Bam Bam

Resigned to be the best bumper I can.

posted on 08/01/2011 by Jenni Chiu 9 Comments

In kiddie bowling they have bumpers along the sides of the lanes, to prevent the ball from going into the gutter. It improves a child’s chances of knocking down some pins while they are still learning. It keeps the ball going in the right direction.

The bumpers are guides.

Because really, who wants to keep ending up in the gutter?

I am a parent.

I am that bumper.

Sometimes I want to be some sort of crane… that carries the ball all the way down the lane and drops it in the perfect position. I don’t want to see a look of disappointment on your face.

Or I want to grab your hand and say, “Let’s not try bowling at all. You’re still so little. The shoes may be too big. The ball is heavy. The lane is long.”

Bowling can be loud, difficult, sometimes fun, and sometimes too competitive. There is a winner… and a loser. People keep score.

But I’m starting to see that it’s time.

And I’m going to try my hardest…

to let you try “all by yourself”…

to replace your shoes when you outgrow them…

to refrain from being a crane…

not to change the color of your ball…

and to be the best bumper I can.

To let you roll down the lane as fast or as slow as you want. To let you move… while I stay still…

steadfast…

no matter how many times I’m banged into…

on the side…

as a guide…

if you need it…

Until you don’t.

PS- Thank you to Sharon Catherine Blanks for calling her parents “bumpers” once a long time ago. Obviously it stuck with me.

PPS- I don’t bowl.

posted in Life, No funny today tagged with Bam Bam, bowling, motherhood, weird analogies 9 Comments

This unborn child is making me a bad parent.

posted on 07/21/2011 by Jenni Chiu 9 Comments

“It’s stuck, momma.”

“Does it feel stuck, baby? Just push a little bit harder okay?”

“No,” he says quietly.

“Maybe the poop isn’t ready. Should we try again later?”

“No.”

*Mini cheese blintzes. I have to make those mini cheese blintzes.*

“It’s not coming, momma.”

“You’ve been trying so hard for a long time. We should go.”

*Go to the kitchen to make those fucking cheese blintzes… with raspberry preserves on top…*

(I start pulling up his pants.) ”Let’s go, honey. We’ll try again later.”

“It’s coming!”

“No, I don’t think so,” I say, as we head to the kitchen.

“It’s gonna come!”

*Cheese blintzes. Cheese blintzes. Cheese blintzes. Powdered sugar.*

“Momma, I think maybe the poo poo is ready.”

“Open the fridge, baby. I think we’ll wait a little bit longer and then try again.”

*Wait until I smoosh these nice warm cheese blintzes between the roof of my mouth and tongue. Best thing ever.*

– I was right. The mini cheese blintzes were the best thing ever. My son was also right. The poo poo was ready.

Apparently, the tremendous guilt I felt did not carry through into the next day:

“Sweetheart, are you going to finnish this granola bar? It’s been on the little table for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to eat it now?”

“NO.”

“Okay, mommy will put it away…”

(Raising his arms to the sky in a declaration.) “IT MUST STAY THERE.”

I look him in the eye and ask, “Is it oh so very important that the granola stay there?”

He solemnly nods his head, and says, “Oh yes.” Then he bends down and intimately whispers to the bar, “Stay here, okay?”

I grin at the cuteness of it, and we tromp off to his room to build a bridge.

One bridge, one puzzle, and a tickle fight later, I begin to hear a whisper from the living room:

“Psst. Hey, momma lady. It’s me- the granola bar. Get your ass over here and bite into my crunchy goodness.”

I smile at my boy, “Stay here with Curious George and have tea. I’ll be right back.”

I pause in the hallway…

*Should I… should I?*

Then there’s that whisper again: ”What are you waiting for, lady? I’m getting staler by the second. The boy is three- he has the attention span of a ferret. He has surely forgotten about me.”

I know the inanimate, yet vocal granola bar is right, and rush over to send it to it’s warm grave.

“MommmmmmmmmAAAAA!”

My son’s face is contorted, his eyes are teary, and his little finger is shakily pointing at me like the Ghost of Christmas Future.

I stand there… wide eyed… clutching an empty wrapper.

“Giiiive it back,” he cries.

(Scooping him up into my arms.) “I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t give it back. It’s all gone.”

“It’s miiiiine.” (sob sob sob) “Put it baaaack!”

“I didn’t think you still wanted it. Oh, God… I’m sorry.”

His red eyes look up at me, and he hiccups, “Can you go get me one?”

I put my forehead to his, and say, “I am so so sorry, that was the last one… we don’t have any more… I promise to go the store later and buy some more, okay?”

He simply stares at me.

“And some ice cream.”

(sniff sniff) “Okay.”

I squeeze him. I plant kiss after kiss on his face, and then I gently put him down on the couch.

“I love you, baby… Mommy’s gotta go make a sandwich.”

posted in Life tagged with Bam Bam, food, I will eat you, pregnancy 9 Comments

I apologize in advance for my son sniffing your ass.

posted on 07/18/2011 by Jenni Chiu 18 Comments

I heard my husband call from the other room,

“Did you wipe his booty good?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I did.” I reply.

I hear him make a sniffing noise. ”It stinks.”

I also hear my son giggling hysterically at this.

*sniff* ”Pee-ew!” exclaims Hot Nerd.

*giggle giggle giggle*

I walk into my son’s bedroom to find my husband sniffing our three year old’s bare ass.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I even use those moist, flush-able wipe things.”

*sniff* ”It smells like poop!”

*giggle giggle giggle*

I turn around and walk away.

***

The above incident happened once.

One,

single,

solitary time.

Several days later as I was brushing my teeth, my son walked up behind me and took a very hefty sniff of my ass. I jumped away, “What? What are you doing? Are you sniffing my booty?”

“Yeah.” *giggle giggle* “Pee-ew! It’s stinky.”

Later, in the kitchen he did it again.

I tried my best to hold back laughter and told him not to sniff other people’s booties.

A few days after that, a friend of mine was visiting at our house, and I find her frozen in our living room, eyes wide, saying repeatedly, “What’s he doing? What’s he doing? What’s he doing?”

My child has planted his face right up against her backside. He was not shy in the least either- he got his nose right on up there.

So, we have a serious talk about it later that day. I get down to his level. We look each other in the eyes. I take his hands, and I say,

“We do not sniff other people’s booties. It is not nice. DO NOT DO IT ANYMORE. People don’t like it. Okay?”

He nods at me… and looks pretty solemn… so, you know, I figure maybe he’s got it.

Until a few days ago when we were at the park… and he did it again.

And laughed hysterically.

And announced that it smelled like poo poo.

So, if you come to my house, or we run into you at the store…

And especially to everyone at the preschool we will be touring in two days…

I apologize in advance for my son sniffing your ass.

We’re working on it.

posted in Definite Overshare, Life tagged with Bam Bam, being a parent is mortifying, butt sniffing 18 Comments

If I weren’t a heathen, I would prepare for the Rapture like this:

posted on 05/20/2011 by Jenni Chiu 8 Comments

First, let me say this to my Christian readers who believe the words of Harold Egbert Camping :

I will miss you.

I have truly loved having you as readers, and though I’m sure we’ve been on opposite sides of the fence at some point, I still wish you the best. Rapture. Ever.

Now, I am probably considered a heathen, and will be staying here on Earth for a little while longer. At least five months, right?

I do, however, believe in being prepared, and here are some things that can be done to make the transition for all of us easier. So, if you are planning on soaring up into the heavens on May 21st at 6 pm in your time zone, here are a few things to consider.

Don’t drive at that time. And if you are a pilot or train operator, perhaps it’s best not to show up for work.
Don’t eat a huge meal. Flying can make people queasy, and I imagine flying without a plane is even worse. Think of us poor people down below.
Sign your pets up for After The Rapture Pet Care. For a mere $10 your furry friend will be matched with someone left behind, who will promise to feed and care for them in the midst of Armageddon.
Move your expensive stuff onto your front lawn. Or if it’s too heavy, just leave your door unlocked. There are hundreds of after the Rapture looting parties scheduled. Consider it your last good deed.
Say goodbye and leave important documents to specific people who are unsaved. Sign up at You’ve Been Left Behind. They offer a “Rapture triggered emailing system”. You can upload and send documents to email addresses of your choosing. The system is “triggered” after three of their staff members fail to log in for three days after the Rapture. They will wait another three days just to be safe.
Cancel your magazine subscriptions. That’s just common courtesy.

As for me, I’ll be celebrating that day.

It just so happens my son’s third birthday coincides with judgment day.

I knew he was a powerful one right from the start.

So, if you’ve got no other plans, raise a glass, or a cupcake, in honor of my son already turning into a damn fine human being.

I plan on having a lovely day.

There won’t be an ascension into the clouds.

But I bet I’ll have balloons.

posted in Life tagged with Bam Bam, birthday, Judgement Day, Rapture 8 Comments