Remember These Guys?

Remember Super Mario Brothers? I'm not talking about Wii, or the modern version or anything like that, I'm talking about the original, classic, A-START-START to start where you died Super Mario Brothers. That's the only Mario Brothers I can really talk abut because we don't have a Wii. We never even got past the original Nintendo with the cartridges that you had to smack on your palm and blow on when the games got wonky.

Well, apparently, Mario is back. I have been informed of this through my son. The kids at Collin's school are obsessed with Mario. I'm pretty sure that they are obsessed with some sort of "new" Mario that is played on a newer system. However, he comes in action figures now that the kids are trading. Of course.

One of Collin's friends, "gave" Collin a Luigi last week. Collin, who doesn't make friends all that easily, took that Luigi as a sign that he loved him forever and Collin loved that Luigi like I've never seen him love anything. I think he might have loved that Luigi more than he loves me. That Luigi didn't leave his hot little hands for five straight days; not to go to the bathroom, not to take a bath, not to eat, not to sleep, never. Then, the unthinkable happened; his friend wanted it back. Of course he did. These are trading toys. Collin was devastated. He cried. And not the tantrum kind of crying, the sobbing, blubbering kind of crying because he's really hurt in his heart. I was broken for him.

Whatever the conversation was when his friend gave Luigi to Collin, it wasn't clear to either of them what "giving" meant. His mama is great and I knew if she knew what was happening, would step in and ensure that he would let Collin keep the Luigi but I didn't want his friend to learn that lesson at Collin's expense and have him angry at Collin over something silly. I wanted Collin to be able to have access to these darn things because they are clearly social currency for these boys in his class. So, off we went on Friday afternoon to Target to see if we could find a set of our own Mario action figures so we could not only replace Luke's Luigi but also so Collin could have his own. Of course Target didn't have them. But, Toys R Us did, and Collin was a happy camper.

He hasn't put them down since. He carries them around in a bucket, literally everywhere he goes. He keeps them outside his bedroom door when he goes to bed and beside the table when he eats. I don't think he's played with a single other thing since we got them. He's afraid to take them to school because he doesn't want to be pressured to trade them. That's fine by me. I don't think it's really an appropriate thing to be played with at school anyway, so I'm not about to encourage them at school. But, I think it's pretty funny to watch peer pressure start so young. And, as a parent it's so hard to say no to it when their faces light up when you say yes and you know you've helped them fit in. Man, I'm in trouble when he starts whining for a car when he's sixteen. I hope he gets uglier because if he stays this cute, we are going to have to start taking out loans.

Collin "Learned" to Ride His Bike

This is how Collin used to ride a bike.




As you can see pedaling was optional. I like to call it the Bam-Bam approach. Remember the Flinstones? How they just used their feet to propel vehicles? No matter how much we tried to convince him that he would be able to go faster using the pedals, he was convinced that this way was easier.

Well, he's been begging, pleading and all out whining that he wants a Toy Story scooter for his birthday. He has a Toy Story bike sitting in the garage gathering dust because he rides it as above. Ugh. I told him he needs to show me he's a big boy and can ride his bike before I think about getting him one (even though I know he can ride a scooter and already got him one...I'm a sucker).

So, we went out and practiced yesterday. He was thrilled to find out how fast he can go when he goes downhill and the wind pushes him forward. You don't even have to pedal!

Yep, I think we might be done practicing for a while. This morning he said, "Mommy, blood tastes yucky."



In my defense, he did finally get the knack of pedaling for about ten seconds before the disaster. And as horrible of a parent as I look for videoing his bloody disaster, I carried him two blocks home, plus his bike, and his monkey. I don't think I've ever felt so guilty in my life for not catching him. He was inches away from me when he went down. I felt like I failed him. I don't think I've ever given him such a big scoop of ice cream. I told him everyone falls when they learn to ride a bike and everyone gets ice cream when they do (secretly saying to myself, when every one's mother lets them down that is). Um, the kid had training wheels on, so it was a pretty miraculous fall too. He's definitely my child.

My Shame

I have a confession: I'm a grown woman who doesn't know how to purchase make-up. At all. Seriously.

I buy it only when I run out of whatever I last bought, and that usually means they have discontinued whatever it is I last bought because I wear so little, and so rarely, that it has been that long between purchases and I end up in a cold sweat in the drugstore aisle pondering what the hell to buy. Whipped foundation? Really? Am I supposed to eat it?

So, as I watched my foundation getting all oily and gucky over the last few days/weeks/months, I thought to myself, I'd get on the ball and start eyeballing the stuff early and maybe decide what to get ahead of time. I started perusing the aisle during my prescription wait time, and making notes in my phone about what color I thought I might be, etc. They were always OUT of whatever color I actually was.

I finally got online last night and ordered some stuff and now I just have to wait for it to come so I can look beautiful (or exactly the same way I always do because it will sit in my cupboard and I will be afraid to apply it as it will come in a different form than the last item I owned and thus get all gucky).

I hate make-up. Why don't they have a make-up class in junior high? They should sit us all down and instruct us in the finer arts of being a girl so we don't end up being 32 years old and not know how to operate a mascara wand, eyeliner and curling irons. Seriously. I feel like I've failed somewhere. Thank God I don't have a daughter.

Someone come over and teach me these things. Especially the eye stuff. I look like shit lately. I think it might help trick people into thinking I'm sleeping more than 4-5 hours a night so they stop asking me, "are you doing okay?" and "boy, it's getting rough on you, isn't it?" I know they are being nice, and it's nice that they are concerned, and it's genuinely nice that they care, but not when I know that they care because I look like crap. I'm well aware that I look like crap. You would too if you slept on your desk and woke up with your face smeared into the spiral part of your notebook. Is there a makeup trick to cover that?

My (Now) Big Boy

Ever since we let Collin in on the glory that is Star Wars (probably at too young an age, but oh well), he has been begging to ride the Star Wars ride at Disneyland. Alas, he's been too short. That happens when you were, perhaps, a little too little for Star Wars. We were given a brief reprieve from his begging when they closed it down for repairs a few months ago. However, the argument begs that all the "fun" stuff at Disneyland requires that you be, at minimum, 40-inches tall.

My friends, Collin is now 40 inches tall, as of our most recent trip. Oh, how we have been measuring him each and every time. He scurries over to the height sticks outside those rides every time and then skulks away ever-so-shy of the line. This time, this time, hooray! He makes it just by the hair on his chinny-chin-chin....or should I say on the top of his heady-head-head?

This was the hour-long wait for Space Mountain, his very first, real, serious, no-kidding, roller coaster. (I know I cut off the top of his head but the picture made me smile). No matter how much I prepared him for how fast it was going to go, I don't think I can put into words the look on his face when it stopped. I think he blinked more times in the first ten seconds than he has in his whole life, before he said, "that was really cool." Then he asked if it was a real rocket ship and wanted to go on it again immediately.

He decided however, that the Tower of Terror was not for him, as "saying goodbye to the real world," a-la Twilight Zone was a little too freaky for him. He said he wasn't scared, but that he didn't like it and would rather be in a rocket ship. Okay.

He did agree to stop growing now that he's tall enough for the Star Wars ride when it re-opens and that's fine by me because I took this picture of him sleeping last night because I always think he looks so weird when he sleeps and when I noticed his feet, I thought, my God, he looks like such a...BOY! Look at those things! They are boats! They aren't little baby chub things anymore. They are real, grown-up, people feet. What happened to him?

Oh well, I suppose he can get to 56 inches. That means he can ride everything. Then, that's IT! No more.

By the way, I had to pull the covers off to confirm that, indeed, my child was sleeping exactly the way that his mother does, diagonally across the entire bed, with one foot  pulled up to the other knee, the way that a flamingo stands. It's weird how much how children act like us in the strangest of ways. Yes, I'm a joy to sleep with. I take up the whole bed. Oh, and if you are wondering why his pillow is pulled halfway down his bed? It's because he says the pattern of the sheets needs to line up with the pattern on the pillowcase. I swear. As to why he's covered in sweat? Because he refuses to sleep without blankets, or pajamas, despite his inclination to have the equivalent body temperature at night to a roasting ham. And yes, those are still the pajamas that the hospital gave us the night he threw up all over the e.r. He thinks they are magic and insists on wearing them. All. the. time.

Everyone Needs Goals

This is what insult looks like. This is a sampling of a few of the books I used yesterday and the day before. It is not all of them.

I have literally been timing my breaks to fart around so I don't lose my mind. You know, to do things like look at strangers' pictures of their trip to exotic places like Cleveland, or how fat that girl from high school got; or online dream shopping for things that are completely inane, like pens, anything to pass the time. It has to be done.

Anyway, this is what adding insult to injury looks like. Can you spot the difference between these two pictures?

Too much information? Oh well. Now, I'm sick, tired and have cramps. Damn kids and their germs. Damn mother nature. Have I mentioned I'm tired and grumpy.

My end goal for the morning is to complete about three more hours of homework, shower and then take a nap before heading to class. See my goal. That bed hasn't been made in three days. It looks glorious to me despite how disgusting it looks to all of you. As hairy and awful as it seems, it looks like a slice of heaven to me. In fact, if Eddie stays still, I might just sleep on him. He's very snuggly.

Here, I feel better now knowing that I didn't have to listen to Justin Beiber a few dozen times while the kids practiced their dance at Austin's dance party. I'm still bummed about not being able to go, so I'm looking for the silver lining (and I just uploaded the pics so I needed an excuse to put one up). Goal #2: teach Collin how to zip up his fly better. Goal #3, teach all of our children that they should not be gangstas because they are just too white. Goal #4, come up with some sort of gangsta outreach slogan that gets out the message conveyed below--that their whole "thing" looks a lot like little self-hugs that are really just precious, so in all, hugs not gangs?

Wow, I'm really tired. Maybe I shouldn't revise. It's probably just crap anyway.

Hmmm...A...B...?

I generally consider my son to be a genius. Don't we all think our children will rule the world with their amazing wit, their compassion, their uncanny ability to amaze us?

Just this morning, Collin overheard a story on NPR about the Supreme Court's decision about the protesters at the military funerals and he picked up on the bit about how they were carrying signs that say, "God hates Fags"

He said, "Mommy, what are fags?

Umm....

In my pause, he said, "And why would He hate anyone....I mean we are all the same, right? Is this the God from Constance's story that He was the good guy in?"

I was blown away (aside from him ending his sentence in a preposition). In my constant struggle to make sure that I raise my boy to be considerate and respectful of other people's beliefs because ours are so different, I make a supreme effort to explain that we don't make a big deal about God to others, and here I was with a little boy who got the most important part of all; that yes, we are all the same. Over the weekend, I'd told him a condensed version of Chaucer's, "Man of Law's Tale" because it makes a great adventure story and God comes off pretty great in that story and I think it is important for him to understand that, despite us not necessarily believing in Him in our family; but, I digress.

I was walking around so proud of my genius son who understood compassion and humanity; and then, he came home today singing this new version of the alphabet song.

My son has known his letters for a long time now, although you wouldn't know it based on his rendition of whatever this is.


Untitled from Rachel McClain on Vimeo.

Here, have another go at it, Collin.


Untitled from Rachel McClain on Vimeo.

Nope, no better. I guess it goes to show that when you mix things up, you really F with a kid's head.

Collin Won't be a Dancer

Collin celebrated Austin's 5th birthday at a hip-hop dance party. I guess if you have a big sister who takes dance classes and does recitals, you are kind of interested in those things and, as Bryon and I discussed, are much more mellow. If you are an only child, like my son, you are an insane beast who would rather have a party on a spaceship in which all the guests were given real guns to shoot each other in the eye and then beat one another with their severed arms. Maybe it would be fun to have two children once in a while, if only for the peaceful party ideas. Collin is actually having a birthday party this year (his first one since his first birthday--I know, I'm cruel) but it will be at a paint-your-own-pottery place. I'm looking forward to placing bets on which child accidentally breaks their pottery piece while painting.

Anyway, I didn't get to go to the hip hop party because in no particular order, this is my homework list from the weekend:

-Read ALL of Edward II (in case you are wondering, it is a Renaissance play about a homosexual king who is killed by his nobles because they are mad that he tries to share the kingdom with his boyfriend)--this is about 65 pages of that itty bity print that you remember from college
-Read criticism of said play so I can write a paper about it--forty pages of really boring stuff
-Try to write said paper (still working on it)
-Translate Old English version of the Bible's, "Fall of Man" (Old English by the way, is HARD)
-Read and summarize two critical articles about two medieval pieces (both about 25-30 pages apiece)
-Read Chaucer's "Man of Law's Tale" in Middle English

I finished everything but the paper. It's due on Thursday and I'm still chugging away on it. I've got almost no clue what to write on because the article sucked. Maybe I could just say that. I feel like the woman just droned on for 45 pages and said nothing.

Alas, I feel like I should have gone to watch Collin do this.

I feel confident that my son will not become the next Patrick Swayze. He dances like I do. Plus, Patrick doesn't take hug breaks and have to be prodded (gently, and then aggressively) to get back out there and finish his dance. Although, his dancing is pretty adorable, no?

By the way, he now says that Justin Beiber is "cool." Thanks Jen. He's not. Ugh. When we were listening to my iPod this morning, he heard a Weezer song and said, "is that your Justin Beiber?" When I said, "no, Justin Beiber is icky," he got all angry and said, "I love him!"

Untitled from Rachel McClain on Vimeo.

I love school so much that I know I'm in the right field but I miss so much lately. I'm so busy that I forget to switch the laundry for days at a time, forget where I put my shoes and have to wear different ones, forget whether I brushed my teeth so have to go back and do it again. It's one crazy year. I just wish it were over sometimes!