Paranormal Toys

I made the insane mistake of watching “Paranormal Activity.” I am referring to the first Paranormal Activity, I can’t even stand watching the previews for the second one. Outside of our bedroom door is the entrance to the attic, one glance up and I am in the fetal position saying the rosary. Oh no, this is not an exaggeration. I also won’t go down basement stairs that don’t have backs on them because I am convinced there is someone hiding under there, ready to snatch at my ankles and pull me into their deep, dark evil depths. 

Well every parent knows that most toys have motion sensors  so that you sneeze on the 2^nd floor and a toy in the basement feels the vibrations and goes off (it’s totally a conspiracy between the battery company and toy manufacturers.) When the batteries are running low the toys tend to become a little hyper and go off on their own. Well I try to convince myself that it is the batteries and not the ghosts who swoop around at night playing with the Weeble house and fire trucks. There are, however, a few toys that make this “think happy thoughts” a little more difficult.

FurReal Kitty:

The first time Bo saw FurReal Kitty, he’s eyes bulged out of his head and he said “Woooo. Pet Cemetery.” I’ve never actually seen this movie, but I am pretty sure this description of fur real was dead on. (Haha, Dead.On. Didn’t even mean that one!) It seriously looks like someone took their cat to a taxidermist to have Fluffy forever preserved. But it gets better.

FurReal Kitty has a motion sensor. This means that the freaky life-like/death-like cat will be left sitting on the couch, when you walk by its eyes fly open and MEOW. Tell me that won’t scare the begee’s out of you at 3am when you are on your way to sneak a cookie. That’s one dieters tip! 

I’ve told Kinsley that her meow meow likes it best in her bedroom. Meow meow has also had been spayed and had her batteries removed. 

ZhuZhu:

Zhu Zhu is actually a toy gerbil, but Kinsley has a love for cat’s so my Mom bought it for her to pass off as a toy cat. (Toy cat’s are actually hard to find. I am sure the reasoning being the whole pet cemetery thing.)

Amazon says that you can push a button on its back and hear it chatter. What Amazon SHOULD say is, accidentally bump the ZhuZhu and it will make chirping noises for up to 5 minutes. Remain absolutely still and hold your breath during this time, the slightest shift in atmospheric molecules will get ZhuZhu starting his chatter all over again. It is likely that during this time, Kinsley will be awakened and start crying for “Kitty! Kittty!” You now face two choices:

1. Listen to Kinsley cry in desperation for ZhuZhu and remain awake and wide-eyed listening to make sure she is indeed safe. 
2. Take ZhuZhu to her by running as quickly as you can down the hall, before the attic hatch opens, kiss her on the head, and run back to bed where all is safe. At this point she will stop crying and ZhuZhu will sporadically chatter throughout the night calling to all of his hamster friends to hide under your bed ready to attack if you should have to pee during the night.

Doesn’t that sound restful?

The Circus Truck:

Guess what noise circus trucks make? That freaky-deaky circus song that makes you think a big killer clown is hiding behind your shower curtain. Here is another toy that has had the batteries removed but the difference being, the batteries were taken out for Greyson’s benefit.

There *may* have been a little incident when Greyson was about two years old in which we were sitting on the couch watching Monsters Inc. It was at the opening scene where all is quiet and dark, the monster tip-toes into the room and…I gave Greyson a squeeze and said “ohh scarry.” He *may* have started bawling his little two year old eyes out. 

A day later, he was playing with the circus truck de-dee-deedle-deedle killer clown coming to get you, and then an elephant roar noise—bawling two year old.

So what does our good friend Andrew and Bo do? Keeps pushing the button over and over to see if the cause and affect relationship stays consistent. I had to take the batteries out of the toy so two grown mean would stop terrorizing Greyson (I *may* have had some guilt hangover regarding the whole Monsters Inc. moment the day before that *may* have been linked to the crying over the elephant noise.) 

I’m not exactly crying that the killer clown song is gone. If you don’t play the song, they stay hidden behind the shower curtain until morning. Everyone knows killer clowns can’t come after you in daylight. Duh.

Fork

Inside or outside, chances are I am going to have shoes on. I’ve learned that walking barefoot is just asking for trouble. Those toys got sharp little pointy things all over them just waiting to poke someone’s eye out or stab a momma’s foot. This causes a chain reaction of events to occur: step on pointy object that stabs foot, shout OW drawing everyone’s focus to you (strange since they never notice when you shout other things that start with “I MEAN IT…”, mutter a four letter word under your breath, children repeat four letter word with great intensity, convince family members that your child is not swearing but has a passion for utensils (“Oh yes, he really likes to use a FORK at dinner.”) It’s just better to wear shoes.

Occasionally there are acceptations to the shoe wearing rule. For example, I don’t wear shoes in the shower, so when I get out of the shower there is a good several minutes of the dressing process in which my feet are exposed to the lurking dangers. Today I gave thought to rethinking the no shoes in the shower policy.

I step out, on to the bathroom rug. My foot pushing into the flooring makes it go squiiiishh. Fork.

The rug is all wet.

Why is the rug wet?

Is that a yellow puddle on the floor?

Fork.

Ughhh someone pee peed the floor!!

Wait.

Why does it smell like pickles in here?

Why is there a jar of pickles laying on it’s side on the bathroom floor?

Oh that’s right…during the 45 second shower I bestow myself the luxury of having on a daily basis, Kinsley comes into the bathroom to tell me she wants a snack. Apparently this was short for, “Mom, I want a pickle for a snack and brought you the jar because I can’t open it. I’ll just leave it here for you so  you can open it immediately upon exiting the shower.”

Fork. There is dill pickle juice on the floor.  

The Center for Negligent Parents

Today I got to call the Center For Negligent Parents Who Let Their Children Ingest Toxins, also known as Poison Control. This is not the first time I have had to call the center for negligent parents. Last summer Kinsley ate a BOTTLE of sun tan lotion. Her innards were well protected against UV rays for the next 24 hours. This happened about two days after I called the Negligent Parent Center because she drank the baby shampoo.

I leave the kitchen/dinning/living room area to pee. This isn’t the first time. I have had to pee other times since my kids were born and left them unattended for 2 minutes. Generally someone will come banging on the door to ask me what I’m doing (I. AM. IN. THE. BATHROOM.) but sometimes they just go about doing what they were.

In less than 120 seconds, Greyson had pushed the barstool from the dining room to the kitchen counter, climbed up, took the Childrens Motrin from the windowsill and removed the child proof cap*. Mmmm medicine is yummy, Greyson says. I am going to contact the manufacturer about that and request they make broccoli flavored Motrin.


As a side note, if you ever have to call the Negligent Parent Center, they don't treat you like a negligent parent. They don't ask you things like, "what were you doing while your kid was doing this? can't you keep an eye on them at all times? MY KIDS never did anything like that." It's all business...what did they take, when, how old are they, how much do they weigh? 

They then assure you that your child will live and that they should drink milk. Apparently milk absorbs all sorts of things, I'm thinking about pouring it on my credit card statement to see what it does to the balance. 

*Child proof? Apparently my children are wise beyond their years and we need to buy the medicine that has the "Gifted Child" cap on it. How is that for a marketing plan? Dear Parents, which do you prefer...the cap for average intelligent children or the one that is $4 more for "Gifted" children. 

Did You Just Call Me Fatso?

About two months ago I enlisted the help of Dear Husband in my efforts to lose baby weight. I think the other two times I carried baby weight I didn’t really think much of it, I knew I was going to have another kid and be back in stretchy pants sometime in the near future. Now I know that I am going to be in shorts and a bathing suit in the near future, baby weight isn’t feeling so okay at the moment.

 I had this horrible habit of getting up and eating snacks, lots of times I didn’t even remember doing it. When I woke up one morning to find that I ate THREE cupcakes I decided it just had to stop. (As a side note, these were not just any cupcakes they were Bake N Cake cupcakes, any person even in their AWAKE mind would eat three if given the opportunity.) I gave clear instructions to Bo that if he heard me get up, followed by the sound of candy wrappers to firmly tell me to go back to bed. 

For two weeks now Bo has had to listen to me occasionally (daily) complain about how this is stupid and I hate the scale. He knows I am getting uber-frustrated and disappointed. 

Tonight I was on the computer and Bo asks “What are you eating?”

Me: Special K snack cracker chips.

Bo: Are they low calorie or something?

Me: Yes, I can eat 38 for 110 calories (I really did know and say that!). Why?

Bo:  Oh, because you are like going to town on them.

Me: (Smile) Thanks for looking out for me babe! Want one?

Now my normal mind knows that I asked Bo to help me and that is exactly what he was doing. But this is the conversation my female mind heard:

Bo: OMG you are EATING something AGAIN. What is it this time, an entire chocolate cake?

Me: (sheepish) I’m hungry. I had half a piece (because Kinsley stole the other half) of fish and a salad for dinner. I am just eating these salted pieces of card-board. Are you calling me a fat ass?

Bo: You are pigging out on your salted pieces of cardboard. Are you sure you are eating 38 and not ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHT.

Me: Shut your trap. Do you want to try this and see how much they DON’T taste like regular chips?

Thank goodness we don’t all say what we think! It doesn’t really matter, I know he is thinking “I love you just the way you are.” Well he’s thinking about that, or looking at me and trying to imagine [insert hot actress’s name.]