Adventures in Reading

Not so long ago, I was reading a book that I got for Christmas. It's called Snømannen (The Snowman). I needed some help with a few unfamiliar words.

The conversation went something like this:

"What are brystvortene," I called into the other room, where Seven was doing whatever it was he was doing in the other room.
"Brystvortene? Those are nipples," he called back.
Hmmmm. So this character has no nipples. Bizarre.

A few minutes later. . .

"What's a smekken," I asked as Seven walked into the room.
"Oh, that means a zipper," Seven responded, while gesturing zipping his fly up and down for emphasis. I guess it's slang for the pants zipper.

Not so long after. . .

"What does pule mean?" I was pretty sure I knew from the context, but wanted to be sure.
"What are you reading?!"
"Porn," he joked.
Yeah, right. He wished.
"No, that book I wanted for Christmas," I said. As if I have time to sit around reading porn.
"Oh," he said. "Well, anyway, pule means fuck, as in fucking someone."
Aha! I DID get it from context!

No wonder I hadn't learned these words in my Norwegian class, and that's just the prologue! The possibilites for my vocabulary, if I can manage to finish this book, are endless!

Not that any of those words will come in handy in conversations with the in-laws.

Kids and Toilet Paper

I am pretty sure it is a law of mathematics.

C = 30tp

For every child in the house, toilet paper consumption goes up about 30 times.

I don't know how many times I've come into the bathroom to find a whole roll of toilet paper rolled onto the floor.

Sometimes, it's an extraordinary amount in the toilet, and considering the dimunitive nature of my children's bathroom parts, I'm pretty sure a wholly unnecessary amount.

I must be fair, however, and point out that the cause is, almost exclusively, the youngest of my two children.

Boys will be boys

When you are the parent of a son,

one who is obsessed with Spiderman and Star Wars,

one who shuns dolls and soft toys in the daytime,

one who will one day grow to be a man. . .

there is something incredibly sweet about coming in to do the last tuck-in for the night and finding him curled up with a stuffed elephant.

I bought that elephant when I was about eight months pregnant. The reality of the fact that I was about to be mother of a little boy was sinking in. I didn't have a "lovey" type item for the baby, and this one was so soft. . .and blue. It's one of those that when you pull the tail in the back, classical music plays. I'm not sure why I can remember buying this elephant so clearly (Sears in the Santa Maria mall, must have been June). In many ways, I guess it was the first gift I bought for him. Clothes, crib, diapers, blankets -- those are things baby needs. A stuffed blue elephant -- I bought that just because I wanted the little boy I was carrying to have it.

I remember many a sleepless night with Nicky, laying in bed with him, pulling the little tail, desperately hoping the music would soothe him to sleep. It worked. . .once, maybe twice. Most times it didn't, because the music only lasts 10 seconds. Pulling the tail a hundred times a night was soothing for no one.

Not so long ago, he saw me packing it away. I have a small plastic box for both children with a few firsts -- the outfit they wore home from the hospital and a few other small soft things. When I was packing the elephant into the box, I told him how we used to lay together and listen to the music. (I left out the part about Mommy being beside herself, stressed and near tears, with a baby that wouldn't sleep through the night).

He didn't want me to pack it up, and that night I found him curled up with it as he slept.

Speaking of which. . .

And so the whole, "Better you than me" equality speech was meant to segue into the following story. And then I never actually segued. . .and poof! There went another month!

I was actually waiting to download photos for this story. . .Blah, blah.

Sooooooooooooooooooo, anyhoo. . .

I was gone for an hour and a half. When I left all seemed relatively calm in the house.

When I got home, I was greeted by the sight of this. . .

(Insert picture of Laney with white, mooshy stuff in bangs and covered in greasy substance)

I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing when Laney announced calmly, "Nicky put gum in my hair."

"What?" (You know, getting up in years. Hearing can play tricks on ya.)

"Nicky put gum in my hair," she said again. (No tricks)

Nicky was sitting in the living room. As I walked past him toward the kitchen, he studiously looked the other way.

Seven was in the kitchen making a snack for the kids, trying very hard to appear calm. And failing. He was hunched over the counter making the kids a sandwich, shoulders tensed.

When he looked up, his eyes had the look of a wild animal caught in a trap. Although he said little, the eyes are the window to the soul, and what I saw flashing behind them was, "PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME! PLEASE!! I JUST WANT TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

I pieced together what happened, and apparently it was this:

Nicky and Laney were chewing gum when I left. And what idiot gave them gum, you wonder? Mom, the one who just left. Shortly two seconds after I left the scene, Laney decided it would be fun to try and stick her gum in Nicky's shirt. He wasn't having any of that. He'd show her! The best way to do this was by smashing his own gum straight into her forehead. And hair.

Seven heard the commotion, came in to see that Laney had a wad of gum right in the middle of her bangs. Not knowing what to do, he checked the Internet. He was actually very sweet in trying to save her hair.

The Internet said to put cooking oil in the hair and gum, let the gum soften, then comb it out. Seven decided this meant bathe the front of Laney's head in cooking oil. I think he was a tad frustrated by the whole situation, really. Men! Such lightweights when it comes to this sort of thing.

When the gum softened, Seven tried to comb it out. One can't get get a comb through Laney's hair in the best of times. This was not the best of times. Laney began to shriek and twist, then ran away, leaving Seven shaken and tired.

He decided to wait until I came home, an hour later, thinking I would have more success.

By the time I got home, the gum had hardened into a little lump in the center of her very greasy hair. I made a superficial attempt at combing it out.

As. If.

So I just did what hubby should have just done in the first place, bless his heart, and cut it out. I also cut out a tangle while I was there.

Where the hell have YOU been?!?!?!

You know, the usual.

It started with a case of writer's block in December. I decided to take a short break and wait for the kids to do something exciting. Really, what IS the point of having kids if they provide you with nothin', NOTHIN' for the blog??! Hmph.

Writer's block became. . .blah, excuses, excuses, more excuses, blah. " Christmas?! Is it Christmas, already?! It came so fast." Blah, blah. "Then I was a sick wif a cold." Sniff, sniff, blah. "You have no idea! It was so dark in January. I was so tired all of the time!" Blah, blah, blah. "I was to start again after the New Year." Blah, blah. "Okay, after the Chinese New Year." Blah. "I really should do stuff around the house instead of blogging." Blah, blah, blah.

"What?! Is it really March already?!?!"

And that, people, is how a quarter of the year just flies by and you barely register it.