Posts Tagged ‘kids’

Boy Logic…..

March 31, 2011

MiniMe in the MiniMan Cave

My 13 year-old son, MiniMe, has recently taken to spouting boy logic, his twist on things.  His utterings seem perfectly rational to him. Me, not so much.  Is  boy logic the definition of oxymoron? Absolutely. So, here was today’s little tidbit, after I told him his efforts at cleaning his room were less than stellar.  “But Mom,” he starts–I had to ask him to wait until I swallowed my coffee before sharing so that the coffee wouldn’t come out of my nose.  I start backing up in the kitchen as he’s walking up on me…..

Mom, it’s like a new car getting dirty for the first time. He smiles a wicked little grin, the wheels in that head turning…..

“Really, how’s that son?”

A new car is shiny, the wood grain dash is buffed and glowing, the carpet pristine.  Then the kids get in.  Juice boxes, baby puke, Cheerios, ice cream, muddy shoes, french fries, you know, kid gunk.

“uh,hunh.” I’m still backing up, nostrils flaring, trying not to laugh.

And then you get the car cleaned.  But is every really the same?  I mean REALLY? No more new car smell, the carpet’s forever stained, the windows are forever smudged with boogers and fingerprints. Clean as you might, there’s still dirt and french fries EVERYWHERE-“

“And soooooo….” The laughing has started and I can see where it’s going. 

Why bother?  I’m mean really, Mom!  That room’s had two other kids in there BEFORE me.  And me and Number1Son together at some point too! The new room smell is long gone.  Soooooooo looooong gone.

 Still laughing, tears welling.

He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat, all proud of himself, “hunh, hunh, right? Right?  You know I’m right mom.”

Hmmmm. Well, he does have a point.  Boy logic might have some validity after all.  But I’ll never tell him that because his room looks and smells like a  dead goat exploded in there.  He’s 13, ‘nough said.

“Thank you son, for that morsel of wisdom.  Clean up your room, and for God’s sake and everyone else’s, open the windows. Yes, I know it’s 40 degrees outside, put some socks on, you’ll be alright.”

Mommy Logic wins out EVERY time.

-Logically Speaking at the Edge


8 Year Olds…..

March 27, 2011

Big Daddy’s  man cave is full of estrogen.  He’s been relegated to the livingroom to watch march madness and  has to side-step tissue paper and nail polish. He’s not happy but it’s Glamour Rayz birthday, so he’s taking one for the team.  A big one. It’s a spa party sleepover. Ten 8-year-old girls had hair done,  cucumber facials, hands and feet painted, with glow-in-the-dark polish no less. Luckily, since it was a spa party, I served veggies and fruit, along with the chicken on-a-stick. We diverged slightly with m&ms and cheese doodles, but hey they’re 8.

After cake, presents, and a great deal of screaming and giggling, the posse changed into the pjs and ambushed Big Daddy’s man cave with sleeping bags, stuffed animals, and a whole lot of pink. More pink that should ever be allowed in a man cave.  Big Daddy staggered out, “You could have warned me!” “I was going to, but they’re moving too fast. It’s the sugar,” I holler as I run down stairs to contain the madness.  We settled in to watch “Ramona and Beezus.” I’m thinking this is a good movie to hold their attention, so  dim the lights and I park it on the chaise with one of the girls, hoping to catch my breath……

Then Butter Face the Wonder dog comes in and unlike Big Daddy, he isn’t happy about the raucous in the man cave and is not trying to take one for the team.  He saunters over everyone lying on the floor and lies directly on my niece. He likes her sleeping bag. She is NOT pleased. I grab his collar and try to get him to lie on his dog bed behind the Big Daddy’s man chair.  His does his doggy circling thing, but then makes a bee line for my niece.  He has to be escorted from the room. Reset.

Things were going well and then there was some wigglin’ goin’ on down in front. Then there’s more.  I look and one of the girls has slithered into the bottom of her sleeping bags head first and is waving her hand out of that little hole where the zipper starts. And then she sticks her head out of the hole and smiles.  I would have told her to settle down, but I was too busy laughing because she looked like a TOTAL nut cheesing with her head sticking out of her pink camouflage sleeping bag (Pink camo is whole ‘nother blog topic for another day, but I digress).  I get the stink eye from the Pink Ladies for disturbing the movie. Meanwhile “Camo Girl” is still flapping like a bird down. “SHHHHHHHH, quiet down in front!” Order restored. Again.

There’s a scene in the movie where Ramona is talking to her childhood friend, now teenage crush, Henry.  At which point, the girl I’m sitting on the chaise with, who is a tom boy through and through, is the chillest kid on the earth and one of my favorite kids in the world, calmly says, “Sometimes girls get shy about talking to boys when they get older.”

Surprised and amused by the statement, I say,”Oh really, ya think so?”  She replies,”Yep, but they’re easy to talk to when they’re your boyfriend.”

I chuckle. “Really?” and jokingly ask, “You have a boyfriend?”

She nonchalantly replies, “Oh yeah, I have two.”  My jaw drops,” Two???!!!” I started laughing so hard with my mouth closed so as not to disturb the movie that I was shaking.

“Michael and David.  And I’m thinking about gettin’ another one.”  I busted out laughing to the dismay of the Pink Ladies.

Trying not to totally blow my cool, I replied, “well, don’t spread yourself too thin…..”

She shrugged, “hmm, maybe.” 

I’m out.

-Sufficiently Spa’d Out at the Edge

And Then There Were Two…..

April 29, 2010

I thought Mini-me would be the one to buck sibling tradition and keep the hair trimming to the professionals. Alas,  this was not to be…..

A few years back some neighbors got together on one of the cul-de-sacs to do an outdoor laser tag party.  It was Father’s Day and what dad doesn’t want to spend the afternoon shooting at his kids now and again and do no harm?  The laser tag company came to the neighborhood, outfitted everyone, and the games took place over three backyards that are really wooded.  This being our first outdoor laser tag party, the Jenkins clan came dressed like we were performing in Cirque du Soleil. Mini-me had on a lime green shirt, I was wearing stripes, and Big Daddy was sporting his bright orange golf shirt. Needless to say, we had to regroup, go back and change our clothes.  Once outfitted, we got our camouflage grease paint on and were ready to go.  Whirling Dervish, ever stylish, decided not to change her clothes, but paint her face. So my daughter was in a bright blue bikini with green, brown and black paint all over her face.  You go, Camo-Barbi! First, it was grownups versus the kids.  Grownups rule!  Then it’s Men versus the Women!  Estrogen rules with a few of the men making excuses about how their guns had misfired, blah, blah, blah!!  Then it was mixed teams.  I went down early in this round, shot by my own daughter.  Traitor!  The final round was every man/woman/child for himself (with a secret pact by the women to take out all of the men first!)  The final three survivors were Mini-me, his friend, and a 60+ year old Grandma, who crushed us all.

Upon arriving home, I set to removing the makeup from my children. This wasn’t dime store camo make-up, but army-issue camo paint, so it took a bit of elbow grease to remove.  Whew! Got the girls scrubbed off, removing a layer or two of skin in the process. At this point, I’m thinking I need an ice pack for my elbow, ace bandage or something.  Can one get tennis elbow from camo removal?  On to Mini. Last one and if I take a running start, may I’ll be done before he goes to college. Bring it on!

I’m a scrubbin’ and a scrubbin, his was on extra thick.  Cheeks and chin, done. Nose, done. Nothing left but the forehead and his browline. Almost there. Mini-me’s fussed that I rubbed too hard, but I am determined not to be taken down by some pesky military issue paint. Ha! What kind of mother would I be? Forehead done, bring on the brow.  Yes, there was only one when he left the house that morning.  Mimi-me had sported a unibrow for most of his life.

So, when I finally got through all of the camo makeup, I realized that something was amiss. My son no longer had a unibrow, but had ½ an eyebrow on each side. 

Apparently, someone in my son’s class had given him a hard time about his unibrow.  It really wasn’t that noticeable unless you got really close.  But Mini had decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Whaaaaat did you do?????”

“Mooom, somebody at school was teasing me about my unibrow, so I shaved it to make two!”

“How did  you–” Then it hit me.

The swath he had shaved was exactly the width of my bic shaver that I used to shave my legs.  The one that was hanging in the shower.  So instead of removing ¼ inch of hair between his brows to make two, he had removed 2 inches of hair, leaving him with ½ an eyebrow on each side. Mission accomplished. There were definitely two of them, hanging out there like quotation marks over the corners of his eyes.

 Well, he didn’t have to worry about a unibrow……. for a good long while.  That was for sure.

Four really is a charm.

A Little Off The Top…..

April 11, 2010

Note to Self–Don’t EVER say, “You need a haircut,” to a child unless you are on your way to the barber shop or the kiddie hair salon. I did once and woke up to a partially bald second grader.

“You need a hair cut,”  I said innocently after picking Number1Son up from the bus stop on a Friday afternoon. 

I woke up the next morning and went to the bathroom. When I got back to our bedroom and I saw two legs sticking out from my side of the bed, on the floor. “What are you doing down there—-Yowza!”  Number1 stood up while covering his head with his arms.  I saw scalp on most of the left side and one little curl at his hairline and did a sharp inhale. 

“Whaaaaaat did you do? Lemme see.”  He took his arms down and  I busted out laughing. 

“You said I needed a haircut,”  He cries. To which I reply, laughing , “I said you needed a haircut, NOT you need to give yourself a haircut.”

“Big Daddy, Big Daddy, wake up, look!”  BD rolled over, smiled, and chuckled.  I think Number1 was a little taken aback by our reactions, then he was embarrassed and told us not to laugh. “We’ve all done it son.  All kids do it,” BD reassured him. Nothing to do but laugh, really.”  I reassured him that I too had cut my own hair, and then laughed some more.  Number1Son wasn’t amused.

To add to the excitement of it all, Number1 was scheduled to have two staples removed from his head from an injury the previous week. So, we popped a hat on Number1’s head and off we go to the Dr.’s office.  Number1 took off the hat and the doctor got a gander at his self-grooming techniques. Te doctor smiled, “Wow! Keep your day job, young man and stick to cutting paper lest we see you in here for more staples.”

Since the whole left side was scalp and Number1 was due to be in a wedding in two weeks, Big Daddy had no choice but to shave his whole head.  “You look just like Daddy.”You look like the Golden Child,” I say. BD and I have another good laugh.  Number1 is still not amused.

Little did I know Number1Son was setting the precedent for his siblings.  All three of them.

Stay tuned….

The Whirling Dervish in all Her Glory

November 15, 2009
The Whirling Dervish

Pit Hair

My eldest daughter’s superhero name is the Whirling Dervish(WD).  She is a bundle of big curly hair, crazy blue eyes, and energy that could light a small city. She is 9 going on 35 and started wearing deodorant a few weeks ago after she twirled by me with her arms up in the air and melted my eyelashes with pit funk.  Her  older brother that is closest to her in age (he’s 11), superhero name: Mini-Me, at times can peel paint with what he’s got going on in the pits and for a minute I thought he had come in. When I realized that in fact, it was my eldest daughter two things happened.  I sent her on the express train to the shower to bathe along with a brand new stick of her very own deodorant, and my stomach dropped as I realized that puberty was pulling up in the driveway to take up residence and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

To be sure, we have already been having conversations and reading about what will eventually be happening to her body.  But I was happy just having the conversations without the live demonstrations.

So this week, we were flipping through “The Care and Keeping of You” By American Girl and got to the section in underarm hair and I realized that I hadn’t actually looked in her pits to see if there was any hair there.  So, I asked her if she had any and to let me see.  She told me that she would be right back.  I’m thinking she’s going to look herself to see if there is any hair under there before she shows me.  A few minutes later she comes out with her tank top on and a piece of orange string across her chest, and says she’s ready to show me her pits.  She raises her arms and I almost peed my pants. She had taken all of the hair out of the 15 hairbrushes we have in our house and made herself some arm hair.  After I finished crying and laughing, I told her that was a good one.  She responded, “Yes, that was very creatful wasn’t it?…hunh?????  “Oh,” I say,”The word is creative, not creatful, ya hairy armpitted nut.” She smiled and gave me a flash of the pits.

That’s my Whirling Dervish.

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