I'm going to bite your neck...when I wake up

Last Friday was the highlight of Mark's school year -- the Halloween carnival. He basically gets to run around the school yard freely, going on rides and buying junk food. There's nothing he loves more than that, except saving his own money by convincing his friends to spend theirs. (The question "How many carbs are there in a root beer float?" was quickly followed by, "Damian bought it for me!")

He also likes playing the games, especially the ones with food prizes. He succeeded again in winning a two-liter bottle of diet soda in the pumpkin walk, which thrilled him to no end.

When I arrived to pick him up, he collected all his winnings: the soda, a big bag of candy and toys, some purple Halloween socks the nurse gave him, and two pair of pink vampire teeth. Which he promptly popped into his mouth.

The teeth didn't bother me so much as the slurping noises that came at the end of every sentence he tried to say.

"Ishn't it coo I won anudder bodda a shoda?" he asked, slurping noisily.

"I have no idea what you just just said," I answered. I turned around in my seat to look at him holding up his bottle of Diet Dr Pepper. "How many pair of teeth do you have in there?"

"Chew," he answered, raising up two fingers as I stared at him blankly.

We were on our way to San Diego, and he talked excitedly (if incoherently) about the carnival. I couldn't understand him, so I just nodded and answered, "Um hum," "Really?" "Cool!" and "Wow" at each slurping interval.

By the time we hit San Juan Capistrano, he'd stopped talking. I tipped the rear view mirror down to see him in the backseat, and the sight made me smile. There was my scary little vampire, fast asleep, still wearing his pink fangs.

Traffic was completely stopped, so I aimed my camera phone at him and snapped a picture. I completely forgot one of the big vampire rules -- that their reflections don't show up in mirrors or on film. Here's what I got:



But I was pretty sure that despite the pink fangs, Mark isn't really a vampire. So I shot again, and succeeded:



I know I'm legally obligated to believe my son is the cutest kid around, but seriously...how much cuter does it get than a sleepy vampire in the back seat?

New shoes

Last week, I took Mark shoe shopping. The boy was positively giddy -- he LOVES shoes, and the prospect of new kicks sent him into hyperdrive.

Inside the store, I measured his feet and set him free. Before I could blink, he had four boxes of shoes spilling out onto the floor beside him.

He tried on the first pair, black skater shoes. He smiled with appreciation, then took off running down the aisle. "Pretty good," he admitted, then ran back.

The second pair sported white leather with a red and black skull on the side. I honestly thought he'd choose these, because he loves skulls, and any clothing items that feature skulls. But then he saw the third pair, and he immediately dropped the white pair right into the aisle.

I thought he was joking with the third pair. They looked like low-top Converse shoes, which wasn't surprising (he'd just outgrown his Converse shoes). What surprised me was the color:

"These are tight!" he yelled, and shoved them on as quickly as possible. He couldn't stop smiling.

And that's when I broke into a cold sweat. I have a natural aversion to anything too pink or too girly, and I'd thought having a son protected me from all that.

But I broke into a cold sweat for another reason as well. I always imagined I'd let my son be an individual, and that I would love him for exactly who he is. But this...these pink shoes...this was confirmation of exactly who he really is, and it scared me.

That's right, my worst fear was being realized. I couldn't hide from the truth, and I couldn't protect my son from who he is any longer. It pains me to admit it, especially here in a public forum, but turns out Mark is...gulp...another attention-grabbing Dinsdale.

I guess it shouldn't shock me. I've spent the last three years immersing him in our family, a loud, crazy bunch, with nary a shrinking violet in the lot. Of course he's going to pick shoes that stand out and make people notice him.

Personally, I don't care what color his shoes are, I just didn't want to waste my money.

"Those are the shoes you want?" I asked.

"Yes!" he cried.

I picked up a similar pair that were brown with pink stitching and trim.

"How about this pair?" I asked. "They have pink in them, too, just not as much."

But I couldn't sway him. He wanted the pinks, and held tightly to them.

"Fine," I said. "I just want you to be sure. I'm not buying another pair if people make fun of these, so be sure."

He was. He got a mischievous little glint in his eye and said, "I like to shock my friends. I can't wait until Gabi sees these!"

And so he walked out of the store proudly, strutting in his new hot pink shoes.

I followed behind him, admonishing him to tie his shoes. I was proud of my little man, who wears what he likes, and isn't afraid of what other people say.

And then I shuddered for exactly the same reason, as visions of class clowns, smarmy retorts, and being the center of attention filled my head.

Just what the world needs...another Dinsdale who loves the spotlight!