Date Night

They say there’s nothing quite like the special bond between a son and his mama. And this just so happens to be one stereotype which I am more than happy to be a part of. Yes, my little man totally digs hangin’ out with the woman who brought him into this world and was happier than a fly on shit when we got to have our own little date night this past weekend with just the two of us.

Since my daughter went to a daddy/daughter campout with my husband on Saturday, my son and I were able to have some rare quality one-on-one time. The kid’s face truly lit up like a jack-o-lantern when he found out that he was gonna get me all to himself. You see, normally, he has to compete with his twin sister for my full and undivided attention, and we all know that my last brain cell can only stretch so far. So this little scenario was a-ok with him. He even turned down a playdate with a neighborhood friend so that he could just chill with his mama. Is that true love or what?! I told him that we could do anything he wanted — go out to dinner and movie or order a pizza and play Wii at home. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which option he went with, given that the kid has a borderline psychotic obsession with all things video games.

So we had a little family room “picnic” on the floor with our pizza and a couple of unbelievably irritating episodes of Spongebob. (Are you submitting your “Mother of the Century” recommendations yet?) And then, it was the moment he’d been waiting for — it was Mario time. I swear to you that I played so many freakin’ Mario games that I began speaking in an Italian accent and was quite certain that a mustache was forming on my upper lip as the night went on. And it clearly didn’t make a rat’s ass of difference to my son that I had no earthly clue what the hell I was doing while playing these games. The kid refused to explain the rules of any game to me, and instead, just let me fend for myself. Actually, I think it was all part of his secret master plan to beat the ever-loving crap out of me.

I may have been confused out of my flippin’ mind as well as silently wishing that my exhausted head was on my pillow upstairs, but I would not have traded that date for anything in this world. If you could’ve seen just how unbelievably happy my mini man was, you would understand why I prayed to God that I could just bottle that moment up forever. The fact that he chose to be with ME over anyone else AND that the only ass I had to give up was in Super Mario Brothers defines an absolute picture perfect evening in my mind.

Mr. Forgetful

You know that saying about the apple not falling far from the tree? Well, I often tell my husband that he would no doubt lose his balls if they weren’t already attached to his body, and it seems that my son is now following right along in his daddy’s footsteps. I swear the kid cannot keep track of ANYTHING. And it doesn’t matter how important it is to him — he still somehow manages to “misplace” it.

Wintertime seems to be the absolute worst with this little game of hide and go seek the missing item. With all the cold weather paraphernalia that’s required to stay warm, he is always missing something. I finally learned after multiple winters with him to just buy several hats and mittens to keep on backstock. But even with the backup accessories, I still ended up having to send him to school with mismatched mittens on some days.

And then there’s the water bottles that he and his sister insist on dragging to school with them every damn day. I have bought so many of those frickin’ aluminum bottles since my son can never remember to bring them home from his locker. I gotta admit that I was a little scared to open up his locker on conference night cause I was sure that a mountain of water bottles would come tumbling out and bury me alive right there in the hall. And if he does manage to bring the bottle home, he often forgets to bring the lid. There was one particular lid that we’d been missing for weeks, and then he randomly found it lying under a tree in front of the school one afternoon. Talk about luck!

His baseball mitt is another thing the little dude just cannot seem to keep in tow. We could remind him 50,000 times not to forget it after practice or a game, and 99% of the time, he’ll hop in the car sans glove. Just last night after his game, we got all the way home before he realized that the mitt was MIA. So, I agreed to drive back over to the field to look for it while he took a bath. When I got back to the field, everyone had gone home, and I had zero hopes of actually finding the freaking thing. I was sure that someone had probably taken it by mistake. Nevertheless, though, I searched all around the area, and low and behold, there was the poor lonely glove barely peeking out of a big patch of weeds. Now why on earth my son decided to shove it in there is beyond me, but again, it appeared that luck was clearly on the kid’s side.

The day that he truly loses something very valuable to him will be a huge eye opener to him. I mean, if he were to lose, say, his Nintendo DS, for example, I’m pretty sure his whole world would fall apart, and he would shrivel up into a little ball in the corner for the next 75 years. I’ve often thought about making him “think” he’s lost something really important, just to make a point. However, forgetfulness seems to run thick in the male blood of the Nucking Futs family, so, unfortunately, I’m sure it would end up being a short-lived lesson.

Ok??!!

     

     Even though I’m usually ready to scream bloody murder and pull every strand of my hair out one by freaking one at the end of the day, I really do love tucking my kids into bed at night.  Now granted, it might be in small part because I’m slap-ass happy to finally be “off duty” (notice that I’m using that term VERY lightly) for a few hours, but it’s also in large part because I get to hear my little turkeys profess their undying love for me.  Moms don’t get any overtime or paid vacations, so we rely on these sweet little moments to keep us going.  

     Typically, my kids automatically spit back an “I love you, too” as I exit their rooms and make a break for it.  I walk away feeling all warm and fuzzy and willing to stick out this job for at least one more day. But when I told my son that I loved him the other night and got a most unwanted response of “ok,” I thought that surely I must’ve heard wrong.  Maybe my exhaustion had gotten the best of me, or maybe I needed to clean the wax out of my ears.  Unfortunately, though, when I asked him to repeat himself, he admitted that he actually did say “ok.”

     Now, there is definitely other feedback that would be more acceptable for such a situation.  I’d take a “you, too” or a “me, too” or hell, even a “thank you” over an “ok” any old day.  He might as well have just knocked me right in the face with a one-two punch with that kind of line.  I personally happen to think I deserve a lot more than that.  I mean after all, I do feed him, clean him, use my sleeve for his Kleenex, read to him, wipe his ass, sing to him, catch his puke in my hands, and leap tall buildings in a single bound for him 365 days a year.  Show a girl some love, my little man!

     He has at least given me the appropriate reciprocation ever since, so hopefully, I made my point very loud and clear.  I don’t expect red carpets or sparkly crowns or anything of the royal sort.  A simple “I love you, too” goes such a long way for an extremely worn-out mama. I know that soon enough, the very sight of me will embarrass the hell out of him in front of his friends, so I’ll soak up all the motherly adulation I can muster up from him until then, thank you very kindly.

The Perfect Date

    Since my daughter had her big daddy/daughter campout with my husband this weekend, I promised my son that I’d take him out on a dinner date.  As crazy as our lives are during the week, I hardly ever get to spend a whole lot of one on one time with the little man, so it was awesome to chat and chill, just the two of us.  He was super-stoked about having me all to himself without his chatty Kathy sister constantly interrupting him.  I have to say that the lil’ dude was a perfect gentleman and made for the perfect Saturday night companion.

     I let him pick the restaurant, and naturally he picked a place that we refer to as “The Crazy Straw Restaurant.”  The dude could seriously care less about the food, but he is thoroughly blown away by the tornado-swirled straws that come in the kids’ drinks.  Bells and whistles people, bells and whistles.  Unfortunately, however, even though I called ahead to put in our names, we still had to wait for a few minutes to get a table.  I was all set for him to dive right into a dramatic, kicking and screaming monologue about dying of starvation right there in the middle of the restaurant. Surprisingly, though, my little date never bitched or moaned or even said so much as an “aww, shucks.”  He actually waited patiently right beside me until our buzzer finally lit up.

     We enjoyed a pre-dinner cocktail, a glass of Kendall Jackson for me, a cup of chocolate milk for him (complete with crazy straw, of course!), as he wooed me with his wealth of solar system knowledge. I learned that I apparently live in a ditch since I didn’t know that Pluto is no longer considered a planet.  I guess I’m not smarter than a six year old, let alone a fifth grader.  As we sat there shooting the breeze, I noticed that a little girl in the booth next to ours kept giving my son the old googly-eyed look. This chick was trying her very damnedest to get his attention but was failing miserably.  I tried to get my son to give her a little smile just to throw the poor girl a bone, but he was completely uninterested.  Next thing I knew, this little vixen had made her way over to our table with her dad.  Her dad actually had the wherewithall to say, “Does my daughter know your son from somewhere?”  Homeboy was purposefully throwing out pickup lines FOR this four-year-old hussy!  But being the player that he is, my son didn’t even give her the time of day.  You see, he’s a one-woman guy, and he was way too busy having fun with his main squeeze for the night.

     After we finished our candlelight dinner for two, we stopped off for a nightcap at Ben & Jerry’s.  With globs of chocolate ice cream dripping down his chin, he continued to charm the hell out of me with all his funny little tales.  We walked hand in hand to the car and drove home singing along to the radio.  I thoroughly enjoyed every single minute of my night out with this honorable little fellow, and the best part of the whole date was that the only thing he expected me to put out was a pair of race car pajamas.

One Lucky Mama

Hooray for Mother’s Day!  Up until this morning, I wasn’t so sure today would be any different than any other day.  My daughter has been bugging me for days to help her make my own Mother’s Day present, which I refused to do, and I was feeling a little jilted having only received a bouquet of dead dandelions my daughter had picked from a neighbor’s yard for me. So, it was much to my pleasant surprise this morning when I received <drumroll please> ………………… BREAKFAST IN BED!  My husband and kids completely shocked me with a Belgian waffle, strawberries, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a hand-picked card from each one of them.  The little smiles on my twins’ faces were ear to ear with excitement — they couldn’t wait for me to see the careful attention they had put into not only picking out my cards but signing them, as well.  My daughter’s was a given — a super cute dog wagging his tail (she never passes up a good dog card).  My son’s, though, was the absolute best.  It was a musical card that read, “Every time I think of you…” on the front. Now, just looking at this card, I was quite certain that it was not meant to be from a son to his mother.  It was clearly a lovey, dovey husband to wife card.  When I opened it up, a song started playing, “I melt every time you look at me that way”, and it read, “I fall in love all over again.”  As soon as the song began to play, my son beamed with pride as he broke out into his own choreographed interpretation of the words.  I tried my hardest not to laugh, but before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face from trying to contain myself.  He was clearly over the moon with his selection, and I loved every minute of his unique display of affection.  I feel like the luckiest mama in the world, and I can’t think of a better way to start off the day.  I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone because each of my kids has repeatedly asked me if I need anything.  I know they’re being prompted by their daddy, but, hey, I’ll take what I can get!  Now, if only everyone will continue to be this thoughtful and sweet for the remainder of the day….

I Need A Pause Button

Sometimes I just want to freeze time and put my kids in a bubble (of course I’m referring to the times when they are super-sweet and cuddly, not the times when they’re hell on wheels and I want to beat my head against the wall).  Just when you think you’ve had the absolute worst day ever and you want to run away and join the circus, they say something that just turns your heart into melted butter.  For example, even though my son constantly tests the little bit of patience I have left in my body, he absolutely sweeps me off my feet with his admiration of me.  He is constantly hugging me and kissing me, and whenever he forgets what it is that he’s trying to say, he’ll randomly bust out with a “Mommy, I really, really love you.”  I realize that it’s mainly just his way of pausing to regroup his thoughts, but I still adore every one of those six little words.  My daughter is equally as lovey-dovey in her own special ways. She is the first one to reach up and grab my hand whenever we’re out walking in the neighborhood or shopping at a store.  I treasure that so much and try to soak up each and every time I feel her little hand in mine, because I know that she will someday be embarrassed to even be seen in public with me.  And, just last night, when I felt pretty certain I looked like absolute crap (it was the end of a VERY long day, my hair was pulled into its usual messy lump, and the bags under my eyes were present and accounted for), my sweet little girl pulled my face toward hers and said, “Mommy, you look so pretty!”  I wanted to just scoop her up and put her in my pocket.  One of the greatest things about being a mom is that no matter how many times I may say or do something stupid, my kids are always my biggest fans.  I try to tattoo this on my brain, so that I remember this warm and cozy feeling even during those times when I want to crawl in a hole…but, then, someone does something that makes my nostrils flare, and I go back to being a nucking futs mama!

That’s Gonna Leave a Mark….

I’m fairly certain that if you were to Google the term “clutz” you’d find a picture of my son, God love him.  The poor child is an accident waiting to happen, a characteristic he apparently inherited from his father.  We’ve often said the kid should be dressed in head to toe armor with flashing yellow lights, just as a precaution.  In his five short years of life, he has had stitches five times! He is constantly falling or running into things.  The people at the emergency room now recognize my face — not really the claim to fame for which I was hoping.  I’m waiting for them to come and haul me away any day! The poor child literally walked right into the car door as we were leaving the emergency room one time after stitches.  (Note to self: buy kid helmet ASAP…)  If you were to look at my son at any given time, he will most definitely have some sort of bump, scrape, cut, bruise or red mark.  We should really buy stock in band-aids.  And given that today is Friday the 13th, a day that is typically known for bringing bad luck, I’m crossing my fingers, knocking on wood, and considering buying a rabbit’s foot to help the odds of us making it through the day without some sort of major catastrophe.