Oil & Water

Two years apart in age but the exact same size, my kids get mistaken for twins a lot. Which would be cool because I like to think that twins actually like each other. However, the only common interest my children share is fighting with their sibling.

Cara, my dear Pookie, is 7 years old in life, but intellectually she's about 24. She informed me that her favorite singer is Lil Wayne, but because he frequents the b word, the h word, the f word and the g word (I did not ask her to clarify), she settles for Nicki Minaj and Ne-yo. She is a total boy. It's only recently that I have been able to negotiate her into a skirt. Before that she would cry crocodile tears and beg to wear pants because she "didn't want to sit like a lady". My darling daughter is a social butterfly, whose best friend calls my phone more than MY best friend calls my phone. My Pookie Doo is overly interested in food. She is the only child I have ever met who will cry, real tears, over food. She loves to argue, she knows everything, and thanks to older influences, boys are no longer "cute" because they're now "hot". Ugh.

Evan, the Brain, is 9 years old, and socially he's approaching 7. He still thinks girls have cooties, his lifelong goal is to become a professional gamer, and his sister is his arch nemesis. He is laid back and generally agreeable. He is an extreme brainiac, hence the nickname. He is the kid who will stop you mid-sentence to let you know that you've used a compound word. He likes to analyze the things people say and categorize them by facts versus opinions. On long trips in the car, he asks questions that he knows damn well I can't answer.

Mom? What do hippos eat?
Mom? Does God ever sleep?
Mom? Why is my poop brown, but I never ate anything brown?

Uh, I'm not sure, buddy. We'll have to google it when we get home.

Having polar opposite personalities hasn't done much for their relationship. World War 3 happens in pretty much the same sequential order, over the same predictable things on a very regular basis. It goes pretty much like this: Cara performs some obnoxious little sister act, loud enough for Evan to hear, but generally not loud enough for me to notice. This act includes, but is not limited to, calling him some derogatory name, sticking her tongue out at him, initiating a wet willie, kissing his cheek (the ULTIMATE no-no for him), crossing her eyes at him, blatantly ignoring him, singing the same Bieber lyric on repeat, booger picking/flicking in his direction, or purposely stretching her foot, arm or head onto his side of the backseat in the car. He shoots me a quick pre-pubescent, high pitched, "Moooo-ooooooom! Tell her to STOP!" I politely threaten her life, she promises to stop and then she distracts me with big innocent green eyes. Seconds pass, I think the situation is rectified, and the next thing I know he screams, she laughs, he screams in an even more angry tone, she mocks him, he tackles her and then starts throwing closed-fist body shots. She continues to laugh. I like to think there's a hint of normalcy to it...

As it turns out, my Pookie has the upper hand in just about all of their disagreements because, well, she's just more street smart than he is. Each night they rock, paper, scissors to see who has to get in the shower first. Every night Cara finagles her way into a 15th round (she wasn't ready, she wasn't paying attention, her nose itched, she had a cut on her thumb which hindered her ability to fully execute her scissors formation) until she ultimately wins and showers second. The best part is that Evan never argues. He just gets pissed and storms off into the bathroom.

I signed up for a long and happy life with these two opposing teams. For now, I'm just going to appreciate them as comedic relief. And just in case you were wondering...

Hippos are herbivores. Their diet consists of mainly grass and some water plants.

There is evidence in the bible that suggests God sleeps, but also the contrary. Theoretically, though, he isn't human like you or I, which means he shouldn't need to eat or sleep. He is just chilling in heaven taking care of holy bidness.

Per smellypoop.com, the color of poop itself comes from iron. Iron in hemoglobin in red blood cells gives blood its red color, and iron in the waste product bilirubin gives rise to its brown color.

So now you know. Thanks, Google!

Frienemies for life!

Homemade Haircuts

What identifying characteristic do Michael Phelps, Tina Fey, Justin Bieber and myself all have in common? Among many others, natural talent.

It was about three short weeks ago that I decided I'd make an amazing hair stylist. All I needed was a mannequin. Short on mannequins, I grabbed the next best thing - the Brain. At first he was all about it. My noble experimentee hopped up on the stool with his chest confidently pressed outward and a big smile on his face. It was around the time that I snapped the #4 guard onto the clippers that I noticed his smile fade away. He had a worried look on his face and he began to ask in-depth fact finding questions that very much matched his facial expression.

Have you done this before?
How close are you gonna get to my ears?
Do ears bleed when they get cut?
If you cut my ear off on accident, does that mean I'm deaf?
If I get deaf, I won't hear you tell me to get off the XBox or to go to bed. Can you just practice on Cara?

After some careful negotiations (30 extra minutes of video games, less work, more pay, and better benefits), I managed to get him to sit still long enough to finish. All bullshitting aside, the boy's hair was pretty slick. Both ears remained fully in tact. Winning! I will never pay Great Clips again...

So let's fast forward to lastnight, first day of school eve. Like any phenomenal mother would, I performed daily wrist exercises to prepare for a good 1.374 hours of labor intensive manual pencil sharpening. I packed up all 872 of those pencils, 42 sticks of glue, and enough paper towels, Ziplock baggies and Expo markers to stock both of their teachers' homes until at least the end of 2012. I pre-packed lunches, labeled NOTH on every surface, backpack and forehead I could find, and lastly - I contemplated haircut number two.

Confident in my ability, I chose to forego a trip to Great Clips. Having discovered this raw talent of mine, I decided that this year, mom can take credit for his fresh new cut. So I positioned my fourth-grade subject just where I needed him, I snapped on the #4 guard and I went to work. Twenty minutes later, we were on the brink of perfection. The boy looked good, I felt good, and WHAM. He turned his head into my hand and we now have what he refers to as the "hole in his hair".

In my defense, Michael Phelps doesn't speed swim in a jacuzzi with jets. I'm at a serious disadvantage, folks. We'll be stopping by Great Clips later this evening. Oopsies!

To Blog or Not to Blog?

I'm the queen of making last minute decisions to do something new with my life. Typically this involves abstaining from Diet Coke for the rest of eternity, or opting for bangs at one of my tri-annual haircuts - just the standard heavy stuff. The latest last minute ruling of her majesty? To start a blog, of course. So here I sit, bangs securely fastened and a Diet Coke in a close proximity. "Long live this blog! Long live this blog!"

Getting on to the important part... I have funny kids. And I mean REALLY funny kids. If you have kids, yours are probably pretty funny too. But as the presiding mother over the aforementioned children I must attest that mine are the funniest in the land.

Having my first child was an utter adventure. Every occurrence in my life post-baby has just been a subset of that adventure. Not sharing would be a crime, in a way. First, though, I'm legally bound to give a few disclosures.*

1. I participated in an honors Spanish class in high school, which means I'm qualified to throw a random word of espanol into my posts now and then. I can't help it that sometimes other languages make me feel spicy. Ole!
2. I'm an imperfect mother, with imperfect views, visions and experiences. You'll come across dysfunctional-ness. Just don't say I didn't warn you.
3. What I value most are the people in my life, with a special emphasis on my dear children. Coming soon:  I'll introduce you to each of them.
4. If we've learned nothing else from our favorite President & CEO, Christian Grey, it's that sex sells. Though most of my posts are about kids, it doesn't mean they're kid-friendly. And my ladylike vocab could give Andrew Dice Clay a run for his money.

If you're easily offended, this may not be the blog for you. That being said, if you're still interested, let's roll. ;)

*I'm actually not legally bound to a damn thing, but doesn't that make the blog sound super importante? (That's Spanish for important).