Tag Archives: kids

Does it even matter if it’s true?

3 May

It was late. My sister was in the kitchen relaying a story to her husband about something embarrassing that had happened to her friend. It was for adult-consumption only. And then, out of the blue: a voice. “Hey – isn’t that Herbert’s mom you’re talking about?”

And standing there is her child, who – if he had a tribal name – would respond to, “Little-Pitcher-Big-Ears.” Record scratch.

So now a nine year old is equipped with a story that is attached to a real person and isn’t exactly appropriate for an elementary school audience.

This has happened to you too, right? I mean, I don’t even HAVE kids and I’ve had my words come back to haunt me, though it’s usually like when Ralphie swears as he flips all the nuts into the snow in “The Christmas Story” and everyone wants to know where he learned such an awful word. (Spoiler alert: his dad.)

In my defense, if a child correctly deploys a word that can function as EVERY one of the nine parts of speech, then I say: we should let him, regardless of age.

I digress. The point is that when my sister retold this story to me – in all its sordid details – it completely cracked me up. “Can I blog about it?” I asked.

She paused. “Can you make it anonymous? So the person doesn’t know my child knows her business?”

And that’s when the fun began.

Me: “Sure. Like, I’ll say it was about a teacher from his school?”

Her: “Except make it an art teacher because he doesn’t even HAVE art.”

Me: “And I’ll make your son a DAUGHTER.”

Her: “And make the story I was telling about her something gossipy instead of something funny.”

Me: “And I’ll make you my FRIEND instead of my sister.”

Her: “And make me the daughter’s ‘mother’ instead of her ‘mom.'”

Mom, indeed. I think we’ll go with “mum” just to really throw them off the track.

Disclaimer: All names, places, and events contained herein are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people, events or conversation is sheer coincidence. Also, I’m pretty sure there are no children named Herbert. 

That’s ok – you guys can do the parenting.

30 Mar

Anyone who knows me, knows that kids are not part of my life plan. Friends used to doubt me, admonishing, “You’ll change your mind! Just wait…” as I shook my head with certainty.

In recent years, however, they’ve started hold back those comments. I would blame their shift on my nearing approach to 40, but I actually think it probably has more to do with Alan practically handing out business cards for the doctor who performed his vasectomy.

Whatever the case, I’m glad people no longer try to talk me into a baby. They’re just not my thing. (I know. This probably means I have no soul. But I do have grown-up meals, a clean house, a travel budget and the ability to soak in the bathtub with a good book whenever I want. I’ll take the trade-off.)

That doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy other people’s kids – at least in small doses. Take last weekend…

In Atlanta, I got some quality bonding time with Liz’s son Jackson, who is two. He was friendly and snuggly and adorable. And also generally half-naked, wearing only a shirt, in a style known (for obvious reasons) as Porky Piggin’.

The naked bit is because he’s potty training and Liz is having to get creative about learning his signals. Apparently when he wears a diaper, he doesn’t think about what he’s doing and just fills it. But if he doesn’t have pants on, he has just enough awareness to shout “Go pee pee!” before running at full tilt toward the bathroom.

So I was sprawled on Liz’s couch Sunday morning, drinking my coffee, when all of a sudden we heard Jackson come tear-assing down the hallway toward us from the bathroom, clapping wildly and yelling, “Yay Jackson! Jackson go potty!”

Liz, eager to reward him for using the toilet, quickly grabbed a sticker for his chart and said, “Good job! Show me!” and started to follow him back down the hall. From the couch I heard her excitement quickly morph into horror.

“Oh no! Jackson! What happened?!” she implored. Then, “Alison! Do not come out here!”

Of course those are just the words to make me scramble to my feet with curiosity, so I trotted through the kitchen in a flash. And found myself staring down a long hallway dotted with turds.

Apparently Jackson had been so excited to have used the toilet that as soon as he finished peeing, he jumped up and ran to tell us about it – forgetting that he had more business to attend to – and took a running dump the entire length of the 20′ long hallway.

Liz looked at me and shook her head, starting to laugh. “I don’t even know where to begin!”

When we had the situation under control, I sent Alan a text. “Never a dull moment. My Sunday morning started by helping Liz clean up poop in the the hallway. How’s YOUR day going?”

His response?  “My day is great – I almost never poop in the hallway!” Amen.

“Lazy” might not be the best descriptor.

20 Aug

Alan’s taken the last week off from work to spend time with his kids. Yesterday I joined them for an afternoon at Splashdown Waterpark in Manassas, VA. While I like water, places teaming with children are generally not high on my list of places to go.

As it turns out, my instincts were right: they had to evacuate the Lazy River because it was “contaminated.”

That’s about as descriptive as they would get, but it’s pretty clear someone either pooped or threw up in it. Since vomit would likely scatter, I’m guessing the former was the culprit. Well, my guess is based on that and the fact that I’m pretty sure I saw three turds bobbing along the river with lifeguards pointing at them as we left the park.

Once you know someone has taken a dump in the Lazy River, it’s pretty hard NOT to think about the amount of pee swirling around your legs. To put myself at ease, I persuaded myself that the pools had been treated with a chemical that would turn all pee hot pink (as we were led to believe might happen when we were little), so that I could pretend I was not, in fact, in a large toilet.

Bathroom concerns aside, it was actually a pretty great day. The weather cooperated. The kids enjoyed themselves. And even if what you’re splashing in is pee, it beats a day at the office. Sign me up!