#35 Quirky Reasons Why I Love You

All (or most all) parents love their children in ways they never knew possible.  I get that.  But some of my favorite things about being a mom are bebe boy's quirks.

I love how you prepare for road trips by kicking back in your car seat with a Perrier between your legs, one leg tossed over the side and a book in your hand.

I love how you never walk from one place to another:  you either run or dance there.

I love how you will completely un-selfconsciously rock out in public when you feel the need to (Dancing Queen, All the Single Ladies, Proud Mary are some of your faves).

I love how you sleep with your bottom in the air.

I love how you can, literally, dance your diaper off.  In public.  To Mustang Sally.  {No picture, sadly}

I love how cherry tomatoes hold a special place in your heart {I ate thousands of them while I was pregnant with you... coincidence?}

I love how you expect people to love you and to be kind.  You remind me on a daily basis to fully anticipate the laughter and fun in life.

Being your mom rocks, little guy.  Thank you for choosing me.

#34 On Why I Am a Bad Mommy

At times, I feel like I am not exactly an exemplary mom.  Now don't start calling CPS just yet on me.  I spend $10/day on just organic strawberries and Omega 3 fortified, organic milk.  Yes, I have drunk the Cool-Aid, but I can't argue with the results.  He never gets sick, has never even had diaper rash and has the sunniest disposition imaginable.  If it ain't broke...

And to my credit, I did not yell at you, sweet bebe boy, when you were gnawing on my Hermes bag.  I did not get upset when you gave me yogurt dreadlocks.  Hell, I laughed it off when you pooped in the tub (while I was in it, btw).

That being said, it seems like other moms are much more bedraggled by their offspring.  And, for whatever reason, I assume that makes them a better mom than me.  Yes, my shirts are always dirty (but I consider evidence of baby lovin' and hugs rather than a permanent state of filth) but other than that....

We don't have a Raffi CD so there is not one permanently stuck in my car CD player.  I figure when you drive, you can choose the music but in the meantime, Shortie, Mommy chooses.  {Though I must admit that it makes me melt that you are so enamored with BB King.  Have I mentioned that you are one kick-ass, cool kid?}

I have yet to buy fish sticks, chicken nuggets or that pre-packaged applesauce in little plastic containers.  You have teeth, you can eat real salmon and apples.  Momma does not believe in breading or artificial thickeners, whatever the hell they are.

We have no qualms about having a glass of wine on the deck while you zoom around in your Porsche pedal car tormenting the dog.  Not every activity needs to be interactive with Mommy and Daddy, especially while we are having margaritas.

#33 Know What You Like

Rather than what is trendy.

Here are your favorites thus far (indulge me, people, I am not getting any younger and I suck at journaling and scrapbooking -- when did that become a verb, btw?  So, I write things down here so I will remember then when I am in the old folks home):

"Dancing Queen" by ABBA
"All the Single Ladies" by Beyonce
dogs, the larger the better (and if the dog can fetch, boNANza)
ice cream sandwiches (that's my boy!)
cherry tomatoes
udon noodles
strawberries
your bottle of milk (half gallon a day... egads)
Oma
balls (or pictures of balls, you totally don't discriminate)
shiny, exposed areas of flesh that you can zerbert (see posts from 1/11/2010 and 6/21/2010 for proof of his love of the zerbert)

#32 Crummy Jobs...

everyone has to have had them so they appreciate all the great stuff they later have.  You, kiddo, will be no exception.  I assume that we will be able to well afford a car for you but you are going to have to earn it.

Here are some of the crappy jobs your daddy and I have had:

** an ice cream scooper at Braums (though, not to brag, I can still square dip with the best of them and I make a wicked milkshake)

** a clown at McDonalds

Daddy's jobs went to the dirtier:

** laying sprinkler systems.  In the summer.  In South Texas.

** being a short order cook on an oil rig.

Yep, they suck they make you appreciate the good life when you get it.  There is NOTHING worse than a kid with a sense of entitlement.  Nothing.

#31 And Speaking of Gay

from yesterday...

Other stupid (stoopid, even) things that I have heard since you were born about homosexuals:

"His hair is too long.  If you don't cut it, he is going to be gay."

"Boys should not wear cardigans, they will end up gay."

And my personal favorite:

"Aren't you concerned that he likes strawberry ice cream?  It is 'gayer' than chocolate."

Oh honest to God, if your grasp on heterosexuality is so tenuous that ice cream is the deciding factor, you are going to be gay, my darling baby boy.  And for the record, that is fine with your daddy and I.  Please do not be one of those closet cases full of angst and self-loathing.  You are one of the most beloved people on the planet, your sexuality could never change that.

Our view is what someone does in the privacy of their own bedroom (between consenting adults) is none of anyone else's business.  {Child molesters are another story but they are, statistically, heterosexual men.  And dead if they come near my sweeties.  And I do mean, D E A D but previous to death, tortured.  Hubby has a degree is that kind of stuff, don't tempt fate in case you are a fan of my blog}.

I know, I know.  Totally out of character but occasionally I post pictures of sweet bebe boy and it kind of freaks me out.

And, for the record, your daddy loves strawberry ice cream and he is decidedly heterosexual.

#30 On Affection

Do not be one of those freaky dads who can't tell their kids that they love them, especially their boy children.  "It will make them weak" is a crock.  Your daddy loves you with all of his heart (as do I) and he is man enough to publicly and {loudly} express it.

Don't get me started on men who won't kiss their sons/grandsons because it will "turn them into homosexuals."  Seriously...

#29 Thank You

Always be the first person to say thank you. 

Know how to write a proper (and beautiful) thank you note.  

Know that thank you notes are not just for job interviews.

A hearty thank you and handshake is appropriate for the owners of a restaurant while everyone else needs a tip along with your gratitude.  

#28 On Nakedness

Let your own babies have naked time.  To a one they all love it and who does not need more "happy dances" in their life?

And learn the difference between naked time and nekkid time.  One is for babies and one is MOST DEFINITELY not for the underaged.

Bunny!

I have heard it said that in every parent's life, there comes a time when you beg the universe "please don't let that be my child."  Normally this thought is precipitated by the crashing of hundreds of bottles of BBQ sauce or a display of crystal.

Well, my first "PDLTBMC" moment came today at Whole Foods.  Now to bebe's credit, Whole Foods is his 'hood.  He is totally a Whole Foodie and currently has a $5/day organic strawberry habit in addition to his $4/day milk issue.  I am trying to rationalize this with decreased health care costs but, seriously, Houston, we have a problem.

But that is for another day.  This is about The PDLTBMC Incident.

We are zooming through Whole Foods and bebe boy is perfectly content eating strawberries and sampling the free smoked gouda (yes, I totally let him eat the free samples at WF but not at other places.  For whatever misguided and warped reason, I am convinced that dirty hands don't touch the WF samples.  Yes, I know this is ridiculous but it is my madness as well as my blog so there)!

Once he has been sated, he insists on getting out and pushing the cart.  I hate this because it slows me down but, seriously, this is not the hill upon which I choose to die, Marine.  So I let him out.  He pushes the cart in huge circles and randomly stops to dance or pick up some snacks for his discriminating self ("ohhhh, Baby Bells, don't mind if I do."  "Is that cave-aged cheese?").

So, I am at the charcuterie counter (SO much more attractive than "deli counter") and here comes a character I will deem "Bunny."  Now everyone knows a Bunny or, at the very least can pick her out in a crowd.  She is the 30-something woman who wears completely inappropriate attire for Sunday morning grocery shopping and acts like she has no idea that she is, essentially, naked.

Bunny's get-up this a.m. consisted of a silver lame shirt and (really beautiful) platform heels in black snakeskin (hey, she is a whore but a whore with very good taste in footwear).  And, yes, I do mean she was wearing a shirt.  I think when the vice police come to get her, she will swear up and down that she thought it was a dress, but it was a shirt.  And not a particularly long shirt either.  I am against forcing women into wearing a burka but, seriously, I am less than amused with seeing your cheeks while I pick out my Romas.

So, anyway, bebe boy is fascinated by shiny, half-naked girl (which was clearly her intent.  She was, hopefully, aiming for a slightly older audience than my 18 month old but attention is what she wanted and she got it.  In spades.)  When she zooms by, bebe boy claps.  Not as appreciatively as he does for cherry tomatoes or strawberries but she got a higher score than the bananas got this morning.  Not bad for 10am on a Sunday.

This is where the wheels come off.  I am chatting away with the deli guy (oh sorry, the charcuterie monsieur) and I hear a bit of a ruckus.  I turn around just in time to see that Bunny is bent over, cheeks fully exposed.  Seeing her shiny naked self is too much -- bebe boy has abandoned both the cart and the mozzarella de buffala.    He has danced over (he either runs or dances everywhere.  Walking is so boring), lifted up her shirt the rest of the way, done a quick bongo set on her cheeks and given her a very large zerbert.  Quite possibly his best zerbert ever, it was the perfect combination of moisture, length and pressure.

He then falls down laughing and clapping for himself.

I am beyond horrified.  There is no way you can apologize enough to someone to express the horror I felt.

Did I mention that Bunny was not wearing underwear?