Toddler Opera and #NetflixKids

amesbooks

Cherry Ames! This is the type of nursing I can handle.

 

 

I have become nurse again because Red is sick.  Again.  I know, I know, he just was sick but any of you with children might know this interesting bit of news:

Children are walking germ buckets.

 

Anyhow, he wasn’t bad sick or anything.  He had a low fever and a bit of a cough and I think also just plain old tired out-edness.  I wasn’t too concerned.

Except for one small problem (cue scary sharknado music here):

HE WAS GONNA MISS HIS FIRST DAY OF PRESCHOOL.

I KNOW.  IT’S SO AWFUL I EVEN TEXTED HIS TEACHER IN ALL CAPS. I FELT ALL CAPSY ALL AFTERNOON.  HE WAS GONNA LOSE HIS EVERLOVING TODDLER STILL DEVELOPING MIND.  WE’VE ONLY BEEN TALKING ABOUT THIS FOR 12 MONTHS.

And once he was actually informed about this whole thing, he started wailing with operatic intensity.  There was vibrato, folks.  We’re talking bel canto.  I applauded when he was done, whilst wiping snot and trying to cuddle without getting that snot all over me.

Ok, I am going to interrupt here.  I am a mom, right, and moms should be able to cuddle and not worry about snot.  I know this.  But, in the interest of full disclosure (somewhere the lawyer is again rolling his eyes)  I am going to admit something to you that I have never admitted to anyone:  I don’t do snot.  I can do *tics off on fingers*: pee, poop, pee mixed with poop, barf, the fakeout barf (barf that doesn’t happen when you are sure it will) and even exploding barf.  Also some straight up saliva but that’s a whole other post.  I don’t do snot.)

Once the wailing turned down to a small two-part aria in the key of despair, I figured I would pull out a few of my sick-day tricks to lessen the sting.

“Red, hows about some popsicles?

“No.”

“Wow.  Even the ones that aren’t homemade that you love? The ones with Red #5 that make you nutty?”

“NO. I quit Red#5.  Dat stuff is awful.  Whaddya trying to do, get me sick?”

“Oh. Ok.  I’ll call my therapist later.  Wanna color with me? We can color some rockets! Or, wait, Kitties and Rockets?”

“I am over rockets.” sniff  “Not kitties though.”

“You wanna just draw kitties with me?”

“No. I’m going to make this as hard as possible.”

“Ok…  Hows about we have our own school?”

“Wait, WHAT? We can do that? Like, have school HERE?”

“Well… yes.  It’s actually a real thing.  People do it all the time.  Their children are usually scary smart and well adjusted.  But as for us, we’re gonna do it just this day.  Not every day.”

“This is ALLOWED? I canna do school HERE.  In our HOUSE?”

“Stop speaking in caps. It’s too dramatic.  Yes.  It’s called… *whisper* homeschooling.”

“HOMESCHOOLING!?  BRILLIANT!!”
“SHHHHHHH!  Just today!  Only TODAY?  OK?  Don’t get any ideas.”

 

So, we did school.  Fitting, I guess, since the poor kid was dying to get at some markers (kitty pictures did occur) and the alphabet on a chalkboard, and something with pipe cleaners that ended up looking like a lower intestine (I was going for art class – Abstract impressionism).

To cap the day off, we watched this classic:

Screenshot 2014-08-20 22.59.23

At this point, Netflix was, again, ready to save the day because Red was fading fast, but he simply had no idea how to turn himself off and just… rest.  The kid does not do rest.  I don’t do snot.  He doesn’t go naps.  Really, this is horribly unfair.  If we could just somehow trade

Anyhow, Emily’s First 100 Days of School, inspired by the author Rosemary Wells, was adorable.   Red, my little bunny, curled up next to me and was entranced.  I was too.

 

Here’s hoping the next time Red is sick it isn’t during his beloved VBS, or the first day of preschool, or some other huge thing, like Royals opening day (which is during school, I know…  but someday I have a feeling his dad is gonna make this a “thing.”)  I hope, actually, the sweet kid is never sick again, of course.  But I’ll take a good long cuddle with him on the couch, watching my beloved throwback television anyway.

 

Netflix_StreamTeam_Badge

Disclosure: I’m a member of the Netflix #StreamTeam.  Netflix comp the service we were previously paying for in exchange for my monthly posts and ramblings about movies and family viewing.  I love this.  I watch movies and then chatter about them.

 

 

 

Advertisements

B is For Brevity. For the Love of Pete. And Pete’s Mommy. MOVE Pete’s Point Along.

#TBT:  A post from the way way back.  STILL TOTALLY APPLIES.

 

 

Screen Shot 2013-08-29 at 1.43.35 PM

It is the soul of wit. And stuff.

Scene:  Momsie is muttering to herself and attempting to fold laundry, scrape up burnt oatmeal, and load  a backpack for the blond one’s preschool.  As the viewer notes:  Momsie is frazzled because she is attempting The Multitask.   Last time she tried it she injured herself.   It is a tricky maneuver that takes power and precision.   It’s a Mary Lou Retton* kind of thing.  If Mary Lou was a brain surgeon.  On crack. Massive skills, yo.**

Sooooo.  We have Momsie who is desperately trying to fill in an emergency contact form with something besides an orange marker (not really a mark of sophistication, the orange washable), while thinking it might be good to put on a bra before she takes the boys to preschool.  She is considering that if she just kind of crosses her arms and sort of… clutches at herself during the walk into the preschool, or brandishes the blond one’s Spiderman backpack as a shield… maybe no bra?  Right. No bra.  It should work.  She makes a mental note to avoid eye contact and hopes for the best.***

Meanwhile.  There is this conversation occurring AT her:

“Da wipey thing?  I was trying to wipa da table off and it is SOOOOOO sorta ummmmm  sorta ummmm.  Well mommah,  it is very very SUPER slippy and der was all this SUPER SUPER sticky stuff on da table?  I think it was some honey or maybe… DA SYRUP!  I think it was da syrup!  MOMMAH DER WAS ALL THESE SYRUP CIRCLES ON DA TABLE.  ALL OVER IT!  Did you know? Did you know that?  The sticky stuff makes CIRCLES?  AND DEY ARE ALLLLLLLLL OVER.  I am wiping wiping at da circles but…” (lots of circling with arms here and some additional sassy kick steps, which is part of wiping tables off, evidently–at least in our house).

(Deep breath from blond one)

“… da sticky parts?  Dey were on da table really HARD and I said to them, come OFF circles, but I got really really super tired.  It is hard work, wiping things.  Mommy?  Did you know that it is hard to wipe down da things?  All the time?  And den I squeezed da wiper and it kinda, well, made more of dis mess on the floor and I thought I better ask for help but then I…MOMMIE?  MOMMIE?? MOMMAH?  MOTHERRRR? ARE YOU LISTENING?  I had to wipe REALLY down hard and den, and DEN (dramatic pause–thank God)  the WIPER FLEW AWAY!”  (Hands chop at air ninja style with each word because ninjas do kitchen chores too).

“Mommah.  IT.  FLEW.  AWAY.”  (Blond one  is now channeling Captain James T. Kirk*  because. This. Is. Serious.)

At this point, Momsie stops whatever mind sucking chore she is doing, and pushes her hair out of her face.  She then takes a breath and says,

“So.  You’re saying that you dropped the sponge?”

Blond one:  “Yep.”

Boom.

Post script:

* Yes,  I realize all my cultural references are from the 80’s.  Or further back.  It’s a delicate subject, aging, and we will have another post all about what it is like being forty-ish and trying to be hip without breaking a hip.  I am sticking with Mary Lou and Kirk.

America’s Sweetheart:

west-virginia-mary-lou-retton

It’s the TEETH I tell you. Hypnotic.

And, my sweetheart, Kirkie:

Look into my eyes...  I am a perfect human being.

Look into my eyes… I am a perfect human being.                     fastcompany.com

So, we are all caught up now?  Mmmm K?

** See?  Here I am utilizing this kind of talk because I am totes hip.  Yo.

***  No preschool children or parents or teachers were harmed during the making of this post.  I ended up taking the bike and trailer to preschool.  When I ride the bike, well, a bra is imperative.  Safety first.

B is for Brevity. For the love of Pete. And Pete’s mommy. Move Pete’s point along.

Screen Shot 2013-08-29 at 1.43.35 PM

It is the soul of wit. And stuff.

Scene:  Momsie is muttering to herself and attempting to fold laundry, scrape up burnt oatmeal, and load  a backpack for the blond one’s preschool.  As the viewer notes:  Momsie is frazzled because she is attempting The Multitask.   Last time she tried it she injured herself.   It is a tricky maneuver that takes power and precision.   It’s a Mary Lou Retton* kind of thing.  If Mary Lou was a brain surgeon.  On crack. Massive skills, yo.**

Sooooo.  We have Momsie who is desperately trying to fill in an emergency contact form with something besides an orange marker (not really a mark of sophistication, the orange washable), while thinking it might be good to put on a bra before she takes the boys to preschool.  She is considering that if she just kind of crosses her arms and sort of… clutches at herself during the walk into the preschool, or brandishes the blond one’s Spiderman backpack as a shield… maybe no bra?  Right. No bra.  It should work.  She makes a mental note to avoid eye contact and hopes for the best.***

Meanwhile.  There is this conversation occurring AT her:

“Da wipey thing?  I was trying to wipa da table off and it is SOOOOOO sorta ummmmm  sorta ummmm.  Well mommah,  it is very very SUPER slippy and der was all this SUPER SUPER sticky stuff on da table?  I think it was some honey or maybe… DA SYRUP!  I think it was da syrup!  MOMMAH DER WAS ALL THESE SYRUP CIRCLES ON DA TABLE.  ALL OVER IT!  Did you know? Did you know that?  The sticky stuff makes CIRCLES?  AND DEY ARE ALLLLLLLLL OVER.  I am wiping wiping at da circles but…” (lots of circling with arms here and some additional sassy kick steps, which is part of wiping tables off, evidently–at least in our house).

(Deep breath from blond one)

“… da sticky parts?  Dey were on da table really HARD and I said to them, come OFF circles, but I got really really super tired.  It is hard work, wiping things.  Mommy?  Did you know that it is hard to wipe down da things?  All the time?  And den I squeezed da wiper and it kinda, well, made more of dis mess on the floor and I thought I better ask for help but then I…MOMMIE?  MOMMIE?? MOMMAH?  MOTHERRRR? ARE YOU LISTENING?  I had to wipe REALLY down hard and den, and DEN (dramatic pause–thank God)  the WIPER FLEW AWAY!”  (Hands chop at air ninja style with each word because ninjas do kitchen chores too).

“Mommah.  IT.  FLEW.  AWAY.”  (Blond one  is now channeling Captain James T. Kirk*  because. This. Is. Serious.)

At this point, Momsie stops whatever mind sucking chore she is doing, and pushes her hair out of her face.  She then takes a breath and says,

“So.  You’re saying that you dropped the sponge?”

Blond one:  “Yep.”

Boom.

Post script:

* Yes,  I realize all my cultural references are from the 80’s.  Or further back.  It’s a delicate subject, aging, and we will have another post all about what it is like being forty-ish and trying to be hip without breaking a hip.  I am sticking with Mary Lou and Kirk.

America’s Sweetheart:

west-virginia-mary-lou-retton

It’s the TEETH I tell you. Hypnotic.

And, my sweetheart, Kirkie:

Look into my eyes...  I am a perfect human being.

Look into my eyes… I am a perfect human being.                     fastcompany.com

So, we are all caught up now?  Mmmm K?

** See?  Here I am utilizing this kind of talk because I am totes hip.  Yo.

***  No preschool children or parents or teachers were harmed during the making of this post.  I ended up taking the bike and trailer to preschool.  When I ride the bike, well, a bra is imperative.  Safety first.