Tale of a Red-Nosed, Well-But-Slightly-Overdressed Reindeer

Last Christmas, Nana's dear friend Miss June gave Chaos a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer toy.  You squeeze the ear on the toy and it sings "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer."  Not really, but I wish.  Just kidding Mom and Nana.  You, too, Mommom T.  Really, just kidding.  Stop returning my Christmas presents!
Me, being the Scrooge that you all love and tolerate, tends to gleefully pack up any and all Christmas crap paraphernalia the moment I can pry it out of Jason and the kids hands, congratulate myself on surviving the holidays and swear that I'm going to Vegas next year.  Because of my need to pack up everything even remotely Christmas-related, Bree had forgotten about Rudolph and was tearfully reunited with this wonderous toy recently.  Hand to God, on my honor, not making that up.  It's a shame soap operas are dying out because my Bree can over-act like nobody's business.

Unfortunately for Rudolph, the reunion involved a make-over and a new name.  Rufus.  Seriously.  Bree has taken to calling the poor toy Rufus and no one is going to make her believe otherwise.  And Bree really likes to accessorize poor Rufus.  I have taken to calling him/her "Rufus, the-cross-dressing, perhaps-a-transvestite, reindeer." 

Jason has a more "Toy Story"-esque theory.  He thinks that as soon as Bree falls asleep, Rufus disrobes, heads downstairs for a Guinness, lights up a cigar and spends the rest of the night cursing about Bree to all of the other toys in a gruff, husky, three-pack-a-day habit-y sort of voice.  And trust me, according to Jason, he/she is NOT saying very pleasant things about Bree.  And you all thought that Jason was the "good" parent.

xoxo
Deb

Annual October Odyssey

October is a strange month for me.  It marks the beginning of my favorite season of the year autumn.  I realize that the autumnal equinox falls at the end of September, but that month always seems like summer’s last gasp to me. Not truly autumn yet.  No, October is autumn.

October marks the timeframe of a few of my most enduring blessings; the births of my beautiful Bree and my Michael, and the years-worth of candy I send my kids out to beg for each Halloween.  But October also brings some of my deepest sorrows.  I miss you, Dad.  Every day.  Every moment.  And you, too, Aunt Jules.  My world seems a little… less… with you both gone.

I suspect it’s how much I miss them that causes me to fill each October to the brim.  Unfortunately, Jason, the kids and the rest of you tend to get sucked in and dragged along on the mad dash I make out of each and every one of the thirty-one days.

This October brought me and mine no less than FOUR birthday parties for Bree (thank you to all who attended the various festivities), a trip on the Wilmington & Western Railroad, my goofy entry into the world of competitive baking (my chocolate peanut-butter balls rock!  ‘Nuff said,) a couple of Halloween parties, a Halloween parade, a Walk-a-thon and probably a dozen more things that I’ve forgotten.  And my second attempt at putting a slideshow on this blog.  Only took me two weeks.  And I "lost" the captions for the photos in the slideshow.  Which is a shame.  'Cuz the captions are funny.  At least to me.  And really, that's what matters.




xoxo
Deb

My son is not normal

I'm sure none of you reading this are surprised. 
No, seriously, I knew that MY children would be a bit... different.  But I figured by adding Jason's genetics to the genepool, I'd be giving my progeny at least a shot at normalcy.

HA.

The point of all this?  I'm getting there.

About a month ago, one of Nick's bottom teeth became loose.  Just a little wiggly It became clear fairly quickly that as with all of the other milestone events, Nick was going to drag this process out as long as possible.  I honestly have no idea how the tooth was actually still in his mouth after about four weeks.  He'd sit there moving it all over his mouth with his tongue but the darn thing was still attached and not going anywhere.  At times it was like watching a little, tiny tooth-sized acrobat flipping around the boy's mouth.  Who doesn't want to watch that at the dinner table?

Then one morning we're sitting at the breakfast table.  I'm cuddling my coffee and Nick's plowing his way through a bowel of oatmeal.  Half way through his meal, I suddenly realize the quiet is being disturbed by an odd crunching noise.  Now, I'm not the world's best cook, but even my oatmeal isn't crunchy.  Insert "ewwww" here.  I had Nick spit his mouthful of oatmeal out and there was the tooth.

I told Nick that we'd clean it off, put it under his pillow and the next morning, the tooth fairy will have left him a surprise.

His response?  The kindergarten version of "Hell NO!"

My Nick wasn't sure he believed in the tooth fairy.  And if she DID exist, he didn't want her in his room.  She might mess up his legos.  His legos are currently scattered to the four corners of his room, with stray, random blocks ending up in places of our house that I'm not even sure he's even seen, let alone been there long enough to make a lego deposit.  How could she possibly mess them up any more that they already are?

I assured him that the tooth fairy wasn't interested in his legos.  She has plenty of her own.  He wasn't buying that but would concede that messing up his legos was an unlikely prospect.  So, could she come into his room if I got her to sign a waiver stating that all legos would remain untouched?  Nope.  She might mess up his GeoTown Train set up.  Or read all his books.  Or rearrange his stuffed animals.  Or wake him up.  Or try on his shoes. 

By bedtime I had given up.  The toothfairy would have to wait for Bree to start loosing teeth before she could visit the Tokarski homestead.  We put his tooth in a little "my first tooth box" thoughtfully provided by Nana's friend, Miss June, and called it a day.

As I was shutting his bedroom door that night, a soft little Nick voice called out "Even though she doesn't exist and can't come in my room, I still want the tooth fairy to leave me some money."

xoxo
Deb

Jersey Shore - Tokarski style

This first section isn't going to make much sense at first, but stay with me and you'll get it.

Several members of my extended family, from my mother's side, take exception with me calling my darling 'lil cherubs "Chaos" and "Mayhem."  To be clear, when I say "extended" I might as well write "extensive."  My mother's side of the family is composed of a bunch of Irish Catholics marrying a fair portion of the Italian Catholics located in South Philly.  They then took the "go forth and multiply" option in the Bible and ran with it.  A lot.  I've tried to give Jason an accurate count a couple of times but every time I come up with an exact number the phone rings with someone sharing news of another wedding or pregnancy, so I've given up on the idea of an accurate number.

With that in mind, this is a picture from my wedding of some of the folks that have an issue with me referring to my offspring as Chaos and Mayhem:

To be fair, this was outside of the Church.  They're good Catholic boys, of course they took their hats off while in God's house.  And the van behind them?  Yeah, that's how they got to and from the wedding.  Did I mention that the caterer had to make a liquor run during the reception so we wouldn't run out?

Anyway...

A couple of weeks ago my mother treated Jason, the kids and I to a week in Ocean City, New Jersey.  Mom rented a darling house that was about a block from the beach.  Jason came with us for the first part of the week and left Tuesday evening for work the next day.  And a Phillies game.  Priorities, dammit!

The kids were a bit "challenging" the morning after Jason left. Mom and I packed them up and took them to the beach.  An hour of whining and fighting ensued.  It was fun.  Me, continuing my run for "Mother of the Year" did what any responsible parent would do... I crammed their flip-flops back on them and took my sandy-covered, whining, sniveling children to the shops on the nearby boardwalk and bought them new toys as a bribe that would get them to behave for at least a half hour.

Bree chose a boat that Nick immediately commandeered.

No worries.  We dug a hole for Bree.

Nick chose a set of molded toys that you can use to make a dinosaur skeleton.  By the time we returned from the impromptu shopping trip, my mother's sister, Aunt Liz had arrived.  She and Nick immediately began creating dinosaur skeletons as far as the eye could see.

Courtesy of the new toys and Aunt Liz we had a wonderful day on the beach.  At the end of the day we began to pack up.  Mayhem then remembered that he was unhappy and decided to make packing up as challenging as possible.  For each toy that we would clean up and pack away, he would pull out two more.  We gave him two of the dinosaur bones to carry back and that settled him down for 3.8 seconds.  He then began screaming "I WANT ALL THE BONES!" Over and over and over.  As loudly as humanly possible.  Think of the siren on a firetruck and multiply.  By twenty.  My mother, Aunt Liz and Bree appeared to silently determine that they were not actually related to Nick or myself and began to industriously pack up everything and as a unit turned and left.  My darling, baby girl, Bree, who has never gotten anywhere first with her little three-year-old legs led the march off the beach with her grandmother and Aunt and away from Nick and myself.

Mayhem continued the screaming the entire way off of the beach, across the boardwalk, down the ramp to the street, and all the way back to the house.  Remember how I said it was only a block?  Didn't seem that short of a trip at that point.  People were pointing, staring and laughing.  In Jersey!  We were a spectacle in New Jersey!  Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a spectacle in New friggin' Jersey?

The next day?  Nick pulled his pants down and made the walk back to the house giggling with his pants around his ankles and his twig and berries flopping in the breeze.  Reminds me more and more of his Daddy every day.

Now, to wrap this all up... I don't think I have to justify referring to my children as "Chaos" and "Mayhem" to my mother's side of the family any longer. 

xoxo

Deb

Putting the Grrr in Girl

Yesterday was one of the days when Jason has work and rehearsal which means he leaves in the morning and doesn't return until after I've used bungee cords to strap the kids to their beds for the night.  Since I had the kids to myself I began frantically looking for something... anything... anyone... to entertain Chaos & Mayhem for the day so I could spend the day catching up on Bravo and A&E.

God Bless my Mother, the Brandywine Zoo and Zhanna, their newest resident, a Siberian Tiger.

No, I did not attempt to feed the kids or my Mother to the tiger. I couldn't get to the tiger. They had the tiger in a cage.  Possibly to protect her from horrible people who would try to feed their children or mother to a tiger.  Who would think of doing something like that? 

Last night the Brandywine Zoo ( http://www.brandywinezoo.org/ ) had a reception to welcome their newest family member, a three-year-old Siberian Tiger named Zhanna.  As Jason was busy, I called Mom, and in a moment of weakness, she agreed to go out in public with me and the kids.

A good time was had by all.  My mother is still speaking to me.  I got through the night without actually have to care for my children.  Nick got to see a lot of animals.  Bree got to... well... see for yourself.

xoxo Deb

Can't Make this $#!+ up....

Yeah, I'm slacking on blog entries.  I know.  I know.  In my defense, somehow neither child failed pre-school.  Which means neither child required summer school of some sort.  Which means I actually have to take care of them all day.  Every day.  And it's friggin' exhausting!  And strangely enough, neither child wants to veg out in front of the TV watching a "Real Housewives of New Jersey" marathon with me.  I KNOW!  What the hell?!?!?

However, in my eternal pursuit of trying to entertain my lil' cherubs, I encourage them to use their imaginations.  When I say that to them, it usually sounds something like; "For the love of all that is unholy, please go find something to do that doesn't involve screaming at each other or me!"

So... this is what they found:

Yup. That's them.  Wearing metal popcorn tins on their noggins.  The good news is that the tins were empty when Chaos & Mayhem decided to slap them on their heads.  And yes, they were doing their best impressions of two angry, hormonally imbalance male deer and were indeed trying to bash each other using their metal-popcorn-tin-covered skulls as weapons.

Y'all thought I was making this up on Facebook, didn't you?

See?

Oh stop it.  I made them cease and desist after a while.  Actually, Jason made them stop when he caught me telling them "Come on... let's make it a "best out of five"... winner gets a popsicle!"

Gonna be a long summer.
xoxo
Deb

Mother-of-the-Year Entry #4,826

I am a deeply stupid woman.  Just putting it out there, to ensure that you are clear on that one fact before reading further.

At some point during the fifteen or so years that it took us to potty-train Nick he decided that once he was "completely" potty-trained, he would receive a reward.  To this day, I have no idea how he came up with this concept, but as I'm completely comfortable with offering bribes to my children (and Jason) for Debbie-approved behavior, I agreed.  Jason, of the "pick-and-choose-your-battles" school of being the husband of a Debbie, nodded and grunted his agreement as well to the deal. 

Nick's choice for his reward was Ramone's House of Body Art Color Shifters Playset.  Seriously.  I couldn't make this up if I tried.  Check it out on Amazon. 

To be honest, neither of us expected Nick to ever be completely potty-trained, so we never anticipated having to keep our end of this particular bargain.  Plus I thought something else would catch his interest over the years it took to potty-train the boy.

Flash-forward to yesterday morning:  I'm having a conversation with Bree about my favoritest topic ever- potty training.  In case you're curious, if I had known exactly how maddening it is to potty-train someone, there is not a chance in hell I would have ever made the suggestion that we have kids to Jason back in our carefree, relaxed, childless days.  We should have just bought a boat.  Or something.

Anyway, during the conversation with Bree about getting her out of diapers before she can get an AARP membership, Nick makes a startling statement:  "Mommy, I think I'm potty-trained.  I don't have many accidents anymore.  Let's go get the color changer."  That's what Nick took to calling Ramone's House of whatever-the-hell-it-is.

My reaction, you ask?  Here it is:
CRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.

But, a deal's a deal.  So off Nick and I went to pick up the color changer yesterday afternoon.   As we left the house, I wasn't sure if Jason was laughing at me or booking a one-way ticket to Aruba.

Let me be clear about one more thing:  I HATE this toy.  I may have finally found something that annoys me more than the Tea Party.  Although now that I think about it, there are some similarities, neither the color changer nor the Tea Party operate in the manner that makes any sort of sense.

But, as usual, I digress.  The TV commercial portrays a happy little boy, sitting at a table, delightedly playing with Ramone and his buddies in the body shop playset while his parents beam at their happy child.

Lies.  All lies.

The squirt bottle thingy leaks so much water that you need to refill the damn thing every twenty-nine seconds.  You know what else is about twenty-nine seconds?  The amount of time it takes the water in the stupid little dunktank to go from being warm enough to change the stupid little cars another frigging color to being just lukewarm water that can't do a damn thing but get slopped all over my kitchen floor.  Which is fine, because the floor is already covered in water because the cap from a tube of Chapstick would hold more water than the part laughably called the "reservoir."

Of course the minute Nick woke up, he wanted to play with the stupid toy.  Jason actually whistled as he left for work this morning.... wonder why?

And as much as I appreciated the water all over the kitchen floor yesterday (couldn't come up with another reason to not mop this time, with it being all wet already) I wasn't looking forward to our own little waterworld again.

So... this is how I let Nick play with his new toy today:

Now all I can think is "was changing his diapers really that terrible?"

xoxo
Deb

Haircut

I really, really, really tried to come up with a witty title for this entry.  Clearly I failed.  Decided to be brief and to the point, for a change.  Who knew I had it in me?

Anyway, Bree got her first professional haircut.  Up until now, Jason had been assuming the role of hairdresser for the girl.  And Nick, too.  And yes, despite the musical theatre, Jason is indeed straight.  For now.

Anyway. Again. (So much for those claims of "brevity"...) Bree did very well, loved the whole experience, examined every inch of the "beauty salon" and no longer resembles a cute, tiny, pink sheep-dog.


Next step... getting Nick's hair professionally cut. 

Does anyone know where I can pick up a child-sized straight jacket?  Might need a gag, as well.

xoxo
Deb

In sickness and in...

The kids have been sick since, well, at this point I have a distant memory of a time when locating the Tylenol wasn't the most pressing task at hand.  Distant.  Very. 

I don't even remember which child started the latest round of coughing and sniffling and cries of "I'm cold.  Get me a blanket."  No "please", just "get me the damn blanket."  Normally my kids are well-mannered.  Despite their affinity for destruction "please" and "thank you" have always come easily to them.  It appears that their degree of civility is inversely proportional to their temperature.  I'm not even going to share what Bree called me while requesting a cup of orange juice a few moments ago.  I think she may have a future in composing gangster rap lyrics. 

They even look sick.  Both are pale, with dark circles under their eyes.  Bree has a perpetually chapped upper lip from having her nose wiped every six minutes.  Nick's had a headache that starts up the moment the Tylenol wears off which has made the already daunting job of trying to tame his hair with a comb fairly impossible.  Thursday was the last time I gave it a try.  Normally I (as all mother's do, I'm sure) think that my children are breathtakingly beautiful.  Not right now.  They ugly.  UGGGGLLLLYYYY.

However, my beloved mother-in-law happened to send me a couple of pictures of Chaos and Mayhem from early December, which coincidentally, was they last time I think they were healthy.  I'm considering having the pictures printed out and taping them to the kids foreheads. 

xoxo
Deb

Caption TBD

Couldn't make up my mind on the caption for this picture.

a)  Look!  Finally found a kid who will sit at the table and eat  Unfortunately that kid is Baby-All-Gone.

or

b)  Bree's biological clock started ticking at a very young age.

xoxo
Deb

p.s. And of course Nick had to show Bree the correct method on how to feed the doll.  Now if he could just get Bree to feed herself....