Moms complain incessantly? about the sneaky, manipulative and, well, hormonal ways of their teenagers (to put it quaintly).? And I’m sure teens come with a bevy of tricks up their sleeves.? I get that.

What? I don’t get, however,? is why those same mamas? don’t tell you this behavior can start much, much earlier—say, at age two?? Okay, so maybe not so much the hormonal behavior? (thank goodness!), but the sneakiness?? Most definitely.

I mean, I’m not one of those moms with her head? buried? in the sand? about her kids.? (Although, my son buries his own head in the sand—frequently.? So if you see him, no, that’s not dandruff).? I? own the peculiarities and challenges that? comprise my little mop-headed, opinionated, over-thinking? four year-old.? Hey, that was me standing in line at Barnes and Noble several years ago, clutching a towering stack of parenting books before my son even deigned to toddle.? Books with titles like “Parenting a Spirited Child”, and “How to Set Limits for Your Strong-Willed Child”.? ? And “How? to Keep Your Royal Pain? in the? Butt Kid? from? Driving? You? to Imbibe Massive Quantities of Alcohol and Smash Your Head and His onto a Very Hard Stone Surface on an Hourly? Basis.”? Okay, so maybe that last one? only existed in my brain.? ? But had? that title? been available for purchase, you can be 100% certain it would be keeping the other? manuals company on our bookshelf right now.

Still, there is no book on earth that prepares you for all the intricate nuances of parenting.? ? Or the minutiae of kids’ brains.? I mean, some children are just born thinkers.? And reasoners.? And lest you start thinking this is a wonderful thing, let me share a little story with you.

We call it “Connor and the Peanut Butter Cup”

Just before his third birthday, Connor is heading back home with hubby from some kind of male bonding experience, which, given my son’s utter enthrallment with trains at that time, undoubtedly consisted of the manly pursuit of visiting the hobby store and? fondling all the Thomas the tank engines.? For hours.? On the way home, hubby stops at the corner gas station for a drink, and of course, Connor asks for a mini Reese’s peanut butter cup (trust me–this is the lesser of many, many sugary evils that hubby exposed Connor to periodically at that same store).? ? Demonstrating? uncharacteristic restraint, hubby says, “You can only have one, and then we’ll bring another one home to mommy.”

So, moments after climbing into his car seat, Connor’s peanut butter cup vanishes, destined for a quick but fatal trip to Tummy Town.? And about a millisecond elapses before he’s demanding mine.? Hubby tells him, no, that one’s for mommy—you ate yours already.

Connor thinks for a moment, then says innocently, “Can I just hold it for mommy?”

Now, my hubby knows our son by now as well, so he’s immediately suspicious.? “You can’t eat it–it’s for mommy,” he reiterates.

Connor smiles again–”I know.? I just want to hold it for mommy, so I can give it to her when we get home.”

Melting under the radiant innocence of my son’s beatific grin, hubby caves and hands over? the peanut butter cup.? A few seconds later he hears, “Daddy, maybe I can just unwrap it and look at it for mommy.”

Hubby, who clearly did not read the “Setting Limits for Your Strong-Willed Child” book referenced above, says something to the effect of “Oh, that’s not a good idea.”? ? Basically, this kind of wishy-washy talk is like an open invitation to sin for spirited children.? Which means the wrapper? flies off said chocolate treat faster than the pants off a whore.? Then—”Daddy, this peanut butter cup’s broken.? ? Maybe I’ll? just eat this edge off, so it still looks pretty.”

By the time “No!” flies from my? sucker’s, I mean hubby’s,? mouth, it’s? too late.? The edge is gone.

? A? few moments later, “Daddy, it’s too small for mommy now.? I’m just gonna eat it all, and we can get her a new one later.”

Needless to say, I did not enjoy a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup that day.

?

I don’t know how you spent your last few minutes of awake time last night, but I’m reasonably certain they weren’t squandered discussing the merits of Gordon Lightfoot.? Me?? Not so lucky.?

Here’s how it happened: Hubby and I are getting ready? for bed, and at a decent hour for a change. Not that we’ve been up partying and closing down the bars lately.? But in our baby-driven lives, even eleven o’clock is pushing it.

Just as I’m fluffing my pillow and channeling Doris Day by pulling on my pink satin mask (it was cheaper than black-out shades), disaster strikes.? Because instead of the hum of our white-noise maker (okay, so it’s really just a humidifier sans filter and water–call me MacGyver)? I hear hubby’s voice.?

The talking is? brief enough at first—a few questions about facebook and linkedin, and who he’s reconnected with so far.? Then, mysteriously,? the topic? jumps from old college friends to Phish concerts to, of all things, Gordon Lightfoot.? No, I really have no idea how that’s possible, either.? But those kind of? random neuron firings? happen all too frequently around here.? Maybe it’s the 60′s coming back to haunt me.? Which is mildly perplexing, since I wasn’t born until the 70′s.

Of course, then? hubby? has to look good old Gordon up on the computer.? I mean, how could? one possibly? be expected to ever sleep again until they were reminded of which songs he sang,? songs that most likely held the talent and longevity of a Milli Vanilli number?? So hubby grabs his handy-dandy laptop, only it’s not so handy-dandy because the battery is shot so it always requires a plug, as does mine, come to think of it, and then we’re in business.?

I was pleasantly surprised to? discover that Mr. Lightfoot actually sang some pretty good stuff, including Sundown and If You Could Read My Mind.? So, after wasting even more precious snoozing time listening to samples of his music, then looking up the lyrics to Sundown (what did he say in that line about “sneaking” again?), we finally settle in for bed.

And it’s still only 10: 20 pm, so we’re in good shape. Until hubby starts in with some Connor-isms from earlier that evening.? How this relates to Gordon Lightfoot, I have no idea—hence the emphasis on random neuron firings.? Apparently, my son was having a little chat about swear words.? Connor told hubby that he could start? using some? bad words? when he turned? five.? When my hubby inquired which words those might be, Connor says, “Stupid.”?

Upon hearing that, hubby heaved a sigh of relief, which was short-lived.? “…And f*ck,”? Connor continues, disingenuously.

? I wasn’t there, so I can only imagine the sound of my husband’s jaw slamming onto the concrete and his eyes popping out of his sockets and flying across the garage.? I mean, hubby and I have been known to utter the occasional “butt-munch” or “fart-knocker” at home (and yes, maybe I’ve? spewed forth with? “jackass” a few times while driving), but our profanity pretty much stops there.? But Connor has bionic ears, so who knows.

Hubby said it took him a moment, but he finally came up with, “No, that one’s not okay until you’re at least eighteen.”

Connor apparently thought about it for a moment, then smiled and said, “Or ten.”

After that, of course, all bets for sleep are off, as I’m left pondering how I’m going to convince my son that the “f” word is only legal for use once you’ve reaching voting age.

And I still don’t get what any of this has to do with Gordon Lightfoot.

?

Okay, so I realize I’m a little tardy on posting the winner of my Pay it Forward contest, but cut me some slack here—I’ve been super busy hunting up random junk in my house to send her.? Oh, what a lucky lady she is…..

And the winner is….Playful Professional!

As fate would have it, she happens to be the only one who mentioned homemade cookies in her comments.? Sigh.? I can’t make any promises, but I’ll give it my best shot.? Of course, there’s a good chance that I’ll ingest? all the cookies before any make it into the box.? But it’s the thought that counts.

So, I think I’ve got the “random” part of the prize covered, since I’ve? unearthed a plethora of treasures (and I use that term very loosely) while cleaning out the hall closet.? And “bizarre” and “useless” have been addressed as well.? I actually thought about sending Peanut to? fill those criteria at first, but then starting worrying about silly things.? You know, stuff like liability insurance. And decapitated postal workers.? I’m still working on the “cool”, and if it’s all the same to my winner, I think I’ll skip the “disgusting” altogether.? Although I’m pretty sure I could find something in my garage that fits the bill.? Like maybe a stray rat or two.

At any rate, I’m going to get to work throwing this prize package together, so I can get it out in the mail before Christmas.? I’ll take some photos too, and once it arrives I can post them.

Poor Playful Professional—I bet by this point she’s wishing she’d won somebody else’s contest.? With prizes guaranteed to be 100% rodent (and lunatic Rottweiler)-free.

Happy 4th of July, from the gang (and the Target dollar bins)!

Skye:? Mom should be banned from Target.

Fergie:? I sure hope this visor’s tasty.? Then again, I eat beer cans.

Peanut:? I’m pretty sure I like visors about as much as I like bunny ears.? Notice my demented look?? Oh wait—I always look like this.

Peanut:? Getting angry now…..

Peanut:? Wait a second—aren’t you the one who put this thing on my head?

Peanut:? Yeah, that’s right—-RUN!

So, yesterday somebody mentioned they’d like to win home-made cookies.? (And yes, the Pay It Forward contest is still on, so keep leaving those comments!? You have until the 4th of July to enter.? Check out my post on Pay It Forward and Swistle for more details).

I seriously considered adding some fresh yummies into the prize package.? Except when I bake, I taste.? And not one or two cookies—we’re talking major tastage here.? As in, half the batch? is vacationing in? Tummy Town long before the baking sheet? has time to? cool.

Which usually wouldn’t faze me.? But, here’s the deal—folks, I just hoovered? a Super Big Gulp-sized? Chili’s shake last night, without even realizing it.? And I’m thinking this can’t be normal.?

Here’s the scoop–I was? surfing a bunch of blogs, and my hubby brought me? my nightly? yummy? (yes, he really is the best husband in the whole world, slobbery be damned).? He just sets it down next to me, and without really paying much attention, I start drinking.? ? And drinking.? And drinking.? The next thing I know, I’m looking over to siphon the very last bit out with my straw,? and instead, I scream? “OH-MY-GOD-I-JUST-CONSUMED-THE-ENTIRE-CONTENTS-OF-AN-EPICLY-GINORMOUS-CHILIS-SHAKE-AND-NOW-IM-GOING-TO-HURL!”

Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly what I screamed, but it? made for a better story than “ARRRGGGGGGG!”, or whatever inanity? actually? emerged from my shake-drowned vocal chords.? But I did yell, because the sight before me was so horrible.? So terrifying.? What I was looking at was,? without? a? doubt, the? most enormous cup I have ever seen, outside of 7-11 or somebody sticking a straw in a gallon-sized jug of Natural Light (yes, I’ve seen it done, and no, it wasn’t pretty).? And more to the point, the cup was completely empty.

I kid you not.? I mean, if there’s one thing I know, its shakes.? And this, my friends, ? was no ordinary shake.? ? Not even close.? This was the motherload.? A virtual Behemoth in a Chili’s cup.? ? A freakin’ giant of chocolatey goodness.? That overgrown sucker seriously? must’ve weighed at? least five pounds, if not fifty.? All of which, thanks to my never-ending sweet tooth and preoccupation with the computer,? is now going to be permanently? embedded on my thighs.

I’d like to know–which Chili’s marketing genius came up with this stroke of brilliance?? Because if there’s one thing Americans surely need, it’s a 32 oz chocolate shake.? ? And if? I get? the guy’s? name, maybe I can send him? my lipo bill.

Exhibit A:? Yes, there really is a 32 oz Mega-Sized Chili’s shake (or there is when your 4 yr old asks the teenage girl working there for her phone number because he’d like to talk to her more – what up with that?)

Exhibit B:? Chili’s shake as compared to a normal sized cup (from the Target dollar bins, of course–my son likes to paint them)

Exhibit C:? Oh, look—I saved a few chocolate sprinkles and a few drops of shake. I wonder if my tongue is long enough to? nab those? calories, too?

You know, in spite of the steroid shake, everything might have been okay—if I hadn’t just horked down those five cookies after lunch.? I knew removing them from my friend’s? premises would result in acts of utter depravity and gluttony.? And yet I couldn’t resist.

Exhibit D:? Yes, I really ate five of these.? And yes, I am that pathetic.

So, I’m thinking—maybe the thing to do is start a yummy log here.? The idea being that since the concept of will power is as foreign to me as? the origins of a? Target dollar-bin goody, maybe I can shame myself into cutting back on the sugar.

So, there it is—the sad and frightening truth of my daily yummy-intake, coming soon to a blog near you.? Although I have a sinking feeling that, when? it comes to sugar, I am utterly shame-proof.

So, I was just surfing the blogosphere (okay, call it procrastinating, if you must), and came across Swistle’s site.? Apparently, she’s running a “Pay It Foward” contest.? No, you don’t have to run out and buy? anyone a? new Mercedes, and hopefully, no small children are going to die in our version.? Alas, there’s no Kevin Spacey involvement, either.? Although he should feel free to comment on my blog as well.?

Basically, what this contest entails is you commenting on a list of participating blog sites, including mine, found on the Swistle site.? Comment as often as you like up through July 4th.? At that time, a random winner will be picked from each site to win a PRIZE!?

And I’ll even do you one better—I promise, PROMISE, not to get your prize from the Target dollar bins.? Or is that actually disappointing?? I cannot, however, promise that? the prize? will be something entirely un-bizarre, because you never know which neurons will be firing in my brain at any given moment.? For some reason, though, I think the neurons associated with random, peculiar? behavior fire a lot more.? At least in my head.

So, there you have it!? Keep commenting, and maybe you, too,? can win something cool.? Or something totally useless.? Or disgusting.? But, hey, ? you’ll never know, unless you comment!