The joy of being half white and half Filipino is in the combination of cultures. For example, we own a Mah Jong set, but play without the gambling tiles, which we call “flower tiles” and don’t even know how to use. Seriously, I don’t even know if that’s their name. But it’s a tile with a flower on it, so there we go.
This basically means that we may or may not be playing the game correctly. But it’s how Dad taught us when he read the directions, so that’s what we go with.
Now, Mah Jong (as far as I know) is similar to playing Gin or Gin Rummy. It’s similar to a deck of cards in that it also has suits – but instead of Hearts, Clubs, Spades, and Diamonds, it has what in my family we call Balls, Sticks, and Cars (short for characters, apparently).
We taught the Boo to play Mah Jong, since along with a card game called Tent, it’s what our family game night consists of. The other night at dinner, when I had a few friends over (Meghan (FunSized) and Rob (the bf)), Boo declared that it was a Mah Jong night.
Boo’s really getting the hang of the game the older he gets (he’ll be 7 in September), to the point where he doesn’t need help playing, won the first game, and charmed us with this lovely anecdote.
Boo discards a tile. It’s a 1 Ball tile. Rob’s turn is next. He draws a tile, and discards it. It’s the same tile – the 1 Ball.
“Hey Rob,” declares the Boo. “Look! We both got balls!”
Cue Laugh Track.
Post Edited – scroll down, friends and lovers.
I took Boo to a hockey game a few weeks ago, because we like hockey and that’s what we do sometimes.
It turns out that the game is the annual teddy bear toss, so we stop by the store to get Boo a teddy bear to throw. He’s excited, guys.
And then the bears start flying.
Boo: Is it time?
Me: Yeah, you can throw the bear now.
Boo: We’re too high, it won’t go that far.
Me: We can go closer so you can throw it.
Now, we’re sitting in the upper bowl…
…and the kid has a point, so we start moving closer so he’ll have an easier time of getting the bear onto the rink.
Boo: Where do I throw it?
Me: On the ice, see all the other bears?
Boo: Throw him on the ice?
Me: Yeah, see how everyone else is?
Boo: …he’ll get cold.
Me: I think they’ll warm him up.
Boo: …he’ll get wet.
Me: I think they’ll dry him off.
At this point, volunteers are on the ice to start boxing up all these flying teddy bears. The players start helping gather the bears. That’s when it gets really fun.
Me: Just throw the bear, bud.
Boo: THEY’RE USING THE BEARS AS PUCKS.
Me: No, they’re just helping to gather the bears up.
Boo’s face is a cross between Puss in Boots and the Screamer. This isn’t a good cause. This is not for the children, like Mommy told him. This is a mother-effing massacre.
Boo: THEY ARE HITTING THE BEARS WITH THEIR STICKS.
Me: Baby, just throw the bear. It’s not hurting the bears.
Boo: THEY ARE HURTING THE BEARS!
Me: They’re not hurting the-
Boo: WHY ARE THEY HURTING THE BEARS?
And that’s how Dash the polar bear joined our family.
I’m mildly amazed at the amount of popularity this post has gotten……and the various tweets and facebook posts from people who have enjoyed this post (all the good karma to you people) — amazed to the point where I read the whole thing out loud to Boo, as I sometimes do when it involves cute things he says, minus the swears Mommy adds when she writes it.
Mommy: “…and that’s how Dash the polar bear joined our family.”
Boo: He’s a pretty good bear.
Mommy: He taught Mommy that we will probably not be going to the teddy bear game next year.
Boo: He taught me that the only thing we throw at hockey games is the octopus.
Guys, I hurt. I hurt real bad. It’s not one of those crazy over emotional days or anything like that. It’s more of a “I hate being a girl” day.
That’s right. I’m oversharing, interwebs. I’m TMI-ing the hell out of the blog. Because right now, I have cramps, and they’re terrible, and that means that Mother Nature is about to send Moses to part the red sea or I’m about to ride the crimson wave or whatever the hell analogy you like to use to describe that I’M ABOUT TO BE MOTHER BITCH FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS.
I seriously hate this time of the month. DESPISE IT. I get all angry, then all weepy, then all drowsy, and then every emotion ever in the history of womenkind. I’m like the theater masks times six million.
So, I get all crampy, and realize that it’s about that time, and I go to check my “supplies.” As luck would have it, I’m completely bumblefucking out of my lady products. Of course I am.
So I wrap up the Boo, and buckle him in, and it’s off to the store. We get some string cheese, we pick out some random things from the dollar section because one cannot simply walk into Target and not buy things from the dollar section, and we get him a new toothbrush because why the hell not. Then we get to the girly aisle, and I get what I need, and I toss them into the cart.
Boo: What are those?
Me: They’re for mommy.
Boo: Can I have one?
Me: You don’t need one.
Boo: Why not?
Me: They’re for ladies.
Boo: Boys can’t have them?
Me: Boys don’t need them. They’re for Mommy’s…special time.
Boo: Like your birthday? My birthday’s in September.
Me: No, not that special. This is…mommy’s time of the month.
Boo: Oh. Can I have a birthday the next month too?
Me: No, it’s not like…present time special.
Boo: Do you get presents at your special time?
Me: Not the good kind.
Boo: They should be the good kind.
Me: I KNOW, RIGHT?
Then Boo saw some yogurt with Perry the Platypus on them and totally forgot about Mommy’s special things. Yay, short attention span.
We get home, and Boo runs upstairs and I start telling my mother about the awkward.com
Me: Boo asked me what tampons were. I debated telling him it means no siblings right now.
Mom: Don’t tell him that.
Me: Well, how do you tell a four year old about a tampon?
Mom: It’s for a lady’s time…
Me: -I’m being Boo. What time? Bedtime?
Mom: No, a time for a lady’s body to…discharge?
Me: WHAT’S DISCHARGE?
I go upstairs, feeling a little better because NO ONE CAN EXPLAIN A TAMPON TO A FOUR YEAR OLD BOY and Boo is in the bedroom with all his toys out. Also. With all my toys out*.
Me: Boo, did you open Mommy’s box?
Boo: They’re for boys too.
Me: How are they for boys? These are for mommy’s…body.
Boo: Uh, they’re pew-ers. DUH.
So, I’m writing this blog from my iPhone and my view looks like this:
But since I haven’t blogged since leaving for the grand adventure, I figure I’d fill you all in on something that applies to all of us:
I’m not talking about the mile high club or anything, because ew, I’m on a family vacation but more of one of the:
Adventures of Boo and L.A
Plane ride 1 of 4
Boo decides he has to pee. We walk to the bathroom. He doesn’t like the size of the bathroom.
Two hours later, as we rush to catch our next flight, Boo manages to put most of his pee into the toilet. He only misses when he turns to tell me, “I almost didn’t make it in the pot!”
Plane 2 of 4
Boo observes Mommy peeing in the pot. Decides it’s not scary until we flush.
The noise is scary.
Cue rushing off the plane to a bathroom, part deux.
Plane 3 of 4
Boo finally pees on the plane, because we ate on the plane.
Boo: Where’s the pee go?
Me: Out of the plane!
Boo: In the sky?
Boo: …is rain airplane pee??
Plane 4 of 4
Boo’s fear of the unknown has been defeated. He attempts to push all the buttons in the tiny bathroom.
Boo: what’s this do??
Me: Don’t open the door, we need to pee first!
Boo: what’s this do??
Me: Don’t call the stewardess!
Boo: what’s this do?
Me: face turns white as pee is sucked out of me at 30,000 feet.