Why I Love Bubba: Quarterback Contracts

In case you hadn’t heard, yesterday it was reported that Peyton Manning picked the Denver Broncos, which will likely result in the trade of Tim Tebow.  Although I think this is fascinating news for the sports world, and I look forward to next season’s story lines and how everything unfolds, I have no emotions over this decision.

That’s not true for everyone in my household.  Mariah and Moco could care less, but Daddy likes Tim Tebow and his story, and although I wouldn’t consider him a Broncos fan, he cheered for Tebow along the way last season.

Bubba, however, canNOT stand Tebow.  As in, he absolutely despises the man, mostly because the Broncos beat the Steelers in OT back in January during the AFC wild card game.  You say “Tim Tebow” and Bubba’s fists ball up, his face scrunches up into a scowl, and he spits out angry 6-year-old curse words.

Last night was no exception.  Bubba stood in the living room, hearing for the first time with his own little ears, as ESPN reported yet again that Peyton would be going to the Broncos.  Bubba was bewildered because he likes Peyton Manning (but he likes Eli more), and he just could NOT fathom why Peyton would do such a thing.  Doesn’t Peyton realize how despicable of a team the Broncos are in Bubba’s world?!?! 

Bubba’s fists clenched up, he scowled, and he spewed: “Why is Peyton going to the Broncos?!?!  I hate the Broncos!  TIM TEBOW IS A JUICEBAG!!!”

Yep. Angry 6-year-old curse words.  I love that kid.

Happy 6th Birthday, Bubba!

Exactly six years ago on Friday, February 10th, my water broke on the way back to the office after dropping off Moco at preschool.  It was 8:45am, by the dumpsters of a 28 story residence hall that houses 2200 students.  By the end of the business day, Bubba was born.  8 pounds, 15 ounces, with a head full of crazy hair sticking up everywhere and a hairy back.

Today he is an energetic kindergartener — 56 pounds, 13 ounces, with a head full of crazy curly hair frizzing out everywhere and, thankfully, that hairy back didn’t last long.

I found these interview questions on another blog, so on the eve of his sixth birthday, I interviewed my Bubs.

How old will you be tomorrow? Six.

How does it feel to be six? Good.

How was your day? Good.

What was the weather like? Um, icy? 

What do you think is the most important thing you’ve learned in life so far? Um, big words.

How do you think you’re different from a year ago? I’m really tall.

What’s your favorite thing about yourself? About myself?  Hmm, I don’t know what that means… Oh!  I like how smart I am!

You’ve been in school for six months. What do you think of it so far? Good!

Who’s your best friend? Braden.

What do you like learning about? Big words.

Is there anything you’d do to improve your educational experience?  What does that mean?!?!  (Is there anything you’d do to make school better?)  Blue slip?  (What do you mean about blue slips?) You can do helpfulness and stuff.

Tell me about our family. They’re good.  (Who’s in your family?) There are six people, counting Deacon.  (What do you like about your family?)  We can play games.  Um, we can eat safely?

What do you like about having a sister? Good. (What’s your favorite thing about having a sister?)  We can make crafts.

Did we take any vacations this year? No.  (Did we last year?)  Yes.  (Where’d we go?)  DisneyWorld.  (That was a year and a half ago!)  Outer Banks!

In the past year, what have been some of your favorite books, movies, and music?  High School Musical, football books, and sport movies.

What’s your favorite TV show? Um, football.  (College football?) NFL.

Do you remember what you watched last night? American Idol?

If you had a whole day to do anything you wanted, what would you do? Play sports!

What’s your favorite toy to play with? Pretend guns.  I mean, Nerth (Nerf) guns.

What’s your favorite part of your playground? Basketball court.

What do you want to be when you grow up?  A football player and a basketball player.  Any sport!

Do you think you’ll ever get married? No.

What have you learned about girls & boys this year?  They’re good?  *shrug*

What’s your favorite food?  Pizza?  *shrug*

And your favorite candy? Sucker.

Anything you’re scared of?  Um, monsters!

Is there anything else you’d like to say?  No.

Can you think of any questions I should have asked but didn’t? What’s your favorite team of basketball?

So… what’s your favorite team of basketball?  TULSA!

Anything else? Nope.

Happy birthday, Bubba!   We love you!!!

Why I Love Bubba: American Boy Doll?

I don’t know about you, but if I saw this doll on the shelf, I’d buy him.  ;)

Why I Love Bubba: Say What?!

Tonight we watched NBC’s “Minute to Win It” and one of the contestants mentioned that she has patience because she is a teacher.  She also has a Southern drawl, and I kept mocking her because sometimes I’m annoying like that: “You have to foe-kiss, and I’mma teach-er, so I can foe-kiss.  You have to have pay-shints.  I’mma teach-er, so I’m pay-shint.”

Bubba looked at me very perplexed and asked, “You’re preg-nint?!”

Me: “What?!  NO!  Pay-shint, Bubba.  I’m PAY!SHINT!  Not preg-nint!”

Good golly.  That would be embarrassing if we hadn’t cleared that one up tonight…

Why I Love Bubba: Chicken Poppers

Today Bubba had his five-year-old check up.  The nurse who brought us back to the exam room greeted us with, “Hey, Bubba, how are you today?”  I couldn’t help but laugh, and told her that’s what we call him, too.  She said he just looks like a Bubba (so true)!

Bubba was his normal self — talkative and charming.  As she reviewed his chart, she mentioned that he needed updated immunizations before kindergarten, which include chicken pox:

Bubba: Chicken pox?  What’s chicken pox?

Me: It makes you have spots all over.

Nurse: And it can make some kids really, really sick.

Bubba: Chicken pox.  Doesn’t the kid have it in that movie?  Ummm…what’s it called?

Me: Home Alone?  I mean, Home Alone 3?

Bubba (laughing): Yeah!  And he shoots fire, and then the bad guy tries to cut it down, and then it makes more fire!

Nurse: Well, I hope he didn’t get hurt.

Bubba (shaking his head): Oh!  No!  It’s just a mooovie.  It’s NOT fo’ weal.  (very serious) It’s just act-ting.

Nurse (laughing): I think you’re right; they are just acting.

Bubba: Yeah, and those chicken poppers are prob-lee just mahr-kerss!

Nurse (laughing harder): Yes, they are probably just markers to make the spots!

Bubba: Yeah, that kid didn’t really have the chicken poppers.

Nurse (laughing really hard): Ohmygoodness, you are so cute, and you are so smart!

Bubba: I know.

I’m pretty sure this conversation tipped the medical exam scale, clearing him for kindergarten…

Why I Love Bubba: He wiped!

This is the kind of post that, in a few years, will result in an exasperated eye roll and horrified gasp from my son.  Why must you record such a milestone on Moco and Bubba, Moooooom?!  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Because I had nothing better to write about at 12am on a Saturday morning — that’s why!

So… we finally had a breakthrough on this little issue.  Bubba wiped himself!  He wiped!  He really wiped!  Apparently it started off as usual: “CAN YOU WIPE ME UP?!” which prompted Mariah to walk upstairs, look at him and say, “Why don’t you do it yourself?” And Bubba replied, “Okay, I will.” And he did.

Now, if we ever have to give him back, he can plead his case Big-Daddy-style:

“But I wipe my own @$$!

Why I Love Bubba: Can you…?

[Warning: Proceed with caution. Children + potty talk ahead.]

I love my Bubba, but he can be a stubborn kid and very comfortable in his ways and routines.

Prime example: he won’t wipe his own butt.

Every time the boy drops a deuce, he asks, “Can you wipe me up?”

And if you don’t respond right away, he says it louder.  And lOuDeR.  And LOUDER.  Until someone makes him bend it like Beckham and wipes his butt.

It’s a running joke in our house because no matter what corner of the house you’re in, and whatever bathroom he is in, you hear the call:

“CAN YOU WIPE ME UP!?!?”

I have asked, begged, pleaded, attempted bribery, and demanded that he wipe his own arse.  Nope.  No thanks.  Uh-uh.  No way.  I mean, why do a half-@$$ job (no pun intended) when you have a perfectly good parent, grandparent or auntie who always does a better wiping job?  Right?!

I asked him what he does when he poops at school, or what he did at Sherry’s, or what he’ll do in kindergarten.  He looked at me like I was crazy.

“Mom, I don’t poop at school.  I only poop at home.”

If we hire a personal butt wipe assistant, do I have to pay their taxes?

Why I Love Bubba: Bribes

Tonight Moco and I had a Girl Scouts troop event — bell-ringing for the Salvation Army at our local Kmart.

Bubba was incredibly upset that he couldn’t go to Girl Scouts, too, so he was acting up in protest.  He didn’t want to stay with Auntie Mariah, and he was raising hell.  So, I did what any good mother would do: I bribed him.

Before you gasp at the horror of my mad parenting skillz, hear me out.

I think I’ve posted about this before, but Bubba loves, loves, LOVES mail.  He loves to write “letters”, stuff them in envelopes, seal them, address them, add a return label, and (most of all) stamp them.  He could spend all day writing “letters” to Gamma, Grandma, Great Grandma, Sherry, and especially Papa.  The letter content is consistent: recipient’s name, I LOVE YOU, Bubba’s name, and an occasional Mommy, Daddy, Moco, Mariah, or Deacon.  I don’t usually get to see what he writes because he does it all so quickly, and usually I catch him at the envelope-licking part of the process.

Earlier this week, my box of (FREE!) holiday cards from Shutterfly arrived in the mail, so Bubba has been a *wee* bit jealous.  He has begged me every day to let him send one to Sherry, but I just haven’t gotten around to working on them yet — and I really don’t want him messing with them right now.  Once he starts, he won’t be able to stop.  So I keep putting him off, encouraging him to make his own or draw a picture.  He huffs and puffs and sighs and retreats from his request for a few minutes before starting all over again, but I have been able to keep his grubby fingers off my cards thus far.

Enter the bribe.

Bubba was flailing around, telling me I’m mean, and pouting about not getting to go to Girl Scouts.  (I think there might have been a few statements about denying him access to opening Christmas presents as well.)  So, I told him I would bring him back something from Kmart.  He paused.

“If you are good for Mariah, I will bring you back your own box of Christmas cards.  But if Mariah calls me or texts me to let me know that you are misbehaving, I will not bring you anything.”

I didn’t have to say any more.  It was a deal — and he was on his best behavior for Auntie Mariah, who confirmed it when I called home after the meeting.  Moco and I picked out a box for each of them (my kids are all about justice, equal opportunity, and equitable distribution of all purchases — as in, “How come SHE gets something, and I don’t?!?!”), and we headed home.

Bubba ripped into his box immediately.  If only you could see the instant gratification on that child’s face as he set to work on his mailings for Great Grandma and Papa, complete with free, shiny holiday return address labels from one of those charitable organizations that sends you address labels and wants a donation in return.  He was poking around for stamps, but I caught him before he could add enough postage to send it around the world a few times.

Please feel free to write a letter to Bubba.  I can almost guarantee you can expect a prompt yet brief response from him!

I can’t take them anywhere…

Last night Auntie Mariah and I took the kids to Potbelly’s for supper (their choice).  While there, one of the men’s basketball players came in, and Bubba insisted on saying hello.  So, he and Moco walked over to where he was standing in line waiting for his food.

Bubba: Are you a basketbaw playoh?

Him: Yes.

Bubba: Is your name Tony?

Him: Yes.  Are you Rohrk’s son?

Bubba: (blink, blink.  silence.  blink.)

Moco: Yes…

Clearly we need to work on some answering some basic personal questions.  Two days of preschool might not be cutting it…

Later we went to TJMaxx.  We saw a little girl trying on super high heels in her mom’s size.  Bubba immediately pointed her out and made loud commentary about *gasp* her trying on shoes that don’t fit her.  Then he stood next to her and kept chirping about how she was going to fall over in those high heels.  Her mom quickly ushered her away before I could apologize for his awesome running commentary skills.  Then he followed Moco around as she attempted to find the most ridiculous pair of heels to try on.  Then he shoved her while she was wearing said pair of heels, and she pretty much toppled over.  Then he had to sit in timeout on the little bench with that slanted shoe-modeling mirror thing while I was trying on boots.  Then he started into the totally overused series of “You hate me.  You don’t love me.  You think I’m a bad boy.” phrases that drive me cRaZy.

A woman down the way the aisle from me half-snorted to herself.  Yeah, I saw that.  She then apologized and said “I’ve probably been called worse things.”  Me: “Are you the meanest mom ever?”  Yeah, that sucks, doesn’t it?

Moco then announced she thinks she just saw Jackie and Emily, two more basketball players, and she wanted to say hi.  Off she went, with Bubba trotting along behind her.   I wasn’t concerned about losing them because Jackie is 6’9″ so I knew exactly where they were in the store.

I made my way over, where Jackie and Emily are both looking down with eyebrows raised and amused looks on their faces, and all I hear is Bubba’s voice: “…and then I’ll kick dem in the stomach when I’m bigger.”

Say what?

Moco (rolling her eyes): “He’s talking about being a wrestler when he’s older.”

Bubba then told me, “Mom, that’s Jackie Caw-michael.  And that’s Emily.  They play basketbaw.  We saw free basketbaw playohs today.  Jackie Caw-michael is a ‘Buhd (‘Bird).  And so is Tony.  Do you think Jackie Caw-michael and Tony pass to each otho because they are on the same team?”

(1) He’s referring to Jackie by first and last name.  (2) He’s talking about Jackie as if he’s not there.  (3) *sigh*

Finally, as we walked away in search of Auntie Mariah, Bubba shouts, “HEY MOMMY!  LET’S HIT BELLIES!”

“What?  Like a chest bump?”

“YES!  LET’S CHEST BUMP!”

Things not to say to a four year old: “Right here in the middle of TJMaxx?  Dude, your chest comes up to my thighs.  We can’t chest bump.”

Well, duuuuuuh.  Yes, you can.  Chest bumping a thigh still counts as a chest bump… or so I found out when he ran into me with a chest-puffed-up jump.  Right in front of the other meanest. mom. ever.

I have to admit, I laughed but was also slightly embarrassed.  I swear, this kid better win class clown of his high school senior class and/or turn out to be a rich rocket scientist who can support his mother in her old age…

Why I Love Bubba: FTL

Bubba: What are you eating?

Mommy: A cookie.

Bubba: Can I have some?

Mommy (handing him a piece of the cookie): Here you go.

Bubba: Thanks.

(Nom-nom-nom...)

Bubba: Hey!  Is this MY cookie from Potbelly’s?

Mommy (amused/guilty): Um, perhaps.

Bubba: FOR. THE. LOVE. MOMMY!