Monkey See, Monkey Do

There’s a rule in this house: the bathroom door is always locked. It’s for Buzz’s own safety, since there’s any number of drawers he could open, q-tips to dispense, paper to unroll, toilet water to splash, cabinets with medicine to get into, bathtubs to hide in. Not that I know any of this from experience.

OK, fine, I know it ALL from experience.

Everyone is aware of this rule. In fact, Jedi even has a special “key” on hand to come and go as needed.

The problem with this plan is that Buzz is aware of the key, too, which is really nothing more than a quarter. It’s flat edge rests perfectly in the thin groove of the lock. If given the chance, he can, and will, still get inside without problem.

I was busy cooking dinner while J ran to the store for a few quick essentials. I heard Buzz making noise, playing, and thought he was keeping himself kindly occupied with his sister. I should have known better. Buzz is never just kindly occupied with his sister.

It seems he hijacked the key when I wasn’t looking. J returns home to find Buzz in the bathroom, a quadruple blade razor in hand. Attempting, and failing, to shave his legs like Mommy.

There may have been blood. And loss of skin.

My boy’s first shaving accident.

We’re going to need a better lock.

The Flush Whisperer

The start of school approaching has kicked my butt in gear on a number of tasks I’ve been avoiding. Such as taking Jedi on his first trip to the dentist. I’ve had it in mind that there would be plenty of screaming and kicking and maybe a punch or two. Surprisingly, there was none of that. There was only poop.

While we were waiting in a packed area filled with other kids and families, Jedi remarked boisterously, “I’ve gotta go potty! Oh, no! I think I’ve gotta go STINKY!”.

I motioned him over amidst chuckles from the other waiting room patrons and explained with the slightest whisper, “When they call you back, let her know that you have to go potty. Don’t say stinky, just potty. Nobody else has to know you have to take a poop.”

He told me he understood and went back to sit again. Soon, his name was called and he promptly informed her of his need to potty like I told him to. I wasn’t allowed back with him, but I could hear him clear as day from outside the thin door. He seemed to occupy that bathroom for many, many minutes. Long enough for the dental assistant to take a couple phone calls. I then realized I forgot to remind him to flush the toilet.

Finally, I heard the door open and his little voice declare, “I’m all done.”

What I didn’t hear was a gush of water.

“I hope he flushed the toilet”, I whispered to myself, out loud, into my hand.

The things you never thought you’d worry about before you have kids.

Funny

I say this with only a touch of obnoxiousness, because it’s mostly none of my doing, but Jedi is very smart. The majority of his information has been picked up on his own or from the computer. For instance, he’s had an interest in countries and state capitals for as long as I can remember. Noticing his exuberance, we bought him a globe, tacked a map in his room, and let him do the rest. He now knows more about the world around us than I do.

The other afternoon, after searching the internet, Jedi asked, “Mommy, can you help me find M-A-L-E on the globe?”

“I don’t think that’s a place, sweetie. You spelled male, and that’s a boy. You know, like you. You’re a male, and girls, like me, are female. OK?”, I replied with a condescending pat on his head and a silly sweep away. Kids are so funny, I thought.

“But here, on Google Maps, it shows M-A-L-E,” he continued, undaunted by my dismissal.

It appears it did. Surely Google Maps is funny, too, I thought. I tried to be supportive, however, and had him zoom out to it’s exact location.

“There it is!”, Jedi exclaimed. A tiny speck in the middle of the Indian Ocean. MalĂ©, the capital city in the Republic of the Maldives. Obviously an island and not a boy. I learn something new every day, now courtesy of my 6 year old. I’m still trying to teach him, but more often than not he teaches me instead. Funny how that happens.

Sympathy Pains

Abby had her 2 year well-child doctor visit this past Monday, which is also the day we registered my oldest for school, which is a huge fail in parenting in itself but hopefully all works out in the end. Really, I don’t even want to go there.

Before we registered him, though, my daughter had her appointment of torture where she was poked and prodded and not having any of it. She screamed like only she can do, filling the entire office area. The boys came along and they initially sat contently and watched in fascination, fortunate in the knowledge that it wasn’t for them. In fact, when the doctor walked in, Jedi quickly piped up and declared, “Only Abby’s getting a shot today”.

To which she did. A single vaccination.

Upon witness of the nurse carrying that one syringe into the room, though, both of the boys cowered. Buzz hid completely under their desk while Jedi scrunched himself into a defensive ball, like a roly poly. It’s amazing the trauma and fear a needle can project.

When Abby cried, Jedi flinched but Buzz cried real tears with her. She hollered for good reason, but so did Buzz. She was fine almost immediately after, while it took plenty of coaxing to pry him out of hiding. Leave it to her brother to steal her thunder. From the look of it as we finally left the room, it would appear he was the one who had the rough morning.

Her brothers felt her pain, dramatic movie of the week style, and it hurt. Though nothing a cherry-flavored sucker and handful of stickers couldn’t fix.

Life’s a Peach and a Really Cheesy Post Title

We have new next door neighbors. This is a good thing, since the people who lived in that house previously broke our car’s rear window last year. It was an accident, sure, but feelings soured very quickly, especially after they refused to pay for it.

The new neighbors are older. I’ve seen the man sitting outside a few times and we’ve waved. I’m not the most social, so this is my curmudgeonly attempt at being friendly.

Over the weekend, he witnessed my parents come and go. On one of those occasions, he stopped my dad before he could shuffle his way inside. He asked how many kids I had then retreated briefly. A few seconds later, he returned bearing gifts.

Two peaches.

“For the kids”, he offered kindly.

Which is all very nice. I’m not against fruit. I wish my kids ate fruit. Obviously, though, he doesn’t know my kids.

I’ve had to place these peaches on top of the refrigerator, out of their immediate reach. If I hadn’t, I’m certain I’d be cleaning peach mush out of my carpet courtesy of Buzz. They think they’re toys. Round, fuzzy toys. Fuzzy balls, if you want to go there. Jedi just wanted to walk around with one in his hand. I told him if he touched the peach, he had to eat it. He promptly backed away and hasn’t so much as looked at it since.

You’ve succeeded in a positive first impression, Mr. Neighbor Guy. But if you really want to win (me and) my kids over, you need to come bearing chocolate next time.