Sunday, June 30, 2013

A bunch of things that happened this weekend.

When I picked Owen up from school on Friday, he spend the car ride home singing, "I'm sassy and I know it."  I thought for a minute that he had heard a children's version of the classic, "I'm sexy and I know it," but, no, he said he heard daddy singing it.


The kids got squirt guns in a gift bag on Friday.  They have, heretofore, not been permitted to have guns.  But I had been wondering if we could loosen the restrictions for water guns.  It's really Chris's deal, and I think it's mostly because he wasn't allowed to have guns as a child and he'd be totally jealous if the kids got to play with guns.  Still, it just kind of seems like the thing to do.  Not as in the RIGHT thing to do, but as in, well, everyone else is wearing denim shorts so . . .

Either way, life has revolved around the squirt guns since Friday night.

They asked the babysitter if they could squirt her.  When she said no, because it was dinner time, Owen asked her, "Why?  Is it because those are the nicest clothes you own?"

It was kind of a nice dress.


At the Children's Museum Lilly was riding the little wooden horse, shouting at the top of her lungs, "YEE-HAW, RIDE A COWBOY."

No.  That's not how you . . . no.


I told the kids I would take them to the local sandwich and pastry shop after the Children's Museum.  The route I choose happened to take us right past our house.  Lilly thought we were heading home, and said, "MOM.  You're the worst mom in the world!"

I felt that that was uncalled for.  Even assuming I'd reneged on the cookies.  I mean, surely a mother out there has done worse.

I'm pretty sure she felt really bad when I explained and kept driving.


I took Owen to the first kindergarten meet and greet on Saturday.  I thought it would be a good way to meet some of the other kids who would be entering kindergarten with him.  Which was good in theory.  Except, do you want to know how many kindergartners showed up?  One.  His name was Owen.  Total cutie, though.

So it's just us and the lady that had organized the meeting.

It was so awkward.  

But the lady seemed okay.  I'd never met her before, but she had some decent school gossip.

She got Owen a coloring sheet so he wouldn't be bored while we talked.  That was nice of her.  The sheet asked him to draw his favorite toy.

At one point, she looked down and her face did a funny thing.

Owen had drawn a gun.

It was a really good drawing.

That made everything less awkward.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Riding in Cars with Kids

Driving with kids is a trip.  (See what I did there?)

Because, number one, they are TERRIBLE backseat drivers. 

 Both in that they are annoying and the are NO GOOD AT DRIVING. 

“MOM!  The light is GREEN.  So GO.”

Okay, well, but the ten cars in front of me might have a problem with that.

“MOM! The light is RED.  So STOP or you’ll get a TICKET.”

It’s true, that light is red, but it is also, like, a mile away. 

“MOM!  Could you go FASTER?”

No.  Shut up. 

“MOM!  You went through that RED LIGHT!  You are going to get a TICKET.”

I DID NOT.  I turned right on red.  Which is PERFECTLY LEGAL.  Also, STOP THREATENING ME WITH TICKETS.  And how about, since none of the rest of you know how to drive, you let me, with my years of training in the nuances of red lights, take care of the driving. 

They also seem to have gotten the impression that they have somehow managed to board a personalized luxury transportation service, and I am the concierge.

“Can you roll down my window?”

“I’m hungry.  Can I have a snack?”

"Can you open my snack?"

“AHHHH!  I dropped my snack.  I need you to pick it up.”

“I’m thirsty.  I need a drink.”

“Mom.  MOM.  Look!  Look at that!”

“Mom, what does that say?”

“Hey, what is that?  Mom.  MOM.  What is that?” 

“Can you roll my window up?”

Excuse me, you may not have noticed this, but I’m trying to DRIVE UP HERE.  I've tried very hard to explain that this car does not drive itself.  My attention is required up here.  To keep us all alive.  So I can’t fulfill your every whim at this precise moment.  

“Well, you should probably stop anyway because that's a red light."


This year, Sam made an actual friend who actually wasn’t related to him.  I think.  I wasn't 100% sure because he kept asking things like, “how do you know if someone is your friend or not? If they run away from you are they your friend?” 

Umm . . . maybe?

So it seemed like maybe the relationship didn't have the real solid foundation you hope to build best-friendships on. 

Sam did bring home pieces of paper with a phone number and say that is was Mason’s and we were supposed to call him to set up a play date but I never did.  Who knows how he got that number?  Who even knows if it is a real number?  And what if Sam misunderstood the situation and he was just supposed to call to give him homework answers or something?  Anyway, who needs friends?  We have family!

It's possible that I'm passing a fear of rejection on to Sam.  We'll see.  

But then one day, Mason called us!  OMG!  It was very exciting.  Sam couldn’t even talk on the phone.  So Mason and I chatted for a few minutes and set up a time.  "I just made a date with a 7-year-old!" I shouted to Chris.  

Sam went over to Mason’s house and great fun was had by all. 

A few weeks later, it occurs to me, “oh, crap, we’re supposed to invite him over here now.”  So I say to Sam, “Sam, would you like to invite Mason over this Friday?”  And he looks at me like I’m a little bit crazy and asks, in that slow, suspicious, way of his, with squinty eyes and a tilted head, “Whhhhhy?”

“Well, because he is your friend and that’s what you do.”

“Well, how would you even call him?” 

“I have his number, Sam.  You gave it to me.  See, it’s right here in my phone – ‘Mason.’”

“Well, I just think that might be a little . . . weird.”

“Why?  You’ve played with him before and seemed to have a good time.”

“Mom?  Are you trying to talk me into having him over?”

Okay, now this kid is making me feel like a helicopter parent.  I don’t really know what is happening in this conversation, or why Sam is so hesitant, but I’m just going to let it go for now. 

A week or so later, I bring it up again.  “Hey, Sam, would you like to schedule a time to get together with Mason?

"I still don't really know how I feel about that, Mom."

"Well, did you have a good time when you played with him before."

"I mean, I guess, it's just that I don't really know how I feel about having him over to my house."

"It'll be a lot like ALL THE OTHER times you've played with him."

“Mom, I guess I just don’t understand why you want me to have Mason over.”

Golly, this kid is socially inept.  He makes ONE pretty good friend and now he’s all skittish and weird about having him over to our house.  And the worst thing is that he literally doesn’t seem to GET why he should even WANT Mason to come over here.  Like this most basic reciprocal relationship is escaping him.  He goes over to this kids house, and now it's like he honestly doesn't understand why I think he should invite him over.  

“Sam, it’s just that you went over to his house, and if you don’t invite him over to your house, it’s basically like saying you don’t want to be his friend anymore.  And it’s okay if you want to say that, but you just need to understand that that is what you are saying.”

“When would I go over to his house?”

“Sam, you already went over to his house, it’s your turn to have him here.”

“Well . . . I just . . . I mean . . . I remember when we were at Fairfax and Mason’s mom said there was a kindergarten get together . . .”

Yeah, I remember that too.  Kind of irrelevant to this conversation, but, yeah, we were at Fairfax and this lady came up and she said she was Mason’s mom and I was like, weird, I’ve met Mason’s mom, and you are not her and . . .


“Sam?  Your friend from school?  His name is not Mason, is it?”

“No.  It is Marcus.”

 "Is there a Mason at school?"


"But he is not your friend?"

"Not really, Mom"

Now go back and read those conversations with Sam with the new understanding that Sam is the normal one and I am socially inept.