The Official 2012 BoyMommy Toy Guide

It’s that time of year . . . the time when annoying commercial ditties get stuck in your head and replay themselves in a loop until you want to shoot yourself in the eye with a Nerf gun just so you can fortheloveo'pete make it stop. 

No?  Just me?

I have decided that I was destined to be a Boy Mommy.  I get Diabetes just thinking about the saccharin-sweet Tinkerbell/Barbie genre of cinema.  I’d sit through 10 Monster Jams before I’d watch a My Little Pony dvd.  The colors alone . . . the purples and pinks and fuchsias . . . it’s like the animator  vomited a bag of Skittles.

Not that there’s anything wrong with girls and all things girly.  It’s just that I was clearly not cut out for the job of being a mommy to girls. 

That being said, I made a list of 10 annoying toys that I will NOT be purchasing, AND they’re gender neutral so they are equally offensive to both boy mommies and girl mommies!  (I’m all-inclusive here at the BoyMommy blog site.)

In no particular order:

1.  An antique doll

When Hubby and I were dating, my mother would make him sleep on the couch in the living room when he visited for the weekend.  Apparently she thought I was as pure as the driven snow. . .  Aaaaanyhoo, she’d be dusting in the living room later and be confused because her antique doll, which was perched on top of a book case, was always facing the wall.  Turns out Hubby was a little freaked out by the thought of glass eyes peering through his soul while he slept, so he’d face her the other way when he visited. 

I mean, she's holding her hand under his
nether-regions in order to CATCH the poop . . . 

2.  Doggie Doo

Germans love David Hasslehoff.  Apparently they also love picking up dog feces.  This is the notion perpetuated by the Doggie Doo commercial, which portrays children having so!  much!  fun! By picking up fake (let's hope) poop that excretes itself from a toy dog.  If my children find picking dog sh*t up so exciting, they are welcome to walk our real dog and trail behind him with a plastic bag.

3.  Sling Shot  

Like I need a toy that will turn simple household items into projectiles. . .

It's okay Pig.  It's just food.
It's not Love.

4.  Pop the Pig

No surprise, but it’s manufactured by the same warped minds that brought us Doggie Doo.  I just feel bad for the pig, you know?  He stuffs his craw and then he eventually eats so much that he pops.  Maybe he’s an emotional eater.  Or a recovering anorexic.  It’s not my place to judge. . . .

5.   Dreamlight

I will not give this company my money for one reason: their theme song is so nails-down-a-chalkboard, grating-on-my-nerves annoying!  The product is a stuffed toy with a plastic back that lights up and projects shapes onto the ceiling.  The funny thing is, my niece has one and Small loves to play with it, but only during the day.  There’s no way in h-e-doublehockeysticks he’s going to sleep with that thing in the room.

Look kids!  A SnowGlobe!
Shake it.  See what happens . . . 

6.  Ecosphere

My brother-in-law, the Cluer, bought us one of these as a family gift about 10 years ago.  It’s a glass ball with water in it that contains a little shrimp thing and algae and other science stuff.  And it sits on a shelf.  And you look at it.  And it collects dust.  UNLESS, you shake that b*tch up like it’s a snow globe and then stuff it in a moving box that’s headed for a storage facility in New Jersey for 3 years.  Hypothetically.

7.  Kids Boxing Gloves  

Seriously?  There’s no way this would end well.

8.  Bottle Cap Jewelry Kit  

Children can make jewelry out of bottle caps.  I just can’t see the point of purchasing this kit, simply because if my children look on the counter on Sunday morning they’ll have plenty of bottle caps to suit their little jewelry-making desires.

9.  The Love and Grow Baby Doll  

This is *awesome* because once they grow out of the doll phase, they can use all their baby-raisin’ expertise when their poor decision-making skills are rewarded with their own reality show on MTV.

Yours for the low-low price of $19.99
(Plus shipping and handling.)

10.   Stompeez  

They’re advertised as “slippers with personality.”  Um, I’m okay with my slippers being non-personality-having.  They’re slippers.  You can WALK in them.  You can JUMP in them.  You can even STOMP in them!  How do I know all this?  It says so in the commercial.  I'd like to meet the marketing genius who thought a good selling point would be that you could walk in them.  What’s next?  Socks?  I think this is the gift for the kid who was really bad this year . . . 

Merry Christmas, Y'all.

In the interest of not ruining anyone's Christmas surprise, I had to postpone publishing this one until today.  Happy Christmas!

You know how I’m not supposed to write about Hubby because he thinks I throw him under the bus?

Is it MY fault he gives me so much material to work with?

Today is December 24, also known as Christmas Eve.  The Day.  Before.  Christmas.  I have had most of my Christmas shopping done for at least a few days now and I have been wrapping like a madwoman so that my family can rip paper off their gifts in a matter of mere seconds.  Hubby took the older two boys to a football game today and the plan has long been for me to wrap the remaining gifts while they are gone.  Keep in mind that I did much the same yesterday, except yesterday also involved a screwdriver and Chinese directions for items which may require some assembly. 

I couldn’t sleep this morning because I kept thinking of all the things I want to get done before our guests arrive for dinner this evening.  I am not a morning person, so when I had returned from Target and was already making Rice Krispie Treats with Medium at 8 AM, Hubby literally felt my forehead for fever.  What can I say?  Mama’s got sh*t to do. 

Before he left for the game, he made an online purchase for his parents on behalf of himself and his two brothers.  Would any particular member of this little trifecta of siblings be picking up said purchase at the store?

N to the O.

That little task was left to me after Hubby asked me if I could do him a little favor and pick something up for him.

Do you know what he wanted me to pick up for him?  A friggin’ television. 

Me:  How am I going to get it out of the store?

Hubby:  Oh it won’t be a big deal.  They’ll have it all ready to go once you get there.

Me:  Remember, I’ll have Small with me.

Hubby:  You should just be able to run in and run out.

Me:  Um, it’s the day before Christmas.  I'm having some doubts . . . 

So I drove to the store, loaded Small up in the stroller, and headed in to “just run in” and pick up my purchase.

Wah?  There’s a line?

We waited.  Small wanted his cup.  We waited some more.  I broke out the snacks.  We waited some more.  “I wan git out,” he says. 

Finally it was our turn with the sales representative.  She checks my ID and the purchase order and then steps over to find my item.  Except she returns empty-handed and tells me my husband just cancelled the order. 

Super. 

I’ve just waited in this line and there are at least 10 impatient customers behind me, who are beginning getting a little testy when my phone rings.

Me:  (super friendly and brimming with adoration for my spouse.)  Yes.

Hubby:  Hello Dear.  So I’m making things more complicated for you.

Me:  Uhuh.

Hubby:  I talked to Cluer (my brother-in-law) and he measured the space and we can get a different size for the same price, so I cancelled the order and all you have to do is pick up the different, even bigger, tv.

Me:  So now I have to wait even longer so they can bring a different tv up from the warehouse and then I need to stand in line, again, to check out?

Hubby:  What’s wrong?  You sound annoyed . . .

Me:  I sound annoyed?  (this comment was met with chuckles from several members of the Last Minute Shopper entourage waiting in line behind me.)

Hubby:  What’s the big deal?

Just so we’re clear . . . the big deal:

1.  It’s now naptime.  I left the house in plenty of time, but I’ve had to wait and now Small is cranky, squirmy, and loud.

2.  It’s crowded.  I don’t like crowds of people as I get easily annoyed by people who stand too closely to me or who have complete disregard for the line of people who apparentlyarejuststandinghereforourhealth, hello???!!

3.  There’s no way to look cool while pushing a toddler in a stroller AND maneuvering a giant television.

4.  WHY did you and your brothers wait until the day before Christmas to make this purchase, and WHY is it that not one of YOU is doing anything more strenuous than clicking “make purchase” on the website?

I am wrapping that bad boy tonight.  And I’m signing the card:

TO:  Hubby's Parents

FROM:  the woman who went to the store on the day-before-Christmas to wait in line, pick up the gift, load it into the car, and then got to go home and wrap it, all with her tired toddler in tow.  And also the Trifecta of Morons who waited until yesterday to buy your gift.

How NOT to Plan Your Spouse's Demise

Hubby and I only have a few shows we agree on, but periodically we find ourselves entrenched in mystery-type programs, like Dateline and 48 Hours.  The conversation inevitably turns all mushy and romantic as we start discussing how we would commit the perfect crime, hypothetically of course.  Everyone knows if I were to kill my hubby, I would smother him with a pillow.  (Lord help me if someone breaks into my home and smothers my husband while he sleeps, because I have put that out there in the universe so many times, I would definitely be the prime suspect.) 

The other night we were discussing life insurance and how I stand to gain significantly more than he does.  I pointed out that he would have to use his money to find someone to raise our children and suggested that perhaps he find a mail-order Russian bride. Then I advised him to “getcha one that doesn’t talk back this time.”  He said next time he’ll get one who cooks, cleans, and provides other services.  Ahem.

[private message to The Cluer & BooBoo and my brother Slim . . . the fact that we have been working on our wills lately and contemplating guardianship of our children should we get hit by a Mack truck tomorrow is purely coincidental.] 

In all seriousness, if I die I want Hubby to pine away for me for the rest of his life.  You think I’m kidding.  I am not.  I will not be one of those Love Story Jenny Cavalerri type women . . . all find-someone-to-make-you-happy and please-find-the-strength-to-go-on-without-me.  No way.  I want him to live the rest of his days missing me and telling people that he’ll never love again.  In fact, I’m annoyed that all my old boyfriends got married.  To other people!  And there’s evidence of it on Facebook!  That ain’t right . . . they’re supposed to be wallowing away in their parents’ basements, thinking about the one that got away.  (That would be me.)

Hmmm.  I’ve lost focus here for a second.  Back to killing my husband . . .

I gotta say though, prison doesn’t always sound so bad.  Three squares a day that I don’t have to cook or clean up after, a bed whose covers I don’t have to share, and a place to pee.  I’m used to peeing with an audience, so there ya have it!

Anyway, this is what we have learned:

1. Don’t choose a hit man who has a drinking problem and a tendency to utter the words “promise not to tell anyone?”
2. Don’t go to your local CVS to stock up on duct tape, latex gloves, and rope.
3. If you’re going to move a refrigerator-sized box from your front door to the flatbed of your truck, don’t let your neighbors see you doing it.
4. Don’t take out a hefty life insurance policy (hefty - like $5,000!!!) on your spouse a week before you plan to off him/her.
5. Don’t get your 1995 Ford Escort detailed immediately after you call 911 to report your spouse missing.
6. The answer to “you’re not a cop, are you?” is never going to be “Why, yes.  Yes, I am!”
7. “Burglars” do not storm into your house, steal your wife’s jewelry and wreak havoc on all of your possessions except for your big-screen TV and your beloved baseball card collection.
8. Don’t pose for a family portrait in which your wife and kids look smiley and happy, and yet you look menacing and creepy.
9. Don’t tell Border Patrol that “it musta been in here when I bought the car.”
10. The underside of the passenger seat is not a safe storage location for your illegal firearm.

Dust Catchers! Yours for Only $1!

For Christmas this year, my brother-in-law, The Cluer, bought $5 gift certificates to the Dollar Tree for my boys.  He thinks he’s funny.  He is not.

You see, I’m not a Dollar Tree kind of gal.  There’s nothing wrong with the Dollar Tree or other establishments of that ilk, and I will concede that there are bargains to be found.  When the boys step foot in there, however, their eyes get all big and buggy and they start running in circles like they’re on Speed because Look! There’s a pack of spatulas for a dollar!  We don't know what spatulas are!  But they're a dollar!

Several months ago, The Cluer took my boys and his into a dollar store and let them each pick something out while BooBoo and I settled the tab at the restaurant next door.  The boys got into the car all excited about their finds and we waved good-bye to the cousins.  Everybody buckled in and I started the engine.  All was right with the world.

And then all hell broke loose.

Whoppers exploded out of the box Large was trying to open and they began rolling all over the floor of my Swagger Wagon, and Medium started screaming because his quality-inspected plastic toy broke.  The car was still in "park," folks. 

Ever reserved and mature, I called The Cluer immediately.  “I’m still in PARK, you dumb*ass!  There are Whoppers EVERYwhere and Medium is throwing a temper tantrum because his toy doesn’t even work!  I haven’t even put the car in reverse!  This is YOUR fault!”

So I KNEW The Cluer would be purchasing gift certificates for the boys because he and I pick at each other like 10-year-old siblings.  Yesterday, Hubby took the boys out to run some errands and then promised them they could go spend their gift certificates afterwards.  Now we are the proud owners of these little gems:

God Bless America

1. a pack of Justin Bieber cards.  Medium’s comment was “the girls in my class are gonna LOVE this!”  I'm starting to get a little concerned with this new obsession with the Biebster.
2. a football sticker book and 3 packs of cards.  We would have had 4 packs of cards, but then Large spotted the following . .  . 
3. Eagle Dust Catchers.  Medium found them first, and Large’s response was, “Awwww, where’d you get THAT?  I want THAT!”  And thus, one pack of cards went back on the shelf.
4. Four giant army men, one of whom has apparently already been harmed in battle.  I would attempt to operate on his leg, but we all know what happened during the Great Superhero Convalescent Home Superglue Disaster of 2007. 

I despise Dust-Catchers.  I know many people collect Precious Moments and the like, but I am NOT one of those people.  If it doesn’t have some sort of sentimental meaning to me, I don’t want it.  I don’t even like trophies.  Why?  Because they serve no lasting purpose except to collect dust.  My only exception to this rule is a Willow Tree figurine my Mother-in-Law gave me when Medium was born – it’s a mother with two boys and I think it’s the sweetest thing ever. 

How long before those eagles “mysteriously” disappear?

I'm back!

Don't be thinking that I'll be posting every day, because it's not gonna happen. I have a life. Not really, but the clothes ain't gonna fold themselves.

We had a traumatic 2nd day of school. I was all proud of myself for getting everyone out of the house and up to the bus stop on time, but then Large got stung by a wasp. With all the screaming that ensued, you would have thought it was the Apocalypse. (That's a Biblical Bad Thing, right? I wouldn't know, since I get most of my religious knowledge from Veggie Tales DVD's, and they didn't make a Bob-and-Larry-Meet-Disaster episode.) Anyhow, I sent Medium off on the bus by himself, and when I finally dropped Large off at school I didn't see Medium wandering aimlessly down the hallways, so I'm assuming he made it to class okay. The problem with having to drive Large to school was that it messed up my routine. My routine that I developed yesterday, that is. The plan is to take everyone up to the bus stop in my grungies, then come home and put Small down for a morning nap so I can shower. Without an audience. It's not as exciting and I don't get the verbal accolades for reaching all my nooks and crannies while washing, but it's generally a pleasant experience to be able to shower in peace. Since I brought Large back home for some ice, Benadryl, and sympathy, I didn't have a chance to shower before taking him to school. This, unfortunately for the staff at the elementary school, means that I went out IN PUBLIC in my sweat shorts. Anyone who has seen my backside knows that Mama needs pockets, so trust me when I say it weren't pretty. Plus I had no makeup on and my teeth felt like they were wearing little sweaters because I hadn't brushed them. My coffee breath kept people from getting too close anyway, so it's all good.

My Sister-in-Law, whom I affectionately call Boo Boo Chicken, (don't ask,) called while I was en route to Starbucks. It seems I got my Brother-in-Law, The Cluer, in trouble. Oopsies. Hubby developed this elaborate plan, (which involved me taking all three children on an errand, even though he has YET to do so since Small has joined us,) in which I was to meet Cluer's neighbor at the local grocery store so that I could pick up baseball tickets for today's Nationals game. In chatting with Boo Boo, I said something about Hubby meeting Cluer for the game. Except Boo Boo thought Cluer was "working his ass off" in Richmond while she stayed home and juggled school/activities/homework with her three rambunctious boys. Folks, there's a reason why Cluer works for a cabinet company and not the CIA. Worst secret-keeper EVER. How, exactly, did he think that a plot involving his brother, his lovely and charming sister-in-law, and his neighbor would NOT get back to his wife? Especially when he neglected to tell the key players that it was a secret? Dumbass. Plus, he's driving from Richmond to DC to Richmond to Winchester. Look at a map, because clearly Cluer has not; it's complicated.