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…to give parenting advise/help to Moms. I don’t think they knew who they were asking.

See if this video helps you…and let me know if it’s even legal.

http://www.workingmother.com/content/comedian-maryellen-hooper

OK so I was a guest blogger for Mother’s Day awhile back. They thought it was worth reposting so here ya go: (warning…it’s not your usual warm-and-squishy take on the day)

Campaign To Abolish Mother’s Day!”

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We’ve been getting lots of art from our 6 yr old. It’s actually quite good for his age. perspective, colors, shading…

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Notice the fancy “Z”? His Dad and I are quite proud and hang most on the fridge gallery.

Fast forward to last Thurs. Zeke came home from school with a dark plastic bag. He stood before me, arms outstretched presenting me the bag. Only problem is…he has that look in his eye. That look that every Mom recognizes in her child to mean something wicked this way comes.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a drawing for you, Mommy.”

“Oh, thank you Zeke. Can I open it it?”

(evil giggle) “SURE!” (more evil cackling)

Here is the picture my precious son drew for me:

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Needless to say, this one didn’t make the fridge.

I will admit that I had a “Mom’s glass is half-full” thought: “At least he knows the correct spelling of Butt.”

(Sigh…)

It started off so well…

Nate came into my bedroom one morning, about a month before his birthday,

“Mommy…I want a surprise party for my birthday this year.” then waved his hands in front of his face and chanted,

“I didn’t hear anything…I didn’t hear anything…” as he backed out of the room.

That instantly became one of my top 3 Nate quotes. So funny.

“Hmm, a surprise party? I can do this!” I thought. “I can invite all his friends and tell their parents NOT to tell the kids until the day of because what 8 or 9 year old can keep a secret?” It looked so good on paper.

I checked the calendar and realized we were going to Anaheim, CA for the 10 days before his birthday, so I would have to throw the party 4 days AFTER his actual birthday. “No problem.” I naively thought. “I’ll tell Nate that his birthday is the trip to Disneyland and we’ll have a special family birthday on his actual day.” BIG mistake. In my attempt to make that day special and throw him off the surprise, I accidentally caused my son one of the worst emotional scars to date.  I thought, “I’ll  hang the birthday banner in the living room and hang his new Falcon posters in his room.” I actually said this to him when I picked him up from school:

“Nate! I have a big surprise for you when we get home!” meaning the posters. Hindsight is 20/20 people.

He threw open the front door, saw the banner and started looking around with the sweetest, hopeful, anticipatory face an innocent 9 year old can make. I still didn’t get it.

“It’s in your bedroom, Nate!” I cheered…happy he was so excited. He reached his bedroom in 2 strides; leaped in, ready to receive the room-full of friends.

“Look! I hung your new posters! You have a Falconer’s room, now!” I exclaimed, STILL not seeing what was really going on.

“That’s awesome, Mommy…is anyone else here?”

“Grandma drove all the way over for your birthday! We’re going to your favorite restaurant tonight!”

“Oh…uh…OK…” and he grabbed a book and disappeared into a corner. How could I be so blind?

The next day, I couldn’t wake Nate up. He’s usually the first one out of bed, wide awake, talking a mile a minute. Not that day. He was laying on the couch with a blanket over his head. He didn’t want me to look at him.

“What’s wrong, Nate?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine, (sniff)”

“You seem really sad. Are you sad?”

“I’m trying not to be sad, Mommy…” his voice was shaking, trying to hold back the tears. “but none of my friends came over for my party yesterday.”

“Your party….(gasp!)” THEN the bricks fell on my head. My poor, sweet Nate thought the banner was hanging for his party and that no one had showed up. OH. MY. DUH. I’m an idiot. This was worse than any of those horrible practical joke shows I hate because they are so mean. I had inadvertently “Punked” my own son.

“Nate, Honey…we didn’t invite your friends over. Remember? The trip to CA was your birthday party. We did all those fun things at Disneyland and CA Adventure instead of a party, Remember? We just had your family party yesterday.”

“I know, but I wanted my friends to come over and sing Happy Birthday to me…(sniff)”

I look over and Mark has tears all welled up in his eyes. My big softy. He starts mouthing to me,

“Tell him! For the love of Pete, TELL HIM!”

I mouth back a firm,

“NO! We’ve gone this far! We only have 3 more days!”

“What?”

“3 more days…Never mind, just help me here!”

“What?”

(sigh…)

That was the loooooongest 3 days in the history of birthday planning. I almost told him a million times. I debated whether the happiness of the actual surprise would erase the tortured memories of “The birthday that never was.” I finally gave an inch.

“Nate, how about we go to your favorite place on Saturday?”

The Audubon Center for Birds of Prey?!!!!” He perked up.

“Yup! I have to go help Amber, but I’ll meet you, Daddy & Zeke there.”

“YES!” The corners of his mouth bent up an inch.

With the help of all my dear friends, we got the party all set up, hid everyone and the rest (hopefully) will be the history he remembers:

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87

 

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Was it a success? Did we undo the damage? It felt good. It felt real good.  But only time and a possible future therapist will tell…

(sigh…)

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That statement is never followed by good stuff. “Mommy, I need help carrying this present I made you.” Or “Mommy, I need help putting away all these dishes I washed. It’s always, “Mommy, I need help putting all the water back into the toilet.” Or “Mommy, I need help gluing all these pieces back together.”

So when I heard that dreaded opening statement, I took a deep breath and asked,

“Help with what, Zeke?”

“I need help getting a Perler Bead out of my nose!”

“Aaaaahhhh! Uh, I mean, it’s OK, don’t worry…we’ll get it.”

I held his right nostril closed and said, “Blow!”

Note to self: Hold tissue in front of nostril to catch Perler Bead and everything else that comes flying out onto my chest. 

(Sigh…)

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My latest installment over at Comedy Film Nerds is a review of “Wreck-It Ralph” in honor of the DVD release.

“Wreck-It Ralph”

What did YOU think about it?

“Mommyyyyyy…..I have to go pottyyyyyy…”

“OK, Zeke – I’m coming.”

I’m quite used to the 1 am potty break my kids have written into their contract riders. They LOVE them. I think it’s not so much about the potty, but more about the alone-time with Mommy. They know that asking questions will prolong the nightlight-illuminated snuggle time, so I’m usually prepared for the inquisition. Not last night. I was definitely NOT prepared for last night’s topic. Maybe it was stepping in the puddle on the carpet that threw me off (Wickette!!!!) but more likely it was the topic.

I was on my knees, cleaning the wet spot while Zeke was going potty. Out of the corner of my eye I see him waddle out of the bathroom with his Pajama bottoms around his ankles. I’m afraid to look up. Nothing good ever comes from pants around the ankles. So, I keep my head down and scrub a little harder hoping somehow that will make what’s about to happen, not happen.

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Wishful thinking. As I’m scrubbing a hole in the carpet, I hear the one phrase that strikes fear in every parent’s heart:

“Mommy, what’s this?”

A voice in my head screams, “DON’T LOOK UP!!” I tried not too, but it was like a car wreck…you just have to. There, standing in front of me, is my 5 year old son with a hand full of boy parts.

“Mommy!!! What is this?”

“That’s your penis, Zeke…you know that.”

“NOOO…THIS!”

“Oh, eh, hem…that? That would be your scrotum…now let’s go wash your hands…”

“Socrum?”

“S-C-R-O-T-U-M” I sound out for him, trying desperately not to laugh or sound weird.

“Scrotum. OK….(long pause)….but what’s inside the scrotum? I feel two little balls or something.”

“Ohhh Kayyyy, well….those are your testicles. You have two of them, right?”

“Yup. Oooonnneee, twwwoooo…(dreaded pause)…what are they for?”

“Weeeelllll….you have those in case you want to be a Daddy someday.”

“OH! And girls have testicles in case they want to be a Mommy?”

“Well, no. Girls and boys have different parts. Boys have parts to be Daddies, and Girls have parts to be Mommies.” I stammered, wiping sweat from my brow.

“Oh. What parts do girls have?”

(loud screaming in my head, accompanied by hair pulling and sweating…lots of sweating)

“Uhmmm…well…girls have a vagina, uterus and ovaries.” I said as casually as a freaked-out person could.

As Zeke’s mouth was forming his next life-altering question, Nate appears from his room like a life-raft thrown to save me:

“Hey, what are you guys talking about…and why is Zeke holding his tenders?”

“Nate, this is my scrotum!”
“I know. I have one too.”

“You need this to be a Daddy.”

“AWKWARD!!! Mommy, did you know these two holes in my nose are NOT called holes? They’re called nostrils!”

“Really, Nate? That’s good to know.” Hoping beyond hope that this comment would derail Zeke’s train of questions…

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Zeke.”

“Some people have a Mommy and a Daddy and some people have just a Mommy or just a Daddy.”

“That’s right. And guess what? Some people have 2 Mommies and some people have 2 Daddies!” (Did I really just open that can of worms?)

“Wow! And do some people have 2 Mommies and 2 Daddies?”

“Yes, some Mommies and Daddies decide not to live together anymore and they marry other people…”

“And some people have 1 Daddy and 7 Mommies!”

“Yes, but that’s only in rural Utah…”

“What?”

“Never mind. It’s REALLY time for bed, Zeke.”

(Sigh.)

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