Plus One, 6-Going-On-Puberty

Listen, everyone. I'm feeling particularly fragile about this topic because it has to do with the fact that my 6 year-old son is starting to recognize girls as people that are sometimes cute and to-be-impressed and that kind of thing. And naturally this means his foot is practically one foot out the door, his little kerchief-on-a-stick bag packed and ready to go the second that girl down the road with the brown hair and freckles gives him a sign.

THE END IS NEAR AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE OKAY EVER AGAIN.

So, you know, bear with me and stuff.

The first incident was actually pretty funny. We were walking into the gym, Plus One, T9, and I, as another family was leaving. It was one of the instructors and her two children who are roughly the same age as mine. T9 said hello to the boy with his typical verbal assault, HEY YOU! I KNOW YOU! HEY! HEY! The boy recoiled into his mother's thigh while Plus One zeroed in on the girl. The girl was a vision, to be sure. An adorable little thing with white-blonde hair and curls and a charming smile and GOD I CAN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.

He target locked the poor child in true Missed Connection form. It may have been in slow motion, even, with hair bouncing softly and eyelashes quivering. As she continued out behind her mother, his neck nearly twisted off.

"Mom! I know her! She's so preeeeeetttyyyyy." His voice began to get...you know...DREAM LIKE. That's when the trance-like chanting began and I lost all capacity to process the world around me.

"I'm in love...I'm in LOVE...I'm in LOOOOOVVEEEE...iminloveiminloveiminloveiminloveimin---"

And then, I shit you not, T9 slapped him across the goddamn face with a diappointed shake of the head. It was, perhaps, one of the most epic moments I've ever witnessed when it comes to my children and, for a moment, I thought I was on the set of Frasier. GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, NILES! YOU CANNOT FALL FOR THE HELP!

T9 must watch Mythbusters after hours because the smack seemed to reattach his brother to the planet earth long enough for me to shuffle them into the Child Watch area and jump on the treadmill to sweat away my UTTER HEARTBREAK AND LOSS OF HOPE.

The second incident was less slapstick and more JUST RIP MY HEART OUT CHILD. The four of us, myself, my husband, and the boys, were at the park checking out the monkey bars. Plus One was feeling less than confident about dangling from such great heights by his hands, beefy as they are. He'd done it before, however, so we were trying to encourage him. It was futile, however, and he just became more frustrated.

Enter a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl with freckles.

Plus One rose slowly from his dejected perch on a nearby bench like a tractor beam was luring him slowly toward the feminine entity. She was already swinging from the bars and chatting sweetly to T9, who was taking this opportunity to show her his ninja dance moves. Kid wastes no opportunity.

After 15 minutes of assuring me and my husband that he would NEVER EVER try the monkey bars EVER AGAIN because they are just SO BORING and I HATE THEM, Plus One climbed the ladder and grasped on. His eyes never straying from the girl with freckles.

You know what happens next. He swung across those bars like a champ, eliciting a "good job!" from the girl of his dreams and a beaming, prideful smile that probably set off the Richter scale.

I can only take comfort in the fact that the girl looked kinda like his mother. And that Plus One still spends most of his time dreaming of Lego Star Wars.

So...I Guess This Means They Watch Too Much TV?

I can't pinpoint exactly when or how this happened, but my boys have become...fascinated?...entranced?...BRAINWASHED?...by infomercials some time in the past six months. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they're outgrowing the commercial-free safety zone of Nick Jr, and are experiencing their first frontal with the American Free Market system. Whatever it is,THEY LIKE IT. THEY LIKE IT A LOT.

Scene: Boys' bedroom at bed time. Stories have been read, teeth brushed (maybe), and bladders emptied.

Me: Alright, kiddos, I'm turning off the light...get your nightlights on.

[They flick on their DreamLights. GRANDMA.]

T9: [Slamming his head against the pillow, tossing from side to side, with HARUMPHS and dramatic sighs. Sits up, slams pillow over. Repeat ad naseum.]

Me: What are you doing? What's wrong?

T9: UGH. WHY DO I HAF TO FWIP DIS PIWOW OVER AND OVER.

Me: Wha--?

T9: WE NEED TO GET A CHIWOW, MOM. UGH.

Me: ...

 

Scene: In the living room with The Husband, having a serious conversation about how we've fallen behind on The Voice this season and it's really kind of ruined for me now, and if he would just---

Plus One: MOMMOMMOMMOMMOM...

Me: Bud, I'm in the middle of--

Plus One: Oh, sorry. Excuse me? [Two second pause.] Mom? Mom? MOM? MomMomMOMMOM?!

Me: [Defeated sigh.] Okay, buddy, what is it? Slow down...

Plus One: Mom, it's just that...okay, so there's this thing you need, Mom. It's like...it takes your hair and spins it, Mom. And it only takes a few minutes to do your WHOLE HAIR. Oh, oh, oh, and NO KNOTS, Mom. Okay, Mom? Okay? You HAVE TO get it. It's...it's...wait--

[Runs into the other room to look at the TV quickly.]

It's only $14.99, mom! AND YOU GET ONE FREE. Okay? Okay, gotta go.

Me: ...

 

Scene: WalMart, approaching the check out lane with last-minute end-of-the-school-year supplies.

T9: MOM! MOM! MOM! MOM!

PlusOne: MomMomMomMomMomMom!

Me: [Twitch.] Shhhhh...one at a time, guys. What is it?

T9: [Flailing arms and pointing frantically toward an end cap near the register.]

PlusOne: Mom, they have the things...you put in your hair! For all the colors! And, and, and [runs to end cap, runs back]...and [using hands to emphasize the EPIC FIND] Hot Buns, Mom. They have Hot Buns!

T9: Brudder, NO! Dey have ICE CREAM MASHICK.

PlusOne: Oh, yeah! And, and, and, Mom...if we ever run out of food and we're hungry and we have some salt, WE CAN MAKE ICE CREAM. [Gesticulating again for emphasis] FOR ONLY LIKE TEN DOLLARS, MOM.

T9: We HAF to get it, Mom. WE HAF TO.

It's no wonder they market to children.

Look Ma, I'm on the News! (OMG)

Monday evening, I got some sort of press release in my inbox. It was about a lollipop company in Austin, Texas that was creating breastmilk lollipops for adult consumption. [INTELLECTUAL EYEROLL] Why do I get these press releases? I have no idea. But that's besides the point. Because this is perfect MamaPop material, I wrote a post about it. Here's an excerpt:

I’m not sure if it’s the marketing strategy and how it reminds me of American Apparel-level degradation, the flippant tone of the Lollyphile press release triggering my Feminist Mama Bear, or the fact that breastmilk is now some sort of sexualized, adults-only commodity to be enjoyed alongside the likes of bourbon and habanero tequila, but something about this makes me feel uneasy. Hell, it could even be PTSD from that talk show host who suckled a guest on live TV. Whatever it is, I’m all, DO NOT WANT. Why, though? The million dollar question then is whether this says more about me than it does about some hipster-loving candy company in Texas.

You can read the entire post, "Breastmilk Lollipops Are Now A Thing," at MamaPop.

What's neat is that a reporter from Fox News in Austin stumbled upon my post while researching a story on the owner of Lollyphile, Jason Darling. So we chatted on the phone and then I was on the news.

So here you have it. My television debut. In the form of a photoshopped, ironic bombshell. (If the video doesn't load, click here.)
 


Oh, dear.

I came off a SMIDGE more granola-y than I'd intended, and I'm not proud of my use of the phrase WILLY-NILLY (OMFG), but it is what it is. I said other things to, that would have evened out my explanation and made me sound BRILLIANT, but they got cut. Such is the biz, amirite? Besides, I've since blocked them from memory in an attempt to protect my fragile ego from humiliation.

Note to self: get professional headshots.

Happenings

It's time to review the month, kids, so I can start telling you about Plus One and his obsession with booty-shaking and blonde headed girls. (OMFG, ALREADY.)

1. At MamaPop, I explained why I prefer you don't call me a "Military Wife," didn't think the transformation of Merida is a big deal (and people got hella pissed as a result), had some choice words for Betheny Frankel and LeAnne Rimes, explored how Frances Bean Cobain is dating her father, struggled not to sensationalize Amanda Bynes, and tried to convince myself to stop eating sugary shit because, well, CANCER.

2. At The Mouthy Housewives, we helped name Kelcey's new baby, I had some advice for a woman who let her husband move in his mistress, and tried to talk a woman out of staying with a manchild for his dog. (Note: I did not make up EITHER of those questions. This is America, people.)

3. At my house, I discovered Biscoff spread and gained 10 pounds, mourned a crashing computer, and ran another 5K, this time with the whole fam-a-lam in tow.

4. On this here blog, I announced that my HUGE giveaway is coming super soon and demanded you all commence excited anticipation, lamented the agoraphobia I've given to my child, talked about some sad things, talked about some good things, and then my son drew you all a picture.

5. On other blogs, my sister-in-law started one about her journey with Yoga, (she's pretty inspirational, that one), Beta Dad got skewered by the entire internet, and my friend Ilana at Mommy Shorts is kind of taking over the planet (and looking for an intern)

BONUS: this is my kids' favorite thing at present. (Besides infomercials like The Chillow.)

That's all I've got for now. I'm off to the gym to burn off 3 jars of Biscoff spread. More later about my 6 year-old's transformation to a teenager OVERNIGHT.

Texas Terror

If you've been a reader of this blog at any point in the past few years, you probably know about some of the many "opportunities" to bond with bugs and wildlife that come with living in Texas. There's been the spiders, the lizards, the scorpions, the snakes, the rats, the coyotes and foxes, the wasps, the bees, and the arma-god-damn-dillos.Oh, and the longhorned beetle, of course. (To be fair, though, that last one I probably imported from New York by means of Thailand.)

I don't know why, but I thought I'd acclimated to my surroundings a bit since we moved two years ago. Then the temperatures started to rise. And when temperatures start to rise again in Texas, ALL THE EVIL THINGS COME OUT TO PLAY. And then I'm reminded that Texas is not my home, will never be my home, and IS ACTIVELY TRYING TO KILL ME WITH FEAR.

Texas is a terrorist. There, I fucking said it.

I was mowing the lawn last weekend, for example. I hadn't worked much through the yard before it began to revolt. Camouflaged bugs were jumping up my legs, wooly caterpillars suddenly appeared by the fucking dozens (one wooly caterpillar, fine...DOZENS MEAN AN ARMY IS FORMING, NOT FINE), and one particularly aggressive lizard seemed to be following me with a menacing glare and a sidearm. How I managed not to run that motherfucker over is beyond me. Any neighbors in the vicinity must have been confused by the loud humming of the mower interrupted by my TERRIFIED IN EARNEST shrieks every 45 seconds or so as I struggled to remove the wildlife from my limbs. I finished the lawn, but not without losing my pride and any will to go outdoors until the month of November.

The problem, now, is that my disdain for the great Texan outdoors may be spreading to my children. My eldest, Plus One, was outside the other day playing with a gliding toy he unearthed from the playroom. He was having great fun launching it from atop the swing set fort, probably contemplating how awesome it was to be my son, when I heard a familiar sound.

AAAUUURRRRUAUAHGHHHAHAHHAHHHHAAAAEEEEEEEAAAAKKKKKK!

He came flying in through the back door, tears coming down his cheeks.

He'd encountered a bee, he told me, that was flying around the grass and it was now TOO SCARY to go back outside EVER AGAIN. His toy had been tossed and abandoned as his body twerked with fear-fueled adrenaline and this was THE WORST DAY EVER.

I gulped. This...I think this was my fault.

I took him by the hand and we went outside. I saw the bee-thing he saw and USED ALL MY SUPERPOWERS not to jump on my kid's back and demand he take me inside before the bug ate my face off. We even looked for his toy a bit, with brief retreats to the safety of the porch when the BEE THING got too close.

(I say BEE THING because obviously it's not a regular bee if you're in Texas. This one was feeding off the grass and moving around almost like a hummingbird. I'm not certain it wasn't some new breed altogether that some wily Dr. Frankenstein coyote patched together in the back field. At the very least I'm sure it has twelve lives and infinite supply of stingers.)

After a while, we went inside to research the BEE THING in an attempt to quell the fear, but I fear that may have only made matters worse. As Google loaded images of potential BEE THING creatures, my son's eyes widened to the point they were nearly taking over his face

So, anyway, I think we have our Summer Project in the works: reintegrating to the great outdoors, perhaps some bug research, gathering some coping tools for fear...you know, the general unfucking of my child. What are you guys up to?