My Child’s First Car Accident…

Leave a comment

My 18 year old has had his own car since April and since then has been dividing his time between me, his dad, his girlfriend, and work. While I know he would rather be with the hot girlfriend over his parents, he is VERY good about making sure he spends time with all of us.

He works full time and travels to different stores within 3 counties. The other day, for no reason, I was thinking: “If Nate was in a car accident, how would anyone know to tell me?” Especially if it was one of the stores far away.

That night, I saw his dad’s name pop up on my phone and my heart sank. We get along fine, but don’t make a habit of calling each other.  I listened to his voicemail, and the first words were: “Carrie, call me back as soon as you get this. Don’t worry, Nate’s ok, but there’s been an accident.”

I’m obviously psychic and the first thing I did was wish I had called Nate when I had that weird feeling and told him to make sure he drove safely. I know, though, he would have rolled his eyes and said, yes mom, of course, etc.

He was going through a green light in his little Nissan when out of nowhere a truck pulls left in front of him and (when it was all said and done) did $7,000 worth of damage to the car and it is now deemed totaled. The driver of the truck wanted to do a hasty exchange of info and leave. Nate was all, “OH HELL NAW you aren’t leaving, we’re calling the police.”IMG_1580.JPG

(Someone obviously never told this guy to keep his mouth closed at an accident scene because he was all over himself apologizing and actually said he was trying to speed up to turn…)

Nate was very shook up, and when I saw the pics of the car, I couldn’t believe he didn’t get one scratch on him. Nothing! The airbag deployed, but just barely caught him on the chin. I was so relieved he was ok! His car was a mess but he was alive.

The first thing he says: “Oh man, I have plans this weekend, how am I going to get there?”

Me: “Um, you’re alive. Be thankful!”

Nate: “Yeah, I’m alive, but I HAVE PLANS!”

Me: “But, but, honey, you could have DIED!”

Nate: “Yeah, but if I died, I wouldn’t be wondering how to GET anywhere!”

Touche, my son. Touche.

I’m Leaving on a Train Car…

Leave a comment

I want to start off by saying I love my kids.

I do, I do, I do.

But they drive me CRAZY!!!!

I know I’m not alone in this. I’m pretty positive every single parent, at one time or another, has envisioned running away from home holding a plaid knapsack on a stick containing a few PB&J’s while whistling a merry tune as you find a nice train car to jump into and go far, far away.

Or do what I do and hide in a corner, suck on a thumb and rock myself.

I was a teacher. I took child psychology classes, learning development classes, I knew all the stages of anal, oral, and whatever else Freud liked to talk about, so you would think when my child is freaking out about something I would remember it was normal.

It’s so hard to remember that when they are screaming at the top of their high pitched lungs and telling you they hate you because their apple isn’t as red as their brothers.

(That was last night)

My oldest is 18 and is easy at this point, but he still has no idea how to clean up after himself. He can create mods on his computer games, and defeat any enemy he wants, but the concept of bringing dirty dishes to the sink escapes him.

My 5 year olds, well, they are another story. Every minute is full of wonder, such as: “I wonder who is going to have a meltdown next?”

The Terrible Twos and Threes are nothing compared to the Terrible Fives.  I find myself correcting more during the day than cuddling, and constantly trying to see into the future to know what may or may not cause a tantrum.

Eggshells. Lots and lots of eggshells.

One of the twins said they hated me last night because I wouldn’t give them a sucker with their dinner. I have never given them a sucker with dinner, but they decided it was to be, and when I nicely refused, it caused a serious row and I was flabbergasted. I’m often flabbergasted.

One of the twins has a broken arm and decided he wanted to wear long sleeved pajamas to bed. I said that wasn’t a good idea because a) the cast doesn’t fit into the arm easily, and b) it was 85 DEGREES.

Well, that made him more determined to prove that I was wrong and he proceeded to fit that cast into the sleeve one millimeter at a time. He was getting red faced and mad and kicking and screaming, and it took him 10 minutes to put on the shirt while I watched, defeated.

But he showed me.

They also like to lie, now, which is awesome. I will say: “No, we are not going to the McDonald’s play area, it’s 9PM!” and they will say: “You’re mean. You said I’m a stupid boy and you hate me!”

WHAT?? NO I DIDN’T! “Yes, you did, you said you don’t love me any more and that I’m just a stupid head.”

<facepalm>

I’m exhausted from all the work my brain has to do to deal with them sometimes. Yelling doesn’t do anything but make everyone more frenzied, but sometimes being calm makes them think their behavior is ok. Forcing them to say they’re sorry when they aren’t, or don’t even understand why they should be sorry, is difficult, as does knowing which battle to fight or give up on.

Every generation goes through this, and I think it’s because we aren’t given enough insight into what children go through in their little brains. They are testing the waters, seeing what they can do, not realizing they are slowly sending their parents into mental zombie land.

There should be a pamphlet that is sent to us on their birthdays so we know what we’re in for the next year. Things like: “Five year olds often have no clue what the heck they really want, and reverse psychology works amazingly well at this age. They will also think they need everything they see on every commercial, especially the “As Seen on TV” ones.” (Thanks, Snackeez)

I also think there should be hotlines for each year of age and when the kids start going nutso, we can call the 1-800-5yrolds for advice.

Operator: “Hello, this is the 5 year old hotline, how can I help you?”

Me: “Um, hi there, my 5 year old won’t come downstairs because I refuse to carry his blankie for him.”

Operator: “Do you have a plaid knapsack on a stick?”

Me: “Why, yes I do.”

Operator: “Fill it up with sandwiches and find yourself a train car.”

 

Things My Kids Misinterpret # 2 – 8

Leave a comment

So I asked Twin A for giggles where babies come from.

A: Well, they come from beds. And sometimes dorks.

(He’s not wrong).

——————

Teen Who was playing “Gangnam Style” the other day, and now Twin A will randomly burst into: “OTA Gunner Stah!” and do the Ota Gunner Stah dance.

——————

Twin B: Mommy, my cup is dirty, can you put it inna worshang masheem?

——————

I have a popcorn masheem, er, machine in my kitchen. The kids cannot say “popcorn”, it’s always: “pawcones”, which is what Mr. Who calls it now, too.

——————-Pawcone Masheem

Back in the day, the kids pronounce the “ed” at the words, saying “it” which was neverendingly hysterical, such as: “I poopit”, “That stinkit”,  which is another thing that Mr. Who says now.

——————-

Currently, they add “t” to words that end in “n”, and we cannot figure out why, for example: “I’m gonna wint!” or “Look at that mant”.

——————-

It’s funnier, too when they correct each other, incorrectly.

B: It’s Capin Amerita!

A: It’s not Amerita, it’s Mare-ca.

B: That’s what I said!

I Got Nothing…

Leave a comment

My friend Wendy demanded I write something since I haven’t been blogging on her time schedule  (which is wretchedly demanding, and if we lived closer to each other I fear she would show up at my house at 3 am and smack me repeatedly in the left eye until I did her bidding.)

But I got nothing.

NOTHING.

Ok, well,  I WAS sick for the last week and a half with lungs that sounded gross enough for the doctor to drop his stethoscope and scream: “OH MY LORD JESUS DO THOSE THINGS SOUND WET! PREDNISONE AND ANTIBIOTICS STAT!” then he ran to another room weeping and washed his hands until they bled.

So there was that.

I have attempted to knit something for my mom for Christmas and since she might read this, I can’t tell you what it is, but I have ripped it out 5,467 times. She’s going to get this though, even if I have to buy it on Etsy and pretend I made it. (Love you, Mommy)

So there’s that.

Every time I pick up my twins from preschool, Twin A yells: “I DIDN’T SAY ANY BAD WORDS TODAY!” which is good because I have irresponsibly allowed him to listen to music that he shouldn’t, but Epic Rap Battles of History are hysterical. See what I mean watching Rick Grimes vs. Walter White:

Twin B woke me up out of a dead sleep this morning (dead because I took a bunch of Benedryl) at 5 am because he was soaked in pee. So soaked I could have wrung out his little Captain America Pajamas and created a one gallon tank for any peefish that might come along. I stripped him in my haze of antihistamine and then he started freaking out because Mr. Who refused to allow Pee-Blankie in bed with us. So I had to search through a clothes hamper for some dry clothes to put on his wet, pee laced skin, then he, of course, takes over most of the California King.

His feet were so cold, ice will now worship him and call him King. I think he might have stuck his big ice toe in my ear at some point, but again…Benedryl.

And that.

My oldest, Teen Who, is looking at colleges this week. It depresses and excites me at the same time. Hopefully he will do his homework and I won’t have to pull him out of school by his ear in front of all his friends.

So, I guess if you count possible pneumonia, knotty knitting, bad words, pee kids, and college bound kids, I have some stuff going on.

Crossing fingers for no Ebola.

Things My Kids Hate #2: Hummus

6 Comments

When Teen Who was 4 years old, I inadvertently created a Hummus Hater. Hater of all Hummus.

He said I physically assaulted Him with it and to this day Has full body shivers when looking at the Hated Hummus. He won’t even touch anything that is near the Hummus container in the refrigerator.

The infamous Hummus Attack was over 13 years ago, and He still Hates Hummus with all His Heart.

My version (the true one):

Teen Who was a picky eater who only wanted to eat mac-n-cheese, hot dogs (CUT UP ONLY) with a side of ketchup, and Tubby Toast. (If you’re familiar with Teletubbies, they Had some sort of round bread type food or something, and I made cinnamon sugar toast and used a cutter to make it a circle, I was awesome). That’s all He would eat.

During this time, I discovered Hummus. I tried to get Him to try some one day, but He refused. He was opening the refrigerator and I was Holding a cracker with Hummus on it which just Happened to be at His mouth level. I was standing too close behind Him, so when He turned around to say something, the Hummus Cracker of Doom touched His lips and Hummus got on His tongue.

Here He did an Oscar worthy performance of someone dying from a Hideous disease, with lots of coughing, crying, gagging, cry-gagging, snot, shrieky accusations of How I did this on purpose, and He might have peed a little.

I felt terrible and never bugged Him with Hummus again.

His version (from a 4 year old’s perspective, remember):

I told Him He needed to try some Hummus, and reached into a 5 gallon vat of it (bare Handed) and smeared a fistful of it onto a cracker. I slowly approached Him as He backed away in fear. He took off through the living room, and I proceeded to chase Him around the House screaming: “EAT THE HUMMUS, NOW! EAT IT! EAT IT!” He begged me not to make Him eat it, but I stalked Him like a kitten with the plastic thingy from a milk jug. Then, I laughed, said it was ok, and went to another room.

Feeling safe, He went to the refrigerator to get a juice box, and when He turned around, I LEAPED/BANSHEE SCREAMED from behind the refrigerator door, SHOVED the Hummus-laden cracker into His mouth, clamped my hand over His lips, and sumo-wrestled Him onto the ground until He swallowed the Hummus Cracker of Pain and Death.

Then I laughed an evil/maniacal laugh, His vision blurred, and then everything went dark.

End Scene.

Some people say there’s 3 sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth. In this case, it’s His, mine, and mine. I remember exactly How it Happened, and I did feel bad, he was SO upset.

That’s really beside the point, though. If I were really going to be evil and force feed Him the Horrific Hummus on a cracker, it would Have been in a much more creative, and well thought out way.

And there would be Polaroids to prove it.

Acorns, B-corns, and Genghis Khan…

Leave a comment

My twins will be two and a half on Saturday, the same day their half-brother, my oldest baby, goes to his tenth grade Homecoming Dance.  Sometimes the age difference is too much to process for my addled brain. On one side, I’ve got my son telling me about his political views which swing so far to the left and equally to the right, if he were to vote now, he’d have to seek out King Solomon to cut both candidates in half, then hire a mad scientist to do his thing, and vote for Frankenbomney.  While on the other side, I’ve got two little boys who still apparently like the feeling of large quantities of poop stuck in a diaper that drags to their knees.  But as my husband always says: “Who wouldn’t?”

I love talking to my oldest, but I admit (and if it makes me a bad mom, give me the badge) I like to correct him.  I mean, come on, there’s something about a fifteen year old who is talking to you with his chest puffed using a tone of voice implying that you’re a wee bit dumb that just makes you hope he says something incorrect. Like taking history from computer games and using it as fact: “Duh, mom, Genghis Khan totally fought Napoleon in the War of the Roses,” insert eye roll.  Teenagers are tricksy little boogers, they can say things so confidently and when one’s brain has been taken over by: “Buzz? Mama, mo’ Buzz? Mama? Buzz? Ham? Buzz? MAMA BUZZ BUZZ BUUUUUZZZZZ!” all day long, hypothetically, one might need to Google to make sure those “facts” are, in fact, wrong.

It’s a whole different thing when the twins say things wrong, because it’s ridiculously cute. If my fifteen year old started headbutting me in the nethers yelling: “Shrek, mama! Donkey? Mama, Elmo? MAMA SHREK!” it wouldn’t be nearly as cute as when the toddlers do it.  In fact it would be downright worrisome and would warrant a flashlight in the eyes, a call to the doctor, and wondering if he got hit in the head as hard as poor Josh Cribbs did during the Browns game the other night.

The kids are talking all the time, and it’s so funny.  It’s amazing what they pick up and it’s about “Swear Jar” time for the Who family.  I know it’s terrible, but it’s really funny to hear them say: “Oh chit” in context, and to hear their little mocking road rage: “Moo car, moo! Go go go now!” on the highway.  They are also becoming quite the actors.  I will forgive them for thinking I’m blind as they are wee little, but they like to fall down in a heap for no reason and then look at me and say: “Okay? You ok?” If we don’t immediately ask them if they are ok, they will keep saying “Okay? You ok?” over and over until you do, and you absolutely cannot say: “Yes, I’m ok, thank you” or “NO” because those are not the right answers.  They worry about us, too, though. If one of us sneezes, Twin A always asks: “Y-y-y-you ok?” and runs to get us a wet wipe and will watch while we blow into it.  I don’t know how you feel about it, but it’s freaking gross to blow your nose in a wet wipe.

They like to randomly yell out letters and point to them on our clothes, the piano, food, boxes, you name it.  They are particularly obsessed with W, M, O, A, K, and Q.   The other day they were filling the rain gauge with acorns, and I had no idea they even knew what they were, and Twin B said: “Mama, is a Acorn!” and Twin A yelled: “NO, is a B-corn!”  Twin B threw up his hands and sighed.  Poor guy, he has more of the brains, while A is almost ready for the Olympics.  This kid can do three somersaults in a row and can run up to any item of furniture and immediately go into a head stand/handstand then do a triple lindy right off the back.  I think he’s missing a pain and fear gene.  I’m thinking of seeing if you can make your own casts on Pinterest to save on medical bills in the future.

It’s fun to see old things become new again through the little ones. For example: Mr. Potato Head.  They love him.  I don’t remember him being this much fun to play with.  We have four now along with fifty extraneous pieces, so this means I can put ears or tongues or noses in every hole.  It’s fantastic and helps with my, ahem, their dexterity.

Things are definitely double the work with these two, and (gah, sorry for the cliche) double the fun: side-walk chalk, coloring, stickers, pillow fights, and hide and seek. Oh, and did you know that you can actually dance to The Imperial March (Darth Vader’s Theme)?  We have a ten second snippet as our doorbell sound, and while it’s not lambada-worthy, you can shake a hip or two. Not for too long, though, I’m nearing the age to break one soon.

As Age Gap Awareness Day continues, I must bid you farewell as I need to get Cocoa Puffs and diapers for the little ones and order a wrist corsage with “light blue, not dark blue!” ribbon for the bigger one.

GOOD BLACK NEWS

Your Source For The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World

Humanity Death Watch

The Future Is Funny

CarrieLouWho

I Have No Filter!

Dear Crazy Kids,

(A note from Mom)

Greg Gotti

The writings of an American somebody

Baby Sideburns

shits and giggles and everything in between

Momologues

prattles on the pathos of parenting

Jenny Kanevsky

Copywriting

Pick Any Two

Because moms can do anything, but not everything.

Love Marriage Worms

and other absurdities

Storytime with John

Pull up and listen...I've got a funny one for ya...

From diapers and tutus to meetings and boardrooms

Trying to keep my sanity one blog post at a time

Perpetually Irritated

Barely Containing My Inner Indignance

Sparkly Shoes and Sweat Drops

Motherhood, Mental Health, Moving Your Body

Overthinking my teaching

The mathematics I encounter in classrooms

established 1975

stories to read while pooping

www.calliefeyen.com/

"I don't know so well what I think until I see what I say; then I have to say it again." -Flannery O'Connor

Journeys of the Fabulist

Adventures With Family. (Making it up as I go along.)

%d bloggers like this: