More than Frogs and Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails

My son Jack is 4 years old.

He is ALL boy.

He's hilarious, strong-willed, loving, stubborn, wonderful, frustrating... You get the idea.

He's a sweet little kid, but not always super lovey-dovey. Like I said, he's all boy.

Well, his preschool teacher at church pulled me aside several weeks ago and told me that she needed to speak with me about Jack.

No good conversation ever begins with, "I need to tell you about something Jack said..."

So I took a deep breath and braced myself for the worst.

She told me that she was talking with Jack about me and Kurt. She asked him to tell her what his mommy and daddy look like.

I immediately thought, "Oh snap - this is going to be BAD."

Jack said to her, "Well, my dad is tall and he has black hair."

Okay, I thought to myself - that's pretty close to what he looks like. Maybe this won't be so bad.

And then she asked him what I looked like.

I started sweating, willing the conversation to end. After hearing about how violently Jack has complained about my singing and my cooking, I could only imagine what he has to say about my appearance. Especially my Early-Morning-Pre-Coffee appearance.

I smiled at her and closed my eyes, steeling myself against whatever she had to say.

When asked what I looked like, Jack responded with,


"My Momma looks like a pretty dress."

Tears....

Sometimes they surprise you. ♥

Horror Hotel; Part II

RATED: PG-13
(don't say I didn't warn you...)



It's the morning after the Phinneas and Ferb 911 fiasco (see prior entry for details on that).

As I mentioned in my previous post, our kids were in one hotel room - and we were in the adjoining room. The door that connected our two rooms was always open so that we could keep an eye on the kids and so that they could run around.

Our rooms were set up so that the televsision sets from each room backed up to each other.

Our beds were on the far sides of each room; so the beds in the kids' room backed up against the wall of someone else's room.

We got up early that morning because we had a long drive ahead of us and we wanted to get an early start.

We were on our way to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. I looked down at Hope and asked her how she slept.

She said, "Oh, I slept okay - but it took me a while to get to sleep."

"Oh? Well, it's hard to get used to sleeping in a different bed, in a different place."

"I guess" she said. "But that's not why it took me a long time to get to sleep."

Intrigued, I ask "Why did it take you a long time to get to sleep honey? Were you scared? Mom and Dad were right there with you and the door was open the whole time - you could have just come in and gotten me."

"I wasn't scared" she said flatly.

(Now, at this point, I should have changed the subject. I should have left well enough alone. I should have shut my mouth. But do I do that? Nooooo. )

I press on with my inquiry into why she had such trouble falling asleep.

"Well honey, I know you were tired. So if you weren't scared, then why was it so hard for you to fall asleep?"

She came back with, "The people in the next room were kinda loud."

CRAP.

"Oh?" I asked, hoping she didn't notice the dread that has filled my voice.

"Yeah. They kept kicking the wall."

(I was at a loss. I honestly didn't know what to say).

"They were mad at each other too" she said, matter of factly.

Foolishly, I asked, "Why do you think they were mad at each other?"

"Because they kept yelling."

(Of course they did).

"It was weird because they would be kicking the wall and yelling and then they'd start laughing. Then I'd hear them kicking the wall again. It was really irritating."

(Oh dear... What do I say)?

"Hmmm..... Well, maybe they were just moving the furniture in the room or something." I offer up as my lame (and desperate) attempt to end the conversation.

Hope had her own theory. "I think they were playing Wall Ball."

(I grabbed onto that life line and held on for dear life).

"I bet you're right Hope! That's probably exACTly what they were doing!"

We finished breakfast and headed back to our room to check it one more time before we leaving to head home. It was still really early.

I stood in the kids' room, glaring at the wall behind their beds, mentally chewing out the people on the other side of it.

Kurt walked into the room and said, "Okay kids - take your shoes off and jump on the beds for 2 minutes!"

I started to protest, thinking that it was really early and they might wake the neighbors with all their jumping and yelling.

They might wake the neighbors.

Those stinkin' wall ball playin', furniture movin' neighbors.

Turnabout is fair play, right?

With an evil grin, I said, "Make it 5 minutes, kids. And yell as loud as you want."

Horror Hotel

It was our last night of vacation and the kids' first time staying in a hotel.

We got adjoining rooms and left the connecting doors open.

The kids were in heaven. They had their own room, their own TV, they each had their own bed... They thought it was the best thing ever.

Until they turned the TV on.

Kurt and I were unpacking the car when Jack came tearing into our room with a look of desperation on his face.

Out of breath he shouts, "Mommy, call 911!"

I feel all the blood rush to my head and my heart drops. I run into their room imagining one horrific possibility after another.

I'm shaking all over as I take in the scene in front of me.

Hope is sitting quietly on the bed, TV remote in hand, flipping through the channels.

Where's the blood? Where's the carnage? Where's the emergency???

Jack rushes into the room still shouting, "We have to call 911!"

Gritting my teeth, voice shaking, I glare down at him and ask, "Why do we need to call 911?"

He looks up at me, his face full of panic and says, "Because they don't have Phineus and Ferb on this TV!"