Boys Don't Cry

When we bought our house we mentally went over the future floor plan.  The middle upstairs bedroom was ear marked as a nursery/bedroom for the ONLY child we would have in a few years.*  When I found out I was expecting twins, the nursery automatically moved from the cute middle bedroom with the perfect nook for a single bed/crib to the larger room at the back of the house.  I knew right then and there that down the road I would eventually either lose my office to one of the minions or that we would have to move or renovate.

When we found out we were having girl/boy twins, we designed a gender neutral nursery with the theme: Nursery Rhymes and Storybooks.  We decorated it with artwork inspired by Jack and the Bean Stalk, The Princess and the Pea, Alice in Wonderland and The Princess Bride.  Since the nursery doesn't have a closet we opted for a series of dressers alongside an old IKEA armoire that previously encased a television that we converted into a children's wardrobe.  Only three items remain from the conversion of this room from spare room to nursery: the off white linen curtains**, the PEZ themed light switch cover and a giant "The Cure" poster situated behind the armoire promoting their 1979 Album Boys Don't Cry.  We debated moving it, but I was keen on the idea of  having a picture in a nursery that had the Motto - Boys Don't Cry embossed on it.

Not necessarily the most traditional nursery decoration

Two nights ago Jack woke up in the middle of the night freaking out and absolutely inconsolable.  It was Chris's night on-call, so after three attempts to get Jack back to sleep he ended up crashing out on the couch downstairs with Jack in his arms.  The only person who managed to sleep through the 90 minute ordeal was Molly.

The next morning Chris and I were talking about why Jack was up and what was bothering him.  Chris mentioned that he kept on talking about the closet and that he explained to Jack that there was no closet in his room.  As the day progressed I thought more and more about Jack's issue - I was convinced that it had to be the poster.  I called Chris and asked him if Jack had mentioned anything about the poster.  "Yes, he kept on asking about the man" and explained to him that the man was Robert Smith and he is a singer from England.  Chris had previously told me that he was terrified of some movie posters (ET and Star Wars) he had in his room at night (during the day they were fine) as a child, so we really should have clued in sooner, but didn't and I'm going to blame it on being sleep deprived.

When we returned from work that evening I asked Jack about the poster.  He informed me that he did not like it.  So when I asked him if he wanted us to take it down, he said yes. We removed Robert from the wall that evening.  Jackie was happy that "the bad man*** with the eyes is gone."   Molly was indifferent and couldn't care less and even asked to visit the man in his new home.  The next day Jack told me that, "The man that lives in the picture is happy now."

I am now sharing my office with Robert Smith.  It was bound to happen sooner or later.

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*Guess that was never in the cards, not that I'd change a thing.
**I am currently looking for new, darker curtains in hope that it will make for a more suitable nap environment and am welcoming suggestions.
***Or Batman, he doesn't always enunciate is words.

Wonder Woman

There are certain mishaps that you can expect when you throw a party.  A broken glass here, a clogged toilet there, finding a beer bottle 3 days later somewhere completely random, maybe someone drinking too much and throwing up or that visitor who won't take a hint and go home long after all other party guests have.*

In our much younger days Chris and I threw and attended some raging parties.  I can't say that I'm not guilty of drawing on someone in marker after they passed out, negotiating elaborate bargains surrounding the consumption of Sea Monkeys so a male friend would let us put make up on him so he looked like Robert Smith from The Cure or even helping construct a castle out of toilet paper.**

Now that we're no longer in school/our early twenties we don't generally expect the fraternity boy routine to happen at our parties.  We're parents and have one year old children.  We aren't renting, we own this place.  Everyone needs to be semi-responsible.  This means that we don't expect our guests to throw up in our stereo system or give us throwing knives as a house warming gift.  We won't feel bad about calling your drunk butt a cab and sending it home because we're tired and want to go to bed.  What we didn't expect at the minions first birthday party was what I can only assume was drunken debauchery or a very bold move from one of the children guests.

Anyone who has known me since childhood is well aware that I have a slight obsession with Wonder Woman - mainly because she's awesome.  When I was in my early twenties and dirt poor I purchased an overpriced plush Wonder Woman doll.***  This doll now lives in Molly and Jack's nursery and was placed on a toy shelf there for their first birthday party.  Yesterday I discovered that Wonder Woman had been defiled, likely at the party.  I found her laying on the floor beside the diaper genie, her star studded underwear ripped off and the rubber paint that creates her bustier peeled off around her boob area.

Poor Wonder Woman!

This is especially puzzling since 90% of the guests were members of my immediate family (including nieces and nephews) sprinkled with a few select friends who bare the honorary titles of aunt and uncles to Molly and Jack.  Perhaps Wonder Woman drank too much sangria and thought that it was time to rip off her clothes, or maybe she resented that she'd been moved from my office to the nursery and was acting out.  I may never know.

Last night when I showed Chris my defaced Wonder Woman doll he laughed and said he never liked that doll anyway.  I think I have my first suspect and that it's time to bust out the lasso of truth.  Also, I can't find her invisible plane anywhere.

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*Like when Alicia Silverstone's fancy shoes get ruined at that party in Clueless because Brekkin Meyer spills bong water on them. Cher: "Uh. This is so not fixable." Travis: "It's a small price to pay to the party gods!"
**The toilet paper castle happened a little more recently than I'd probably like to admit.
***I think I paid $28 for it, but at the time that was my weekly grocery budget.