Towel Anyone?

What does how you end the year say about what the new year will bring?

I started my morning with the onset of a migraine. A few hours extra sleep solved that. I was woken by a mostly naked baby wanting a hug. Good second start to the day I thought and then it went downhill. It is barely past 3:30 and I've lost count how many Time Outs we've had today. The first was when Little Man decided to throw his boots at me rather than hand them to me.

I've been told "No" and "Stop It!" so many times I am beginning to think they are the only words left in the English language.

I've been bitten hard enough to leave an ugly mark.

I've had blocks thrown at me. And not the soft ones.

I've been smacked.

I've been ignored and defied all day.

I've watched my sweet little boy turn into Damien.

And I've tried really hard not to return him whence he came.

I'm trying really hard not to call my husband and demand he come home this instance. He is out with the boys for a few hours and it is very hard for me to wait until he returns before striking up a conversation with Brother Jack.

If ever there was a day I felt like a complete and utter failure as a parent, like an idiot for doing this, today is that day. So where is my mulligan?

Uh Oh

By the way - it's official and it is all my fault.

We were driving in the car the other day and Little Man is singing in the back seat. He switched from an upbeat self-involving song to his "Aw man" song with a new refrain:

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck....."

Not too big of a Big Boy

Only my son. Nah - only my husband's son. Yeah, that's better.

We converted Little Man's crib to a toddler bed this morning. It didn't start out as a "we" but it did turn into a "we" to include Little Man supervising our every move. He has the arm waves, sighs and eye rolls down perfectly.

He loved it. While I rearranged the rest of his room (bye bye changing table too. It was storing dust and other items we hadn't used in ages), he sat on his bed and read. We did a good job of making a big deal about his new big boy bed so I thought nap time would go smoothly. Not quite what I planned but not bad either. No luck after a snuggle so I left him and closed the door. The screams ended in less than 2 minutes. I was pleased to see an hour later that he actually fell asleep in his bed and not by the door.

I left the door cracked after checking with him. I wanted to see if he would realize he could open the door and walk out on his own. So imagine my surprise when he called to me and it wasn't just to open the door but to get him out of his bed. Um, sweetie, didn't you crawl into bed yourself?

Dup.

So why don't you climb out yourself?

Why do that when you can just scream for mommy?

So my dreams of him waking in the middle of the night and coming to me rather than the other way around may be just that.

Watch not only what you say but how you say

I try to watch what I say in front of Little Man but I must admit, I have failed miserably. There have been a few occasions we think he may have dropped the F bomb but we aren't sure. If he has, I have no one to blame but myself.

So while I struggle to clean up my own language I forgot to watch how I say things.

"Ah-ite"
"C'meeha"
"Shoo-ah"

And of course we can't forget my favorite which requires a bit of a set up - I call Little Man Baby Boy a lot which of course has been shortened to just Baby. Bad move as he greeted me Christmas morning with a "hey Baby".

Soon I'll be sending Little Man to pre-school with a Bostonian to English dictionary for his teachers. And that's just my influence. Wait until Dad's Jersey comes out!

Traditions 2

Tonight we have another tradition to add to the list. One I wasn't expecting for at least a year while wishing for longer. The joy of putting a present together after Little Man goes to bed. Please let the cursing be kept to a minimum. At least we will be in the basement. Less chance of waking him.

My sister bought Little Man a plasma car.

I bought her kids socks.

Traditions

Now that Little Man is a tad older and can appreciate Christmas a bit more (even though he is clueless what is going to happen in 2 days), my husband and I decided it was time to add to the traditions. Up until now our traditions consisted of It's a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve and Black Velvets Christmas morning.

This year we will add reading The Night Before Christmas and Frosty the Snowman. We did a trial run with both. Frosty fared better but it still wasn't a hit. The experts do say you need to keep "offering" it up before your child will take to it. So we will continue to offer it up, year after year, and maybe by the time he goes to college, he will appreciate it.

Cranberry muffins for breakfast was the norm growing up. I made my first batch ever for Thanksgiving. No one coughed into a napkin. None ended up conspicuously in the trash and no one got sick so they will be on the menu for breakfast Christmas morning. If I feel like it, so will bacon and eggs. Please keep in mind, there are 3 of us and only 3 of us. No family near by. No one traveling in so we get off easy yet again. There is no turkey defrosting in my fridge, no potatoes waiting to be peeled, no squash souffle waiting to be devoured. Oh wait... that's easy and like a desert to me. Hmmm. OK. Maybe the souffle for dinner.

Tomorrow I will also attempt my father's cranberry bread for the first time. His occupation was elevator mechanic. His favorite hobby, his passion was bread. I didn't grow up with Wonder bread. I grew up with Applesauce Whole Wheat Bread. French toast in my house was made with French bread. Sourdough pretzels. Bannock. Apricot bread. Cherry Rose Rolls. Moravian Love Feast Buns. Cranberry bread and the ultimate sinful treat - Chocolate bread. The last 3 were my favorites. The Cranberry bread is the easiest of the 3. If I am successful, I will contemplate on of the other two. I fear not being able to do him justice.

I am giddy about Christmas. I love my son's excitement every morning as we go downstairs and he claps and jumps in my arms for the tree to be turned on and the same reaction when we get home at night. I love how he says good-bye to the tree each night multiple times as he heads upstairs to bed. I love his excitement when I turn on the lights for the village as he points out the horses, the kids, the tree.

I can't wait to see his excitement on Christmas morning. I was the overexcited child jumping on daddy's chest asking him if he was awake while prying his eyes open. Now I have the opportunity to watch my son experience what I did, I hope. We know he has the prying eyelid move down pat.

Experiencing Christmas through a child's eye brings back such wonderful memories for me which can also be very painful. Christmas is my favorite holiday. It is also my hardest. It is the time of year I miss my dad the most. But my husband and son will get me through it. My husband will give me a huge hug. When that stops working, he'll feed me another Black Velvet. My son, well he'll be a kid and how can that not bring a smile to your face?

Yes, I am sad but I am giddy to. I can't wait to see my son's face, his reaction. I hope I am able to make it as wonderful as my parents made it for me. Dad set the bar pretty high. Good thing I married a man taller than me.

Narcissism x2

All the books and experts claim that babies love mirrors. So I got him a mirror early on. My son was a little late discovering the cute playmate in the mirror but man he is still making up for lost time.

Let him see a camera. He will freeze and say "CHEESE". You need a professional camera because he doesn't complete "cheese" before he is running to see himself. Pull out the video and he expects you to turn the display so he can see himself being recorded.

He points to the computer demanding to see himself (I finally got him to say his name and am now regretting it as he is in the 3rd person stage. My not quite 2 year old is being immersed in English Grammar and being taught the difference between 1st person, 2nd, etc. Basically, I am trying to teach him "I"). The computer comes out and I have to set up the Little Man slide show. He will tolerate a few non-Little Man photos inserted but very few.

He is turning into a lovely narcissist and has decided it is such a lovely way to live one's life, it must be shared. I was attempting to take non-Little Man pictures the other day while he was present. Silly Mommy. Still going after your efforts in futility.

I snap 3 of him and then have to cycle through the 3 pictures 10 times. He won't stop. I decide more pictures will distract him long enough for me to think of something else so I can safely put the camera away.

I ask if he'd like his picture taken with puppy (big puppy, not little puppy. Damn I need to come up with names. He sure as hell isn't). I snap a couple and he is running to see. This time he is dragging puppy with him. As he looks, he points to himself and then gets all excited.

"PUPPY!"

Yes dear. That's puppy.

"PUPPY! PUPPY!"

He wasn't talking to me. He was talking to puppy. He shoves puppy's face up to the camera so he can see himself. He then has puppy kiss his own image on the camera.

I didn't realize Narcissism was capable of loving company.

Rice Chex

I had to stay home with Little Mr. Contagious again today. The morning wasn't bad. He was content. The afternoon more than tested my patience. The Motrin wore off. He was hungry but because the damn blister on his tongue, he doesn't want to eat a lot. Basically I turned into my mother. "Don't whine. Stop whining. You can tell me what you want without whining. AAARRRRGGGH!". What did my friend call it? Ah yes, the mother's curse. My mom definitely cursed me. Her biggest pet peeve was the one thing I excelled at and now she has her payback.

But who wants to dwell on the negative? I prefer to remember the morning and all its glory. I had a very happy if not healthy child. He was content to play by himself for a good 5 minutes, would call out for some attention and then go back to playing by himself so I took advantage and started to clean. I managed to clean the first floor and most of the upstairs. The basement is such a cluster I laugh at the thought of attempting such a feat.

Little Man now loves the vacuum. He will help me for one or two pushes and then spend the rest of the time letting the vacuum chase him around. I get a clean rug. He gets a ton of laughs.

I put the vacuum away and moved onto the half bath. It takes about 3 minutes to clean. Just how much trouble can a toddler get into in 3 minutes? Oh yeah baby! That sound on the edge of my hearing set my alarms on high this time but alas, no crayons on a surface other than paper. Just a harmless box of Rice Chex.

'Oh sure baby, you can eat those".

10 seconds later my alarm is screaming yet again. He is taking the Chex out of the bag in putting them on the rug rather than in his mouth. A lecture regarding the appropriate handling of food and one bowl later I am back to wrapping up the bathroom.

Alarms SCREAMING.

Little Man normally places Cheerios one at a time from the bag into the bowl. It is what I expected with the Chex. Nope. Not this time Mama. I want to try something different. I want to try pouring the Chex into my bowl. One full size bag of Chex being poured by the less-than-skilled hands of a toddler into a toddler bowl.

I know have a mound of Chex and the crumbs from the bottom of the bag piled on my rug.

Did I mention that this was the rug I just vacuumed?

Can someone please tell me when the hell I will learn?

Jameson and Common Sense

Little Man was more interested in playing with his dinner than eating. Considering he has Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease, it really wasn't a surprise but damn it, I purposely made plain macaroni for the kid. The least you could do is take one bite!

He is getting more and more rambunctious with his play. I try to calm him down and get him to take one bite for me. He accidentally knocks macaroni on his chair. Instead of picking up the pieces and putting them on the table, he sweeps them onto the floor.

Oh hell no kid.

Now every parent I know that uses time outs as a disciplining tactic has told me that just the threat of a timeout works with their kids. They all told me to hang strong and in no time he would respect the time out.

Could you please define "in no time" for me? We've been doing time outs for quite some time now, and I define quite some time as several months. So when Little Man swept the macaroni onto the floor, I took a deep breath, got his attention and asked if he wanted a time out.

Lil Imp says yes, holds his hands out for me to help him out of his chair, walks over to the time out chair, sits his but down and stays there for the 2 minutes.

For the record, when your son starts calling your bluff before he is two, there are no words to describe how incredibly beyond screwed you are. Put it this way, the Super Nanny would laugh her ass of while watching your tape and then tape a reply back to you "Thanks but no thanks. I don't take on the impossible. Not good for ratings. I suggest buying stock in Jameson and I don't mean the stock sold on Wall Street".

Now to digress for a second. I had to google Hand, Foot, and Mouth. I knew it to be real (more than most people. Almost everyone I've told has laughed at me thinking I made it up) but I didn't know much about it. The name came about because it causes sores on the hand, feet, and in the mouth. Well damn, the medical field finally did away with all that Latin shit and went down the Road of Common Sense.

Oh and how they traveled the Road of Common Sense. You see, the sores can also be found on the buttocks but they conveniently left that out of the name so technically it should be Hand, Foot, Mouth and Ass disease. Guess which one I am going with...

A Mother's Dream Moment

A mother's dream moment: her son asking her to dance.

So what if he's got the moves of rodeo cowboy (literally) and he's dancing to a cow MOOING We Wish You a Merry Christmas...

A Lesson in Karma

Tis the season which means on top of the regular day-to-day schedule one must keep up with it is time to add to the mix shopping for presents and Holiday parties. Oh yippee.

Some parties are kid friendly so the whole family goes. Those parties which are not, well we have to decide who goes and who stays with Little Man. This usually comes down to a rousing round of Rocks, Paper, Scissors. Yes in our family life altering decisions are arrived at after a round or two of Rocks, Papers, Scissors. Considering I rule at Rocks, Papers, Scissors I am not looking to alter this arrangement.

Saturday involved 3 parties. One kid friendly, one not exactly kid friendly but we made it kid friendly for a short period, and one that was anything BUT kid friendly. Thanks to my amazing skills at RPS, we went to the first party as a family, the second we went as a family but husband and kid were only there to drop mama off, make an appearance and then SEE YA! Mama is off the clock!

I hang out at the second party for a bit and then move onto the 3rd which was a Birthday Party. A friend was celebrating the big 50 and it was at a bar. Actually if you knew our friends, that explanation wouldn't have been needed as to why it wasn't kid friendly. This friend is technically my husband's friend. I met him through my husband. Logic would dictate that my husband would go to this party but I cheated. So I got to go and he got to hang at home with the munchkin.

I didn't role in until 3:30 AM. It was wonderful. A night out with friends I haven't seen in ages. I loved it.

But since I cheated, Karma did pay me a visit. My darling husband did not remember everything when he left so I had to make sure I grabbed everything when I left party number 2 and headed to the bar for party #3.

I walked into a bar on a Saturday night carrying a diaper bag.

Thankfully I am not the pink frilly obviously a diaper bag type of a woman but in my mind it was still screaming DIAPER BAG when I walked into the bar and when I took the metro home at 2 AM. Humbled I am.

Consolation Prize

I half-assed attempted to get Little Man to clean up as he finished playing with a toy before moving onto the next one. It didn't work unless the expected results were a wrestling/tickling match.

Little Man ends up out of breath but still giggling away as he says no so I upped the ante. I took his puppy (not THE puppy, the big oversized super huggable puppy) and claimed it as mine.

I thought he would put his toy away in order to get his toy back.

Never underestimate the genius that is the Kelley/Lyons genes.

Little imp ran up, swiped my blackberry and proceeded to run all over the house yelling MINE at the top of his lungs.

I was reduced to cajoling, begging, pleading, and bribing to get it back. I didn't succeed until he became bored with the game.

Mama: 0
Child: 1

'scuse me while I content myself with my consolation prize - 1 Sam Adams down the hatch.

Time Out

The last several nights' pre-bedtime routine has been interesting to say the least. Little Man is required to clean up his toys before heading upstairs. He's been a tad defiant which has resulted in a time out. He sits in his chair facing the wall crying while I ignore the "maaaamaaaa" cries for the duration.

Tonight seemed to be headed in the same direction. I told Little Man to clean up. He ignored me and chose to hide behind the couch. He cleaned up one thing and went back to ignoring me. I counted to 5 and then asked if he wanted a time out.

Little Man not only said yes but he got up, walked into the dining room and put himself in the chair!

Excuse me? It took everything in me not to bust out but instead, I told him no playing and to sit (he was playing with the cabinet handle) which he did. Little imp sat in the chair and folded his hands.

Again - Excuse me? Seriously?

So after 2 seconds I asked if he was ready to clean up. With a "dup" he jumps up and runs, yes he ran to clean up.

As I walked by the kitchen, I ducked in and whispered to my husband:

"Honey, we have one weeeird kid".

Breakfast

What would you like for breakfast?

s'up.

Soup?

s'up (tugs at fridge).

I open fridge door.

He points. s'up.

Syrup. For breakfast?

Dup. s'up.

Syrup with what?

s'up.

Just syrup?

Dup. s'up. in bow.

Nice try kid.

The Good within a Bad Influence

I took Little Man to visit a friend this weekend. He is a typical toddler - sucks at sharing, everything is MINE, and he has his moments when he can be a bit of a bully if he thinks he can get away with it. The last time he and SCR played together (over a year ago), Little Man realized very quickly that he was a mover and a shaker while SCR was more into sitting and observing so the bully came out. Needless to say I was a little concerned about his behavior this time round.

Ah my child pleasantly surprised me. He played nice (except when it came to puppy but mama doesn't believe in forcing the issue when it comes to a security blanket). SCR was more than happy to share his froggie though so PFFT to Mama and Little Man.

He generally behaved himself except he may have been a slightly bad influence. SCR does not require gates at the stairs. He knows better than to go up or down if mama isn't around. My son on the other hand, decides to climb up and then down the stairs - wood stairs - no carpet. Nice and hard. Child, I understand your long term memory is basically shit right now so let me be your memory for you. Back when you were approximately 6 months of age you didn't just fall down the stairs, you flipped head over heels twice, in the air, down the stairs. You scared the living shit out of your parents. So because you've forgotten YOU DO NOT GO NEAR STAIRS WITHOUT A ADULT.

I was very proud of myself. I remained calm and did not startle the boy while he was trying to climb back down. I don't care how non-skid pjs claim to be - nothing is completely skid free on wood. I managed to get to him before he made it more than two stairs and escorted him safely back down - in my arms.

I am waiting for the phone call, text, email, FB post about how bad an influence my son was on SCR and he has now decided it is cool to climb stairs alone. I'M SORRY! My kid takes after me which means being a bad influence as well as being exceptionally cute.

Ok. You can stop laughing now. I don't want to be blamed for you choking on top of it.

Anywho, back to the exceptional sharer that is my child. Oh wait, before I can get to that, I need to mention one more bad influence. Little Man is allowed to walk around the house with his sippy cup. That is a battle I chose not to fight. SCR is not. Oops.

SCR put his cup down behind the chair and of course, forgot where he put it. He looked, shrugged. Little Man looked. Shrugged. Keep in mind, they aren't even 2 yet so looking means barely turning their little heads and if it isn't immediately in eye sight, its lost. So what does my wonderful but snotty-nosed child do? He hands SCR his sippy cup so SCR could have some milk. Thankfully SCR had his own snotty-nose action going on so I can't be blamed for stairs and sippy cups outside of the kitchen and a cold. Whew! No trifecta for me.

Happy Thanksgiving Browns Style

3 AM: Little Man wakes up. Dad brings him into bed with us.

5 AM: Little Man is still awake. I am done and being the loving wife I am, I force my dear sweet husband to take Little Man back to his room to see if he will go back to sleep in his crib.

6:45 AM: Dad gives up and takes Little Man downstairs for breakfast. I am blissfully asleep.

8:45 AM: I wake up and hear Little Man enjoying some playtime downstairs. I can tell from his conversation that dad is at least half asleep on him. I head down and sure enough, my poor husband is on the couch not even trying to stay awake and Little Man is playing around him, on him, over him. I send my poor husband up to bed.

9:00 AM: I shoot a double shot of espresso, throw on some clothes, toss half the cranberry muffins I made for the first time from scratch the night before on a plate. I grab Little Man, still in his pajamas and head to our neighbors.

The original plan was for us to go to our neighbors so the boys could watch the parade until nap time. Go our separate ways and join up again after nap time for dinner. Considering he had been up for 6 hours at this point, I did not expect to actually stay at the neighbors. We would drop the muffins, come back to the house and someone would go down early for his nap.

HUH! Guess again mama. The two boys played beautifully together until almost 11:30. No fighting, no sharing issues, no whining. It was great.

11:30 AM: Little Man goes for his nap. Daddy is still asleep. I chill.

1:20 PM: Little Man doesn't even nap for a few 2 hours. I expected at least 3. A rough wake up. He only wants mommy but bribe him with some food and football with daddy and I am back in the kitchen making squash souffle. Then a shower. Back in the kitchen making baked mushrooms.

2:30 PM: We are all watching football as I wait for the oven timer to go off. We've got Little Man rooting for the Lions. A personal foul negates a great run that may have been challenged any way. "Aw Man" complete with a hand smack on the cushion. Followed by something that could very easily have been the "F" bomb. The first part had us giggling. The 2nd part had me checking my vocabulary yet again. Yes. If he really did say it, it would be my fault. *sigh*

3:00 PM: We prepare to head back to the neighbors. Little Man chases me down the hallway and up the stairs. I forgot how fast he has become. As I head up the stairs, I don't realize he is literally right there behind me. As I lift my foot to hit the next stair, my heel smacks right into the poor kid's mouth.

Happy Thanksgiving kid. Here, let me kick you in the mouth. I felt horrible. I think I apologized for a good 20 minutes straight, to the point where the kid was consoling me.

Dinner was great. Little Man chose not to eat so his payback to the foot in the mouth earlier took me completely by surprise. The nastiest, smelliest, ghastliest diaper ever. All for me. Happy Thanksgiving mommy!

Aw Man

I've instituted a new rule in the house. No shoes in the house. You walk in, you take 'em off before stepping on my rug.

I suck at maintaining my own rule.

I'm watching the Pats and Little Man notices my shoes are still on. So being the wonderful child that he is, he decides to help mama follow the rules, her rules.

He works the Velcro like a pro but is having a bit of an issue actually removing the shoe from my foot.

"Awwww Man!"

Mama doesn't stink

I have a quirk. I will not leave the house unless I've showered. I have trouble running just to get milk or gas if I haven't showered. I have a very weird hang-up about it. I know. I can't help it. I must take a shower every day unless I am sick and can barely stand. Even then I will shower to go to the doctor.

I got to sleep in this morning. Until 11! I woke up right before Little Man went down for his nap. It was wonderful. The plan was for me to do some stuff around the house, take a shower, feed Little Man his lunch and then run errands.

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future....

Little Man woke up and I hadn't showered. Its not like I can take a 2 minute shower. Washing my hair alone takes 2 minutes. Rinsing can take another 4 (I have a lot of hair and it still hasn't grown out all the way yet). Taking a shower at this point in time will really screw up my ability to run all the necessary errands, having dinner at a decent time and getting Little Man to bed on time.

So I contemplate the unthinkable. I contemplate getting dressed and leaving the house without a shower. Before I can follow through on this dastardly deed, I must determine the degree of stink.

"Do I stink?"

"I can't smell you."

He's across the room so that is very good.

So I perform the time honored test. Raise my arm and sniff the ole pit.

"A little stink maybe. Don't think I really stink."

Little Man walks over and says something undecipherable.

"What's that baby?"

"ablah blah blah" and points to my pit.

"You want to check if mama stinks?"

Nod.

So I lean down and lift my arm for the wee lad. He sniffs a big ole sniff and promptly shakes his head.

"Mama don't stink?"

"Nooo".

Dad swears he put his finger and thumb together to indicate a little but thankfully I didn't see it. So based on the very perceptible little snout of my highly intelligent Little Man, I proceed to dress and leave the house without showering.

You will all be happy to know I did not discern anyone keeping an obviously large distance between me and them but truthfully, I kinda forgot and wasn't paying attention. So if you were at Lowes, Ikea or Cheeseburger in Paradise today, I profusely apologize and it was all my son's fault!

Last Child

I was fighting with my laptop last night. Actually, I was fighting with my router and the router was winning. I was definitely not at my best. I would get extremely frustrated, give up, and then refuse to be beaten and try again, get frustrated... It went on for what seemed like hours. It probably felt like weeks to my poor husband sitting next to me willing me to shut the hell up and chill the freak out.

While this is going on, I hear music over the monitor. It is distant so at first I think the neighbors may be having a party but no. I shove the monitor up to my husband's ear (you expect your child to pick up your bad habits not the other way around). He says it is probably just interference. In my head I am thinking no way. Those days are over. It's digital. So being the smart woman I am, I ignore my instincts and listen to my brilliant husband (after all he wasn't the one who killed the router's IP address).

Awhile later I still hear the music and I know I am not losing my mind. Then something pops into my head.

"Honey, did Little Man have my iPod by any chance?"

"Yeah, I took it away from him".

"Mmmm. Yeah, his new favorite toy. That's my iPod playing in his room."

Climb 2 flights of stairs and sneak into his room. Yup - I can hear the iPod loud and clear. Aerosmith's Last Child is going full blast through the buds. Not only did the kid manage to set up his own play list (he fell asleep to System of a Down!) but he also set 2 alarms; DC time and Abu Dhabi time. Didn't realize he had his passport. I am so glad I caught the alarms. 3 AM kid. Really? I didn't bother trying to figure out the time difference for Abu Dhabi. Knowing my kid, he managed to set them both for 3 AM.

I've been griping about how he'd expect his own laptop for 1st grade, if not kindergarten and a cell shortly after. I never once thought he'd be expecting an iPod for Christmas.

Milestones and Perspective

First tooth, first crawl, first step, first word - all major milestones that parents wait impatiently for. You cheer. You clap. You tell the entire world what a great, smart, amazing, awesome, fantastic, wonderful little baby you have because no other baby has ever attain such an amazing milestone the way your child has. Then, some how, some where common sense starts to seep its way back into your conscience and you calm down about the milestone. You stop counting every new tooth that comes in. You stop scouring the books to make sure your child not only hit every milestone for the month but hit them on time if not early. You show up at the Well Baby visit and have to think every time the nurse or doctor asks whether or not your child has hit a milestone. It's not that you don't CARE about the milestones anymore. It's just that you no longer worry about exactly WHEN your child hits the milestone. As long as the kid is not seriously behind who cares?

I did notice that Little Man was throwing over hand quite early. Yes I was impressed but I'll be more impressed when he learns to catch a ball with his hands and not his face. Perspective is important as a parent. It wasn't like I was jumping up and down and screaming to the world how smart my kid was. Mainly because everyone already knows and I don't want to be perceived as rubbing it in.

I'M KIDDING PEOPLE! Sheesh! He has half my genetics. If he had 100% then we could claim genius.

So milestones aren't huge to me anymore. Or so I thought. It turns out there are some things that can still make me want to throw open my front door and yell to everyone within earshot what a great thing my son just did.

Take the other night for example. His temperament was good but bordering on hyper so I tried to keep play time as calm as possible (yes, I am still setting unattainable milestones for myself ). I thought I had failed when he started to kick his legs. He likes to lie down and kick both legs. If you aren't close, he will inch closer until he is kicking you. This is not a behavior I approve of and I've been working on with only some success. So he kicks his legs and of course I am in reach. I grab his legs and remind him that we do not kick. I expected him to ignore me, continue kicking, and prepared for a timeout.

Shock of all shocks. He stopped. He also apologized countless times.

"Saw'ree. Saw'ree. Saw'ree".

Strokes my face.

"Saw'ree. Saw'ree".

And he goes back to playing quietly.

Apologizing without being told? It's possible before adulthood? Seriously? Holy SHIT!

Then tonight, we are looking at pictures. Of course, they are all of Little Man. He points to one and says "baby" (I call him baby boy and baby a lot - maybe its time to stop). I reply "That's you". So what does he say when he points to the picture? "Yew".

English may be my mother tongue but I never realized how difficult explaining certain concepts would be.

So I resort to saying his name. He is almost 2 and never said his name. He answers to it with no problem but ask him who he is or what his name is and he turns mute. Not any more! Not only did he point to the picture and say his name but he also answered when I asked him what his name was.

Ok so that was premature. 30 minutes has passed and he is back to Mr. Mute when I ask him. So I guess the question I should be asking is at what point should I be concerned? I mean, I still have a few years for this one right?

All in One Day

Sunday started out as a normal day. Breakfast, play, nap, a vain attempt at lunch and more play. Little Man's favorite past time is to gather his stuffed animals on the couch, wrestle with them, fling them from the couch and then retrieve - face first. Of course he became more and more rambunctious the longer he played this game which meant he flung the animals farther - far enough that he could not hang from the couch face first and retrieve. This led to his cries of "Ree, ree" (reach, reach, as in I can't). After watching me make him say please and retrieving the flung items about 20 times, my darling husband comes out with the comment "enough of the self-imposed martyrdom. You flung 'em. You get 'em."

Time for a distraction. My husband takes him outside to play while I clean up some more. They end up back inside as his little friend across the street has decided Sunday's are a great day for a marathon nap.

His friend wakes up and comes over just as I am about to toss Little Man back outside. Who ever thought I'd be that excited to see a 3 year old. So the boys throw the balls around, run like little wind gusts, screech and basically enjoy the beautiful day we had. We end up behind the neighbors house. The boys are chasing each other while the mamas talk. I watch Little Man run down the hill and think to myself "he's going to fast". He disappears behind the fence. I can only see a blur between the slats and then nothing.

"He fell" said my neighbor.

"Eh, he's fine".

Then we both cock an ear as a faint cry reaches us.

"Hmmm." I jog toward him thinking he just scared himself. And then I see his friend. His friend is looking right at him and is frozen in fear. My heart stops and I turn into the Flash. How I managed the turn at that speed with out skidding into the fence myself I still don't know. Little Man is pushing up on one hand. The other reached out to his friend like he is begging for help. That wrist is limp. My stopped heart now jumps into my throat as I think he has broken his wrist. I call out to him and the wrist moves. Phew. Not broken. But then he moves his head and in slow motion I see the blood splattering all over the grass. I scoop him up and bury his bloody face into my shoulder hoping I'll hit the spot or spots that need pressure to slow whatever is bleeding.

As I run past my neighbor for my house I simply say "we have blood". I was moving so fast I was well past her before I heard her say "go to my house". It was closer but I didn't want to drip blood all over her rug. See - I can be a conscientious neighbor even in the middle of a wee crisis.

Upstairs into the bathroom, away from the mirror with cold damp cloth in hand I start to wipe away the blood so I can assess damage. Yet another fat lip. It takes a bit before I can ascertain for certain that all the blood came from the lip and no where else.

Little Man is calm. The bleeding has stopped.

"Can mommy change her shirt"

Shake head.

"Ou"

"Back outside?"

"Dup"

"Ok. Mommy will wear your badge on her shoulder".

Back outside we go and I tell the boys no more running that fast and that far. Let's take it down one notch.

"Sly"

He wants the slide which is in our neighbor's muddy backyard. So Matt, being the saint that he is, drags it out the back gate to the boys can slide in a less muddy area. It is a small "house" with a slide attached. Little Man walks through the door and climbs up on the landing to go down the slide but his friend has jumped up on the side. He is not impeding Little Man's sliding abilities in the slightest but the earlier incident has put my son in a mood. He wines. He fusses. I walk to the front of the slide and put his legs on the slide so he can see there is no impediment. He gets mad at me, kicks my hands away and slides back on the bench/ledge. Then he slides back again for emphasis. Yup. You guessed it. Pushed himself backwards off the ledge. His butt slams into the ground and his head whacks on the door. Thankfully these things are made of hollow plastic so there is no real damage done but of course he cries and of course I feel like shit.

I decide it is time for some quiet indoor play and intend to take him home but Natalie decides we'll take the boys inside their house. As Matt said, "Enough of the drama already".

It goes quite well. The boys play relatively quiet for boys of their age and only squabble over sharing (or rather, NOT sharing) a few times but no real tears. They end up behind the couch. Natalie and I aren't even really paying attention because they are so well behaved.

And then my son cries for the 3rd time in one hour. I roll my eyes expecting a sharing issue. Until we hear his partner in crime apologize to him. Hmmmmm.....

Call Little Man over. No blood, no visible red spots. Just tears.

What happened?

"My eye"

Your eye?

Turns out Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum decided to play catch. They both excel at throwing the ball but neither one of them knows how to catch the damn thing. Yup, you guessed it. Little Man caught the ball with his eye.

So now I am explaining to a 3 year old that it is ok. It was an accident and I appreciated that he apologized. Then I am explaining to a 22 month old that no, his friend is NOT in trouble and to stop glaring at me. How the hell do you explain "accident" to a 22 month old? Still not sure how if I succeeded or if Little Man has learned to choose his battles.

Thankfully it was a soft ball, what we refer to as an indoor ball so when Little Man was dropped off at day care this morning, an explanation was owed only for the fat lip and not a fat lip AND a bump on the head AND a black eye and no you really don't need to call social services.

And yes, I tried to explain to him one more time that the fat lip was not going to get him adopted by Angelina Jolie and that he was stuck with me. Apparently a battle he still chooses to fight.

Phrasology

It is well documented that my son has been speaking for quite a long time. I just didn't understand him. My Babel Fish finally arrived and we are communicating quite well now. I still struggle occasionally but who doesn't with a toddler.

If anyone has any ideas on "see me" let me know and no, context does not allow for the obvious.

We have "I git you", "I find it", and come heyah (Bostonian mixed with New Jersey oh my poor baby!) but my favorite new word came today.

I called out to my husband to see where he was. One second later, Little Man pipes up.

"John"

"John"?

"John John John"

Can't get the kid to say his own name but he can say his dad's name. I give up.

Changing the Rules

Boston drivers are notorious. Its not that we are bad. We are actually very good drivers. No, the problem lies with that dreaded sub group of the human race that likes to invade our precious roads. Tourists.



Boston drivers have rules that we drive by, hell we live by them. They are ours and ours alone. We sure as hell aint' sharing them with some damn tourist. Come to our wonderful city, spend some time, see the sites, spend some money, stay awhile, spend some more money. Just don't drive. Boston is a very walkable city. If you don't like to walk (what the hell is wrong with you?), we have a wonderful mass transit system. If you have an aversion to public transportation, take a cab. You have a 50-50 chance of getting someone who should be driving in NYC. Those are good odds people. Play them. Trust me. The odds of surviving a two block drive behind the wheel of your own car are not as good.



I spent the first 25 years of my life in Boston. I spent my first time behind the wheel on the J-way. I've heard the only thing worse is getting behind the wheel for the first time in Paris. I conquered the rotaries like a seasoned pro. Ok, I'll break with tradition and share ONE rule with you: How to master a rotary - it depends on the rotary, the time of day, and who has the bigger and/or faster car that determines right of way. Have fun.



Shortly before my 25th birthday I left Beantown for our Nation's Capitol. A city with drivers not just from all over the country but all over the world. Here's the best way to describe driving in DC. Things are so bad, they've had to put LIGHTS in their rotaries, excuse me, CIRCLES. I found out about the lights after a very nice DC cop pulled me over for running 3 red lights in a row. The last light I went through was 1/2 mile back and you are just pulling me over now? He kept saying something about a circle and the lights and I didn't know what the hell the man was smokin'. Took a bit before we both realize that rotary and circle are one in the same.



"You have LIGHTS in your rotaries? How stupid are you people?"



Always one for making great first impressions. He was the second cop that week to ask me to get back in my car, drive back to Boston and never return. Please don't tell either one I ignored them.



It took a bit but I finally learned to blend in with the drivers that make up the DC Metro Area. Oh how I longed for the common sense of the Boston roads. So now that I've been in DC for awhile, I decide it is time for a trip home. My mom is having folks over her house. Her cousin needs a ride so I volunteer to pick her up. I am a block from her house when I have to slam on the brakes to avoid running into the back of a cab. I finish my Sailor/Truck Driver/Pissed-off Redhead screamfest and proceed the final block without incident. I even make it back to my mom's without incident but I am still furious. Freaking IDIOT stops for a damn pedestrian. Freaking idiot can walk a block to the light or play Frogger like the rest of us. What the hell was he thinking?



"There's a crosswalk there".



What the hell difference does that make?



"We stop for pedestrians in crosswalks now".



WHHHAT? WTF? Since when? WHAAAT? NO WAY! WTF? WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME?



"You're a tourist now".



God Damn Son of A What the change the rules and not tell me of all the stupid ridiculous can't freaking believe this... Pout.



I return to my homeland this past weekend for my 20th high school reunion (go ahead, do the math. You still won't know my age because you don't know how many grades I skipped or how many times I was held back). At the end of the night, I am standing outside the front doors with the rest of my classmates still yakking so I light a cigarette.



"What are you doing"?



Smoking and finally being legal about it. He (new headmaster is walking by me) can't bust me.



"No but the cops can".



For what? I'm over 18.



"It's illegal to smoke on school grounds in Massachusetts".



WHHHAAAT? Since when? WHAAAT? Are you shittin me? You people went and change the freaking rules again without telling me? God damn it. Oh well. Not like I haven't had a conversation with a Quincy cop before.

Counting

Wah

Do

Foh

Fi

Ni

(one, two, four, five, nine - forget new math, the kid has come up with a whole new number schema)

RAY!

"We have to put you coat on".

"Nope".

"Do you want to go outside?"

"Dup".

"Well its raining out so you have to put your coat on. AND YOUR HOOD. Don't want to melt now."

Coat? Check. Hood? Check. Puppy? Check. Walk or be carried to the car? (Please walk. Please walk. YIPPEE. He'll walk.)

"RAY!"

"Yes sweetie. I told you. It's raining."

"RAY! RAY! RAAAAAAYYYYYY!"

Run down the sidewalk.

"RAYRAYRAYRAYRAY".

Shake head side to side, scream at the top of his lungs and then dance to the car.

"Ray ray ray ray ray ray ray ray ray".

In case you weren't aware, it rained (and still is raining) in our area tonight.

3 Years Today

3 years ago today I stood at the top of the aisle on my brother's arm staring at the most handsome man. The minister had said to pause for a moment so everyone could see me. My brother had to put the brakes on me. He told me to wait. "But he's right there!".

"Wait"

"But he's right THERE".

3 years ago today, I forgot the 120 guests gathered. I forgot the Minister. I forgot the bouquet in my hand. And I forgot I was in a huge ass dress and heels. Even if my brother did allow me to run down the aisle, the dress and heels would have applied brakes all on their own and not the anti-lock kind either.

3 years ago today, once again, my brother proved stronger, kept me from face planting in front of 120 guests and led me gently (and way too freaking slow for my tastes) down the aisle to my moments-to-be husband.

I've been told by friends who know me all too well that I found my perfect match, my soul mate and even when we face challenges, bicker, and fight, I know it to be true. What stands out the most to me from the last 3 years besides the look on his face as I walked down the aisle?

Playing thumb wars during the ceremony so both of us could hold it together.
The tear in his eye when I showed him the pregnancy test.
The look of sheer joy the first time he held our son.
The truly childlike joy and laughter when he pulled our 4 day old son's arm over and over again and over and over our son farted (over and over as I begged him to stop, clutching my stitches and trying so hard not to laugh myself. I failed).
His unwavering support each time the loss of my dad becomes unbearable.
The look of horror on his face when it came time to change the first diaper and how someone who had never changed a diaper in his life accomplished it like a pro.
His never-ending promise that all I'll get for birthday, Christmas, anniversary, etc., is a hand shake.

3 years married. 5 years together total. A very short time on one hand. A wonderfully long time on the other. 3 years celebrated in quiet fashion.

Happy Anniversary baby. I love you. Thank you.

Woodward Strong

20 years ago I sucked it up and actually went to my High School graduation. Yes, I actually tried to miss it. This past weekend I returned and joined 6 of my classmates (hey - that is almost half the whole graduating class!) for wine, cheese, a tour of the school and a trip down memory lane. Considering they had some current students in attendance, they may think twice before inviting us back for our 25th.

It is amazing how stepping into a building where you spent a good portion of 7 years can make you regress. As Linda and I cut through the boiler room for old times sake, I found myself looking over my shoulder for a teacher to bust us.

I giggled as I drank a glass of wine in the Greenleaf room and half expected the current Headmaster to take it out of my hands and send me to detention (considering I hadn't eaten all day, he probably should have).

I toured the old classrooms. The Clash screamed in my head as I entered 6th grade home room. "Name your antecedent", The Merchant of Venice sprang to life when I walked into Mrs. Poole's old room. It was sad to see her unabridged dictionary was no longer there. I cried when I saw the new Macs in the computer lab. We had a computer lab when I was there. I took a Logo class right after my typewriting class - a class that consisted mostly of manual typewriters - a machine the current graduating class will probably not see unless they visit the Smithsonian.

There is a plaque in my old history classroom in honor of Susan Hayes. Everyone has that one teacher that made a difference in her life. Susan Hayes was mine. Just wish I had the chance to tell her.

I looked in on the old science lab and cried again. So clean. So new. So MODERN. It took everything in me not to pull the handle on the shower head in fond memory of a teacher who, needless to say, is no longer teaching there.

I cringed at the white boards. They gave me nasty flashbacks to a science teacher who would yell my name and then peg me right between the eyes with a dry erase marker to wake me up. Poor guy. It wasn't his fault every class I had with him was right before or right after lunch. I wonder if that particular legacy of his lives on.

I went in search of the art room and stumbled into *gasp* a SECOND science lab! Are you Kidding me?? *sigh* Do these kids realize how great they have it? Oh wait - maybe not. The door to the outside is closed off. Not cool.

As my other classmates reminisced about sneaking off to the bushes to smoke, I laughed. I would walk outside the art room door and smoke right there. Others would get busted in the bathroom. I'd be outside the art room door. With an art teacher calling out rather loudly whenever another teacher walked in the room. Didn't realize we had that many teachers with hearing problems.

It was weird going back but oh so wonderful to catch up with women I grew up with. Women who have more blackmail on me then God and women who cannot be begged, cajoled, or bribed to cough up the goods on me because for every story they have on me, I have one on them.

Two of the six I never lost touch with. They are my best friends, my sisters. We've been through it all together; hormones, boyfriends, shared crushes, the Mean Girls phase, Elvira, The Mean Girls phase, the Prom, weddings, births, death of a loved one. They've kept me sane. They've smacked me upside the head when I needed it.

The other 4, after having gone through puberty and high school with me still sought me out and speak to me. See, miracles can happen. In 6th grade, there were 25(?) of us. By the time we hit our senior year, some had moved on to other schools. New ones joined and for some reason, stayed. Come the beginning of June, 19 of us put on robe and mortar board and accepted our diplomas. High School is brutal but as I look back as the friendships I made and those that I've rekindled, I wouldn't change it.

That which doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. Forget Army Strong. This bitch is Woodward Strong.

Exhaustion? Give Chocolate

Normally I dread the exhausted state. Especially on nights when when it is just me and Little Man. I picked him up late tonight and his eyes were as red as mine. It did not bode well; two of us having meltdowns at the same time? We haven't installed the padded room yet.

I bribed him at dinner time - I had him help me make the chicken. Defrayed meltdown #1. Defrayed meltdown #2 with some much needed chocolate (my meltdown). I thought we made a great dinner. Little Man thought it sucked. Meltdown #3 avoided with some cheese while I scratched my head (he tried, he hated, he gets a different meal). Avoided meltdown #4 with more chocolate. He avoided meltdown #5 by telling me he would have a waffle and a banana. Hey - what about the chocolate to go with?

Dinner done. He goes to dry my tears and gives me a "good job" pat instead when he finds my cheeks dry.

Work trucks RETURN to do God knows what. It is pitch black out. How the hell do you pave now? The sounds threaten to set off meltdown #6. I distract with puppy - not puppy as in his security blanket. Oh no. Puppy as in the huge, over sized stuffed animal I decided he just HAD TO HAVE on Sunday ($5 for this monstrosity - how could he not get it? Of course it was $5 if you spent X # of dollars. I am not stating what X equals and not because I failed algebra. I excelled at algebra and I am not stating how we got to X... toy trucks... ahem...Nerf balls... ahem... all things he HAD TO HAVE).

Nothing like having your little munchkin crawl up on the couch, grab puppy and curl up in your lap for one big massive snuggle session. He even managed to find room for puppy #1.

Which made me realize my naming schema for his stuffed animals has finally hit a speed bump (rhinoceros = rhino, monkey = monkey, puppy = puppy and puppy = hmmmm).

"So what's his name?" I ask, pointing to monstrosity puppy.

ROOAARRRRR!

"What does puppy say?"

WOOF

"So what's his name?"

ROOAARRRRR!

Halloween

Ah, the joys of Halloween - the one night a year that parents get to torment their wee ones with costumes they hate and send them out to beg for candy that their parents will eat for them.

Oh you mean that is only in my house? Oops!

Well, fine then. At least I will admit to doing it for purely selfish reasons even if no one else will.

We spent money on a costume this year and as soon as we did I thought "well, there's $25 done the drain. The kid will never let us put it on him". Thankfully his little friend across the street put his costume on ('rents aren't fessing up to what they bribed him with). So Little Man agreed to his costume - a lion and I wasn't completely convinced we wouldn't end up with the Cowardly lion when we were going for the Lion King. He did great. Right up until we put his hood on. Oh the look of utter horror! The crocodile (um, do lions cry huge tears?) tears! The Torture! Where is Amnesty International when you need them? The Humanity!

Eh. He survived. It took a few minutes but we managed to coax a smile out of him and in no time he was off with Daddy to try this whole Trick or Treating thing. It wasn't long before Cowardly Lion was replaced with the Lion King and true to form, my boy ruled his Universe.

The plan was to hit 3 or 4 houses and then let him hang outside and hand out candy. Nope, he had other plans. He hit the whole court - all 26 townhouses. He is officially a trick or treat pro. He said "Tank Do" each and every time. He only had one minor mishap. At one house, he was handed an extra lollipop so he reached into his pumpkin, took a piece out and tried to give it in exchange. Hmm, mishap or was he doing a trade for a less-liked piece of candy? Maybe he instinctively knew mommy didn't like Sugar Daddys (oh I like the OTHER kind, believe me. At least I think I do, never actually had one...).

So yes, I put my son in a costume he hated (in part) and sent him out to scam candy out of neighbors knowing full well he wouldn't eat a single bite of it. All so I could claim my favorite standby - taking one for the team. So excuse me, I believe there is some chocolate calling my name...

Things that make you go hmmm....

Excuse me while I channel Arsenio...

You find "green" products everywhere. Green cleaning products, green cars, green toilet paper, green makeup brushes.

But I have to ask - are they truly green when they are WRAPPED IN PLASTIC?

Makeup brushes advertising how they are made from sustainable bamboo and they even come with a hemp travel bag. Bamboo makeup brushes laid on top of the hemp travel bag and then all wrapped in about 10 feet of plastic but its ok everyone - they are GREEN makeup brushes and some how buying them reduced your carbon foot print...

Seriously.

Things that make you go hmmmm....

In Your Face Elmo

Little Man was heading to day care the other morning. I did my ritual kiss, hug, blow kisses,say bye and say I love you. Then I said I love you again, very slowly and carefully.

"Ylub you"

A quick intake of breath and tears creeping to the edges of my eyes I turn to the living room:

"Take THAT Elmo! HUH! IN YOUR FACE! Try to one up mommy eh? I'll show you."

I will survive

6:390 PM:

Me: Where are you

Husband: Van Dorn. About 10 minutes to Franconia and then from there (he's on the metro).

Me: Not going well as you can here (we are trying to talk over a banshee). See you when you get here.

This all translates into GET YOUR ASS HOME NOW!

Back up to 5:50 PM:

Dinner started out fine. Right up until I put Little Man in his booster and he made moves like he wanted to sit in my lap. Um, yeah, NO. I want to eat my dinner too. I ate my dinner. He screamed. I cleared my plate, emptied the dishwasher and reloaded. He screamed. Talking, distracting, you name it, I tried it.

Let's just say that it culminated into a full-throttle, launching body to floor, kicking feet and screaming at top of his lungs tantrum. I walked out of the room. He calmed. I came back. He resumed his tantrum. Repeat. I ended up at the front door watching for my husband and keeping an eye on Little Man out of the corner of my eye to make sure he didn't do anything foolish.

My neighbors were outside chatting. My husband walked up the front stairs. I held the door opened for him. "He's all yours" and out I went to hang with the neighbors.

They welcomed me with open arms. They were standing outside placing bets on how long it would take me to walk out of the house. They made me laugh. My husband dealt with my tiny banshee.

Banshee went to bed only having 2 sticks of cheese for dinner (I forgot to tell my husband he'd already had one stick and told him no on the 2nd until he ate dinner which helped in the above culmination).

I kicked myself. Slammed my head against the pavement. Questioned and 2nd guessed myself.

Then I had a beer. Listened some more to the nightmare stories from my neighbors (their kids are hitting the preteens) and began to joke about what a horrible mom I was (and apparently horrible wife too as my husband had no dinner ready for him when he got home).

I'll survive. Little Man will survive.

He will also wake up at 3 AM and demand breakfast - pancakes, cheese, bacon, cheese,sausage, biscuits, waffles, grapes, and of course, cheese.

I was very excited for Friday to arrive. Can't say I have the same warm and fuzzy about Saturday.

Oh Ms. Gaynor - give me strength!

Speed Bump

I am counting tonight a success. Meltdowns were minimal. He was allowed 2 crackers while I made dinner. When denied more, there was a minor meltdown that was easily handled. The major meltdown came when we went to sit for dinner. I still don't have a clue what triggered it. I'm leaving it to hunger and sleepiness. I ignored and eventually he started eating. 1. 5 servings later he was content (and again, mama finished dinner first. This could spoil a woman). Dessert was a cheese stick.

Bath time was my second success. First he took his pacifier when I told him no. He isn't allowed to have it until after his bath. Rather than force the issue, I caved... a little. I told him he could have it until his bath (had to strip the kid down. He doesn't bathe fully clothed although I have been tempted). He surprised me by putting the pacifier back where it belonged before leaving his room for the bathroom. He even ran back to put puppy in his place.

Then he gets in the bath.

And refuses to sit down complete with eye roll.

So I counted to three. Nothing. Ok. You're done. And out he came. He stood next to the tub looking slightly dumbfounded.

"Let's go. Gotta get a diaper and pjs on you".

Huh? Who is this woman? Holy Shit! I got a POD MOM! *shrug* Oh well. Let's go Pod.

I had such a successful evening do I really want to admit to the speed bump? It won't be winning me any Super Mom awards that for sure (like I was ever a contender).

I was so proud of how well things were going at dinner time, at one point in time I forgot to reset the timer. Yup - mama kinda, sorta burned dinner. Chicken, rice, and.... CHEESE all in a pan on the stove. Burnt cheese... yummy... *shiver*

Thankfully I caught it relatively early (ok, I was running from doing Ring Around the Rosy for the millionth time) and only lost a few spoonfuls (and I'm not talking a tea spoon here) and as you can see from above - dinner was still a success.

Beginner's Luck but I'm calling SUCCESS!

Little Man has enjoyed his addictions: puffs, stick cheese, cereal bars, and yogurt. Puffs weren't an issue. He got them after he ate and let's face it, he was too young to demand them. The stick cheese wasn't much of a problem. It was a snack or part of his overall meal, not his whole meal. Cereal bars were starting to become an issue. He would want 3 in a row and then not eat the next meal. I learned to distract after one and met with some success.

Yogurt is his latest addiction. The cereal bars seem to be waning a bit but the yogurt? We are talking the need for a hardcore intervention. He will eat 3 in a row if allowed at snack time and then 3 more for a meal. He may throw in a cereal bar for good measure and always a glass of milk.

Previous addictions never showed a sign of affecting his nutritional health but this latest addiction is straddling the line if not 10 yards past. He will have full blown meltdowns when told no. His screams are speeding up my hearing loss at an exponential rate.

So I spent an hour on the phone with the advice nurse at his Ped's office today. Hey, it had been awhile since she and I had talked. She was going through withdrawal (actually, she was looking for an escape from the endless, repetitive flu questions she was getting all week). I love this woman. She has been so incredibly patient with silly FTM me and her parenting philosophy is in line with my own. So she had no problem (gently) telling me that yes, I was screwing up.

See, this is why I love her. She is the only person with the balls to tell me that I am screwing up with my son, that I am making mistakes. That is exactly what I need to hear and honestly, what I wanted to hear. I needed a big ole kick in the ass and she gave it to me.

Guess what? My son is playing me. The boy is in complete and utter control when it comes to food. I know, shocking. You didn't see that one coming either did you? Floored the shit out of me, let me tell ya. (and if you can't read the dripping sarcasm in all of this...)

So I listened to the nurse's advice and decided to put it into play tonight. No snack before dinner and he's told what is on the table is what is for dinner. Let him meltdown. He'll learn.

We arrive home and our neighbors are outside playing (gorgeous Indian summer weather I bow to you). We go straight to play time. Little Man never sees the inside of the house. My neighbor watches him close to dinner time while I go in and hide the cereal bars, goldfish, smiley faces and all but one yogurt (he is now only allowed one a day). At 6 I take him in to make dinner. He goes to the fridge. I offer milk. He says no. He doesn't see any yogurt so he moves on to the cabinet. I open it. No snacks. Ask him if he'll help make dinner. Distraction #1 - success! We start cooking the sausage when I hit my first snag. There is a mini bag of pretzels on the counter. Damn it! I missed one! Little Man is struggling to open it. I tell him he can have a few and that's it because mommy is making dinner. He eats 3 and puts the bag down. SUCCESS! I'm trying not to whip out my pom poms to celebrate.

While the sausage is cooking, I take him into the living room to play. Distraction #2 - success. Damn I am good.

Check the sausage. Needs about 10 more minutes. Let's get the dining room ready for dinner. His booster seat is on the floor (story for another time). I have to put him down to attach it to the chair. Meltdown mode initiated.

I tell him he is fine and hook up the booster. Meltdown continuing. Nurse's voice enters my head "he'll melt down. Let him". I walk into the kitchen, ignoring him. I continue getting dinner ready. His screams would burst my ear drums if he was in the same room. After what felt like an eternity but I don't think was a full 10 minutes, he makes his way to the kitchen. By this time, I am 99% ready to put plates on the table. I half acknowledge him. He holds up his socks. I tell him as soon as I put him in his chair, I will put them on. Dinner is plated and ready to go. Pick the poor guy up and let him cry on my shoulder for a few seconds. He looks at me, pathetically, and I ask if he is ready for dinner.

"Dup"

Will you carry your milk for mommy"

"Dup"

Put food on table. Put milk on table. Put child in booster seat and socks on feet. Grab my plate. Walk back into the dining room and he is attacking his plate. He ate an entire sausage link and two servings of rice pilaf with veggies. We sat at the table, swayed to the music and talked in between bites. Ok, I talked in between bites. He still hasn't learned not to talk with his mouth full but one thing at a time here people.

He and I finish dinner at the same time. This is amazing. We had a GREAT meal together and he wasn't begging to get down 3 minutes into it and then hounding me to go play with him. He even lets me clean up the table.

While I am putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, he comes to drag me away. I figure it is time to play. Nope. Straight to the pantry door which I discovered, he can now open without assistance (time to reorganize that). He points to the strawberry applesauce and proceeds to down almost 2 of them.

I know tomorrow night could be the complete opposite. I know this is probably beginner's luck but allow me to celebrate my success tonight. For this one night, I am thrilled. Tomorrow I may lament but tonight the Sam I drink is in celebration. Tonight, I was in control.

Tune in tomorrow night for mama's slide back into subservient yogurt wench.

Love You

I've been trying to get Little Man to say "I Love You". He just kind of laughs at me.

He knows his Elmo doll talks and I made the mistake of turning it on for him today (Elmo annoys be almost as much as Barney does). I had to listen to "Elmo loves you" in that grating, makes-you-want-to-rip-your-ear-drums-out voice long enough to make me think NTOTB, The Backstreet Boys, and NSync were actually really good bands.

Then it happened. Little Man responded. "Love you".

To Elmo.

I'm now looking for the nearest wood chipper but will settle for a sledge hammer.

Big Puppy

Everything is puppy now. Even his paci is puppy. Makes life a little confusing but I stopped correcting him. Why? Because is sounds eerily similar to Papi. As in Big Papi.

Me: Are you my Big Puppy?

Little Man: DUP!

Daddy made some comment about the Yanks (which I have conveniently forgotten).

Little Man: (pushing daddy away) DOP!

Me: You big Puppy?

Little Man: DUP!

Mama: 2 Daddy:0

How'd I get 2 you ask? Ask little man what his favorite color socks are. Go ahead. Ask him. I dare you.

Short Lived Ego Boost

"Mommy Mommy Mommy!"

Who's mommy?

He points to daddy.

FINALLY!

I've been "Bah" for so long I am starting to forget any word a child may use for Mother. I had to stop myself at work this week from referring to myself as "Bah". His lovie is a blanket with a puppy head. We've called the blanket "puppy" from the day we got it. He's heard "mommy" a hell of a lot longer than he has "puppy" but guess which word he used first? Hell my mom gets "Amah" before I get "Mommy".

I came downstairs this morning. Little Man was sitting on daddy's lap with a puzzle. I expected the usual excited "BAH!". I didn't get it. I got, clear as day: "MOMMY!"

And I have a witness child!

Knick Knack Paddy Whack

We read to Little Man every night before bed. "They" say it helps calm them before they go to bed. "They" have never met my son.

His choice this evening was the nursery rhyme This Old Man. He was not content to have me read the book. No, I had to sing it. Give the kid some time. In a year or two he'll realize I am completely tone deaf and it is not a good idea to have me sing.

Daddy decided to play knick knack paddy whack on his knees as I read. Sorry - sing. Little Man jumped down and proceeded to knick knack paddy whack his knees, his thighs, the door, and daddy. Getting more rambunctious as he went.

"They" would say getting a child riled up that close to bed time is not a good idea. Good thing "they" are not raising my son. So he didn't curl up and go right so sleep when I laid him down but he hasn't piped up once yet. Hmm.... that may have been a snore I just heard.

"They" can keep their advice. This is a knick knack paddy whacking house (my Irish ancestors are so proud).

You're Excused

I had several conversations this weekend with my mom and husband about the things kids repeat at the most inopportune time. We recanted stories of grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and friends' children and I laughed trying to figure out what Little Man would do to me. I figured I'd be called to the school in a few years trying to explain "Damn Skippy" as I've done a relatively good job of erasing certain other words from my Make a Sailor Proud language.

Little Man resorted to his usual demands.

"Up. Bah, UP!"
"Down Bah. SIT DOWN"

Excuse me?

"You scuse"

When winning isn't always what it seems

So eating Little Man's dinner for him worked tonight. He saw me eating so he decided to try and I got a "Mmm. YUM!" out of him right before he devoured.

My success was short-lived. It took no time for the begging, pleading, crying and screaming to ensue. All for a cereal bar. I held firm. I did not crack and for the 2nd night in a row, the child chose bed after not getting his way.

I'm afraid. I'm very, very afraid. This child's strategy is beyond me and I have that sinking feeling it is quickly turning into the 4th quarter 2 minute warning. I have the ball but the score is definitely NOT in my favor...

How to turn the tables on your parents

Little Man said no to every dinner option tonight. He thought he could just have cereal bars for dinner. Mama had other ideas. After the refusals I distracted him with some play time. Once he was engrossed in his toys, I disappeared into the kitchen to make dinner. Once it was ready, he decided he was hungry. He had 3 bites of pasta and half his strawberry applesauce. Then requested to get down. He immediately heads to the cabinet with the cereal bars and goes into full meltdown mode when I say no.

Dad comes home and gets a less than warm welcome. Little Man crawls back into my lap but refuses to eat any more off his plate. He scrambles down and heads back to the kitchen. This time hoping to sucker daddy into giving him a cereal bar. This kid still thinks Dad is just as big of a sucker as Mom.

HA!

When that strategy doesn't work he HEADS TO THE STAIRS AND ASKS TO GO TO BED.

Another future strategy out the window. Bed with no dinner? No problem Mom.

Thanks kid.

Not Nice

"Sit. Sit down. Sit DOWN. SIT DOWN! Kneel. Go. Move. NO! I want. BAH BAH BAH!"

Ah, nothing like spending a weekend being ordered around by a toddler. I spent all weekend reminding him of the magic word so now it is SIT DOWN! peeeeeease? Complete with scrunched up face and smile which makes it hard to reprimand his tone.

So today we were playing catch (I was catching the ball with my hands. Little Man still catches the ball with his head and yes, it is a soft ball). I purposely bounced it over his head because it amuses me.

"DOP!"

Bounce it over his head again.

"DOP! Na Ni!" (not nice).

Pick up ball. Walk into living room. Return to hall way. Shake finger at me. "Na ni Bah!" Walk back into living room and refuse to play ball anymore.

I don't think my rolling on the floor laughing helped the situation...

Finally one for the Win column

"BAH!" "Bah. Bah."

He is saying "bar" as in cereal bar. Not to be confused with Bah which is still my name. Daddy or Da he says with no problem these days. Ma, mama, mom, mother or any other variation thereof is still lost on this child. Apparently only a Bostonian can tell the difference between the two.

As I reach for the Must Have Item of the Century, Little Man grabs the kitchen towels to practice his ribbon gymnastics (you could hear dad screaming all the way from NJ). My attempt to get him to replace the towels was laughable at best.

"Do you want the cereal bar?"

"Dup"

"You have to put the towels back first"

Nah, I'm gonna run into the living room and promptly drop them on the floor there instead.

"Pick up the towels please"

Nah, I'm gonna leave them there and run into the dining room now.

Hmmm, Bah just used all 3 names. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

Little Man returns to the living room and with a little more prompting, picks up the towels. I have him follow me into the kitchen and tell him to hang them up.

He hands them to me instead. Close enough in my mind so I hand him the cereal bar.

"Tank do"

WHOA! What was that?

"hehe"

Did you say THANK YOU? Without prompting?

"hehe"

Please and Thank You in one weekend?

Hug.

Yeah baby. I love you too. More than you know.

Take 2

Take 2: Still in the kitchen, still cleaning while Little Man entertains himself with paper and crayon. What IS that sound? Oh shit. He's playing with crayons again and you left him unattended.

His canvas this time? The glass on the china cabinet.

Hey, at least he is staying with the season. His color of choice this week is still orange.

Parenting 01

Most parents will tell you that if the child is being too quiet, you have a problem.

With me, if my child is standing right next to me, chatting away but I am not fully engaged, I have a problem.

Little Man decided to keep me company this evening while I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. He had been coloring away with his crayons but apparently grew bored and decided mama needed some company. So while I am scrubbing down the sink and counter tops he babbles on. I give the obligatory "Yeah? How exciting." at the appropriate pauses but other than that, I am not paying attention to what he is actually doing. Nor am I paying attention to the strange sound hovering around the edges of his chatter.

My subconscious finally screams through to my conscious and I actually look at what he is doing. My once white dishwasher is now decorated with orange crayon. I can't get too upset with the child.

1. His mother cannot stand white spaces. I see white and the urge to pull out my paints and brushes becomes almost unbearable.

2. Are you ready for this? Forget Parenting 101. I need Parenting 01. I never actually told this child the crayons were only to be used on paper and specific paper at that.

So I spend the next 10 minutes trying very hard to convince my son that he is not in trouble and he didn't truly do anything wrong. It seriously is not his fault but if he would please contain his coloring to paper that mommy or daddy gives him.

Thank the Goddess for washable appliances and washable crayons and then thank her some more for gently teaching me a very obvious lesson in parenting. She could have provided the kid with a florescent pink Sharpie...

Why?

Why is it that when your child learns a new phrase such as "sit down", it is always said in a demanding tone? And why is it that we are so excited over the phrase, we don't hear the tone and end up telling the child they did a good job?

And why is it that when your son learns to truly jump, the rain stops and all puddles immediately dry up?

Excuse me while I pull out the hose for some mom-made puddles before I pick him up from daycare...

Pastel Confetti

Upon arriving home today, Little Man promptly went to for a cereal bar. I was able to sidestep the pending meltdown when I wouldn't allow him to eat the whole box (literally) by convincing him a slice of bread was the yummiest thing in the world. Meltdown #2 was avoided by asking him if he wanted to play outside.

He promptly picks up his little bag of sidewalk chalk, loops it over his arm like a purse and throws himself at the front door. The sidewalk in front of our house is now a flurry of pastel blue, pink, green, yellow, and salmon. We are running out of room. If it doesn't rain tonight (almost 10:30 and still no sign of the promised storm), our neighbors are going to have a mural in front of their house as well.

His little friend across the street told him the other day that you had to lie down to draw with the chalk so his clothes are also a flurry of pastel confetti. As are mine. Apparently everyone needs to lie down to draw with sidewalk chalk and who am I to argue?

Mother's Curse

Little Man has entered the picky eater stage. Yogurt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner one day. Cereal bars the next. Back to yogurt. Today we had a break through, he decided to eat two slices of bread just to mix it up a bit.

Its a little distressing. The rationale part of my brain tells me he is fine. Unfortunately the rationale part of my brain shrank to less than a millimeter in diameter during pregnancy and has been stuck there every since.

So I did what any irrationally driven women would do. I called my mom.

Her response: "Hmm, I had a child that would only eat hot dogs. Then only hamburgers. Then only grilled cheese. Then only BLTs."

Me: "Ok. Ok. I get it. Little Man is your payback but how do I fix this?"

I think she is still laughing...

9/11

8 years ago today, this country suffered its worst tragedy in current history. The days that followed are blurry for me. I remember the National Guardsmen and women on street corners with DC Metro Police and Capitol Police. I remember the humvee parked on the street corner outside the office with a missile launcher attached to the roof. I remember thinking I had fallen asleep and woke in Israel.

I remember sitting outside my girlfriend's house (I worked in VA but lived on Capitol Hill. I couldn't get home). I sat with neighbors' children, keeping them calm as we waited for word on parents who worked at the Pentagon. I remember breathing a small sigh of relief as my friend's husband and his friends (all commercial pilots) called in.

But one didn't call and because phone lines were swamped that day, we didn't get word of him until 24 hours later. He was scheduled to be the pilot on Flight 77. At the last minute, a pilot with more seniority requested that flight. He had to be in LA for something that day. Chris didn't argue with him. He gave up the flight and took on guilt I am not sure has left.

It took 48 hours to be able to track down friends from the Pentagon and I am lucky to be able to say, I didn't lose anyone on that horrible day.

But as we reflect today, I would like to bring to the forefront something that has gone the wayside, something that was not highly reported about 9/11.

Flight 77 passengers included DC elementary school children who had one a National Geographic contest. So while many mourn mothers, brothers, grandparents, siblings, and friends, please remember that for a group of parents in the DC area, they are mourning the loss of a child.

A friend without kids is a friend indeed...

It is no secret that the back seat of the short bus is reserved for me when it comes to deciphering my son's speech.

Today at the beach with a friend:

Me: Do you want to ride in your stroller or walk?

Little Man (according to my ears): ciaerfuruwiaedkcdanfiawehdcnj umph

My friend: He said I wanna walk.

Me: He did?

My friend (with an odd look on her face): Um, yeah - it was clear as day to me.

And she is the one without kids...

Future MLBer?

A friend came over to watch some college ball today. Little Man brought him the ball so we expected a came of catch to ensue. Mind you Little Man and I had been playing earlier. The kid really needs to learn that catching the ball with your face is not recommended. As Pete went to toss him the ball, Little Man assumed a batter's stance and batted the ball with his arm.

Forget which team he is going to root for. The husband and I are now fighting over which team he'll play for.

Door Knobs

The joys of home ownership. Regardless how thorough inspection is conducted prior to the sale, you always find things after.

So today we finally had the pantry door replaced. The previous owners installed new wall-to-wall carpeting throughout the house; very nice, very thick, very expensive carpeting; however, they did not bring it into any of the closets with the exception of the walk in closet in the master bedroom. The new rug sits considerably higher than the old carpet which is still in all of the closets. All of the closets are bi fold doors on tracks. The tracks are on the old rug. Did I mention the new rug sits considerably higher? You get the picture right?

Soo, the old pantry door ended up completely off the both tracks. We gave up fixing it and managed a prop job that would keep it from tumbling on Little Man. I finally hit my breaking point a few weeks back and not so nicely told my husband he was taking his butt out and buying new doors.

A few screw ups and delays but FINALLY I have a new pantry door that opens and closes properly. (Yes, I stood there for a good 10 minutes doing just that marveling at how easy it would be for me to now access all the crap stored in there. Then I promptly reorganized it to figure out how much of really was crap - surprisingly, not much).

We also had a door installed to the laundry room. Something about exposed insulation and young children.... I'd rather have a door I can close than continue to deal with that stupid gate.

Installer: "Hey, do you guys have a door knob for this door?".

Oops....

On Strike

There comes a time for every parent when they question their abilities to raise a happy, healthy, non-psychopathic child. I'm not worried about the physchopathic part. Yet. But I am at the point (yet again) when I question my decisions. I tell myself it is a phase. He'll grow out of it but honestly, neither my brain nor my heart are listening any more.

I can handle the meltdowns. The banshee screams. The "noooooo" to every question I put forth trying to figure out what he wants. He's tired. He isn't always sure what he wants and he doesn't have a decent vocabulary yet. I understand how frustrating that can be for him. So I take a deep breath; keep my voice calm and I go through every item in the house until he finds something that will make him happy.

What I am having trouble with is the horrible eating and sleeping habits he has developed.

My son used to eat whatever you put in front of him. Now he eats in cycles. It was grapes, cheese, and rice pilaf. It is now yogurt and hot dogs or chicken nuggets. I do a happy dance when I can get a cereal bar in him. Veggies? Bah. Who needs 'em? Actual fruit, and not the supposed real stuff they throw in the yogurt and cereal bars? For losers.
I make dinner in front of him whenever possible and I make sure he sees me take food off our plates, cut it up and put it in his bowl so he knows he is eating the same thing we are. Nope. Not happening. Tonight he sat across from me at the table, screaming his heart out. When I wouldn't give him, he held the bowl out to me with the most plaintive wail. Still no response from me so he turned to daddy.

So he was scooped up into my lap and consoled while Daddy finished the mac n cheese. By that time the only thing to calm him was a trip outside. Calm and happy we brought him back in and tried again. He would eat bread and nothing else.

And his sleep habits? Well this kid still goes upstairs at bedtime with minimal issues. He falls asleep relatively quickly and no fuss.

Until 2 AM. The first night, I stumbled into his room still asleep; plopped the paci back in his mouth; gave him a half-assed pat on the back and stumbled back to my room.

Oh Hell no Mama. Get your ass back here! No half-assed pats for me and just for that - now you have to pick me up.

Which I did. Still mostly asleep and because my brain was not turned on yet, I also promptly brought him back into bed with me. Every other time I've done this, he's decided it is Romper Room time. He surprised me this time by immediately curling up and going back to sleep. It was wonderful.

I can't tell you how many nights ago that was. They are all blurring together. Every night - 2 AM he cries. I get him and bring him back to bed. Last night he moved it up to midnight. Tonight - he didn't even go to sleep before the fussing started. He is asleep in his crib now but I am not holding my breath. In 3 hours my sleep deprived mind will wish this kid was in a bed and not a crib. A bed he could climb out of on his own and make his way unassisted to our bed.

So now I am left wondering if I made a mistake with that as well. How long will this last? Until the tooth (or teeth) we think he is working on finally decide to pop through or when I am unpacking his bags in his dorm room? Oh crap - he's gonna wanna live at home for college isn't he?

Is it too late to call a strike?

Saying Hi Little Man Style

Outside this evening after dinner hanging with our neighbors and their sons. The youngest is only a few months old. While he and I hung out, Little Man would throw me The Look over his shoulder every now and then. To help alleviate some jealousy brewing under the surface I asked Little Man if he would like to come say hi. His eyes lit up and he ran over to me.

And held his hand out to the babe like you would to a dog for him to sniff.

Thomas the Tank Engine

My son's latest obsession. I bought him a Thomas book. The first night I read it to him a good 10 times in a row and he went to sleep clutching the book to him. Last night I think I managed to get away with only 8 readings. Tonight was still 8 readings but I was able to read another book in between twice.

I realized quickly it was time to set a limit so I told him one more time and then off to bed. I'll admit the tempo went up a bit for the last reading. At the last page, I told him to say good night to Thomas.

He leans over and gives Thomas a kiss.

"Can mama have a kiss goodnight?"

"No."

I had to settle for a 2 second snuggle before he pointed to his crib.

*sigh*

Puddle jumping

I've been waiting for the moment when I could teach my son to jump in puddles. The sheer, uninhibited joy of splashing around in a muddy mess can only be properly enjoyed with a child. Unless you want your neighbors to think you have completely lost you mind.

I finally got my chance. Mind you, the kid can't really jump yet. The knees bend, he attempts to launch with little arms flailing in the air but he never actually catches air. So for now, basketball is still out for this kid.

He did splash around and once I taught him how to stamp one foot at a time he had a blast dousing both of us with muddy water.

I relished in his and my extreme joy, had a few flashbacks to my own childhood which caused me to splash just a little harder in order to change his giggles to all-out shrieks of delight and then was brought back to reality.

My son was leaning over splashing the water with his hands and then scooping it up to drink it!

He drinks his bath water soap and all so why wouldn't he go after muddy, germ-infested rain puddles? How long before he goes after a worm?

Dry Erase Markers

Dry erase markers wipe off ceramic tile with ease.



Dry erase markers wipe off a child and his clothes with any but ease especially when you aren't even sure exactly what parts of his body became his easel.



Daddy gave him the marker. Daddy gave him the bath.



Mama hopefully learned from Daddy's mistake.....

Evolution of Speech - Toddler Style

It is so exciting when your toddler surprises you with a new word. Especially when the child prefers Bla blu dohboo for everything. I did a happy dance when I figured out DUP was Yup and DOP was stop (although the tone requires improving on the last one).



My son favors his Bs and Ds so imagine my surprise when he smiled at me today, pointed at his little pearly whites and said, clear as day: "TEETH".



Ask this kid where his nose is and he will most likely point to his head. Ask him where his head is and the hands go up with a shrug. Feet he gets 99.9% of the time. To know teeth - I was not expecting that. I should have captured it on video as it will not happen again for at least five years. Unfortunately I am vehemently opposed to cell phone cameras/video.



I contain my desire to jump, shout, do cartwheels and make everyone in BRU tell me that yes, I have an incredibly smart child. The smartest in the world. Only because the toddler two carts over was eyeing my reaction; practically begging for a smart baby face-off and I think Little Man is still a tad too young for such fierce competition. I'm not positive but the girl may have been in at least one pageant already. Poor boy wouldn't stand a chance since she was near a toy that could double as a baton. Twirling is not his specialty and we weren't close enough to her for him to upstage her with his piece de resistance: swiping another child's toy while snickering AND giving a seriously wickedly evil glare.



Excitement contained, I quietly tell my son he did a great job and mama is oh so proud of him. As we move on to the next aisle, there is a slight kick to my step. I check the mental list for the next article, locate and present the first choice to my son.



He clearly and vehemently stated: "NO"



Not once, not twice, not even three times. Oh no, smartest boy EVAH said NO quiet clearly to every choice offered during our shopping trip with the exception of a Thomas the Engine book (which he is currently sleeping with).



I am now going to angle for the Award for Stating the Obvious:



I am so screwed.



I'm already starting to lose count but I believe we stand at:



Little Man: 3 Parents: 0

That'll learn him

I walked into daycare to another incident report today. Little Man was bitten yet again. This will be the 4th time. After I spoke to the director about the other 3 incidents, everything seemed fine so I was curious as to what happened this time. The previous incidents involved a little boy who would attempt to take a toy from Little Man. When he protested, he was rewarded with a lovely set of teeth marks on his forearm. I felt for the poor thing but understand biting goes with the age.

This time it was a little girl and she was the one playing with the toy. When Connor attempted to steal it from her, she bit him.

Daycare does not release the name of the other child involved. A policy I agree with except in this instance. I really wanted to find out which child it was so I could give her a huge "Atta Girl!"

That'll learn him.

I hope.

Moving' up on the short bus

Little Man will look at me, shake his finger and say some thing undecipherable. Body language and tone suggest he's telling me to wait where I am while he goes does/gets something. Normally it is done quite sweetly and is kind of cute.

Tonight, during our evening walk, he decided to take a detour through someone else's yard. I explained he could not without an invitation from that person. I explained this 3 times, 3 different yards.

At the last one, he turned and did his little point. Except this time he was not sweet. This time he gave me a dirty look and his tone was anything but nice and quite clearly he yelled "DOP!" at me. Short bus mama finally figured out another word. My son told ME to stop. And not in a nice way. I do not like this new word or the accompanying attitude.

He was promptly and very unceremoniously tucked under arm ,toted away and told he would not speak to mama that way. He was very well behaved the rest of the night but it is too early to put a win in my column yet.

Besides, if it isn't "DOP" it will be something else, won't it?

Do I even want to think how many words there are in the English language that he will be able to use against me?

Please? No seriously PLEASE.

This conversation has taken place multiple times over the last several days:

Little Man: (pointing) BAH! ahbla caga

Mama (or dada): Do you want (whatever he is pointing towards).

Little Man with an emphatic nod: Yeah

Mama or Dada: Can you say "please"?

Little Man: Yup (emphatic nod)

Mama or Dada: Will you say please?

Little Man: Yup (emphatic nod)

Mama or Dada: Some time this century?

Little Man: pause for pondering and then emphatic nod and "yup".

Little Man: 2 Parents: 0

"Mama"

"Bah" is the standard moniker used by Little Man in reference to Dad and myself. This morning his cousin is running around the house calling "mama" and "dada" so of course Connor must mimic. My SIL comes back upstairs to the screams of "MAMA" from both her daughter AND MY SON.

I ask Little Man: "Where's mama"?

Little imp points to his cousin.

Child: 1 Mama: 0

Move over Bob Dylan

My son has discovered the joys of music. He has moved past the Stevie Wonder impression to the White Boy Dancing by Walking in a Circle impression. Sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and he's raise him arms above his head right as you sing "way up high". He'll even occasionally attempt the diamond. He can almost hum the ABCs perfectly.

So it is only normal that he would jump to the next step and attempt to sing. Old McDonald is his current favorite.

"EIEI BLEUAH"

The How To and How Not To Entertain a Child... or maybe just How Not To...

Any parent will tell you, babies and toddlers love keys preferably your keys versus the fake plastic keys designed specifically for them. My son is no exception. Each day when I pick him up at daycare and put him in the car, I take my car key off the ring and hand him the rest. He entertains himself on the 3 minute drive home, helps lock the car, helps unlock the front door and occasionally plops down right in the middle of the doorway to continue playing with the keys forcing me to step over him.

So we are all in the car a few days back heading home from a day of errands. Little Man has had enough of the car and is becoming quite vocal with his discontent. In order to pacify him, I hand him my key ring.

The remote to my car has not worked for some years now. The remote on my key ring for my husband's car works perfectly. We were in my husband's car.

So here we are driving down the parkway at a good 55 MPH and the doors start to lock and unlock in an interesting rhythm. For some reason my husband is not as amused as I am so of course I rib him about it.

I'll paraphrase: "Um. Yeah. Real funny. Remote has a trunk button and a panic button. Parkway. 55 MPH. Trunk flies open and the panic button starts wailing and all the lights start flashing."

Taking a toy from my child is akin to taking food from a grizzly. I think I'd prefer the challenge presented by the grizzly. Thankfully this story ends without the above description coming to fruition and an attempt to explain to our lovely county cops why our car suddenly seems possessed.