I'm writing, and a naked Demon Baby is singing the Clash ("Should I stay or should I go now?") while sunning himself.In my office.
This is my very real life with Demon Baby.
Somedays, it's pretty awesomely hilarious.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A Sunny Day in My Office
I'm writing, and a naked Demon Baby is singing the Clash ("Should I stay or should I go now?") while sunning himself.In my office.
This is my very real life with Demon Baby.
Somedays, it's pretty awesomely hilarious.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
What Happens to My Stuff
For the life of me, I have not been able to find any of my wooden spoons in the kitchen. This is a pain when making sauces. I thought . . . Do they WALK out of this house? Am I losing it? Has the stress finally caused me to crack?As I stepped outside today, I happened to look in the bushes outside my front door.
Mystery solved.
Demon Baby confessed to throwing them out the window.
So the birds can cook.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Why Mothers of Demon Babies Never Sleep
Yesterday, I took Baby Girl to see my friend's horse. We groomed the horse for two hours in the heat, and had an amazing time. Demon Baby was left in the care and feeding of Oldest Son (age 14).
When I came home, Baby Girl and Oldest Son went to the movies. Demon Baby was happily amused with watching Diego on TV, eating a peanut butter sandwich. I had an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. I went to the bay window in the living room, stretched out on the couch, intending to read. Big mistake.
I woke up, panicked. I couldn't have napped long, but I KNEW with every fiber in my being . . . that his seeing me asleep set off some Pavlovian urge to totally destroy the house. My first instinct was to smell the air. Nothing was burning.
I went from room to room. Clean.
And then . . . .
The TV room.
He had gone into his sister's closet searching for "weapons" (for the record, we own no guns nor keep any weapons, but . . . this is a kid who is constantly battling dragons, so . . .). He removed EVERY (and I mean every) plastic hanger from the closet and set intricate traps arouund the family room for the mutant dragons who were chasing him.
And to be certain he could finish the job, he concocted a "potion."
An ENTIRE (and I mean entire) box of salt, mixed with lemonade into a paste. Smeared on every surface.
I said nothing. I started collecting the hangers.
"But they're my weapons. They are protecting you!"
I started to say it. I started to say, "Demon Baby, these are just hangers . . . "
And I stopped myself.
For the thousandth time I was aware I could crush his spirit and bend him to my will or give him some space to be him. [As Oldest Daughter says, "Mom, you can let people label him, or you can just find the space to be cool with having an eccentric four-year-old." God, I have a wise adult daughter.]
"You know, these weapons need to be stored in the nuclear facility in the downstairs armament center."
He was okay with that.
As for the potion.
"You know, Demon Baby, I don't think Billy May would like seeing the room this way."
[For those who are not long-time readers . . . . Here is my Billy May post.]
"Really?"
"Yeah. I think Billy would want this cleaned up."
So together we cleaned.
"What about the dragons?"
"Let's blow some soap bubbles around the perimeter of the house. Everyone knows dragons are scared of soap bubbles."
"Of course!"
A relatively happy ending. But I will never nap again.
When I came home, Baby Girl and Oldest Son went to the movies. Demon Baby was happily amused with watching Diego on TV, eating a peanut butter sandwich. I had an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. I went to the bay window in the living room, stretched out on the couch, intending to read. Big mistake.
I woke up, panicked. I couldn't have napped long, but I KNEW with every fiber in my being . . . that his seeing me asleep set off some Pavlovian urge to totally destroy the house. My first instinct was to smell the air. Nothing was burning.
I went from room to room. Clean.
And then . . . .
The TV room.
He had gone into his sister's closet searching for "weapons" (for the record, we own no guns nor keep any weapons, but . . . this is a kid who is constantly battling dragons, so . . .). He removed EVERY (and I mean every) plastic hanger from the closet and set intricate traps arouund the family room for the mutant dragons who were chasing him.
And to be certain he could finish the job, he concocted a "potion."
An ENTIRE (and I mean entire) box of salt, mixed with lemonade into a paste. Smeared on every surface.
I said nothing. I started collecting the hangers.
"But they're my weapons. They are protecting you!"
I started to say it. I started to say, "Demon Baby, these are just hangers . . . "
And I stopped myself.
For the thousandth time I was aware I could crush his spirit and bend him to my will or give him some space to be him. [As Oldest Daughter says, "Mom, you can let people label him, or you can just find the space to be cool with having an eccentric four-year-old." God, I have a wise adult daughter.]
"You know, these weapons need to be stored in the nuclear facility in the downstairs armament center."
He was okay with that.
As for the potion.
"You know, Demon Baby, I don't think Billy May would like seeing the room this way."
[For those who are not long-time readers . . . . Here is my Billy May post.]
"Really?"
"Yeah. I think Billy would want this cleaned up."
So together we cleaned.
"What about the dragons?"
"Let's blow some soap bubbles around the perimeter of the house. Everyone knows dragons are scared of soap bubbles."
"Of course!"
A relatively happy ending. But I will never nap again.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Actual Conversation Today While Blowing Soap Bubbles
"Demon Baby, can I have a kiss?"
"Nope."
"No? What are you kidding me? Not one kiss?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
"'Cause today I feel like loving you, but I don't feel like kissing you."
"Nope."
"No? What are you kidding me? Not one kiss?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
"'Cause today I feel like loving you, but I don't feel like kissing you."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Actual Conversation When Demon Baby Saw Me After My Trip
"I missed you a lot!"
"I missed you, too, Demon Baby."
"I missed you more. I missed you thirty bucks cash worth."
"Is that a lot?"
"YEAH! It's thirty bucks cash!!!"
"I missed you, too, Demon Baby."
"I missed you more. I missed you thirty bucks cash worth."
"Is that a lot?"
"YEAH! It's thirty bucks cash!!!"
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Five-Second Rule
I wander the earth, since Demon Baby's arrival, in such a state of hypervigilance, constantly trying to prevent--or clean up--mayhem. I am not kidding in that I have recently had to start high blood pressure medication. In the last year, my blood pressure has shot up 20 points.
There is a very rude woman who lives a block away from me. She is someone who never fails to make pronouncements of judgment about other people. I avoid her like the swine flu, but about three months ago, she commented in front of a room full of people that I "clearly" do not supervise my child enough since he gets in so much trouble, with a pronouncement of "What kind of mother are you?" Needless to say, this is why I don't go to cocktail parties.
I work from home as a novelist (and no, I don't make up ANY of the stuff on this blog--he generally has a blog-worthy event nearly every day), which means I am with Demon Baby 24/7. He is never too far from me, but . . . you know . . . mothers have to shower. I use the bathoom on rare occasions. I write in my office. I sometimes have to go outside to check the mail. You get the idea.
If you've ever worked in a restaurant, you know the five-second rule. If it falls on the floor in the kitchen for less than five seconds, you can still plate it up. Now . . . I don't ASCRIBE to the five-second rule, but I have worked as a waitress and bartender. I know it exists. Demon Baby has a five-second rule.
If I am away from him for five seconds, mayhem will result. Books will come cascading off of shelves, the printer in my office will have a pen shoved in it, toilet paper will go floating from the second-story landing. In fact, out of my sight for five seconds, I swear to you, the most often-heard expression is: "Oops!" Followed by: "Don't worry! It didn't break."
I am going away this weekend. It will, I think, be only the third night I have ever been separated from Demon Baby is four years. I know that sounds hopelessly pathetic, as in, "This poor mother NEVER gets a break and clearly doesn't take vacation," but it is what it is. One the rare occasions when I am not around him, it takes my brain and body at least 24 hours to relax. By then, it's time to come home. In this case, I am going to see my dad, who needs a pacemaker and is blind . . . so it's not like I will be dancing and doing the cha-cha on some beach somewhere.
So we shall see what panicked phone calls I get from my adult daughter, who shall be in charge of Demon Baby . . . what mayhem results . . . what I will face when I open the door after the weekend.
That's A LOT of time for him to be without me! (I need to remind Oldest Daughter of the five-second rule.)
There is a very rude woman who lives a block away from me. She is someone who never fails to make pronouncements of judgment about other people. I avoid her like the swine flu, but about three months ago, she commented in front of a room full of people that I "clearly" do not supervise my child enough since he gets in so much trouble, with a pronouncement of "What kind of mother are you?" Needless to say, this is why I don't go to cocktail parties.
I work from home as a novelist (and no, I don't make up ANY of the stuff on this blog--he generally has a blog-worthy event nearly every day), which means I am with Demon Baby 24/7. He is never too far from me, but . . . you know . . . mothers have to shower. I use the bathoom on rare occasions. I write in my office. I sometimes have to go outside to check the mail. You get the idea.
If you've ever worked in a restaurant, you know the five-second rule. If it falls on the floor in the kitchen for less than five seconds, you can still plate it up. Now . . . I don't ASCRIBE to the five-second rule, but I have worked as a waitress and bartender. I know it exists. Demon Baby has a five-second rule.
If I am away from him for five seconds, mayhem will result. Books will come cascading off of shelves, the printer in my office will have a pen shoved in it, toilet paper will go floating from the second-story landing. In fact, out of my sight for five seconds, I swear to you, the most often-heard expression is: "Oops!" Followed by: "Don't worry! It didn't break."
I am going away this weekend. It will, I think, be only the third night I have ever been separated from Demon Baby is four years. I know that sounds hopelessly pathetic, as in, "This poor mother NEVER gets a break and clearly doesn't take vacation," but it is what it is. One the rare occasions when I am not around him, it takes my brain and body at least 24 hours to relax. By then, it's time to come home. In this case, I am going to see my dad, who needs a pacemaker and is blind . . . so it's not like I will be dancing and doing the cha-cha on some beach somewhere.
So we shall see what panicked phone calls I get from my adult daughter, who shall be in charge of Demon Baby . . . what mayhem results . . . what I will face when I open the door after the weekend.
That's A LOT of time for him to be without me! (I need to remind Oldest Daughter of the five-second rule.)
Friday, May 8, 2009
Actual Answers from Demon Baby's Mother's Day Project
From his preschool project. He insisted on giving it to me yesterday instead of waiting for Mother's Day. Indeed, it is a gift.
My mom's favorite food is . . . yellow and black potatoes. [Demon Baby's Mother must explain this means ROASTED potatoes, which get crispy. And they're not even my favorite food, but . . . well . . . this is Demon Baby after all.]
My mom's favorite color is . . . blue. [It's actually green, but HIS favorite color is blue.]
My mom's favorite thing to do is . . . play with me. [This is actually pretty true.]
My mom always says . . . "I love you, Jack." [This is also true, and I am so glad he put this instead of, "If you feed the dogs Raisin Bran again, I swear I'm selling you to the Gypsies."]
My mom is best at . . . writing books. [BIG SHOCK . . . I still don't think he really understands what I do for a living.]
My mom is . . 5 . . . feet tall. [I'm 5'10"]
She weighs . . . 10 . . . pounds. [WOW. Flattered, I suppose.]
She is . . . not that . . . old. [I only feel old.]
**********************************************************
Happy Mother's Day.
I firmly believe God sends us children to teach us what is divine nature. Children laugh without artifice, they are amazed and awed by the simplest yet most wondrous things in nature . . . ladybugs and earthworms (even when you have a child who puts them in his pockets and brings them in the house). They appreciate a sunny day . . . and appreciate mud puddles on a rainy one. They can find miracles in clouds. They instinctively touch you or pat you when you are sad, and curl into your arms when your heart is breaking. Most of us, by the time we are "old" have forgotten that the world can be such a pure and true place.
If you are blessed enough to be a "mom," enjoy your day, wrapped in the knowledge that you must be very special if you were chosen to tend to one of the universe's most perfect signs of love.
My mom's favorite food is . . . yellow and black potatoes. [Demon Baby's Mother must explain this means ROASTED potatoes, which get crispy. And they're not even my favorite food, but . . . well . . . this is Demon Baby after all.]
My mom's favorite color is . . . blue. [It's actually green, but HIS favorite color is blue.]
My mom's favorite thing to do is . . . play with me. [This is actually pretty true.]
My mom always says . . . "I love you, Jack." [This is also true, and I am so glad he put this instead of, "If you feed the dogs Raisin Bran again, I swear I'm selling you to the Gypsies."]
My mom is best at . . . writing books. [BIG SHOCK . . . I still don't think he really understands what I do for a living.]
My mom is . . 5 . . . feet tall. [I'm 5'10"]
She weighs . . . 10 . . . pounds. [WOW. Flattered, I suppose.]
She is . . . not that . . . old. [I only feel old.]
**********************************************************
Happy Mother's Day.
I firmly believe God sends us children to teach us what is divine nature. Children laugh without artifice, they are amazed and awed by the simplest yet most wondrous things in nature . . . ladybugs and earthworms (even when you have a child who puts them in his pockets and brings them in the house). They appreciate a sunny day . . . and appreciate mud puddles on a rainy one. They can find miracles in clouds. They instinctively touch you or pat you when you are sad, and curl into your arms when your heart is breaking. Most of us, by the time we are "old" have forgotten that the world can be such a pure and true place.
If you are blessed enough to be a "mom," enjoy your day, wrapped in the knowledge that you must be very special if you were chosen to tend to one of the universe's most perfect signs of love.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
AQ2
Demon Baby has a perfectly lovely name. No, it's not "Demon Baby." It's Jack. I'm not sure why I chose that name other than it is simple and sweet and I liked it.
He informed me tonight that his name is "BORING!"
"Well . . . it's a little late to do anything about that."
"No, it's not. I have a new name."
"What's that?"
"From now on, I will only answer to AQ2."
"Excuse me?"
"AQ2."
"What the hell kind of name is that?"
"It's my new name. AQ2. You can be MomQ2."
I feel like I must have actually given birth four years ago to a ROBOT.
AQ2.
I swear to you, this child is an alien.
He informed me tonight that his name is "BORING!"
"Well . . . it's a little late to do anything about that."
"No, it's not. I have a new name."
"What's that?"
"From now on, I will only answer to AQ2."
"Excuse me?"
"AQ2."
"What the hell kind of name is that?"
"It's my new name. AQ2. You can be MomQ2."
I feel like I must have actually given birth four years ago to a ROBOT.
AQ2.
I swear to you, this child is an alien.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Top Ten Random Questions Demon Baby Has Asked Me
1. Do you think God farts? Is that thunder?
2. What would happen if I put chocolate syrup in the fish tank? (asked this yesterday, in fact)
3. Can we get another dog? (we have three)
4. Can I get a pet duck?
5. All right then, how about a pet chicken?
6. Can we put soap and water all over the kitchen floor and make our own slip 'n' slide?
7. Can I carry the goldfish in my pocket just for a little while?
8. What if I take the goldfish in the shower, then?
9. Why do you have gray hair?
10. I just put worms in the refrigerator again. Do you think Santa Claus will remember all the way until Christmas?
2. What would happen if I put chocolate syrup in the fish tank? (asked this yesterday, in fact)
3. Can we get another dog? (we have three)
4. Can I get a pet duck?
5. All right then, how about a pet chicken?
6. Can we put soap and water all over the kitchen floor and make our own slip 'n' slide?
7. Can I carry the goldfish in my pocket just for a little while?
8. What if I take the goldfish in the shower, then?
9. Why do you have gray hair?
10. I just put worms in the refrigerator again. Do you think Santa Claus will remember all the way until Christmas?
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Actual Comment from Demon Baby's Older Sister
His older sister (age 11) and I were in the kitchen when Demon Baby rode through on his bicycle. She cocked her head and looked at me:
"Now THERE'S something you just don't see every day. A naked Demon Baby riding a bicycle in the kitchen. NAKED."
And in fact, I presume that we were indeed the only household in America where that was occurring.
"Now THERE'S something you just don't see every day. A naked Demon Baby riding a bicycle in the kitchen. NAKED."
And in fact, I presume that we were indeed the only household in America where that was occurring.
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