Boys and their animal instincts

What is it about children that makes them want to jump all over people, me in particular?  I am sitting on the couch, minding my own business when out of nowhere my six-year-old son decides to pounce on me.  Not only pounce like a cheetah, or a lion or pick your own animal but start climbing all over me.  Why?  Is it a boy thing or do girls do the same thing?

Is this where boys start, with their Mothers and then it continues into adulthood with them pouncing on every living and breathing female they see?  If it’s a purely a subconscious male behavior that starts out in their very early years, I guess I understand it.  Sort of.  But do they have to be so physical and rough?  If I didn’t move fast enough, I am pretty sure I’d have a bloody nose right about now.  And when I try to reason with him about being gentle with girls and ladies of all ages, he tells me he can’t help it because he loves me so much he just can’t control his body.  Crap, it’s starting early.

Can you imagine a man leaping at some woman in a bar, his only explanation that he is so enamored with her that he can’t help but give into his animalistic instincts?  I can imagine it going extremely well…

On the other hand, my eleven-year-old never behaved that way.  He did and still to this day loves to cuddle up next to me on the couch watching a movie.  Yes, sometimes he forgets that he weighs about ninety bounds and is made of pure bones and muscle.  There isn’t a single ounce of fat on that kid, and considering I don’t weigh that much more than him at about five feet nothing, it certainly hurts when he lies down on me.  I cringe with pain, but pretend it doesn’t hurt only to keep him next to me because I know he is turning twelve in a couple of months, and am certain his desire to lay next to his Mother will end the same exact day!  At least he doesn’t use me as his own personal jungle gym like his brother…  I am hoping his instincts, and everything I’ve drilled into him for the past six years will keep him from climbing over some pretty girl at school.  I can only imagine his reasons for doing it: “But my Mom let’s me doing to her ALL the time, and she doesn’t complain!”

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Tooth Fairy money and other useless artifacts of choice…

Apparently, The Tooth Fairy is going through tough economic times too.  10% of children did not receive any money this year, and 7% received less than a dollar.  Are you kidding me?  First of all, I don’t understand the whole “Tooth Fairy” thing as it is.  In what messed up world do you get rewarded with nothing less than MONEY for losing your baby teeth?  This has got to be the dumbest idea a non-parent has ever come up with!

When I was a kid, not only was there no such thing as a Tooth Fairy, but we didn’t have “Fairies” of any kind.  Forget getting rewarded for losing a tooth.  You know what our “big reward” was?  Pulling the damn tooth out yourself, so Grandma didn’t tie a thread to it and the other end to a doorknob, and then yank the door to pull that tooth out.  You were given a simple choice, do it yourself or Grandma will do it for you!  Forget money, forget going for ice cream afterward, forget parents saving the disgusting thing and giving it to your spouse on your wedding day.

You think I’m kidding?  There are people I know that got a bag full of goodies on their wedding day.  Their future spouse’s baby teeth, hair, even molds of their crooked teeth before they got braces on!  I was surprised to hear that it didn’t contain their baby finger nails, and penis foreskin from the guy’s circumcision…  Somehow I have a feeling that those parents might have that somewhere as well, stashed far far away…

As much as I love many American traditions, I think this particular obsession with saving every tiny, mundane and useless piece of childhood is completely foreign to me and maybe even other non-Americans.  I could be wrong.  I mean, take a look at my parents.  Not only did they NOT save my baby teeth or hair, but have thrown a lot away.  Not just MY artifacts, but their own as well.  My parents don’t keep anything, their house is the most immaculate piece of art I’ve ever seen.  There isn’t a single piece of paper out of place, much less an occasional baby tooth laying around.

I am pretty sure that as soon as I moved out of their house, in my very old age of 21, the very same day they packed up all my crap and threw it away.  They don’t even wait for neighborhood garage or yard sales, they just throw everything out.  Their garage looks like someone’s living room, you literally could live in it, it is that clean.  The other day I was rummaging through their garage looking for my old journals and books.  I didn’t find either of those things, however I did find a nice collection of classic books…  all in Russian.  They literally filled a giant boat FULL of Russian books when we immigrated here.  Nothing else, just books.  I am not sure if some genius told them that in America, people will pay millions for those books or what…

So, as you can tell my views on saving baby’s foreskin, locks of hair and other artifacts is a bit skewed, although per my husband’s request I have been saving my kids’ first teeth and hair since they were babies.  Only for him to throw it all away ten years later when he found strange hair, teeth and what looked like the remains of an animal that died from suffocation, at the bottom of a plastic container titled “KIDS CRAP”

Its Just Like Riding a Bike! In My Case a Big-Wheeler…

The teenager in me is at it again!  Every time I pass a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, I have to stop, look at it, examine it and maybe even take a picture for my “wish list” of things I want on my future bike.  Sometimes I’ll even talk to the owner of the bike to get more details on the custom work done.

Now all this “research” would seem like a good idea for someone that already has a motorcycle license, and also knows how to ride a bike.  By “a bike”, I mean an actual bicycle.  However, when you can’t ride a bike down the street without falling off of it with every tiny bump in the road, or scream like a little girl when heading down a hill… how can that person consider riding an actual motorcycle?  And yes, that “person” I’m talking about is myself, of course.

My children have started to kindly ask if I’d like to stay home when they go bike riding.  That’s a big enough hint that they’ve been embarrassed enough by their Mom…  I really didn’t know how bad I was on a bicycle until one day I saw the faces of passerby’s as I rolled down a hill.

Picture this: A grown woman going down a hill on a bike at 0.5 mph.  I’m not exaggerating, at exactly 0.5 miles per hour.  Not only am I going down a steep hill at 0.5 mph, but also screaming at the same time.  I’m barely moving, but covered head to toe in protective gear just in case I fall off my 22-inch girls’ bike.  That’s not my only problem either.  I also don’t know how to turn, although I’ve been told by a credible motorcycle rider that you don’t necessarily need that skill, since all you do is LEAN on a motorcycle.  So, I figure its not that big of a deal  when I’m riding a bike and come to a turn, instead of actually making a sharp 90 degree turn, I simply stop, get off the bike and turn it in the direction I need to go. Voila! Problem solved.

My only other issues are other bikers, stop signs, poles, and pedestrians.  Like a good bicyclist, I do not use the bike lane for the fear of getting hit by a car when I spin out of control because of a pebble on the road, which with my luck is very probable.  So instead I stay on the sidewalk, right alongside the other children, grandparents, people in wheelchairs and dogs.  When I am approaching another human being, whether on a bike or on foot I begin to panic and yell out really loudly: “oh shit, oh crap, oh shit, oh crap!” until that person is close enough to hear me, then I jump off my bike mid-ride without the use of brakes since it is a little girls’ bike and I’m pretty close to the ground, drop it and throw myself into the bushes.  Picture Phoebe Boufe on ‘Friends’, with her new bike that she doesn’t know how to ride.  Why would any sane person do that, you might ask?  Well, by now we all know I’m not sane.  The other reason is explained perfectly by my 11-year-old: “You are a professional at being an un-professional bike rider, Mom.”  I’m not too sure what that means, but probably very accurate…

And yet all this, somehow does not discourage me from looking and dreaming of my very own Harley one day soon, barring any unforeseen accidents involving me, my bike, and a possible cement pole…

 

So much for trying to be a Good Samaritan…

Driving today, I came to a car that broke down. I got out of my car and went to ask if they needed help. As I approached the two men standing around, they both stared at me as if to say: “What do you want?”

I asked if they were alright, and needed any help. At first they didn’t answer me, just kept staring. When I asked the second time, they looked at each other then back at me: “Um no!”. That was it. Um, no. There was no “Thanks but we are good”, or anything. Just plain “No”.

As strange as I felt leaving those two stranded by their car, I got back in my car and drove off.
The moral here? Don’t get out of my car to help strange men.