Unnecessary

Yesterday, I escorted Landis out of the car and into his preschool with a large pack of paper-towels tucked neatly under my arm. What? You don't carry paper-towels around with you everywhere you go? What if something spills? Or what if his face gets dirty? Or his hands? What if he needs something to put his snack on? Wait.....Did I even bring him a snack? Probably not. I can barely remember to bring my head with me, let alone pack a proper snack for my children. But I wasn't schlepping those paper-towels for any of those reasons. Heck, I don't even care about any of those things..... (Spills and dirty faces? Pah-shah.......) I was bringing them because they were on the supply list. And in case you are as clueless as I was in regard to the way preschool works, I'll explain. Each child in Landis's classroom - or more appropriately, each child's parents - are supposed to supply, among other things, one roll of paper-towels per month. Considering the fact that I am such a slack-ass that it took me two weeks to remember to actually BRING the paper-towels to school, I thought it would be best for everyone if I just bought a big pack. A big huge pack. And then I could get away with bringing them on a whim. I mean, remembering to bring them in monthly? I forgot the poor kid's lunch yesterday for cryin' out loud. Oh, I packed it the night before. It was ready to go. I just left in in the refrigerator when we hustled out the door. Yep. I made 6 trips back and forth from preschool yesterday. FUN!

Anyway.... We were making our way through the parking lot, and I handed Landis the paper-towel pack saying, "Here buddy. I'm carrying a lot of things. Why don't you carry this."
He must have been feeling extra generous that morning, because he did so without complaint. He was quiet as we walked together, and I could tell he was lost in thought. Finally, he spoke.

• L: "Mom............ I don't have to go to the bathroom."
• Me: "You don't? OK."
• L: "I mean, I don't think I'll have to go to potty today. You know? I don't think I'll have to go poopy.
• Me: "Ummmmm......OK.........."

He held out the large pack of paper-towels.

• L: "So I guess I won't be needing these........"

Road Trip!!

Our August was busy. Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy. It's like we ambled along, drifting slowly through the first 2 months of summer, and then sat bolt-upright and said "Whoa! If we're going to go anywhere this summer, we need to get in the car and take off right now!!" And then we spent the remaining four weeks driving around the Southeast non-stop. Over to the mountains? Check. Up to Ohio? Check. Out to the beach? Check.

Yes, indeed. We covered it all.

That being said, we obviously spent a lot of time in the car in August. Have you spent an outlandish amount of time in the car with 2 small boys lately? No? That's unfortunate for you. You're really missing out on some good quality fun. What? You don't believe me? You should. Here, let me give you a few examples..............

One of my favorite back-seat activities is one I like to refer to as the "Window Wrangle". You may have played it when you were a child. It goes like this:
He's looking out my window! Don't let him look out my window!
I can look out any window I want to!
No you can't!
Yes I can!
No you can't!
Yes I can!
No you can't!
Yes I can!
Look out YOUR OWN window!!
No.
Yes!
No.
Yes!
No.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!! (crying) He's looking out MY window!!!!"
(Repeat for 10 minutes.)

I mean, seriously..... Doesn't that sound like a blast?! It makes me feel all happy inside just thinking about it. It's a hoot. A laugh a minute. Truly, it is.

Another of my favorite road-trip activities involves both boys trying to "rest" in order to make the time go a little faster. I like to refer to it as the "Hindering your Head" game. That particular little back-seat exercise typically goes like this:
I'm laying my head there!
No you're not! This is where I lay MY head!!
Nuh-unh!! It's where MY head goes!
NO IT'S NOT!! MOVE YOUR HEAD!!! MOVE IT!!
(Smack, slap, scuffle, scuffle, shove, smack, cry, tattle......) MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!!! He hit me! Did you hear that? He hit me!!
Well he hit me!!
Well he's laying his head in MY spot!!
No I'm not!!
Yes he is!!
No I'm not!!
Yes he is!!
No I'm not!
Yes he is!
(Repeat endlessly.)

It's music to my ears. Who needs a relaxing afternoon reading a book, or getting a massage, when you can go on a road trip with these two instead? I find these little back-seat antics to be thoroughly refreshing in every way. So refreshing, in fact, that I never once even think about swiveling around in my seat with my enraged eyeballs practically popping out of my head to hiss at the boys between my clenched teeth that they'd better find a way to FIGURE IT OUT because if I have to come back there and fix it for them I can promise that MY solution is going to be terribly unpleasant for both of them.

Nope.

I never have to do anything like that.

Or, perhaps you've experienced my personal favorite: The Surprise Smackdown. You know........ It's the one where one child lays in wait, pretending not to be bothered by the other one at all. Not in the slightest. In fact, he pretends to be completely preoccupied by something else. And then, without warning and when you least expect it, he strikes. He lunges across the span of the back seat:
Smack!
Smack!
SmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmack!
SmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmack

SmackSmack!SmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmack

SmackSmackSmackSmackSmack!SmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmack

SmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmackSmack!
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

This one is Mike's personal favorite too. And if you don't know Mike, then you don't know that his patience-level is about one millisecond long. Which is, I guess, the driving factor in why he married me. I can put up with a lot of obnoxious shit for an exorbitant amount of time without completely blowing my stack in a "wow-that-poor-person-is-way-too-intense-and-needs-to-be-medicated" sort of way. And as much as I love him, I can't really say the same for my dear husband...... Which makes us a good balance I suppose.

So on our latest 3-hour tour, after we'd been through the Window Wrangle, and the Hinder-your-head game, I figured that I'd done enough threatening through my teeth to thwart any attempt at the Surprise Smackdown. But who was I kidding? In a quiet moment, one of them lunged. The smackdown had started, and I watched Mike getting wound tighter and tighter and tighter until I thought he was going to explode. And when it got to the point that he'd absolutely, in no uncertain terms, had enough, he peeled both eyes off the road and swerved around between the yellow lines so he could explode at the boys: "If you two do not straighten up this minute, I'M going to come back there and start smackin' you around!" (Because really -- let's be honest here....... what parent hasn't stooped to threatening their children with physical violence 3 hours into a road trip? Seriously. Show me a parent who hasn't had to go there and I'll show you a parent who's kids aren't verbal yet.)

Anyway...... You know you've raised some well-mannered southern boys when, upon this outburst by their father, they stop what they're doing, sit straight up and respond: "Ummm, Dad? Don't you mean to say 'I'm going to come back there and put a whuppin' on boaf y'all!'? before they collapse on top of each other, hiccupping for breath in between their gales of laughter.

Yeah.... Hardy, hardy, har, har........
Don't laugh. We might be coming to your house next.

I'm in love.....

Not "in love" in the traditional sense, but "love" in more of a "How the Grinch stole Christmas" sort of way. Does that make any sense? Let me explain.... Do you remember, near the end of the movie, how he was leaning against the mountain, having stolen all the Who's toys, and boxes and ribbons and bows?

He took everything out of every who's house, and even stole the last crumb -- too small for the mouse.

And that bastard, he took all of the food for the feast.

He took the Who hash and he took the roast beast.

And then there he was, leaning against that mountain top, grinning his nasty little grin, just waiting to hear the cries of anguish from those Who's down in Who-ville -- the tall and the small -- when they realized that Christmas wasn't coming at all. But those Who's, they came out of their homes undeterred. They held hands, and they sang, and they had hope and happiness. And that Grinch he just couldn't get it -- until he GOT it! Hope. Happiness. And then his small heart, 3 sizes too small, actually grew 4 sizes that day! Remember? Remember how it got so big it broke the heart-measuring thingy?

So I guess I'm not really comparing myself to the Grinch -- with all the thieving and grouchiness -- except to say that my heart, made so hard and cold and tiny by the unbelievable arrogance and incredible ineptitude of our current administration, grew four sizes last night. Because last night, Barack Obama stole it. This is not to say that I didn't always like him. I did. But now I love him. He has renewed in me a sense of hope and optimism for this country that I haven't felt in a long, long time. And for the first time in almost a decade, I actually think that yes, we can.

Our day yesterday

Lookey here who started Kindergarten yesterday! Real, true, this-is-the-year-that-we-really-mean-it, kindergarten.

It's going to be a good year.
I can tell already.

I know it, because when they did the intake testing they asked Gibson all kinds of questions. Questions like "Do you know when your birthday is?", and "Do you know what your name is?", and "Do you know how to spell it?" To which Gibson replied "JULY 6TH!!!", "GIBSON!!", and "G-I-B-S-O-N!!!!!" I think they also checked to see how many letters and numbers he knew, and frankly, he has a much better grasp on all of that than he did last year. His self-confidence just got a major boost, and I can't even begin to tell you how proud he is of himself. He positively glowed as he recounted his testing questions and showed us his "homework" at the dinnertable.

Oh yes. It's going to be a good year.

Regardless of what he thinks, there IS a difference.

We're Baaaaa-aaack!

Back from our fantastically glorious week-long trip to the Outer Banks. (Sigh......) The perfect weather, the scrumptious seafood, the fabulous laziness that comes about from reading for hours in a chair while you dangle your toes in the surf and your children scramble up and down the beach....... it's all so hard to peel yourself away from. But alas, all good things must come to an end eventually, right?

So here we are, back in Charlotte (Ha! I just typed "Charloote" and it struck me as very funny. Charloote. Ha ha ha......) As I was saying, here we are back in Charlotte, ready to kick off another school year. We came home to a clean house -- thank you very much -- and were able to get most of our necessities done on Saturday; Lawn mowing, grocery shopping, battling with all the other half-assed-slacker-parents scrambling to get their hands on the last of the school supplies.

And seeing that we were fresh off of vacation, Mike suggested a Sunday afternoon trip to Carowinds. You know, sort of a last-hurrah before school officially starts. So we went. I was expecting crazy crowds, but amazingly enough it was pretty reasonable. We were able to walk right onto lots of rides, and any wait we had was relatively short. So even though we hadn't planned to, we closed down the park. And as our evening was coming to an end, we were trying to decide which rides to ride as the last official rides of the summer. Of course, the boys were arguing about who wanted to ride what, what order we should ride them in, and which way we should go. Gibson was vying for the action-adventure theatre (which I will admit is pretty cool. You get to watch a spongebob movie in huge red 3-D glasses while the seats move around underneath you. It really is like being in a pineapple under the sea.) and Landis was rallying hard for Boot's Balloon Race. I personally don't mind Boot's Balloons, but Mike......... Well, let's just say he calls it "Barf's Balloons". Apparently he can't go around and around in flying circles anymore. And I think he's officially apologized to my parents for making fun of them when they wouldn't ride the Merry-Go-Round. But me? I can take it. In fact, I like it. So I stepped in with a brilliant plan -- I am, after all, THE MOTHER. "How about this?" I proposed. "What if daddy goes to the action-adventure theatre with Gibson, and mommy goes on Boot's Balloons with Landis? Then..." I said, addressing Mike and Gibson, "when your movie is over you can come and meet us in kiddie-land." Everyone agreed that I was indeed brilliant, and before they walked away Mike gave me a look of gratitude that said "You are the best thing since sliced bread, and I promise you a 30 minute foot rub this week, since you have selflessly saved me from an inevitable meeting with the bushes". OK, actually he just turned and left with Gibson, but I know that's what he meant and I intend to collect.

So, Landis and I got over to Boot's Balloon Race, and lo' and behold, there was almost NO LINE! And you know what this means, don't you? It not only means that we got on the ride immediately, it also means that we rode it MULTIPLE TIMES! As soon as the little buckets would come back down to earth from their dizzying flight, Landis would exclaim "LET'S DO IT AGAIN!!!" and we'd run around and get back on. The funny thing was, Boot's Balloon Ride had a funny smell about it. One I couldn't quite put my finger on. Though after we'd been slung around a few times, I decided that it smelled a little bit like a sewer. Like, perhaps the building next door was a bathroom that had seen a little too much use that day.

"Gross." I thought. "I wonder if that bathroom always gives off such a funky smell..? How can the people working here all day stand it?"

And then Mike and Gib showed up, and since Mike had to wait in a shop next door so he didn't even have to watch(*) the balloons go 'round and 'round, we thought it best if we headed over to our very last ride of the evening. It was a huge swingy-platform-thingy, and the four of us sat side by side in our own little row. We buckled in and away we went. It swung us up and down, and back and forth, and then up and over and up and over. It was fun. And then it stopped. And then I smelled that funky sewer smell again.

"That's weird...." I thought. "It smells a little bit like a sewer over here too..... It's almost like that smell is.... following..... me......around......."

And then I understood. That smell was following me around. In the form of my youngest child. I sniffed the air as I looked down into the smiling crystal clear blue eyes of Señor-Stinky-Sewer-Pants sitting directly to my left.

My child who gambles and loses.

God love him.

Please, please tell me that one day he'll be able to tell the difference between a fart and a turd.

(* Wimp, wimp, wimpy, wimpy, wimp)

Don't drink the water

Last year I wrote a post about my mother-in-law, and her insane ability to torment herself with disturbing thoughts. In that particular post, I did my best to explain her train of thought as I understand it; How she creates these scenarios in her mind that are indeed disturbing, yet highly unlikely. And also to explain that as improbable as they are, she believes in them whole-heartedly. Like somehow whatever "worst-case-scenario" she can conjure up is not a remote possibility, but instead the most likely outcome. And this weekend I had a conversation with my husband that proves that the proverbial apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Let me explain.......

We'd gone over to western North Carolina to take the boys rafting. We were planning to camp, but if you've ever been near the Nantahala, you know that it can cost upwards of $30.00 for a 5x5 piece of dirt with loud (and sometimes drunken) neighbors occupying the 5x5 pieces of dirt on either side of you. Being that we were only planning on residing there for an evening -- and realistically didn't have to pitch a tent since the weather was going to be so nice -- we opted instead to "stow-away" on a piece of property near the put-in. I don't want to give too much away regarding this little gem we found, except to say that there was a building on it. And due to a small light left burning, once it started to get dark you could see in. There was an office on the top level -- with a kitchen in it.

Now, one of the problems with stowing-away is that you have to do some primitive camping -- and by that I mean there is no access to water and/or bathroom facilities. But we're fine with that. Our breakfast (cereal and milk) required no water, none of us have any issues with whizzing in the woods, and (if you'll pardon my crassness) any other "bizness" we had could be taken care of in the morning at the put-in. (A put-in with flush toilets I might add.....) But you know, I was thirsty. And I'd forgotten to fill up my water bottle before we left civilization. So we walked down to the previously mentioned building and scouted around. Guess what we found? Water spigots! Two of them. One on the west side of the building, and one on the front. Hooray! This meant I wouldn't have to ration what was left of my water. I knelt down and started to turn the spigot.

Mike: "I wouldn't do that if I were you. How do you know that water is potable?
Me: "There are spigots -- coming out of a building."
Mike: "So? That doesn't mean it's drinkable."
Me: "Ummmm.......Mike? I don't really consider myself an expert on the subject, but I'm pretty sure that they don't waste time and money on plumbing for non-potable water."
Mike: "It could be coming from a well you know......"
Me: "So what if it's coming from a well? Lots of people get their water from wells. Most of my family grew up on a well."
Mike: (Pause) "Well.... it could be coming from a well that hasn't been tested......"
Me: "Mike, they have a kitchen. I highly doubt that there are 2 separate water sources coming into this building. Clearly, they use the water. I'm sure it's fine."
Mike: "I'm just sayin'......"
Me: (Sigh)

I bent down, filled up my water bottle, and took a swig.

Mike: "You're drinking poison water."
Me: (Nodding) "Spoken like a true Kafsky."

A Guessing Game

• Me: (Filling Gibson's plate with food.) What else do you want buddy?
• Gib: (Pointing) I'll have some of that Gopher.
• Me: (Pointing) Is this what you're talking about?
• Gib: Yeah, that.
• Me: Why are you calling it "Gopher"?
• Gib: 'Cuz that's how you eat it. (Imitates eating motion.)
  

So, just for kicks, let's play a little game. The rules are easy:

100 extra-credit-super-sized-bonus-points (and maybe a small prize) go to the first person* to correctly identify the food item he was talking about.

(*No fair guessing if you were standing in the kitchen when this conversation went down. Mom, I think this means you.)