The Birds and The Bees and The...Pre-K 3's??

From the moment I was told that I would be the mother of a boy, I started planning.  Parents of girls are always talking about raising a lady and it seemed imperative for me to raise a gentleman.  I was blessed to be married to a man whom not only had manners, even if they got left at the backdoor when he came home, but also knew how to treat a woman.  This became my task at hand. I would not only raise a gentleman that could have manners and know how to conduct himself (still a work in progress), but also one that knew how to treat a lady!

I have known since Carter was only a few months old that he held an interest in the opposite sex.  I jokingly laughed about when "the day would come" that I would have to deal with this affliction. When I would have to fend off the girls and rope in my son.  I then began to realize that I might be doing too good of a job at the romantic part when Carter wanted to make out with me.    He came home at the age of 2 with a girlfriend, and at 3 1/2, she's still his number one.  I have been told of his escapades with girls by their mothers.  Zoe, his long-term girlfriend, told her mother that she and Carter kiss at school.  When asked where, she explained "everywhere but the chairs. We fall on the floor when we kiss in the chairs." Just this week his other girlfriend (this one more recent in the picture) told her mother that Carter was her best friend and "he needed to come with them to Disneyworld this summer." I take all of these stories in with smiles and laughs, but inside think thoughts of locking this child up in his room until he's 33. I wonder where I went wrong; where romantic is bordering on sexual at 3 years old.

After the "incident" talk at school (see previous blog), he and I went on our weekly date.  This is usually on a night that Dain works late and I don't want to cook; therefore I reframe it as a date.  This week we went to Chick-fil-A for our dinner and he was having a blast playing on the play yard.  All of a sudden I look in and see two girls violently pulling on him with each one gripping an arm.  In a flash of "OH HELL NO!", I throw on my figurative Supermom cape and charge in to save my son from these two heathen of 6 year olds.  I rush in, flinging the door open, fully ready to discipline someone else's child as they all came down the slide.  I was ready. Carter would be crying. They would be evil. And I would save... no one. Like a popped balloon, my stance was deflated in an instant. My theoretical cape went from flapping in the wind like Lynda Carter, to sagging and faded.  Carter didn't need to be rescued. These girls (again, twice his age) were flirting with him!! His grin was probably as big as I've ever seen it.  I was greeted with, "What Momma?" as two giggly girls continued to pull and hang on him right in front of me, explaining that they were chasing him!

I shuffled back to my seat, and spent the rest of the "date" watching my Carter charm those tramps! They snuck under the platforms. They hung for extended periods in the tunnels. And me, I plotted. I plotted what I would have to do to contain this; this mojo that I did not like! This swag that made me sad and angry all at the same time. This little bad ass inside of him that I knew all too well. It's what I fell for in his daddy!

"We Had An Incident"

Incident is a kind word that means "nothing good." So when I picked Carter up from school today and was told by the daycare director "we had an incident today", I held my breath.  All I could think was "Damn it, Carter. What now?" Of course I would never say that out loud, but let's be honest, that's what we think every time the word "incident" appears.  I waited; ready for anything.  I was told ever so solemnly that Carter pulled his pants down in front of other students a few times this morning and "she had to have a talk with him." I was shocked! My Carter? Of all of the stunts he's pulled, being a voyeur hasn't been on the top of the list.  I assured her that I had not seen that kind of behavior at home, and that I agreed to the idea that "it's not acceptable behavior." As I bent down and began my "Momma talk" with Carter about what I envisioned as him pulling his shorts and underwear down to show his privates, I had an epiphany.  The embarrassment overwhelms me, but I DARE not show it.  Like a rush of wind (coming over a sewer plant) it hits me like a ton of bricks.  My child was not pulling his pants/underwear all the way down.....he was MOONING them!!

As I strapped him into his seat in the car, I composed myself.  I straightened my face; hardened my gaze; looked him dead in the eye.  And while trying to be serious, I asked the looming question.  "Carter, did you show your booty-butt (his language, not mine) at school today?" He grinned. He grinned so big that it turned straight into a chuckle and he said, "Yeah Momma and it was so funny!" How can I compete with this? What I wanted to do was completely opposite of what I knew I needed to do.  The image of Carter pulling down his pants just enough to show a little crack for a laugh was absolutely hilarious to me.  But, I conceded to the moment and did my best attempt at remaining serious.  As I began to explain that "showing people our booty butt is not nice", I am met with eyes of confusion and a grand "IT'S NOT?!?".  He knew I was lying.  He knew that this was considered funny in any other situation, and truly couldn't understand what I was saying.  So with a blank stare, as if to just play along, he shrugged his shoulders and mechanically stated "ok Momma".

If Women are from Mars, then Men must be from Uranus

I have always been aware of the dramatic differences between men and women.  They range from the most subtle of things to more dramatic, almost inconceivable, ways.  I often find myself looking at the opposite sex in total confusion and despair.  At the same time, if I had a dollar for how many times my husband has uttered, "HuH?!?" with the most puzzled look as if I were talking to him in Hebrew, we would be Oprah rich.  These differences have been the discussion of psychologists and behaviorist for years.  The idea of bridging the gap between the sexes for a better relationship and understanding have plagued our society.  I am a Marriage and Family Therapist. This is a concept that I believed and trusted in during my graduate studies. And I stand here today to tell you that it is all pure BULLSHIT!!

I am an only child. Growing up there were no references for what "boys were like." We have all heard the sweet nursery rhymes that tells us that girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice and boys, on the other hand, are snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.  This should have clued us all in to the truth!! Boys are slimy, sticky, dirty..... Now, don't get me wrong, I love my boy with all of my heart. I just struggle with how to relate to him; how to get him to understand me.  Never would I have thought that potty training would be best encouraged as "pee on the grass" training.  Nor did I ever expect to hear the words, "Momma, I just pooped on the concrete." Can you imagine my horror when I realized that my beautiful, sweet, long eye lashed son dropped trouser, squatted, and pinched off a loaf on our back patio like one of the dogs!! I find myself thinking "what went wrong" "what's the matter with him" "I can't do this anymore" on a regular basis.  I have no foundation for this! I am a girly girl.  I wear heels to Wal-Mart for goodness sake! But still I try.  I shop for him in what most would be deemed the "preppy" section.  I love the GAP outlets and I pick out outfits that coordinate from the undershirt to his tennis shoes.  And I fight. I fight daily. "Where's my Lightening McQueen shirt?" "Where's my airplane shirt?" "Where's my pirate shirt." "I don't like those shoes! Where are my Spiderman shoes?" All of these garments are cheap, and like cheap clothing do, they are frayed, worn, and ragged. 

It was not until this week that I decided that the battle was useless.  That boys will be boys and girls will be girls and that we shall NEVER understand one another.  While Carter was at the dentist's office, he announced (loudly I might add) that he "needed to poopoo." As Carter and Dain emerged from the bathroom rather quickly considering the stated task at hand, I asked (first mistake) if he "took care of business." In a proud moment, Dain explained that Carter announced, "Daddy, I'm gonna poopoo fast and hard; like a MAN!!" It was as if God reached down, gently touched my shoulder and in all of his Holiness and gentleness whispered in my ear, "Give it UP."

Demons be gone!

For years I have understood the power of medicine.  With just a single dose symptoms could subside, aches could disappear, hair could regrow, erectile dysfunction could, well, function.  What I did not understand was how a single dose could somehow remove the spirit of the child I once knew and replace it with something powerful, scary, and all together evil at times. What happened in our house over the weekend was absurdly out of control and bordered on needing an exorcism.

Carter was placed on a steroid over the weekend for a respiratory illness by his doctor.  His doctor is the most loving and kind man I have ever been to.  He makes me feel competent (even when it's in question), takes his time with ALL of my questions, and tells me what a good-looking child I have (and yes, I know he tells everyone this, but I don't care!!).  He knows us.  He cares about us.  I trust.....well, trusted him.  I believe that demons were placed in a bottle of Orapred, leading me to inadvertently give them to my son.  With one teaspoon on Saturday morning the adventure started and left a path of destruction including but not limited to the following:

1-Broken Frame
3-Doses spilled medicine (one of which he flung at his mouth from
                           dose cup approximately 1 foot from said target)
Every toy removed from room- including the ones that were tucked in storage in his closet.
1-Cracked foot stool (one week old from Target)
Numerous broken toys
Sat on Jack (our 10 year old pug with morbid obesity and arthritis whom we also believe to be going blind)
Ran over Maddie (our rescue dog that is probably plotting her return to shelter)
2-skid marks
    1- on the floor from making his bike slide around the corners at a high rate of speed
    1- in his underwear from running off the toilet without alerting anyone to clean him


I might not have been prepared for the weekend, but if there is anything that my grandfather has taught me (other than "doing your homework means your man won't stray", and "no one ever died of the red ass" and the ever famous "that went over like a turd in a punchbowl") is that fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, I'll get you!!  So tonight I will return home, bible in hand.....

I'll need something to slap the shit out of him with!!