Monday, May 31, 2010

The Great Ketchup Fiasco

My mother and I have the fantastical idea that we can raise a little gentleman that is self sufficient, speaks nicely, and uses proper table manners. A proved to us last night that we have our work cut out for us. 

The idea was for A to put the condiments on his own hamburger bun. Simple, right? Not for an overly dramatic five year old who has only recently escaped the dreaded clutches of daily nap time. Every night since we cut out nap time he's been Mr. Crabtastic by dinner time. Much to my joy. 

We set everything out on the table. Any condiment he could possibly want for his very first do-it-yourself hamburger was out there. A decided to start with mayonnaise. Good choice, right? Well the jar was a little low so he had a small spatula to dole out globs of the stuff and smear it on his bread. 

  A has very little problems with the mayo application. Even though there is more of it on his hands than the bread, he is happy with his handy work. Then I suggest he add mustard. 

The mustard went just as well as the mayo. Then we hit a small snag. I didn't stop to think of the freakish strength kids use to do simple things. Like, oh... rubbing two pieces of bread together to spread mustard on both pieces. 

He squished the poor defenseless bread within an inch, or rather centimeter of its life. About a quarter of the bottom bun said, "Forget this!" and ran for its life. 

Obviously this is cause for a bit of stress, right? Not in my eyes, but A was devastated. He's a perfectionist. If something does not go absolutely right the first time around its cause for an Epic Fit. 

Quickly I tried to cover up the mess by suggesting we add ketchup. A wailed that he couldn't repeat the squishing to spread the ketchup like he did the mustard. Smart kid, he knew the bun was, well... toast. (haha!)

I hand over the spatula, thinking he can't possibly do any more damage with it. Again, Auntie obviously wasn't thinking. A knocked another chunk of bun free and screamed. (My ears are still ringing)

By then my mother was standing in the door way trying not to laugh at my plight. This was my idea and she was letting me deal with it. Thanks mom. I love you too. 

Between the three of us we slap together the rest of the hamburger. A is now bawling and screaming that its ruined, that he can't possibly eat it because it isn't perfect. He gets up from the table three times before his stomach got the best of him and he plopped his butt down.

Mom and I are in stitches. We can hardly breathe, let alone serve ourselves dinner. It was the best dinner entertainment we'd seen in a while. All it cost us was our ear drums!


A did finally manage to eat dinner with us. Notice the trail of tears running down his little cheek? My little drama king got his act together to dress up his own hot dog this afternoon. I'm so proud!

Wash Your Wiener

I figured it would only be fitting to christen this blog by sharing the most embarrassing thing I've done to the kid. This week at least.

(Please note: I will not use A's full name on this blog. This is for his safety.)

A has an aversion to cleanliness. This is not a family trait as my mother and I are constantly fighting over who will get to use the one shower in the house. Its gotta be a boy thing, that is the only way to explain how he can roll around in the dirt and then refuse to take a bath.

The last couple of weeks have been stressful for me on a deeply personal level. That's the only excuse I can think of to explain how A managed to go without a bath three days in a row. As soon as I realized it I marched his whining behind into the bathroom and started the bath.

Once the kiddo realized he was going to get to play in the water he was perfectly fine. I let him splash, squeal, and play for a good ten minuets before reminding him he needed to actually use soap during bath time, and yes that means washing your hair too. 

A quick note about our house. Its old. From what I've been told we are nearing 100 years on the house. The bathroom has indeed been updated, but not so far as to put in a ventilation fan. The small windows stay cracked open, just enough to let steam out. It would work perfectly except for the fact that now the neighbors can hear everything happening in the bathroom.

A got his hair washed and rinsed with minimal fuss. He seemed giddy to be able to use his dolphin bath poof to scrub his body... up until it came time to wash his privates. 

"Wash your wiener, kiddo." I called across the room while looking for the puppy dog towel he wanted.

"But it hurts!" He squealed.

Ut oh... Sure enough his little thing was red. (Another note, his mother didn't give him the "snip". So we are blessed with extra cleaning issues downstairs.)

"Sorry, baby, but you need to wash your wiener."

It took about ten minuets of him whining and me yelling "Wash your wiener!" across the bathroom for him to finally clean it right. All the time I was hoping like hell that the neighbors weren't on that side of the house.

I couldn't be so lucky.

As I fished the child-prune out of the bath I heard them snickering and laughing in their kitchen. Yup, they'd heard and apparently sympathized. Sure, their boy is a father himself now, but you never forget the trials of raising a boy. 

Now every night I yell "Wash your wiener!" without worry. A giggles and does as I ask. He knows first hand what happens when you ignore such an important task during bath time.