I like boys.

Lately when I pick up Malia from school, I've noticed a routine forming. First I get Taede out of the car and into the stroller. We then stroll along the wrought fence, looking for Malia and, yes, spy on her for bit. I'm always curious about what my kids do when not with me. I usually get a gathering following me. I don't know if it's the magnetism of my personality or the lure of "Baby" but I'll have anywhere from 2-4 kids following me along the fence, chatting away.

After 4 weeks of school, some of the kids recognize me and start yelling out "It's Malia's mommy! Where's Malia? Her mommy's here!" Then I hear a high squeal: "Sohn-yah! Sohn-yah!" It's Gina and she's running over with a mile wide smile. We hug through the fence. I lay a careful kiss on her face as it's usually a mess of left-over lunch and sand.

Some of the kids take off looking for Malia to tell her I'm here, if she hadn't come over with Gina. It's really cute.

Today, a little boy came over and started chatting with me. He said he knew where Malia was and started to get her. He actually didn't know where she was and I had to help him out by pointing in the right direction. He ran over and told her I was here and we had our happy reunion through the fence.

I walk through the school to pick her up, give Gina her hugs and kisses... and see the boy hanging out around Malia. I chat with him for a bit then tell him we have to leave. He says bye to Malia and she says bye back. As we leave, the little boys runs up to me and tells me his name. It's Malia's "Little Mean Boy" from the second week of school. Evidently they've made up and are good friends now.

Maybe a little too good because as we say good bye again, she says to me: "Boys are nice now. I like boys."

hmm......

Monster Truck Jam

Five years ago, if you said to me: "Sonya, you're going to buy (with real money, money that your husband worked hard to earn) Monster Truck Jam tickets so that your 5.5 year old son could watch huge ass trucks race around in the dirt, crushing cars..." I would have laughed in your face.

Monster Truck Jam?! Puh-leez!

But thanks to Erin and Josh Bickmeier who last year took my boys to a Monster Jam (where, if you remember, Kael asked if monsters drove the trucks), my kid is now hooked on monster trucks. So yes, I did indeed purchase 2 outrageously expensive Monster Jam tickets for a Father and Son bonding night.

I still can't believe it. Kael had a great time so I think this will be the boys' special time together.

Here are some pictures taken by Truong:


I especially like the Dad and the little baby getting their picture taken at the front of the truck. Maybe I should have let Truong take Taede too.


Kael's favorite truck. I don't know why. I hope it's because of the huge tires and not because of the picture on it.


Grave Digger - the crowd favorite. Pardon Kael eating his granola bar. Remember this is DAD taking the pictures.


We always carry protection.


The track. I'm sure it makes sense to someone. Just not to me.


Grave Digger doing a jump. Or a crush. I guess it's a race of some sort. I'm not sure how points are tallied or how a winner is declared.


Truong's favorite part of the night: the Demolition Derby. These cars are racing around the track, towing whatever the hell they want towards some kind of end goal where a winner is declared. Some are towing boats, one's towing a golf cart and the crowd favorite -- a Port-A-Potty.


What everyone was waiting for: the demolition. The cars and their trailers started loosing control and crashing into each other. The Port-A-Potty was the first to go and got smashed into a million pieces.

< <> sigh <> >
Boys....

I can't wait for Malia to get to an age where we can do some Mother-Daughter bonding... at a spa.

The answer to my prayers.

You all know how much Kael loves to talk and ask questions. I swear the kid talks more to hear himself talk, and less because he's got this insatiable thirst for knowledge. I have to give the kid credit for knowing when I've spaced out, though. There are times when there's a lull in the conversation (talking mostly from Kael, with me trying to filter the important stuff from the fluffy stuff so I can protect my sanity) and he shoots out a completely loaded question from far left field. A loaded question that makes a parent squirm in her car seat.

He'll be talking about some random stuff like the benefits of his Neo Shifter robot transforming this way and that way, when he realizes that I've spaced out. So then he throws out a "Where do babies come from, mom?" Or "Why do the police carry guns? Do they kill people with it? Aren't they bad guys, then?" just to get giggles from my obvious discomfort in trying to find the best way to answer the question without a long prolonged Q&A session. This usually happens in the car, where I'm a captive audience, with no place to hide or distractions to save me.

So yes, the kid's got my number. But, I recently stumbled across the answer to my prayers.

My ipod.

Kael loves it so I downloaded his music onto it (mostly soundtracks from the movies he's seen, like Cars and Madagascar). It took me a few trips to a few different stores find the right earbud that not only fits him but also fits Malia. (She's so funny -- with the earbud on she tells me "Mom, don't talk to me; I'm on the phone!") Once the music is on, and they're both bopping their head to the beat, looking cool -- it's completely silent in the car.

Ahhh... Peace, sweet peace!

Goldfinger

Last week I moved Malia's dance class to a place called the Freckled Frog. It's super cute and best of all... parent participation is not required! There were 6 girls in class with 2 instructors. All the girls were of course as cute as cute can be. I had Taede and Kael with me as it was MLK Day, along with parents of the other 5 girls. So essentially it was a packed house.

The girls line up on their heart place markers and they start doing their dance thing. Malia for some god forsaken reason decides it's time to pick her nose. She couldn't pick at home? In the car? Why now, in the dance studio, when class starts?? Ugh. How embarrassing.

I tell her to stop.

She's still picking.

"Malia! Get your finger out of your nose!"
I'm sort of hissing this at her, trying to be sly about it, hoping no one could hear me. Which is impossible since all the parents are in the little foyer.

She's still picking. But this time she's got her finger turned up, for a better angle.

"Malia! Stop that right now! Get your finger OUT!"
Still trying to be sly, talking through my teeth.

Linda starts to laugh at me.

So now I figure I'm only drawing attention to myself and the situation so I ignore her. And hope that she stops sooner rather than later.

But nope. She's knuckle deep, seriously digging for gold. Does it get any more embarrassing than this? Does it?!

Why do I even bother asking myself that question. I already know the answer.

She finally dislodged what she was picking at and (with her little pointer finger standing straight up) calls out: "Mommy! I got a booger!"

I do the ignoring thing but it doesn't work. She thinks that I can't hear her and so she says even louder: "MOMMY! I HAVE... A BOOGER!" And sticks her arm out with the finger up, showing me the booger.

Linda is about to pee in her pants, she's laughing so hard. And I don't know what to do. I've got Taede in my arms. She's in the middle of the room, surrounded by the other dancers. The class is in the middle of the lesson. All the parents are probably looking at her finger, their eyes unwillingly drawn to the booger. So in desperation, I tell her: "Just wipe it on your shirt!"

And she does. Finally she's able to concentrate on her dance lesson. Thank goodness.

I don't like boys.

On Tuesday, Malia cried at school. Not because I left her at school or because she was suffering from feelings of abandonment. She cried because after lunch, while on the play equipment, a little boy yelled at her: "Get off! You can't play here! GET OFF!" He was pretty mean -- mean enough to where I (from behind the iron fence, in the parking lot) scolded him for not being nice. I could tell from Malia's face that she was trying to be brave, trying to hold herself together and not cry. I could also tell that she was scared but trying not to show it. She held it together for about a minute, while trying to get off the equipment because that boy was following her while yelling at her. Then she burst into tears and was a sobbing mess. She ran over to me and stuck her arms through the fence, trying to climb onto me but obviously couldn't. I tried unsuccessfully to calm her down before Mrs. Lerma came over to see what was the matter. I ratted on the kid, saying Malia got really scared. Turns out it's a little boy in Malia's class. He's a bit older (around 3.5 years old). Mrs. Lerma called him over and made him apologize but Malia wasn't having any of it. She just wanted to go home.

So I take her home, worrying that our days of Happy Preschool are a thing of the past. She keeps talking about "the little boy at school who yelled at me and made me very sad." Even two days later, "the little boy at school who yelled at me and made me very sad" is still worrying her. I role play with her about what she should do if it happens again: tell him "NO! Don't yell at me. I don't like it!" and go to a teacher. Or don't play with him. Anything to give her a sense of power and control over the situation so she wouldn't be so scared. I also point out the highlights of school: art time, singing circle time, reading, etc. But she's a typical female: she won't ever forget that one bad incident.

Today is Thursday, two days after the mean little boy incident. At lunchtime, Mrs. Lerma invited Malia to sit at a certain spot at the lunch table, which happened to be next to a boy.

Malia refused, saying: "No, I don't like boys."
Mrs. Lerma: "Come on! Sit next to Jefferey, he's very nice!"
Malia: "No, I don't want to sit next to a boy. He's going to yell at me."

Ugh. It broke my heart that she's so twisted up inside... and yet, I kind of had to laugh.

Mrs. Lerma: "No one is going to yell at you. Aman [the kid who did yell at her] is sitting over there. Jefferey is very nice. He won't yell at you."
Malia: "No, I don't like boys. I don't want to sit next to a boy."

In the end, Mrs. Lerma got her to sit next to Jefferey only with the promise that she would sit on the other side of Malia.

I'm torn about the whole situation. I'm sure when she turns into a hormone-ridden 14 years old, I'll appreciate her "I don't like boys" attitude. So do I really want to cure her of this angst?

Or maybe I should put her in a martial arts class so she could pick up some ass kicking skills instead.