If I were Max, I'd punch that bossy, big-eared bitch

From Nick Jr.:

Max & Ruby is a half-hour animated comedy series based on the children's books by Rosemary Wells. Each episode centers on Max, a determined three-year-old bunny, and his big sister, Ruby, a smart, goal-oriented seven-year-old. The show offers an empowering message for children by showing Max and Ruby playing together and resolving their differences in ways that are respectful and supportive.

What really happens on the show is that Max is always minding his own business, trying to do some fun shit like play with his toy firetruck or dig up some worms, and his big sister comes along and kills his happiness. The kid is three years old and can't even get a word in because Ruby is always yapping at him. "Don't dig in the dirt, Max. I'm trying to have a tea party with my Bunny Scout friends." "Max, let's create a floral arrangement." "No, Max, you can't play in the bathtub because we need to bake a cake for Grandma's birthday."

Max should just punch that bitch in the face and shut her up, already.

I bet Ruby's from Scarsdale.

Those cartoon drawing lessons really paid off

In Moon's health class they were given an assignment to draw "mood puppets." Basically, they had to take brown paper bags and draw a puppet that reflected how they were feeling. I think this sounds like an idiotic, touchy-feely assignment. Apparently, so did my kid:



Either that, or he "feels" like a badass, smarmy, French, midget skateboarder. SK8-R-Die, dude.

How's this for getting rid of solicitors?

Doorbell rings. I go to the window and see the group of Jehovah's Witness at my door.
Peanut: Someone's here, Mom!
Me: I'm not answering the door.
Peanut: Why not? Who is it?
Me: Religious people.
Peanut goes to the window and turns the crank to open it.
Peanut: (yelling out window) WE'RE NOT LETTING YOU IN. (Closes window.) Mom, can I have a Devil Dog?
Me: Absolutely, son. Absolutely.

It all comes back to bodily functions

Me: What is this thing you made in school today?
Peanut: It's a collage of things that are yellow.
Me: It's beautiful. Hey, you know in this sunshine your hair looks very blonde.
Peanut: All golden and shiny?
Me: Yes. You could probably even say it's "yellow."
Peanut: Like pee?
Me: Yes, son. Your hair looks just like pee.

Vintage Blow Out

It's that time of year again. Everyone hauls out all the inventory they don't want to look at anymore and prices it cheap. I'm shooting for no less than 75 fixed price items, most under $14. And it's some sweet-ass stuff, not a bunch of polyester crap. I'm listing dresses (several plus size) from the 50's through 80's, jewels, handbags, and I'm finally going to deal with all that menswear that's been hanging on my racks for two years. My feet are swollen, my back hurts, and my office is all the way up on the third floor. So please, make this effort worth my time; snatch up the best bargains you'll find from Ages A Go Go on ebay.

And support my fellow vinties by searching VBO on ebay, May 22-29, 2008.

The depth of his grief

I was moved by the depth of his grief. He didn't actually realize that Fluffy was dead until his brother asked if she needed her medicine, but when I broke the news, he was stricken. He had to check all corners of the cage to make sure that his guinea pig was really gone, and then his poor little body crumpled on the couch. The kid was devastated. He sobbed for nearly half an hour, lamenting the loss of his beloved pet. I cried along with him, hating to see my son in pain, hoping he would be able to get over it someday.

Tonight, he broke a plastic cup. It was the biggest plastic cup we own. And it was red. His little body crumpled on the couch. He wiped his tears (and his snotty nose) on my shirt in between cries of, "I really miss that cup," and "now we can never get another one." He sobbed for nearly half an hour, lamenting the loss of his beloved big red plastic cup.

I was impressed by the depth of his grief.

RIP, Fluff.

It's gonna hurt

Me: So, are you excited that it's almost summer vacation?
Peanut: Yes.
Me: You know, when it gets to be summer vacation your new baby brother is going to be here.
Peanut: Really? He is?
Me: Yes. Is that exciting?
Peanut. Uh-huh. (Pause). You know, it's really going to hurt.
Me: What?
Peanut: It's going to hurt.
Me: What's going to hurt?
Peanut: When the baby comes out.
Me: How do you know?
Peanut: I just know.
Me: How.
Peanut: Trust me. It's going to hurt.

I'm not as tough as an eight year old

Last night was Moon-o's debut as starting pitcher. He's been practicing for weeks. Working on his form in the backyard, making sure his left foot steps backward just the right amount before stepping forward to launch the ball. His pitching is methodical. You can see the gears turning in his head at each and every step of the throw, from the wind-up all the way through to his finger pointing where he wants the ball to go. He's a thinker, my Moon. He may not have the killer instincts of a natural athlete, but if it's something that involves process and planning, he can learn the hell out of it.

And last night, all the practice paid off. Sort of.

Moon got to pitch. He walked the first batter, hit the second batter, and started to get flustered. One kid hit a pop fly and was out. The runner on first didn't tag up, and should have been called out, but wasn't. So, with one out and two runners on base and the beginnings of tears in his eyes, Moon proceeded to walk the entire team. Fortunately, the league only allows one time through the roster for each inning. His coach let him stay in and walk the entire roster.

Bottom of the first. Opposing team up 8-0, all walks. He was mad, he was frustrated, he threw his mitt, but the kid didn't cry. Not one single tear.

Which is more than I can say for his mother.

Laugh, Mom!

Peanut: Mom, look at that guy (pointing to cartoon character on juice box package), isn't he funny?
Me: Yeah. He's very funny.
Peanut: Laugh.
Me: He's not that funny.
Peanut: Laugh, Mom! Try to laugh.
Me: Why?
Peanut: Because I can't remember what your laugh sounds like.