The phone....

Apparently the bane of Henry's existence.

As most of you with kids know, your lovely little ones play so nicely independently...until that phone rings. It is like Pavlov’s dog or something. As soon as it rings some internal message goes off in their brain that makes them want you....NEEEEED you so desperately that they can't seem to stop whining, hanging on you, and screaming on the floor while you try to finish your brief conversation with a person on the other line who is wondering when you started torturing peacocks in your free time, because clearly that is what they are hearing on the other line...

I was having a conversation with my mother on the phone today... (I will admit it was not brief in the least,) and Henry's little Pavlov signal shooter went off. He progressively got whinier and whinier and eventually threw himself on the ground with a giant groan. I got up to leave the room, to which his response was to also get up and follow me, smacking me on the butt the whole time.

With each smack came a request. He pretty much went through a litany of requests with each smack, from water, to bedtime, to bathroom breaks, to what ever he thought might redirect my attention to him...

I got off the phone exasperated, looked at him and said "Goodness Gracious..."

He quickly got a similar exasperated look, let out a huge sigh of relief and said:
"Goodness Gracious, I would like some water..."

a little self entitlement anyone??? Apparently they come into the world thinking they own it...wonder when they figure out that they don't?... They do right???

The Me in Henry

I am in the process of posting about Rudolph, and Jamie told Henry we needed to go change him. Of course my child who is potty lazy, still wears a pull up at night because he can't make it through the night and sleeps heavily. If you don't take it off first thing, will just sit and pee in it. I know EEEWWWW right?

So Jamie said "You aren't going to sit and pee in that, you know how to use the potty, lets go change you"

Henry's response:

"Well, daddy, if you are going to be snotty, I am going to turn the TV off."

Um...whoops.

Dissecting Rudolph

I am not talking about using little pins and truly opening up Rudolph for scientific discovery, but more the literary sense of dissection to look at the movie. (I know, Whew…you were getting worried for your kids)

I was watching Rudolph with my kids today, because it was one of my favorites, and my son is now OBSESSED with Rudolph. I think maybe because somehow he is all mixed up with the whole “Santa Jesus” and thinks that Rudolph comes with his sleigh to give presents out. (We are working on straightening him out, but this is Henry we are talking about, it ain’t easy!)

So Rudolph was created in what, the 60’s? You don’t realize how PC we are until you watch this as an adult. Jamie and I just sit and giggle, because, WOW.

Let’s just start with Santa, who is not the jolly old soul that laughs with a belly like a bowl full of Jelly. Santa is more like, well, an irritable old man, stressed about the holidays and cranky as hell. The little elves singing a Christmas song for him make him even crankier…yeah…I know….Jolly Old St. Nicholas, whatever…

And the elves…happy little elves…yeah a big what ever to that too! You have mean little two faced head elf, who when Santa is around has a happy little voice with everyone and as soon as he leaves his head turns a 360’s and he starts yelling and screaming about how worthless they all are…and he is an “anti-dentite” to boot! (Dentists everywhere are in protest to elfdom)

Then Rudolph goes for his training, and the coach, Santa and his dad all gang up on him. Yeah, that is just begging for some therapy. They call him names…The coach even says to everyone “Hey Gang, we aren’t going to let Rudolph play ANY reindeer games right???” To which everyone says RIGHT!!!!

So outcast Rudolph runs away. This is Jamie’s favorite part. Donder, starts feeling kinda bad about being such a butt head so he goes after him…and this is when Jamie says the words every time:

“And Mrs. Donder wanted to go along, but Donder said ‘This is MANS work’”

(Mind you, Jamie always looks at me with a tiny bit of fear behind his eyes when he says this, and is always sitting well across the room) But I am always vindicated because The mom and the girlfriend just wait until he leaves and then goes anyway.

Then there is the island of misfits…really? Seriously, Really???
The jack-in-the-box named Charlie just freaks me out because of me fear of clowns…*shiver* but frankly, I totally think that the cowboy on an ostrich is cool, and who wouldn’t want the spotted elephant? And, what IS wrong with that doll anyway? She looks normal to me.

Finally at the end Rudolph “grows up” (after about a day) and realizes that “Being grown up means that you can’t run away from your problems…”

To this, all I have to say, is

RUN Rudolph, RUN…Run like the wind into the 21st Century…our PC world will save you!

***Disclaimer*** I still love Rudolph, I still love all those shows, I just find it so funny to watch them with an adult eye in the 21st century, they could never get away with all that crank and meanness now...Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Do you have any idea...

What it takes for a blabber mouth like me to be silent on a blog for 2 weeks? We are talking some major withdrawal, and I have so much to blog about now, that I don't even know where to start, other than, ice storm outages and catching up make for a very cranky blogger.

Let’s just start with today, I just returned from taking my grandmother to the Dr. in NH. I believe that I may have gone on the survival tips for the generational squeeze between 3 and 93...But let me just tell you, getting out of Kohl’s, with my brain still in tact, Henry still alive, and my grandmother still knowing where she was, was...well....an act of GOD.

I love my grandmother. I always feel the need to say that. I know that there are those of you out there tsk tsking me because I dare talk about her in a funny way...but you know what? It is reality and I am pretty sure that Henry will be sky writing "my mom wears Depends" when it is my turn, so I am just not going to feel too bad about it…as I always say “it is what it is."

My grandmother is starting to show her 93 years in many ways, so as most of us need, or will need when we are older, she needs a lot of assistance with getting things done. I took her Christmas shopping, so between making sure that my grandmother was following me, and my son was not too far ahead feeling the panties on a manikin (which he has been known to do) I was a little stretched.

After monitoring the decision making process on a gift for my mother which was apparently a life altering choice, and seemed to take the brain power of an I-Mac, I was able to unlatch Henry from the spinny rack that he was under spinning and get to the check out.

I was sort of relieved because we were on our way out and how bad could it be to check out right?

IT IS CHRISTMAS…in KOHLS.

(This is not to leave out any other religious celebrations this time of year but it is the Christmas celebrators that are the most militant shoppers, lets face it.)

We got in line, with the little chains to lead us in the right direction (because we wouldn’t have been able to tell that by the 1000 people in front of us)

My grandmother was starting to stress out about whether they had boxes, and if she could use a credit card, and whether the sky was going to fall in, while Henry man handled EVERY item in that “just incase you wanted more” shelving area that they put sadistically next to the line to check out.

We finally get to the check out, and my grandmother informs the woman that no, she doesn’t want a Kohls card because she doesn’t have one near her. The woman smiles and says “Oh, where are you from?” My grandmother looks at her and replies “Kennebunk.” This was followed by a confused look from the cashier and an even more confused look from my grandmother because we were only 10 minutes away from Kennebunk!

While they were in their battle of locked confusion I hear “Next Puuuwson” in a very familiar voice, I turn to find that Henry was at an empty register punching buttons and asking for the next person in line…no I am NOT kidding.

I tear him away, to swipe my grandmothers card and try to get her to sign the electronic thingy with the fake pen…which is altogether just baffling her, while looking pleadingly at the check out lady saying “Can’t you just swipe this your self???” Of course not, because then, she might break one of her 10 inch nails with spider webs embedded on them.

By the time I got them both back to the car holding hands, elbows and bags…I was ready for some alone time…and some wine…and a massage….and a lobotomy…

A Little Ditty to Ponder

Cleaning with Henry is much like holding your tissue in one hand and wiping your nose with the other.

I had to undertake the insurmountable task of rearranging and cleaning out Henry's room. With the new addition we had pretty much just shoved him in there and not taken much time to even clean the closet out of the girls things.

In an effort to have all his things in one room, and remove the toy box from my already too small den, I had to rearrange his room and find space for everything.

I diligently went around the room putting things away. By the time one thing left my hand and I picked up another, he was already playing with the thing I had just put away.

It was like a constant game of round robin in child toy hell.

But alas it is done. I will be spending some time this afternoon before I go to work, creating a gas mask and full suit of armour as I am taking on Caroline's room tomorrow...

If no one hears from me, I may have been taken down by a toppling pile of laundry, or perhaps just eaten by one of her many stuffed to the brim bags laying around her room...

Henry the Teacher

Today I went with my sister to Target...the place where my wallet seems to empty itself every time...but you know I think it is a conspiracy... Those Dollar bins are just EVIL. Somehow I think that I really do need "Cars" stickers, and pretty little felt bags to put the teachers presents in...it just all makes sense at the moment and then I get home and look at them...and wonder what kind of wacky weed smoke is blowing through their speaker system.

My niece and Henry go to preschool together, so they are pretty comfortable with, well, telling each other what to do if we are just honest about it. Henry steps out of line, and Margo is very quickly there to shake her finger at him and say "Henry James!" and Margo gets what I like to call "Henry's life lessons" along the way....It is all well and good.

Today's lesson from Henry, was picking up a huge Santa, handing it to Margo and saying in a very preschoolish teacher voice "Margo, look, this is a Santa Jesus"

My sister and I were looking at bird ornaments made to look like real birds...(because you know, we really NEEDED them) I didn't really need to even look up, I just nodded and said, "Yes, Stephanie, he did just call that a Santa Jesus."

Of course it is always good for some comedic relief...but the best part is when Margo starts to cry and yells "No" to Henry, and he looks at me and in his very accusatory, "I've been wronged" voice yells "Margo won't let me RUB HER." Because that just makes the entire store stare at the two of us like we are some sort cretins that have come off the mountain and brought our young out into the open for the first time. But hey, he learned when a girl says no, man she means it.

Well, life just wouldn't be right if I didn't die of embarrassment every time I go out with the boy.

Apparently I AM Getting Cranky

As I age, and I believe I have said this before, I think that we loose our sense of humor. Life becomes more about pointing out the differences in our kid’s world to the one that we grew up in, than adjusting. You know, the whole 2 miles walking up hill, both ways, barefoot in the snow, to school thing.

The other day when I sat down to a late lunch I turned on the TV thinking I would catch the news. The only thing on the regular channels was Inside Edition.

As I bit into my sandwich, I hear the plug for it: “The place for hard news.” By the time I finished my illustrious meal, I had learned about Brittany Spears 27th birthday party, what Michelle Obama was wearing and how, I too, could achieve that look, and the various romance partners of Jennifer Aniston.

Am I really getting that cranky? Because the last time I checked the country was in a recession, two wars, and I am pretty sure that there was a hostage situation last week and a few bombings.

I must be cranky, because, why would I want to hear about that when I could find out who baked Brittany’s Cake and what it was made of and how much it cost?

When I was a kid, and the president was on, I just went up stairs to read because there wouldn’t be anything else on the TV….NOW you can’t find the news on TV, because there are bimbos waiting to be the rap stars “chosen one”, and idiots vying to be Paris Hiltons BFF, and Lord knows I need to know what Angelina Jolie wore to the hospital to have her twins in FRANCE.

See???…Crankity Crank Crank Crank.

**DISCLAIMER*** Mind you I didn't turn off the TV, and did get all the juice though...so, perhaps I shouldn't wag my finger too much! lol

The Mason Dixon Line

I was thinking about my week, visiting my family in VA and NC, and going back to my Alma Mater Virginia Tech. I miss it down there sometimes, but I love it here too.

As many of you know my father is from the South, and my mother is from Maine...(I grew up in NH)

My southern husband says I'm "not half bad" I will let you all decipher which half is the not bad half for yourselves, I dare not enter into that debate. (The fact that I was born in Charlottesville, home of the Wahoos…well, I have been forgiven on all counts of that offense, being that I was too young to know what I was doing when I decided to make my entrance into the world.)

But the fact that I am halfsies, I have come to really appreciate some of the differences and the similarities. (Shhhh there are some…As you also may know, the civil war, or the war of Northern aggression depending on which of my grandmothers you are talking to, ended quite some years ago...It can still be a touchy subject.)

I enjoy sweet tea. Not the kind of sweet tea that you get here with just 10 pounds of sugar dropped into your cold tea and it all settles to the bottom, but brewed in so it is just the right amount of sweetness to add ten pounds to your butt while you on vacation with out you realizing it.

I love the BBQ, which down there I quickly learned is pulled pork, up here? It is any meat with BBQ sauce on it… not as good…But there are things here that I love too…

I like not having to “dress” to go to the store. This does not mean that I have made a practice of going to the store in my birthday suit, just with out make up, in my sweatpants and my sweaty “just ran” hair, with my three kids hanging off of every appendage. It is a wonder that they don’t lock the doors before my nastified self walks in, but you know what? There are about 10 other people that look like that too, because we knew that it was more important to get dinner for tonight, than to look good getting it.

I love that in the winter I have snow, and hot chocolate, and actually have a reason other than a 50 degree day to drink it. And I love how nitty gritty the grassroots operation of life is here.

One thing I find interesting is, down there, the Blue Grass music, is very similar to the Irish Music here…(their roots are same…) So when I sing at my church, most of the time people think that I should be in a pub…they don’t realize that I could also be flat footing on a board in my bare feet.

I have been pondering my life in both places, having now lived my life almost equally divided on either side of the Mason Dixon Line.

I will put up with my grandmother from the south thinking that her yard is being invaded by the uglier, meaner, “Northern Cardinal” (not realizing that there is no other cardinal, and is convinced that the “southern,” nicer, prettier one, is their state bird and the northern one is again, aggressing itself into her southern yard)

Because you know what? It is nice to be from both places, and be able to enjoy them both…and that is all I have to say about that!

Y’all come back real soon now, Y’hear?

The Obvious

I always knew he had horns growing somewhere....

Saving Grace

I know that by all standards of today’s parental codes, I am supposed to abolish the sinful corruption of TV from my children’s lives. I should be protecting them from all those harmful shows that are permeating our culture and creating callous adults.

Because you know, I totally can see how something like Franklin can be harmful to their development. All that learning to cooperate and handle social issues by a turtle on two legs is just wrong… and I have always wondered about the Little Einstein’s…always getting into stuff and learning…what is wrong with them!

All snark aside, I have to be honest and admit, that in the past, I always held a little contempt for those people who put on shows in their car for their kids on a trip to the store. I mean if when I was little, I had to suffer playing I-Spy and the License Plate Game for 14 endless hours cramped in the van with my sister and my dog, then daggonit, they ought to be able to go to the store…

My song has changed since I have had to take kids to my parents 15 hours away. I couldn’t beg for a car DVD player hard enough. And I feel a little vindicated because after a car ride that was supposed to take 13 hours, took 17 yesterday, I cannot stress the benefits of movies in cars.

I know, I know, all the shaking of heads and looking at the ground...I have now joined the masses of horrid parents that allow the atrophy of brains on car rides.

Let’s be clear, I don’t find the need to set up a show for the trip to the corner store, but you know what? I believe that I am saving lives. Because the alternative to the silence of a multi media coma during a horrible storm on the Merrit Parkway, is me pulling over and leaving the whiny “when are we going to get there,” “why are you slamming the breaks on,” and “oooh you just said a bad word” children on the side of the road where surely they would be joined by the other masses of children being expelled from their cars in NYC by tired, frustrated parents.

See? I am not giving in to the TV monster; I am simply saving the lives of three children who couldn’t possibly know their fate otherwise!