The Opera Gene

I've been anticipating this ever since the kid's head got stuck on the Birth Canal Expressway; manifestation of the family Opera Gene.

The Opera Gene is not exactly a musical gift, it's more of a tendency toward musicalizing everyday events and it comes with a flair for the dramatic. In me, The Opera Gene showed itself at age five, when I staged my own production entitled "The Princess And The Avocado", featuring my baby sister and the dog. My sister Sarah got the more moody and thoughtful form of The Gene which caused her to be able to amuse herself for hours making up little ditties such as her famous composition "Newts":

Newts, newts, living in the roots. Newts, newts, wearing furry boots. Newts, newts, playing silver flutes. Newts, newts, getting in cahoots....(goes on for 20 minutes or until we get to our violin lesson, whichever comes first.)

My youngest sister Molly got the most aggressive form of The Gene, being so affected that she actually took parts in school musicals even though she only made the chorus most of the time and at the age of seven put together her own television program (on videotape) entitled "The One Hand Man", starring Lego people and smiliarly-sized plastic zoo animals.

Both my parents have The Opera Gene. My mother is genuinely musically gifted but my father has the off-brand form of the gene that causes people to make up song parodies at the drop of a hat and as his musical tastes lean towards the classical, we'd often get work from him like "Don't Sing At The Table", which is set to the tune of De Meistersinger and goes simply "Don't sing at the table, don't sing at the table." From him also came "I'm In The Middle" set to the tune of The Barber of Seville and is just "I'm in the middle, I'm in the middle, I'm in the middle, the middle, the miiiidllllle..." and was typically performed by anyone who was sitting in between two other people.

So when Nigel began to sing instead of talk, it wasn't too much of a shock to me. Unfortunately, he also inherited a family tendency to talk really fast and loudly and he did not inherit perfect pitch, so listening to him yodel can be a little jarring, especially when the yodeling lyrics come from the Cricut manual we are perusing, he affects Lois Griffin's disctinctive Northeast nasal inflection or Spongebob's nails-on-chalkboard giggle. His Guitar Hero activities have provided him with a vast number of tunes to plunder for parody, however that knowledge comes with a social price, as he knows the original lyrics to songs such as "Talk Dirty To Me" by heart and will occasionally start singing them under his breath at Wal-Mart and end up shocking some old lady by mistake.

Mess and Chaos. Do We Ever Grow Up? Is Disorganization a Sign of Immaturity?

I need a sign that reads "Martha Stewart Does Not Live Here". I have many friends who are also what I would call "anti-Marthas", several of them are my fellow BLN bloggers - I'm not naming any names.

My mother is not Martha, but she's pretty close. In a conversation with her recently, she said that I was immature for not having the oversized closet that my son and I share perfectly neat and organized. My priorities are apparently different than hers. I'd rather spend more time with my son, and my friends (both in person, and online) than alone in my room trying to make the impossible happen. I hate, hate, hate folding clothes. I do it at work, and loathe the idea of doing it at home. My dresser does not have an adequate amount of space for the clothing that I have. I also am lacking space for all of my books. The majority of them, sadly, are in boxes in my aunt's basement.

There was originally the deal that if I kept my room clean and organized, my parents would allow Connor and I to have the master bedroom (theirs) instead, giving me a little more space to function. At this point, Connor's dresser is downstairs in the living room. This task has been impossible, so we remain crowded into a tiny space.

I am semi-embarrassed about the state of disorganization that my room has fallen into, but I lack the ambition to fix it - a FLYlady I am NOT. I can decorate, I can organize, but I can't maintain. I feel better to know that I'm not alone, but I feel that in some ways I'm failing as an adult.

Best Time Ever

“Your house must be really fun,” people will say when they find out how many children I have and their ages.  I always nod with enthusiasm and agree with them, but inside I think Yeah, but it’s a lot of work.

I don’t really think about that part of it, honestly, how much fun my house is. Mostly my days are filled with just getting through it intact and better off then when we started out. Making sure that the children are happy and healthy and getting done what needs to get done. True, there’s usually a lot of good humor and laughter involved, and I work really hard to remain upbeat and positive throughout the day. And that’s where I think I lose the “it’s really fun” part. I work at having fun.

That isn’t to say that I’m not sincere in my attempts at humor. That doesn’t mean that I’m not having a good time. It means that I let a lot of things roll off my back. It means that I try to find the happy side of things and direct them towards it. It means that even though I’m irritable some days, I put a smile on face whilst dealing with the kidlets, and grump it out after they go to bed (naturally, some days this proves impossible, so I let them know it isn’t them, but me, and they generally steer clear).

All day long my house rings with laughter. It isn’t constant; they do fight and spat and argue, and sometimes they do something foolish and get in trouble. But for the most part, there’s a lot of laughing going on. And I’m usually right there, a part of it if not the instigator. Again, though, I work at it, for them. And in no small part for me, too. It’s a lot easier to let the little stuff go than it is to be upset over.

And then something happens and it brings it all home that yeah, my house is a lot of fun for us. Last nite at dinner, we were having our usual lively conversations about everything and anything. The subject of dimples came up (don’t ask how, I’m not sure). We were teasing our oldest daughter that drinking milk made her dimple cuter (she has one on her right cheek), and my husband commented that when you get old, you get dimples in lots of other places. My son took that and ran with it. He started singing a song about how getting old, getting fat, and getting dimples on your butt. For whatever reason, this struck my second daughter as particularly hilarious, and she laughed so hard she spat milk across the table. More like, sprayed milk everywhere.

Although we all got splattered, and it made a bit of a mess, how could I get mad at that? My daughter was laughing so hard she was holding in her sides. The rest of us were dying. Except for my youngest, who watched us all with her brows furrowed in perplexity, and when we all calmed down some, asked in honest confusion “What’s so funny?” which set us all off again. I think we laughed for a good ten minutes, the kind of laughing that hurts your sides and makes you cry and almost pee at the same time. The kind of laughing where you start to calm down, and all it takes is just looking at each other and you’re cracking up all over again.

And that was just at dinner.

Upon reflection, I realize that for the most part, when we’re all gathered together like that, there is generally a lot of laughing going on. Not usually that dramatic, but still….

…it really is, the best time ever. My house IS a lot of fun.

 

Ceiling fans and water.

It is amazing what will entertain, captivate and enthral a child. All three of my children have been entertained by a ceiling fan. Plop the kid down where he or she can watch is spin and you might actually get 5 minutes of time to yourself. If the child is not fussy when you put them down you might get 20 minutes to get something done. It is amazing how something so simple as a spinning blade can captivate a baby. Yeah mommy can pee in peace, or change another child's diaper, or move the laundry along, something that might otherwise get put off a little bit longer, but doesn't take very long to do.

Water is the other thing that can thoroughly entertain a child. The sound of it, the feel of it, the mess it can make. Again all three of my children love water. From a very young age. I am talking about a couple of days old my kids have loved water. It started with baths and moved to the pool for the older two. We will take the baby swimming for the first time hopefully tomorrow. Hopefully she will love it too.

Today I had to go mop up the bathroom, because the three year old overfilled the sink. I think all bathrooms should be designed with a drain in the middle of the floor and tile the whole thing so that it won't be a huge issue when they get flooded as mine invariably does. At least he isn't playing in the cat box.

Is It Art, Or Is It Crap?

This past week, I happened to watch two diametrically different films that brought the same question to mind: "Is it art, or is it crap?" I'm fairly certain about one, but still torn about the other.
I tend to channel-surf on Friday evenings rather than going straight for whatever DVD box set I'm currently obsessing over. Last night I happened to catch Saw IV right as it was starting, so I decided to watch it. I adored the first Saw flick, "Jigsaw" is without a doubt one of the most interesting Bad Dudes ever invented and the whole movie just had that crazy caffeinated indie feel to it. I was less-than-overwhelmed by the subsequent films although Saw II still has a piece of my heart for the awesome set pieces. Saw III was simply terrible and I had the feeling that Saw IV would be similarly terrible, but I figured I owed it to myself to give it a shot. By the end, I was convinced that Saw III and Saw IV had pretty much destroyed the character of Jigsaw (and there's a Saw V in the works, ungungung...) by burying him under a ludicrous backstory and relying on the dumbest of all plot twists AGAIN! I'm sorry, but if you're any kind of horror film fan, you will have figured things out by the second half hour. But one thing still shines through all four films. The musical score. "Jigsaw's Theme" is a jewel, it's something to be treasured and held up as a paragon of musical achievement because no matter who you are or how you feel about horror films in general or the Saw films specifically, that piece of music is fantastic and evokes a strong emotional response. While the original Saw film is art and the musical score is art, the rest is just crap.

Last Tuesday, while we were at Blockbuster picking out our weekly movie, Zen Master had me choose between two films that he was equally interested in, the Jean-Claude Van Damme flick in which he plays himself, or a flick I'd never heard of entitled Extreme Movie. Since I'd just seen the Bruce Campbell flick in which he plays himself and Extreme Movie starred Frankie Muniz, Michael Cera and Matthew Lillard, I chose it. Extreme Movie was shot in 2005 but released in 2008 following Michael Cera's peerless performances in the films Juno and Superbad. It is a collection of shorts about various teen sexcapades surrounding a central unifying story. In tone and temperament, it strongly resembles Woody Allen's 1972 film Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Sex (But Were Afraid To Ask). Extreme Movie does max out on tasteless a lot of the time, but I found myself agog at several points due to the sheer breadth and depth of that tastelessness. The flick spoke to me several times, I was moved beyond words due to the amazing and beautifully done musical score (I do have a thing for great music). The entire experience of Extreme Movie brought me back to similarly over-the-top flicks like Monty Python's Meaning Of Life and The South Park Movie--Bigger, Longer and Uncut, both of which were difficult to watch at times but were artistically compelling because many of the scenes in those movies had never been done before and both had great music. While I could very happily not have seen the young lady use her cell phone (set to vibrate) for an unsavory purpose, I don't think I would want to unsee or unhear Matthew Lillard's questionable "sex tips", or poor Frankie Muniz being subjected to his virginal girlfriend's desire to "take things to the next level" or even the only Silent Porn Film ever made, starring Abraham Lincoln, because those scenes were utterly unique, perfectly done and can never be done again. And that's where the question "is it art or is it crap" comes in. I'd like to completely buy into Extreme Movie being art, I might be able to respect myself in the morning if I could justify every second of the film artistically, but I can't. The score was art, certain scenes were art, but the film as a whole I can't honestly recommend to anyone because my enjoyment of it was subjective.

Some amazingly terrible flicks have been given the "art" stamp merely because they broke technological or emotional barriers. While Extreme Movie could be classified as art because and only because it managed to shine some light on taboo behaviors in an entirely unique manner, Saw IV does not get such a pass because in the end, it wasn't at all unique.

You Can Let Go, Now... It Won't Fall Off

"Let go of that!" "Get your hands out of there!" "Hand out of Diaper, Connor... it won't fall off!"

The joys of parenting a toddler boy! Connor realized his penis was fun to play with a few weeks ago. During baths and diaper changes he yanks, contorts and squishes it in a manner that makes even ME cringe.

It is healthy self discovery, it is normal... it is annoying. He walks around like a miniature Al Bundy, with his juice cup (80% water, 20% organic, HFC free juice) in one hand, and the other hand tucked wrist deep into his diaper. Sometimes he changes it up, and sticks his hand down the back of his diaper, leading to a plumber's crack experience. Yse, Connor has a cute bum. The world does not need to see it!

I don't want to create any major hangups in his future sex life, so I've been trying to ignore the behavior or say something like "We don't do that in the living room" or something. That's not working. My friend Erin's 5 year old sits in front of the tv and fondles himself every time that he thinks that Erin isn't looking. I don't want Connor to be like that.

Gerber makes 24 month and 3t onesies. I am thrilled to bits! However, they're hard to find. I read a suggestion of overalls, but that idea went out the window with the photographic proof that my brother worked both of his arms into his overalls in order to walk around with his hands on his prize.

Does anyone have a suggestion?

Dots and lies

The man who smiles when things go wrong has thought of someone to blame it on. - Robert Bloch

I have wonderful kids. They are well behaved and polite for the most part. They make eye contact when they are speaking to you. My daughter and son are best friends and rarely even argue with each other. I am a proud momma.

When my oldest was 3 she went though a phase of testing. She tried her hand at telling lies. It was frustrating.

I was trying to figure out a creative way to stop the damaging behavior. I am anti-spanking or harming your kids in any way.

One day The View was running in the background. Rosie O'Donald was a co-host at the time. She was dealing with the same issue in her house. She said that she told her kids that when they told a lie they got a bright yellow dot on their forehead. (Light Bulb)

I have now been using that idea for years. The kids crack me up. When they tell a lie they cover their forehead. They think only parents can see it.
Yes, I know that it is not good to lie to your kids. I usually am very careful to tell the truth. When it comes to fairy tales, Santa, Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny I always answer their questions with a question. This is my one place that I fib and I wear the badge with pride.

This is the best lie detector ever! I won't give it up ;)