Eight years ago tonight, ( 1:05Am October 29th) I lazily pushed out the first of my three sons. I say lazily because it was three half-hearted pushes. Don’t hate me for my “birthin’ hips”
I was able to get away with not changing a diaper until he was five days old because I am very good at being busy when work needs to be done. Just ask my dad.
In any case, When I opened his smelly little diaper, wipes at the ready, I saw his penis for the first time and broke out into laughter. It was tiny. Smaller than tiny. I’m serious, it was like a little nub, barely there.
That night, our first night home with the baby, I asked my husband if boy babies always have such teeny tiny penis’…peni…dicks. My husband, engrossed in the tiny fingers of his little heir, distractedly explained that when a boy reaches a certain age, their dad takes them to the Penis Garden to pick out a new and improved, larger sized penis.
I laughed. That got his attention. His face paled and his hands trembled and he begged me never to tell anyone that I knew about the existence of the Penis Garden. Apparently, the Penis Garden is very well kept secret among the testosterone sect.
I promised never to tell (oops) but every summer since then, I have meticulously searched every garden I happen across, on the off chance that I will finally find the fabled Penis Garden.
Saturday Morning I finally found it. I was a bit surprised to see that it was made of ice considering penis’..peni…cocks have such violent reactions to cold.
Pee Ess: It is also Not A Granny’s Birthday today. Go wish her a good one
Afterthought- Having slept on the issue at hand I have decided that they must flash freeze the phallus to ensure maximum freshness.
I was writing up the previous post when my son walked in the door, home from school. I didn’t turn to look at him, just tossed a “hi Honey” over my shoulder.
That is I didn’t turn to look at him until he replied back “hi mom” in the saddest voice ever. Since me, the hubs and the MIL are all sick as dogs, I asked :
Are you sick?
no
are you feeling OK?
yes
Did you get hurt coming home from school?
No.
All in such a sad little voice. By now I have ditched the computer and the opp I was typing up to go to him. He sounded so damn sad and I said that to him.
He started to cry saying “Thats becuase I AM sad!”
He bough ten Pokemon cards with his own money and has been taking and trading them at school with his friends since Monday.
Today some one stole all his cards.
I had JUST - as in not ten minutes before he came home- completed a payment on eBay for a lot of 60 cards. They were supposed to be for his birthday at the end of the month, but he just looked SO sad, so I told him (and showed him them).
Still. not nice, stealing form a classmate. Not nice at ALL..
He told me that during social studies they go to a different room and a different class uses their classroom. His friend D was in his desk, but D was his best friend in grade two and still is, he wouldn’t have taken them.
Kind makes me proud he is willing to stick up for a pal, and give them the benefit of the doubt, but still. Not nice to steal from a kid. I hope his teacher can get to the bottom of it.
He woke up at eight thirty. It’s the day I’ve been waiting for all week.
Report Card Day.
He walks into the kitchen, still blurry from sleep.
“Oh honey! Thank God! We thought you were going to sleep forever! We were so worried!” I hug him close.
Huh? He asks, scratching his head.
“Sweetheart,” I pause. “You’ve been asleep for two months. You have school today! You need to shower and eat and get going or you are going to be late!”
What? His eyes grow large. What do you mean? School is out. You said So!
“That was two months ago, you’ve been asleep for two months.”
He looks around. The couches have been moved. But..what about camping? I had a dream..
“We took you with us. You slept the whole time! We even took you to the hospital to see if they could wake you up..”
His eyes are glistening. For a minute, I reconsider. Then I remember all the pranks he has ruined in the last month just by being old enough to know better.
“I’m sorry Rainbow Man, but you need to get in the shower and get ready for school.”
He goes to the shower. Blue Boy wakes up. I quickly brief him on whats going on.
I’m pouring cheerios in a bowl when he returns. Blue Boy! What day is it?
Uhm? is it Tuesday? I don’t know my days yet. I get to go to school now, and learn them.
I smirk. Perfection.
But mom! How can I sleep all summer? How? I would have starved! It’s not school time. You’re lying!
“Phone Nana.” I say, ” She’ll tell you.”
He calls. She asks him if he wants a ride to school. I am close to peeing myself.
Sandals on, hair combed, he reaches for the door handle. His shoulders are drooping, feet dragging, and his eyes are wet with tears.
“Oh, and Rainbow Man, When you get your report card, be sure to hurry home. We’re going to the park today!”
He growls, then smiles, suddenly understanding.
This is the prank he has been watching for all week.
Sunday night. Six PM. I find out Rainbow Man is having a “dress like a Rock Star” day at school on Monday.
Shit, fuck and Oh Hell No!
It would not be that big of an issues except I forgot about every. single. other Dress Like a Blankety-Blank this year. So I was determined to have my son as rockstarish as possible.
I used Google Image, and soon realized that rock stars have weird hair, black clothes, tattoos, a cool guitar and drugs.
We dressed the kid in a black tank top and ripped black jeans. We let him pick from the box of 1200 temporary tattoos we have (thats no exaggeration, we buy them bulk at costco) He picked a funky ass blue spider for the shoulder of one arm and a skull and crossbones for the other. Neither tat was over 1.5 inches square. With a bit of cardboard box and paint, I made him a guitar. (See my coffee propping it up? Coffee makes everything good!)
Kid was set for a great day!
Woot!
He came home a pretty damn happy kid. Showing off his new tattoos to the boys next door, letting them touch his guitar but not play it. (Has no strings. Apparently mommy forgot them. What does he think I am? A fucking miracle worker??!)
Of course the inevitable happened.
Rainbow Man came in crying becuase the mother of the boys next door dragged her kids away from my “bad influence” of a child. Later, one of the boys snuck over and told RM that since he has tattoos and a rock guitar and listens to rocking-roller music, he is not a good person and - surprise surprise - is going to Hell!
I tried to explain that some people are just closed minded and that his tattoos are temporary and do not make him bad. After all. I have tattoos, Am I bad? Is daddy? And the music. What does music matter, as long as you have love, not hate inside of you?
Fuck them.
I hate that his sweet ass day at school, his pride in himself - and yes - his momma, was ruined by some overly preachy bible up their ass brats.
oh. and
Painting: Stage one is complete.
Unfortunately there is burgundy paint on walls, roof, window trim, floorboard and uh.. a wee bit on the carpet.
But thats ok! I can fix it!
I’m Glad It’s Friday. Not for the normal reason of OMG lets go get drunk and play hide the penis! But because No One Reads Blogs on the weekend. Well I do. But most people actually have lives.
I could write about how I am still pissed off that the two youngest boys Exercised Stuperman’s bed to death, and how I don’t really want to spend the money on a new bed right now. But since no one is reading anyway, it’s the perfect opportunity for me to show my true bitchy colors ;o)
First a quick Cast of Characters :
Dorothy- Sister In Law.
Matt- Dorothy’s 11 or 12 year old son.
Papa- Jake, My Father In Law.
Nana- Irene, the mother in law.
Thursday. After School, Rainbow man runs inside just long enough to throw his back pack in my general direction. He is off to his Nana’s house to play with his cousins.
The Husband and I, As well as Stuperman, go over around five thirty for dinner and gabfest. I noticed right away that Rainbow Man was sporting a brand new black eye. I was told the boys had been roughhousing.
Since they do this so often, I thought nothing of it.
Friday. I called Nana over to help me decide if Blue Boy needed stitches or a band aid, and she proceeds to tell me the real story behind Rainbow Mans’ eye.
It seems Matt, who is four years older then RM, thought it would be OK to hold Rainbow Mans hands up above his head and kick him in the face.
Nope. You did read that right.
He kicked him in the fucking face. Four years older, a good fifty pounds heavier and prolly two feet taller. He immobilised and kicked my son. In.The.Face.
So now I am mad. Why wasn’t I told this last night? Why wasn’t I given the opportunity to say something to Matt and Dorothy about it? Don’t dare tell me that it had already been dealt with. He is MY son. I will “deal” with it.
Nana goes on to tell me that things are very awkward at the House right now because just this morning (the older two had slept over) Matt had closed his hands around my sons’ throat, picked him up by the Neck. The Goddamn Neck! Picked him up, off the ground, and THREW him down.
Have you any idea how small a child’s neck is? how fragile? How easy it is to bruise their brains? Snap their vertebrae? Any idea how this makes me feel?
I am glad that Papa yelled at Matt. I’m Glad it made Matt cry. He could have killed my son. I don’t care if he is family or not.
Matt is four years older. Four fucking years. Matt KNEW better. Don’t fucking tell me boys will be fucking boys Dorothy. That’s not normal behavior. And heaven help me, Had I been in that room when your son picked up mine, I swear to God, He would have regretted it. Family or not. That’s MY Son he hurt. MINE.
And I will protect him in any manner I choose to.
