Archive for March, 2005
March 31, 2005
At the fair, my friends and I decided to let the kids go on one of the “big kid” rides. This ride consisted of some planes and helicopters that went up and down in the air as they spun around in a circle.
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We were so nervous, watching the kids fly around (surprisingly fast) waving and laughing. I had to scream at Dash to hold on, though he looked pretty calm. Well, calm or totally freaked out, I’m not sure which.
A couple of rotations into the ride, J.’s daughter Bella yelled something to us as she spun by.
“What did she say?” I asked J.
“It sounded like she said she farted.”
We laughed, and the kids spun by again. Again, we both hear something coming from Bella that sounds like ‘I farted’, but we’re both laughing so hard, I don’t think either of us assumed that’s actually what she said.
Moments later they came around and again Bella waved to get her mom’s attention. This time, however, it was clear as day. “MOMMY, I FARTED!”
Kids are so amazing. In a helicopter, flying above a crowd on a warm Spring day, and the most important thing to discuss is her fart. So adorable.
I can’t wait until Dash starts saying inappropriate things in public. This story reminds me of the time Caz was telling me stories about her son Aidan. Assuming her son was totally aware of her morning coffee habit, she asked him, “What does Mommy have every morning, Aidan?”
“Beer?”
Of course she doesn’t have beer every morning, kids just saying hilarious shit all the time. Like today, when Dash crawled up on the kitchen table and threatened to eat the potpourri, claiming, “Sophie wid it.”
Uh huh.
March 29, 2005
Those of you who know Daschel in person know that he is a hoarder. Crayons, bath poofs, bouncy balls and yes, wampons are some of his favorite items to tote around in his backpack [or fists]. Every couple of weeks, he picks a new favorite thing to carry around. Sure, he gets some looks when we head to the grocery store and he has a pile of loofahs in the cart with him, but it’s not hurting anyone, and he doesn’t need them, so what’s the harm? Soon enough he’ll forget about loofahs and move on to something else.
I remember doing similar things when I was a kid, particularly when it came to my miniature horse collection. As soon as I began riding lessons, I started collecting horses. Everywhere I went, I took two or three of my favorites with me. It was like displaying my most valuable posession at all times … quite invigorating, really. We never really grow out of this, either. Men strut around in their $200 basketball shoes, and women casually set their fake Vuitton bags on counter tops everywhere. We’re proud of our belongings, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Dash is currently attached to a handful of crayons. Far be it for me to complain, it’s not knives and it’s not tampons, so I’m pretty much on cloud nine, unless he breaks one and becomes hysterical because crayons are impossible to fix. My mom thoughtfully suggested melting the crayons back together, but apparently no one told her that I am a) not very good with fire - you’re talking to a woman who set her own hair on fire lighting a cigarette once), and b) pretty lazy when it comes to MELTING CRAYONS BACK TOGETHER. I pray to God that my mom didn’t EVER melt any crayons back together, because it makes me feel like a materialistic child of the 80’s when I simply go to the store and buy a new box of $1.00 crayons.
In all truth, the crayons are my favorite item that he hoards. They’re far less annoying than bouncy balls (which inevitably end up under a couch or in Sophie’s mouth), and less stare-inducing than loofahs or hair curlers (those were last week). He just walks around, showing the crayons to people, and naming the colors that he knows. Every once in a while he’ll set them down and count them, making sure they are all present.
Today I overheard him in his room naming colors. Setting the crayons out on his bed, he pointed at each one, informing it of its nature. “Wink, Beeewww, Ween, Yewwo, People…”
I sat down next to him on the floor and watched as he went through it again - this time with more vigor because he had an audience.
“WINK, BEEEWWWW, WEEEEEN, YEWWO, PEEEEEPLE!”
“People? Purple! It’s purple, right?”
“People.”
Because Dash’s speech has made such progress recently, I don’t harp on him every time he pronounces something wrong, I just let him bask in the afterglow of having expressed himself, no matter how hilarious it sounds. We talked about the crayons a little longer, until he got bored and re-discovered a book that had been under his bed.
Later in the evening, I heard Mike in the kitchen with Dash and the crayons.
“What are these colors, buddy?”
“Wink, People, People, PEOPLE!”
“Yep, those are three purple crayons. How’d you manage to get three purple crayons?”
[Um, we have to buy a new box of crayons almost every day?]
“THREE PEOPLE!”
Mike laughs, obviously thinking the same thing I am. “So, you’re telling me these crayons are people?”
“Yes! People!” Daschel claps, thrilled that someone finally understand what he’s been trying to express to us for days. “CRAYNS ARE PEOPLE! CRAYNS ARE PEOPLE!!”
“All this time I thought it was Soilent Green.”
March 28, 2005
Early last week we realized that Easter was upon us. Not at all prepared, we started planning and conspiring with neighbors in an attempt to appear organized and festive. After a brief appearance at the official egg hunt [while it was brief, I managed to receive no less than three unsolicited parenting “tips” and a handful of strawberries], we headed home to prepare for the “real” one.
By real, I of course mean planned by your family and loved ones, attended by your friends, and complete with reusable eggs and back-up candy in case of attack. We made burgers and hot dogs, replinished eggs and hung out with the kids all afternoon, and it was awesome. There wasn’t one argument over eggs [which actually surprised me given Dash’s attitude this past week], and it didn’t even rain! Yay, Jesus!
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March 28, 2005
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March 24, 2005
Hello son, this is just a friendly reminder that your bookshelf is not designed to be climbed on. Also, when you throw your crayons and chalk on the ground, resulting in hundreds of tiny pieces of wax and talc on the ground, I am not able to repair them.
Dash, when you dance to “Ocean Man” by Ween, standing on your toy chest beneath your window so you can bang on the window screaming with glee, it is a distinct possibility that people outside might see you and assume you are trying to either break out or throw yourself out of the window pane. I’ve had enough problems in the parking lot, can we just go ahead and skip that one?
I know you love eggs, but can you just come up to me and tell me you want them instead of getting them out of the fridge by yourself? And if you don’t like the juice I gave you, can you just hand it back to me instead of filling your mouth with it and then spitting it out? That would be awesome.
Summer is almost here, and then we can take Bunny swimming. Until then, let’s keep him out of the toilet and dog bowls, mkay?
I know you love to swing, but seriously kid, Mommy’s arm is sore and she can’t handle three straight hours of pushing you. I’ve resorted to bribing neighborhood kids, promising them candies and money if they’ll push you. I love you sweetie, but one of these mornings you might walk outside and notice the mysterious disappearance of four swings.
One last thing, Dash. Haven’t we been through enough trials and tribulations with sand to know how evil it is? Do we have to dig in it, put it in our shoes, and shove it in our ears? Is it necessary to taste the sand?
All that aside, Dash, you are the most amazing kid on the planet and far superior to anything or anyone I’ve ever known. Every day with you is a new challenge, and so far I’m loving how much you teach me. For instance, when you don’t like someone, you just stare at them and walk away. More adults should do that, Dash. Also, when you lay your head on your pillow and blow me a kiss goodnight, I can barely tear myself away from you. Every difficult moment with you just disappears and I can ‘t wait to see you the next day. Remember all of this when you hear us joking ten years from now about what a handful you were. We love you so much.
Truly,
Mommy and Daddy
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