Well, yes, wedgies do suck. Now get back in bed.

Bobo has been resisting bedtime the past few weeks.  Her usual excuses range from getting a drink, having to go potty (even though we went just before bedtime), we forgot to give her a hug AND a kiss, yadda yadda yadda.

My favorite is when she’ll bound of out bed five minutes after we put her down, saying she had a nightmare.  I don’t even think she knows what a nightmare is, but she heard us using the word a few weeks ago, and she’s latched onto that as an excuse to get out of bed.

I actually just put Bobo back into her bed for the 3rd time tonight.  Her first two attempts at stalling were pretty lame, but her final excuse was a goody.  This last time, she came running out of her room screaming “My undies are going into my crack! I can’t sleep, my undies hurt!!”

Really, how can you argue with that?  I’ve been there myself… wedgies are no fun.  I put on my best stern face, helped dislodge the offending panties, and send her back to bed, where she stays put this time (as do, coincidentally, the undies). 

Sometimes, it’s pretty hard being a disciplinarian when you are laughing so hard.

You want to see WHAT movie?

I had to refrain from laughing at Bobo when she said she wanted to go see the “Alvin, Semen and Theodore” movie today.  After I corrected the name, J and I decided to divide and conquer the kids; he stayed home with Chip, while Bobo and I had a girl’s day out.  The Chipmunk movie was actually pretty cute, and we had a good time. 

Although, I have to say, Bobo is a pretty expensive date.  I hadn’t been to a movie in a while, and it shocked me what they’re charging these days.  $7.50 for a kid’s matinee ticket… really??  We hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so we stood in line for popcorn and hotdogs.  Whoosh, there goes another 20 bucks.  It’s highway robbery, I tell you. 

I remember when I was a kid, and we used to go to the movies for $1, AND they let you bring in your own grocery bag full of home-popped popcorn.  It’s true.  And we didn’t even have to walk uphill both ways in the snow to get to the theatre…

Who the heck are Chip and Bobo?

Chip and Bobo are pseudonyms for the two little rugrats I am proud to say I had a hand in making. Bobo is a precocious soon-to-be four year old whose favorite word at the moment is “Why?” Chip is her sweet little brother whose favorite word at the moment is “Uh-oh” (more on that later).

The real question you may be asking is, “Why this blog?”

Truth be told, after almost four years of parenthood, I have yet to compile a baby book for either of my children. My sister, a really talented scrapbooker, actually made me this beautiful little baby book for Bobo when she was born, complete with all of the pages laid out, etc. I have to abashedly admit that I started that some time ago, but the mere act of printing out pictures, gluing them on the pages and writing little captions put me on overload. It made me realize that a baby book for my daughter may be a lost cause at this point. Chip is probably really going to get the short end of the stick in that department.

Every time I tell my dad a story about the kids, he laughs and says “I hope you’re keeping a journal of these things. You think you’ll remember them later, but you’d be surprised what you forget.” Heck, I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast most days (let alone remember if I actually ate), so I believe wholeheartedly that’s true.

Thus, this blog is my 2010 New Year’s resolution.  It will be my 21st century version of my dad’s journal, or my sister’s scrapbooking. I realize how quickly my kids are growing up, and I want to have some sort of record of the things they said or did that made me want to laugh, cry or run for a bottle of Pepto Bismol. For the purposes of this blog, no real names have been used, in an effort to protect the i-did-it-but-i-want-you-to-think-i’m-innocent(s).

For those curious (or for the few folks that have actually read this far down), Chip and Bobo are actual nicknames we gave our munchkins while I was pregnant. While browsing through baby naming books, J thought it would be great fun to call our daughter “Bodacia”. I quickly vetoed that name, for two reasons:

  1. Being a teenager is hard enough without a name like that. Apologies to anyone named Bodacia. Really.
  2. He wanted to call her “Bo” for short. Can you imagine… “How do you spell your name? B-O.” No, thank you.

Thus, the name Bodacia wasn’t chosen, but henceforth our unborn daughter was referred to affectionately as Bobo.

Two and a half years later, as we were trying to break the news to Bobo that she’d be a big sister in the spring, the first question that came out of her mouth was “Why isn’t Momma’s belly big?” We explained to her that her younger sibling was still really tiny, probably no bigger than an M&M or chocolate chip. Again, the nickname stuck, even as momma gained 50 pounds throughout the pregnancy and clearly had more than just a chocolate chip in her belly.

If you’re interested in following the adventures of Chip and Bobo (and, occasionally some tidbits about their parents), please check back!

What DO boys really want?

Sometimes I feel sorry for my kids.  They have been raised since birth listening to such diverse music as the Dixie Chicks, Johnny Cash, Bon Jovi, as well as a sprinking of other selections from the 80’s.  J and I have talked about the likelihood that our kids will go to elementary school and possibly be ridiculed because they think that Van Halen is cool (well, according to J, they ARE cool, but that’s another issue entirely).

Anyway, one of Bobo’s favorite songs to rock out to is “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”.  We call it our “mood” music, and listen to it practically every morning in the car on the way to preschool.  This morning, however, I found myself singing by myself, instead of my usual duet with Bobo.

“What’s up, Bud?” I asked.  “How come you’re not singing along?”
“Momma,” she started reflectively, “if girls just wanna have fun, what do boys want?”

I quickly surmise that are multiple answers to that question, few of which are simple, and probably none of which are appropriate conversations to have with a 3 year-old.  For now, Bobo is satisfied with my rather lame answer of “Boys want to have fun, too.  This song just happens to be sung by a girl, so that’s why she’s singing about girls.”

We will definitely defer other elements of that discussion until a later date.  Hopefully, I have at least a few years to try to refine my answer a bit.

Recommended Read: "Christmas Lights for Idiots"

I was hoping to find this book on Amazon.com, but had no luck.  Honestly, I don’t think such a book really exists, but if not, I could probably write it.

Key points include:

  1. Check all lights before stringing the entire tree.
  2. Check the outlet to make sure it works before unstringing the entire tree, then finding out lights actually worked in the first place.
  3. Do not let your toddler play with replacement bulbs unless you want to engage in a rousing game of “Where did Bobo hide the bulbs” after she goes down for her nap.

 As you can surmise, we are in the process of putting up the Christmas tree.  When I say “we,” I actually mean “I”.  My husband usually stays out of the holiday decorating process altogether, I suspect because I admit I am somewhat vigilant about making the house look perfect for every holiday.

I think my fascination with holiday decorations began at a young age.  Finding and decorating the tree was a family event, which included trucking through cold  muddy fields at the tree farm, engaging in friendly debates over which kind to get (Blue spruce or noble?  Oh, the dilemma!), and culminating in lighting and decorating the tree while drinking hot cocoa to warm up.  I loved watching my dad haul out the Christmas decorations from the attic, and helping to free the lights, ornaments and other decorations from their mothball and tissue paper coffins.  Decorating the house seemed to represent memories from holidays past, and created a giddy sense of anticipation for the coming ones.

Today, I made a big to-do about getting out the Christmas decorations while we put away the Halloween and fall decorations (Yes, that is correct.  It is December, and the Halloween decorations just came down.  But, hey, only one trip to the attic.  Efficiency or laziness?  You decide.)  

I think Bobo had fun helping me set out all of the decorations, and would squeal in delight when we unwrapped another snowman or Santa.  She got distracted towards the end of the snowman parade and started playing with the tree lights (thus the mystery of the hidden replacement bulbs), but her interested was piqued again when we brought out the advent calendar that I explained would have a piece of candy for each day.

Now that I have kids, I have a renewed sense of giddiness for the holidays.  Seeing the anticipation and excitement through my daughter’s eyes makes me feel a bit like a kid myself, and reminds me of all the fun we had during the holidays while I was growing up. 

Okay, so it is a little annoying answering the “Is Santa coming tonight??” question for 24 straight days. 

Secretly, though, I’m counting down the days myself.