Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas

Conversations with my nearly three year old, Doodle, often fluctuate from the superficial, to the educational, to the surreal.

Case in point: In the car, the on the way home from daycare the other night. We’re pulling out of the daycare parking lot when he starts in…

Doodle: Dada bump bump!!

Me: Speed bump?

Doodle: Dada bump bump!!

Me: Daddy drives over the speed bumps?

Doodle: YES! Dada bump bump!!

Me: oookay. Fine. Daddy drives over the speed bumps.

Boo: But we’re in Mommy’s car, Doodle!

Doodle: MOMMY’S PURPLE BUS!

Me: Yes, Mommy’s purple bus.

Doodle: GooooTHAWAY! No lighs. Kistmas ov-ah.

Me: No, Doodle, we’re going this way and yes. the lights are gone. Christmas is over. What do you want for dinner tonight?

Doodle: Thawaydadashoose!

Me: Yes, Dad’s house is that way. We’re going to mommy’s house tonight.

Doodle: WizTeeb?

Me: Yes, Steve will be there.

Doodle: YEA! And makcheez?

Me: Yes, we’re having mac and cheese tonight

You can file a box of this under "How to bribe a 2.5 year old."

(Heaven help us if it’s not mac and cheese. If that were the case, the rest of this conversation would be the sound of my beloved blonde-headed boy screaming MAAAAKCHEEEEZ! over and over again. Alas, it was mac and cheese night, so the saga continues…)

Doodle: PAAAAHK! Mommeee! PAAAAHK.

Me: Yes, Doodle. That’s the park. We pass it every day. It’s still there. It hasn’t moved.

Doodle: PWAYGWOUND! NIGHT NIGHT PWAYGWOUND! Too dawk, Mommy. Pwaygwound go nigh night. Too dawk.

Me: Yes, Doodle, it’s too dark to play at the playground tonight. We can come back on Saturday and ride bikes and play. Okay?

(Oh crap, now I opened the Pandora’s box for a toddler who sees Saturday coming in T-5 minutes.)

Doodle: NO MOMMY! TOO DAWK! PWAYGWOUND! NIGHT NIGHT!

Me: I know, Doodle. I’m talking about this weekend. It’s only Monday now. We’ve got five days to go.

Doodle: ONE TWO THWEE FOOOR FWIVE!

Me: Yep, five little man. Five.

Doodle: Go Mommy House?

Me: Yes, we’re going to mommy’s house.

Doodle: MAKCHEEZE!?!?

Me: Yes, we’re having mac and cheese.

Doodle: TAHMAS!

Me: Yes, you can watch Thomas.

Doodle: POOTER!

Me: Yes, you can play on the computer while I make dinner!

Doodle: BUMP BUMP MOMMY! BUMP BUMP!

Me: Yes Doodle, speedbumps. We’re almost home.

Doodle: I HAS PEEENUTS!

Boo: WHAT?

Doodle: I HAS PEENUTS! DADDY HAS PEENUTS! TEEB HAS PEENUTS! MOMMY NO PEENUTS! BOO NO PEETNUTS!

Me: Yes Doodle. Do you know why?

Boo (the ever-helpful sister): Doodle, you and Daddy and Steve have a PEEENIS because you are BOYS! Me and Mommy have VAH-JAI-NAHS because we’re girls. Right Mommy?

Me: Yes, Boo. You’re right. Now. Can we close out the personal part inventory while I try to back the car in?

Doodle: MAKCHEEZE MOMMY! MAKCHEEZE!

Was that as exhausting to read as it was to write? Imagine living it for the five-minute drive between daycare and school every day. That said, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. MAKCHEEZE, PEENUTS, and BUMP BUMPS and all.

I picked up my 6YO Boo from school today. She was a chatterbox full of news from school over the past few days…

Boo: Guess what, Mommy?

Me: What Boo?

Boo: I stayed on blue today.

[Okay, a quick explanation is due here. In Boo's class, each kid starts his or her day with a blue poker chip (gotta love a Catholic school in Vegas). If they behave, they stay on blue, if they don't, they move from blue to green, green to yellow, and yellow to red as their behavior deteriorates. There are few offenses that will lead a child from blue to red instantly, namely direct and deliberate disobedience of a direct order, intentional harm to another classmate, and apparently this one...]

Me: Good for you, sweetheart.

Boo: Guess what, Mommy?

Me: What Boo?

Boo: Sierra (Boo’s BFF) was on red.

Me: Oh no. What happened?

Boo: She runned to the bathroom.

Me: She ran to the bathroom.

Boo: She RAN to the bathroom

Me: Ohhhh-kay. And?

Boo: I seen her running and told Miss Kindergarten Teacher.

Me: You saw her running. Was Sierra okay?

Boo: Yes.

Me (puzzled): So, why was she running?

Boo: I don’t know. She was just running and I told on her. And Miss KT put her on red.

Me: Well, Boo. It’s not nice to rat out your friends like that. Was she hurting anyone? Was it any of your business?

Boo: Well, no. But Miss KT  told us to tell.

Me: Sigh.

How do you teach a child to respect authority and follow direction without encouraging her to become the class tattle tale?

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This post was a part of Mrs. Flinger’s Write of Passage Project. Go check out the other writers and give them your feedback.

Acquaintances or service providers who call and assume you know them by their first name only. The other day, I’m trying to back “Mommy’s Purple Bus” (as Doodle calls my blue Honda Odyssey) into my very narrow garage (in the torrential rain, mind you) and my cell phone goes off. I don’t recognize the number. So, I answer in case it’s someone I can’t call back when I get in the house and settled (I work with people in different time zones). Anywho, I grab my phone and stop the car before I back into the wall of my garage.

Caller: Hi Nancy!
Me: Uh, Hello?
Caller: It’s Emilee!
Me (somewhat puzzled): Uh, hi Emilee.

My mouth pauses while my brain frantically scrolls through the mental rolodex for ANYONE I know named Emily, Emilee, Emmy, whatever may be remotely close to that name. Family? nope. Close friends? nope. Someone from work? Nuh-uh. Kids’ school/daycare? Empty. Oh, EmmieJ? Why would she be calling me? She’s in California and does she even have my number? Crap. Let’s just play along while I try to apply the context clues method (where they taught me back in elementary school to figure out “big words”) to figure out who in the heck this is.

Emilee: How are you? How are the kids?
Me: Um. They’re great. With their dad this week. I miss them lots, but they’re good. Thanks for asking.

Double crap. They know about my kids. Maybe this is another parent. Scrolling…scrolling…can’t ask about her kids in case I’m wrong. Silence may be the better part of valor here, but I can’t stand this any longer.

Must. Figure. This. Out. Or. My. Brain. May. Explode.

Me: So, what’s new with you?
Emilee.: Oh, not too much. I just wanted to call and remind you about your hair appointment tomorrow night. Are we still on for 5?
HALLELUJAH! It’s the hairdresser. That. I’ve. Seen. ONCE.
Me: Oh yeah. Sure. We can catch up more when I see you then. Thanks for the reminder. Be careful out in the rain tonight. The roads are a mess.
Emilee: Yes they are. You be careful, too. See you tomorrow.
Me: Good night!
Emilee: Buh-Bye!

I sigh in relief as my mental rolodex finally files the voice with the face.

Please people, for the love of all that is good and holy, give me some context when you call, especially when I’ve only had one real conversation with you for an hour that was six weeks ago. It’s not that I think I’m too important to remember you, it’s just that my brain has limited space and it’s crammed full of useless crap like the names of my Kindergarten classmates’ siblings, and the phone numbers of every place I’ve ever lived, and the names of the entire staff at Charm City Bakery. My brain is a sponge. It holds onto weird shit no matter how much I try to wring it out to make room for the more important stuff…like people’s names and voices.

I try, but I need your help. A little context goes a long way.

On the flip side…Mom, when you leave me a message, you don’t need to say, “Nancy, it’s your mother…” After 38 years, I think I know the voice by now.