Mama Needs a Cosmo

As a kid, I love LOVED going to the state fair. I was a food eating, ride riding, sweaty mess of a girl that dragged my mom through every inch of that fairgrounds.

Now, I’m a food eating, ride riding, sweaty HOT MESS of a mother, being dragged through every inch of the fairgrounds by her kids.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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Yes, I made them wear red shirts on purpose. Red hides ketchup quite nicely.

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"Mama! Do you see the baby goat? Oh my GOD! HE'S SOO SOFFFFT! MAMA! I'MMM PETTTTTING THE BABY GOOOOATT! DO YOU SEE ME? DO YOU?"

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Benny is riding the Mater Truck. But you can't really see Mater, because Benny was stage-directing the composition of this photo. "No mama. Closer! Get CLOSER. MAMA, I RIGHT HERRRE!!"

I’ve always wanted a little boy with long hair.

Growing up and all the way into my adult years, I’ve been a “rocker chick.” I liked my dudes to have longer hair than me. (Until I met the LOML, of course.)

And during those years, I envisioned having a little boy with super cool long hair and a leather jacket and a name like “Dominic” or “Thaddeus.”

I could not have been happier after having Jake — he actually CAME OUT OF THE WOMB WITH LONG HAIR. It was like the metal gods smiled down upon me and said, “Ye shall possess a first-born son with locks that Metallica themselves would be jealous of.”

But then the LOML intervened and Jake got his first haircut at 5 months old. Because the poor kid had hair so long that we had to pin it up “samurai style” to keep it out of his eyes and mouth. It’s been short ever since. And sometimes the LOML goes so far as to shave it all off at the beginning of summer, which irritates the crap out of me because it makes Jake look like “Vern” from Stand By Me.

Then along came Benny. WHO WAS BORN BALD.

It took him three years to get his trademark hair — the hair everyone likens to that of Dolly Madison.

The LOML has been threatening to get his hair cut since Christmas. Then in April, I decided that I thought I’d be ready to go through with it by Benny’s third birthday.

Which came and went with no scissors in sight. I thought I was home free.

Until this past weekend, when the LOML called me on my bet, loaded the car with my camera gear, and said, “Let’s go.”

There were a few moments before we even went in where I thought I might cry or vomit or grab Ben and make a run for it.

But I acquiesced, grabbed my rig, and started to shoot. It was the only thing that kept me from having an out of body experience.

Below is the before picture:

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Benny, ROCKING the Dolly Madison look and waiting patiently for his turn in the chair.

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The noise from the clippers drew Benny’s attention to his older brother. Who HATES getting his hair cut.

Benny looks on as his older brother is subjected to the clipper treatment.

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I probably should have promised him something cool, but all he got after he was done was a root beer sucker.

Seriously. Do I *REALLY* need a caption here?

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Five minutes later, Benny would get in the chair.

I love this image. He sat down in that chair as if we had said, "We'll buy you some ice cream if you sit still." Oh, wait . . .

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I have a photo of the “First Cut,” but I couldn’t bring myself to post it. Here’s what became of the first cut:

Remnants of the "First Cut."

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And finally, the “After” pictures:

This image makes Jake appear to be TWELVE YEARS OLD. Next week kids will start asking him to buy their beer.

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Here's the 'Zilla with his new 'do. His shoulder action reminds me of Schroeder from "Peanuts."

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He seems to think that, now that his hair is shorter, he can run faster. If I had made that argument before going in, the LOML probably would have kept his hair long.

Benny turned three in July.

And, poor little guy, he didn’t get a party or balloons or even a CAKE.

Because he’s the 2nd child. And second children get the shaft until they’re old enough to know better. And, not only that, but he’s ONLY THREE. All he cared about was that someone sang him the birthday song and gave him ice cream and a toy that made lots of noise.

It looks like a tender moment, but what you don't see here is Benny flinging the spoon at his brother 10 seconds later.

This is a Mother’s Day post about noise. Or lack thereof.

And if you’re a mom, you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.

Experienced mothers understand that there’s one noise that they never, EVER want to hear in their house (or even worse, SOMEONE ELSES” house). We call that noise “The Eerie Silence.”

It’s the silence that lasts a few minutes longer than it should. It’s the long, freaky silence that makes you pop your head up and tilt your ear and move your eyeballs around the room because you KNOW that there’s something going down and it can’t be good because it probably involves the dirty clothes basket and your toilet.

Yes, THAT kind of silence.

Busy, tired, and overworked moms love a moment’s peace when they can get it. But there’s a difference between what we know as “a moment’s peace” and “the eerie silence”: about 90 seconds.

A lot can happen in 90 seconds.

Walls can get drawn on. Jewelry can get broken. And even iPods can get flushed down the toilet. (I’ve experienced all three.)

This past Friday, however, Benny decided to stir it up a bit:

"Dude! Your mascara's on my toddler." "No! Your toddler's in my mascara!"

LOML: “What the hell is on his FACE?!”

ME: “Calm down. I think I know what happened. Don’t spook him . . . I need to get my camera first.”

Because only a mother with a blog would reach for her camera instead of a washcloth after discovering her toddler has been experimenting with mascara.

"I getting into mama's stuff."

It’s hard to see because I went all willy nilly in PhotoShop, but there’s mascara all over his blanket and hands . . .

"How'd I look mama? I look handsome?"

There’s also a big clump in his hair.

"Like this, mama?"

He’s concentrating so hard that there’s drool coming out of his mouth . . .

"I doing it, mama! I doing it!"

Here’s to having an “Eerie Silence”-free Mother’s Day . . .

When the LOML and I first bought our house, we were all young and in love and pregnant with Jake and most things worked but there were also things that needed fixing.

And instead of fixing the things that were broken, the LOML went on a destruction spree which totally ruined a few of the nice things and has turned our lot into something that renters wouldn’t even want to live in. Like the fact that we have no tree or plants or even a REAL LAWN out front. We have green weeds that are mowed to look like grass. And don’t get me started on the back yard – what was once a nice little place to hang out now has a gaping hole dug out “so that we can have pavers someday.” And whenever it rains a pool of water collects in the gaping hole so that our back yard can become the neighborhood breeding ground for mosquitoes and West Nile Virus. But I digress.

Because this little story is about a door knob. Or lack thereof.

A couple of weeks ago, Jake got stuck in the bathroom. And after employing various methods of trying to get the knob to unlock (bobby pins, small flat head screwdrivers, toy laser guns), the LOML decided to just take the doorknob off. Upon dismantling of the doorknob assembly, he noticed that it was actually not one whole doorknob set, but two different doorknobs (one for each side of the door) paired together to make one set. Seriously.

ANYWAY, a few days later, the LOML went to Home Depot and spared no expense in getting us an $8 replacement doorknob assembly. THIS IS IMPORTANT.

Fast forward to last Friday night, when I decided that I wanted to get out of the house for a while and go see a movie alone (we do that sometimes — it allows me to see “girl movies” and it allows the LOML to see “crappy movies” without one having to drag the other along). When I got back at around 10:30, the LOML was still up and quite chatty for someone who just spent three hours alone with my kids.

After I was done brushing my teeth and was climbing into bed, he said, “So, your sister got a pretty interesting phone call tonight.”

And I was all, “Oh SHIT. Who’s in the hospital now? Did someone die? Is everything okay?” because I just KNEW he was talking about Terry, and SHE’S the one who always gets the death/dying/family emergency calls first and WHY IS HE JUST NOW TELLING ME THIS??

And he said, “No, no, it’s not like that. Everything’s fine now.”

And I said, “NOW? Everything’s fine . . . NOW?”

And he was like, “Yeah, we had a little excitement here at the house . . .”

And I said, “WILL YOU JUST F-ING TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED?”

And he lowered his head, started to laugh, and said, “I locked myself in the bathroom.”

Here now, in his own words, is Troy’s recount of what happened:

“Okay, so I was in the bathroom installing the new doorknob and I had only got HALF of it done when Benny comes in and says ‘Bye Daddy! Have a good day!’ and I was all, ‘Okay, have a good day’ but I had my back turned and didn’t realize that as he was saying this he was shutting the door, then all of the sudden in the mirror I see the door shutting and I tried to stop it from shutting but he’s such a quick little shit that I didn’t get to it in time. Then when I tried to open the door it wouldn’t open so I called for Jake and asked him if Benny was okay and he was all, ‘Yeah, Dad, he’s in your room watching Kipper’ so I said to Jake ‘Daddy is stuck in the bathroom and I need your help’ and then it got really quiet. Then Jake said ‘Are you stuck on the toilet Dad and do you need some toilet paper?’ and I laughed and said, ‘No I can’t get OUT of the bathroom because the door won’t open.’ So then Jake asked ‘Whaddaya want ME to do?’ and I said ‘Hang on, let me see what I can do from in here.’ Then I took a screwdriver and I took apart what I could of that fricking cheap-ass doorknob that I paid $8 for – I should have known it would break because it was only $8 stupid bucks . . . stupid lock . . . anyway, I took it apart and then told Jake to pull on the doorknob gently and the other side fell out so I could see him through the hole in the door. Then I said, ‘Jake, go get Daddy’s wallet off the counter,’ and I swear to GOD that kid came back with a CREDIT CARD. How he knew I wanted to get a credit card out I DON’T KNOW, but he slid it through the hole and I tried to get the door to open with it but it didn’t work. Then I said, ‘Okay Champ, go get Daddy’s phone off the counter.’ And when he brought it back it wouldn’t fit through the hole so I had to try and guide him through the calling process and when he finally got the contacts list up I tried to put my finger through the hole to find your name but I couldn’t reach it and see it at the same time so I told Jake, ‘Okay, rub your thumb on the silver button until you see Mommy’s name,’ and he said ‘I don’t see Mommy in here’ because he was looking for the ‘M’s’ for ‘Mommy’ so I told him to hold up the phone so I could see it and it was all the way down at the bottom and I saw your sister’s name and I said ‘OKAY, PRESS THE GREEN PHONE BUTTON!!’ and he pressed the button, put the phone up to his ear AND WALKED AWAY. I could hear him talking on the phone like he was just talking to a friend so I had to yell, ‘JAKE!! TELL AUNTIE TERRY THAT I NEED HER TO CALL YOUR MOM!’ and then he said something into the phone but I couldn’t hear what he was saying so I freaked out and took the screwdriver and just started ramming it into things inside the hole and the door came open and then I said, ‘TELL HER NEVER MIND I GOT OUT OF THE BATHROOM.’ And then he said something into the phone again and then hung up. After that, I threw that piece of shit doorknob away and put the boys to bed.”

*SIGH*

Here, now, is my niece Kristen’s recount of what happened. Because when Jake called “Auntie Terry’s House,” Kristen was the one who answered the phone:

“So last night, the phone rang and I answered it (exciting right?) and I hear “Auntie Terry?? Call grandma!! My dad is locked in the bathroom!!!” I have NO CLUE who it was but it sounded urgent so I didn’t say anything about not being “Auntie Terry”. I kept asking “Who is this? Sweetie, calm down, what’s your name and I’ll call Grandma.” I never got a name but I heard “Never mind, just call Kathleen!” (I’m now assuming that it’s Jake on the phone and Uncle Troy was stuck in the bathroom.) So now I’m thinking I shouldn’t really call Grandma about this…and then I hear Uncle Troy say “It’s ok! I got out!” Phone call ended. It was quite the change of pace for my Tuesday night. I still really have no clue what happened, but you better get that blog up soon ‘cause I have to know Uncle Troy’s side of the story!!”

Here, now, is my sister Terry’s recount of what happened.

“When the phone rang I recognized the number so I told Kristen to answer it, and she got really quiet, and was SO CALM the whole time. I could hear her saying, ‘Okay sweetie . . . tell me your name’ and thought it was weird, but was SO AMAZED at how calm she was! After she got off the phone she said, ‘Uncle Troy locked himself in the bathroom but he’s okay now’ and we laughed about it, and I’ve been dying to hear the other side of the story so we could piece it all together.”

Seriously. It’s like my blog writes itself.

Oh! And by the way — do you want to know what he replaced that “cheap-ass eight dollar lock” with?

He replaced it with a NINE DOLLAR LOCK. I kid you not.