Archives for August 2014

Dental Cheerleading

Yesterday, you two were playing with each other in the morning when I went into my bathroom to brush my teeth. I’ve got an electric toothbrush that has a 2-minute timer built in, with 30-second intervals for each quadrant of the mouth. So Lucas, you came into my room just after I started and asked “When are you going to be done brushing your teeth?”

I replied “Ifm wilfm befrd dfme im foom ifmutes”  But since this thing vibrates with 3,000 strokes/minute, that’s about 50 per second, which means in no time flat I can almost completely cover a mirror with splatter marks.   So answering before turning it off was a bad choice.

Lucas, you replied “Umi, I can’t understand you!”

So I gave you the timer to stare at and that kept you occupied for another 30 seconds, wherein it awards me a “star” on the screen.  Then, my darling Anna, you come in and demand “UMI! YOU PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW AND PLAY WITH ME!”

I had to refrain from laughing more toothpaste all over the mirror, but then Lucas showed you the timer and says “Look, Anna, she still needs to get two more stars,” referring to the screen.

You both stare for another 20 seconds to see my third star awarded, then Anna, you become my personal dental cheerleader by dancing and chanting “Go Umi! Go Umi!” And of course, I’m smiling so large that I can get to every one of my teeth with ease.

I’ll clean the mirror after you two are in school.

Thank You For Your Curtessy

For the past few weeks, Lucas, you’ve picked up a rather odd (but appreciated) behavior.  You will be sitting on my lap, or right next to me, then instantly and without warning you will bolt up and run to the other side of the room, only to return a few moments later.  What was that?  I ask.

You then tell me that you did not want to fart on me, and so left you fart over there instead.  Awe…. how cute.  It’s a little odd in the moment, but endearing in the long run.

On the opposite side of the scale, when I was little, my brother and I had to share a bed in a hotel during family travels.  We took the bed covering and rolled it up like a big tube,  then put it down the middle of the bed as a divider.  My little brother, however, was full of gas.  His nickname was ‘stinker’, after all.  So while we were in bed, that little devil lifted up the boom in the middle, passed gas UNDER the boom and onto MY side of the bed, then rolled over and went back to bed with scarcely a giggle until 10 seconds later when he heard me starting to gag.

He was far too young to know anything about the Geneva conventions about gas warfare, but old enough to know full well what he was doing. It’s an experience that stuck with me ever since.  Not that I’m still holding onto anything, or that I’m incomplete about it.  No, no, not at all.  But I remember it as clear as the fog that filled the room.

I got him back when he was old enough to appreciate it.  But I dare not say how in writing.  He knows.


Anna, you have this double-kazoo in the shape of a trumpet.  You absolutely love blowing that thing and making this god-awful noise.  It’s not really in tune with anything, and you blow it with a killer set of lungs.

So this morning, after a bit of snugging, you decided that you wanted to blow your trumpet.  I told you not to, because Lucas was still asleep.  You asked if you could blow it after he was awake, and as I was still bleary-eyed myself, I said yes.
What ensued is that you got your trumpet, went into his room and hollered “LUCAS!!!  ARE YOU AWAKE?”  And when he got up frustrated and cranky, you blew your trumpet.  

While “technically,” you followed direction, I find it hard to believe that you failed to understand the real intent of my guidance.  You’re just too smart for that.  And as you get older, it’s apt to only get worse.