Tag Archives: kids

February 26, 2013 · 9:25 pm

Ahh, the “perks”…

Set your phased-looks to stunned, because I am about to say something you’d never expect. About a month ago, I was very, VERY glad we were in the suburbs, and I still feel that way.
Jaws off floor, people, because its Qualifying Explanation Story Time!!

I confess I would have spoke of this sooner except I actually still fight tears/gasps when I picture it in my mind.
As we have determined, The Mr. has lept, gleeful-swan-dive-style, into the deep and murky waters of the burbs. This includes indulging in a few horrifying food situations that he used to reserve for business trips (to burbs in other states.) Which is how I ended up at Buffalo Wild Wings.
With my kid.
On purpose. (Well… it was on purpose for The Mr.. I mean seriously. But buffalo sauce is my 2nd favorite sauce after Queso, so there we were.)
It was packed. We had been running errands, Jr. was a little fussy, but I was prepared with the diaper bag full of toys and delicious toddler-approved foods. Except he wanted my food. Bad. So I was letting him try different things and all was well. Except he sucked on a carrot I had sliced into a size I thought would work for chawing on. I was wrong.
So, so wrong.
There was some mild hemming. Then some semi-horking. Then full-on coughing. Then I shot The Mr. a horrified look because it dawned on me what was about to occur. Then Jr. threw up. All-effing-over the place. On me, on the table, on the floor, on himself and the diaper bag and and my self-esteem-as-a-mom.
Poor kid.
He looked at me, all confused and sad and moist (blecky but true,) as I tried to figure out just where to start. The Mr. kind of shut down, less horrified than me, but still somehow frozen by his shock. Eventually the staff started to notice the stares and my attempt to clean up, and came to reassure that this was a regular occurrence (really!? Yikes.)
I extracted Jr. from the highchair and we went to the restroom (passing who I think was Brandi-who-I-grew-up-going-to-school-with, but couldn’t look in the eye right then to be sure,) to clean up.
I seriously told exactly three people, counting my mom and my sister (who don’t count, so actually just one,) because I could NOT believe my poor kid ralphed in a restaurant and I kinda caused it. Please don’t misunderstand, but what’s getting me through is that it was in the BWW, surrounded by harried families who have probably SO seen it all. And it was very much not at my beloved neighborhood bistro in our old hood. Because I would have burst into flames right there, I just know it. (I know. -selfish, lame, pathetic. True.)
We departed the joint after helping clean everything and leaving a big fat “sorry we barfed in your section” tip.
I don’t think The Mr. will be so quick to suggest BWW in the future. So I have that, I guess.

#Hashtag – Just sayin’

Mom to son around 4 years old at front door of daycare today, “can you punch in the code buddy? What’s the code?”
Son: “123 hashtag” (not putting the real numbers here. Duh.)

OH MAH GAH!! THAT’S WHAT THEY WILL GROW UP CALLING A POUND SIGN!

#FeelAncient

Just Sayin’.

Mr. Rogers must have skipped some steps.

The neighbors.

The neighbors are all nice enough people, for sure. We wave and say hello and there are the occassional BBQs or football game viewing incidents and everyone is friendly enough, you betcha.

But there seem to be two distinct groups that get a lot of social action in the subdivisions, and anything in between gets – well – not-so-much.

Group 1 is the stay-at-home moms. These women stay safely tucked away inside their little homes in the mornings, attending to morning rituals for their families behind closed blinds and plantation shutters, prepping for activities later in the day. The only interaction you may have with one of them alone and before 2:30 pm is a quick wave if you happen to be passing by as they back the mini-van out of the garage and speed away to swimming lessons or music class.

It is in the afternoon and evening that they emerge, in pairings or threes, to stand on lawns sipping Starbucks (I feel like someone must have one built into her basement around here – they always have S-bux, but no actual S-bux run seems to have been made,) and laughing as they supervise their combined broods at play on various bikes, trikes, scooters, etc…

In the suburbs you can spot them by looking for one of these:

Image from Amazon – click if you need to identify your own group of S-bux sipping mommies in the yard.

Now I am all for safety. Oh, and kiddos. I love me some kiddos – I believe that children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way. Fo’ Sho’.

However, with the amount of play equipment strewn all over in between the houses where these various mommies live, there is little doubt, even without the glowing plastic child waving a flag and staring at me from under his ball cap, that there are wee ones at work in the area. I digress.

So there are the Moms and the Starbucks cups and their neon plastic watchman all hanging out in front of where a group of variously aged offspring are cavorting – this SEEMS like a great time to grab Jr and go make nice.

Except as you rattle your little red wagon full of kid and ball and bubbles and other fun-time peace offerings toward the group the laughter stops. The moms stop chatting. The kids stop playing. Birds stop flapping their wings and fall smack out of the clear blue sky, (ok, that isn’t true, but still,) the air almost seems to stop moving. They all stare at you, pulling the bundle of cutie kiddo who wants to play up to them. Moms stare. Kids stare. Neon plastic guy stares (one eye at a time.)

Oh they wave and say hi, and the kiddos do too, but the wagon keeps rolling because there is clearly no room at the inn, and as you walk away you hear snippets of “oh, SHE works outside the home, he’s in daycare somewhere.” 😦

They are thick as thieves and the door is NOT open to moms who might be closing down a conference call to cul-de-sac it for a bit. Working moms need not apply for membership into that crew.

Group 2 is The Husbands.

Sigh. Sad but true, this group cares not about employment or anything else – you just straight up have to have a wang to get in. It actually includes guys in their teens all the way up through the silver fox set, and everyone in between who can pee standing up. The Mr. was welcomed right into the fold, drinking beers on the driveway and bonding in that special way that dudes do:

(thanks, King of the Hill)

Yep.

Attempts to elbow in on this behavior have not gone well. A largeish group of bros yucking it up over beers on the curb will scatter quickly if say, a super awesome, (and pretty, and funny, and cool,) wife comes sniffing around, even if she holds up her beer and says “yep” and attempts to siddle up next to them without making waves.

Also – cue the side-eye from my own husband, who seems to think I am jeopardizing his status in the pack.

Giant super pouty sigh.

It’s cool. I have my kid, we have our wagon. We both like to roll with roadies when we take it for a spin; and I usually go in for something stronger than S-bux on those occasions, although this is interesting: