Look at the time!

My mom sent Star Wars Lego watches to the boys, and they have been just nuts over them. C kept coming up to me today and sticking the watch in my face, saying “Oh dear, look at the time!” At bedtime, D checked his watch and said “Oh my God, look at the time!” I don’t know where they get this stuff.

Goldilocks and the Three Misdemeanors

I tell my boys off-the-cuff fairy tales. This is often fun when I forget bits of the story one night and paste in bits of another story another night because I got them mixed up. I wing it, and I used to think they didn’t notice until they started pointing it out to me (“No, Mama, that was in Little Red Riding Hood” *rolling eyes at me*). Goldilocks is my boys’ favorite story. They request it almost every night at bedtime. I sit on their bed and attempt to tell the story, with much interruptions. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to tell a story off the top of your head with two people editorializing the entire time, but it’s hard to remember what the hell you were talking about.

At first the interruptions were just for them to self-righteously point out all of Goldilocks’ misbehavior. Then it was to do the voices of the bears, who are their favorite characters in the story. Now they want to tell parts of the story themselves. Tonight they proposed that there should be a sequel: The Three Bears Break Into Goldilocks’ House And Break Her Stuff. I told them we’d work on that one tomorrow.

Goldilocks usually goes something like this.

Me: “What story do you want tonight?”

D: “Goldilocks and the Three Bears!”

Me: “Let me hide my surprise. Okay-”

C: “I can do the ‘once upon a time’ part. Once upon a time there were three bears: a papa bear, a mama bear, and a baby bear. They lived in a house in the woods. And their porridge was too hot so they went for a walk. *deep voice* My porridge is too hot! *high-pitched voice* My porridge is-”

D, exasperated: “You forgot the Goldilocks breaking into their house part.”

Me: “Do you guys want me to tell the story?”

C: “Okay, Mama.”

Me: “So there were three bears, like C said. And they went for a walk in the woods. While they were out, a little girl named Goldilocks came along and she decided to go inside their house-”

D: “Without asking permission.”

Me: “Yes, without asking permission, and she saw their porridge on the table. First she tried the papa bear’s porridge, but it was too hot. Then she tried the mama bear’s porridge, but it was too cold. Then she tried the baby bear’s porridge, and it was just right, so she ate it all up.”

C: “That was not good to do.”

Me: “No, it wasn’t. Then she went to their living room-”

D: “And her sat in all their chairs. The papa bear’s was too hard, and the mama bear’s was too soft, and the baby bear’s was just right. But she broke it!”

C: “That not very nice.”

D: *nods very smugly, as if his own conduct is always impeccable*

Me: “So Goldilocks went upstairs to take a nap. The papa bear’s bed was too hard. The mama bear’s bed was too soft. But the baby bear’s bed was just right, so she fell asleep.”

D, cackling with evil glee: “And then the bears came home!”

Me: “And they looked at their porridge and the papa bear said-”

C, in a deep growl: “Someone been eating my porridge!”

Me: “And the mama bear said, Someone’s been eating my porridge! And the baby bear said-”

C, in a high-pitched baby voice: “Someone been eating my porridge, and they ate it all up!”

Me: “So the bears went into their living room, and the papa bear said, Someone’s been sitting in my chair, and the mama bear said, Someone’s been sitting in my chair, and the baby bear said-”

C, in the baby voice: “Someone been sitting in my chair, and them BROKE IT!”

D, now getting very excited for Goldilocks to get busted: “And then they WENT UPSTAIRS!”

C, talking so fast he’s almost unintelligible, in the bear voices: “Someone’s been sleeping in our beds, and that one was too soft, and the baby bear-”

Me: “Yes. Then the bears went upstairs. And the papa bear said, Someone’s been sleeping in my bed. And the mama bear said, Someone’s been sleeping in my bed. And the baby bear said-”

D, in an even higher-pitched voice than C can manage: “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, and there her is!”

Me: “And Goldilocks woke up, and she screamed-”

C: “I can do that. Her went, Aaaaaahhhh!

D: *falls over laughing*

C: “Then her ran out the door-”

D: “No, she jumped out the window.”

Me: “Then she ran far far away and never bothered the bears again.”

C: “Without asking permission.”

Me: “That’s right.”

I can only imagine what will happen in the sequel. Probably Goldilocks won’t survive it.

A backyard beach, a backyard beach…

We live very close to the beach, so hitting the sand for a few hours just to enjoy a warm day is pretty easy to do anytime. Today was in the mid-70s, so we headed out to the oceanfront. Now, I knew the ocean would still be freezing, and the beach breeze would make it actually in the 60s, so I threw some extra sweatpants in the car just in case and didn’t put the boys in their swimsuits.

First we hit 18th Street. This is the beach we go to most often, because there’s a small stretch of free parking that you can catch if you’re a local and know where it is, and you get there early/late enough to get a spot either before the crowd or after people have started leaving. Of course, it’s still March, so the meters aren’t working yet (you only have to pay meter parking between April 1 and October 31), so we were able to park a block closer. Anyway. We go down to the beach and hit the sand. The boys dig a bit, C dips his toes in the water, and then (maybe fifteen minutes later) D tells me he has to pee. URGENTLY. He never tells me until it’s an emergency. So we headed up to the Dairy Queen at 17th, which has public restrooms, and just as I reached the end of the sand and the beginning of the boardwalk, I felt a sharp pain in my foot.

Ouch, damn, stepped on something. D was still dancing around going “I have to pee-pee, Mama!” at the top of his lungs, so I didn’t stop to inspect my foot and followed them to the bathroom. Once he was in doing his business, I took a moment to check my foot. My flip-flops had been feeling quite slippery for having been thrown on over sandy feet, and sure enough, there was blood everywhere. Great. I rinsed off a bit in the sink and the cut looked to be a jagged two inches long in a U shape. WTF. I told the boys we were going to the car for the first aid kit and they argued with me as we walked. They wanted to go back and play in the sand. I finally said, quite annoyed, that my foot was bleeding and I had to fix it up before we could go back to the beach. Then there was five minutes of “Which foot, Mama? I want to see. Where’s the blood, Mama?” as we walked back to the car, and then while I got out the first aid kit, D asked me worriedly, “Are you going to die, Mama?”

Once I cleaned it up better with an alcohol wipe, the cut was (to my relief) actually only about a quarter of an inch long. It didn’t even hurt by then. So I’m fine, really. Slapped a band-aid on it and we headed to 89th Street, which is always cleaner, after a quick lunch stop.

The boys SWORE they were just going to dip their toes in the water at 89th Street. Yeah. Uh-huh. Within two minutes they were both soaked head to toe, chasing each other around in the water while their lips slowly turned blue. The Atlantic is COLD at this time of year. D informed me he was “enjoying the nice water”. I let them play for about half an hour, until pneumonia seemed imminent, then made them return to the car with me. They were quite annoyed that I had not packed a spare pair of underpants, pants, and shirts for each of them. Ha. We were SUPPOSED to just go play in the sand and enjoy the sunshine. All I had was a pair of sweatpants and their light fleece jackets. Luck of the draw gave C the sweatpants, and D returned home in just a jacket, with a blanket draped over his lap. He didn’t seem bothered by this, and played naked at home for a good twenty minutes before I convinced him to put some pants on.

Now they’re outside playing with Assy Neighbor kids from next door (all my neighbors have nicknames, in case you didn’t know – Paving Man lives on one side of me, and Assy Neighbor on the other, then there’s Super-Religious Neighbors across the street, Crazy Dog Poop Lady a few doors down, Wisconsin Man on the corner… You get the idea), and I’m ready for a nap. But my foot isn’t bleeding. Hopefully I don’t have tetanus, since I have no idea what I stepped on. From the shape of the cut, and given that it was 18th Street, probably glass from a beer bottle.

Some pics before they got completely soaked: