Moving on to Bigger and Better Things

Today marks the first anniversary of my mom's send-off, which started the year from hell.  Dead mom, dead dog, dead aunt, dead father-out-law, broken leg, five months with no income due to broken leg... enough said!   For a review of the highlights:

How to Host a Funeral... CatLady Style

Hickory in Wonderland

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Out

Getting All Up In There

We're on a roll now, planning on living life in as grand a manner as is possible on the small stipend I receive for my labors at the home for wayward wee ones.  And so far it's going well.  Vlad graduated summa cum laude from college last month and this month we're welcoming a new addition to the family.   

 Vlad & Henry... My favorite boys!

Yeah... I'd say life is pretty damn good right now...

Homemade is still best!

No matter how you cut it, homemade cards from your child are still the best...

Thanks, Vlad!

Love you!

Autumn Leaves

I love the fall.  There's something about the smell of leaves on a bright, crisp, sunny day.  Those days when a sweater feels good, but the sun can still warm you up enough to leave the sweater unbuttoned as you crunch through the leaves. 

Vlad was born in the fall 23 years ago on October 8th.  He was originally slated to arrive mid to late September, but showed up 2 1/2 weeks past my due date.  At the time I was beginning to think he was never coming out of there.  But, he finally did.  His first outing was to the pumpkin patch when he was about a week old.  I remember taking him in the Snugli and having a little old lady chastise me for not having a cap on his little head.  He had about three hairs at the time.  Now I can't drive past a pumpkin patch without thinking about that day. 

Vlad's coming home this afternoon and we're going to go for a walk at the Thousand Acre Swamp together.  It was his choice for how to celebrate his birthday.  We'll crunch through the leaves and enjoy each others' company.   With luck, we might spot a deer in the woods.  Then we'll come back to the house for some apple cider and talk about the past year and all that he's accomplished.

I can't think of a better way to spend a fall day!

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did! 

We'll Return to our Regularly Scheduled Program in Just a Moment...

Ever feel like you're life is in "test pattern" mode?

Yeah, I'm old enough to remember test patterns...   back in the old days, programming actually ended for the evening around midnight.  They'd play the Star Spangled Banner and then go to the test pattern for the rest of the night until programming resumed around 7 or 8 in the morning.

This weekend the CatLady had to go into test pattern mode while I took care of a few pesky things like taxes, review of a curriculum I was piloting and kid-sitting.  I still have several evening meetings to look forward to, so it could be a few more days before I'm back in the blogging game.  But good news... one of my pleasures this week will be traveling to my son's college for their Honor's Convocation.  Vlad is once again being honored, so I have to be there to cheer him on. 

Yay, Vlad!

Maybe I'll even get out the lipstick... after all, that is the photo prompt for Magpie Tales for this week...

 Be sure to stop by and check out who's writing a Magpie Tale!

Stockings Inside of Stockings

Okay, how did it get to be the middle of December already? It seems like only yesterday it was Thanksgiving and then I was falling down the stairs and it's been pretty much of a blur ever since. I guess clunking yourself in the head can do that to you. But, enough of that whole business. I've graduated from crutches to a cane to walking on my own most of the time. Guess that means there are no more excuses for not getting into the holiday spirit.

Now that Vlad's gotten older I have to get a little more creative about holiday gifts. Not because he knows where I stash them and I need a better hiding place, but because he's the type of kid who doesn't ask for much. It used to be easier when he was little. Get him a whole mess of trains and Legos and stuff and he was happy as a clam. So far, all he's told me he wants this year is socks. Somehow I think it's going to be a real let down on Christmas morning if all he gets is a pair of socks in his Christmas stocking. Stockings inside of stockings.

Even my Christmas wish list is longer than that. I definitely need some more ideas... soon!
Because it's going to be really embarrassing if he gets me more gifts than I get him.

Bad mother! Bad mother!

The Names Have Been Changed to Protect the Innocent

To those of you who have been asking about Vlad's name...

I ask you... is there any other suitable name for a child who decided to read Trotsky's biography of Lenin as primary source material for a report when he was in the 9th grade? Whose favorite movie for several years was "Enemy at the Gate"? And who just HAD to go against my wishes and purchase a Russian Mosin-Nagant as soon as he turned 18? And then there's this:

(Do you think I should be worried?)

Besides, Vlad works much better in the Anna Banana song than his real name.

Trains, Trains, Trains!

Theme Thursday

This week's Theme Thursday theme is "Collections." Perfect for a cat lady who's also a Connoisseur of Crap. I've collected a lot of things over the years and there's plenty I could show you from my own collections. Some items are useful, while there are many more which serve no practical purpose. I have fairly eclectic tastes, so my collections are more of a mishmash of crap. Hard to categorize them as "real" collections. But not all of the crap in the attic is mine.

Today is Vlad's birthday and in honor of the occasion, I thought I'd share one of his collections for Theme Thursday. (Warning:  This is a bit divergent from my usual posts... if you're looking for my usual cynical sense of humor, you'll have to click on the links.)  For about the first 8 years of his life, Vlad talked about nothing but trains. There were times when I thought his obsession would be the death of me and put me in danger of going to Mommy Jail. We had trains in the living room, trains in the bedroom, trains in the attic and trains in the garage.

There were Lionel trains from his grandfather.

HO trains

Playmobil trains

Lego trains

Do you have any idea how many pieces are in those suckers?

Brio trains

Thomas the Tank Engine and all his friends.

You name it, we had it. Probably a quarter of our attic is now filled with the trains. (See... not all that crap is mine! I feel vindicated!) When I go up to the attic to look for stuff, I always see a train in some corner. It brings back happy memories and sometime induces a state of melancholy. The Lionels still come out occasionally around Christmas time.

My little boy has grown up and his interests shifted from trains to locks, to flags, to cars, to guns (my least favorite of his obsessions), to motorcycles, and so on. But to me the trains still define him. No matter how big he gets (and he's pretty big at 22 and 6'6" tall) I'll always think of him in his little engineer outfit and Brio cap, playing on the livingroom floor with his trains. *big sigh*

Guess I'd better stop writing and go hit Beers of the World to buy him some unusual brews for his new collection. And this time, it's a collection we can both enjoy!

Happy Birthday, Vlad!

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...

I know I got a little carried away the past few days with all the excitement about the Meme Award. Thank you! Thank you! It was getting so I couldn't even go out in public because of everyone wanting my autograph. (Like on charge slips.) I did make it out into the real world to go to the therapist, though... my doctor won't give me my drugs unless I see my therapist regularly, so every once in awhile I go and we shoot the shit and laugh about my weird life and she tells me what's new with her and then I go away and fill my prescription. It's a win-win situation for both of us.

Anyway, my therapist started telling me about taking her granddaughter berry picking and it reminded me of the first time I took Little Vlad berry picking.

When Vladimir was little, he wasn't a big fan of animals. He was always somewhat nervous around animals, especially large ones, because they are so unpredictable.* Trips to the zoo were highlighted by Vlad avoiding most of the caged animals and staring at the fish in the aquariums. Fish are generally pretty innocuous because they don't charge at you or anything, like man eating tigers or rhinoceroses do. And you can forget about pony rides... that just wasn't happening. (In fact, Vlad was so disenchanted with animals that he took a stuffed Thomas the Tank Engine to bed every night instead of the typical teddy bear.)

But getting back to the berry picking...

We had gone strawberry picking with some of our best friends when Vlad was three. It was a beautiful day and we were having great fun watching Vlad and his little friend Maggie eating berries as they moved along the path. They just looked so gosh darned cute with strawberry juice dripping down their chins!

We finally got several baskets filled and took them up to the farm wagon to pay for our bountiful harvest. Sitting on the wagon was a cardboard berry basket with a tiny bird inside. Apparently the owners of the field had found the bird abandoned under one of the strawberry plants. And believe it or not, Little Vladimir was fascinated by the wee bird. He just kept staring at it. I was amazed and very heartened by his interest in a real live animal... finally! Could my child actually be forming a relationship with a living creature? I was even more excited when he said....

"I want to take that bird home!"

Oh, be still my heart! My child likes an animal! I was ready to go buy a bird cage and start making up names for the little critter. The lady told us the story of how she found the baby bird and how they were hoping they could feed him and nurse him back to health until he could make it on his own. Vlad didn't make eye contact with the nice farmer lady as she spoke, but continued to just stand there and just stare at the bird. He even asked if he could climb up on the wagon to get a better look at it.

It was so sweet I almost cried. Then, as he eyes remained glued to the bird, he said...

"I want to take that bird home and eat it for dinner!"

Where did I go wrong?

And just in case you were wondering.... We did not have fowl for dinner that night.

*It turns out that wariness of animals is an Asperger's thing. Vlad was 9 before we got our first and only pet... Hickory the Wonder Dog. Vlad had finally begun to show an interest in animals and I figured a dog was a better bet than the slug he brought home and begged me to keep.

The Light that Launched a Thousand Ships

I was reading another great post over at IndigoWrath yesterday.  You should definitely check him out. Anyway, Indigo was mentioning how he was watching the movie Troy and telling about all the great British actors who are it, which sent my mind going off on another tangent.  

Back when the movie first came out, I'd been hearing great things about the actors... and how they look in loin cloths.  The other (male) members of my household at the time didn't seem too interested in going to see these great actors in action, though.  They just weren't into the whole epic historical drama thing.  So, that left me to go see it on my own.

The perfect opportunity presented itself when Vlad asked me to drive him and his buddy to the prom.  Vlad went to a very small school, where the entire student body went to the prom regardless of whether they had dates.   With Vlad being only 15 and having no driver's permit, it was up to me to provide chariot service.  Since the prom was at a country club all the way over to hell and back on the other side of town, I decided to go to the movies while I awaited the call to retrieve the prom goers.  

I figured it was the perfect time to see Troy.  The movie ran about as long as the prom did and I had a good book with me, so I could stop for coffee after the movie.  Being the conscientious parent I am, I kept my cell phone on my person at all times.  I figured I could  turn off the ringer in the theater and leave it on vibrate so I didn't miss their call.  

Except that I discovered I had no pockets.  Rather than hold it in my hand for two hours, I did the next best thing.  I reached down the front of my shirt and tucked the phone into my bra.  I figured it was dark so no one would notice and the chances of Vlad calling during the movie were slim.

But not slim enough.  With about a half hour remaining in the movie, the phone began to vibrate.... and flash!  Whoa!  Here I was, in the middle of a darkened theater, desperately trying to step over other patrons to get out, with a mysterious strobe light emanating from my boobs. Talk about a great way to get noticed!  All the eyes that only moments before had been riveted on the well-oiled, heaving, male muscles on the screen were now riveted on me.  The fact that I was laughing hysterically didn't help.  I felt like I was the bearer of the light that launched a thousand ships.

So, after humiliating myself in public once again, I never saw the end of the movie Troy.  I kinda figured out what happened, though.  Maybe I'll rent it on DVD some day and watch it in the privacy of my own home.  That's the way well-oiled, heaving, male muscles should be appreciated anyway.

Time for the Yearly Obligatory Inspection

So I got a courtesy call from my mechanic this week to let me know it was time for my annual inspection.  My car inspection, that is... I got my personal inspection last week at the gynecologist's.  Each year I wonder why you have to keep going to the gynecologist after you've had a hysterectomy... it's not like that sucker's gonna grow back or anything, so what are they looking for in there anyway?!

But, back to the topic at hand...

Vlad's car is also in my name, as insurance premiums tend to go up exponentially when a car is registered to a young male.  And it was time for his car to be inspected as well.  I decided to take his car in one day and mine the next.  (Vlad actually had to be at work before the shop opened, so it was up to me to make the morning delivery of combined auto parts that were still connected.)  I went out to get into his fine automobile, only to discover he had not yet unpacked it since he arrived home from college six weeks ago.  Including his dorm refrigerator.  With the door still attached and tightly sealed.  

Danger!  Danger, Will Robinson!

It's not like I expected the neighbor kids to break into his car, pry the mini fridge out from the other crap, squeeze their little bodies into it and await suffocation.  Rather, I was imagining the potential contents of said mini refrigerator bubbling and churning as they begin to rot and emit gasses within such a tiny, hermetically sealed space that was getting hotter and hotter in the summer sun.  God knows what all he's been keeping in there... including most likely the remnants of the last meal he made for himself at school, which happened to be fish.  I know this because he told me how proud he was of preparing this delectable taste treat... in fact he was so proud, he even took a picture of it.  

While I feel good that my child has learned how to fend for himself, there are a few things he has yet to learn.  Not wanting Jim and the rest of the folks at The Wire Wheel to think I was a total clod or anything, I walked into the office to drop off the keys and immediately beat them to the punch by telling them all about the refrigerator and other assorted crap before they could take a look at it and condemn me for being a terrible parent who raised a bozo who would leave a refrigerator in a car for six weeks in the summer.  We all had a good laugh over that.  As long as it didn't explode while they were working on the car, they didn't give a shit.  It was all good. 

So, the next day I went to take my car in, failing to realize that I had not yet unpacked all the crap from my camping trip last weekend.  Opening the back door to grab my brief case, I notice that not only is there firewood still in the back seat, there's a little bottle of propane strategically located beneath the wood.  Just ready for a little summer heat!  Boy, do I feel like a royal ass!  How do I explain that one? Actually I don't.  I just hope Jim and the guys don't notice!  

At last report, Vlad's car has yet to be unpacked, but at least my propane tank is now stored in a cool, dry place.   Look at the bright side... the mini propane tank could have been in the mini fridge.  Vlad and I are known for blowing things up, after all!

Guess we both just like living life on the edge!

Gingerbread Shenanigans... or... On My Way to Mommy Jail Part 3b: "Incendiary Devices"

Okay, so it's been some time since I wrote "On My Way to Mommy Jail Part 3a: Incendiary Devices."  You've no doubt been waiting with bated breath to find out what else could go wrong.  

Actually, nothing really went wrong.  It's just that our neighbors were not amused and neighbors who are not amused can threaten you not only with Mommy Jail, but with real jail!

But, enough of the preliminaries...   

  

On with the story itself....

It all started about 11 years ago, when we had a lovely gingerbread house that we didn't quite know what to do with after the holidays came and went.  They're so pretty, you hate to just throw them out.  But then it sat around gathering dust until it was really disgusting.  Fuzzy peppermint candies on top of green (formerly white) frosting just aren't that appetizing!  Even Hickory the Wonder Dog didn't want anything to do with it by that point.

Seeing as how we had assorted firecrackers laying about the house, we decided to see what would happen if you put one, or two, or fifty of them inside it.  A harmless pastime, to be sure. 

The next year we decided to actually build the firecrackers right into the gingerbread house. Both festive and effective!  In fact, it was so festive, we felt the urge to invite a few people over to share the joy.  

The only question that remained was who would most enjoy our hospitality.  As I was teaching Kindergarten at the time, I figured the kidlets and their parents might enjoy a few pyrotechnics. (It could even count as a science experiment.) So Vlad & I decided to throw a little party between Christmas & New Years. Nothing fancy... just a pot luck dinner for a few close friends. Everybody brought something to eat and, more importantly, something to drink and the party was on!  

The first three years' parties were fabulous!  "Vlad & Larew's Holiday Soiree" quickly became a favorite amongst young and old alike... the must have invitation for the season.  People asked months in advance if we were going to be destroying another gingerbread house that year. Each successive party got a little bigger and a little better.

Then, fate caught up with us. 

That final year, the gingerbread house was exquisite and the pyrotechnic effects spectacular! We were all having a lovely time, clapping and cheering and swigging beer, when we heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.  Imagine our surprise when the sirens got 

closer 

and closer 

and closer 

and stopped right outside our door! 

People ran in all directions, trying to be the first one to gain a hiding spot in the house.  Vlad grabbed the gingerbread house and lunged for the garage to bury it under a pile of lawn furniture that had been stored for the winter.

As the flashing lights lit up the living room, our beloved guests peeked out the windows to watch not only the firemen, but the policemen wander up and down the street looking for the offending party.  One guest, who shall remain nameless, wanted to go out and explain to the kind officers that we were just having a few fireworks and that we were so sorry, no harm done.  (Damn You, Adam Uzelac!  Don't you know it looks really bad for a kindergarten teacher to go to jail because she was blowing up a gingerbread house for the personal edification of 5 & 6 year olds!)  Another parent stood in the front window, merrily taking photographs of the fire trucks. I'm lucky nobody asked the firemen if we could take pictures of all the kidlets on the friggin' fire truck! I'm seriously starting to think that all my friends are as demented as I am.

Suffice it to say that I was not arrested that night, nor was Vlad, nor were any of our guests.  It was by far the most talked about holiday party on record and will go down in the annals of Cat Lady history as the closest I've come to actually going to Mommy Jail.  However, if I had to go, I would have certainly taken the kidlets' parents with me... they were the idiots who brought their kids to the party in the first place!

And before you condemn me... take a look for yourself.  It's only good, clean fun, after all!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szq7ENd7I2Y

While You Were Sleeping...

One of the things about parenting is that you always have to be on your toes. You never know what the little rascals are getting up to when your back is turned, let alone when you're asleep and they're not.

Take, for example, this recent article on yahoo news:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090522/ap_on_fe_st/as_odd_new_zealand_big_toy_8


Toddler buys earthmover in online auction

WELLINGTON, New Zealand – A New Zealand mom made some online bids on toys before napping. Then her 3-year-old daughter took over and bought a bigger plaything than expected — a huge earth-moving digger for a cool $12,300.
Pipi Quinlan made the winning 20,000 New Zealand dollar ($12,300) bid on the Kobelco digger with a few mouse clicks at the auction site TradeMe while her parents slept, the Rodney Times newspaper reported in northern New Zealand.
"The first I knew about it was when I came down and opened up the computer," said Pipi's mother, Sarah Quinlan.
"I saw an e-mail from TradeMe saying I had won an auction and another e-mail from the seller saying something like `I think you'll love this digger,'" she was quoted as saying in the paper.
Quinlan said she had made auction bids on several toy sets and assumed she had bought a toy digger.
"It wasn't until I went back and reread the e-mails that I saw $20,000 — and got the shock of my life."
She immediately called the auction site and the seller to explain what happened.
TradeMe reimbursed the seller's costs for the auction and the digger was relisted.

Could you imagine the look of shock and dismay on that mom's face, as well as the sheer delight on her child's, had the earthmover actually arrived on her doorstep. Any child would be thrilled! Not to mention that the father in the family would probably be secretly delighted as well... until he saw the bill. It would definitely make little Pipi the most popular kid on the block. The dad could give the neighborhood kids rides and clear cars off the street that are illegally parked, as well as clearing herds of New Zealand sheep that have gone rogue. Then they'd just laugh about little Pipi's purchase in years to come as they forego college for the little one because all their funds were used up on the earthmover.

Lucky for me, I never had a computer when Vladimir was little, let alone the internet or any such high falutin' technical gadgets. (This is one instance in which being consistently 20 years behind the times comes in handy.) When Vlad was three, the toys at our house were wooden trains, railroad spikes & sledge hammers. He had everything a child could possibly want, so I doubt Vlad would have bid on an earthmover. Or would he?

However, I digress. Getting back to my original caution about falling asleep while your child is awake...

I fell victim to that once. I had decided a little afternoon nap would be just lovely. Vladimir's dad was at work and since Vlad was about 6, I figured he could take care of himself. You know... learn how to use the power tools in the basement, deep fat fry himself something for lunch, steal my car keys & practice driving the family car. The usual for 6-year-olds. However, imagine my surprise when I awoke from my nap.... handcuffed to the bedpost!

Yes, Vladimir had developed an interest in locks and handcuffs. His grandfather had given him a pair of regulation police handcuffs and he was bound and determined to lock up everything in sight... including me. He actually stood over me, patiently waiting for the moment I would wake up and notice I was incarcerated in my own bed.

Luckily, Vlad is an agreeable sort of child and didn't hesitate to unlock me as soon as I woke up. From that point on, however, we always made sure that we carried handcuff keys on us at all times. And we made a firm rule that people had to be awake and conscious before they could be handcuffed.

A responsible parent always sets boundaries for their child!

On My Way to Mommy Jail... Adventures in Parenting Part 3a: "Incendiary Devices"

As soon as a child is born, parents begin devising lists of things their child will never do.  Yeah, RIGHT!  That lasts for about a few weeks, then the pacifiers come out and it's all over.  Eventually, the prepared baby foods, disposable diapers, cartoons, Barbies and guns all make their way into the politically correct parents' home.

Now, the state in which I reside has determined that all fireworks are illegal, so you can imagine my angst the first time the spouse wanted to stop at a fireworks warehouse while we were on vacation.  I was duly horrified!  This would surely be cause to be sent to Mommy Jail!  

That year we got a few harmless poppers, sparklers and (gasp) some tiny fountains.  And I have to confess they turned that years' birthdays and holidays into rather festive occasions, so by the time the next trip to the midwest rolled around, I was the one loading up the cart with bigger and better incendiary devices.

For Vladimir's fourth birthday, we invited three of his closest toddler friends and their parents over for cake, ice cream and a few fireworks.  They were delighted by the fountains of sparks.  The last fountain turned out to be a dud, though.  Not wanting to disappoint the wee ones, the spouse ran inside to select one last fountain for the finale.  He grabbed one of the "freebies" that are thrown into the bag as a bonus when you make your purchase at the fireworks store.  Thinking it was just another fountain, he lit the fuse and got away.  (The basic instructions that come with all fireworks.)  We all waited at a safe distance for the colorful sparks to begin spewing out the top of the cone.  

At first all that came out was smoke, which quickly got thicker and thicker until it started emitting a foul odor that soon became unbearable.  Yes, gentle reader, it was a smoke bomb.  Eyes began watering, people began choking and children began crying that they wanted to go home and never come back again... ever!  (By that time I was ready to check myself  into Mommy Jail.)  Great way to get your guests to go home after a rousing soiree!

Except for that disaster, it was all in good fun.... until my spouse started demonstrating to four year old Vladimir how you could put a firecracker in a tube and shoot wads of paper towels out the end just for fun. 

"HOLY CRAP, Vladimir's Dad... What are you thinking?"

Needless to say, I was duly outraged, but lost that battle as I did many others.

Now Vladimir, being the curious and resourceful little fellow that he was, decided to make some refinements to this system on his own.  Eventually, he actually figured out how he could take a narrow piece of PVC pipe, plug up one end,  drill a little hole in that end, insert a firecracker fuse through the hole, put an old fashioned toy cowboy gun cap next to it, put a little piece of wooden dowel down the other end, and get ready to fire it off.  All you had to do was pull back on a rubber band attached to a nail, which would hit the cap, ignite the fuse, explode the firecracker and shoot the dowel out the other end.  

"HOLY CRAP, Vladimir!  HELLOOO???   Remember Mommy Jail???"

But wait... that was actually very ingenious.  We were so proud, we didn't even mind so much when Vladimir shot out one of the garage windows.  Although, at the same time, Mommy Jail was invoked to prevent further occurrences. 

However, when Vladimir wanted me to drive him to the hobby store to buy some metal tubing and slightly smaller diameter metal rod to shoot out of the end, I had to sit down and have a serious talk with him!  A small, short piece of metal rod that is shot out of the end of a metal tube is called a bullet!  Duh!  Time to have another serious talk with the spouse as well!  This had gone way to far!  Once again, I had to burst Vladimir's bubble.  

Better the bubble though, than his eye or some other important body part!

To be continued....

  

On My Way to Mommy Jail… Adventures in Parenting Part 2: "The Railroad Years"

The first seven years of little Vladimir’s life were filled with his dreams of becoming a train engineer.*  For about five years he wore the same outfit every day… OshKosh overalls in a tasteful blue and white stripe, along with a matching striped engineer’s hat. For Halloween he would dress it up with a red bandana.  (No cute little pumpkin outfits for Vladimir!) 

This suited Vladimir’s dad and I just fine.  We gratefully bypassed the current popular culture icons such as Mutant Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers!  We felt it was far superior to go with the classic childhood toys.  Our house became filled with trains of all sorts… Brio, HO, N-Gauge, G-Gauge, Lionel, Duplo, Playmobil, Lego... and more. The Little General became one of our favorite movies and Thomas the Tank Engine’s best friends became ours as well.  My creative contribution was to craft stuffed cloth Annie & Clarabel train cars to go with the stuffed Thomas the Tank Engine that Vladimir took to bed each night (in lieu of the traditional stuffed animal.) Vladimir’s dad spent hours in the basement workshop, creating new additions for the collection… tiny wooden train sets, additional wooden track for the Brios, Christmas tree ornaments, etc. Each was lovingly crafted for the enjoyment of all. Family vacations were spent traveling to railway museums and sleeping in caboose motels.

Later on Vladimir developed an interest in roller coasters.  Because he was a large economy-sized kid, he was tall enough to ride these amusement park demons by the time he was four.  And I dutifully accompanied him, trying my best not to faint or lose my lunch on the spiraling drops in mid-air. (My personal best was riding the Quantum Loop five times in a row without barfing.) 

Now, you’d think these were innocuous pursuits, which would afford few reasons to be sent to Mommy Jail.  But believe me… there are plenty of ways that only Vladimir could come up with. 

From an early age, a favorite Saturday morning routine for Vladimir and his dad was to go to one of the local train spotting locations to watch for trains.  During these outings they would occasionally find old railroad spikes and the “fish-plates” into which they are driven.  These would be collected and brought home for the “collection”.  This would not be bad in and of itself.  However, I was a bit taken aback one morning when I came outside to find 4-year-old Vladimir with a sledge-hammer in hand, pounding the spikes through the fish plates and into our driveway.

 

“HOLY CRAP, Vladimir!  WHAT are you DOING?!?!”

This reasonable question was met with a proud smile and the words… “Daddy said I could do it.”   GRRRRRR!  

(Cut to scene of parents arguing in quiet voices about the sanity of this pursuit.)

I had visions of having to rush Vladimir to the hospital with a spike sticking out of his foot and blood gushing from the massive head wound where he had clunked himself with the sledge-hammer.

Emergency Room Nurse:  “And Vladimir’s Mommy… how exactly did little Vladimir come to having a rusty railroad spike driven through his foot… not to mention the gash in his head?  Were you actually stupid enough to think these were appropriate toys for a 4-year-old?  We’d like to have you talk to our social worker now.”

Definitely a reason for being sent to Mommy Jail!

Vladimir’s dad assured me I was over-reacting and so the tradition continued and the number of fish-plates in the driveway grew.  For years I thumped over them as I drove the car in and out of the driveway and swore at them each time my shovel came to a jarring halt during the snowy season.  (It wasn’t until Vladimir was 20 years old that he finally agreed to remove them.)

Another time, Vladimir and his dad decided to build their own roller coaster.  It was really cool!  They made 24 feet of grooved wooden track out of 2 x 4’s that actually went up and down and over which Vladimir could ride a little cart that they also created.  We would add “poppers” to the track to create extra thrills.  (The chances of being arrested for having contraband “poppers” in our possession were slim, so I agreed to go along with this plan.  They may yell at you for being stupid, but I don’t think they take you to Mommy Jail for that.)  Come winter, the track had to be put away. 

One day, Vladimir called me to the basement to ask a favor.  He was clad in his cute little engineer outfit as usual and had gotten out one of the sections of roller coaster train track.  He was laying down on it and wanted me to tie him to the tracks.

Okay, I’d play along…

I did such a good job, Vladimir looked as though he’d been tied there by Snidely Whiplash himself!   Then Vladimir wanted me to leave him there like that.  Okay... 

I went back upstairs and went about my business and all was quiet from the basement.  The more I worked, the more uneasy I became… 

This would be the perfect time for someone to come visit, (for example, the social worker from the hospital,) discover I had my child tied up to railroad tracks in the basement and turn me in to the Mommy Police.  Mommy Jail was definitely looming in the distance.

When I rushed back downstairs to untie him, Vladimir was laying quietly and contentedly, wondering why I was in such a state.  Poor Vladimir… once again I took all his fun away by insisting he had to let me untie him.   Worse, I made him promise never to go to school and tell everyone I had tied him up in the basement and left him to rot. 

Lucky for me Vladimir’s a great kid… or else he could still be holding this one over my head to this day! 

Mommy Jail still lurks!

 

 

*Vladimir came by this interest honestly… his paternal grandfather was also fascinated by trains and had a nearly complete vintage set of Lionel trains of his own.  (Sadly, Vladimir’s dad was never allowed to play with these when he was a kid… they were strictly his dad’s toys.)  Vladimir is now the proud owner of the Lionel trains, most of which are complete with their original packaging.

On My Way to Mommy Jail... Adventures in Parenting Part 1: "The Contortionist Years"

I have been lucky enough to be blessed with a boy-child.  Miraculously, he has made it to adulthood without any major disasters.

What really amazes me is that during the course of raising him, I never had to go to Mommy Jail. I often resorted to reverse psychology to convince my child that some of the things he had planned were not in his best interest... not because he would get into trouble, but because I might get sent to Mommy Jail!  

Mommy Jail is a place where they send incompetent parents who allow their children to come to harm while doing incredibly stupid stuff.

Which would, of course, mean no tasty dinners, bedtime stories, or kisses goodnight while the beloved parent is in Mommy Jail.  Over the years I have come close several times to going to Mommy Jail... mostly because I was willing to go along with my child's incredibly stupid ideas.

Take, for example, what I fondly refer to as "The Contortionist Years."  As long as I can remember, my son (we'll call him Vladimir to maintain his anonymity) has loved squeezing into small places.  This actually began in utero.  The kid loved hanging out in there... so much so that he didn't want to come out.  He was having way too much fun rolling around and poking me in various uncomfortable places.  Two and a half weeks after my due date, my doctor finally decided enough was enough and she proceeded to induce me.  Still no action.  By the time Vladimir finally popped out, we understood why it took so long.  He measured in at ten pounds and 23 1/2 inches long.  For god's sake, the kid was almost two feet tall!  How did he ever manage to fit in there?

As the little rascal grew, and grew, and grew, he still loved squeezing his long, lean body into small places.  One day Vladimir decided to play hide and seek.  Unfortunately, he didn't clue me into the fact that we were playing this game.  I was becoming frantic, searching high and low, from the basement to the attic, looking for him.  Standing in the second floor hallway looking perplexed, I suddenly heard a small voice at my feet.

With a "Hi, Mommy!", little Vladimir popped open the door to the laundry chute... where he was dangling in thin air two stories above the basement!  And to top it off, he had the biggest, sweetest smile on his face I had ever seen!

I was admirably cool, calm and collected as I responded:

"HOLY CRAP!  How did you get in there, Vladimir?!  Get out of there this INSTANT before they come and take me to MOMMY JAIL!"

Crestfallen, Vladimir crawled out and waited patiently for me to calm down.  Just about as my heart beat returned to normal... he asked if I wouldn't consider tying a rope around his waist and carefully lowering him to the basement via the laundry chute.   That way I wouldn't have to worry about him falling and I wouldn't have to go to Mommy Jail.

Didn't he hear anything I had just said?  Couldn't he envision what the repercussions would be if the rope slipped and he crashed to the bottom and we had to call the ambulance?  Or worse, if he got stuck in the laundry chute and we had to call the fire department to extricate him?

Which would in turn result in a call to the police to take me to the dreaded Mommy Jail?

You can guess what happened next...

We went to the sporting goods store where we bought some sturdy climbing rope. Back home I drew on my ancient scouting skills to tie a rope around him with a knot that wouldn't tighten up and asphyxiate him.  Gingerly, we lowered him down into the laundry chute, all the while praying he wouldn't get stuck.  

He never made it to the bottom of the laundry chute as it turned out it was a tight fit after all. But at least we didn't have to call the fire department to pry him out again.

And I didn't have to go to Mommy Jail.