Life on the Poop Deck

Bobo has entered a phase in which everything , absolutely everything, can be related to bodily excrement. He makes daily requests for pee to pour on his cereal or a poop sandwich for lunch. He'll happily engage in conversation about animals and if they have big poops or little poops. Yesterday he asked what the word talented meant. That look of understanding came and he said, "Oh, you mean like I'm really good at pooping and peeing at the same time." This, by the way, is an activity he's decided is a practiced skill and is quite pleased with himself every time he does it. He tells strangers. He told his nana on the phone. There isn't a neighbor around that doesn't know of my son's considerable talent. His deep satisfaction with the most basic of activities has led me to wonder...what can I include in my list of talents? The ability to sit for long periods of time? Having a sneeze that can shake a house, and not being ashamed of it? Definitely being able to engage in a serious conversation with a four-year-old about poop and pee. Ah yes, that is my considerable talent.

Kid With Knife

Bobo is sprawled out on the living room floor reading a cookbook.

Bobo(pointing to pictures of boiling eggs): Can we make this for my snack?
Me: Sure. How about if we make it for lunch?
Bobo: Noooo. For my snack.
Me: What if you ate a snack at lunchtime?
Bobo: Can we make this for my snack lunch?

How could anyone say no?

Mollie Katzen's Salad People is a cookbook for preschoolers and their grown-ups. We highly recommend it. Recipes we've tried and loved so far: Egg Salad, Rainbow-Raisin Coleslaw, Green Garden Dip, Pesto-Macaroni Soup and the title recipe, Salad People. YUM!

And the Mother from Hell Award goes to...

me. That's right. I was the screaming ranting abusive mother who you know causes you to shake your head in disapproval whenever you encounter one on the bus or on the sidewalk. Usually I feel like a pretty good parent, with occasional stress-induced lapses balanced by moments where I achieve phenomenal mamahood. But I don't know, maybe the stars weren't aligned in my favor yesterday or something, because I lost it.

What I did to deserve this award (in chronological order)
1. Flipped off some guy who was driving way too close to me and honking. This may not sound so bad, except I'm constantly reminding (lecturing) my husband about controlling his road rage and setting a good example for the kids. However, this guy was on my tail and honking because I was going too slow for him in a construction zone! There were workers not two feet from my car and since I didn't accellerate to the speed limit right away, he honked his horn as if he were composing a concerto for it. He eventually passed me (on a residential street!) and flipped me off. I returned the gesture and immediately felt guilty.
2. I dropped the baby. Well, actually she jumped out of the high chair, but still. I knew that she had figured out how to position her feet she so that she could stand in her chair (she's only 7 months) and I hadn't strapped her in. I turned my back for 10 seconds and she leapt 3 feet to the floor, landing on her back. The advice nurse, after calming down yet another frantic mom, told me what to look out for. Baby Bird turned out to be fine, but it could have easily been more serious.
3. I hurt my son on purpose. Later in the day, we were at one of the zoo's terrific summer concerts (Ska Cubano). My son was having fun for the most part, but then discovered a mud puddle and was kicking mud at other concertgoers. I used all my normal protocol for getting his attention and getting him to come over to me, but he ignored me and kept on. I grabbed his hand and wrenched him back over to our blanket. He screamed that I had hurt him and I had. On purpose. I was so frustrated and I wanted him to pay attention to me and he wasn't. .
4. I lost my son in a crowded throng. After I'd calmed down and had a chat with the Bobo about concert behavior (screaming woo-hoo at the top of your lungs--OK; flinging mud-- not OK, at least not at a zoo concert) we went down to the front to dance. He plunged right into the crowd (there was a little more room down at the three-foot level), while I was trying to politely negotiate my way in. I looked down and he was gone. I searched frantically and couldn't find him. Some one noticed my panicked look and asked if I was looking for a little boy. He pointed and said , "He went that way." I went in that direction and still couldn't find him. More people noticed me and kept pointing me along the way. Someone eventually told me a woman in a green shirt was following him to make sure he was OK. I saw the green-shirted angel and pushed people out of the way to get to her. Bobo was right in front of her walking to the other side of the dance area. I proceeded to hug him and cry my eyes out. I told him how I was so scared because I couldn't find him. He just shrugged and said, "Aww mom, it's OK, I'm not lost. I'm right here." Thank you, thank you, thank you woman in the green shirt!

Well, if that isn't enough to win my award, that's fine with me, because I hope I will never go through a repeat of yesterday. At least not all on the same day.

And if anyone out there knows a woman who owns a kelly-green shirt and was at the zoo last night, could you hug her and kiss her and buy her coffee and crepes for the rest of her life for me?

Welcome to drooly

I am in perpetual fascination of my baby's spit. It's honey-thick and viscuous. It hangs from her mouth like al dente spaghetti. And it's everywhere--on her clothes, on the toys she chews, and of course, on me. I want to bottle and save it. If it was marketable, I'd be rich. It's rich in digestive enzymes and it has glue-like properties! Surely there's a market for such a wondrous substance. And it doesn't look like there'll be a shortage anytime soon.

The strange thing is I've always been disgusted by spit. Just hearing the word loogie is enough to make me feel nauseous. Seeing someone "hock a loogie" makes me want to retch. (I work with adolescents, so this is something that I actually witness on a semi-regular basis.)

But drool is something entirely different. Think of how we use the word: "I'm drooling over that new dress at Anthropologie." "Chocolate makes me drool." We don't say, "Chocolate makes me spit." (Unless it actually does.) Drooling is a way of showing appreciation and desire. Drool also means nonsensical words, which much of my writing most certainly is.

So...drooly. I've wanted to start a blog to record events in my life of being a mother. I work as a reading specialist in a middle school and read a great deal of childrens' and young adult books, so I'll use this space to recommend titles which I and my children flip over. We also cook together and I hope to someday write down our favorite dishes to present to them when they move out on their own.I'll start that process here. Maybe others will find them drool-worthy as well.