97 posts tagged “dash”

Snowy House

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day did indeed happen in Vermont for our family!  We are so happy to be here.  Here's how we finally arrived:

The day before Christmas Eve, we left California at 6... no, make that 8:40 pm, for Houston.  Instead of our planned six hours of sleep, we got three.  We would've gotten half an hour more, but the convenient little tram that runs from the Houston airport to the in-airport hotel doesn't run between 2-5 am -- meaning that we had to walk a quarter of a mile with drop-dead tired kids and too much stuff (e.g., a car seat) in tow at 2:30 am when we arrived.  Hey, Houston Airport Marriott?  Bite me.

We woke up at 6 am on Christmas Eve to catch a blessedly on-time flight to Newark, where my father-in-law picked us up to drive us to Hartford, the nearest spot that would allow a one-way car rental.  Then, the real adventure began!  (As if it wasn't enough to have a flight cancelled, twice rescheduled, late, and almost no sleep!)  It took nearly seven hours to drive to Hartford Airport -- what should usually be a three-hour drive.  We had to stop for groceries en route, as all stores seemed to close at 6 pm on Christmas Eve; so it looked as though we'd be eating Barilla pasta for Christmas dinner -- that is, the family would be eating that as I ate a Thai soup, since the store we stopped at had no gluten-free pasta.  Hey, Big Y in Newtown?  You can bite me, too.

At Hartford's airport, we picked up our one-way rental car to Vermont.  Blessedly, that trip -- though rainy and icy still -- was uneventful and timely.  Singing Christmas songs the last hour to keep each other awake, we pulled into our driveway just past 10 pm.  The Guv hauled out the artificial tree, and Petunia decorated it while I hung stockings and dusted a bit as the Guv changed the water filter and vacuumed (a necessary thing because of Petunia's dust allergy).  I went to bed exhausted and dizzy, but Santa had come, and we slept until past 8 on Christmas morning.

The kids awakened to find that Santa -- via several large, checked pieces of luggage that surprisingly arrived with us -- brought Petunia the coveted, soon-to-be-retired Samantha American Girl doll, and a Buzz Lightyear and army guys for Dash, among other things.  Fait accompli.

Thanks to some Jewish friends posts on Facebook and Twitter, it occurred to me that I might find better food options that Thai ramen for Christmas dinner; they were all (and I pretty much mean all -- is this a tradition I didn't know about?) ordering Chinese food on Christmas day.  It occurred to me that we could search for Asian food, then the Guv remembered that there was a Japanese steakhouse nearby.  And voila, a new Rox and Roll family tradition was born: the Christmas Day Japanese Hibachi Dinner.  Entertaining, delicious, and not prepackaged.  We all loved it!

This morning, December 26, we started the day with a huge brunch at our very favorite localvore restaurant, The Farmers Diner -- "food from here."  The place has the best coffee in the entire universe, and every morsel of food is more delicious than any food I've ever had anywhere.  You could offer me Le Cirque, my once-favorite Olive's, anything -- and I'd trade it all for farm-fresh eggs, maple sausage, home fries and coffee at the Farmer's Diner anyday.  Finally, our vacation had begun!

We headed to LL Bean to gear up Dash for his first ski lesson, having learned that he way, way outgrew last year's snowsuit -- jumping from a 2T being too big last year to a 4T fitting well!  We bought Petunia some used boots and used poles (for a total of $39!) to go with the used skis we bought her last year -- and the kids hit the slopes. 

Petunia glowed as she strapped on her skis, and her last run down the hill with her rosy-pink cheeks is something I'll never forget -- just like I'll never forget Dash's raw athleticism shining through today as he mastered skiing, stopping, and even using his edges as he glided across the snow.  He didn't want to take his skis off!  We bribed the kids to dis-equip as darkness fell by bribing them with a couple of sledding runs. 

When our flight was cancelled, I started to question coming here for Christmas -- snow can really get in the way.  When our flight to Houston was delayed, I started talking about spending Christmas in Texas.  When I had just three hours of sleep, I talked of Christmas in Hawaii next year.  When we sat in the rain and traffic en route to Hartford with my ramen dinner in the trunk, I said "Never Again."

I take it back.

It was all worth it, because my kids -- especially my Dash, but Petunia too -- love it here so very much.  They both call this place "home" too.  And when they're so happy, it's easy to forget how tired I was.   Next year, we'll leave as soon as school lets out.  Next year, maybe we'll actually plan  to spend a night in Texas -- because the kids were so excited to see Texas that they even wore their cowboy hats on the plane to no avail!  Next year, we'll try to do it differently -- but even if we experience the same or more difficulty getting here, I'll know that in the end, it'll all work out alright.  Santa will come, the kids'll hit the slopes, and us parents will have a few minutes to sip hot cocoa from the warm ski lodge and marvel at how they've grown.  That's a Christmas present worth all of the trouble!

In the car leaving Fresh Choice for home:

Dash: "Mama, I want milk."

Mama: "Whoops!  Dash, I forgot to bring a milk sippy... We'll be home in a few minutes and get some then, okay?"

Dash: "Mama, I'm going to Doot Doot you."

***

In the car in front of Petunia's friend Zee's house, as Petunia and I delivered Zee's Christmas card and a little present:

Dash: "Daddy, I want to get out of the car."

The Guv: "No, Dash, you're not getting out; Mama and Petunia will be right back."

Dash: "Daddy, you're just getting ruder and ruder."

Yesterday morning, the Guv suggested that he take Petunia to see Madagascar 2 in the late afternoon.  The kids both attended a mid-day birthday party at Pump It Up -- a totally crazy but awesome venue for a party -- and we figured they'd both be worn out afterward.  They were!

I looked up the movie and saw that it was only an hour and a half long, so the wheels started churning... Dash loves movies.  Maybe, just maybe, we could all go... of course, we didn't take Petunia to her first movie until after she was 4, and she was the well-behaved one!  But if I stocked enough M&Ms and offered the reward of a Fresh Choice dinner afterward for good behavior -- maybe a trip to the Barnes & Noble too -- then I thought he could do it.

We bravely forged ahead, to the most immense and gorgeous movie theater I've ever seen.

Tickets for family of 4: $35.

Snacks for family of 4: $20.

Sitting through a movie in which Dash's behavior exceeded our expectations*: Priceless.

*Except when any of the characters said, "Butt."  He had a repeat that, loudly and with raucous laughter, every time.  Funny, I never noticed how often the word "butt" comes up in a G-movie before...

While his grandmother and aunt were visiting, Dash informed Grammy that "Mama bought me at a yard sale for seventeen dollars."   We all had a laugh over this one, especially because the only thing in my house that's ever come from a yard sale is the pink flamingo in the back yard -- courtesy of Petunia and Grandpa hitting a yard sale right after we moved here.  The thing is just so ridiculously tacky that I leave it staked in the back yard.  I'm thinking of buying it a Santa hat and giving it a a name, even.

In any event, Dash thinking that babies come from yard sales was funny to me until last night, when we were sitting in a booth for some fine Mexican food.  Several times lately, Dash has asked for a sibling.  First, he wanted a "brudder."  Then he wanted another sister, as he's rather enamored of an almost-two year old that comes to his preschool with her big sister and bigger brother.  Last night, he asked -- deadpan -- "Mama, can we go to a yard sale and buy another baby?  For $17?  Because then you could have TWO baby 'brudders' -- and that would be totally, totally cool!" 

"It's not that simple, Dash," I replied.  "Babies take a long time to come into being.  Nine months, actually.  You can't just go to a yard sale and get a new one."

"Okay, we can go later," he replied.

My fear is that he's so smart, he'll remember nine months from now!  We'd better adopt the dog by then...

One of Dash's least endearing qualities is his sleep -- or, more like, the lack thereof.  Though Petunia would still nap today if she could, Dash gave up naps over the summertime.  At age 3, he apparently has better things to do with his time; after all, he might miss an opportunity to run really fast or squash a bug or some such thing if he slept too much!

Case in point, on the way home from San Francisco yesterday, around 4:30 pm, he took an hour-long nap.  Bedtime, usually 8 pm, was pushed back until around 8:30 pm... but by 10, he still wasn't asleep.  The Guv, who had been trying to put him to sleep, came into the room where I was working just after 10, saying, "Your turn!"

When I entered the bedroom, Dash was sitting straight up in the bed.  "Mama," he sighed with great exasperation, "Daddy is being rude about my sleeping!"  (This was especially funny, as Dash pronounces "rude" as "whooooed.")

"Dash, it's very dark outside," I replied.  "It's way past your bedtime.  It's time for you to sleep, right now."

"But I don't want Daddy to be in here anymore," Dash replied, "I amn't [am not] going to sleep if Daddy's being rude."

"Well, Daddy's gone, and I'm here now, so sleep, m'k?" I answered.

A few minutes pass, and Dash demands another sippy cup of soy milk.  He sucks on it for about twenty mintues before telling me that he's all done, rolling over, and falling asleep.

The story is cute, but the problem is far from it... We need to take steps to get Dash to sleep on his own, all night, without us and without his milk.  It's much easier to put up with things as they are -- and much harder to fix them.  So, as soon as visiting Grammy and TiTi (his aunt) leave, we'll start at square one again with refusing to give him milk in the bed.  [Side note for the judgmental: giving Dash milk at night used to be a necessity when he was grossly underweight and required supplementation at night, and he's not that far out of the woods for us to curtail his milk consumption yet.  We can, however, alter the time frame -- and will.]  The remaining steps -- sleeping all night, then transitioning (again) to his own bed, will be hard.  Those will happen after we visit Vermont for Christmas.  They have too -- I'm just too tired to do it anymore.  So, wish us luck -- and wish that it's not all a "rude" experience!

I've spent the past few days trolling Etsy for a new bag -- a large purse/tote bag that's not quite a diaper bag but big enough to hold a preschooler's necessities along with mine.  My friend "P" is an Etsy addict, and now I see why -- there are about 49,000 of everything, and 80% of it is awesome and not findable in a traditional store.  I love supporting Indie merchants (so does P) -- so I've been glued to my laptop.  So glued, in fact, that this is what happened at 2 pm today when I heard Dash thumping around across the room from me and looked up:

Mama: Dash, why are you naked?

Dash: Because I am.

Mama: Dash, you cannot be butt naked in the house, at least not until you're potty trained.  Put your pull-up back on.

Dash: Mama, I am.  I am putting a clean pull-up on, and I am changing into my pajamas.

(Insert brief moment of panic in which Mama thinks she may have been on the computer so long that night has actually fallen.  Phew, only 2 pm.)

Mama: Why are you changing into your pajamas?

Dash: Because I feel like wearing my pajamas.

Mama: Okay then.  (And I watch while he dresses himself fully and correctly for perhaps the first time ever.)  All better now?

Dash: Now I need my bedtime snack.  An Almond Joy, please.

Mama: Dude, it's not actually bedtime.

Dash: Yes it is.  I have my pajamas on.

Mama: So let me get this straight... if I give you an Almond Joy, you'll go to bed?

Dash, laughing: No, Mama, if you give me an Almond Joy, I'll eat it!

Mama: And then you'll go to bed?

Dash: No, Mama, it's not my bedtime until later.

Mama: Then you don't need your bedtime snack, right?

Dash (blank stare...): I need my Almond Joy.  And milk.  And a movie.

And Mama caves, so that she can go back to Etsy...

Dash and I have been playing intensely all morning.  We've built with blocks, played doctor, attempted Wii Golf, made PlayDoh taquitos, read with My First Leap Pad, praticed writing his name... I'm pooped already, and it's only 10:30 am!  Dash just decided he'd like a cereal and TV break, which I obliged.  But first:

Dash: "Mama, I want some cerealealealealeal... and some movie?"

Mama: "I think you can have a little TV, sure."

Dash: "Mama, I love you, fool."

Mama: "I love you, too, but please don't call me fool.  Fool isn't a nice word.  You could say, Mama, I love you so much for giving me life, catering to my every need and whim, taking such good care of me..."

Dash: "How about: Mama, I love you, butt-butt?"

Mama, trying not to laugh: "Do you think butt-butt's nice?"

Dash, giggling: "No.  Okay, Mama, okay.  I LOVE YOU, NOW TURN ON THE TV!  PLEEEEEASE!"

And with that phrase, I realized how fine a line there is between boys and men... I'm fairly sure that the Guv has given me that same line about 93 times in the past.  Oh well... I guess it's better than "I love you butt-butt!"

Dash's potty training has all but disappeared since our move to California.  On the one hand, I could have been a more strict about it; on the other hand, he's been sick quite a lot, and I've had my hands full with that... As in, when he had toxic synovitis and couldn't walk, it didn't seem quite right to yell, "WAIT!  GO TO THE POTTY!"  I thought that preschool would help further potty training, but nope -- quite the opposite.  Few of the boys are in underpants.  So I don't have the "but your friends Bob, Larry and Archie are in underpants!" argument. 

I've been thinking it's time to restart the process, and then Dash furthered that thinking by spending the last two days taunting me with his pull-ups and diapers -- purposefully pulling them aside and wetting his pants, then removing it all and screaming at me to get him clean, dry clothes -- RIGHT NOW!  So, Dash is going to start using the potty or else Mama's head's going to explode. 

Today, I watched as he snuck out of the room.  Dash has to conduct his business in private and, if intercepted, just won't go.  This time, I intercepted him and took him to my bathroom, in which one of his potties conveniently waited for him.  I pulled down his pull-up and said, "Dash, this is where you go to the potty.  Not in your pull-up; in the bathroom, on the potty. OK?" 

He grudgingly muttered, "Okay, Mama," and then demanded that I leave.

When he went, I made it out to be The Greatest Thing that Ever Happened in the History of the World.  And he ate it up.  (This is not necessarily good, since the kid expects escalation for each subsequent feat.)  I said, "Dash, guess what?  I'm going to give you an Almond Joy for using the potty!  A piece of candy!  Right now!"

"I don't want an Almond Joy, Mama," he said.  My jaw hit the floor.  He and Petunia have decided that the Almond Joy is the greatest candy ever invented, and they have culled almost all of them out of our 150-piece Halloween candy bag.  I thought he'd be amazed that I found one at all -- but no, he had bigger plans.

"Mama, I want something else," he stated plainly, "I want a cannon to blast the monsters out of my room.  The cannon requires adult supervision, and I am an adult, so I can have it."

"You're not an adult, Dash, you're only 3," I said, "So no cannon today.  But an Almond Joy...!"

"I'M NOT 3!  I'M 7!" he replied, angered.  He wants to be exactly like his sister, who just turned 8 (so he's still thinking she's 7). 

"Even if you're 7, which you are not, you are not an adult," I replied.  "Mama and Daddy are adults.  Kids are not adults."

"But I went potty," Dash countered.  "Adults go potty."

And there, he had me.  No adult, no cannon, no potty.  So I did what the best mothers do in these situations: I acknowledged that I was outmatched, and I caved like a sissie.  "Okay, Dash, fine.  Where is this monster-blasting cannon?"

"You have to get it from the Army!" he announced.

"Dash, I can't buy a cannon from the Army," I answered.  "You have to be an Army guy to buy Army cannons.  I'm not an Army guy, and neither is Daddy."

"Call PK," he said, "He's an Army guy.  He can get me a cannon.  I need a cannon, Mama, to blast the monsters."

"Okay, Dash, I'll get right on that, I answered," noting his distraction as I snuck Bill Nye the Science Guy into the DVD player.  If chocolate won't work, movies usually will... "And meanwhile, son, here's an Almond Joy."  He ate every delicious bite.  Now, let's just see if he'll go potty again when he realizes that not even PK can score us a real cannon...

When I say that we've looked high, low, and everywhere in between for a Bob the Builder Halloween costume, I really mean it.  We've been looking for a month, and there is nary a Bob to be found.  Considering that "Hit Entertainment" seems to be spewing out Bob videos at a rate of one per month, still, I wonder, WTF?  From what I hear, mine is far from the only disappointed little guy out there.  The stores' responses are always: We have "Handy Manny."  Well, my kid doesn't even know who Handy Manny is.  We don't really watch TV anymore.  (Mama got sick of the "I want I want I want I want" that seemed to accompany each TV advertisement.)  We watch videos.  Bob the Builder videos.  We own ten.  We need a Bob costume, yesterday.

I could order the costume on-line, but they're nearly $50 and wouldn't get here in time for his preschool's fall carnival on Sunday.  They also vary widely in size, and he's almost 4 but little -- so what size do I order?  Thinking on my feet, I realized that we have a Bob helmet and toolbelt; maybe I could talk him into those things being the costume.  When I dressed him in overalls and a red shirt, Dash made the astute point that Bob's shirt is orange and red, and Bob's overalls are more blue.  I showed him how I could stick orange squares on his red shirt.  His response?  "That's not real." 

Hit Entertainment, this mom thinks you suck.  WHY did you have to make the character's shirt orange and red checked?  Do you think the kids would love him less if his shirt were solid orange?  red?  or a normal plaid?  By crafting Bob the way you did, you've backed us moms into a corner: quilt a shirt, or disappoint a kid.  I don't sew.  And my kid is not backing down.  Something's got to give, and it might be the Bob videos, which might suddenly disappear.  He likes Popular Mechanics for Kids more, anyway.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to get Dash to change his mind, something I don't like to do because of its near-impossibility.  He tried on an awesome policeman costume today.  It wasn't "real" either -- his complaint for that one being the sewn-on eight-pack abs.  If I every saw a policeman who looked that ripped through his shirt, I'd... well, I'd be in trouble with the Guv.  I thought maybe he could be what he calls "an Army guy," but I don't want him toting a gun and fake-killing people, and the two are inseparable to his three year-old mind.  He wants to be a fireman, maybe, but only in a red suit that's not plastic.

Back in my day, my grandma would sew my Halloween costume.  I remember being a bride, a Pilgrim, a clown... I don't remember these plasticized un-real costumes.  Petunia will be a witch this year, but not an old-school witch -- an American Idol-style "young lady you have to wear a leotard under that you can't bare your belly" kind of witch.  And then there's Dash.  I'm off to check another few stores for Bob, because I don't want him to go as Disappointed Kid, which is how this is all probably going to end.  Me, I'm thinking of going as Joe Sixpack.  Forgive me if the cans are empty; this Halloween has done me in!