Leanna Kay

Chris is the protector of all animals great and small. He doesn’t smash bugs - except the kind that bite - and he’s extra friendly to all the little birds and squirrels that find their way into our yard.

So it came as no surprise to me when he came barreling across the yard to rescue a toad which had been spotted by the dog, Maria. Maria is the polar opposite of Chris when it comes to cute furry things. She views the small woodland creatures as her own personal chew toys.

Chris grabbed the poor toad before Maria could smash it with her big dog paw. He raced across the yard toward the woods where the dog won’t go because she’s wearing an underground fence shock collar and the woods is the place where she gets zapped. Bad woods. Bad, bad woods.

For some unknown reason, Chris stopped about fifty feet short of the woods and tossed the poor toad up really high in the air. It hit a tree branch and catapulted to the ground with the dog in hot pursuit.

“No, Maria!” Chris yelled it loud enough to distract the dog so he could pick up the poor stunned toad. Then, and I am not making this up - this boy - the one who loves all creatures great and small, gave the toad another super hard toss in the general direction of the woods where it bounced off a stump and went flying into the tall grass.

“I saved him, Mom!” Chris said, his voice filled with pride.

“You did?… I mean, yeah, sure you did.”

I think the toad would have preferred to take his chances with the dog.

Last week, I helped Lauren’s kindergarten class with Field Day. For those not in the know, at the end of the year, most schools have outdoor games for the children since most of them aren’t learning anything anyway and the teachers are about ready to kill them.

This year’s theme for field day was the wetter the better. I don’t know that this was the official theme, but it should have been. It was all water games.

 Did I mention I helped with the KINDERGARTNERS? Kindergartners, especially my daughter, can be very meticulous about everything. Get one little blotch of ketchup on a shirt and it has to be laundered. If a bug touches your hand, you need to wash all affected skin and apply sanitizer - twice. If your brother accidentally spills a drop of apple juice on your shorts, you have to change your entire outfit.

So it came as no surprise to me that Lauren was a little concerned about getting wet. During the game where she was supposed to walk a cup of water across the field to pour into another container, she walked so slowly that some of the upper grade kids graduated, got married and had children of their own. Not really, but you get the point.

Because she didn’t want to spill one tiny drop of water, some of the moms just thought she was being competitive. But the truth was she didn’t want to get even one drop of water on her pretty pink shirt. Unfortunately for her, one of the next games was called drip, drip, drench. Need I say more? Let the tears begin.

All was not lost though. The kindergarten teacher, knowing what kindergartners are like, had them all bring dry clothes to change into after field day. Good thing because it would have been utter disaster on a ninety degree day to have to stay WET! I shudder at the thought.

Last week, Chris got out his bug catcher and went in search of prey. By prey, I thought he meant pretty little butterflies. He spent a long time at the edge of the woods stalking something. Finally, he came running back to me, grinning from ear to ear.

“MOM! I caught a dragon fly.”

I didn’t think I’d ever seen a dragon fly in captivity, so I took a look.

“Chris! That’s a mosquito!”

“No, it’s a dragon fly. There are tons of them over at the edge of the woods. Want me to get you more?”

When I explained it was indeed a mosquito and that this is an insect to be avoided because they bite, he was baffled.

“I’ve never had a mosquito bite before and I’ve been around a lot of them.”

That’s probably because I keep the kid slathered in OFF when we’re outside on account of Lyme disease, West Nile virus, and the bubonic plague. Yeah, I know the last one was a middle ages disease carried by fleas living on rats, but you can never be too careful with the safety of your children.

Or can you?

This is a kid who has never been bitten by a mosquito or had a really bad sunburn. Not that I wish these things on him, but it’s possible I’ve gotten so carried away in the throes of careful parenting that I’m raising a child that’s actually too afraid of risks.

Case in point. When I explained that mosquitos can carry some really bad diseases, Chris dropped the bug container and made me release the mosquito and then stomp it because he was now terrified of getting bit.

I don’t want to raise kids with phobias. So I’m going to do something wild and crazy today. We’re going for a walk in the woods and I’m only going to apply the SPF 15 instead of the 50! And instead of the Deep Woods OFF, I’ll go for the version with less DEET.

I’d say I wouldn’t put the bug spray on them at all. But that would be lunacy. You never know when a bubonic plague carrying mosquito might jump out from behind a bush ready to attack us.

Pray for our safe return.

Recently a friend gave me a stack of Cosmo magazines. I’ve never read Cosmo so I eagerly honed in on the sex advice section. Apparently the Cosmo writers are young childless women in their early twenties. The key here is childless!

One suggestion to spice up your romantic life was to put your panties in the freezer. (That gives new meaning to the words ‘frigid woman,’ now doesn’t it? Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

What sane mom is going to put her panties in the freezer? I can hear it now…

“Mom, do we have any popsicles?”

“Sure dear. Look under my purple panties.”

“Uh, Mom, why are your underwear in the freezer?”

“Never mind. Just eat the popsicles! Take two… Have some ice cream also ….”

Then there was the brilliant idea of greeting my husband naked as he arrives home from work. Yep, that’s going to get me arrested.

“Mom why are you naked? Is it bath time? It’s only four thirty.”

Four thirty just happens to be the time when the neighbor boy comes to play. That’s where the arrested part comes in.

So sorry dear - if you’re reading this you know I’ll be greeting you at the door in my ripped shorts and t-shirt with juice stains. Let the magic begin.

Since the weather has been so nice here in Indiana lately, I’ve made a habit of torturing my kids when they get off the school bus by hiding in the trees lining our driveway so I can call down to them when they least expect it.

While the other PTO moms are inside preparing healthy meals for their children, I’m poised five feet above the ground in a Poplar that can barely support my weight just so I can startle my kids. All because I like to hear their shrieks as they realize Mom is up in their favorite climbing tree - AGAIN.

So while the other kids are eating spinach, organic pasta and homemade spaghetti sauce, my kids will be dining on Totinos frozen pizza and the lettuce in the bottom of the bag that wasn’t totally brown.

And while the other kids someday will fondly remember the meals their moms so lovingly made, my kids will remember the year Mom fell out of the tree and broke her arm. (Hasn’t happened yet, but it will because there’s this little thing called gravity and this other not so little thing called middle age spread. The two make a lethal combination).

I hope my kids remember me as the Mom who climbed trees. It’ll help support their cause when they go to have me committed.

I’m back from the kindergarten field trip.  No one tied me up with silly string.  No one threw up on the bus.  And we came back with only three less kids than the number we left with.  So that’s success, right?!

We went to see an hour long play called Henry and Mudge - about a boy and his dog.  The play was a big hit with the six year olds - for about ten mintues.  Then it was, ‘is this done yet?’  “I’m bored.”  “How come they don’t sell hot dogs or popcorn?” 

After shushing them about the lack of stadium food, they listened for a good two more minutes before we heard.  “He’s touching my seat.”  “I can’t see.”  And “He wiped boogers on me.”  (I don’t know why kindergarten boys are so fascinated with the things that come out of their noses.  But that’s a subject for another blog.)

I survived.  No need to send out the search party.  But if you could send over some ibuprofen and a mental health professional, that would be great. 

…they’d be sold at McDonalds.  Last week I took Lauren to McDonald’s and got her a Happy Meal toy. The toy was an American Idol guitar that plays music of sorts. Music is too kind of a term. Actually it’s just noise. Really LOUD annoying noise.

This toy cannot have been designed by a parent. I’m thinking a grandparent. Obviously it took someone with a faulty hearing aide and the inability to comprehend that a child will press a button three hundred and ten times in rapid succession if the button produces noise loud enough to drive a parent crazy.

As soon as Lauren goes to school, the toy disappears.

NOTE: I’ll be chaperoning Lauren’s kindergarten class on a field trip Friday so I probably won’t be blogging until late in the day. There are several boys in her class who are… let me think of a politically correct term for these energetic youngsters….. Uh, well…. Bad. Yeah, that’s the word for it.

These boys roll around on the floor during reading time and wipe boogers on other kids’ desks. (Fellow kindergarten moms who happen to read my blog, of course I’m not talking about YOUR child. :))

I may get stuck chaperoning these boys, so if you don’t hear from me by late Friday, please send a search party. Look at the Taft Theater for the frazzled Mom in her upper thirties with her arms tied behind her back with silly string. That’ll be me.

Be careful what you do in front of your kids because it WILL come back to haunt you. Case in point - several months ago, I finally got fed up with the kids handing me wads of chewed gum while I was driving.

“Here, Mom.” I’d hear from the back seat. “Can you throw this away?”

I’m thinking Happy Meal toy wrapper or torn coloring page. So of course I’d reach back without looking and without asking what it was they wanted thrown away. Then I’d end up with a warm moist ball of chewing gum. Yeck!

One day this happened enough times in rapid succession that my palm was starting to stick to the steering wheel. So I took the gum and made the most dramatic presentation of Mom accepting gum that you will ever hope to hear or see. (Feel free to notify the Academy.)

“Is this GUM? For meeeeeeee?” I asked as I felt the warm ball of mush.

“Yeah Mom.”

“Is it warm because it just came out of your precious little mouth?”

“Uh, I guess Mom,” came the timid voice from the child in the backseat who apparently does not appreciate fine performance art or sarcasm.

“Oh my goodness. How in the world did you know that I really wanted a piece of chewed gum still warm from your mouth? This is the BEST PRESENT EVER. Are you sure I can have it?”

“Uh, sure Mom,” came the voice of the child who was convinced his Mom needs therapy. (Hey, they ALL reach that conclusion by the time they’re teens anyway.)

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you my precious child for this ever so thoughtful present. I will cherish it forever.” I then grimaced and tossed it in the trash, thinking my over the top performance had made my point.

Eight year old boys don’t get sarcasm.

“Hey,” I hear whispered in the back seat. “Mom really liked that gum.”

“I know,” whispered the other little boy. “We should chew lots of it and give her a big wad of it for Mother’s Day!”

NOTE: Because I have the best husband in the world, the gummy ball gift did not make it wrapped and into my hands yesterday. I actually received a gift basket from Bath and Body Works.

Since she was very little, Lauren has called dandelion seeds “wish berries.” She stops to pick them and blow the seeds off the stem to make a wish regardless of where we are – our yard, the courthouse yard, the median on the interstate…

She always insists I make a wish too. I wish for big things. World peace. The end of hunger. That the boys will leave the potty seat down and stop peeing on it. Yeah, I know, things that WILL NEVER happen. But I can keep wishing, right?

Lauren varies between two wishes - more toys or ice cream, depending on whether she’s hungry.

In the summer we have a yard filled with pretty yellow flowers. I can’t make myself call them weeds because when I look at them all I see are wishes.

The boys are going on a field trip to a putt putt golf course for their gym class. When this subject first came up, the conversation went something like this:

CHRIS: We get to play golf for FREE!

DREW: But we have to bring our own clubs and balls.

(I’m now getting a picture of 60 second graders on a bus armed with putters. ((((((((SHUDDER)))))))))

DADDY: What? Why?

DREW: Because the people who own the golf course might not be there and the doors might be locked..

ME: Excuse me? (I’m now envisioning the influx of second graders flowing through juvenile court.)

DADDY: Are you supposed to dress in black and bring a ski mask too?

DREW: I don’t know, I’ll check.

ECK!

I did the checking. … Apparently the putt putt course is closing for good and the owners ARE letting them play for free before they vacate the premises. I checked just in case I needed to call them as witnesses in the criminal proceedings. And the kids need not bring clubs and balls so there won’t be bloodshed on the bus (at least not from the clubs). Important things to know before you sign that field trip permission slip form!