Chuck E Cheese is not ...

Today was N's first birthday. Such a big boy! He had a cupcake party at daycare this afternoon. Apparently, he quite enjoyed his chocolate cupcake. They made him a little party hat of construction paper that he wore without complaint. He was a happy little guy. Everything was good.

To celebrate his birthday this evening, we decided to go out to Chuck E Cheese. N wore a little birthday boy crown, and ate some pizza. And with considerable prompting, J ate a hotdog. Games were played. Fun was had. Exhaustion ensued.

And people were people. As they often are. And because of them, I have decided to make a list of the things that Chuck E Cheese is not. Because there appears to be some misunderstanding.

So, in case anyone was wondering, Chuck E Cheese is not:

1. quiet.


2. representative of the fine dining experience.


3. relaxing.


4. an excellent choice for a romantic evening out.


5. appropriate for a group with no children present.


6. nutritious.


7. a place that children want to leave. Like, ever.


8. staffed by friendly, knowledgable, polite employees.


9. a library.


10. a magical place where all your dreams come true.


11. responsible for any loss or damage.


12. the best place to really tick off an over-tired mother of two who has just worked a full day and is now at a really loud establishment trying to get a picture of her one-year old sitting in a pretend car next to a giant rat as her insanely hyper four-year old throws up in a place as yet to be determined, because he refused to tell her.


13. cleaned on a regular basis.


14. quiet. (I know I said it before, but it bears repeating.)


15. an alternative to daycare.

So ... Any questions?

Shopping FAIL! Bedtime WIN!

Today, we met up with our friend L and her girls I & G at Ikea. L was a bit late arriving, since she had to come from the other side of the city, and also since she drives like someone's grandma. (Seriously, L - the gas is the little skinny pedal on the right. ;))

We decided to meet up for lunch. And then, we thought it would be fun to let the three big kids play together in Small Land while the rest of us shopped. J is finally tall enough to be admitted to Small Land. When we found out he could get in, H and I were over the moon! (Imagine the prospect of shopping sans preschooler!) But it was not to be. Because J, after taking far too long to eat and tying everyone up for a prolonged period, refused to go into Small Land. And he started having a tantrum, so we picked him up and just left. And poor L had to shop all by herself while we took J for a much needed nap. She must have been so lonely, shopping all alone, with not even a screaming preschooler for company. ;)

As we drove, we passed what appeared to be a carnival. Big rides. Looked like fun. J wanted to go and play, but we weren't about to have him miss his nap after his earlier display. Besides, there are those pesky height restrictions to think of. J is still pretty short for his age, the result of his continued refusal to eat, and he probably wouldn't come up to most ride height restriction lines. So we took a pass.

H: No, J. You have to be a certain height to ride.
J: I AM a certain height!

Well, he's right. We're all a certain height. But he still didn't get to go on any rides.

**********
Sadly, today's Ikea experience was more familiar to us than we'd like to admit. These days, we just don't get to spend quite enough time with other adults without children present. As a result, four-year old logic is starting to make sense to us. Like so:

J: Look at the big nose on my watch pointing over here.
H: That's an arm, J. Not a nose.
J: But it's on the watch's face!

Incidentally, does anyone know why watches have arms on their faces? Were they designed by Pablo Picasso or something?

**********
J has many interests. Mostly balls and blocks. But sometimes, other toys get his attention. Like paints. Or Star Wars.

H: Maybe they just know we're busy with our two?
J: D2.

(Seriously. Think about it. Say it out loud. It makes sense; I promise.)

**********
In other news, tonight N had a bath. While that doesn't sound like much, it was significant. It was the first time that N did not sob uncontrollably during bath time. He sat up in the tub and splashed happily, chasing after his little toy seal and spraying me with water. He frequently stood up for hugs, smiling happily. And he would lie back, knowing Mommy would catch him, and then roll over onto his tummy to crawl around in the warm soapy water. Such a fun time!

Then the kids went to bed. J wanted snuggles, and I happily complied. Always with a tune in my head, I lay next to my little guy with my eyes closed and I hummed. And J looked at me with love in his eyes, and sang me an impromptu lullaby:

Go to sleep.
Go to sleep.
Go to sleep, and sing.
I love you.
I love you so much.
So go to sleep, and sing.
You will be my mommy forever.
You will be my mommy forever.
And I love you forever.
Now go to sleep.

Sometimes, J can be a bit of a demon. But tonight's lullaby really made up for a lot.

Good night, J. Good night, N. I love you.

Random Tuesday: April can kiss my a$$

Okay. Here goes.



April sucked, with a suckage that cannot be adequately described. Death was featured prominently in April. Many posts were begun and abandoned in their entirety, due to pronounced despondence. I cried a whole lot more than I would like. Concentration lapsed completely. It was dreadful.

I hope May is a better month. April can just go screw itself.

I'm anemic. Again. Not a big surprise. I'm actually surprised the level is as good as it is. Usually, it's lower. They're still concerned enough to call in a prescription, though. Meh.

I went back to work last week. It's going fairly well. So far, I haven't done my customary act of destroying everything in my path. I haven't fallen down at the office. No one has been injured. So it's been good.

Been working on a new song. It's almost done now. Of course, it's heavily steeped in April, which sucks. But it's pretty, and I hope those for whom it was written will like it. I can't take the pain away, but I can give them this. It's not enough. I don't know what would ever be enough. I don't know ...

I had a group of friends who came up with a super power club. One had super-human strength. Another had super-human speed. The guy who got to pick first chose "impervious to everything", which meant he couldn't really do much except sit in the bar, drinking and smoking, and not be affected by it. But it was a good super power, and people enjoyed it. If I had a super power, it would be "can fix everything". Cancer would be gone. Crime would be gone. Babies would be born healthy, at full term. There would be no pain. There would be no grief. And the world would be a perfect place. But then, what would be the point of heaven? I guess my chosen super power just can't exist here. Which is a shame, because it really should.

Finally, I got 96% on my auditing exam! (I didn't find that out until May ... had marks been released in April, the month of complete and utter suckiness, I'd undoubtedly have flunked.)

So there you have it. Kind of random, in an "April totally sucked and I hate the entire month" kind of way. But it'll have to do. At least it's a post, right?

It's all fun and games until the dinosaur tackles you and rips out your throat

J has a dinosaur. A big, black and white, remote controlled robotic dinosaur with artificial intelligence components. You push a button (conveniently located right on the beast's unmentionables) to start and stop the thing. But you must (MUST) have the remote control in hand to deal with the ramifications. For without the remote control, the dinosaur acts of its own volition. With its fierce jaws aimed at your jugular, the dinosaur will violently shake its tail and roar angrily before it lunges, leaping across the room. And honestly, it can be pretty difficult to get close enough to turn the fool thing off again.

Today, I was in the kitchen feeding baby N when J, alone in the living room, pushed the Button of Doom as the remote control sat, unattended, on the opposite end of the room.

The dinosaur took off like a shot, roaring and shaking its tail, as it aimed itself at J. Cleverly, J evaded the beast by leaping onto the couch. The fierce creature then turned its attention kitchen-ward. It bounded across the room, presumably aiming for N's apple sauce and Cheerios, but was temporarily distracted by the basement door. Which it tried to eat. In an effort to protect his household, J took the opportunity to bravely run toward the dinosaur. Grabbing the creature by its violently shaking tail, J attempted to pull it away from the door. And the dinosaur turned. It lowered its head. It roared at J. Not to be bested by a toy animal, J stood firm and, raising himself to his full thirty-eight inches, shouted "Stop, Dinosaur! I command you!!"

Not surprisingly, the dinosaur was unimpressed. It advanced on J, who backed away quickly while continuing to scream "I SAID STOP!! STOP DINOSAUR!! I COMMAND YOU!!!" And so, I protected my child. I snuck up behind the out-of-control animal as it menacingly approached my 4-year old. I reached under its tail, and I hit the power button, stopping the mad beast dead in its tracks and quite possibly saving my child from a tragic dinosaur-related end.

And then, of course, J got mad at me for turning off his dinosaur when he wanted to play with her. Ungrateful little so-and-so.

(We're sending it to preschool next week for show-and-tell. Because we're awesome like that.)