"Mom, you broke my plan up in pieces..."

Well this week I really did it. I ruined Zaynes life. For real this time. Not like the time I cut the PBJ sandwich in half, or the time he told me "Mom, you broke my plan up in pieces. It's a big mess, and a REAL big problem. It's really all your fault Mom." Actually this plot against him began 5 years ago, at birth.

On Fridays, I let Zayne choose the radio stations while we are driving to our "outing" destination. This past Friday as we were zoo bound, he was asking me to switch stations until he heard a "boy singer." To my relief he vetoed Bruno Mars, but stopped me at Metallica. He then asked me, "What boy is singing this?" When I responded, it was as if it was the first time he'd heard the bands name. "That's a cool name", he said contemplatively as he began murmuring the name to himself a few times. Then he enlightened me with a stern seriousness on my obvious parental error with "Mom, I wish my name could be Metallica. I didn't want it to be Zayne."

I'm sorry son, for some reason, as much as I like Metallica, I thought it prudent to avoid labeling your little rock-n-roll soul, before it even had a chance to develop, with one of the worlds most widely recognized Heavy Metal bands name. I mean that, and a myriad of other reasons I may have wanted to shield you from the possible repercussions of naming you Metallica. I hope you can forgive me. Love, Mom.

"Mom, you regot (forgot)..."

Leave it to the one year old to take matters into his own hands when it comes to personal hygiene. I mean what's a boy to do, if no one else is going to look after his dental health. This week my two boys emerged from the bathroom, toothbrushes in mouth, scrubbing away. Our sweet little baby with his four budding front teeth had to hijack one of his brothers toothbrushes. Figuring out teeth brushing via big brother and watching the rest of us, since his mother so neglectfully forgot to "teach" him and provide him with his own toothbrush. I've since remidied the situation. In addition, Zayne brought home a dental hygiene packet from school this week. Lectured me on the drive home about not reminding him to brush &
floss TWICE daily. "Mom, you only told me in the morning, some nights you 'regot' (forgot) to remind me to brush my teeth." As we arrived home he promptly posted the pamphlet picturing hideous tooth decay on his bathroom mirror. No thanks to myself, the whole family is now using correct dental practices.

SmartHome

As much as I know there are endless technological advances available to ease & enhance my daily life; I also know the balance on my credit cards, the balance in my bank accounts, and the disparity between the two. The last couple weeks of advertising have exposed me to an ergonomic cordless vacuum (to which I'm a demographic shoe-in as a mom with a 1 year old), a stainless steel grapefruit sectioning tool, the 3-D printer, and new advancements in laser hair removal. Lets face it, the prospect of converting my house into a smart home is impractical & idealistic. For now the smart thing to do is save my pennies. I'll have to resort to the "primitive" adaptations in my outdated-by-the-minute-modern-conveniences. Wish list, updated. Added right below a new washer & dryer, new car, bunk-beds, and pool boy.

Grapefruit Epiphany

It's taken all of my 31 years, but I've finally figured out how to eat a grapefruit. I used to approach the task with civility. Cutting the fruit in half, then running a knife around the edges of each triangular section to "loosen" the fruit from the skin & rind. Followed by spooning out the fruit in neat wedges. It always seemed like an inordinate amount of work, and time consuming at that. It wasn't until recently that I figured out I was going about the consumption all wrong. The methodology previously described had to have been introduced in a culture where servants prepared and served the food. No one in their right mind would think, oh, why don't I complicate my breakfast routine to such an extent that it takes me 15 minutes to prepare it, just so I can eat it with a spoon. As I'm no aristocrat with a team of people waiting on me, I decided to take a more primitive-caveman approach. So what if I'm standing at the counter, leaning over the cutting board, slicing the grapefruit into wedge slices, fanning out the wedge, and then biting out the fleshy fruit, while juice runs down my chin. It shaved 10 minutes off from breakfast, and I'm eating citrus verses popping granola bars like they were M&M's.

Y+Top 40=Soccer Mom

It's official, I'm a "Soccer Mom". Last Thursday sealed the deal. After bringing Zayne to the Y to sign up for Spring soccer we were driving home. As I was surfing through some radio stations to avoid the NPR fund drive, Zayne piped up from the back, "Mom go back to the 'tonight, yeah baby' song!" You know you are a Mom, when you turn the dial back to "The Edge of Glory" by Lady Gaga. I turned it up so that he could belt out the chorus. I smiled widely as I watched my singer bob his head to the beat in the rear-view mirror. It wasn't until evening that I remembered why I avoid Top 40. Besides the obvious grating to my rock-n-roll soul. The repetitive-can't-get-it-out-of-our-heads cacophony of "There ain't no reason you and me should be alone tonight...." for the remainder of the afternoon, from both Zayne and myself, clinched it. Yet of course next time I hear "Mom, turn it back to...", I'll enthusiastically comply. What's a "Soccer Mom" without a Top 40 soundtrack?!