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The real Bob Dylan!

 Whooooo hoooo!  This past week has been the first time in while I have been paid in something other than snotty noses, urine on the bathroom floor, and hugs!  I actually did some design!  I have a new client who is really cool and I think we will make wonderful spaces together.  I got to shop with her money, and help her make rooms that she and her family will love—I can’t wait to make the next appointment.  Design pays wonderfully, if I could only make it more steady side work.  It might actually pay for the ongoing list of projects I have for my own home.  Who would have thought that 1600 square feet could actually offer up so many design stories?

Anyway, back to being mom…Let’s talk about the crazy thing my boys say (Including my big boy, Greg)

One time when Michael was little he overheard me hollering something across the house to his dad, and naturally, dad didn’t hear, or if he did, it didn’t stick.  Mikey looked at me and said, “Daddy doesn’t listen very well.”  I howled that this little tyke could draw such a spot on conclusion!  I just pulled that one out of the memory banks and used it again to remind Greg of what his son said, to which he told me, “Oh!  I’m such a horrible person!”  (His good old standby response for criticism.  What are we? Seventh grade girls?)

I have always talked to Michael like he is 30 because (like Mitchell on Modern Family and not Cam) I believe that this practice will build his vocabulary.  When he was maybe 2, he had this big plastic jar of blocks that a large red screw on lid with handle that looked like a pillbox or bellhop hat, so the natural response was to make him wear this haute couture—and then laugh and laugh at his jaunty look.  Jaunty became part of his vocab list quickly, and so the other day he put a teeny tiny Play Mobil figure’s cap on his head (it was about the size of a quarter), did a fancy little dance, and asked us how “jaunty” he looked.  Pretty jaunty, I must say!

Recently, Greg has really taken this thumb-sucking thing that Michael still does very personally.  Although I don’t really agree with his methods, he’s decided it’s best to scare the bejesus out of the kid by painting horrible pictures of the nasty stuff that is going to be applied to said thumb to aid the efforts of keeping it out of the mouth.  Poor Mikey—eyes wide and a little terrified said, “What kind of yucky stuff—like the red medicine I don’t like (Tylenol)?”  (Dad) “Way worse—that’s going to taste like candy compared to this stuff!”  (Michael misunderstanding) “Is is going to taste like chocolate candy?”  (Dad) “It’s not going to taste like candy at all—it’s going to be horrible and probably make you sick.” (Mike) “Will I throw up?”  (Dad) “Maybe…) This is our household’s version of S&M, sans the latex and whips—all psychological.  Stay tuned to see how this thriller plays out…

While I type this, I have “Bob Dylan” playing the harmonica, doing a kind of fun swaying dance move, and then stopping to clap for his own performance.  He sounds a little drunken and drawl-y, rather like he’s only 2 years old or something.  He’s also lost his poetic edge—just not terribly profound, anymore.  All I’ve really heard in the way of song lyrics lately is “Row, Row, Row your boat” and those are a bit intermittent.  Something like this: Wo, wo, wo huminuh BOAT, huminuhuminuh Tream! Merwy, Merwy, Merwy, Merwy, huminuhhuminuhhuminuh Ream.”  My brother wrote a chapter for a book about Bob Dylan recently, but I imagine there would be major editing if he just witnessed what I did—he’d probably be “Tangled up in Blues”…tee…hee…

As I finish writing this post, I am in Pierce’s room, in the dark while he hopefully falls asleep.  It’s not looking very good, though.  First of all he keeps asking me if I am using my “Nook” (which is usually the case), and after several inquiries and corrections that it is in fact my computer, he moves on to tell me he wants a shake.  Then milk.  Then I say “No!  Lie down and go to sleep.”  He responds with a resounding “MILK!”  Then he moves on to “Play, mommy.  Want to play—get down and play.”  I’m ignoring, and now there is just the chitter-chatter of a two-sided conversation he is having with himself—I think he may be surren—nope!  “Hi Mommy.  I want milk, mommy.  I want water mommy, I want water…pease?”  More sing-songy gibberish…more silence…(me holding my breath and crossing all of my appendages.)  Unfortunately, I am finding that the tape has been rewound and restarted! Arghhhhhh!

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