Out of the mouths of babes

"A child is a curly dimpled lunatic."  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I really shouldn't be surprised any more by the stuff that comes out of my kids' mouths. I mean truly, I shouldn't. I wanted these independent little spirits with feisty personalities and oh lord, did I get 'em.
There are times, though, that I wish they wouldn't say what they did. Especially when we're in public and I have to witness someone else's expression. The other person's expression is usually a cross between humor, mortification, and how-exactly-are-you-being-raised-at-home look.
Sometimes my kids will blurt out things in public and they make me laugh.
Other times they say things and I'm slightly horrified, because I'm in a situation where I'm not fast enough to clamp my hand over their little motor mouths.
A few years ago I took my kids with me to get my nails done. My daughters were excitedly sitting down and getting polish put on their own nails. I was a few tables down and would occasionally glance toward them to make sure they weren't being fidgety and a nuisance.
I figured they'd be so enthralled by the manicure process that they would be rendered speechless.
Boy, was I wrong.
After a few minutes I heard one of the women ask my daughter what her name was. My daughter, who was about 6 at the time, said, "Chloe."
The nail tech, who was Vietnamese, smiled and repeated her name.
Apparently she didn't pronounce it to my daughter's liking, because the next thing I knew, I heard this indignant 6 year old's voice boom across the salon:
"It's not CROEY, it's Ca-LO-EE. With an L. That's how you're supposed to pronounce it. You should learn how to say it right."
I wanted to lay my head down at the table and close my eyes, but all of the nail tech workers just laughed.
Not too much longer my son, who was around 4 at the time, was wandering around and waiting until we were all done. He sauntered up next to a man who was working there, and looked at him, apparently sizing up his nationality.
"What are you, like from China or something like that?" Wyatt asked him.
The man tried not to laugh and patted Wyatt's head. "We're from a country called Vietnam, son."
Wyatt shrugged. "Whatever. Never heard of it."
Fast forward a couple years. My kids are still attempting to learn the careful balance of tact in conversations.
But then, aren't we all?
Last weekend I took them school clothes shopping and Wyatt pushed the cart around the store like he was in a demolition derby. Racks of clothes were collided into, other shopper's heels were pushed into... It was all I could do to hold on to the cart with one hand, and throw a pack of socks into the cart with the other.
Finally I leaned down and faced him. "Wyatt, stop. You have to be considerate of other people. Be kind, think of their feelings." I didn't think it sunk in.
I was wrong.
A couple hours later we were at a Chinese buffet for dinner. As we were standing in line, ready to fill our plates, I overheard my son tell the waitress "Hey, sorry you guys lost the Olympics."
I hurriedly put another egg roll on my plate and sat down.
Maybe no one would know he was mine.
But hey, at least he was trying to be considerate of others. At least he didn't flash the peace sign in front of his chest and say, "And not to mention we kicked your ass in the medal count, too!"
I really, really want my kids to learn compassion and tact and grow into empathetic, responsible adults. Sometimes when they say things I get worried. Plenty of thoughts run through my head: Why do they say that stuff? How is their brain working? Are they not afraid of any consequences whatsoever?
About a week ago I got to spend a wonderful night with a bunch of girls I went to college with more than 20 years ago. These are women that I might go a year or two, maybe more, without connecting. But when we are lucky enough to spend uninterrupted time together, it's like a comedy show on steroids.
Now keep in mind, these are grown professional women. There are seven bachelors degrees between us, maybe a graduate degree or two, and at least 16 children. We work in all facets of the corporate world.
But get us all together, pour us each a cocktail or two, and it's no holds barred.
"Hey, remember when we were driving home from that party and you collided with a bicyclist? He actually rolled over the hood of your car and you got out and yelled at him, and told him he should stay out of the road? He actually felt bad about it, too!"
"Hey, remember when our parakeets died while your boyfriend was supposed to watch them over Christmas break, and the guys in the fraternity house spent the next two weeks playing practical jokes with them? They'd lay a dead bird in someone's bed, or put one of the birds in someone's cereal box..."
"Hey, remember when..."
We laughed all night long.
Over and over we kept shaking our heads, wiping away the tears from laughing and saying, "I can't believe we did that. I can't believe we actually said that."
There was a point when I first knew them, that I was shocked by what they would say and what they would do. I remember thinking at times back in college, "Boy these girls aren't afraid of anything. They'll say whatever they want." Don't get me wrong; I was no angel. It was like I met these women and found kindred soul mates.
But you know what? I looked around and these women all turned out pretty damn good. I'm sure they all had mothers who at one time or another would just shudder at the words and actions that came from their children.
History is full of parents who throughout the centuries shake their heads and cringe.
I look at my kids now and all of their distinctive little personalities. I smile when I think of their senses of humor, their willingness to make themselves look goofy in public, their refusal to be muzzled...
Yep, my kids are going to be just fine.
I wouldn't want them any other way.

Vegas baby!

"I'd rather be in Las Vegas 104 degrees than New York 90 degrees, you know why? Legalized prostitution. In any weather that takes the edge off." ~ Ray Romano

I knew our weekend trip to Las Vegas was going to be interesting when it started with me having to explain to my mother - in the airport, waiting for our flight - what a rim job was. And I'm not talking basket ball shots. After I told her, she had a puzzled look on her face. "Well," she asked. "Who does it to who? The guy to the girl or the girl to the guy?"

"Either one," I told her.

She shook her head and laughed."Oh for crying out loud..."

Later on we boarded our flight, and took our seats next to the requisite whiny toddler and drunk girl. Drunk Girl kept it under control for most of the flight, until we were about a half hour from landing. At that point she thought it was a good idea to attempt to communicate with the toddler in the row in front of her. She made faces, waved her arms around, and generally thought she was being helpful (even though she was too drunk to handle a tooth brush at this point.)
The flight attendant knelt down next to her. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to stop and be quiet. Your actions are being considered hostile."
"Hostile?!" Drunk Girl replied incredulously. "I am not being hostile. The baby was speaking to me!"
At this point I have a book in front of my face, as I'm trying desperately not to make loud noises from laughing.
Drunk Girl's boyfriend also tried to quiet his girlfriend down, to no avail. She did not take kindly to being shushed.
Once we landed, Drunk Girl swayed in the aisle, waiting to walk off the plane.
She turned to her boyfriend who was standing behind her. "Youuuu can just shut the f**k up, you know that? Youuuu are a f**king dumbass!" Good thing the aisle was so tight, otherwise she would have fallen over after she got done slurring her proclamation.
We finally got our rental car and made it to the Hard Rock Hotel. This was obviously not my dad's first choice in a  hotel spot; I had basically begged for us to stay there. I wanted to see what it was all about.
I found out soon enough, as we were waiting for our turn to check in.
The registration desk was unfortunately right next to one of the hotel's night clubs. At 1 in the morning, several drunk people were starting to leave. One woman, who had long curly hair like Dianna Ross, had a long phallic shaped object between her legs that she was chasing people with in the lobby. My mom and I couldn't stop laughing, but we also didn't make any eye contact with her either. 
The next day we woke up and started our sight-seeing. We drove up and down the Strip, and took passing photos of interesting shops with names like "Precious Slut Tattoos."
I even let my dad talk me into doing the Insanity Ride at the top of The Stratosphere. They have bungee jumping, thrill rides, etc. I figured I could check off one of my new year's resolutions of doing a couple scary things with my dad. The Insanity Ride looks like the Tilt A Whirl...it has four arms that hold two passengers each. It slowly moves off the ledge of the building until you are almost 900 feet off the ground. Then it spins around faster and faster until you think you're going to puke. Or wish for death. I have absolutely no idea how I got talked into that ride; I wasn't under any type of pharmaceutical influence whatsoever. I'm blaming it on the heat. It was already 108 degrees out by that point and I think the weather made me somewhat delirious in my decision making. Regardless, we even purchased a photo that shows us both doing the death dangle in the sky.
We headed back to the hotel and my mom and I decided to check out the infamous pool at the Hard Rock.
It did not disappoint. Wall to wall bodies, lots of couples doing the bump and grind, and a few rookies passed out cold on the pseudo beach.
I spotted several women clutching a plastic tumbler with the name "Rehab" on the side, filled with booze. I figured it would be a fun souvenir so I asked the bartender how much one cost.
"Twenty six dollars."
"Oh," I said, trying to hide my hickville, Wisconsin shock. "Then you just refill it for free the rest of the day?"
He laughed. "Ah, that's just for one drink."
Of course. At a pool where the rental fees for a cabana go for $4,000 a day, a $26 drink is a bargain. Plus it came with a straw.
Later on that night we visited the wax museum because Dad saw a show on TV that said it was haunted, since it used to be The Sands hotel and there was lots of mafia activity and violence on that spot. 
We drove over to the wax museum and took a ton of pictures. We didn't notice any paranormal activities, but I did get a picture of my dad with the wax statute of Jenna Jamison, and a picture of my mom doing the peach sign with Snoop Dogg....so I considered it a huge success.
The next day we found ourselves on Fremont Street. My dad leaned in toward me. "I found our second scary thing for us to do." He had a smile on his face that made me nervous. He pointed upwards. "Zip-lining."
I shook my head vehemently. "No way, that's too freaking scary."
Just then an 8 year old boy zipped by above us and waved.
"Well, ok..." I said sheepishly. Once we verified that landing would not injure my hip, we stood in line to purchase our tickets and cross the "second scary thing with my dad" off my list.
Now I'm done with that resolution for 2012. He can take his crazy ass suggestions for sky diving, bungee jumping and anything else adrenaline-producing and go tell it to my brother. I am DONE.
Our trip to Vegas was ten times more fun than I ever imagined it would be. My parents are amazing travel partners; they're up for just about anything.
One thing I did notice about Vegas attire was how amazingly little everyone was wearing. At first I thought the dresses the girls wore were just long tank tops. I didn't realize they were the entire outfit. I'm trying not to be prudish about clothing. Especially since moving in with my parents this last year and having one main bathroom; everyone has barged in on someone else at some point the last several months.
About a week ago, my son swung open my bedroom door, right after I had gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed. He screamed, I yelled, and he slammed the door shut. A few minutes later I walked into the kitchen.
"You scarred me," he said accusingly.
"Oh shut it," I told him. "Try knocking on some one's door next time."
My mom was in the kitchen too and laughed. "Oh Wyatt," she said. "You know what Grandma Tillie says - it's all just meat and potatoes."
"Oh yeah," Wyatt answered. "Well I didn't see any of Mom's meat but I DEFINITELY saw her two potatoes!"
I sighed. Out of the mouths of babes...
And in Vegas, based on what I saw at the pools, the sidewalks and the casinos....I saw it all. Their short skirts didn't leave a thing to the imagination.
At one point I found myself trying to see if could see even an outline of a thong under one girl's short skirt. 
Nope, nothing.
Honey, I thought to myself, you are one sneeze away from getting an Indecent Exposure ticket.
We can see your meat AND your potatoes.