Mr. Peanut, Friend or Foe?

I've tried to keep The Boy's peanut allergy from being a topic for a couple reasons; it's sparks a lot of anger from non-allergic people, and it's just not that funny. However, over the past few weeks, Mr. Peanut has been popping up in conversations alot, and although a lovable, recognizable piece of Americana ; I find him to be a pesky little legume that hides evil inside him. This all started when The Neighbor/Friend and I went to get tattoos. We were driving there and she was telling me how a friend of hers has 'DIABETIC' tattooed on his arm, so that if he passes out somewhere yada, yada, yada, bystanders know what's up. We then started joking that The Boy should (when he's older) get 'Peanut Allergy' tattooed on him. Then, it turned into that he should have Mr. Peanut tattooed on him with a big red 'X' through it. But then would that really relay to people that he has a peanut allergy? Or, that he just has a hatred for tiny mascots with monocles. Nevertheless, this sparked something in my weird, twisted noggin and I realized that I am beginning to resent this tiny nut. Not for the fact that he is a peanut, but for other, idiotic reasons; for example, he has a monocle, spats, and a cane. I find this odd that he goes to so much trouble to look like a gentleman, but then opts not to wear pants! Have you no decency Mr. Peanut? I think not. I do not approve of how this whimisical representation of a peanut glorifies the killer food. I mean, put a top hat on a rutabega and anyone will eat it. Mr. Peanut is sending a cruel message to our youth; that if it dances and lacks pants, it's ok...strippers rejoice everywhere!

Dodgeball...Innocent Fun or Deadly Warfare?

When, in theory, does a game of dodgeball between parents and toddlers turn inappropriate? Myself and The Friends/Neighbors pondered this thought as The Dad had had enough of The Boy's incessant whining and gunned a Nerf Football in his direction. Thus emerged, the friendly game of dodgeball turned combat conversation. As The Dad and I pondered it further throughout the evening, it became more ridiculous; however, it sounded like it would be the best game on Earth. What started off as a casual conversation about how we used to play dodgeball with Junior High kids at a day-camp we worked at, while in college, turned into what kind of warpaint we'd use on our faces to allude our kids into thinking they were leaping toward bushes and not their parents, whose arms were cocked, ready to throw that tiny, red gym ball in their direction.

It's only a small amount of time before our children grow up; become taller, smarter, faster, and better looking than us, we have to take advantage of their shortcomings now while we still can. As The Boy can almost outrun me at the young age of three, I feel that I should...wait no, I feel that is a necessity to beat him at the things I can now. For Example, a hot dog eating contest, a 1/2K walk, leapfrog, Mario Brothers, the six saltine challenge, and finally, dodgeball. Now channeling the spirit of Patches O'Houlihan himself, I now feel that I am ready to Dodge, Duck, Dive, Dip and Dodge my way to the finish line of our 6-bracket, three round tournament of parent/child dodgeball. And, at the end of the day, as my children are crushed to tears, with tiny red welts on their tiny bodies, I will be comforted by the fact that not only did we beat them, we crushed their spirits as well.

Do 3 year olds have 'Roid Rages?

Today was the day from Hell. We've all had them before; the days when we look at our husbands as they come through the door, their face saying "I just got my ass handed to me all day at the office, can you just not speak to me right now, " and we shout "Oh, thank God you're home, blah, blah, blah...I'm outta here" days. T0day was one of those days. The Dad came home and I slipped out to have some wine with The Friends/Neighbors. As I took the glass of wine, hands still trembling with fury, I admitted to them that The Boy has finally broke me. In his three short years on earth he has absorbed enough information to develop the skill set to push every button I have, and then when I'm out of buttons; he shoves his foot up my ass! The Boy said the word 'No' 400 times today; there were four kicks, three punches, and what I'm pretty sure was a foriegn gesture for "I got your time out right here, bitch." I haven't seen anything like this from him, ever, and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he picked up a toy stroller over his head and chucked it across the playroom. Then it dawned on me; he was a tiny Bruce Banner and was having hulk-a-riific 'roid rages. (I'm not sure what Motts is adding to their juice, but it's called 'Juice' for a reason!) It was ridiculous. At times, I wanted to rip his head off, and at other times I was just laughing at how ludicrous this day was going. I was also giggling because when I hear the word 'roid, I think of butts. hee hee hee. Nothing like some 10 year old potty humor to make me feel young again. So, if you're a follower of the blog, you may be thinking to yourself, "why haven't you tried the world renowned Empty Threat technique on him?" Well, sadly to say, he may be the exception to the rule. I'm pretty sure when I threatened to rip off his butt cheeks and glue them to his face so he can taste his farts that I took it to a new level of absurdity; and that was that. At least I have some hope with The Girl, whom I'm sure is watching and taking all this in for future reference. Can't wait until I get beaten by her. Who ever said Sumo Wrestlers are a dying breed have obviously not met The Girl. Chins up Mom, tomorrow is a new day!