The Pi

Saturday morning, March 14th, 2of3 came into my room at 7 am and said, "Mom, it's seven!"

I said humnaschmurna blageldorf.

He came back at 8 am and said, "Mawwwm, it's EIGHT."

I said okaerg.

At 8:30 I shook The Donor awake and we headed downstairs. The kids were all on the couch watching cartoons and three bowls of Lucky Charms were decomposing like Johann Pachelbel on the kitchen table.

So began my son's ninth year. He opened his gifts, and by "opened" I mean "looked behind our backs" because really, I suck at even thinking about wrapping things.

Which totally explains why I have a nine year old. Bygones.

We sat on the couch and read the pages in his baby book were I'd scribbled out the story of his exodus*. I showed him which bones of his caught on which bones of mine making an otherwise run-of-the-mill labour last two motherfucking glorious days. I billed him for the previous year, like I always do, and he promised to pay me in Reese's Pieces one day, like he always does.


I was disappointed that it was raining, so he couldn't go out to ride his new skateboard. He thought it was totallywickedawesome that he was allowed to ride it in the house just this once. He thought the tie he chose for dinner that he'd clearly outgrown a year ago looked 'mature', I thought it looked like a great opportunity to explain the joys of 'business casual'. He loved how his hair looked with the half jar of pomode he'd gooped into it, I thought he looked like Hitler after a rumble with The Jets.

So it goes with the boy born on the day of Relativity.


He had his very own steak at the restaurant that night, and no one even tried to cut it for him. He got the big knife and the huge dessert and the happy birthday song by the staff at the restaurant where they Do Not Sing happy birthday for anyone. He got to sit in the front seat with dad and choose the radio station and tonight as we tucked him in, he got double jumped with tickles and a million kisses.

So ended the first day of my son's ninth year.

No matter how old he gets, how mature he grows, he's still that baby boy I met nine years ago. When I saw his little face for the first time,  I knew him, like I'd always known him, like he was an old friend.   He looked like a lizard, but that's totally beside the point.  I knew he's walk the paths I did, only with more grace.  I knew he'd pick up where I left off and soar.  He's a mirror of me, all of his grandeur, and every one of his flaws.  He's what I'd hoped I could be and more.  Because he's him, and I'm pretty damn glad I got a piece of him.


*God, there are just so many Red Sea/parting thereof jokes to be made there, but I'm betting I'll be in enough trouble for defiling my poor son's birthday post as it is. You, however, can feel free to have at it.

Say It Ain't So

Call it a cop-out post, call it sacrilege, call it the most excruciatingly off-key mess you've ever heard, call it what you will. This is my life; welcome to it.  This is what makes me laugh until I pee.

(I dubbed the actual song very quietly into the background for those of you who aren't well-versed in the greatness that is Weezer.  You should work on that.  Best band ever, not kidding.  My 8 year old even knows this much is true.)

Say It Ain't So from Mr Lady on Vimeo.

Maybe he'll be a bassist or something.

It's Actually Pretty Hard To Shut Me Up

I had something silly and a bit snarky to talk about today, but then I had to take all the ornaments off the tree so we could start over with the lights.  I finally understand how lights make people insane.  We have this ornament that is a long tube, about the length of a half piece of paper, and it says "Letters To Santa" on it.  We write our lists to Santa the week before Christmas, roll them up and stick them in that tube, and shortly after Santa swings by in the middle of the night and grabs them.  It's awesome.  I took that ornament off the tree tonight and peeked inside, and there was something in it already.

I took the paper out, unfolded it, and saw this:

A gift for the big guy.

Behind that was another sheet of paper:

Dear Santa, I want to make my mom cry.

That says, "Dear Santa I have been verry good and I hope I have a verry good Christmas. Love, 2of3

PS: Do kids right to you?"

My 8 year old, my child who cannot go more than 45 seconds without asking for gum or milk or a back scratch, wrote his own letter to Santa and asked for NOTHING.  He asked for a good Christmas.  Not Hot Wheels, not skateboards, not video games, just a good Christmas.  And then he gave Santa a gift.

This is me, speechless.  And very much so in love.

Tooth Fairy Helps Self To More Teeth

I found that in The Onion one day a few years back, and I've just been holding on to it.  Today, it's oddly appropriate.

I read somewhere when my kids were little that children will lose teeth on approximately the same timeline as the gained them.  I've found this to be eerily accurate.  For example, 1of3 cut his first tooth at 5 months and 3 weeks, and lost his first tooth at 5 years and 3 weeks.  2of3 woke up one morning when he was 6 months old with a mouth full of teeth, and the day he lost his first tooth, at age 6, he lost 2 in the same day.

Why yes, that did suck, thanks for asking.

Both of my boys have a few loose teeth right now.  2of3 has had 3 working hard on wiggling for a while now; those two on either side of his foremost incisors, and the bottom left canine.  The two on the top have been just the slightest bit wiggly, and the bottom canine hasn't budged at all, but the adult tooth has started coming up through the gums behind it.  He's got a wickedly small jaw, so his teeth always come in behind the babies and push them out.

Wednesday morning, 2of3 tells me his top right tooth is really loose.  I wiggle it, and it's like a week from now loose, which is progress.  By the end of the day, he had that tooth under his pillow.  That boy can get anything done when he sets his mind to it.

Thursday morning, $5 richer, he tells me that the bottom tooth is really loose.  I wiggle it, and it ALSO is about a week from now loose, maybe two weeks.  It's no where NEAR ready to come out.  I tell him to leave it the hell alone already.  All day he messes with it, and all day it doesn't come out.  By dinner time, however, he's got it to the point where he can spin it all the way around.  He can't eat, because it hurts too much, and he's messed with it so bad that his gums are all swollen.  He tries everything to get that sucker out.

Not only did that fail, it really hurt.  And it was my last apple.  I almost had him convinced to do the dental floss/doorknob thing (because, come on, I've always wanted to see if that works) but he opted for less barbaric, if not more unhygienic, measures.

Um gross?  I sent him to bed and reminded him that tooth fairies do not look in tummies or in poop for teeth, so he'd better not swallow it.

Friday morning he awakes, and still has his tooth, and gets his butt off to school.  Where he looses his tooth before lunch.  He is the happiest kid ALIVE.  Saturday morning I am awoken at 8 in the morning on a goddamn Saturday with a very bouncy, "She came!  She left me $5 again!"  At 10, when I got out of bed, I discovered that she, in fact, had left him $9 under his pillow.

Um, what?

Maybe the Tooth Fairy's lovely assistant had thought she'd forgotten, and so added money?  I asked the Tooth Fairy's lovely assistant, and the lovely assistant had NOT added more money.  But there our child stood, with a fiver and two toonies.  Huh.

Welcome to the next installment of "Our Kids Have Us By Our Collective Balls."  I mean, it's not like we can say ANYTHING here, not after the whole debate about the Tooth Fairy being real that we'd JUST had.  Color us screwed.

I badgered a confession out of him later, by staring into all his yellow eyes and telling him to put on his truth hat*.  And then I just asked him.  And he just told me that he found $4 on the table.  All of this happened just in time, too, because he soon got bored and when he gets bored, apparently, teeth come out.  He came to me right before dinner and said, "Hey, mom!  Check out my tooth!"

My, what dirty teeth you have!  No, that's not dirty, that's the BACK.  Of the tooth that was almost not loose the day before.  Seriously, child.  By the end of last night, that tooth was under his pillow.

And this morning, he was thrilled to wake up to a tooth still under his pillow.

Wanna stop your kid from ripping teeth out of his face?  FORGET TO PAY HIM TO DO IT.  Works like a charm.

We spent the better part of the morning kicking ourselves in the asses shifting blame around consoling him and trying to figure out what the hell happened.  Was The Tooth Fairy just totally bombed last night?  Had she come so many times this week already, she thought our wish was a repeat?  Was she upset that he'd stolen from his parents?  What the hell happened?  And then he said the one thing that's made the past 10 years of parenting worth it....

"Maybe it wasn't clean enough, mom."

I have told my kids from the time they had teeth that The Tooth Fairy A) exists and B) doesn't take dirty teeth, so you'd better brush and sit still at the dentist, yo.  We have never tested this theory.  And just like that, my shitastic parenting paid off.  Those kids are suddenly petrified of having dirty teeth.  He ran right upstairs, brushed the lost tooth, brushed the attached teeth, and I swear to GOD ON HIGH, she's coming tonight with Five. More. Dollars.

I hope he buys me something nice with all his new-found riches.

The Truth Hat is an imaginary hat that goes on, and if truth comes out after it, no punishments are given.  It's the best thing I've EVER thought up.

At Least I Won't Have To Worry About Him Getting A Girlfriend Anytime Soon

2of3: Mom, look what I made for you!  (Holds up some piece of elastic with gold sequins pre-sewn into it)

Me, who hasn't had coffee yet, totally blowing him off: Uh huh.

Him: See how pretty it is!  It's got one sequin on it for every way you are the prettiest and best mom ever!

Me, totally repenting: Oh, honey, it is beautiful!  Thank you so much! If I didn't have puke breath, I'd kiss you!

Him: Isn't it great?  I worked really hard on it.

Me, picking up elastic bedazzled thingy of undetermined usage: You certainly did! (still have no clue what he contributed, btw)  I love you so much, I'm going to buy you a pony!

Him: Just buy me a math book, okay?