Q-isms: The Enterprising Adolescent

Q: My friend at school is going to buy one of my Skylanders for $4.00

Me: Uh. What? No. You cannot just sell your toys. Especially for $4.00. Those things are like $15.00. They're expensive. Is it one of the Skylanders you have two of?

Q: No. It’s not actually a Skylander.

Me: What do you mean? You just said it was.

Q: Well, it’s more of an idea.

Me: An idea? You’re selling someone an idea?

Q: Okay, well it’s more of a prototype….

Me: A prototype? What does that even mean Q?

Q: I have this mechanical pencil that I stuck some things on the end of it. I’m calling it a Skylander and this kid wants to buy it. For $4.00. It’s like free money.

Me: Q. You can’t do that. Seriously. You cannot start selling your school supplies to other kids, calling them *prototypes*. You’ll get in trouble.

Q: Mommy. What would you do if you found $20 on the ground? Would you pick it up? You sure would. That’s kind of like what I’m doing.

Me: Nooooooo, that’s not what you’re doing…

Q: But the kid is okay with it…

Me: I would venture to guess that his parents are not. Unless I have a signed document from his parents stating that this child can spend $4.00 on a mechanical pencil that you have disguised as a Skylander, you'll have to save this idea for The Shark Tank, my friend...

Can you even believe it? He’s selling ideas? To nine year olds? What is next?

I am in so much trouble.

I mean, I admire his enterprising spirit...but this kid sure keeps me on my toes. I'm going to have to check his back pack every morning before he leaves for school!!

Q-isms: War - Get on the Phone

As Q was falling asleep tonight, he said "War sucks. They should just do war over the phone."

This got me thinking...

Israelis - this is our land

Palestinians - no, it's our land

Israelis - nope. It's our land

Palestinians - nope. It's ours

Israelis - ours

Palestinians - ours

Israelis - ours

Palestinians - oooooooouuuuuuurrrrs!!!!

Israelis - you're so immature. This is the land of our ancestors. It's ours.

Palestinians - ours

Syria - we don't have any nuclear weapons. We don't know what you're talking about.

US - yes you do. 

Syria - no, we don't. We promise. 

US - ya well we heard otherwise

Syria - I swear on my dead mothers grave we do not have nuclear weapons

US - *whispering* check with intel to see if his mother is dead...

Russia - uhhhhh, hello? Hello! Yes, this is Russia. It's true. We were there last week and there are no nuclear weapons. We checked. 

US - oh ya??? Then how come all those people died??

Syria - uh, well you know we did have a bad case of the flu sweep through the country. 

US - hey....we checked...your mother is still alive....

US - give us Hussein

Iraq - no

US - give us Hussein

Iraq - no

US - give us Hussein

Iraq - no

US - give us Hussein

Iraq - no

US - GAH!!! Give us HUSSEIN!!

Iraq - no

Afghanistan - we hate you and your western ways

US - you're talking on the phone right now, aren't you? You're welcome. We invented that. 

Afghanistan - ...

US - ya, and how's that toilet working for you???

Afghanistan - we mean your western values, okay?!?!!

US - ohhhhhhh, like life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness!!?

Afghanistan - ....

US - how do you like the iPhone 5?? Good reception??

*click*

Quebec - we just want to be alone

Canada - but we love you...

Quebec - it's just not working for us

Canada - but, you're a part of us

Quebec - it's not you, it's us. We're just better than you

Canada - no we can work this out.

Quebec - you can have your flag back

Canada - no. You keep it.

Quebec - we don't need it anymore 

Canada - you might change your mind. Sleep on it. You might feel differently tomorrow...

Lessons From my Son (Who is 8...) and Q-isms

Okay, so my kid is brilliant. 

 

And hilarious. 

 

And I haven't done a 'Q-isms' for a while, so this is a whole bunch of his wisdom all in one post.

 

Q:  I'm think I'm going to have two kids.  A boy first and then a girl.  I'm going to name the boy Joe and the girl Maria.

 

Me:  Why Joe and Maria?

 

Q:  I don't know.  I just really like those names.  But I guess if I had twins, I let my wife name one and I'd name the other.

 

Huh, sounds fair.  I didn't know 8 year olds thought about things like that.

 

Q:  I'm getting married in the Dominican Republic

 

Let me tell you this is a far cry from his destination of choice last year, which was Russia...

 

Q's Daddy:  What if your wife doesn't want to get married in the Dominican Republic?

 

Q:  Well, she can go where ever she wants, but I'm going to the Dominican. 

 

Q's Daddy:  How could you get married then?

 

Q:  Uh, she could call me...we could get married over the phone.

 

Ahhhhh, romantic just like his father...

 

Q:  I'm going to stay at my school until high school, and then I've decided to go to Seaquam, not Tamawanis.  Then I can go to school with S and B.

 

Again, do 8 year old boys plan their future like this kid?  Last week we spent an hour in a book store while he looked for books.  This in and of itself is not exactly odd behavior for a child, but he went around straightening all the books on the shelves as he was looking for books.  He didn't even notice he was doing it.

 

Last week he came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth, with a huge smile on his face and said, "Mommy, look!!!  If I curl the toothpaste tube from the end, it pushes the toothpaste to the end.  It looks so much neater!"  Seriously, could I be any more proud??  I know, I asked myself that question but then he asked me if we could clean his bedroom and give away any toys and/or clothes that he didn't use anymore...and I think my heart burst with joy.  Where did this kid come from?

 

So a few months ago, Q began telling me and his dad how he was going to be in the NHL when he was older.  I smiled to myself thinking how wonderful the dreams of young children are.  They have the whole world ahead of them and really can dream as big as they want.  But then, he started saying he wasn't going to University because he was pretty sure he would already be playing for BCHL and wouldn't have time to do both.

 

We put him in skating lessons shortly thereafter. 

 

Listen, I don't know if he's going to be in the NHL.  He's 8.  He could change his mind a million times over between now and the time he has to choose a career.  Truthfully, I still don't know what I want to be, and I'm 35.  What I do know is that I'm going to do everything I can to try and make sure all his dreams come true. 

 

Granted, he is starting pretty late if he wants to play professional hockey.  Most kids start skating as soon as they can walk, it seems and they're playing hockey by the time they're 4 or 5.  Q starting at 8 is a little late.  Not only that, he has had to start from the very beginning.  My heart ached for him, watching those first few skating lessons.  Frustration was written all over his face.  It was not easy.  He fell.  A lot.  His muscles hurt.  A lot.  There were kids who were way better than him, and that is really hard for a perfectionist.  (Just like me!!)  He really wanted to be a 'hockey player' and every time he'd get cocky and do some smooth move, he'd fall or trip or lose his balance.

 

I went and watched Q at his hockey practice tonight, and I have to say, that kid has come a long way.  I am continually amazed by the lessons I learn from my child.  We really are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for.  Practice and perseverance.  That's all it takes.  If we want something badly enough, practice and persevere.  I think of how many times I say, "I can't do that..."  I really, really can.  You really can.  The question is really, "How badly do you want it?"

 

We've been practicing spelling since grade one.  Ugh.  I'm not going to lie, it's been painful.  I am not even exaggerating when I tell you we've spent a hour and a half every night of the week studying for his spelling tests, just for him to still get half of them wrong.  There would be crying.  And sometimes, it was Q.  There would be yelling.  There would be, "Mommy.  Are you getting mad yet?" Because we both knew it was coming. 

 

But we persevered.  People kept saying, "It will click.  It will click." I didn't really believe it.  I was super glad that spell check existed and the iPhone literally finishes your words for you.  I knew Q would be okay.  He wouldn't be an English Professor, but he wouldn't be playing guitar at the subway station either. 

 

We kept practicing.  Oh. My. Goodness. You guys!!!!!  Something just clicked!!  Lately, we've been spending 10 minutes a night on spelling.  10 minutes!!  And he gets 100% on the tests.  Something just clicked!  If he gets one wrong, it's because he had a "brain fart" (his words).  See what practice and perseverance can do?!?!?!  I'm seriously reconsidering everything in my life.  Everything I've said I cannot do.  I'm not really giving myself enough credit. 

 

Q...he's an introvert.  He's quiet until he gets to know you.  He's a perfectionist.  He's determined, though and my heart is sooooo happy because he believes he's worth it.  He's worth all the practice and all the frustration and all the falling down and all the spelling mistakes.  He's worth it.  And he knows he's worth it.

 

Do you know you're worth it?  What are you holding back on because you think you can't???  I'm compiling my list right now.  Specifically, I'm feeling completely overwhelmed in this new job and wondering if I've made a mistake.  Am I capable of even doing this job?  I am going to take a lesson from my kid, though, and persevere.

 

And now I leave you with an awesome picture of my awesome child.

 

 

 

Q-isms - Life Plan

At 8 years of age, my Q has a life plan.  This in itself is amazing to me, because at (almost) 35, I do not have a life plan.  While overhearing his father and me talking about starting a fund for his university education, he said:

Q:  Do I have to use that money for college?  What if I don't go to college?

Me:  Oh you're going to college, my son.  Sorry, no choice there.

Q:   But if I'm already playing for the NHL by then, it will be hard to go to college AND play hockey at the same time. 

What, exactly, do you say to that?

Me:  Well, maybe that's where you'll be discovered...in University.  And then you'll be glad you went.

Q:  Ummmm, well I'm pretty sure I'm going to be picked up by the BCHL before that.

Hmmmmm, this kid has thought this through....

Later, I texted his dad...

I think we need to put Q in skating lessons

Not only has my son set a goal for his life, he's set a pretty lofty one.  He is determined to be in the NHL.  Yes, this might just be a phase he's going through but I'd rather support his goals, no matter how monumental, instead of telling him there's a pretty big chance they're not going to happen.  I mean, talk about winning horrible parent of the year award, hey?  Sorry kid, your goals....too high.  Not sure I believe in you enough to accomplish them...

So, he's signed up for skating lessons.  He has to be in skate 4 before they'll even consider him for hockey.  We get there, and there's like a hundred kids...boys in hockey jerseys and girls in skating tutus, all with dreams big enough to touch the sky.  I realize we're a little bit behind, because most kids who are interested in hockey start when they're 4, and not when they're 8.  We're behind and I'm feeling the pressure. 

And my little guy, he just looks so little.  There is he out on the ice, looking so vulnerable behind all these hopes and wishes.  My heart literally ached for him that evening.  I wanted to jump out onto the ice and let everyone know that he was going to be the next Jarome Iginla, so they better put all their efforts into teaching him.  He looked like he needed me to protect him.  I wanted to scoop him and all his hopes and dreams into a great big hug and protect them. 

I look around and all these kids have name tags, and they all just seem to know where to go.  My boy is just standing there.  With no name tag.  Where did these kids get their name tags?  Why does my kid not have a name tag?  Where were these effin' instructors anyways?  Who was running this chaos?  In that split second, I almost leaped over the glass, slipped on the ice and made a huge fool of myself all in an attempt to protect and help my little boy.

That's what it was...it was a split second.  Because Q, he skates out on the ice (without falling at all!!!) gets into a big circle with all these kids and starts doing EVERYTHING that the instructors do.  When he realizes everyone has a name tag and he doesn't, he skates over to the board where all the name tags are (oh...) finds his name, puts it on, and skates back to the group where he's supposed to be.  All without falling.  And then got put in the intermediate skating class.  Hmmhmmmm.

oh.

Dude did it all on his own!!!!  I'm having a fricken panic attack, my heart literally breaking over how much I love him and want to protect him, and the dude does it all ON HIS OWN without even a second thought.  This growing up thing is going to be really hard on me, I think.  Sometimes, I still catch myself doing up his coat zipper or putting his shoes on and he looks at me like I've lost my mind.

But it is this determination in him and this tenacity that leads me to believe he will meet all these goals that he has set for himself, that he is more than capable of doing so.  Whether he changes his mind and decides to become a neurosurgeon or a choir director (funny story: he came home from school the other day super stoked because he had joined the extra curricular choir AND had talked two of his buddies into it as well!!) he has all he needs to be successful.

He just needs me to put him in the skating lessons, sign the permission slips, give the encouragement, believe in him, support him, LOVE him.  He does not need me climbing over hockey glass and yelling at 15 year old instructors and writing letters to the NHL telling them to put my son on the Calgary Flames...or else.

this kid knows how to win friends...maple leaf jersey in vancouver...geez

Q-isms - Wise Beyond his Years

In many ways, I'm a conventional mom.  Q knows his manners, eats his veggies, takes a shower twice a week (if we're lucky), and goes to school on a regular basis.  We've tried to implement chores, but I mostly forget or if I do remember I do it myself because it's easier.  As he gets older, though, I see the value in teaching him the quality of responsibility, the importance of a job well done and a dollar earned - so I'm working on that.

In one way, I am not a conventional mom.  Q still sleeps in my bed.  There are three reasons for this.

1. He sleeps with his dad, too.  Every time I try to wean Q out of my bed, his father does not follow suit, so I relent.  If it's not consistent, it is fighting a losing battle.  I end up with too little sleep and then I'm ugly and grumpy.  Not a good combination.  Coincidentally, him sleeping with me in the beginning started as a way to get more sleep.  He slept longer with me beside him.
2. As an only child from two separate households, Q has some unique challenges that other children with siblings or with parents who are together do not have.  He gets separation anxiety.  If sleeping with me gives him a little extra confidence to get through his day, I see nothing wrong with that at all.
3. There is nothing more wonderful than feeling his little hand on my cheek as he falls asleep, hearing him breathe or talk in his sleep, and watching him sleep.  It is something I cherish.  It gives us extra time together where there is no "eat your dinner" or "do your homework" or "hurry up" or "slow down".  There is just us.

We often have our best talks just before he is going to bed.  I don't know if Q is like other children and I haven't given kids enough credit for their depth of understanding or if he is incredibly wise beyond his years.  Sometimes his insight is so wise it amazes me.  I think he is destined for great things, my little man - just because his compassion and his understanding is so great.

One such occasion was the night before Grade 3....

Q:  Daddy says grade three was his worst year ever.

Me:  That's because grade three is the year his mommy died.

Q:  Oh.  I didn't know that.  I just knew she was 42, but I didn't know he was only 8.  What happened to daddy?

Me:  His daddy moved to Libya to work, so daddy went to boarding school with Uncle Duck (or Doug as everyone else calls him).

Q:  What's a boarding school?

Me:  It's when you live and go to school and eat and play all in the same place.

Silence

Q:  I'm understanding some things more now.

Me:  Like what?

Q:  Daddy was offered a job in Dallas a while ago, and he didn't take it.

Me:  Do you know why he didn't take it?

Q:  Yes, because of me. 

Me:  Yup.  Because he loved you more.

Geez...for all the times I wish I was flexible enough to kick my ex in the face, I lied there thankful for knowing that my Q knows his daddy loves him.  He knows that his daddy wants something better for him than he had as a boy. 

I wonder how many children notice or appreciate what their parents sacrifice for them.  Anyone of us parents can name several things we've sacrificed in the name of our dear children, but how many of them know it?  How many know but don't appreciate it?  How many have to be told to be grateful?  And yet here is my little 8 year old boy not just knowing, but reveling in the knowledge?  It makes me want to cry just thinking of it.  I know it's something he'll carry within him well into his adulthood. 

We're seriously going to save on therapy bills for this one.

It's All in the Name or "Q-isms"

Q on his 8th birthday

I check my blog on a daily basis to see my stats.  Especially on the days I've blogged.  You see, someday I hope to make it big as a writer, a blogger.  I want people to quote my inspiration on Pinterest and laugh about how hilarious I am on Jay Leno (is he even still alive?  I'm in bed by 9:30 every night these days, so I remember when SNL was still funny.)  One day it will happen.  I just have to swallow my fear of failure and believe in myself.  My mother says I'm sitting on my ASSets...emphasis on the ASS. 

Anywho,

It's always funny to see how well the posts do, usually based solely on the title.  For example, I recently posted about "The Sparrows and the Wasps" thinking it was a funny take on the whole "Birds and Bees" thing, because sparrows are birds, and wasps are just as scary as bees.  Only ten people read it.  You guys were probably all, "booooooor-ing...who wants to read about sparrows???"  But everyone really missed out, because (ahem, if I do say so myself) it was one of the best posts from me, lately.  And it had a good moral ending.  Who can resist something like that??

Posts that are entitled, "Q-isms" are always really high, of course because everyone thinks my little gem is just as fabulous as I do.  Recently, we were listening to the radio when a singer had the crowd sing a few lines of the song.  He was so funny, "Doesn' the singer realize people don't want to listen to the crowd sing...they're paying good money to listen to the singer.  They're getting ripped off."  He might have something there.  Maybe we should ask for a refund for the portion of the song the singer didn't sing.  I told him people like hearing the crowd sing because it makes them feel like part of the action, part of something bigger than themselves.  He didn't really buy it. 

Post with pictures that I've stolen from Google (and then of course, have attributed to Google.  Of course.) go through the roof.  This is always, always super disappointing, because I think that I've finally done it, I've said what the masses want to hear!!!! I'm going to be famous!!!!  People love SingleDatingMommy!!!!!  But no no, people are just googling 'images of gansters' and up pops my blog (true story...one of my most famous posts is called, "What are you Wearing" and it's about being gansta.   Yo yo wassssup.  I've since stopped including pictures unless they're mine.  I don't like the let down.  No one looks for a picture of a "hot italian guy", stumbles upon my blog, and then becomes an avid follower.  I know, they're missing out.  You know they're missing out.  I just can't make them stay.

As you've noticed, I might just start using "Q-isms" in every title.  You guys are smarter than that though, you'll figure it out soon enough.

Maybe. 

But I guess insulting my readers is not a good way to increase readership, right??

Q-isms - What A Man (boy) Wants

Watching The Bachelorette with Q is probably not one of my finer parenting moments, I'll agree.  Is there even a defense?  Mondays he's with me and Monday is Bachelorette day, and I kind of thought he wasn't even paying attention.  Except when he'd be all, Is Ryan still on the show?"  But we'd both look away and gag and make "ewwwwwwww" noises when ever she kissed someone...does that count as bonding time??  No, no, you're right, I don't think so either. 

So, we're watching the finale...

Q:  I would never marry her.

Me:  Why?  Because she's like 20 years older than you?

Q:  No, because she knows nothing about hockey.

Ladies beware - if you want to marry my son, you had better know your hockey!

Q-isms: A Wife's Responsibility

Friday will go down in history as the first time my son said, "Mommy, stop.  You're embarrassing me."  I think I'm a super cool mom, so I was totally offended by this remark.  What is so embarrassing about rocking out to Pitbull on the radio while driving?  Hmmmm?  Tell me, please.  Because I thought my moves were awesome.  And when did I get old enough to be embarrassing?  I don't wear *mom* jeans, I don't yell at him from across the school yard, I don't lick my finger and then clean the food from his cheek.  However, now that I know I'm in the *embarrasing mom zone* it is open season.  Q had better watch his back.

Friday was also my cheat day, a.k.a the day I get to eat what ever I want.  Sadly, I have learned that even on my cheat day there must be a limit or else I find myself super ill the next day, but it was super hot out and nothing screams summer like a slurpee! Of course, you can't have a slurpee without some potato chips...anyways, so not the point.  So Q has his hands full with a slurpee, a pack of chips and a soccer ball (what can I say? He's a boy...) and can't open the car door.  Determined to ensure I'm not his slave well into the next decade, I decided he needed to figure out how to open that car door on his own.  A full five - very frustrating - minutes later, and we were both in the car (sans seat belt...as he had difficulty figuring that one out too...). 

Q:  Mommy you could have just opened the door for me, you know.

Me:  I probably could have.  But my hands were full too, and I managed to do it.

Q:  But I needed your help.  It would have been easier.

Me:  Yup.  But part of my job as a mommy is to give you tools that you can use when you're an adult.  Imagine I didn't teach you how to open the car door with your hands full.  You'd be a 40 year old man with a brief case in one hand, a coffee and car keys in the other and you'd have no idea how to open the door.  Then I've failed as a mommy.

He laugh, thinks about it a bit...

Q:  No.  I'll just get my wife to do it.

Q-isms - Revelations and the National Anthem

There are a few things about boys that I am learning are *typical*.  Little boys are not complex, and I don't mean this to be mean.  I mean that what you see is definitely what you get.  I can (and have) spend minutes with other mothers I've just met and we can instantly bond over our little boys and their *typical* traits. 

For instance, I can send Q to his bedroom to put on a t-shirt and shorts and like 15 minutes later, he'll still be naked.  He'll be in his bedroom, but he has been totally distracted by some toy he hasn't given any thought to for months.  All of the sudden, it is the coolest.thing.ever.  First common trait among boys: easily distracted.

I cannot even tell you how many times I've told Q to go get something and less than 5 seconds later, I hear, "MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!  I CAN'T FIND IT.  I'VE LOOKED EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!!"  I tell him to look again, this time giving him a hint, and then I hear again, "NOPE.  IT'S NOT HERE!!"  And yes, he's yelling, because he's upstairs and I'm downstairs.  Then I get all yelly too, "IF I FIND IT IN LESS THAN 5 SECONDS MISTER, YOU'RE IN TROUBLE...." and every single time I do find it.  In less than 5 seconds.  Q cannot find something that is right under his nose.  Ever.  Second common trait: Not very observant.

Q is a man of few words, and this is trait #3.  Every day I ask him how his day was and every day I get, "Good."  That's it.  Good.  Every day.  I try to probe.  "Well, what was your favourite part???" "I forget."  Either my son has a very serious problem with his short term memory or he just can't be bothered to tell me.  I also get this, "What did you do today?" and I get, "Nothing."  Nothing. I haven't seen you in 8 hours and you haven't done anything??  Something is wrong.  Also, when I ask him what he's thinking he says, "Nothing."

Hmmmmm.....

So, I kind of had this revelation:  How many times have you asked a guy, who looks super deep in thought, what he's thinking?  Expecting some profound words to come from his mouth, he looks at you and says, "Nothing."  I know that I have and I was all pissed off because I thought he didn't feel comfortable sharing his thoughts, or didn't think I was important enough to his waste precious time sharing his thoughts with me.  But nope, turns out...he really wasn't thinking anything at all.

Or, when was the last time you got your hair done, thinking it was super drastic and super awesome and your guy doesn't comment or notice at all?  And then you get all distraught, "He doesn't even look at me anymore." SOB.  Ya, chances are...he's just a guy and he wouldn't notice right away if you shaved your head bald.  I know, and now I feel a little bad because it's really not their fault.  They're born that way.  We're just so different, us women and those men.  I think that if I ever have a boyfriend again, I'll (maybe) be a little more patient to their *inadequacies*.  They just can't help it.

But back to Q...before bed cuddles are the best time of our day.  We cuddle, he shares things with me that he doesn't think of during the day.  Last night, he started singing "Edelweiss" in his sweet soprano voice.  I asked him if he learned it in music class and he was really quiet.  This meant that he learned it in the dreaded Mrs. J's class, and he doesn't want to say, because I will say..."Well, she cannot be all bad if she taught 20 children to sing such a beautiful song," as I've done before when he sings a song she's taught. 

Me: You know, Q.  Edelweiss is the National Anthem of Austria  (which by the way, I just googled and turns out it isn't, but he doesn't have to know that, and really it's not the point of the story, okay?)

Q:  Ugh, I'm glad I don't have to sing that song every Monday morning!

Me:  You sing the Canadian Anthem every Monday?

Q:  Yep.

Me:  Like you have an assembly and sing it all together?

Q:  Nope

Me:  In your classroom?

Q:  Yep.

Me:  And they play the music over the loud speaker?  Do you put your hand over your heart?

Q:  Yep.  Mrs. J does but not me. 

Me:  Well, sing it then.

And he does.  He sings the whole song from start to finish, word for word.  It was amazing.  I was so proud of him.  I was so proud of his school for taking the time to teach the children a little patriotism, because let's face it...us Canadians are not as patriotic as our neighbours to the south even though we have a really fabulous thing going on here in Canada.

Q-isms - Phobias

Before bed, Q and I always read stories...and of course, my child is brilliant and requires more intellectual stimulation than a fairy tale or a nursery rhyme, he requires non-fiction.  He actually said the words, 'I just want to learn about everything mommy!'  So learn he shall.  We read books about snakes and crocodiles and oceans and planets.  Right now we're reading this National Geographic Almanac book about anything and everything you could ever imagine. Even I find it amazing and informative.  Did you know that messages from your brain travel along your nerves at up to 322km/hr??  Like that's super fast, huh?

We're reading the book last night and we get to this page that describes 18 extreme fears.  We get half way through this list of phobias and Q stops me. 

Q: Alright, so I have three so far. 

The kid cracks me up.  By the end of the 18 phobias, he was convinced he had 5.

Oneirophobia (the fear of dreams...go figure)

Dentophobia (the fear of dentists...I hear ya, baby)

Herpetophobia (the fear of reptiles and snakes)

Phasmophobia (the fear of ghosts...who doesn't have this...am I right)

Panaphobia (the fear of everything)

Like momma, like son

Q-isms - Jokes

Q is one of the very few 7 year old's who actually gets sarcasm.  He has impeccable timing.  He can deliver one liners better than most adults I know.  He has us laughing on a daily basis.  But unlike most 7 year old's, he doesn't quite 'get' jokes - you know, ones that have a punchline (he's all over fart jokes and such...)  Admittedly, I cannot tell a joke because I always, always forget the punchline or some really important part of the joke. So, this is just so funny to me, I giggle over and over again to myself whenever I think of it.

Q:  Mommy, do you want to hear a story?

Me:  Sure

Q:  Okay.  So, this French guy who only speaks french is visiting an English city.  He goes into a music store and a lady is practicing her singing, and she sings, "Me, me, me, me, me, me".  Later on in the day, he is hungry so he goes into a restaurant and they are playing music and a song that goes, "Forks and knives, knives and forks."  After his meal, he passes by a police man who is leaning over a dead body.  The police man asks, "Who killed this man?"  The french man answers, "Me, me, me, me, me."  The policeman says, "Well, how did you do it?"  and the man replies, "Forks and knives, knives and forks."   

The funny thing about this is that my kid cannot remember what he did in school ever (unless he really doesn't do anything) yet he could remember every single detail of this story and didn't stumble once.  The second thing about this that made me giggle was that he thought his best friend J came up with this story all on his own - jokes like this have been around since I was a child.  

And the funniest thing about this was....

Q:  Like, what are the odds that the only words this guy knows are the ones that get him into trouble?? 

(Really?  How many 7 year old boys say *what are the odds?*)

Me:  That's the whole point, honey!!  It's a joke.

Q:  Oh.  Really? 

Silence

Q:  Okay, that makes so much more sense.

Me:  Ya, kids have been telling jokes like this one since I was a little girl!

Q:  Really?  So J didn't make it up?

Man, that kid just cracks me up!!

Q-isms

So we're shopping for a baby gift for a girlfriend of mine. Q, the definition of miserable when we're shopping for anyone other than him, says to me while looking through all these adorable baby clothes...

"Why do you have to buy it something? Why can't it's owner just buy it stuff??"

'Q' isms - Pee Pees and Pee Wees

So we all knew this one was coming, right?

Q:  Mommy, why do boys have pee pees and girls have pee wees?

Me:  They're actually called vagina's...not pee wees.

Q:  Oh ya.   So, why do boys have penis' and girls have anginas?

ah, close enough...

Me: {thinking really fast about whether or not to tell him the real reason or the happy *God made us that way* answer} uh, well dude...I think you're old enough to know - when babies are born, they come out from down there...so if girls had penises too, it would really hurt, don't you think?

Silence

Silence

Silence

Q:  So this is awkward...

Me:  Yup it kind of is...

Q:  So what?  Every time you poo, you have a baby???

Me:  No, it's a little more complicated than that.  Remember there has to be an egg and it has to be fertilized...

Q:  Oh...right.

Q:  Night, night mommy.  I love you.

Me:  {phew...that's it?}  I love you too, honey.  Sweet dreams.

Q-isms Christmas Style

Getting Q to read every night before bed is always a struggle. 

"But I already know how to read," is his argument.  So do I, but I still read all the time.  I'm trying to pass on my love of reading - the beginning of an exciting, new world - but he'll have none of it.  He doesn't understand my passion, especially when I can do the reading for him.  One particular night last week, he was really putting up a fight.  He would read a word perfectly in one sentence and then suffer from instantaneous amnesia and totally forget the word in the next.  Finally, I had enough.  We put the book away and turned out the lights. 

I could hear him whimpering, so I asked what was wrong.

Q:  I'm gonna be on the naughty list for sure!! *sob*

Me:  Well, what do you think you can do to change that?

Q:  Nothing.

Q:  It's too late.  *BAWL*

Me:  I don't think it's ever too late to start behaving well.  Why do you want to be good?  So you can be on the nice list?  Or so you can be a good person? 

Q:  So I can be on the nice list.

*Silence*

*Sniff*

Q:  ....aaaaaaaaand so I can be a nice person...

He gets two points for being smart. 

And "Santa" already bought all the presents, so he's spared for this year.  This year, which will probably be the last year, he believes in Santa.

'Q'-isms

Q:  I'm going to be in a play at school

Me:  Really?  Wow that's exciting!  When?

Q:  I don't know yet.

Me:  Oh, what's it about?  Is it a Christmas play?

Q:  I don't know yet.

Me:  Oh....

Q:  It's going to be me, Noah, and Joshua.

Me:  Did Mrs. J pick you three to be in a play?

Q:  No, we picked ourselves.

(this is starting to sound a little odd...)

Me:  Oh, so you volunteered to be in a play at school?

Q: Ya

(really odd...Q is quite the introvert...)

Me:  Can parents come to see the play?

Q:  No it's during recess and lunch.

Me:  Oh so it's for the other kids?

huh?

Q:  I don't really know yet.  Noah came up to me and Joshua today at school and asked us if we wanted to make some extra money.

Me:  Ohhhhhh......

Q:  It seemed like a really good idea at first, but now it sounds really dumb.

Me:  Nooooo, it's not dumb (exactly....)  How much were you thinking of charging kids?  Like a quarter?

Q:  No, more.

Me:  Fifity cents?

Q:  No, we were thinking like five dollars....

Me:  Wow, honey, I gotta say that's kinda steep.  Remember cheap movies are only two dollars more than that and you get special effects and action and popcorn!!  You'll need a plot, and action, ohhhhh, and a love story.

Q:  Ewwww, no love story.  That's gross. 

Yes, I agree...love stories are gross. 

Oh my goodness, can you imagine the call from the principal on that one? 

Happy Momma's Day

There is really nothing else in this world that defines me as much as being "Mummy" to my Q.  It's who I am.  I can't even imagine my life without the little bug around.  I tell my mom that I should actually get presents from her on Mother's Day because without me, she wouldn't even be a mother.  (Coincidentally, I think she might be listening because this year, I actually did get some pressies from her...haha, my plan is working...)

One thing my ex and I started doing after the split was taking Q out and buying presents for the other parent on special occasions like Mother's Day or birthdays or Christmas.  Truthfully, it's never anything expensive, but Q, the ever determined little boy, always gets a clear idea in his head before we go shopping of what he wants to buy.

One year, for instance, I got a can opener.  Yup.  A can opener.  One of those electric ones that no one in the house knows how to use.  It takes like 20 minutes to open a can.  Seriously.  But the little guy was so excited, he could hardly even wait as I opened it on Christmas morning.  Once I had opened it and ohhhh'd and awwwwww'd over it, he says, "and you know what the best part is, Mommy?  Everything in the kitchen is white, but the can opener is black, so everyone will see it!!!"  How can you not keep a can opener for the next 20 years with excitement like that?  This year for Christmas I got an Iron.  So I "don't have to share with Nana anymore." 

I have a jewelry box that Q made two years ago for Mother's Day.  His dad says he spent hours every day for weeks (maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but maybe not) making it out of an old box.  It's the most beautiful jewelry box I've ever seen, if not the most practical.  My necklaces get tangled up in each other and I have a heck of a time finding my earrings, but I know I'll have it when I'm 85.  I know he smiles every single time I open it to get a ring out.  He knows I love it.

This year, Q made a storybook at school for me about me.  "This is my Mother," it says.  "She likes to sleep."  This just kills me, because out of everything in the whole world he could say, two years in a row he's written about how much I like to sleep.  I've got to find a more exciting hobby!  "She looks the prettiest when we go to the beach.  I love her very much because she loves me back."  It's stuff like this that makes me just want to bawl.  He's just such a beautiful little guy.

Then, there's stuff like this....

Q:  Mommy, if dinosaurs were still alive, they would eat you.

Me:  Ya, well...they'd eat you too!

Q:  No.  They only like the fat ones.

Yup, such a beautiful little guy....

Happy Mother's Day, my friends.

Feelings, Nothing More than.....oh, Whatever....

Holy Moly, what an emotional week.

I would suggest not moving while PMS-ing.  It would probably be way easier.  It would most likely eliminate the overwhelming desire to ram your vehicle into the vehicle in front of you over and over and over.  And then backing up into the one behind you a time or two and then laughing as you speed away.  To be clear, I did not do this, not even once, but I really, really had to talk myself out of it.  More than once. 

I was all *smarty pants* about labelling the boxes and stuff...but you know after a while, you just get fed up with packing and labelling and making sure you've taped the box correctly, and you just start throwing things in boxes and slapping tape everywhere, thinking, "Oh, I'll totally remember what's in this one."  And then you realize you've got a trabillion boxes that all look the same.  Then, it's 11pm in the new house and you're going through every single effing box trying to find a tampon.  Just one.  But no, you couldn't be bothered to label that box.  You couldn't even be bothered to have packed the tampons with other bathroom things, because that would have been way too simple.  I'm half tempted to just keep everything in boxes and buy new.  Budget be damned.  Next time I move, I'm hiring a moving company, a cleaning crew, going on a cruise and returning when it's over.  Of course, moving is stressful but that was really just one tiny part of an all round emotional week.

For instance, I got really emotional when I went to pick up my son from his father's with a few boxes in the back seat that Q had to rest his feet on.  I guess my ex is trying to win the father of the year award, because he totally freaked out that I was putting my child in an unsafe situation.  I'm not sure if he was more concerned that Q would get a paper cut or a muscle cramp but the man made me take all the boxes out of the car in the pouring rain and repack them.  Oh I was furious.  Livid.  First of all, suggesting that I would put my son in a situation that would compromise his well being totally set me off, but to suggest it in front of my son, well...I saw red.  Nothing is more important to me than my son's safety, but just as important is my son's confidence that he is safe in my care.  I am happy to report that we got the whole way home without one paper cut, so woot woot for me, right?

Also emotional - a sad story that I'm sure happens much too often, hitting much too close to home.  Before the spring break, Q brought home a letter from the principle saying that a family in his school had been in a horrific car accident that had taken the life of the mother, injured the father, and both daughters were fighting for their lives.  This in itself was horrible, but really they were words on a page.  This past Tuesday, the two little girls - one in kindergarten, one in grade 2 - returned to school, both in wheel chairs.  Their father escorting them on crutches.  It just absolutely broke my heart.  I just wanted to scoop the whole family up and give them a great big hug.  It brought home how fragile we all are, and just how finite life really is.

Third emotional wreck moment was the Royal Wedding.  I know lots of people who think it's ridiculous - all the pomp and circumstance over two people getting married, but I disagree.  First of all, what little girl hasn't dreamed of growing up and marrying a Prince?  So when Princess Catherine married Prince William, really a little part of all us *little girls* were standing up there right along with her.  Secondly, my heart just broke that Princess Diana wasn't there to see her Wills all grown up.  I really do think she'd be proud of the man he's become, and he really truly looks as though he's madly in love with his bride.  We all remember, I'm sure, the sullen little boys following their mother's casket and to see them grown and happy and handsome really just made a mother's heart happy. 

Living in the uber-multicultural Canada, it's so fascinating to see so many different cultures and all the traditions that are represented.  Watching the Royal Wedding made me feel part of a culture rich with history and tradition of its own, and there's nothing wrong with that (I am half brit, ya know).  I still remember where I was when Princess Di married Prince Charles (in a motel on a family vacation on our way *back home* to Ontario) and getting goose bumps when she walked down the aisle.  I was only four.  That's probably one of my first memories. 

So, an emotional wreck kind of a week.  I've been blessed with a little boy who is growing way to fast, whom I love so, so much.  Sometimes I feel like my heart might burst with love for him.  I said to him the other day (as I always do...)

Me: Do you know how much I love you?

Q usually responds, "How much, Mommy?"  and I say, "More than you'll ever know" but this day, he said

Q:  Ya...

Me: How much?

Q:  Too much...

Ah...you say tomato, I say tomatoe...

'Q'-isms

Once upon a time, when I was much younger and had no worries, my goal in life was to have all my bras and panties match.  I'm almost ashamed to admit it, really.  People in the world are hungry and I want to spend gobs of money on bra/pantie sets.  I'm even more ashamed to admit that, for a brief time, they did all match. 

Now that I am an adult, with the weight of the world on my shoulders (and the twins aren't as perky as they once were) I have boring bras and only buy new ones when the wire starts poking through the cotton.  Then I plod (well, maybe it's more of a traipse, or a swagger) on down to the nearest department store and buy a couple *on sale*.  I haven't shopped at La Senza or Victoria Secret for years because they just didn't fit right.  A girlfriend I had in High School used to joke that she couldn't shop there because all the bras were too big, and I couldn't shop there because all the bras were too small. 

But La Senza was having a sale, and I just can't resist a bargain.  I sceptically tried on one and I think they've changed their fits...it fit really, really nice.  It was so super comfortable too...I ended up buying three.  And I figured, if I was going to splurge, I might as well get a funky one...you know, just for me. 

I guess you're all wondering what this has to do with Q, right? 

Well, the other morning I was putting make up on in the bathroom and Q was watching me.  The night before, I must have taken my bra off and thrown it on the side of the bathtub.  Q noticed it, held it up with a look of utter disgust and said,

Q:  Do you think this is appropriate?

He was horrified that his mother would wear a blue/green leopard print bra.  Horrified.  In fact, I had to dig it out of the garbage can, he was that bothered by it.

Can you imagine what he would have thought if I hadn't talked myself out of the matching thong?!?!

That would have been inappropriate...

I'm gonna have to hide the neon pink one I bought :P

'Q'-isms

When Q was much younger (oh, he is growing so, so fast) he would say that he wanted to marry me.  He would say I was his girlfriend.  He hasn't said either in a while.  And you know, a girl needs reassurance, right?  So I asked the other night when we were watching "Dancing With the Stars".  He casually asked where Lacey Schwimmer was.  I thought this was odd, seeing as how he's uh...well...six.  What six year old boy avidly follows "Dancing with the Stars", let alone knows all the players?  I figured out it was because he thought she was pretty.  After assuring him it's okay for him to like girls and think they're pretty, I dropped the question...

Me:  Remember when you wanted to marry Mommy?

Q:  Ya

Me:  Do you still want to marry Mommy?

Q:  I don't know

Me:  What?  You don't know?  What don't you know?

Q:  Well....

Me:  Well what?

Q:  You might be ugly...

'Q'-isms

The other night a male colleague/friend (totally, totally platonic) called me.  I was putting Q to bed, but I was eager to get the phone so I could possibly get a little more sympathy from someone who may or may not have heard that I was sick.  Well, that...and I had meant to stop by the other day and in the end never showed up, and needed to explain myself.

Anyways...

The conversation ended with this:

Co-worker:  Okay Sunshine!  Talk to you soon.

Me: Bye bye

Click

Q:  Is he your WIFE?

Me:  Huh?

Q:  He is.  He is.  He's your wife!!!! 

Me:  What are you talking about?

Q:  He called you sunshine.  He's your wife.

Me:  Okay, number one...it's husband.  A woman is a wife, and man is a husband.  So, if Mommy got married, she would have a husband and be a wife.  Secondly, dude, if Mommy was married and had a husband, I think you would have heard about it before now.

Q:  Oh.  Why did he call you sunshine then?

Me:  Because I'm just like the sun.  I make people happy where ever I go.

Q:  Oh.  Night night, Mommy.

Me:  Night night, Q.  Sweet dreams.

Q:  Sweet dreams to you, too.

Me:  I love you, Q.

Q:  I do, too.

What a strange, strange world this world must seem to a 6 year old.  Wives and husbands, sunshines and sweet dreams.