Unca Monkey

My sweet, sweet pea! My dancing queen! Sunup to sundown you thrill me with new words, new looks, and new naughties!

Match the Hot Tamalified word to their less creative meanings:

A. Paco 1. downstairs

B. Unca Monkey 2. spoon

C. Chuch 3. Church

D. Ah wub vew 4. Red Mango

E. dow tairs 5. I love you.

F. poons 6. Uncle Marty

G. Gang goo 7. Thank you

That LOOK on your face! You have a deliciously devilish ME look. Congrats--the teacher stare is genetic, like webbed fingers or long noses. Just know that I will always have had more practice making it and will win EVERY time in our little showdowns.

Dunking in the pool--listen to me! On THREE your hold your mouth closed because we're going under, got it?? Not four, not seven, not twenty-two, THREE. When we go tomorrow we'll practice more. You're very close to getting it.

Favorite song: Chug-a-lug by Roger Miller

You dance like the roof is coming down! Tippy toes, spins, crazy head movements, all very Cunningham-ish, which is, well, not the Latin side of you I'm afraid. The best part is the beginning when they yell "Whoop whoop whoop whoop".

Hot Tamale, you know EXACTLY where Red Mango is and start having a fit a block out. Dad's Toxic Skittle doesn't hold a candle to my Key Lime Delight.

SkippyDon and you have a good thing going. You are so patient with him on too-long car rides when he loses it. You pat his arm and say "goo goo ga ga" and then both of you laugh. It makes me want to pull over and video tape it, but we both know you won't do it for the camera.

We are entering a new phase in our lives, honey bun. The reign of SELF! You will soon see that the world doesn't spin on your pinky, that other people not only have needs, but that you need to put them before your own, and that no means no. This will be very painful and involve a good number of tears, but just know that God will pull you out of that pit if you ask him to. You'll even enjoy it more that looking out for number 1! Even though I will mess up many, many times, I have your soul in mind, which is way bigger than soda pop-flavored jelly beans.

I think my next note to you will document these times of "sharpening" or "growing". It should be good.

Love you, love you, love you! Get some sleep.

Barista Blessing

I earned a nice, steamy lump of coal on my head yesterday.

[Since stupid Starbucks doesn't offer free wifi (not yet, but word has it they're caving--ha HA!) I headed to Hastings, a really cool college town video/book/music megastore. Needless to say, it's not Starbucks quality. I knew my 16 oz. decaf soy no foam latte would be substandard, but still. Anything over $3 that doesn't have adult-only juice better be at least decent.]

I stare at the menu board (fully knowing my order but unable to prevent the obligatory gawking) then ask if they have soy. The Barista or Coffee Creator or whatever burns through my face with Queen Victoria's best and smirks. "No."

So what that soy is clearly listed as an option? This chick stole my stare! That's my look!

I reluctantly impart the espresso orders, adding a few extra adjectives for good measure, and then...that look...again! Sheesh. This is the worst customer service ever. Starbucks baristas give footrubs with one hand and delight you with quips about the cooling rate of milk while they whip up a beverage. What got into her? Exchange change without a single word and slink to a booth, avoiding all eye contact. I wouldn't put it past her to spit in my drink. Better keep an eye on her.

So I pick up said beverage and, no surprise, it's terrible. At least I'll get some internet for my $4.25 cup 'o bitter.

As soon as I sit back down another customer approaches the counter. He has a limp and a speech impediment. His speech is slow. And it's clear that this isn't the first time he's been here. Oh great. This chick's gonna rip a whole in him.

But as I spy on their conversation, this hardened, lousy latte maker transforms. She asks him how his day is going and knows him by name. They chat about her upcoming wedding, his favorite movie, and the ridiculous heat. And just at the point that gets uncomfortable for most people, she parks it on a stool outside the counter and lets the barrage of questions continue. She talks to him in a respectful, yet simple manner so he understands. She beautifully preserves his dignity. This continues for 40 minutes. He follows her as she wipes the tables and restocks drip coffee, all without a hint of unease. He leaves reassuring her that he'll be back tomorrow.

Should any of my children enter the world a bit slower, a bit more talkative, a bit socially unaware, I pray that they meet this wonderful woman who makes dreadful non-soy lattes. I pray that people like me (who forget that baristas have souls and exist for purposes greater than making my hot beverage) would not judge, as I did in such an ugly and superficial way.

God bless you, barista babe.

To Boob or to Bottle

Is it really that big a deal to wean SkippyDon Juan from the boob?

Yes!!!!

La leche leaguers--don't judge me on this.

It's like choosing menopause, I think. Far more than pregnancy, this is the one area that I feel Hubs has zero connection with. The thing is we're headed to sunny Me-hee-co in a month and it will be a total drag if I have to milk myself in between pina coladas. Plus the extra room in the bag that Sucky Airline will charge $30 for. Let's see...I can work on weight loss more aggressively without being the sole life force for SkippyDon. Don't have to worry about the is-he-isn't-he-getting-enough ever-present question. The bottle doesn't lie or dry up on a bad day. No more suspicious nipple-area wetness in public.

But it's so hard to give up! I like burning 250 calories for nothing and relying on those dangling melons for something other than ogling. I like seeing my son enjoy eating in such a nurturing environment and not having to whip up a bottle in the wee morning hours. Plus it actually feels good! I totally see why the hippie moms breastfeed until their darlings are 48 months.

I'm leaning toward exclusive bottle, as much as it pains me. I feel like we're ready, even though we could probably make it a bit more. The Hot Tamale and I made it 3 months, we're up to 6 with SkippyDon, so Numero 3 will be a 9-monther, no? Maybe I'll feel better about my mothering if I can make that happen.

For now, my tiny chunky hunk, we'll keep going for at least a little while longer...

Chug-a-lug

The current musical fav in the house is...drumroll please...Roger Miller's Chug-a-Lug. Let's take a guess as to who introduced the Hot Tamale to this American gem...anybody? Yes, the Naughty Grandma has pimped out a song about underage drinking to my 20-month old and she loves it.

"Chug! Chug"

Chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug

Makes you wanna holler hidey ho!

Burns your tummy don't cha know.

Chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug

And we are referring to moonshine here.

Hot Tamale's little brownish body contorts into a whitey, non-rhythm moving toddler rockin' out to redneck country. She gets low, she claps, she sways, but never on any beat. That little thing is Steve Martin in The Jerk. I never thought I'd pine for Miley Cyrus, but I'd give anything for a Hoedown Throwdown right about now. Oh no, here she goes again.

"Chug! Chug!"

Psycho Running: A Play

The conversation that took place in my head during a jog yesterday:

(Girl walks half mile to bridge and stretches, a bit longer than needed to avoid the impending run.)

Voice: Wow it's muggy today. Sure you wanna do this?

(Girl fiddles with iPhone, setting playlist and RunKeeper to start. Ignores voice.)

Voice: You've stretched enough, right? Let's get to it so we can get home and pig out on dark chocolate. Any day now. Remember earlier when you had two bowls of cereal? That run you're about to do will barely pay for that. And then there were those three chicken nuggets.

Girl: We're not doing this today.

Voice pauses thoughtfully, then gently adds--

Voice: Maybe you should go back and let that food settle a bit more. Don't they say that you should wait between 2-4 hours? You ate barely over an hour ago. Wouldn't that be bad for your digestion?

Girl: It will be dark then. No. Like you said, let's get to it. For the chocolate (smirks).

Voice: It's your body. Destroy it if you want.

Girl jogs a half mile in relative quiet noticing the puddles and torn branches left over from a storm the previous night. Her body feels awkward and slightly off. A car drives by.

Voice: Did you seen them look at you? They think your grandma walks faster than this. We're not that far from home. Want to turn around?

Girl: No, it doesn't matter. The first two miles are junk. Just make it through the first two miles and it will feel better. You'll see.

Voice: But don't you think it's weird that this feels so heavy today? Maybe you're developing an injury. Every step you take is making it worse. Ooo! Feel that? There it is again! That's your, um, whatever tendon straining. It really would be better to do this tomorrow. Why don't we walk home and-

Girl: No. We've almost made it a mile. Half-way through the junk.

Voice: Suit yourself.

A few moments pass.

Voice: Say, didn't your aunt--the one who's a physical therapist--tell you that running is the most stressful thing you can do to a body? That humans aren't designed for it? If you want to do something that you aren't designed to do-

Girl: I do!

Voice: That's fine with me. I'm just saying, if you want to train for something, why not train for a cycling race or swimming thing, whatever they do. You can still stop now and make it back sooner than if you finished running the course today. Pause. You're not a quitter. You know that. This wouldn't be quitting. It would be, um, postponing.

Girl: It's just one step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Don't look at the course. Look two steps ahead. I've made it almost halfway there besides.

Voice: Yeah, but look how tired you are. You still have half the course to go. And you really need water. Is there a water fountain around? No? Maybe you should slow down a bit and take it easy. Don't want to get dehydrated and-

Girl: But it doesn't matter.

Voice: Yeah, like it won't matter when they find you blacked out in the gutter. It may start to rain again and you'll slip right down there with the water moccasins. They'll look for days and you'll be dead with the snakes. Great plan.

Girl ignores Voice. Each step is more challenging as she moves ahead. For several minutes Voice is silent. She starts to feels the weight of a slight incline and tires quickly.

Voice: How about you just walk the incline?

Girl: That would be quitting. I don't quit.

Voice: Come on, just once? It won't hurt. You'll get right back into it tomorrow. You'll even go farther then. But if you push it too much today you won't do so well tomorrow. It's up to you. Walking is cross training. You need cross training to become a good runner. Did you do any cross training last week? No? Why not do it now to catch up!

Girl: Shut up.

Voice: This is your pain sensor yelling at you! You're telling me to shut up?!?

Girl: I'm not in pain.

Voice: That's what you think! You're twenty-five pounds overweight and trying to train for a marathon. Do you really think you can do this?

Girl: But it doesn't matter...but it doesn't matter...

Voice: If you can't even complete three miles easily, how will you do ten, fifteen, TWENTY-SIX?!? You're really not a runner. Look at those ankles.

Girl: I'll show you. Shut up.

Voice pauses for dramatic effect. It speaks sweetly in a mothering tone.

Voice: I just want you to be happy. Does this make you happy? Can you honestly tell me you are happy doing this.

Girl: Happy is temporary. Discipline makes joy.

Voice is at a loss for words at the moment. Girl doesn't like the song on her iPhone.

Voice: I know you don't like that song. Why don't you stop and change it? That stupid phone always goes on standby so soon. Just a quick break and fast forward.

Girl: No.

Voice: No, I know you don't want to stop. This isn't stalling, it's adjusting your settings. Is there some law against changing your playlist?

No answer. The Voice continues to wait several more minutes.

Voice: My, my. Look at that mileage.

Girl: Half a mile from home. You proud?

Voice: Absolutely. You've made incredible progress. Waits a bit and then, softly. Maybe you've done enough for the day. Two and a half miles is great! Remember when you could only jog thirty seconds at a time? What an accomplishment.

Girl: Yes it is. A few more minutes.

Voice: But don't you need a cool down? Six minutes is a good amount of time to cool down. You wouldn't want to overheat. Just eat less chocolate and call it a night.

Girl: Finish strong. I'll complete what I start. Keep your mouth shut.

Voice: Well, suit yourself. Ooo! See that water fountain? Run over to it and take a sip! Wow it's humid tonight!

Girl smiles slightly and ignores Voice.

Voice: There's really no need to go all the way. Just a fourth of a mile left? Why are you so legalistic?

Girl smiles bigger, striding confidently.

Voice: That's far enough, really. Let's stretch, you know, to work out the kinks in those legs.

Girl completes run.

Voice: Just remember how tired you are. Next time will be even harder. I'm just saying.

Boobalicious

Haul out several giant soap boxes. Stack them several stories high. Climb on top. Here we go.

Boobs have really received the slimy banana peel end of far too many jokes, songs, commercials, and lurid photography. Because of all this feminine "liberation" in the 70s those of us who'd rather keep the girls strapped in than flaunt them in a two-inch triangle bikini are left in a pickle. We've retreated to the polar opposite viewpoint. We resent our chest because it represents a nasty cultural aberration rather than celebrating them as God intended. Enough is enough!

I can't legitimately despise what has been carefully designed by the Creator for his creation.

Reasons why my boobs are awesome:

1. They feed my children. How cool is that!?! Insert body part and suck. Fascinating!

2. They keep other members of the house happy as well. Please don't use your imagination.

3. Boobs make me look different from men in a good way.

4. If I'm ever stranded in the ocean, they'll help me stay afloat.

5. They have all these ducts and nerves and sensors that I can't explain.

6. Unlike legs or arms or feet they morph into different shapes. How fun is it to travail through life with two little buddy water balloons!

7. I swear I can sense a change in barometric pressure from my boobs. No joke.

8. And did I mention they feed babies?

So enough bemoaning, grumbling, begrudging of our woman parts! Sure bras are the bane of my shopping existence (Victoria's Secret: WE KNOW THEY AREN'T REAL!!), but these two mounds are as female as apple pie is American. Let's enjoy the workings of every part of us.

The rant continues tomorrow on breast feeding in public...

Introducing...SkipppyDon Juan!

I'd like to say that nicknaming our children comes naturally, that it rolls off the tongue. That it's original and cute and completely apropos. But I resort to stealing from children's literature.

So Little Dude it is no more!!

My handsome, googley eyed honey is now officially:

****SkippyDon Juan****

If you haven't read the SkippyJon Jones books yet, you're missing out on a side stitch of fun. And, well, Little Dude casts spells with those peepers. Puss in Boots or Dandy Manny came very close, but I thought he might not appreciate either one.

So, my tiny chunky hunk, my SkippyDon Juan, you are becoming quite the little boy.

• We cut your last twelve baby hairs so they don't tickle your elbows. The Great Uncle Lionel, barber extraordinaire, did the honors at 3:30 on Sunday, May 31st. There was much fanfare and you sat very still for the paparazzi.
• Today was pool day! The plastic one on the patio. You rocked that swim shirt! And thank you for not pooping whilst commando.
• You love to Diaper Jam with the Hot Tamale after bath. Both of you lock hands and open your mouths soooooo wide and try to eat each other. You're losing, but not for long.
• Get it going with that Electric Worm! It will become a crawl very, very, very soon. Dang! Can't park you on the bed anymore.
• Peas, sweet potatoes, carrots, and squash are officially part of your culinary repertoire. But that squash burned the crud out of your hiney area. Sorry bud.
• I just want to kiss your face all day!! And you let me! Thank you, and I apologize in advance for smooching when it becomes embarrassing for you.
• The ladies at the church nursery don't want to let you go. EVERY time we show up YOU are making eyes at them while all the other babies are on the floor.
• What is that squeal noise?!? It's like a half dead kitty falsetto.

SkippyDon Juan, why you are the second of who knows how many children I can't say. I just know that your gentle spirit is a gift to you--not a result of Parenting Book X or your own effort. Please remember that God has placed that tiny, patient heart in your body for a specific reason and your whole existence depends upon using it for just that.

And don't forget that when I disappoint you, when I fail you, when you grow up and realize I'm human too, Jesus will always come through. He loves you and me more than we can fathom.

Buenas, mi amor...

Potty Talk: Would Poop by Any Other Name Smell as Sweet?

When to start the marathon of potty training? Ask any woman over 50 and she'll swear her sweety britches had it mastered by 14 months. Ladies, you are LYING! Or entering the fog of dementia. In which case I should pray for you.


I'm really tired of the advice already and haven't even read much of it. Some people (you know, in the chat rooms on the internet) even do this elimination training whereby baby doesn't wear diaper (??). Mom "senses" when Precious is about to bm and holds him above the toilet. I'm guessing co-sleeping needs to happen so mom can "sense" those leaky little pipes at 2 am. Apparently said kid is "mostly" trained by one year but then it takes until two to be fully accident free. These are the same people whose mutant offspring are on Your Baby Can Read.

The complication continues with entire aisles at Baby MegaPlex devoted to the Holy Potty Grail. Some are insets that perch inside the big person toilet. Others are transformers--whipping from stool to seat within a certain time limit. And, yes, some even sing when tinkled in. Kid MUST be immediately freaked out when the pee starts a rollin'!


But that trash is boring and it's not even worth a few more words on the subject. As long as rich people have rich little babies, product developers and their marketing leeches will always go for the jugular. We have something far more important to decide:


What will we call the excrement????? This will decide what my children call it for their entire childhood. Stories will emerge from these words. It better be good.


The most comprehensive potty dictionary I can develop in ten minutes:


If it's brown, flush it down...

• Poop: Concise. Easy to say. Very public friendly. But it's just no fun and it reminds me of dogs. I hate dogs.
• Poopie: Cute, petite brown floaties. Very playdate-ish. We're liking the poopie. Although not cute coming from my son--he's already a bit on the dandy side.
• Caca: Multicultural, somewhat discreet. Too bad Olivia loves her Kashi cacas. Off the list!
• Doo doo: This says, "I'm a 5th grade boy." Or, "I'm from Arkansas."
• S--t: By far the most appropriate. Very German in inflection. Too bad our society slapped an inappropriate label on it.
• Crap: The WORST verb in human language. As a noun it's not so bad. But I'll keep this one for a fender bender exclamation.
• Fecal Matter: Need a rubber glove and stethoscope for the rights to say that one.
• Turd: Caddyshack Baby Ruth.
• Shite: Love, love, love this one. Why do British folk sound so fancy and talk so good?

If it's yellow, let it mellow...

• Pee pee: That stupid potty book that sold like a bazillion copies somehow uses this to describe a body part on a GIRL. Crazy dumb. No thanks.
• Wee wee: Willy Winky runs through the town! Upstairs, downstairs...
• Piss: Redneck Bubba in a port-a-potty.
• Tinkle: Ooo! Yes! The Tinkle Fairy whisks around the bathroom...I see a wand in the near future.
• Tee tee: Nice. This one feels neutral. Unoffensive, simple. A subtle slam at golf. My kind of word.
• Urine: "We're going to have to put a catheter in, ma'am."
• Number 1: Lame.

Say them all out loud.

Hmm...

I think we'll go with...