Monthly Archives: March 2011

Jadon-isms

This boy makes me laugh so hard sometimes.  He can be so silly and so serious and so fit-throwingly mad at times.  And he says some of the greatest things—things I want to be able to tell him about when he gets older.
So here’s a glimpse of Spring 2011 with Jadon.
After waking up dry for the first morning EVER:  “I be dry!  I be DRYYYY!”
And when dealing with a particularly difficult kid in his preschool gymnastics class, “What’s a matter wif her?”
And frequently, we heard, “THAT’S not nice.”
And when defending his brother, “Jo-Jo’s fine!”
Getting dressed after bath time, after I had helped him with his undies, he informed me, “Mommy, my wee wee’s upside down!”  (As if I had put it in there wrong or something.)
And along those same lines, an observation.  “My wee wee’s wittle, but it’ll grow.”
His typical response when I get frustrated is, “Jo-Jo do it.”
“I wanna watch Bob-Bob.”  We have a big SpongeBob fan.
“I wanna lay on the floor.”  Because his bed simply doesn’t work for him.  Instead, he would rather camp on a pile of blankets on the floor in our bedroom.
“Daddy, I need batteries.”  Because any time a toy is broken or otherwise not working properly or performing to his expectations, it must need batteries.  That’s the only possible explanation.
Jadon Micah, you are one funny little dude!

Mommy’s Booty Shorts

Oh yeah, you heard it.  I said it.  Although, really I didn’t say it.  It just happens to be what Micaela thought she heard me say.  After work one day, I made a quick stop for a jump rope and ran into just the cutest pair of workout shorts that my now not-so-fat butt will fit into.  I didn’t care that they were $30 (sorry, Jason).  I didn’t care that they weren’t on sale or that all I was going to do was sweat in them.  Heck, if it helps I’ll sweat in them every single day this summer, and the entire time, I’ll think about my Nike shorts that my previous butt would have never fit into.
Anyway, that night was carpool night, and Micaela asked me why I was running a little late.  I told her, “I stopped to get a jump rope and some new booty-kickin’-shorts at Dick’s.”
At which point, she promptly went into convulsions and both of her eyes started twitching.  Well, ok—maybe it wasn’t that extreme, but I was pretty sure her eyeballs were going to pop out of her head.
Evidently, she only heard a few key words of my explanation:  Mommy.  Booty.  Shorts.
The look on her face was priceless.  It was the kind of look that said OhSweetJesusHowAmIGoingToEverGoInPublicWithAMotherWhoWearsBootyShorts!?  And I could also see her thinking of reasons right then and there why I could no longer drop her off in front of the school or the gym or anywhere there might be anyone she’s remotely acquainted with for that matter.  She was contemplating running away and becoming a nun all at once.  She was mentally counting her saved-up change and wondering if she could afford a bus ticket to ANYWHERE BUT HERE.
And as I looked at my sweet girl who was valiantly trying to give me a fake (and pained-looking) smile, I realized what she thought I had said.  How could I let her think I would embarrass her like that?  I had to remedy the situation immediately.
So I told her, “Of course, I’ll also be wearing my new shorts to parent-teacher conferences.”  (Cue my evil laugh right here.)  I’m pretty sure she’s still hiding in some dark corner of our house breathing into a paper bag.
And just for the record, my new booty-kickin’ shorts are not short-shorts.  They are almost to my knees, but I’ll never let the kid know that.  Let her live in fear.

The Extraterrestrial

Or, How to Scare the Living Bejeezus Out of Mommy



Ok, you know that image in the movie where E.T. was hiding among the stuffed animals?  Well, that little guy was doing a pretty fine job of blending in, and it was a cute little scene meant to endear him to the viewer (I guess).
Anyway, what’s not so cute is a mommy—fresh out of the shower, towel on head—going into a full-blown fit of fear as she realizes that there are eyes—yes, EYES!—staring back at her from behind the laundry basket at 4:30 a.m.  Um, yeah.  Not what I expected to see.
As I was dropping my fuzzy pink flannel pants into the hamper, instead of seeing nothing but endless piles of laundry awaiting the arrival of the Laundry Fairy, I saw something similar to this:
 Sitting silently and peeking at me from between baskets.
Now, imagine if you will, the dance of panic—you know, the little tippy-toe dance that is accompanied by a high-pitched squeal when one is particularly startled.  Stay with me here.  Now imagine the dance of panic, as performed by a slightly dripping, still-sleepy, clad-in-nothing-but-undies mommy.  Not pretty.  Not at all.
Jadon, however, thought it was hilarious.  I’m not sure why he thought the laundry baskets were the best place to hide, but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that we have enough laundry to actually hide 15 or 20 small Guatemalan children.  If we wanted to.  Which we don’t.  Because that would be WAY too many kids, and we’re all about moderation.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure I suffered a minor heart attack.  And after that little wake-up call, I definitely didn’t need coffee.  Oh yeah, and I’m also pretty sure I taught Jadon some new words this morning.  Poor little guy is going to grow up thinking his mommy has tourette’s syndrome.