Category Archives: conversations to remember

Three Birthdays

The Runaway Mama’s Guide To Surviving Motherhood – Lesson #673: Do not talk about future birthday parties – especially if the future birthday party is for a sibling – until present birthday parties are over.

This conversation happened in the car the other day on our way home from the grocery store.

Me: “Dylan, are you so excited?  Your Avengers birthday party is in two weeks!”

Dylan: “Yes!”

Me: “Avengers Assemble…for Dylan’s birthday!!”

Riley: “My birthday is in a few weeks.”

Me:  “Well, in a few months.  What kind of birthday party do you want to have, Riley?”

Riley:  “A Wonder Pets birthday!”

Really?  That show isn’t even on “On Demand” anymore.

Me: “How about a dinosaur party, Riley.  Or, what about a Spider-Man party?”

Riley: “Spider-Man!!  And I’ll have a really cool Spider-Man cake.”

Wait for it…

Dylan: “But I want a Spider-Man party.  And I want a Spider-Man birthday cake.”

Crap.

Me: “But you’re having an Avengers party.  You said you wanted an Avengers party and that’s what I’ve been planning.

For weeks!

[Cue the tears.]

Dylan:  “But I want Spider-Man and Superman and Batman and Robin.”  Then the tears became sobs.  “I want all of the super heroes for my birthday.”  More crying.  “All of them!”

Crap, crap, crap.  Think of something, Mama.  Think…think…think…

Me: “How about if we do the Avengers for your birthday party and then we’ll do Spider-Man on your actual birthday.  We could make Spider-Man cupcakes.  How does that sound?”

Silence…but less crying.

Me (cont.): “And do you know what, Dylan?”

Dylan: “What?”

Me: “You get to celebrate your birthday at school, too.  What do you want me to bring to school to celebrate your birthday?”

Dylan: “Donuts.”

Donuts?

Crisis averted.  Well, except for the part where instead of planning and executing one birthday celebration, we’re doing three.

 

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Death Threat

Dylan plays soccer on Saturday mornings.  He really enjoys it, but he can be kind of timid on the field.  That, and sometimes he looks like he’s dreaming up a plot for a sci-fi novel instead of thinking about defense.  Mike and I have figured out that if we can get him in the right state of mind, we can get him to be less afraid of going after the ball.

We came up with the concept of being mad, because when Dylan’s mad, he’s ferocious.  Unstoppable.  Crazy.  Dangerous.  Fierce.  (Seriously.  Don’t piss this kid off.)  It’s just like he should be on the soccer field.

On Saturday morning, I tried to pump him up for his game.  I asked him, “Are you ready to play some mad soccer?”

He said, “Yeah!”

I said, “Are you ready to kick some butt?!”

He said, “Yeah!”

I said, “Are you ready to be MAD?!”

He said, “I’m going to make the other team DIE!!!”

Oh.

Oh, dear.

I blame this death threat unfortunate outburst on violence in the media, video games, and my husband who let’s him watch age-inappropriate super hero movies.

For the record, I told him it wasn’t nice to wish death upon others.

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