cussing under the monkey bars

We do not cuss in our family. Let me rephrase that: we do not cuss out loud in our family. Plenty of times I’ve mumbled swear words under my breath if things are not going the way that I have planned…or if I’ve stubbed my toe. But really I’m just bad at cussing; like really bad. I sound weird cussing, like I’m speaking a foreign language. Strangers stop in their tracks and make sure I’m not choking when they hear me attempt to use a swear word. Sometimes I wish that I could be a good cusser; I feel like it would give me street cred. It’s probably best if I stick to non-cuss words.

I remember the first time I heard the mother of all cuss words: the F word. It was right before school on the playground. I was under the dome shaped monkey bar structure. I was six in the first grade. My friend, Laura Hodges was with me and she said, “Oooooo did you hear that kid he said a bad word?” I said, “No what did he say?” Laura said, “I don’t know if I should say it. It’s a really bad word I might get in trouble.” I said, “Oh come on tell me I won’t tell anyone.” Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Fuck.” Then I looked at her and said, “I didn’t know that was a bad word. My Dad says that all the time.” 

That was the day I learned my first bad word and learned that my Dad was a really good cusser. I guess I didn’t inherit his cussing gene. 

From time to time I’ll check in with my boys and ask them if they know any bad words. I let them know they can tell me all the bad words they know and they won’t get in trouble. It’s a free pass to cuss me out. Today, the boys and I were listening to the radio as we were driving to school and a song came on the radio that, to me, had a bad word that was so obviously bleeped out. It prompted me to ask them to cuss me out. Linus went first. He hesitated for a moment and then listed off all the bad words he knew: Shut up, Stupid and Hate. Oliver added to the list: Idiot. 

At age 5 and 8 my boys still don’t know the mother of all cuss words and I’m definitely okay with that. Maybe they will inherit my non-cussing gene.

92.7 % Gringa

I have a suspicion that I might be crazy when I'm old. Countless times I've thought I've seen a stranger in my bedroom. Being of somewhat sound mind instead of thinking I'm in the middle of a home invasion I take a second look and think to myself, "Silly it's most like your imagination."  I take a closer look to see it's just my jacket hanging of a hook. When I'm old and senile and when my ability to reason has gone with my hearing and eye sight I'm 92.7 % sure that I will no longer think my jacket is just a jacket hanging on a hook but I will most likely scream, fall to the floor, and I will push on my life alert button dangling on a shoestring hanging from around my neck.

I'm only 35 but it's already started to happen. I'm going crazy.

We live down the street from a Department of Motor Vehicles. This DMV is situated smack dab in the middle of a residential area. The closest corner store or strip mall is more than a mile away. A savvy business owner seized the opportunity to feed cantankerous DMV employees and impatient drivers and has set up their taco cart on the street right in front of the DMV. I've driven by the cart many times and haven't really paid much attention other than mentally applauding their business sense. However one day as I was driving by I caught a quick glance at the menu scribbled on a large piece of neon pink poster board and I read, "Tortas for Gingos." (Tortas a Mexican style sandwich and Gringo a Mexican derogatory term describing a white person).

I was super offended and thought, "HOW IN THE WORLD can a taco cart get away with such an offensive menu?" Being so offended by what I read I turned my car around and I was going to give that taco cart a piece of my mind. However being a person who is extremely standoffish toward conflict, I didn't get out of the car, instead I drove by extremely slow giving the cart and all of it's tortas the evil eye. But when a person drives their car at a tortoise pace a person has a better view of offensive menus. The menu did not say "Tortas for Gringos" Instead it was listing off the food that the taco cart sells: 1. Tortas 2. Gringas. I felt a bit sheepish and stopped my evil stare down and drove off rather quickly.

Then I went home and googled Gringas.

logic vs. my 4 year old

As a parent, I've always thought that it is important to lead your children to the truth, to guide them to reason, and to encourage them to use logic and not always act out of fear or feelings so they can make sense out of this strange world around them. I think it's really important to help my youngest child to use logic when he is FREAKS out over the six-legged, tiny ant that crossed his path. I remind him that he is like a billion times bigger than the ant and, if he wanted, he could step on the ant and kill it. So, maybe screaming like a banshee is not called for and we should think of how the ant should be scared of us and not the other way around.

I've been a parent for seven years and I think maybe, just maybe, if I add it up correctly, I've maybe guided my children to act on logic instead of fear, twice. Both of my boys are still afraid of all kinds of bugs, especially flies. 

Logic and reason are especially hard when you have children with great imaginations. I've gotten into debates with my four year old over silly things. Even though they were absurd, I'm sure my Speech and Debate professor would have declared Linus the winner. Yesterday, he asked me if camels could sing. I told him, no, camels could not sing. He was not happy with my answer. So, then he asked me, "when magic turns boys into a camels, then could they sing?" In which I reasoned, "well, yes, if magic could turn you into a camel, I don't see why camels wouldn't be able to sing." Then, tonight, as my four year old, who has never attended preschool a day in his life, was going to bed, he said, "Remember when I went to that old school called Old Testament? And we watched that big movie called, 'The Truck and his Platypus?'" Hmmm...no, I do not remember that.

My plan is to continue to instill acting on logic and not always fear and emotions I just think my Linus might be a hard sell on the logic stuff.  

it may just be a kiss on the cheek, but...

Have you ever noticed that there is like a lot of stuff on the internet? Like tons maybe even millions or trillions. And have you noticed that things seem to stick around for a really long time?  I'm sure this very insignificant, little blog could be used to embarrass my children when they are teenagers.  For this next post I am protecting my future teenager's true identity.

I have this fancy purse. The fanciest purse I've ever owned and probably will ever own. I love my purse and sometimes I will find myself staring at my fancy purse like it's a dreamy heart throb. {sigh} On one occasion I noticed my fancy purse had a stain on it where my dark denim had rubbed onto it's rich beige leather. 

On a trip to the mall I decided to stop by Nordstrom and ask the purse lady if there was anything that would clean my fancy purse. I had both of the boys with me and on this rare occasion they were actually listening to me and staying out of trouble. The purse lady and I discussed the prognosis of my purse for a few minutes and she gave me some helpful hints for removing the stain. I thanked her and then turned to collect my boys. When I turned around I couldn't believe what I saw. One of my boys was kissing a mannequin smack dab in the middle of it's bare plastic butt cheek.

guest blogger

I've come to notice over the years of blog reading that most blogs worth reading will have guest bloggers. So in order to make my blog worth reading I have my first guest blogger. Tonight's guest is my husband Adam. He is the father of my children and all around great guy. I've asked him to write this tale down because 1. I was at yoga when the events took place and 2. I'm lazy and instead of typing while he narrates what happened I asked if he would just type it for me. Which just goes to show you that he really is a GREAT guy. 

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This evening, our four-year-old Line sat down next to me on our big green chair.  Typically, our small Rat Terrier, Pepito, sees this as an opportunity to jump up and snuggle in between these two Elfstrand males; this night was no different.  As Pepito leapt over the four-year-old and started conducting the dog ritual of dizzying himself (by turning around multiple times in a circular motion), he stopped briefly to sniff our four-year-old's ear.  Line jerked away quickly, responding to Pepito with, "Hey, Peppy...stop saying that!  Stop saying that you are a seven-year-old girl."

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As Adam was typing on the computer Line came out of his room when he was suppose to be sleeping.  He told me he couldn't go to sleep because he was afraid of the dark. I told him that was fine he could stay up all night while it was dark and everyone else was sleeping.  Then when the morning came he could sleep with the light. The rest of the family would be up playing and having fun while he slept because he was too afraid to sleep in the dark. Once I was done telling him my solution to his problem I asked if this was a good plan. He said no and said he would now be going to sleep. 

let's pretend to be dead and other fun stuff my boys like to play

One day while my boys were riding their bikes in the front of our house it became suspiciously quiet. As most of you already know, when kids are quiet if usually means that they are up to no good. For my boys when they are quiet it means that they are pretending to be in a tragic bike crash and are now deceased laying in a gutter. This is a visual representation of a mother's worst, most horrible nightmare.

Thank you boys for just pretending to die. And I'm happy to report that there is a lot less morbid pretend play on our lane these days.

i hate chickens

We put the boys to bed at 8:00 tonight; naturally, my six-year-old comes out of his room to ask us a very important question, one and a half hours later. It should be noted that our dog, Henry, is ten years old, Ollie is six, and Line is four.

Ollie: Dad was Line chasing the chicken when we got Henry at the farm?

Dad: No buddy Line wasn't born yet.

Ollie: But was Line chasing a chicken at the farm?

Line: (yells from bedroom) I HATE CHICKENS!

Dad: No Ollie, Line was not chasing the chicken.

(Ollie exits to bedroom)

Line: (overheard in bedroom) Ollie, I hate chickens.