TheMommyBlog

“God is looking inside your pants right now.”
—Dylan

I can’t remember what Logan and I were talking about as we walked down the Capitola Pier this morning after breakfast, but at one point he said, “Mom, you’re one tough lady.”

“Well, you have to remember that I am a Chicago girl.”

“Yeah, and I’m a San Jose… never mind.”

I drove over to my ex’s tonight to drop off a two-inch by three-inch piece of paper with the definition of a river on it that absolutely had to be turned into class in the morning. If you’ve ever seen my house, you’ll join me in amazement that I ever found the thing in the first place. I’d seen it briefly the night before while I confirmed that the San Joaquin River did, in fact, empty into the Bay, and then spelled Mr. Phoenix’s name for him.

Anyway, dinner was mid-prep and the kids swarmed me as if they hadn’t seen me just that morning, telling me about their days: Daphne had arranged a play date with a neighbor and said that the mom would send an email confirming said play date (that just slayed me), Dylan got to share his new Super Mario game with his best friend at after school care, and Logan caught the most improbable interception, ever. When I told Dylan that he didn’t even know how much I wanted to borrow his Nintendo DS to play Brain Age, he looked at me, then at his game, and at me again, well and truly torn. I sighed, “I may just get my own DS, then!”

Logan was aghast. “Dad! Mom’s getting a DS! If SHE gets one, how come I don’t get one? I don’t even get an allowance! I can’t even do chores!”

I wanted to kick him. “You don’t get an allowance because there hasn’t been a week in which you’ve done chores in recent memory. I have a list and a chart right there on the fridge. Dive in, and we’ll talk.”

All that time, Daphne was sitting on my foot, hugging my leg as I stood in the doorway to the garage. After the last replay of the interception, I asked my ex if he wouldn’t mind peeling his daughter off my leg so I could go home.

Dylan shouted, “I’ll do it!” and proceeded to remove her shoulder from the socket. Daphne wailed, I begged Dad to pick her up and do something, Dylan stared at the floor while I explained that not only was I not talking to him when I asked for help, but he’d pulled on her sore hand, showing him the cracked, dry, bleeding patch we’ve been nursing along with eczema cream.

After 45369812687 more goodbyes and feverish hugs, I made it to the car while the boys directed me out of the driveway by standing right behind the trunk, waving for me to back up. Jesus wept.

And then Dylan came running alongside the passenger window, waving for me to open it. “I just wanted one more hug.”

I opened my door and pulled him halfway into my lap.

“You’re the best mom a boy could ever have,” he mumbled into my shoulder.

“You’re the best son, baby, and soon you’re be the best brother. You just need to learn to be gentle with your sister.”

“Okay.”

Logan sauntered up as we smiled and rubbed noses and asked brightly, “So, are you having fun making out?”

“We’re running out of juice, so don’t be surprised if I start getting interested in the beer.”
—Logan, 9

When I called home to talk to the kids, my ex said that Logan had carried his sister around on his back that morning.

“Outta my way! I’ve got a five-year-old, and I’m not afraid to use it!”
—Logan, 9

“Outta my way, I’ve got to pee! I’ve had three children!”
—Logan

And, last night at dinner: “Did you say ‘curse’ or ‘cuddle?’ Because there can be a difference.”

“Mommy, I love you so much, I love you more than a big ball that is the earth and all the states everywhere, and I’m including China.”

—Daphne

Just got the kids to bed and now can’t remember why I wanted them there. I think I was going to work on something. The nonprofit organization I’ve been advising now and then wrote and offered me a five-month gig, so that at least looks like it will help me limp along for a while. Oh, and I get to build a Yurok sweat house out of toothpicks and dandelions with Logan this week. Hopefully I can pass the dugout canoe off to Gil on his nights.

We chatted about these and other delightful topics while snuggled on the couch, watching “Life of Mammals” for the zillionth time. I slid in between Daphne and Logan just as the segment on Smilodons started ("There is no such thing as a saber-toothed tiger; they are actually saber-toothed cats."). There was big drama as the alpha male was challenged by a pair of brothers from South Philly. They of course chased him off, set about killing the young, and making passes at the females. The girls resisted out of loyalty to their former baby-daddy, but I guess after a while even a stranger with a mullet starts looking okay.

So, of course, with my five and nine year olds gathered in my lap, they mated.

Logan observed, “That was a pretty fast mate.”

“It doesn’t take long, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, you would know...” he grinned.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“When I’m a baseball player, I’ll lend you a couple of million. If you still haven’t found a job, that is.”
—Logan

As I was straightening up this evening after dinner, I called over my shoulder to Logan, “Hey mister, Game Boy off, please, and get in the bath!”

He pointed to his wet hair and replied, “Mom? Hello? Already did.”

“Oh. Sorry. Hey, you can’t expect me to be paying attention to everything ALL the time.”

“Heh. Actually, you do, mostly.”

“True.”

“In fact, you pay attention more than anyone I know.”

“Well, except maybe for Phil.”

“Yeah. But no one could pay attention, say, a thousand percent of the time.”

“Right.”

“Except for Phil.”

I snorted. “Yeah, except for Phil.”

A few minutes later I told Logan that I’d repeated the exchange to Phil and that he’d laughed. “But you know, he says there are worse things to be known for.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Like you?”

Man, he’s sharp. “The parental curse works. I have a kid just like me.”

“Ha! Is this going on Pear Soup?”

“No, because no one there knows who Phil is. It won’t be funny.”

“Okay. You’d know, I guess. You write so much, you know what’s funny.”

Never one to stop at one Quote of the Day, I offer the few I can recall at eleven p.m.:

• “At first it was disgusting, and then it was okay, and then it started smelling disgusting again. Is there anything else for dinner?”
• “Here, Mama, I drew this for you, but I made a mistake—I was cutting it out and I cut off a leg—OUCH! OW! HELP!”
• “Kids, I don’t want you eating with your hands. Please use your forks.” *pause* “And no eating with your feet, either.” *disappointed moan from Dylan*
• “Mama, will you light these [patio hurricane lamps with huge candles inside] for me so I can hang them all over my room?”
• “Gosh, this is taking forever. I almost fell asleep [watching the microwave timer tick down from twenty minutes for popcorn fish]!”
• “Mom, can you rewind your iPod to the fable about the c0ck and the a$$ living in peace?”
• “Logan, look! Take your fork and poke yourself in the peepee as hard as you can and see what it feels like!”

I was the class comedian. The class clown was the guy at graduation who walked out to get his diploma, would hike up his gown, be totally naked, moon his parents and run offstage. That was the class clown. I was the comedian. I was the guy who talked him into doing it.
—Billy Crystal, TIME Magazine

And one from this morning:

• “Mama, are you always smart?”

Logan was hiding under the covers this morning, making a tent and chattering away.

Logan: “You should close up your underwear a little bit because I can see your butt.”
Me: “Good morning to you, too.”
Logan: “No, really, I can see your butt.”
Me: “Logan, I am wearing flannel pj bottoms with a drawstring. And boy shorts. You can not see my bottom.”
Logan: “Oh. I guess that’s not your butt.”
Me: “What isn’t?”
Logan: “This skin.”
Me: “You mean my back? No it certainly isn’t. It’s flat and a bit high up to be anything else.”
Logan: “I guess I can’t see your butt after all.”

Me: “So how was school today, Logan?”
Logan: “Mom, I’m really not comfortable with you asking me that question.”

(He has to write “I will respect my teacher and my class” five times over the weekend for saying “Darn it!” when asked to do something by his first grade teacher. I’m going to Parent Hell for laughing like crazy when he told me.)

Logan: “I don’t speak French; I speak French toast! Waaah waaah waaah waaah!”
Daddy: (Looking at me) “Do you have a taser?”

“Can we go get some candy? Can we go get some candy NOW? I want candy. I know, MOMMY can stand here and look at the fish, and Daddy can go get me some candy!”
-- Dylan, fidgeting in front of the Outer Bay tank at the Monterey Bay Aquarium