I've moved... again

So since I last updated in 2011, I lost my job, separated from my husband, moved to a new state for a new job, was widowed, left that job to teach... whew! Exhausted just writing that.

I'm blogging again because there are a few things going on in my life. Email me if you want the new address: parentville@gmail.com.

Bye!

New year, new home

Is this thing on... hello? hello?

If anyone is still out there, I've started a new blog in a new, top-secret location. Contact me if you want the URL.

Career Day

This morning, Pumpkin told G what he wanted to be when he grows up:

"A weather pointer."

To you and I, that's a meteorologist, but think about it...what do they do? They "point" to the weather.

It's a much more realistic (and appropriate career aspiration than last month when he wanted to be a "bad guy" or an alligator).

More posts to come when I figure out my photo issue. Apparently, I'm at my max.

St. Pat's Day - Pumpkin Style

I've been traveling a lot over the last year. This year, I was gone on St. Patrick's Day. I missed the corned beef, the Irish beer, the shot of whiskey. (Of course, I was out of town with a client. Who. Doesn't. Drink.)

But more than all that, I missed this:

A Pumpkin First: The Curse Word

When I picked Pumpkin up from school yesterday, his teacher pulled me aside and started to whisper.

Teacher: Pumpkin said a bad word today.

Me (hand to mouth in "shock" hoping it wasn't an f-bomb): What?!?

Teacher: He came up to me and told me that "Zach p'd him off."

Me (still feigning shock): Oh...

Teacher: Then he said it again. And then all the other kids started repeating, "p'd me off, p'd me off, p'd me off."

Me (surpressing a giggle): Oh...

Teacher: Maybe he heard it on a television show he shouldn't have been watching?

Me: Um, yeah. That's probably it.

I'm not advocating kids saying "pissed" but honestly, his first public curse could have been much, much worse. G and I really work hard not to curse - we usually spell it out, which has caused Pumpkin to spout random letters when he's upset. (Block tower fell down, "LRPQ!" Crayon broke, "HVBINNJ!" Dinner isn't what he anticipated, "SICPLAQ!!!")

It's hard when "pissed" and "ass" are common on just about any TV show. Back in the day, these were among the words NEVER heard on primetime outside of cable. But now, these words everywhere. Where does it stop?

You'd think he spends all day in front of the TV

Since he was born, we've really limited Pumpkin's TV time. He gets an hour on weeknights, right after dinner before bed. On the weekends, he gets a little more - maybe one kid movie on top of his dinner/bed hour. (Recent fave: Bee Movie - go figure, those bees wore clothes.)

Recently, however, P's been spouting the best in television commercials. See, even though kid content isn't on the TV, sometimes, it's just on, especially in "boy world" (i.e., the basement) where ESPN and other sports run virtually nonstop.

His three favorite:

Snuggie - Because, really, who isn't obsessed with the Snuggie. I mean, the commercial is EVERYWHERE and like it or hate it, everyone's talking about it.

P: "Mommy, you need a Snuggie. Regular blankets slip and slide. The Snuggie will let you reach for things!"

F-150 Trucks - The trucks are big and the commercials are loud and fast paced. What's not to love!

P: "Grandma, if you had an F-150, you could bring home a BIG swimming pool for me. F-150s have the greatest towing capacity in the whole world! They're the best trucks on the road!"

Capital One - The commericals are goofy, and if you're in the market for a credit card these days, you may have the mentality of a four year old.

P (over dinner): "Mommy, what's in YOUR wallet?"

Now, I'm in a marketing-related career, and I certainly enjoy hearing when the messages I've written are repeated, or someone references an event or project in which I've been involved, but it's really startling when you're own kid is spouting ad-speak and taglines.

I really just hope he doesn't start quoting from the ever-present-on-sports-content ads related to ED. Really don't know what I'd do if P started quoting from a Cia1is or Vi@gara commerical.

Pumpkin Says, volume one

Pumpkin's latest words and phrases:

Bad Hiccups: throwing up.

Hot Modifier: humidifier.

Housekeeping: playing house. Involves "one girl dusting stuff, one girl cooking pretend food, and one girl taking care of a doll."

Email to a Friend

So Pumpkin wanted to send his friend Molly an email. His typing skills are a little rusty. So I typed, word for word, his sentiments:

Dear Molly,

Pumpkin misses you so much. I love to play with you, Molly, so much. I want you to come play with my Tinkertoys.

Your friend,
Pumpkin Pie

Girls

Pumpkin likes girls. Not like-like girls, but he believes girls can be his friends. Pumpkin's friends, particularly Zach, are in the "girls are germy" stage.

He came home from school one day this week talking about how Zach won't play with girls. "He doesn't like girls," Pumpkin told me. "He HATES girls."

(Granted, Zach has two older brothers, so I'm sure most of this comes from them.)

I asked Pumpkin what he thinks about girls. "You're a girl and I like you," he said. "Girls are my friends."

That said, Pumpkin does not like playing "housekeeping" with the girls. Housekeeping? From questioning him, sounds like "housekeeping" is what I used to call "playing house" but Pumpkin's definition of housekeeping is this: "You know, one person dusts, one washes dishes, one makes dinner - but its pretend food, not real food."

At the Valentine party yesterday, several of the girls distributed Disney princess valentines. "Look Zach!" he said. "Maya gave us princess cards! I like princesses!"

"Yuck! I hate princesses!" said Zach as he threw out the Sleeping Beauty valentine.

"My mommy's a princess," Pumpkin told him. I kissed his head for that.

Land of low prices and bee coats

Pumpkin: Zach ate a bee today in school.

Me: No he didn't. There are no bees in the wintertime.

Pumpkin: Yes he did. There are bees in winter. They just wear coats.

Me: Coats? Bee coats?

Pumpkin: Yes.

Me: What kind of coats do bees wear?

Pumpkin: Red ones. Pink ones. Blue ones. Camoflague ones. Those are the kinds of bee coats.

Me: Where do bees get these "coats"?

Pumpkin: Wal-Mart.

Cookie Monster

Scene: Making cookies at my parents' house with P running in and out of the kitchen. He didn't seem too interested in what I was doing, but that was a rouse. At one point I looked over and he had his hand in a pile of cookie dough.

Me: P! What are you doing?

P: Yum!

Me: P, we're making cookies for Grandpa.

P: OK.

Look over again, and he has his hands in a lump of cookie dough.

Me: P, what are you going to tell Grandpa when he sees these mis-shapen cookies?

P: I'll tell him, "SURPRISE!!"

Dogs Don't Play Baseball

The Parentville Family spent the weekend with my parents in Tennessee. Really low key weekend. G helped my dad with some work converting an old log cabin into a storage shed, and P had the run of the grounds.

One of P's favorite activities was playing with Dooley Dog. P played "school" with Dooley, and tried to teach him how to play baseball. Here he is trying to explain to Dooley the importance of staying on third base - it didn't work:


And, oh my goodness, the boy was dirty! Probably as dirty has he's ever been! Exhibit A:

That shirt? Yeah, it WAS white!

Turning Three

P had two third birthdays - one with just G and me, the other other with Grandma, Grandpa, and my niece. That meant two cakes.

Cake one: yellow and chocolate marble. Big "3" candle on top.

Cake two: French vanilla with buttercream icing. Bob the Builder theme. Oh yeah, and tool-shaped cookies to complete the ensemble. (Three hours to decorate this sucker - P's reaction when he first saw it? Priceless!)

His reaction, when told he had to share the Bob the Builder cake with the rest of us:

"Here's your piece, Gramma!"

We spent time at the zoo. P loved the zoo this year - the monkeys, zebras, bears, penguins (or "pay-gins"), and of course, elephants. I think we'll get a lot of mileage from the Family Membership we bought for his birthday. It's going to be a good year - happy birthday, baby boy!

Running Home

After two weeks of crying on my lap, P decided to play on his t-ball team this weekend. It only cost me a $2 bribe and promises of having "splash day" at home after the game. Luckily, P can't count coins, so I can't say for sure that he actually got $2, but he LOVED putting the money in his bank.

The best part of the game was whenever he was told to "run home." Instead of running toward his coach and home plate, he'd come running to me. That sound you hear? Yep, that's my melting heart.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

We left for Florida on a gorgeous Sunday morning. Sun shining, birds chirping, perfect day. It's a trip I've been planning for a few months - the Parentville family would vacation in Orlando with one of my bestest friends, V, and her family.

The plan was to drive to V's house and carpool to the airport (basically, to make sure all the luggage, car seats, strollers, and other crap needed when traveling with toddlers would fit into one car so we would know if we could get away with renting one car/van in Florida). Things were going well. Everyone was excited.

No vacation is complete without a vacation hat - and happy feet!

The airport was busy, but manageable. We planned the flight around naptime, with the hope that the kids would sleep on the plane. We had a decent lunch, and a snack, and waited for the flight to board.

Really, he's happy in this photo. He gets to wear his Thomas backpack, or "beckpeck" in P speak.

Important sidenote to the story: G was a frequent flyer for years - he'd fly to different places for work about three times a week. Then he found himself on a really small plane during an IBS attack. No bathroom. No where to go. He was fine, but emotionally scarred. He hadn't flown since. Knowing that he'd experience anxiety and fear and not wanting to scare Pumpkin, G went to the doctor to get a prescription a few days before our trip.

G took the medication as prescribed, 30 minutes before take off. It wasn't enough time. We boarded the plane, and G was freaking out. Like major freak out - if I didn't know him, I would have suspected he was faking this for attention. Rocking back and forth. Sweating profusely. Slapping his hands against his legs.

I tried to block Pumpkin from seeing his daddy going nuts as people continued to board the sold out flight.

A flight attendant named Mike came over to talk to G. He asked what was wrong. He told G that he wanted him to make the trip with his family, that he would be okay once we took off. The flight attendant asked that G tell him he'd be okay before the doors closed on the plane.

G said, "I can't promise anything. I don't know that I'll be alright."

The flight attendant went up front to consult with the other airline personnel. A group of them came back to our seat to ask some questions. They recommended that G leave the plane. G turned to me, "I don't know what to do."

I told him to get off the plane. It wasn't fair to the other passengers to hold up the flight. We were already about 15 minutes late to take off.

G left the plane. Our friends, who were sitting several rows in front of us were confused. They didn't know what was going on and I didn't really have any way of communicating to them right away.

P and I stayed on the flight.

Handy Manny? Check. Sippy water? Check. Wooden airplane model? Check? Daddy? Daddy? Bueller?

I've thought about this a lot. Should I have gotten off the plane with G? Should I have dragged P off the plane with all our carry on baggage? Should we have gotten off the plane as a family? How would I explain what happened to G when Pumpkin asked about his daddy?

Stay tuned for the next installment to find out if/when G made it to Florida...

Where We've Been

More to come on our adventures in sunny (and hot) Orlando, P's first plane trip, and how G almost didn't make our family trip. Stay tuned...

Hobo Toast: A Recipe

Edited to add: recipe should be for cinnamon SUGAR. Don't forget the SUGAR. Ugh.

A few weeks ago, P was in an extraordinarily playful mood. It was nice.

When I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, he replied, "Toast."

"No problem," I said, and I took out two slices of whole grain bread and put them in the toaster.

"Wait!" P cried. "I want toast! Hobo toast!"

I stopped. "What?" I asked. "Did you just say 'hobo' toast?"

P giggled and said, "Yes. I want hobo toast."

"Fine. Hobo toast it is," I said and I frantically searched for some magical ingredients that could turn ordinary toasted bread into hobo toast. (Side note: Where the hell did he hear the word 'hobo'? And what does he think it means?)

P doesn't like peanut butter, and he's not really fond of jelly/jam/preserves. I wanted it to be somewhat healthy. What the heck could I use to make hobo toast?!

Finally, I found the perfect ingredient to transform his toast into hobo toast - cinnamon.

Behold the recipe for hobo toast, a new Chez Parentville specialty:

2 slices whole grain bread
dollop of butter/margarine
liberal sprinkle of cinnamon

Toast bread in a toaster. Spread butter/margarine. Sprinkle cinnamon. Serve warm.

Toolin' Around on a Sunday Morning

We get the Sunday paper delivered to our house. We never read the actual paper-paper (hello, recycling bin); we get the paper for the sales ads.

G takes the "boy papers" - Best Buy, Circuit City, Lowes. I take everything else. I even have a system - coupons first, followed by the stores I'll never go to (Kmart, office supply stores, furniture stores), saving the best for last (Kohl's and Target).

We sit at the kitchen table, scouring the ads for things we "need" or want. Sometimes we're just browsing, looking to see what's new and who has the best price on Diet Coke or New Balance tennis shoes.

We drink coffee and fresh juice. We eat toast and sometimes eggs and bacon. It's relaxing, and it's our little weekend thing. I actually look forward to Sundays because of this quiet time.

Now, Pumpkin has taken an interest in the Sunday paper. As soon as G brings in the paper, P starts asking for "my tool book." Pumpkin is obsessed with the Sunday Sears ad.

He removes the "extra" pages - gone are the clothes, housewares, and appliances. P is only interested in tractors, tools, and garage stuff. He skims these pages like some sort of treasure map, talking to himself under his breath, taking it all in.

Finally, he crawls into my lap and asks me to read the pages to him. Like a bedtime story, I start, "Save 100 dollars! Now only 399 dollars, Craftsman seven drawer tool chest with ball bearing drawers! On sale! Ten piece screwdriver set with free carrying case! Fourteen ninety-nine! Your choice: tape measure or tool carry-all for under seven dollars!"

When P's had enough of my reading of his tool pages, he jumps off my lap, takes his advertisement, and sits at his little table in the corner of the kitchen. He'll spend minutes (feels like hours, but I'll take the 20 minute relief where/when I can) with the ad and a pencil, making tiny marks on the images, almost like he's taking notes.

We have to save his "tool book" for the entire week. P comes back to it almost every night, pondering the images, "reading" it to himself. When the next Sunday's ad arrives, the old one is discarded. And the cycle continues...

We're going on our first family vacation later this year (first trip that doesn't involve visiting family, friends, or our alma mater), and my parents recently sent a package for P to be opened on the plane when he gets antsy. It's a 200-page Craftsman tool catalogue. P will LOVE it!

I'm Home!

After being away for five whole days on a business trip, I'm finally home!

Why being home rocks:

• G was so patient with Pumpkin and potty training. I guess I needed some time away to regroup my thoughts on the subject, but we only had two accidents all weekend!


• Sleeping in my own bed, with my own pillows and my own blankets. Heaven!


• Being back on central time - pacific time was nice, but dude, it totally wiped me out.


• Getting to drive my own car. The rental place hooked me up with a massive SUV (they were "out" of sedans), which I couldn't park, didn't know where the blind spots were, and didn't feel comfortable in. It did come in handy, though, for escorting clients to dinner on Tuesday night (thanks, third row seats).


• Having P wake me up by saying, "It's o'clock, mommy! Time to get up! It's o'clock!"


• Catching up on TiVo'd shows. There wasn't any time for TV watching while away, and while I don't watch too many shows, I did miss those I do watch every week.


• Wet kisses and warm hugs by this little guy:

Now it's time to pack up for vacation - will I ever be able to put the suitcases away??

We Interrupt This Program...

...for the following announcement:

I fucking hate potty training.

That's all.