All Rileyed Up

Last night, the following conversation took place with The Boy:

Me: I’m going to the movies tonight.

The Boy: What are you going to see?

Me: Eclipse.

The Boy: Oh, I heard that wasn’t any good.

Me: Where did you hear that?

The Boy: Uh, I heard myself say it, just now?

**

Who needs research-based evidence?

I am back from the dead!!! With a post about religion no less.

We were invited to attend a local church service and obliged. It was nice. Very tight-knit community and the room was cozy. The music was less than thrillsville, but hey, they’re trying.

I stopped by the kids room to retrieve my young ones and the teacher said, “Oh! It’s already over! I was just about to give them a second snack.” She and I made chit chat for another few minutes and then we headed home.

In the car, I turned around for a moment and spotted Little No Limit, crying. We’re talking those huge crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks, lips turned in a big frown, sniffles. I immediately asked her what’s wrong, and she starts murmuring…

“Jesus… I want Jesus… Jesus.”

And immediately, my thoughts went to that church we’d just attended. What had they done??? Had they brainwashed her? Had they scared her? Had they put the fear of God into her — what?????

And Husband casts me a sideways glance and slowly says, “You want… Jesus?”

And she snorts and shouts, with all the indignation a 5-year-old can muster, “No! Not Jesus! Cheez-Its!”

Yes, Cheez-Its. The very snack the teacher was about to serve, had the service not come to such a quick end. She’s got her priorities, that one.

The Transformers cake, crafted painstakingly by yours truly, via fondant, courtesy of Little No Limit’s Gourmet Girl’s Easy Bake cake decorating set

The whole shebangabang, cupcakes, tableclothes, napkins & plates, ALL Transformers ALL the time!
(psst — the wine in the back of the photo? all mine…)

And the smile of thanks makes it all worth it

We go to Chili’s. We get a balloon. Little No Limit is overjoyed. As we walk to the car, she accidentally lets go. Oh, the tears. “My ballooooooooooonnnnn…” So long, balloon, and thanks for all the laughs.

We go to Chili’s. We get a balloon. We tie it to her! She names the balloon Bernie. We go to Target. The tie comes undone while we are walking around and the balloon is just too high to even jump up and get. I’d have to climb a shelf, and I just don’t think they’re sturdy enough for me to do that. Oh, the tears. “My ballooooooooooonnnnn…” echoes through the toy aisle. So long, balloon, and thanks for all the laughs.

We go to Chili’s. We get a balloon. We tie it to her, double knots! She names the balloon Bernie. We go to Target. She happily introduces “Bernie” to the toys in the toy aisle. One of the toys apparently doesn’t like Bernie. POP! Oh, the tears. “Beeeerrrrrnnnniiieeee…” So long, balloon, and thanks for all the laughs.

We go to Chili’s. We get a balloon. We tie it to her, double knots! We don’t go to Target! We go to OSH because I had promised the kids a new plant because their Venus Flytraps died. They chose cactus plants. Did I just admit to buying a cactus when she had a balloon? Yes, I did. I suppose I deserved what happened next… Oh, the tears. “The cactus killed my balloooooooonnnn…” So long, balloon, and thanks for all the laughs.

Why do I continue to get the balloon? It’s like Dubya said,

“Fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again.”

Husband and I took the kids to see Fantastic Mr. Fox and let’s just go ahead and get it out of the way: it was fantastic. It really was. I knew from the get-go I was going to love the movie, but Husband wasn’t as confident in the movie’s ability to deliver. I felt really triumphant when we left the theatre and he said it was one of the best movies he’d seen in a while. Admittedly, Fantastic Mr. Fox didn’t have much competition. The last three movies we went to the theatre for were movies you’d expect parents of a 5 and 6 year old to have seen: Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (absurd but I laughed), Planet 41 (I stayed at home while Husband took one for the team), and Where the Wild Things Are (the great sound and beautiful scenery were not enough to make up for watching the magic of a beautiful kids tale die a slow, slow death).

Why adults will like Fantastic Mr. Fox:

Deadpan humor. If you like humor where half the amusement comes from the fact that the lines were said with a straight face, then you will like Fantastic Mr. Fox. With Wes Anderson at the helm, George Clooney in the lead, and Owen Wilson, Jason Schwartzman, and Bill Murray in supporting roles, Fantastic Mr. Fox is a veritable smorgasbord of deadpan comedians. All I can say is, bandit hat.

Nostalgic. We all grew up watching Rankin Bass films from the wonderful Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer to the creepy one where Santa joins the immortals, and I continue to watch them every Christmas, and sometimes Halloween (Mad Monster Party, anyone?). For all the love I have for Pixar, stop action animation has its place. It’s time it made a comeback.

Timeless. You’ll be able to watch Fantastic Mr. Fox ten years from now and it will still be as funny then as it is now. Unlike the beginning half of Eddie Murphy’s Delirious, you won’t be saying to yourself, “Wow, you can tell this came out in the early 80s.”

Why kids will like it:

Exciting and new. This is likely the first time any of our kids will see a stop-action animated film on the big screen. How cool is that?
For love of the fur. They’re animals! What kids don’t like animals? And these animals are taking on the man! With laced blueberries, flaming pinecones, and a mini motorcycle for two! Huzzah!

A history of classics. Fantastic Mr. Fox was written by Roald Dahl, one of my favorite authors, the man whose dark imagination brought us Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, and Matilda. Is the movie different from the book? Sure. But it is a reasonable adaptation? Yes. And since this movie is based on a book, now you have another reason to entice your kids to go to the library and read something new. They can read this book and go on to read the rest of Roald Dahl’s works.

So there you have it. My completely subjective, give-it-all-the-love-I-have review of Fantastic Mr. Fox. Go see it. And enjoy. And if you don’t like, sorry about your sense of humor.

Yesterday, The Boy was off his feet most of the day because he pulled his quadricep running down a hill too fast in his cowboy boots. That’s something for you to know as the rest of the post continues.

Today, Husband began installation of a new floor. In an effort to make the install go as easily as possible, I took the kids into town. I brought my computer and homework and figured we would go to the library. It was promising to be a fun and relaxing trip to the library until we learned that it was closed. About then, Little No Limit broke into a spontaneous nosebleed and became concerned she was going to die (it didn’t help that The Boy told her if she lost all her blood she would die – way to go on reading those books about the human body to him). I tried a coffee shop next. Also closed. I recalled hearing about another coffee shop with WiFi. I found it! Beautiful! Alas, my computer wouldn’t connect to their WiFi. Problems with the access key. Coffee4u? Apparently not.

When leaving the second coffee shop, some old man harassed my son (“What’s a big boy like you letting his mom carry him for?”) and I restrained myself from saying something rude (because he can’t f*cking walk, a**hole!) not only because the kids are into repeating me these days (not to mention drawing about my actions at school) but also because all my excess energy was going into lugging The Boy. He’s not exactly small anymore, you know?

We went shopping, walked outside a little. The heat was bad and the kids got hungry. In retrospect, I should have played my cards differently. I would not have gotten them the shots of wheat grass and pomegranate smoothies that I thought would be a cool healthy treat. Then Little No Limit busted out with another nosebleed (I know these multiple nosebleeds sound bad, but I was a maniac nosebleeder when I was her age, and look how normal I became) and I decided we better get out of the heat. Off we went to Trader Joe’s because it was nearby and I needed a few things from there.

Again, in retrospect, I might have played my cards differently.

Trader Joe’s was an easy experience until we got in line to buy our goods:
“Mmm,” Little No Limit says to me. “Mmmm.”
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you talking?”
She opens her mouth so that I can see that she has thrown up pomegranate smoothie in her mouth and is about to let it all out. I grab the only thing I have to catch it, my reusable Trader Joe’s bag… Did you know those things are watertight?

I had to throw that lovely, red, watertight bag away. I wanted to save it, but didn’t have the time to clean it out in the Trader Joe’s bathroom because I was concerned that Little No Limit could either throw up, burst into a nosebleed, or do both any second, and I wanted to get out of the store as quickly as possible. I also didn’t want to drive home with the throw-up bag in my car because it would just get all sticky and smelly and ew… no more thoughts on that… So I got her all cleaned up and advised the manager of the couple of droplets that hit the floor and then got back in line to buy my goods. At which point, The Boy covered his mouth in an attempt to prevent throw up from spewing everywhere. I rushed to the front of the line and asked the cashier for a bag “because my son is throwing up.” I may as well have spoken Greek.

While I realize it’s rude to burst through to the front of a grocery line and also not too common, I felt that time was of the essence. The cashier kind of stared at me, like she had no clue who this random woman was who’d wrecked the space-time continuum of the Trader Joe’s grocery line. Rather than be my usual self and engage in an overly wordy unnecessary conversation, I said “Look!” and pointed at The Boy, who promptly threw up on the floor… Did you know that pomegranate smoothie vomit is really red and kind of matches the Trader Joe’s red reusable bag?

A lot of things happened quickly after that:
*The cashier woman at that point handed me a bag which I managed to get back in time to catch the second onslaught of The Boy’s business, but it he’d already gotten a fair amount on himself and the floor.
*I returned to the manager and told him my kid had thrown up and pointed it out so that he realized I wasn’t repeating myself but actually informing him of a second throw up incident.
*I then returned to the bathroom carrying The Boy who couldn’t walk because of his pulled muscle which meant I got his vomit from his shirt all over my shirt as well.
*The Trader Joe’s bathroom was out of paper towels by this time because of a certain other vomiting experience and I cleaned up The Boy with toilet seat liners. Which I do NOT recommend.
*And then I went home.

It is hours later. Everyone is clean and asleep and feeling well and the Trader Joe’s experience is but an amusing memory. The only thing I have left to say is that my back hurts. HURTS. It’s been a long time since I carried a child around all day. And he never used to weigh 50 pounds.

***

On another note, don’t forget I have a giveaway on the video in my sidebar to the right. If you win, you get your choice of a brand new GE stainless steel appliance.

The Boy and Little No Limit participated in yet another birthday-party-with-pinata event. I told them we were going to a birthday party and the moment we arrived, The Boy said hello to the host mother and then followed jos greeting up with “Do you have a pinata?” Way to make me look good, son (because we all know that his behavior at a birthday party is ultimately about me).

So the pinata was good. It was a pony. It put up a strong fight:

It used to be vertical.

What, my legs? Only a flesh wound.

It reminds me of another party we attended where there was a Sponge Bob pinata that took two complete rounds of beatings without breaking a sweat (or tear, as the case may be) when the host father turned to me and muttered, “Sponge Bob’s putting up quite a fight — next time we’ll have to get Patrick.”

Hefty Hefty Hefty

Wimpy Wimpy Wimpy

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Oh, you haven’t lived until you’re making jokes that reference your kids’ television shows.

So, anyways… back to the pinata at hand. The pony put up a magnificent display of what the psychiatric world might call internalizing, but it finally let all that emotional candy go when the final hit landed — a hit that landed just so diagonally while coming at it from just so the right angle (dear dear, I feel a math word problem coming on… someone stop me before the train leaving one station 45 mph and the train leaving another at 55 mph collide).

As with all pinata experiences, the kids are never *fully* satisfied. They’re always looking for more candy. Honestly, they could have three grocery bags full of candy and still be rooting through the weeds, shrubs, and dirt with the hopes of finding additional and overlooked pieces of candy. In this party’s case, The Boy conducted his post-pinata surveillance, and after determining that the number of remaining candies was C minus 0, immediately took notice of Little No Limit’s bag. He examined it over a length of time, then very slyly smiled at Little No Limit with her Kindergarten mind, and said the following:

“Hey, want to play subtraction?”

***

In other news, I just met with his teacher for parent-teacher conferences. She mentioned he has the basics of addition and still needs help with subtraction.

Mmm hmmm.

Or perhaps just more incentive.

I picked up The Boy from school today where I learned that the events of last night had left quite an impact on him:

That’s me hitting a rabbit last night with my car.

Also, I like that he gave my car a spoiler. Boys…

P.S. Optional title for this post: Kill the wabbitt, kill the wabbitt!

It’s been a long day at school.

Dad is out of town.

It’s bedtime.

Yet she’s still trying to finish eating her late dinner.

Little No Limit is clearly reaching her breaking point [as are we all, my friend... as are we all] when it happens: the seat she is sitting in at the dinner table falls over. It is a bench, like, a picnic bench. That was the kind of seating I wanted at the dinner table. Don’t ask why. I just did. The bench fell over and while she started off sitting on top of the bench, she wound up being underneath the bench by the time it fell. How do children do that? Are they all as lithe as a friggin’ contortiontist/laser-security-decoder?

So Little No Limit wound up under the bench, at which she burst into tears. Huge, tired, loud tears.

As for me, I was tired. I was worn out from my day, not really in the mood to deal with Crying Child Def Con Four. But there is something about your own child’s cry that you cannot ignore. She may be five now, but when she makes that sound, I suddenly feel I ought to check my boobs lest they be lactating. Sorry if that was too gross an image — but seriously: I hear her cry that cry of “I can’t take this world no more!!!!!!” and I just want to reach out and pick her up and make all her problems go away.

So I pick her up.

She cries.

I wish that her problems would go away.

She still cries.

And without much thought to the next course of action, I start to sing.

The song is a made up song. I used to sing made up songs to Little No Limit all the time when she was a baby. The lyrics never changes. Repetitive of the phrase “baby girl” and then details creep in about her, like “she has a mommy who sings made up songs” and “she likes to wear pink.”

They kind of make me laugh, these lyrics, because the “baby girl” of my song is a quiet, calm girl whereas the real Little No Limit is a decisive, vocal, emotional, opinionated, and exuberant child who cries when she falls randomly off the dining room seating bench and hurts herself. But she’s still my baby girl and when I sing, her cries goes from loud to soft to none. And let’s face it, she’s proabably the only human in history, besides The Boy, who stops crying after hearing me sing (usually, my singing makes kids cry).

I’m sure if Simon saw me, he’d describe me as the “Worst singing mother halfway between San Francisco and LA” (I’ve always found it funny how he gives people geographical descriptions for their horridness, “worst in the world,” “worst in Miami”, “worst in the room”) So I’m glad I’m not singing for Simon. I’m singing for a much more important critic: someone whose very look in the eyes can swing my mood. Someone who after I cackle out my best-to-key performance I could manage, smiles at me and says, “Storytime?”

Yeah, I got a story for you, Little No Limit. It’s about a woman who never knew her singing voice. Until she found you.

***

And on the subject of our daughters, check out this babseball video my brother just sent me. A man, his daughter, and a foul ball at a Phillies game — HA! HA! Too cute.

I went to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Zing! Zang! Zoom! circus show over the summer. It’s the circus show that does a lot of magic. Some highlights: the elephants painted a watercolor that my sister-in-law and I debated recreating and claiming came directly from the elephant (it was a bunch of vertical lines, so recreating it was a strong possiblity). I also bought a bag of cotton candy that came with its own magician’s hat (a blue cone-shaped kind a la the Magician’s Apprentice). I somehow also wound up buying the kids light-up toys — a sword and wand for The Boy and Little No Limit respectively. And then there was the show itself — full of magic that left me and my sister-in-law scratching our heads wondering “How did they do that?”

But nothing — NOTHING — topped the start of the event.

For an hour before the show starts, the audience is invited to walk on the center floor, try on costumes, and take up-close pictures of and with circus performers.

Ahem.

DID SOMEONE SAY I COULD TRY ON THE CIRCUS COSTUMES?????

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…

Le chupacabra! Ole!

My turn, Mom!

Little Bo Peep goes wistful…

I’m the Magician’s Apprentice!

Um… Mom, why are you in this picture?

Just because! Ole!

***

To see upcoming show dates and buy tickets, visit the Ringling site here.

***

I wrote this review while participating in a blog campaign by Mom Central on behalf of Feld Entertainment. Mom Central sent me a gift card to thank me for taking the time to participate.