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Bossypants

I should be packing.  If you were to ask Dylan, he’d say I should be helping him find Raoul Caroule, Carla Veloso and Francesco (from “Cars 2”) who are lost in the sea of toys covering the family room floor.  Instead I’m deep in thought about Bossypants.  I’m still reading Tina Fey’s “Bossypants” and enjoying it.  It’s coming with me Legoland just in case there’s a spare minute or two during the trip to leisurely read a book.  Ha!    But right now I’m referring to a different Bossypants.  I’m talking about Dylan.

Something has shifted in him since he became a big kid on campus, an almost Kindergartener, and a member of the elite “boys cabin” under the leadership of a male “Coach” instead of a female “Miss” camp counselor.  It’s mostly good.  My sensitive, timid Dylan could use some more guy influence in his life (besides Dad, of course.)  From me, he mostly gets hugs, kisses, and anxiety.

He’s learning new games.  “Mommy, ‘Shark in the Middle’ is a boy game,” he said.  “Um, girls can play that game, too,” I said.  “Sure they can,” he replied.  “They can play whenever they want.  But it’s still a boy game.”

He’s learning about music.  In the car yesterday, Dylan said, “Mommy, that’s rock and roll music.  Rock and roll music is boy music.”  (It was Matchbox Twenty’s new single, “She’s So Mean.”)   “Girls like rock and roll music, too,” I said.  “Sure they do,” he said.  “It’s so break dancing music.  Boys break dance.”

Here’s the best worst one I’ve heard.  “Mommy, boys are smarter than girls.”  Record scratch.  Hold up!  WTF!  “Who told you that?” I asked. “No one,” he said.  After that, Dylan and I had a talk about how f—kin’ smart girls are and how boys and girls can do anything they f—kin’ want.  (Our talk didn’t include actual  “f” words, but thought about them as I spoke.  I also thought about the consequences of this new guy influence and wondered if I could counteract his new misguided chauvinism with extra hugs, kisses, and anxiety.

Here’s the Bossypants part.  We often go swimming at home after camp.  This is a lot of what I hear at the pool.  Dylan does most of the talking.

Dylan: This is the “Straight and Turn” game.

Dylan: This is the “Zig Zag” game.

Dylan: You go there. I go here. No, there.  Riley, you’re not supposed to go there. It’s my turn. I’m on this side and you’re on that side.

Dylan: Stand there. Face me. I learned this at camp. Riley, not like that!

Dylan: Now I’m the bad guy and you’re not.

Riley: I won!  (He did.)

Dylan: No, this is not a winning game.  We’re not playing games anymore.

Yeah, that’s my sweet, precious, and newly chauvinistic Bossypants.  Does it really begin this young?  We worry so much about how to raise our girls to believe they can do anything they want (they can), and I’m quickly realizing how important it is to also raise our boys to believe it, too.

Back to packing.

Have you read Tina Fey’s “Bossypants?”  Do you have a Bossypants in your brood? 

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Cliffhanger

I need to update you on a bunch of random stuff, including the casserole, Father’s Day, my financial, um, situation, the garden, and summer goals.

As it turns out, my casserole leftovers were quite yummy.  It tasted so much better than the night I cooked it.  In other words, it got better with age…

…just like Mike.  Happy Fathers Day!  We started the day with cards and pictures:

Dylan made this picture of a spider web for Mike  – yes, a spider web – at camp:

Then omelets with hot Italian pork sausage, baby spinach and mozzarella (Mike’s request), turkey bacon, Morning Star veggie sausage patties, and croissants (Dylan’s request):

Made by Yours Truly!  I may need some casserole practice, but I’m damn good with eggs.

Then Mike went straight to his computer to do computery things.  (For comparison’s sake, on Mother’s Day, I went to the mall and bought a pair of expensive shoes.)  About Mike’s role as a dad, I can say this:  He works his butt off to provide for his family (and he’s a gifted paper airplane maker to boot), and Dylan, Riley and I couldn’t be more fortunate and proud.

Later in the afternoon, I took the boys to Target to give Mike some space and to buy a zillion and one things, including Mike’s Father’s Day presents from the boys.  Apparently, Mike requested a really awesome Beyblade with sharp edges and a Star Wars Snowspeeder.

“Daddy’s gonna love this,” said Dylan.

I’m gonna love this,” said Riley.

(Editor’s note:  I wasn’t going to buy any toys – as if these kids need any more – but Daddy insisted.  He did.)

We ended the day at our favorite local bar & grill to celebrate with three generations of current and future dads:

Cheers to Grandpa Tom…and to Uncle Ken and Grandpa Barry who we’ll see in San Francisco in ONE MONTH!

On to less celebratory topics…

My spending:  I added up my household expenses for the week and, well, I don’t really want to talk about it.  Just know that I’ll be adding it all up on a weekly basis for a while.  Back in my Weight Watchers days, keeping the food journal was always the deciding factor in whether or not it was a successful week.  I’m hoping the same will be true here.

Now let’s talk about the garden, another slightly depressing topic.  On Saturday, we completed “Take Two” of our garden project.  Not “Phase Two” (the herb and vegetable garden); rather, “Take Two.”  Almost all of the flowers I planted a few weeks ago died.  Green Mama, I am not.  Mike planted new flowers yesterday afternoon without gloating too much (just a little bit) about how all of the flowers he originally planted survived and all of the flowers I originally planted died.  Boo.

Good luck, Take Two:

We (Mike) also planted a beautiful yellow Bromeliad plant Dylan’s teacher gave me at the end of the school year as a thank you for being the classroom’s healthy snack coordinator.

Supposedly, these plants are hard to kill.  We’ll see.  Mike planted it, so I’m hopeful.

A quick “Summer Goals” update:  I bought a “Captain Underpants” chapter book for Dylan.  After initially rejecting the book because it was “black and white on the inside” and asking me to bring it back to the store and buy a toy instead, which made me a very Angry Mama, Dylan let me read a few chapters before bed last night and He. Loved. It.  By the way, there’s a lot of poop, fart, and wedgie humor in this book, which is fun, but we made a deal to only do “poop, fart, and wedgie talk” at home when we’re reading the book (just like how we only pee on trees in our backyard).  We even did a pinky shake to ensure compliance.

Finally, here’s the “Who shot J.R.?” cliffhanger:  I have less than 72 hours to pack for a four-day family trip to Legoland.  Yikes!  Those of you who know my history of packing anxiety are well aware of what a frighteningly short period of time I’ve left myself to get my s–t together.  (New readers can catch up here:  “Everything AND The Kitchen Sink” and “Mastering the art of…”)  Will I get it done?  Without blowing my budget?  Or losing my mind?  Is this all just a dream?  Speaking of which, last night I dreamed I was pregnant again!

To be continued…

p.s. The pregnancy dream isn’t the cliffhanger.  That really was a dream.

Anyone watching the new “Dallas” on TNT? 

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