freetobeyouandmeSorry for the long silence here.  We’ve been busy.  Glad to be back.

We don’t have cable anymore, so a lot of our tv watching is on the computer.  Hulu, youtube, netflix streaming, whatever.  Lately we have enjoyed Free to Be You and Me videos on youtube.  My parents were hippies, and I loved these stories.  We never saw the movie when I was a kid, we just had the record.  

So anyway, if you don’t know about Free to Be You and Me, you should go watch this clip, Ladies First, before reading the rest of the story.  Ladies First is the clip about the “tender sweet young thing” in her pressed white clothes and her shiny shoes and her lovely curly locks.  She is a lady and insists on being treated like a lady.

The other day older son and I were talking about how girls who are so worried about how they look, like the tender sweet young thing, annoy us. We decided that one of the main problems is that if you have to stay so clean and  perfect, you can’t have as much fun.  Most things that are fun involve getting dirty.  One of the best things about Izzy (you remember, the girl older son hopes to marry, possibly in some sort of polyandrous relationship) is that she loves to play in the dirt and run around pretending to be an animal.  The last time I saw her she was being a maiasaur.

So, the story.  Yesterday, not having had time to watch my hair, I used hot rollers.  I left them in a little extra long.  I asked older son what he thought, as we were about to leave; did it look too curly?  At first he said “no-oh!” in his sweet reassuring way, “you look byoo-ti-ful!” 

But then there was a little pause, and a troubled look.  “Well, mom, I am sorry to tell you this.  Can you handle it?” 

Me:  Yes, I think so?

Son:  Well, the truth is, you look like the tender sweet young thing.

Me: Oh, no! (looking in mirror) You’re right! I will try to straighten it out.

But even at the end of the day, I still looked a little like the tender sweet young thing.  Next time I won’t leave the rollers in so long.


Older son:  Once upon a time, in a world of butts, there was a boy who was made out of butts.  And everything in that world was made out of butts.  The houses were made out of butts.  The sun was made out of butts.  The snow was made out of butts.  (pause here for uncontrollable laughter) All the people were made out of butts.  Where their head was, there was a butt.  The bears were made out of butts.  And when the people  (laughter again, interrupting words), and when they opened their…

Mom:  Enough!  I know what’s coming next and I don’t want to hear anymore.

Note:  I blame Rebecca, ask her about the magnum opus, Chicken Butt.

So.  The boys are about to go meet their grandmother and auntie, who are visiting from far away and who they don’t get to see very often.  I thought it would be nice to make cards for them, so we did that little art project this morning.

Unfortunately, older son is absolutely obsessed with the words “butt” and “poop” these days.  I will post later about his “once upon a time, in a world of butts” story, which I’ve been hesitating to post about.  

So, guess what he wanted me to write on his cards?  Yeah.  I refused.  So guess how he decorated them?  Yeah.  And then he threw a fit until I showed him how to write the word “poop.” Which he tried to write on the cards, too.  

Nice.  I hope grandma and auntie have an appreciation for five year old humor.

Something funny has happened.  The toddler is enaging in the Shriek more than ever.  But he’s realized that people hate it, that it is not nice for others’ ears.  So he says “sah-wee” (sorry) afterwards, sometimes.

Well, until the last few days.  Now he is saying sorry a LOT.  And sometimes he seems to shriek just so he can say sorry.  It’s a fun game, for him.  Older son and I were chuckling about it on our way to day care the other day.  We could chuckle only because, thankfully, when it’s the pretend-to-shriek-so-i-can-pretend-to-say-sorry, it’s marginally less piercing.

So yesterday morning, the boys were in the living room while I was in my bedroom, and I heard a shriek.  I assumed that older son was not sharing or something like that, and we had the following exchange:

“Why is your brother screaming?!”

“Because he likes to say he’s sorry.” 

I felt silly that I had shouted, myself.

It is very small but extremely powerful.  Look at it.  I know it looks like a Playmobil squirrel, but it is not.  Actually it is a Shinu Ahbis, which is extremely powerful and can defeat anything.  Yes, I know that is unusual, but you know what I heard?  Did you hear about the wolverine?  It is small but extremely powerful.  It gets its power from its teeth and claws and muscles.

The Shinu Ahbis, it gets its power from…its bones.  And the power shoots out and then it goes very fast and…crash its teeth crash right into its prey.  See this, watch.  Did you see how it got that crocodile?  It moves very fast.

(We have not yet discussed who would win in a fight between a Shinu Ahbis and a Kai Wolf or Kai Velociraptor.  Let alone a roadrunner croc.)

Mom, do I look like a teenager in this shirt?

Um.  Yes, you do.  How did you know?

Oh, it’s a big flappy shirt like teenagers wear.


(Actually, it’s a hooded sweatshirt, unzipped, with no t-shirt underneath, so I hope he doesn’t look like that when he’s a teenager.)

To my dismay, the toddler does not like Stevie Wonder.  I have tried a few times.  I’m going to keep trying.  

But he really grooves on A Tribe Called Quest.  Today he really liked Lyrics to Go.  Which is a nice song.  And while listening to it quietly, I discovered that in addition to “more” and “want,” the baby-sign for more can mean “turn up the volume, mom!” Wish you could see his head bobbing.