Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Men Are From Mars, Little Boys Are From Planet Spaz

Little boys are funny. Like funny ha-ha, and funny weird. My boys are, unique. The older one is quite the dramatist. I don't know where he gets that. He can't bear to make a mistake, or do something wrong. If he does break a rule, it eats at him until he must confess, even if no one knows about it but him. The confessions themselves are elaborate productions involving many tears and sighs. It's hard to be angry when the child drapes his arm dramatically across his forehead and proclaims, "I admit it! I did it!"

The younger one could hardly care less about rules and regulations. He just wants to have a good time. We've recently had to purchase those white plastic things that go over the doorknobs to keep him out of the pantry. He likes to help himself to oatmeal and uncooked macaroni.

He got a big-boy bed for his birthday, and that has posed its own challenges. I decided to put one of those door-knob thingies on the knob inside his room to keep him from getting out and roaming around the house and possibly the neighborhood. He can't get out now, but the other day he decided to channel his inner rock star and trashed his room. And by trashed, I mean TRASHED. He pulled the mattress up out of his bed and tore off the sheets. He overturned all of his shoe and toy boxes. He found a container of baby powder and made it snow all over every surface in his room.

I put him in his Time-Out chair until I could get the mess cleaned up. He sputtered and sobbed and told me how sorry he was and that he would never make a big mess again. I let him get up, and he ran into the livingroom where he proceeded to tear all the tissues out of the tissue box.

For the most part, my boys are very well-behaved. They are polite and well-mannered. The little one is at that stage where he wants to challenge authority, but he's usually a very sweet little guy. The other day he informed me that I am his "girl." He loves to play a game that my oldest and I made up when he was little, called "I Love You More Than..." We take turns telling each other what we love each other more than. For example, I'll say, "I love you more than chocolate sauce." And he'll say, "I love you more than baby monkeys." It's very sweet.

Boys can be challenging. They don't sit and play quietly with dolls or tea sets like a lot of little girls do. Boys like to run around and take things apart and see how stuff works. Boys like to make mud and get really, REALLY dirty. Boys are noisy, and wild, and completely...well they're wonderful.

*At least the little guy's room now has that new baby smell.*

Thursday, July 02, 2009

Tony and Rachael: Don't Make Me Choose!

I am a woman torn in two. Pulled in two opposite directions like a Thanksgiving turkey bone. Two of my favorite television personalities are at war, and have been for some time. I am of course referring to the war of words going on between Rachael Ray and Anthony Bourdain. What, you say? There's something on TV besides Michael Jackson documentaries? *Sigh*

Truth-be-told, I love them both. Tony is an arrogant, foul-mouthed, rebel rockstar chef, and I love him for it. Rachael is perky (annoyingly so at times) obsessed with extra-virgin olive oil, and a media darling, but I love her for that too.

As much as I hate to see her dissed, Tony has a valid argument against Rachael. She's no Julia Child. But then, she never said she was or tried to be. And even more, why doesn't Tony put down the crispy roasted pork skin and go on television and show me how to make some frou-frou fancy french food, if that's so important?

I feel like a child caught in the middle of a nasty divorce.
Daddy says, "Mommy thinks she's Julia Child, but she's really just a Ho-Jo waitress."
Mommy says, "Maybe if I send Daddy a fruit basket, he'll love me again."

Why can't you guys get along? You have so much in common! You love food and travel, you're both New Yorkers...
Maybe that's it. Maybe it's not a divorce, but a simple high school romance. Yes, that's it. Tony is the rebel ne'er-do-well who secretly has a crush on the cute, perky head cheerleader. Of course, he picks on her in order to hide his true feelings! Eureka!

I can see it all; the Food Network/Travel Channel cafeteria. Rachael sits with Bridget and Dhani at the popular kids' table. Tony (who is about to be suspended again for writing "for a good time call RR" on the bathroom wall) sits in a far corner with Andrew Zimmern.
"What do you have for lunch?" Andrew asks Tony.
"Goat testicles," Tony replies.
"Cool. I have fried monkey brains. Wanna trade?"

Meanwhile, Samantha Brown buzzes around from table to table asking if anyone wants to see her pictures from Brazil. Everyone says no.