Five years old wisdom: love and kids

My son has a girlfriend. Here is a sentence I hoped I would not write (or think about) for the next 10 years or so. Because he is five and a half. And because he is practically going steady, as they have been friends for more than 2 years now.

They are planning on living in a house in the trees. He recently told me that they want to have only one child, as it is too difficult to deal with two. I wonder how he figured that one out :-D

Then things got weird.

*Disclaimer: the opinions that follow are in no way my own - especially since I suspect the girl's parents might be reading this*

He said that the child will be a boy, but should not be like his little brother - hey, I get you, dude, your brother is at times a major pain in the a#@ - and so are you, but who's judging?
Anyway, back to the weird part: he proceeded to tell me that he wants a boy because boys are more intelligent than girls. To my utter disbelieve accurately described by a "huh!?" he explains that girls believe in princesses. So I am still in my WTF moment and say "but princesses do exist, unlike Transformers and dinosaurs'. That might have been my mistake as he ended the argument with "but dinosaurs existed and Transformers might exist, what do you know?" and moved to another topic.

I conclude that:

1. I am stupid because I read romantic novels and some might mention princes and princesses; 
2. I am an inept mother who convinced her kid that two children are too difficult to manage; and 
3. I failed miserably to prove to a five year old that girls'/women's IQ is not below men's. 

Despite all this, my son has a girlfriend and he tells me he loves me, even if we are both - me and the girlfriend - inferior human (!) beings, so I still believe that all is ok in the world. Just one more proof that love is blind and hopeless.

"How do you know" series: Tiredness

To follow the "how do you know?" series I was not aware I started here (that time it was 'how do you know you're losing your mind') - I'm now trying to understand how do you know you are too tired to function.

I knew I was in that case on day when I was taking a nap in my dorm room at the University (how wonderful we had time to do that back then!). When I woke up I remember that while I was sleeping, someone dropped by, I had gotten up, opened the door, talked to her, then went back to sleep. It was awesome that I remembered that part, ‘cause I had no freaking idea what we had talked about. At least I remembered who the person was and went to tell her I had been basically sleep-walking when talking to her.

Then again, during my University years, I had joined a summer course with a student association and the organizers were actually killing us. It was a two weeks course, with real classes at the University in the morning (starting from 9, so wakeup call was at 7!) & in the afternoon, and then... the fun began. All evening and night it was party time. You know the 'work hard, party hard' thing? They lived by it. You had no chance in h@$% to go to sleep before 3 or 4 am (and they cleaned after that! I don't know how they did it). After one week in this rhythm I remember I did not know what language I spoke (we were students from all over Europe, so it was supposed to be English), I did not remember much of what I was studying and probably I made no sense at all. I know that at the end of the two weeks, during the exam - yeah, we had one of those - I just finished it as fast as I could so that I could get some sleep right there in the classroom. Those were the days!

Back to current times... why did I bring this on? Of course, I have two active sons and blah blah, I am so tired... but it's actually not that. It's stupid, really. For no specific reason, a couple of days ago I realized I have reached the bottom again: after waking up (if we can call it that), I went to get my toothbrush and then got back to bed to brush my teeth. 

QED

Conversations with a 5 years old (aka Innovation, as good as it gets)

Him: I want to invent a machine that works when the electricity fails.
Me: hmm... what would it look like? (thinking: oh boy, the innovation gene strikes again)
Him: like a box with a green button... and a red one...
Me: ok... (thinking: I can zone out now, should be safe enough, just keep agreeing with him)
Him: ... .... (blah blah I don't listen to...)... and then there will be a white button
Me: ah really, a white one?
Him: yes, right next to the yellow one!
Me: oh. Right. (thinking: wtf? there was a yellow one I missed somewhere?)
and this goes on and on...
... and I zone out again...
Him: and then the problem is to put a sign saying we have a box that saves you when there is no electricity.
Me: Riiight. (thinking: so now I'm selling boxes to save people from lack of electricity. And I need a marketing plan)
Him: Yup, we'll just put a sign to say this. But then I think the bubble is a better one.
Me: What? What bubble?
Him: the motorcycle bubble!
Me (remembering THAT conversation): Oh yes, so it won't rain on you.
Him: yes, it's a better invention, don't you think?
Me: I totally agree. (thinking: Note to self: throw away every other sock from his wardrobe so that he can match the mad scientist image - my sister in law figured him right)

Maybe if I act like that...

How many ways to feel you're losing it are there?
I wonder, as I get the feeling quite often. And for various reasons, not for doing the same dumb thing over and over again. At least I am creative.

A simple example, of which I already talked on this blog: I feel I am losing my mind when I see (my) socks everywhere in the house. Every.f@$%ing.where. And I am the one leaving them there, there’s no mysterious creature spreading socks around my house.
When I am using ten cooking pots to make one dish of food.
Or when I am ironing twenty t-shirts for one kid.
I remember ironing my jeans when I was at the University. My roommate pointed out that, even though I am usually and no longer surprisingly crazy, it seems that love does weird things to me. Yes, I was very much in love with someone at that time. Not sure that was the reason, but a good excuse all in all.

Going even further back in time, I remember studying for the famous Baccalaureate. I knew I have totally lost it when I realized I was looking at three different books at the same time (I think it must have been Maths, Literature and Physics...). I went as far as thinking that I grasped some Universal truth, that all of it makes sense and they are deeply related. And then I closed all the books and left for the beach.

I'm in a similar situation now, as I realize I am reading several books at once. I have one on my Kindle and not sure how many - do I even know how to count up to there? - close to my bed. And I read some pages from one, and then move to another and so on. I think there's smoke coming out of my ears. Might be just the heat, though.

So what I think I'll do, as it's raining and I have no hope of going to the beach and leaving the mess at home, is that I will focus on one and write here something about it. Then move to the next. Hopefully it will stay in a state of almost-controlled-mess for a while. Or I'll just feel I am losing my mind. Several times a day anyway.

I realize quantity is getting to me. It's not about one pair of socks, one t-shirt, one casserole or one book. It's about many. Lots.Tons.
That does it.

And this is why I am the luckiest person alive. And a bit insane.

Yesterday evening we were having dinner (if we can call it that): we were splitting a pizza in four very much unequal parts – the biggest one for the smallest member of our family, of course.

So we were sitting there, each munching on his bits of pizza, except my oldest (5 years old now). He had just opened his chosen birthday gift with three weird monsters and he was, of course, playing with them. Every 10 seconds either me or my husband were reminding him to eat – which he still didn’t. At some point I gave up and I told my husband to let him be, that he’ll eat, eventually, on his own. He proposed a bet on how many bits he will eat if we say absolutely nothing to him – he said 0, I said 4.

And we waited… he played. We talked to the little one, we ate, we waited… he played. And he ate absolutely nothing.

One monster fell off the table, so my son quit his chair to pick it up and continued standing up, playing with the monsters next to his plate.

We waited… He moved his fork out of the way to have more room to play with it.

My husband laughed and said I should just give up and admit defeat.

He played…

And then he sat, took his fork and looked me straight in the eyes saying “Mom, it’s time to roll the dice ...”.  ‘Cause ocasionnally I behave like a dice (what's wrong with that?!) and “randomly” select a number of bites he has to eat before he can leave the table.

And that’s when my husband declared I am the luckiest person in the world and I almost fell off the chair laughing. As a good player, of course I told my son a totally random number: 4!!!

On a totally unrelated note, I am considering doing this: Insanity. My husband said the name fits me perfectly.

Kids and cleaning standards

I had an interesting conversation today with my colleagues at work, during a coffee break in which we were sharing some (very good) cookies. I was looking at the bag of cookies and I suddenly realized how low my cleaning standards have gotten since I got kids. Don't worry, you might end up understanding the connection between the two by the end of this post.

So the conversation was something like:

Me: You know, my youngest (he's two years old) loooves chocolate. At a point where "cola" (short for 'chocolat' in French) is his first word when he wakes up. So because we don't care about cavities and all that healthy eating @$%!, we give him chocolate candies (the round variety, individually wrapped). He's very independent and wants to unwrap them himself. Which means the chocolate stuff ends up quite often on the floor... and keeps on rolling.
Colleagues: hmmm...
Me: Well, I figured I just let him pick it up and eat it.
Colleagues: *surprised gasps...*
Me: Even more, I challenge him to find it before the cat does :-D
Colleagues: So he develops his resistance to germs.
Me: Indeed, and he learns about survival, fighting off the cat for food. And the cat is a fast learner, it sits under his chair when we're at the table. It figured out pretty fast who's the weak link...
Colleagues: So the cat is useful, keeping a clean floor. *mocking a colleague who just got rid of his cat recently*
Me: Yes, exactly! I am even considering getting a dog...Dogs have really big tongues.
One colleague (picking up on my idea): So the cat is the vacuum cleaner and the dog would be the swiper.
Me: Yup, perfect, isn't it? So... who wants to come over for dinner at my place? :-)
Colleagues: *unsettling silence*

That's where my cleaning standards are at this point. And other standards have changed (for the worse) as well, but it's a different story for some other time. Or most probably never. It might be safer.

The Moon! The banana!

You know those first months in your baby's life when you're constantly thinking "when will he/she start talking, so that we can understand each other better?"? If you do, most probably you know the next thought - that comes up several months later - "where is the stupid "stop" button"? or "will he/she every shut up?"

My little one is now in the second phase. He never stops. And most of the time I find it funny. Sometimes I just block him out, otherwise I'd get crazy(er than I already am). Other times I am actively looking for a tape I could use to shut his mouth. Like when I'm reading a story to his brother and he comes with another book, puts it on top of what we are reading or just talks louder and louder about his book, asking me to confirm what he's "reading".

Recently he's been starting playing games with us, saying something contrary just to have fun. It is blue, he says it's yellow. It's cold, he says it's hot. And so on.

We have a board game which contains a banana. Too complicated to explain why... and irrelevant as well. So it's like a ... banana. Yellow. And has the form of a banana. Made of wood. You're still following this? Well, never mind...
He says it's the Moon. And he's not wrong. It kind of also looks like the Moon. So when he wants to start the 'let's contradict each other' game, he starts with "the Moon" or "the banana". And I, my husband, or the older brother who quickly learned how to join the party, have to say the other one. And it goes on and on.
Several days ago, I was in the car with him. And he started: "the Moon". Me: "the banana". Him: "the Moon". Me: "the banana". Him: "the banana". Me (not paying attention): "the banana". Him: "no! Mommy: the Moon!". Me: *shocked silence!* "fine, the Moon"... and all was well with the world again.

I still wonder when he'll stop talking all the time. But I laugh out loud at least once every day, just listening to him.
Yesterday he fell asleep arguing with himself whether it's the Moon or the banana. Not sure who won.

Do you believe in... The Toilet Fairy?

So I live with three guys and a cat. Of course all of them kind of use the toilet. And most of them don't necessarily have a very good... target. Even if their aim would be perfect, the damn thing still needs cleaning.
Guess who does it? Well, if you ask them, I am sure they will say "The Toilet Fairy". You know, that mythical creature that makes it clean, sparkly and less smelly at least for a short while. For sure it's not them, so it has to be a fairy. Heh, who cares, it gets done? Fine by them.

I admit it, I sometimes take advantage of my youngest and make him participate. But he has no idea what he's doing, he just knows he's playing with some nice smelling wipes. Won't last long, I know that from the older one. So I am aware that this is as good as it gets.

Now what bugs me is: if all - or most - women out there are in similar situations, wtf is happening to them when they go to work?! Every time I enter the toilet at work (which is a women-only toilet) I experience once or more of the following: amazement, disgust, anger, shock, banging-my-head-against-the-walls (at least those are clean!) desires, sudden urge to scream, homicidal thoughts, and much more.

So I am just wondering: do all those intelligent, educated and well paid professional women suddenly forget how to clean a toilet? Or do they simply step in another dimension (same as the one inhabited by men?) and start believing in The Toilet Fairy?

Well ladies, let me tell you something: THERE IS NO TOILET FAIRY! And I'm sick of your sudden and convenient memory loss. I'm sure I'm not alone when I urge you to pick up that brush and use it!

She would have been 91 today...

She was one of ten children of a simple (and poor) family born in an unusual city, the most Eastern point of Romania.

When she was less than 10 years old she was sent to live with another family, one that could support her financially. When she figured that they treated her badly enough, she gathered whatever she had and went back to her real family by herself. Walking. From one village to the other, till she got home.

She married young, with just a guy who would provide a home and relieve her family of one mouth to feed. Actually, she built her house by herself, while she was pregnant with her first. Her family in law did nothing to help and her husband was never around.

She had six children, two boys, then four girls. The boys died before the age of 2. She never showed any sorrow, just happiness in her children.

She divorced her good-for-nothing guy - when people did not really know what divorce was... and her daughters were so young. She had enough of his drinking and spending all his money on "friends" and mistresses. He died, run over by a train, several years later. He was drunk and he just fell asleep at the wrong place at the wrong time.

She knew war, she knew famine. She survived both.

She did not go to school for more than 2 years, but she knew how to read and write. She read "War and peace" and all the religious books she could afford. She believed in right and wrong and getting what you deserved after your death.

She raised her four girls alone. On an insignificant salary. She did house chores for her sister to earn more money. Two of her daughters went to University. The third one started working early, but found time to play theater and read every good book available. The forth one had to marry young and work as well, to help the others get along with their lives. All had incredibly well ingrained values, shared a home full of songs and laughter and supported each other all the way.

She never said anything bad about anyone. She took care of her four daughters, she raised her four grandchildren, she did everything she could (and so much more) for everybody she knew.

She was the most incredible human being I had the honor of knowing. She was my grandmother.

She would have been 91 today...

Tourne? Croco?

What do desperate parents do with kids to get them off their backs for five minutes? They show them how to watch TV.

As I am as anti-TV as they come, both my kids started with something which might actually be worse: youtube.

What we let them watch on youtube are nursery rhymes. French ones, of course. My older one started with these, and has some favorites. He has since moved – very quickly – towards cartoons, managing to know by now (he’s not yet 5) everything about Transformers, Turtles Ninja and now, Pokemon. How I hate those bastards. Tears that are pictured as either rivers streaming down the cheeks or water “flowing” horizontally just bothers my brain. Kids with no visible eyes or at least one sexy Pokemon nurse per episode are even more disturbing to me. What can I say, I'm a freak.

But this post is about my youngest one. He started watching the damn nursery rhymes a couple of months ago. And he loves them. He’s got some favorites as well, especially the ones he started with: “Tourne, tourne petit moulin” and “Les crocodiles”. In the meantime he discovered some more. One he likes a lot is about a farm where there are pigs, ducks, sheep, rabbits, cows, and so on. And for each of them there’s a chorus with the corresponding sounds.

So now every time he passes by the PC (or even the TV, as we can watch youtube there as well thanks to some amazing technology!), he looks at me or his father and goes: “Tourne? Croco?”. And if we say no, he continues with: “Pig? Duck? Sheep?”… and so on until listing the entire farm. And yeah, he's not yet 2 years old, but he can perfectly pronounce "Pikachu".

So what choice do we have, other than laugh and go along with it?