Breakfast Bootcamp:The Crack Pipe of Dawn Part II

I always feel like the resident drill sergeant, constantly barking orders. But I have a feeling that it would be more satisfying to be a real drill sergeant since their orders are obeyed.

When we left off, Sage and I were about to go downstairs for breakfast. Cooking of the breakfast is Alan's responsibility. I feel very lucky to have a husband that actually helps with the domestic chores of the house; he is a great help to me and I couldn't do it without him. That being said, let me explain something about my husband. Have you ever heard the expression "Slow as molasses in January"? Well, that is a pretty good description of Alan. If I say to him "you need to put it in high gear, Alan" he just gives me that look that a dog gives when he is confused--the head tipped to the side, ears bent, slight furrow to the brow. Alan has no high gear. He only has 3 gears which are--Staring into space, Scratching, and Slow. It is pretty much a given that breakfast is not on the table when we arrive downstairs. I can feel my stress level rising and go into drill sergeant mode barking orders at Alan who calmly says "I go at my own pace." Sometimes I feel like I should be wearing chaps and spurs and shouting "Yah!" to get him moving. (Oh dear, I probably shouldn't have conjured that image. Alan, if you are reading this I will not be wearing chaps and spurs for you. Ok? Absolutely not! I did the Princess Leia thing, but I draw the line at Ride 'Em, Cowgirl!)

Well, slow and steady will eventually finish the race, at some point, maybe; so, he finally puts the food in front of Sage with 15 minutes to eat before we have to leave for the bus stop. Sage is his daddy's boy and getting him to focus and eat is very challenging. "Sage, stop talking and eat." "Eat, Sage." "Sage you are playing with your food." "Pick up your fork!!! EAT!" Sage's eventual reply, "Mommy, I eat at my own paste!"

I get no respect!! This past week I decided to turn the tables on them all. I took over breakfast duty and let Alan be in charge of Sage. As I am happily cooking downstairs, all I hear are the cries and screams of Sage: "You're mean!! I want Mommy! Daddy, you are hurting my feelings!" I resist the urge to intervene and just keep setting the table as they arrive downstairs. Sage, with a tear streaked face, proclaims, "Daddy is a hundred times worser than you, Mommy!!" Aaaahhhh, finally some appreciation. I hope this means that he will be more pleasant with me next week. Probably not, but it is a nice thought anyway. At least I can threaten him--Get up and no whining or I will go get Daddy. Mwuh ha ha!

The Crack Pipe of Dawn

If there was a 'Morning in Pleasantville' drug, I would definitely be smoking it. I would be sucking on that pipe for sure. I am not a morning person and, as I stuggle to drag myself from the bed at 6 a.m., I am far from being Miss Mary Sunshine. I am more like Ms. Roxy Bitchslap. However, I am a mom which means that I have to plaster on a smile and face the trials of the morning. Why does it have to be so hard, Oh Lord? Alan and I divide the morning labor. I am on Sage duty and Alan is on breakfast duty. In theory, it should run smoothly, but in reality it is my own little slice of hell.

Here is an example of the typical morning--I enter Sage's room, turn on a dim light and sing "Good Morning to You." Honestly I don't know why I sing since I remember hating it when my mom did it to me. I guess it is further proof that I am turning into my parents. After ignoring me for a few seconds Sage starts to stir and the whining starts. I try not to lose patience since any cross word or action will result in full blown crying. I hand him his cold, wet washcloth to wipe the sleepies from his eyes. It is cold because on Monday he cried when I gave him a warm washcloth. He takes the washcloth and whines, "It's too cold!!" (My smile has now cracked into a Billy Idol snarl.) I proceed to dress his limp form because his "arms and legs are not working." Then I cajole him into the bathroom for teeth and hair brushing. Since he refuses to open his eyes he trips over Shepard's potty seat. Between screams, he blurts out "It's all your fault, Mommy!" Me, "Why is it my fault? You were the one walking around with your eyes closed." Sage, "You should have led me!" What am I now--a Seeing Eye Mom?! After about 10 long minutes, 23 times of saying "Brush!!" 2 threats of what will happen if he doesn't brush ( "Your teeth will grow mold that tastes like green beans" and "Santa is putting you on the bad breath list") and one "Jesus brushed", we are finally ready to come downstairs. Stay tuned for Part II of our morning adventure.

The Name Game

My confession of the day is that Angel Omega is not my real name. Shocked, are you? Actually it is my porn name. To arrive at your porn name, take the name of your first pet and the name of the street you grew up on. That is how I got Angel Omega. Though I love my porn name and will use it as my pen name when I write my novel, I am changing my display name for my blog. I have decided to go with short and sassy. Something that is easier to chant.

My inspiration is Sean "Puff Daddy" Combs. He went from "Puff Daddy" to "Puffy" then "P. Diddy" and now it is just "Diddy". Soon it will be "Did", and finally he will just be "Was".

So my new display name shall be------J.Hi, a combination of my real first name and my maiden name. Hey at least it is not a symbol! Of course if I were to change my name to a symbol I would like it to be "$" but really it would end up being something lame like "~". So, J.Hi it will be for now. Go ahead chant it a few times...much easier, right?

Confessions of a Tooth Fairy

I felt like a terrible mother this morning. Sage lost his first tooth. He discovered it was loose Saturday morning. We were all playing on the bed and Shepard accidentally elbowed Sage in the mouth. Sage started crying and yelling, "Shepard knocked my tooth loose!!" He would not let me touch it and all morning he held his lip pulled down because he didn’t want the lip to touch it. All the while drool was streaming down his arm and he kept crying and saying “I on awn oo ose eye oof.” (I don’t want to lose my tooth.) He finally calmed down and accepted it and even became proud of the loose tooth. But he still would not let me or Alan touch it. I remember when I was a kid how freaked out I was when I had a loose tooth because it seemed like once the adults found out, all they wanted to do was to try and pull it. So I decided to be laid back about it and let the tooth fall out on its own or let Sage pull it himself.

Well, this morning at breakfast Sage yelled, “My tooth is gone!” It’s true, the tooth was gone without a trace. Alan and I rushed up to his bedroom to search in the bed for it but with no luck. I am assuming that he probably swallowed it in the night which really makes me cringe. We did not mention this fact to Sage. I told Alan to quickly go grab a fiver and slip it under Sage’s pillow. As Sage is walking up the stairs Alan rushes down the hall and whispers, “All I have is a ten!” So I quickly snatch it and shove it under the pillow right before Sage walks in. When he found out that we did not find the tooth, he said, “Maybe the Tooth Fairy came in and plucked it in the night.” So he looked under his pillow and found the money. I will never forget his reaction--so purely awestruck, such perfect excitement. It made me so happy for him and reminded me of how fun it was to believe in the magical. Alan and I just smiled at each other and uttered a silent “Whew!”

It turned out fine but I just felt horrible that I let him swallow his tooth and now I don’t have his first tooth to save. And to top it all off Sage thinks that he gets $10 for each tooth. He will have the most expensive mouth on the East Coast. Hope he doesn’t need braces too!