Blood sucker

My darling young son has Type 1 diabetes, and tests his blood sugar by poking his fingers 4-5 times a day. I mention this only because of its relevance to this story. 

Mark is adept at pushing my buttons--he knows exactly which ones to push, and how hard. If he can push those buttons and gross me out all at the same time--well, dang, that's the best of all worlds!

He now drives me crazy by licking the blood off his fingertip immediately after testing his blood sugar. I actually gagged the first time he did it--involuntarily, but Mark saw it. He smiled a mischievous grin and I knew I was in trouble.

The next time he tested, I offered him a huge stack of napkins to wipe the blood off. He looked at it, smiled at me, and licked his finger.

"STOP IT!" I screamed. "That is SO GROSS!"

I gagged a little, then gave him an impromptu lecture on hygiene and bacteria. But he just smiled. He knew he'd hit a sore spot.

I tried the next step, which was no reaction. The next time he tested, I silently handed him a napkin. He silently licked the bloody dab on his fingertip.

Now I waver between yelling and being quiet--it's about 30% yelling (because I can't help myself), and 70% ignoring him. But that doesn't work either, because he knows that even though I'm not saying anything, I'm totally thinking (rightfully so!) how disgusting it is.

I'm also a little worried he hasn't stopped yet. I fear he may be part vampire, and a self-cannibalistic one at that (so. many. things. wrong. in that sentence).

But the last few weeks have given me a little hope that maybe he really isn't one of the fanged undead. No, he hasn't stopped licking, but he's acquired a new obsession--garlic. Yes, garlic--as in, kid can't get enough of it. He follows me around the kitchen with a bottle of garlic powder in hand, sprinkling it on whatever I'm cooking. He spoons diced garlic out of the jar by the tablespoon, smearing it on whatever's going in the oven. I've eaten so much garlic in the last few weeks that I can seriously smell it oozing out of my skin.

I'm a little conflicted, because as much as I love garlic, garlic does not love me back. My stomach's been a little off, and I'm sucking down breath mints like crazy.

But I don't care. As long as he's shoveling in all that garlic, I know he's not a vampire. At least, I'm pretty sure he's not. I haven't looked at his reflection in the mirror lately (note to self: Do that.), but I'm sure we're cool. I also don't keep wooden stakes in the house, so at least I won't accidentally pierce his heart with one.

Because the worst part of him being a vampire is not his filthy blood-sucking habit--it's his age. I love that kid, I really do, but come on, who wants to spend all of eternity with a moody teenager?? Maybe a cute (albeit bloodthirsty) toddler, or an adult Mark I could have endless interesting conversations with--but a mouthy 13-year-old who's convinced he's waaaaay smarter than me at...well, everything?

No thanks. So the good news is that contrary to his behavior, my cute young son is probably not really a vampire after all. But the bad news is he's still a blood slurping disgusting little boy, and the only cure for that is time--the time it takes for him to grow old enough to not gross his dear sweet mom out.

And I'm pretty sure that will never happen...

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?