Aliens Have Taken Over My Body

Friday’s “What the frak…?” moment (WTFM) is brought to you by………. 

Aliens who have taken over my body: It is the only possible explanation.

* * *

I had every intention of writing last night. The kids were asleep. The husband was busy working. I had zero distractions.

So I thought.

Why didn't my husband tell me I had something in my hair?

Unbeknownst to me, aliens had taken over my body, their presence releasing sleep agents – oxytocin and whatever that chemical is in NyQuil that knocks you into a coma – into my blood stream.

It was 9:15 PM.

I went to bed.

ME.

The Nocturnal One.

Even more eerie, I actually fell asleep – almost instantly.

What the frak, y’all?

I’m sure it has nothing to do with my laryngitis or the subsequent ongoing visit of The Evil Cough causing poor sleep all week.

Nope. It’s the alien possession.

Hopefully they are done probing and will return home so I can return to my irresponsible – yet conducive to writing – night owl schedule.

Now if only I could figure out how to summon them when insomnia hits.

* * *

What moment made you go “What the frak?” this week?

The Magician Made My Voice Disappear

Really, the timing was impeccable.

I’m pretty sure the magician is responsible.

It certainly couldn’t be the constant drainage running down my throat over this last week as allergies were all the rage.

I has nothing to do with the late nights I spent cleaning and organizing my office and the five years of accumulated dust I inhaled (sidenote: funny how that is the exact age of my oldest child).

I can’t blame the birthday party planning stress. My mother was around to help with the kids so I could get it done.

And surely having another adult to talk to this week during my mother’s visit couldn’t have added that much strain to my vocal cords. In fact, I think she’s talked more with my kids than me.

Nope. I’m certain somewhere between the rope trick and my now-five-year-old son helping him transform scarves into an umbrella, the magician secretly pulled a disappearing act on my voice.

The Invisible Act: my voice disappearing under the guise of a scarf trick.

It is so bad, I cannot even make the horrible frog-like croaking those with laryngitis typically can.

I am reduced to instant messaging those sitting five feet from me. 

Sadly, that doesn’t work with my kids.

I have learned my husband and mother suck at practical charades, but Bobbi rules and the kids aren’t half bad.

Meanwhile, I will be thankful my mother is here to verbally communicate with my children.

So if you call and a voice not mine answers my phone or if you hear a whistle* instead of “hello” – my voice is still MIA post magician act.**

Maybe he’s waiting for the check to clear….

*When I learned I could still whistle, my family accused me of faking. Bobbi, the linguist, later explained whistling is just blowing air – vocal cords are not required.

**It should be noted, the magician was a huge hit with the kids, but that will be talked about in the birthday post – as soon as my fingers are no longer tired from having to type to my family just to “talk”.

* * *

How do you cope when your voice pulls a disappearing act?

A Letter to My Son

A year ago I wrote a letter to my daughter. I always meant to write one to my son.

He turns five this Saturday and it is the perfect incentive to cease procrastination.

* * *

To My Sweetie, My Kamikaze Monkey Boy:

The instant I heard your heart beat on the sonogram, I knew a love unlike any other. The tentative love taking root inside from the moment I’d learned I was pregnant burst with the reality of the strong, rapid heartbeat echoing in the room. I still remember the awe flowing over your dad and I at the miracle of you.

The first time I held my heart outside of my body.

You are blessed with the “active” gene of my family. This began while you were still in the womb and earned the nickname Dances with Happy Feet. Your dad was very impressed how you reenacted a scene – from a movie I won’t let you watch until you’re 17 – called Alien.

I counted down to your arrival. The doctor said “any day”… for three weeks. I’d scheduled an inducement, but only because you were supposed to arrive earlier. I didn’t want one.

It turns out you inherited my love of procrastination: why do today what we can put off until tomorrow? At 4 AM the day of my 8 AM appointment to be induced, you broke my water and took the matter out of my hands.

Once I had you in my arms, I never wanted to let you go and your poor, equally excited daddy had to wait over four hours to hold you after you were born. My heart now lived outside of body.

You showed me how love can overcome all: extreme sleep deprivation, nursing pain, everything. Anything to make sure you had all I could give.

"So that's how you climb up the slide..."

Your active side was instantly apparent. You wanted to get from Point A to Point B from the first week you were born. Because you lacked the physical ability to do so, you insisted those who loved you do it for you. In those first few months, you sneered at tummy time, but loved riding in the baby carrier, held close to our hearts, able to see the world from a vertical position. You never wanted to miss a thing, and refused such restrictive environments like a car seat or bouncy seat.

You wanted to sit. You wanted to move.

We spent hours at parks, you sitting on my lap, exercising your back muscles as your eyes tracked all of the movement. They day you learned to sit upright was a relief, for me and you. Finally, you could take in the world on your own terms.

Why crawl when you can bear crawl?

You transitioned through all the modes of transportation, desperate to maneuver on your own. You rolled, then army crawled – your cackle of glee as you approached your target never failing to make me smile.

You decided regular crawling was beneath you, and instead went to straight to bear crawling – your knees never touching the ground. I watched your persistence build, as you slowly built up the arm strength to do this, until one day after accumulating hours of downward facing dog pose, you were off. You never looked back.

Why use the steps when you can climb up the outside of the playground. Or on top. Or just hang upside.

Caution was never in your vocabulary. It still isn’t. You have no fear in your exploits and it continues to terrify me. I try to give you safe boundaries, but you will always push against them.

The pride over getting rid of your training wheels was amazing.

You remind me a lot of me.

You are almost five and have been able to climb to the tops of playground equipment for well over year. You learned to ride a bike in just over a month, after years of deeming pedaling worthless.

You are a perfectionist. This simple fact causes the greatest moments of joy along with the deepest pits of frustration, many times leading to a meltdown.

Your perfectionism meant you refused to draw until you were four and half. You lacked the motor skills to put on paper what was in your head, and were angered when your hands failed to deliver. Watching your love of drawing blossom was magical and no one is prouder than I.

The pride over a drawing - the first one I knew exactly what it was.

This same perfectionism and daredevil nature was shown in your recent bike riding. You fell. So many times. You had skinned knees and elbows. You screamed with frustration.

But you kept trying. You persisted.

You succeeded. Even if it wasn’t perfect at first.

Then you moved quickly to offroading, needing a new challenge.

You love science. The human body fascinates you as does outer space. Volcanoes are your latest obsession and you try to soak up every scrap of information you can about any of these topics.

I remember watching you discover something new as baby, I could see the figurative wheels turning in your head. I see the same whenever we discuss the latest topic of interest.

You will sit and thumb through books for an hour, then come ask me questions. You want answers, and often get frustrated if I fail to answer your question to your satisfaction.

Never stop asking questions. Life is a constant teacher, if we listen.

When you aren’t reading or drawing, you are rarely still. Whether it is dancing, running, climbing, biking, or chasing your sister you are a man in motion.

You are a big brother. No one was more gentle and delicate around a baby, than you with your infant sister. She would be laying on her playmat and you would lay next to her. Your name was one of her first words and she looks up to you and your challenges.

You took it upon yourself to make sure your sister was tough – no wussies allowed. You frustrated me to no end the year you were three, as you toughened your sister by bumping/knocking/pushing her over as she learned to crawl and walk.

You still feel you must act the role of teaser, keeping her from ruling the house unmitigated.

Proof you the kids do like each other.... sometimes.

But I see through your facade. I listen to you as you teach her the different planets, her ABCs, and quiz her on the various animals. I see your smile when she answers correctly.

I hear your giggles when you collude with her to hide from daddy. I witness the joy when she plays with you.

You are a big brother. You will protect her from others, just not yourself. The day you learned she had to have shots at the doctor, you cried for her. You begged me not to take her.

You are a big brother. Please be there for your sister long after I am gone. I had her not just for me, but for you. I did not want you alone without a sibling to turn to. She is strong too and together you can face anything together.

Focus on your love of life, the joy you get, not the imperfections. No one is completely perfect. I know you will strive to be, and that is fine, but remember you have to fail to learn to succeed. Work to be better, but do not let it get to you if you are not always the best.

The smile that makes me smile.

Take pleasure in the little things. The butterfly. The stars. Drawing the image in your head. Dancing.

Use your strength to help others. Do not be the bully, be the defender. Aid those who cannot protect themselves.

Love deeply. You were created with love. The first grandchild, you were bathed in it from birth. From your grandparents, your uncle, your aunties, G-ma and G-pa, your sister and your father and I – you have brought light into our lives.

The love and adoration is mutual.

Know this family will always hold you in its heart. We are here for you if you need to talk, if you are frustrated.

Choose the side of what is right, not the dark side.

Your laugh has the power to make everyone around you smile.

Laugh often.

It heals so much.

You are transforming into a little man, but I still see the personality that shined at me as a baby.

I see the independence. The determination. The fearlessness. The smiles. The love of learning.

Sometimes I wish you were still my baby, wanting nothing more than to snuggle close. Then I look at you.

My favorite place with my favorite big man.

I am proud of the person you are becoming. I hope I have many more years to see it firsthand.

And sometimes, you will still snuggle with me. Those times I wrap you in my arms and hold you close until you wriggle and break free.

I’ll take it.

I love you, sweetie.

- Mommy

Top 10 Highs and Lows of the Circus

The Elephant test was a success.

Next stop: the first circus for the kids.

1.  The cheap toys guaranteed to break five minutes after purchasing are still coveted by children of all ages.

Immediately upon entering the arena, booths and walking vendors greeted us with flashing toys, stuffed animals, and balloons – all of which my children immediately wanted. I can’t blame them – I remember doing the same when my G-ma took me the last time. I had already declared this a “special day” and had brought cash for this express purpose.

I wanted the gift to last beyond the show, so I had the caveat that only if he was well behaved would he get a toy before we left.

It did break within the first week, but CG repaired it.

Thanks to this toy, my son has begun his Jedi training. But it is super special Jedi training: it can only happen in the dark….The Tackler Enters Jedi Training

This is where she turned into cling wrap.

2.  There is pre-show, intermission, and post-show “entertainment”. And by “entertainment” I mean high priced activities like the shortest ever pony rides, elephant rides, and camel rides.

For the children like The Tackler who prefer their animals at a distance? A giant inflatable tiger slide: only $6 to go down the slide three times.

It was a special day. The Tackler’s “treat” was one round of the slide, after which he was confused why he could not go again.

Lil Diva said she wanted to ride the ponies, so I was excited. However, I learned that riding the ponies is like her love of dogs: good only at great distances. When our long wait ended and it was her turn, she transformed into cling wrap and cried, as though the pony ride she’d requested was actually torture.

To my absolute shock – they do (and did) refund unused tickets.

While this photo was taken later in the show, this was the Tackler's stance during much of it - mostly for the too loud music.

3. They play music way too loud. The Tackler had his ears covered for first twenty minutes and whined, because he hates loud music in unfamiliar locations (at home, he never seems to mind). Maybe longer. I’m not sure because Lil Diva was on my lap, but The Tackler was on the other side of my husband.

Lil Diva was a bit concerned and bored for the first ten minutes, because for some reason the Shriner’s had to introduce themselves and their officers – not exactly exciting stuff. The tigers were the third act and once they arrived Lil Diva had adapted to the loud music and was riveted by the show.

Not the most flattering view, but these elephants were impressive.

4. The elephants are better at gymnastics than I am. I’m lucky if I can execute a handstand for more than a second.

Also? Lil Diva loved them. LOVED them.

5. The biggest animal hit was not an elephant or a tiger: it was a dog… dressed an elephant.

You can just make out the elephant... dog. This was The Tackler's favorite act. These are their actual reactions to it.

There was a single clown, a basket of stuffed animals, and a giant winder thingy (think akin to what you’d see on a giant wind-up toy) to pretend to bring the stuffed animals to life. After each failure, he would kick the stuffed animal away.

When it was the stuffed elephant’s turn, to our shock and the children’s absolute delight, it came alive, winning the prize as not only the cutest thing ever, but the best trained animal I have ever seen in playing dead. Or stuffed.

6. Whatever you call double circle spinning thing, where the guy explores weightlessness inside and outside the circle, then while juggling and then while juggling things on fire = awesome.

The double circle thingy was a huge hit: the red hue photo is when the performer had the sticks on fire he juggled - The Tackler was very worried.

The Tackler and Lil Diva gave his performance ten fingers up.

Although The Tackler, for all his talk of lava and fire, was genuinely scared for the guy when he juggled the flames.

7. It is possible to transform a four an half year old from alive to skeleton in under a minute via face paint.

This is especially true of you have a long line of kidsholding tickets that equal money.

This paint will also rub off at the slightest touch.

But the pure joy over the transformation: priceless.

I'm pretty sure you could enter face painting into the Olympics and the circus would win.

8. Motorcycle stunts are awesome. 

I'm waiting for the Tackler to start attempting jumps now that he can ride a bike....

The three guys jumping and doing stunts were also popular with the kids, although I think The Tackler was covering his ears during part of it.

9. The giant cannon is a lot like a water slide: only it is boring, takes about three seconds for the actual feat, and is loud.

A lot of over-hyped buildup for the 2 seconds of actual bang.

The Tackler, now finally told to cover his ears, was not amused. I’m pretty sure he was scared enough at the possible sound, he was buried into my husband and missed the entire stunt.

I got creative, because it’s really hard to cover your two year old’s ears and your own ears at the same time – particularly when said child is trying to escape aforementioned ear covering.

My children could beat me in a popcorn eating contest..

10. You cannot do the circus without copious amounts of junk food.

Hot dogs. Nachos. Popcorn.

You can’t say no, because the circus is like going to a fair: the junk food is part of the experience.

My children inherited the Shovel the Popcorn Into Your Mouth as Fast as Possible talent from my side of the family.

*  *  *

Do you or your children have a favorite circus memory or act? 

Seeking: All Body Cover and Weird Al Apprenticeship

As mentioned last Friday, my almost-five-year-old has just learned to ride a bike – to which there are three steps.

Step 1: Learn to balance while the bike is moving. Completion of this step marks the removal of training wheels.

This is the same child who refused to pedal.

Step 2: Learn how to transition from standing still to pedaling without tipping over. A difficult step to learn until aforementioned training wheels are removed, this and step 3 caused my son to “want his training wheels back”.

He fell. A lot.

Step 3: Learn how to dismount the bike without crashing or racking the sensitive bits on the evil bar.

He crashed. He fell. A lot.

Tears and frustrated meltdowns occurred.

My husband and I discussed buying knee pads for him.

The Tackler’s response?

“I need an all body cover so I don’t get scratches.” 

Friday, nothing was more beautiful than the grin on his face the first time he pushed off by himself.

It lit up the whole street.

Three days off for “cold weather” (i.e. T-shirt weather in the north) and Tuesday something magical happened.

He stopped, straddling the bar instead of tipping over.

I got the smile again. The joy.

And it was awesome.

* * *

We love Italian food. Lil Diva considers it a personal challenge to shove as much pasta into her mouth as possible.

Monday night is “order a family size platter for the price of a regular entree” – it feeds our entire family of four. The place also has the best bread.

There is something about sitting down for a meal that brings out the silly in my kids. They quest to force the other to laugh at increasing volume until squeals make every table stare in our direction.

I have got to see if it is on YouTube because I totally missed this.

Luckily, this place is loud.

The Tackler was in a singing mood last Monday. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he’d been on YouTube watching the Superbowl halftime show that my husband was supposedly recording (he wasn’t), but I only heard about it on facebook and Twitter.

It was Party Rock Anthem all the way. Tackler style.

“Party rock is in the volcano tonight. Everbody’s gonna have an ouchie time.”

or

“Everyone is in the cake tonight. Everybody’s gonna have a yummy time.”

Then he went through various body parts.

“Everyone is in the stomach acid/bladder/nose/lungs/ tonight….”

I laughed so hard it transformed into full body silent shaking.

He could be the next Weird Al.

I may have to keep him.

* * *

Have your children gotten creative with song lyrics? Do tell…

The Elephant Test

It began at a Chinese restaurant. Weird, I know.

I was craving low mein noodles. My family trekked into the restaurant and I noticed coupons placed in plastic holders on the entrance table.

BUY ONE GET ONE FREE TICKET TO THE SHRINER CIRCUS!

I didn’t even know it was here. I bet Lil Diva would love the circus. I grabbed a few, shoved them in my purse, and promptly forgot about them.

January, Friday the 13th (insert horror music here)

I meant to run errands. We needed groceries.

Two hours later we still hadn’t left the house.

Then a friend posted on facebook:

“The Shrine Circus is in town and has a free event today at noon! We’ll be watching Elephants feast and talking to clowns. Come join us!”

Elephants? Free?

Oh, hell yeah.

I immediately canceled any productive plans for progressing my To Do List and packed up the kids.

It was a test. If the elephants made the kids cry or freak out – no circus. If they liked watching the elephants, we would go.

We arrived to find a fenced off area and in the middle, folding tables piled high with apples and bananas.

“I want. Ba-na-na-na,” Lil Diva informed me.

“The bananas are for the elephants, sweetie. Oh, look. Clowns!” Several Shriner members walked the outer perimeter, donning make-up as only a clown will do.

They were the least scary clowns I’ve ever seen. One even had a Sponge Bob tie (not playing to the audience at all, were they?).

The distraction technique worked and my children actually stayed with me at our claimed spot.

And when the elephants came, my children stared, in awe of their size.

The kids were in awe, but no screaming.

I think they only lasted through about ten minutes of three elephants shoveling fruit into their mouths.

But they didn’t freak out. They weren’t scared.

After a quick picnic lunch on a concrete wall, I tried to get into line to buy tickets.

My children were both wound up after the car ride and thirty minutes of standing still and failed to adhere to the “stay next to me in line” request. The landscaping was far too tempting because the ticket window was outside.

I almost bailed.

Then I went for the cop-out mommy solution. I turned to the guy standing behind me. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

He smiled, so I’m certain he must have had young children of his own at some point. “Sure.”

I gathered the kids and went back to the car. I fastened them in their car seats. I gave them a snack. I drove to the other side of the parking lot, stopping 20 feet away from the ticket window in the front parking spot.

I did the ultimate Mommy No-No and left them in the car, fastened in their seat belts, with a pile of books and the snack remnants.

I did leave the windows open. I could also see the car the entire time.

I returned to the line, the gentleman kindly letting me in and not commenting on the loss of my children. Occasionally a giggle would reach me.

I got the tickets. Then I promptly took the kids to a playground where they could burn off the energy.

The next day we would discover what my children really thought of the circus…

To be continued…

* * *

Have you ever dared leave your kids alone in the car? 

Why Do Bicycle’s Need the Evil Cross Bar?

Friday’s “What the frak…?” moment (WTFM) is brought to you by……….

The design flaw of bicycles: Whose brilliant idea was it to place a bar on boy’s bikes? You practice, you learn the magical balance to not tip over while riding. Then you hit the brakes… and the pavement. And forget trying to get started again without help…

Learning to ride a bike is a milestone I drooled over as a child. Only two obstacles stood in my way.

My mom and my dad.

“Kelly, we will get you a bike, but you have to learn to ride one first.”

Perhaps you are scratching your head along with my childhood self. It wasn’t like there was a Learn to Ride a Bike Simulation Machine I could pop into and log hours until I passed. I needed a bike to learn….. only I couldn’t get one until I learned.

The proverbial “chicken versus the egg” question… only uh, for bikes.

I am convinced this is why I am so stubborn.

It was the summer before I turned eight and the humidity swallowed us. Each afternoon and evening the street kids gathered to yell, play hide-and-seek, and run through the yards catching fireflies. I watched as much younger children sped by on their bikes until one afternoon I had enough.

I borrowed a little boy’s bike. He was only five and much smaller. My feet easily touched the ground and formed training wheels as I teetered up and down the street for two hours, determined that I would have my bike soon.

I succeeded before night fall.

The next day, true to their word, my parents took me to the bike store to pick out a lovely, powder blue banana seat bike.

It was Father’s Day.

We won’t get into the whole Fairness Between Siblings Act where (five years later) my brother had a bike at 18 months old, way before he learned to ride one….

Fast forward twenty plus years and I’m a parent of two very active children.

I want them to learn to ride a bike and pedal the trails as a family.

My son had zero interest in pedaling. He received a tricycle at age three but used either the Flintstones method or the Parental Powered method to get from Point A to Point B.

He never wanted a bike. Every time we wandered by the bike section, he couldn’t escape it fast enough for the real toys.

Then he spent months watching his slightly older buddy careen down the sidewalks on his bike.

The interest grew, until the fateful Christmas Eve trip to Walmart.

He got his first bike for Christmas.

Aided by beautiful weather for most of January (insert obligatory “I love Texas in winter” comment), he learned to pedal, brake, and crash with the same stubbornness I had so many years ago.

He earned Street Privileges, thanks to the driveway design that creates evil slants in the sidewalk at every driveway – a bad thing when training wheels on a slant tilt an already unstable bike for a child who has never been on one before.

My heart broke a little each time he crashed (and thankfully we did invest in a helmet).

He got frustrated. He “never wanted to ride a bike again.”

But he did. Again. And again.

I loaded the bike in the van whenever we went to a park with a paved sidewalk – knowing the even trails would diminish the crashing and aid in learning balance.

Last Friday, as he circled a playground where his sister and I played, something clicked. The insanely loud training wheels were silent more often than not.

I knew the time was near.

Last night as my husband drove home from work, I snuck into his toolbox, grabbed a wrench, and took off the training wheels.

After demonstrating the whole The Bike Will Tip Over When at a Standstill Without Training Wheels principle, I held the bike as he climbed on. I gave the tiniest of pushes.

And he was off. Sailing. Soaring.

Not pictured: The lesson he learned about trying to go up curbs without jumping them first. Evidently he thought ditching the training wheels would make it possible and hit the curb full speed. I'm pretty sure that is why the front wheel looks bent here - CG had to bend the rim back into place.

Smiling the biggest, most infectious grin. My pride mirrored his as I inhaled his joy.

“I’m riding my bike without training wheels! Wheeee!”

Then he tried to stop. And crashed.

He tried to get on. And crashed.

Because for some reason in this amazing age of technology, no one has designed “landing gear” for bicycles. You either have training wheels – which are shortlived – or a feeble kickstand. Or in my son’s case now: neither.

Pair it with the evil slam-you-in-the-crotch bar every boy’s bike has and legs that can barely touch the ground while straddling it, and you have a recipe for a lot more high impact splats with the pavement.

Seriously. What the frak were they thinking with that bar design? If a girl’s bike doesn’t need it to be structurally sound, why do boy’s bikes?

It’s enough to make me wish I’d bought a girl’s bike and just repainted it.

Luckily, my son is stubborn. And tough.

I’d better buy more band-aids.

My mother was lucky and had a quick live preview thanks to a faint wi-fi signal and Facetime, but here is the gratuitous “Look Mom! No Training Wheels!” video for the rest of the family and any other interested parties.

Can you tell I’m still beaming?

I wonder if I took a hacksaw to the bar….

What engineering design has made you go “What the frak?!” lately?