Ride On

Ben made three proclamations yesterday, on his sixth birthday:

1. I'm not taking baths anymore, just showers.
2. Dad needs to take the training wheels off my bike.
3. (To Roman) God let me be born first so I'd be taller than you.

I was cool with #1 and terrified of #2. As for #3...well, it remains unaddressed, since I can neither confirm nor deny. I just keep my fingers crossed that they'll both grow taller than me.

So, back to #2. Ben hadn't even attempted a two-wheeler, so I was prepping my shoe-tying persistence pep talk...only replacing bunny ears with speed, gravity and concrete.

But off went the wheels, crossed went our fingers (again) and...would you believe?!

Our little six-year-old boy rode it like a pro! That is, a pro who only turns left, which I believe is a NASCAR driver. 

Here's a live action shot:

And, yes, Ben did eventually run into our neighbor's red truck. Nevertheless, we were amazed, Ben was thrilled and he ended a lengthy, lovely birthday celebration feeling like king of the sidewalk. In fact, I'll keep this short because he's waiting to ride again.

Grand Theft Marbles

Roman came home from pre-school with a pocket full of marbles today. Super cool, glittery marbles, unlike anything we own.

Uh oh.

"Are those ours?" I asked. After all, I have an A-plus grasp of our home's contents; Just ask Anthony, who receives an unwanted refrigerator inventory every time he opens its door.

So, Roman tried to pull one over on me ("Yeah, I got them in the upstairs closet," he said. Uh, is there a gift shop up there I'm not aware of?), but thankfully he's inherited my inability to pull off a whopper.

Oh, and I watch a lot of Law & Order so I'm a pretty skilled interrogator.

Fast forward through my "so very disappointed" speech, his crying and my secret crying, and we returned to pre-school where the wonderful Mrs. Wilson - trying to eat her own lunch - accepted them graciously, told Roman she still loves him, assured me privately that he's not the first marble thief (they are super cool), then sent us away on Spring Break.

So, a D-minus day for parenting, but I do think his punishment - returning to the scene of the crime - worked for now. I mean...does this look like the face of a felon?!

(Yes.)

Occupy Chick-fil-A?

This week marks the openings of Cabela's and Chick-fil-A here in Wichita. Big news folks. BIG. Highly anticipated stuff...by everyone but me.

No offense to Cabela's, of course; I'm simply more in- than outdoorsy. But, I'm hoping it'll lure some of my more adventurous friends here for a visit.

C-f-A, on the other hand, I could do without, since I'm not a fan of chicken. Or fried food. Or long lines. Or homophobes. (They heavily support Prop 8.)

My opinion aside, it's a fitting pair, since Cabela's no doubt sold some of these tents:

It's a little hard to make out, but that's Chick-fil-A (opening tomorrow, not today), with a parking lot full of temporary residents. It's Occupy Chick-fil-A, I guess, but the only protesting these folks are doing is against their Wednesday paychecks and Thursday digestive systems.

But it got me thinking:
1. What would be worth an overnight stay in a tent? Concert tickets? Cheap TVs? I can't think of a single thing, but maybe that's just my indoorsy side showing through.

I did once get up extra early and skip Race for the Cure (nice) for the opening of Super Target in Denver. But we called it "Race for the Super Target" and made a Komen donation, so it's cool, right? And it was during my 20s, so it shall be stricken from the record.

2. Would this happen at a gym? Two national chains are opening locations in town early next year. While I don't welcome the competition to Genesis and, frankly, can't believe there's demand for it (see above picture), I wonder, will it draw overnight visitors who can't wait to hop aboard a treadmill?

Oh, I can sure dream.

P.S. I wonder if these campers are aware: there's already a Chick-fil-A in town, about 4 miles from their campsite...

Sh*t My Kids Say

Can I cuss in this thing? Oh, maybe just this once...

See, we were practicing Ben's speech therapy exercises this morning, working on the ending "T" sound...you know, hat, fruit, boot, etc. He looks at the drawings and tells me the word, really emphasizing the final "Tuh..."

Easy, right?

Until this picture:

I could see Ben's little wheels turning. "Umm...shi...SHIT!" he announced.

And I can see his logic: clearly it's a picture of a ship, but since it's a T-ending exercise...well, shit it is! (Turns out boat was the correct answer.)

Anywho, it was another in a recent string of funny, shouldn't-laugh-but-I-can't-resist comments from the boys. A sampling:

• Roman: "My penises are bothering me."
• Roman: "Why is that girl in a truck? Girls don't drive trucks!"
• Ben: "You and Dad are twins."
• Roman: "My armpit hurts. Probably because it has a pit in it."
• Roman: "This car smells like popsicle sticks."

And, finally, the most abstract one: When I told Ben that salt is bad for his heart, he asked, "But then what happens to Jesus?" After a few rounds of "Huh?! Are we having the same conversation?" he explained, "But Mrs. Wiebe says Jesus is in our heart."

Aha!

Thank you, Catholic school, for teaching the things I cannot. And thank you in advance for your forgiveness when my kindergartner drops an inevitable shit bomb. He did, after all, get quite the laugh from me this morning, despite my best efforts to hold back.

50/50

Some days in Wichita, I swear I'm living life in the 1950s.

And, for the most part, that's a great thing, like when you're paying your mortgage. On other days (when it seems everyone believes their cigs and fried chicken are consequence-free) I think I'd rather live in the 20-teens.

So, on a day like today (a great one; more on that later), I get to thinking of the pros and cons of the Midwest, mid-century life:

Pro: When I leave the boys' bikes out all night (or the garage door wide open), all is well in the morning.
Con: Apparently Wichitans don't find our vehicles to be worth stealing.

Pro: When we need the heat & A/C guy, he's at our house that same day.
Con: When I ask the heat & A/C guy, "Oh, which one is your son?" he says, "He's over there with the brown guy." (And, no, the guy's last name wasn't Brown.)

Pro: We never wait (or pay!) for parking and, at a restaurant, we rarely wait for a table.
Con: Most of the (fried, creamed, refined, candied) food offerings make me think I'm stuck in a lifelong Biggest Loser Temptation Challenge.

But today was a total pro. It was 50-degrees (not bad, February...not bad) and, as the boys rode home from school, three cars full of Blessed Sacrament friends stopped, rolled down the windows and greeted us. As I choked down my cig and chicken leg (just kidding; it was chardonnay in a sippy cup), I thought, "Am I in a Norman Rockwell painting?"

And the answer was 100 percent yes, based on Benny's comment, which makes me realize decades don't matter to these kids. "Hi," he'd say, "I hope you have a fun time at your house until tomorrow!"

Puzzled

Puzzle #2 of the week: Who's teaching my boys these dance moves?

But first, Puzzle #1: A week ago, Anthony started a project with Ben and Roman, a 500-piece lenticular (hologramish, headache inducing) puzzle that Aunt Viv sent the boys from China.

Anthony gets high marks for challenging the kids with projects...and thank goodness, because these boys' talents read like a list of things I'm bad at: chess, dominoes, music, geography, identifying presidents and peeing while standing.

Nevertheless, I had a few fears with the puzzle:

• What if it takes forever and is on my office floor until Halloween?
• What if one of these teeny pieces falls into a crevasse in my 83-year-old house?
• What if the Chinese played a joke and made it unsolvable?

But, alas, they proved me wrong. A few (hundred) pieces at a time, these boys patiently strained their eyes and...voila!, a dance-worthy celebration:

And, once again, I celebrate Anthony's steering of the activities. I, however, need to take the reins as family dance teacher.

A-plus, A-cup parenting

Couldn't help but share a few weird things I heard at Victoria's Secret today, all in the few short minutes it took me to exchange some sexy pajamas for practical beige bras. (You're welcome, Anthony.):

From a fellow shopper:
"Do you know if we can try things on? I've never been to this store before."

What I wanted to say: "Are you from Earth?"
What I actually said: "Yes, probably everything but the underwear."

From the customer service gal:
"Would you like a free stuffed dog with your purchase?"

What I wanted to say: "Who the hell is your target market?"
What I actually said: "Roman, look at the cool prize you won!"

(He now loves this odd little dog.)

And, finally, from Roman, looking perplexed while I tried on bras:
"What is that? Is it to cover your nickels?!

That's right, sweet shopping parter...a girl's gotta keep her nickels under wraps.