Awkward Mom vs. Bronchitis - round 2

And now, here is a word from our sponsor, Super Toddler.

Dudes, what's up? Can you believe that Mommy is still sick! Man, Bronchitis is strong. I had a battle with a cough thing about 2 weeks ago and the doctor thinks that when Mommy started fighting this guy, he morphed into Bronchitis. I don't know if he got a bunch of his cough buddies to pile on, a la combiner transformers, or if it was like this new strain of the Phoenix that just took out Professor X (Wait, am I supposed to say "Spoiler" before or after I spoil it?); but man, he is pretty cool. I mean, bad. Like bad cool. Not that I want Mommy to be sick or anything, but villains do have the cooler powers and typically the cooler names. Stilt-Man, aside.

Needless to say, this battle is taking all her reserves. And I do mean all. This is hard to watch; she kinda slugs around the house and tries to do stuff, like get us dressed and whatever, but usually she makes it about half way. Like how Super Baby only had on pants and no shirt for most of the day. Or  the outfit of shirt, one sock, and a Tinkerbell dress that Super Preschooler was sporting yesterday. Well, to be fair, I saw him in that one 3 weeks ago and Bronc hadn't made his appearance yet. (Come on, it is too a cooler name!) Now, I try to make it easy on her and go au naturel, but she seems to have issues with that. So, we compromised on a diaper and a crown. How was I supposed to know that today the landlord was gonna stop by to check out the deck work? Like he has never seen a Superhero in a diaper before; whatever, Ka-Zar rocks that look 24/7. She didn't have to hide me in the bedroom while he was here like I was some British dude's crazy first wife. What? Like I can't be literary. Readers, I have loads of interests; Awkward Dad is my father, you know. Wrestling pillows and fighting with sticks happen to be at the top, but I can still enjoy a seminal work of Gothic proto-feminism.

So, she is in such a bad way. Like letting Dad feed us Whoopie Pies for breakfast. Like letting us watch Barney. Like just watching us flood the bathroom with her head in her hands. No yelling, not that she can. But she can usually muster up an effort; you know, a kinda barky thing that doesn't really scare but lets you know that she still thinks she is in charge. It is totally sad to see her just give up. And I am not one to let my Mommy be sad.

So, here is my master plan; I am going at Bronchitis where he lives. I have been cuddling up to her and being all huggy and stuff. She loves it, so that is a nice side-effect. But my real plan is to get a good look at Bronchitis in action, figure out his weakness, and take him down. I am like a Ninja, Bronc, you won't know what hit you, when I decide to finally hit you. Don't be fooled, you are going down. And no power ballad Blaze of Glory for you, my friend. It is gonna be with a tiny whimper, because no one makes my Mommy think she isn't in charge. Except me.

Thanks, Super Toddler. Maybe you could come back next week to talk about postmodern intertextuality in the works of William S. Burroughs or hitting things with sticks. Your call.

Nothing says business like a plastic fireman hat and a pretend sword; Super Toddler doesn't play around. OK, wait, that is all he does. But he does it cool. Like good cool.

Awkward Mom vs. Bronchitis

And now, a message from our sponsor; Super Baby.

Hi, Readers. Super Baby here. I have been asked to speak to you today, as Mommy is fighting some villain called Bronchitis. So I am thinking, "Oh wow! Finally, we are gonna have something approximating an interesting battle around here." But Super Preschooler informs me that Brontosaurus is spelled with a T. Plus, that villain has a new name anyway, something like Apatosaurus; I don't really know. I love Super P. but he talks all the time, it is kinda easy to tune out. Anywho, it appears that Mommy is fighting something less cool; in fact, all this battle seems to consist of is her taking a ridiculous amount of medication and forlornly wandering around the house, looking for soup. Now, the woman should know that we had the soup last night, as she made it for us, but I guess Bronchitis is a mind-wiping villain.

He also appears to have a reverse Banshee power, as Mommy has completely lost her voice. Well, I shouldn't exaggerate. She hasn't completely lost it. She was able to come up with this sorta strangled cry thing when she found me peacefully eating those cough drops. I mean, if she didn't want to share, that's fine, but she didn't need to snatch it. Jeez, talk about greedy; there were like 25 in there or something.

But mostly, she can't make a peep. She just waves her arms at us, like she is guiding in planes; frantically mouthing things about danger or something. I don't know, I'm not the best lip-reader. Plus, I was rather busy trying to stick some pens I found into those cool slits in the wall. She didn't have to snatch those either; I mean, she is my mom and I love her, but for all her talk of sharing, she isn't that good at it herself.

So, she asked me to write a blog post for her, which doesn't make any sense if you really think about it. I mean, how does her lack of a voice affect her ability to type on the computer? It certainly didn't affect her ability to troll Facebook for nearly an hour this morning, and for about half of that, I was in desperate need of a snack. Heartless, really. But, I thought I would be a team player and write the post today. The woman has been pretty slack; when was the last one anyway? Last Wednesday? Wow, well, of course, you are curious about our happenings.

Let's see....well, we went back to the Reptile Zoo. I think Mommy wants to tell you guys about that later, but I really like the enormous Anaconda. My brothers like the wall of bugs, with the huge Cockroaches and the Black Widow Spiders. But I think they just like that Mommy won't go over there, so they can mess around unseen. Boys. We tried to go to a new church playgroup. Now, she should have known better. It had been a full week, and we all told her that we wanted to hang out at home and watch Netflix, but she gave this whole rah-rah speech about getting out there and fighting the good fight. She was like some stern but lovable army captain from a World War II movie; except the war was a church playgroup and killing Nazis was playing with other kids. You know what, blame Daddy, he has been watching old movies late at night, and that analogy sounded better in my head. Well, needless to say, we weren't too good at killing Nazis, I mean, playing with other children. We tried, but come on, it was Friday and like our 8th playgroup of the week. I don't think the lecture of shame was necessary and I am sure I have seen her more mortified, so that was obvious hyperbole. This weekend, Bacia (Daddy's Mom) was here for a visit. That was fun. She lets us make a total mess and eat sausages for breakfast. Yum! Mommy and Daddy went to the first opera of the MET at the Movies season, and they said it was mostly fun and all. Sadly, they sat in front of a Snorer who was there with a Singer, and they were behind a Shusher. And Mommy had those cough drops with her, which I guess caused some off-screen drama. Man, adults are weird. Oh, and I broke down and called Mommy by her name. She seemed to need it.

Well, that's it. Since this weekend, Mommy has been battling Bronchitis, although I guess she didn't have him identified until her visit to Urgent Care this morning. Daddy isn't feeling too great either, so I am sure he will be the next to enter the fray. My brothers are being their normal abnormal selves. And I am perfect, per usual. So, we are all caught up! Tune in soon, for Mommy's return and her thrilling tales of toddler taming!

P.S. Hey, Readers, don't think that I am horrid, but is it terrible that when Mommy comes over to kiss me, I turn away a little? I am like, Hey there, Typhoid Mary, how about we wait the 24 hour period until your antibiotics kick in before spreading your germs all over my face? I mean, come on. I got a battle of my own with walking going on over here, I don't need any distractions. Anyway, if you guys could pass on that she could express her love in other ways, like offerings of food or maybe a return of that bag of cough drops, I would be ever grateful. Thanks!

Thank you, Super Baby, for that edifying edition of Awkward Mom. We now return you to your normal Facebook trolling of Aunt Edna's 87 pictures of her garden, but just because we like to be of assistance, the picture where you can see her cute neighbor (shirtless!) is around picture 53. Enjoy!

While we appreciate the effort, Super Preschooler, the antibiotics are apt to be more effective.

Awkward Mom vs. Levels of Love

They are kinda like Tunnels of Love, and if you want to picture Bruce Spingsteen singing about it, feel free. It makes this blog entry better, trust me.

Last time that the Awkward Grandparents were visiting, we got into a heated debate. It looked something like this:

Awkward Grandma: I fell asleep?

Me: Yes, I remember it vividly. I looked up from my big monologue, my only monologue, by the way, and you were sleeping. Third row, on the stage left side.

Awkward Grandma: No, that was when Awkward Uncle was in Our Town.

Awkward Grandpa: Well, it probably happened then too.

Me: No, it was a series of Horton Foote one acts.

Awkward Dad: Well, there you go. Who could stay awake during that anyway?

Awkward Mom: Wait, are you sure it wasn't Our Town?

Me: That was Awkward Uncle, and it isn't like I would forget it. It scarred me for life.

Awkward Mom: Well, forgive me for scarring you for life while I was working nights to pay for your fancy high school plays.

Me: Couldn't you have pinched her or something?

Awkward Grandpa: What? And ruined your big monologue with her screaming at me?

Me: The snoring wasn't a big improvement.

Awkward Mom: I don't snore. And anyway, I was awake for plenty other plays of yours.

Super Preschooler: What's a play?

Awkward Dad: It is kinda like a show, up on a stage.

Super Preschooler: Mommy was in a show?

I turn to face him and I can see the gears shifting behind his eyes. He is trying to insert me into his version of a play, which I can only guess is an awkward amalgam of Disney on Ice and this Shakespeare in the Park that we once walked by on our way to some swings.

Awkward Grandpa: Yep! She had a costume and everything.

I can see the floor dropping out from under Super Preschooler. He doesn't say a word (which you all know is one of the signs of the Apocalypse); he just stands there, staring at me, with unbelief and awe wrestling for control in his face.

Super Preschooler: Was it a pretty costume?

Awkward Grandpa: Ask Awkward Grandma, I am sure she remembers it better than I do.

Super Preschooler turns his enormous eyes to Awkward Grandma, who, without even blushing, pulls him into her arms and whispers, "Not half as pretty as your costumes, but it was nice enough."

That appears to be enough for him. He solemnly kisses her on the cheek, slips out of her arms, and comes over to me. He wordlessly stares at me for a moment (which is totally disconcerting), pats my hand, and then races off to play Thor with Super Toddler. Everyone shares bemused smiles and starts gossiping about some of the more crooked branches in our family tree, but I know what just happened. A momentous occasion just bloomed in our midst; quietly, like a rare night orchid. I just became human to my son.

In that moment, Super Preschooler accepted a side of me that isn't just Mom. In fact, it is a side from that murky time before children, that even I am having trouble remembering. It could be a previous life (a la Shirley Maclaine), as far as he is concerned; something mystical, even slightly fascinating, but not real and very hard to visualize. It isn't his fault. I think that I have mentioned how much like Super Toddler I looked as a child. Here is a refresher:

Me:

 

Super Toddler:

There are very few differences, even down to our love of cats. Here is how you make a picture of Super Toddler into a picture of Toddler Awkward Mom:

Step 1: Find a picture of Super Toddler.
Step 2: Find a red pen.
Step 3. Draw a huge birthmark on his lower left jaw line, about an inch from the chin.
Step 4: You now have a picture of Toddler Awkward Mom.

This causes trouble when one wants to reminisce or introduce one's children to memories. I will show Super Preschooler childhood pictures of me and this is what happens:

"Why did Awkward Grandpa let Super Toddler ride in the front seat of the car? I never get to, that is so unfair!" or "Why is Super Toddler wearing curtains? Aren't those the curtains from Great-Grandma's house? Well, they look like them. His hair looks weird too." or "What is that huge red spot on Super Toddler's face?"

It usually doesn't go well. But the idea of your parent as a child is a very difficult one to grasp. In fact, the idea of your parent as a person is a hard one to grasp, and it sure doesn't happen overnight. With just one story of my own mother's complexity, Super Preschooler has started the long road of knowing the complete me. It was bound to happen one day. It always does. The slow unfolding of a parent into a person. The awareness that your Mom is more than your Mom. There are levels and the process takes childhood and beyond.

There is that benign (level 1) awareness that happens when your best friend calls your mom by her first name. Maybe there is a polite Ms. in front of it, but it is still her first name. This new name of your Mom's sounds exotic, almost forbidden, so, of course, you experiment with calling her this name. The sparks that come flying out of her eyes are totally worth it. There are those moments when she cuts someone off in traffic, swears at the broken glass on the kitchen floor, can't figure out the Wii; tiny signals (levels 2-4) that she isn't merely the god-like creature who sweeps you into safety from the middle of bad dreams. The awareness that she isn't prefect culminates (level 5) on the day she can't fix your favorite toy. You are disappointed, but you get over it. It is nothing compared to the day (level 6 or 7), sometime around age 12, when you realize that her hugs and cookies aren't fixing your first broken heart. There are those explosive (level 10 or so) adolescent tantrums that reveal the true limits of your mother's patience, which seems to shrink along with the hems you are sporting these days. You run off to college or join that band (level 15), with full and complete awareness that she isn't perfect and is, in fact, totally lame. This softens (level 17) when she comes over and helps you pack your belongings the day you decide to break up the band and leave the drummer, who really is totally lame and can move that groupie in for all you care. Your admiration grows when she doesn't try to lecture you and makes sure to develop a sudden craving for ice cream on the way home, insisting that you be polite and help her eat it. You spend level 18-20 actually interested in all those stories of her life before you, around you, and even after you. You find yourself sad that time travel doesn't exist, but then you remember what happened to Marty McFly and you content yourself with the stories. By the time you have left home for good, to launch into a career she never thinks is good enough for you or to be with a person that she likes but would murder the second he/she hurt you, you have reached level 20, an awkward awareness that attempts to balance your annoyance with her flaws and your abundant adoration for her in spite of them. You rock on this balance the remainder of your life; precariously perched on an endless game of see-saw. Be assured though; she is rocking the same see-saw with you. She hasn't totally forgotten level 10. It is the circle of life, really.

We are really sorry that you now have the Lion King in your head. Just think of it as one more level of Awkward Mom to begrudgingly accept and love her in spite of. We look forward to getting to know and love all of you, Readers. At the risk of sounding preachy and Hallmarky, learning to accept other people as flawed and fascinating is a wonderful challenge for us all. Especially in an election year, eh? No worries, Readers; level 15 can take years to grow out of. Take your time, but make sure some of that time is spent here for our next blog entry. Same Awkward Time, Same Awkward Channel!

Awkward Mom vs. Dada

It is a dark day in the Awkward Household.....

 

I don't have words, Readers. I do not have words for this betrayal.

 

 

Look, Readers! Look! Even the thought of saying Mama makes her cry!


Just so you know, Super Baby has been saying Dada since she was 5 months old. She is now 10 months old and has yet to say Mama. Not even once. Let the pity party begin!

Awkward Mom vs. Owl pumpkins

Because a normal pumpkin isn't awkward enough, that's why.

So, Super Preschooler loves fall. (He comes by it honestly; it is my favorite time of year too.) His love really knows no bounds; physical, mental, and especially financial. You see, little Martha Stewart over here thinks that everything should be decorated according to its season. Eggs everywhere for Easter. A cluttered cacophony for Christmas. Hearts hover in our home for St. Valentine's Day. (You try to find appropriate V words!) Anywho, you can best believe that it is wall to wall pumpkins at Awkward Manor right now because Super Preschooler definitely holds to the design adage; "why do, when you can overdo?" (He also comes by that one honestly, Awkward Grandma once hung a 5 foot bat in her foyer for Halloween, right next to a 6 foot tall singing Frankenstein's Monster.)

He has been sneaking Halloween decor into the shopping carts since it started popping up sometime around the Fourth of July. At first, it was little pumpkin shaped erasers and Halloween on Sesame Street coloring books. Then, the window clings started to show up. And everyone knows that window clings are the gateway decor. After that, he was completely hooked; glitter ghosts, witch candles, Boo doormats, strings of candy corn lights, carvable plastic pumpkins (what the?!), cauldrons, Halloween trees (complete with Halloween ornaments) and more costumes than Elton John would shake some oversized glasses at. My favorite had to be the elaborate Star Wars Halloween flags because, really, who doesn't want to celebrate Halloween on Tatooine? (Oh, Puny Awkward Mom!)

Most of Super Preschooler's decoration ideas are quietly returned to the shelves before we leave the store, minus the window clings because you can never have enough window clings. (See? addictive.) Despite this cruelty on my part, our house currently looks like 1313 Mockingbird Lane. OK, well, the cobwebs may have been here since June, but the point is, he has plenty of decorations. However, the one thing that he didn't have was a real pumpkin. I was trying to put this off as long as possible, remembering, vividly, the aroma of the mold that grew in the one last year. I was even trying to sell him on these plastic carvable ones (Oh, it is a whole new world, Readers.) but Awkward Dad was having none of that. Therefore, we faithfully made a trip to the apple-less apple orchard, took a million pictures that I have already subjected you to, and picked a pumpkin. Super Preschooler carved it that night. And by that, I mean, the following:

Awkward Mom: Please don't use that knife. It is way too big.

Awkward Dad: How do you expect me to cut it with that little plastic thingie when it is clearly...ouch!

Awkward Mom: Super Toddler, please get your father a bandaid.

Super Preschooler: Hey, stop bleeding on my pumpkin!

Awkward Dad: Why can't you just carve a face in it?

Super Preschooler: This is prettier. I saw it in a Halloween design magazine.

Awkward Dad: Why is our child reading design magazines?

Awkward Mom: I can't control what they put at the checkouts.

Awkward Dad: Why can't he want candy like everyone else?  Super Toddler, I don't need a bandaid on my eye.

Super Toddler: Pirate! Pirate!

Awkward Mom: Just give it to me, I'll do it.

Super Preschooler: Be careful with the eyes.

Awkward Dad: I primed it for you. Make sure to tell people that I did the hard work and you just came in at the end.

Awkward Mom: Oh, I will certainly tell people that you opened it up on the floor and left it for Super Baby to graze out of while you caught the end of that ballgame, before you argued with Super Preschooler about his design choice for close to 45 minutes. That only stopped because Super Baby was choking on a seed. Then, you picked the largest and dullest knife we own to carve out 1 claw and part of an eye before cutting yourself and bleeding all over the pumpkin and our middle child.

Awkward Dad: Well, if he had just put the bandaid on my hand and not my face, he would have been in the clear. Super Toddler, I do NOT need a bandaid beard.

Super Toddler: Pirate!!

Super Preschooler: Careful, careful! This is the feathered part.

Awkward Mom: Shush! Don't distract me.

Awkward Dad: If it were just a normal face, this would be done by now.

Awkward Mom: Shush.

Awkward Dad: I bet the Awesomes are gonna have a normal face pumpkin.

Super Preschooler: Shush!

Awkward Dad: They even had a normal one on the Peanuts Halloween special. You like that one, don't you? Let's just do a face.

Super Preschooler and Awkward Mom: SHUSH!

Awkward Mom: Super Toddler, get that bandaid out of your eye.

Super Preschooler: Take a little off the side, please.

Awkward Dad: It was an important game, I couldn't miss it. Super Toddler, stop that!

Super Toddler: 2 Pirates!

Super Preschooler: Nice ear, Mom.

Awkward Mom: Thanks, now, I just need to focus on this piece here....

Awkward Dad: AH! Super Baby, get that out of your mouth!

Awkward Mom: Sweep her mouth! She is turning purple!

Awkward Dad: Whew. She's OK.

Super Toddler: Bandaid?

Awkward Dad: No, she'll just eat that too.

Super Preschooler: ummm....

Awkward Mom: Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry. Maybe I can fix it. I could take a little off the other one?

Super Preschooler: Sigh. No, it's OK. It is mostly good. I'll just tell people that it's an owl.

Awkward Dad: Should've done a normal face....

Hey Readers, do us a favor? If you see Super Preschooler, tell him that his pumpkin totally looks like an owl. OK? Thanks!

Awkward Mom vs. Homemade Photo Shoots

What the Awkward?! I thought we were done with photo shoots... I mean, the awkward was amazing, but still, there is only so much a reader can take. Well, brace yourselves, Readers; Awkward Mom has a few more awkward stagings up her sleeve. No sedate backgrounds here; we are filming on location with natural lighting, where the props just might bite ya!

OK, here is what happened. We went to pick apples. Except you can't really pick apples this fall because the Michigan apple trees did battle with a villainous April frost, and they lost. Rhymes aside, there are no apples to pick this year. But we went anyway and saw cider being made. And picked pumpkins (who appear to have won their frost battle). And admired sheep. And listened to a brass band. And easily conquered a corn maze that drew a tie in its frost battle. And basically wandered around in the beauty of nature, amidst apple-less apple trees. It was a very nice fall Saturday, which, of course, puts one in the mood to try to take Christmas card photos. That's normal, right? Enjoy!

(P.S. Emphasis on the try part of that sentence, Readers....)

There are 123 of these, and if you are friends with me on Facebook, you have been exposed to all of them already. Therefore, I will only share the best with you. Best meaning the mostly deliciously awkward, of course.

 Nothing says Christmas like the back of your children and some sheep!

The true awkward way is to give Mom hope that you are all going to turn around and look at her by doing it one at a time. For 16 pictures...

Dang it! They forgot me again!

There are 15 pictures of them on this swing; Super P. and Super Baby are pretty adorable in almost all of them and Super Toddler is not looking in 14 of them.

He decides to look at the camera in this one.

And then, for some reason universally unknown, we decide that the following is a good idea:

 

And I didn't even bother to show you the ones where the hay ride goes by and Awkward Dad decides to take pictures of them instead. Although, I kinda get it; they were a lot more well behaved.

It is starting to look like the only way to get a decent picture of us is to take it from 18 miles away.

And then, just when all hope it lost and I am contemplating giving in to the inevitable unphotogenic-ness of the entire Awkward family. Just when I feel like an apple tree in an April frost. Then. The unthinkable happens:

At the risk of sounding like a complete and total Perfect Mom,

Everyone! Everyone, Look! Look how pretty my baby is!

 

OK. Great! No, wait. Does this mean that it is going to take 123 more pictures before we get a nice one of Super Preschooler? Or one where Super Toddler is actually looking?

 

Oh silly Awkward Mom. It is gonna take much more than 123...

Thanks for wading through our photo shoots, Readers! Check back with us later this week to hear the full tale about the apple-less apple picking outing. Anything that involves a brass band is worth the telling...

See ya next time; same awkward time, Same awkward channel!

Awkward Mom vs. Photos

Because Awkward Mom promised to show these to you and she never breaks a promise (unless it was 13 pounds of candy just so that we could leave the store), we present the results of our church photo shoot!

In all it's "glory."

 

Ellis Island.

We all look slightly freaked out and potato faminey; except Awkward Mom, who appears to have found some Xanax on the ship over.

 

Eyes Wide Shut.

We have all the extremes covered here; from Super Preschooler's no eye contact to Awkward Dad's intense staring contest, peppered with Super Toddler's "I didn't do it" glint and Super Baby's silent "Help me, I want to join a normal family."

 

 

Crooked Crowd.

Well, to be fair, the most obvious crooked aspect of this photo was done when Awkward Mom scanned it, but there is a host of crookedness going on here: from direction of gaze, to Super Toddler's hair, to legs all akimbo. And yes, Super Preschooler is pre-jump.

 

 

 

Football Fever. 

Well, Duh. Super P. has a football and the rest of us look like we have fevers. The kind of fevers that give you hallucinations and ideas that you can smile like a beauty pageant contestant.

The photographer was waving a colorful toy over her head to try and get Super Baby to smile, or at least change her expression. That is where Awkward Dad, Awkward Mom, Joe Montana, and the latest Bond Villain are looking. Super Baby is the one staring, with barely restrained contempt, directly at the camera. 

 

 

Compass Chaos.

You know, because we are all looking in 4 different directions. Expect for Super Baby, who continues her long suffering gaze straight ahead....18 years from now, when she can shake the awkward dust of this family from her feet and venture forth to more graceful adventures.

 

 

 

Our official church directory photo.

Selected because Awkward Mom's hair looks good, Super Baby finally changed expressions, Super Preschooler smiled, Super Toddler got his finger out of his mouth, and Awkward Dad was in the bathroom during selection and not there to veto it.
 

(Since Awkward Mom enjoys being married and wishes to remain so, she is obligated to tell you that Awkward Dad had a cold, is not as large as this photo makes him look, needed a haircut, was saying something to the photographer at the time, and really doesn't look anything like this.)

We got a free 8 by 10 of the official church photo just for taking the pictures and Awkward Mom was gonna hang it proudly in the living room until Awkward Dad stole it and put it in the basement. I suppose the laundry room did need some decoration....
Hope you are all enjoying the lovely fall weather, Readers! We are trying to, but we are already stressing about Halloween and trying to figure out what Super Toddler should be.
Suggestions are welcome!  His was "anything with a gun."