back of a wooden chair.

Receptionist answers right away. I tell her what's going on. She takes my name. His name. His medical record number. His social. His date of birth. Please verify your address and home phone?


Fuck you.

Back to the drawing board. Crisco? Cooking spray? Liquid soap?

Finally they came free. I have no idea what finally worked, but I suspect it was a combination of everything.

(Now that I have a clear head, I'm thinking K-Y Jelly.)

Friday, April 20, 2007

Life in New Mexico

In line at the Costco Food Court

Middle-aged Caucasian-looking man: Your son has the most interesting hair.
Me: Thanks.
MACLM: What do you call that color?
Me: Uh.........blonde. (Is this a trick question?)
MACLM: What's his natural color?
Me: Excuse me?
MACLM: You know, his real hair color? If you didn't dye it?

Car Talk

Listening to MC Solaar (French rap) this morning on our way to school:

"Hey Mommy, what's that other 'Panish called again?"
"Oh right! Fwench! Got it!" (muttering to self) "I ahways forget Fwench."