lies I tell my children

just like candy

Given that a decade passed by between kids I often feel a bit like a first time mom all over again with child numero dos.  I don't remember all of it from ten years ago, and if we're being honest its not like I knew what I was doing well enough to make actual decisions then.  Its a miracle Thing 1 isn't already in rehab.

So when I was nearing the end of the prison term that is pregnancy I joined Baby Center and added myself to a bunch of clubs so I could read and get advice as needed.  I have found on this one website, more than anywhere else, the most concrete of evidence that women are singularly the most cruel beings on the planet at times.  The moms on this site rip each other to shreds at times over things like formula feeding and onsies with stupid phrases on them.  I am not much of a Judgey McJudgerson myself, because I am pretty sure I am doing it all wrong by someone's standard anyway, so I don't dive into these blood baths or partake in assuming I know a dayum thing about how someone else parents (unless you let your kid sleep with knives, then I think you're nucking futs, you sicko).

But a while back the concept of lying to your kids came up on a post and it got me thinking about the lies I tell my children.  As I am not the type of mom featured in parenting magazines I will admit I have had some fun at the expense of the minds I mold ... no, you really are the only person with a butt crack and its because I dropped you ... but one of my best ones came to light fairly recently.

When Thing 1 was younger I, like all good mothers do, warned him of the dangers of accepting candy from strangers.  It was probably a Halloween related bit of wisdom but I never do anything halfsies, so I went fully monty and told him about the crazy Tylenol poisoner.  I believe that whole thing happened the year I was born or so, so I have been raised with the pain-in-the-ass-bottles but none of the fear and stuff people who really lived through it experienced.  But I sure milked it.  And after I was done telling this innocent little three year old about it (see, I told you I was a bad mom) I proceeded to tell him that the crazy Tylenol poisoner considered spiking candy at one point too.  In my infinitely selfless willingness to show motherly love I told Thing 1 that it was best that I act as his royal taster and insure that none of his food was poisoned.

I know, you think I am sick.  But think about the possibilities.  I got the first taste of anything good for years!  That trusting little goober would allow me to take a sip of his chocolate shake, a bite of his cookie, a taste of anything that was appealing to me because I had the foresight to know what kinds of things crazy Tylenol poisoners would poison. Interestingly enough it was all the things *I* like.

But the funniest part about this story isn't that I was evil enough to say it, do it, and milk it for years, but rather that at about 9 Thing 1 finally realized that his mother was devious enough to hatch such a plot.  I got nearly six years of it!

But really, the best news of all: I convinced him to not tell his little brother.  Here we go again! =)

MommyShorts made me do it

As a child, I admit, I was a bit of a girly-girl.  I loved dress up and anything pink.  I have moved far away from this as an adult but I will admit to a bit of pink-envy when I see little girl's clothes as a mom now.  I walk by the frilly-pink-sixteen-racks of dresses and hair bands that is the girl's section of most stores and glare a bit in envy of the moms who get to dress up their daughters while I retreat to the four racks of boys clothes and am busy calculating how many rocks my boys can fit into those cute little pockets and when a reptile will be brought home to me.

But an opportunity to play dress-up with my youngest (and least opinionated as a result) presented itself yesterday and I dove on it.  Not exactly the frills and flowery headbands I have dreamed about, but I am a flexible person after all.

If you don't follow MommyShorts, do.  Like start now.  Go ahead, just make sure you come back.  Cracks. Me. Up.  Love it.  Since discovering this blog I have wiled away my miserable prison sentence in Parent Pick-up reading entries from the past so I can catch up.  So when yesterday a request went out for anyone with a baby and a camera you knew I was down for it.

The end result can be seen here!  I can proudly claim both Popeye and Captain Morgan as my offspring.

And I learned a valuable lesson ... the threat I have made for a while now to my husband -- that I either get a frou-frou dog I can dress up, a daughter, OR I turn one of the boys into a cross dresser so I can buy me some pink shat -- I can make good on.  While the point was that neither outfit was very involved he was a pro with impressions   He owned the Cap'n pose so well I locked the alcohol up.  And the pipe?  Took him a second to get the hang of which end worked better in the mouth, but once he did he got pretty peeved at me when I tried to trade it out with a rattle.

Make sure you go to the MommyShorts entry to see the final images, but here are some out-takes that I will be submitting to the Mom of the Year contest.