At home on a rainy Sunday
I'm not guilty, Ma! It was Andrew who dumped your last box of tampons down the toilet - not me!
I am a sweet little angelic aura of innocence!!
Monday, September 04, 2006
Me not guilty
At home on a rainy Sunday
I'm not guilty, Ma! It was Andrew who dumped your last box of tampons down the toilet - not me!
I am a sweet little angelic aura of innocence!!
Efficient Pisser
Andrew cracked me up today. I love his personality and I like to think that I've done well training this rugrat. What I didn't take into account was the "efficiency" gene...the same one that got passed down from my Mom to me, and me to my Andrew. My Mom is the most efficient person that I know. She can multi-task like a super star. In fact, if she were a super hero, I'd probably dub her "Efficiency Woman" When we were growing up, she was the one who would be in the middle of chopping onions for dinner, watch a dramatic Chinese soap-opera, come up with dinner menus for the next two weeks, scratch the dog with her left foot, on the phone chit-chatting with a neighbor about tomorrow's Mah-jong game, right ear listening that I practiced piano music for a whole half hour - note for note, and left elbow grating carrots. All the while, she is also scolding my brother, "Ah-Jay-ah! Do your homework!"
My, my. How the cycle of life works. Tonight, Andrew took off all his clothes to take a bath. Usually, he pee's by himeself - I thought I had trained him well in the art of aiming directly in the pot. So, I've come to trust that my son not only pee's with precision laser aiming techniques, but also that he wipes all his dribbles with a nice folded square of toilet paper.
Tonight, he was in a hurry. He really reallllly realllllly wanted to get in the tubby to play with his boats. So I told him to pee first. He stands up on his little 6" plastic stool in front of the toilet. Both the lid and the seat were down, so he proceeds to grab both with his hands - one on each side of the lids. Lift about 4 inches, just enough to clear his weiner. Looks in the mirror at the reflection of me, flashes me a million dollar, "look at me, Ma, I'm pretty clever" smile, thrusts his hips forward and pisses directly in the pot between that ittty bitty oh-so-tiny 4" crack (all while still holding both lids with both hands). Spies his brother taking his toys, tells his brother, "No Nathan, thats my boat!!!" Finishes pissing. Wiggles just a bit to get the last dribbles in the pot. In one fluid motion, lowers the lid back down 4 inches with one hand, the other hand reaches over to flush the toilet, and steps down from the stool. Runs to the tub.
TA-DA!!!
Now, that is a model of efficiency. One day, highly paid consultants will study this technique and write white-papers and best practice studies complete with elaborate work-flow diagrams. Maybe we should trademark it now.
Or....it could just be a sign of laziness. Crap. I already feel sorry for his future wife.
BUT....what if his hand accidently slips, or even more likely he has a nagging itch on his butt that he instinctively reaches for. THE LID WILL DROP DIRECTLY ON HIS WEINER. This will cause thousands in medical bills, not to mention years of psycho-therapy. Crap. Now I feel sorry for all of us.
My, my. How the cycle of life works. Tonight, Andrew took off all his clothes to take a bath. Usually, he pee's by himeself - I thought I had trained him well in the art of aiming directly in the pot. So, I've come to trust that my son not only pee's with precision laser aiming techniques, but also that he wipes all his dribbles with a nice folded square of toilet paper.
Tonight, he was in a hurry. He really reallllly realllllly wanted to get in the tubby to play with his boats. So I told him to pee first. He stands up on his little 6" plastic stool in front of the toilet. Both the lid and the seat were down, so he proceeds to grab both with his hands - one on each side of the lids. Lift about 4 inches, just enough to clear his weiner. Looks in the mirror at the reflection of me, flashes me a million dollar, "look at me, Ma, I'm pretty clever" smile, thrusts his hips forward and pisses directly in the pot between that ittty bitty oh-so-tiny 4" crack (all while still holding both lids with both hands). Spies his brother taking his toys, tells his brother, "No Nathan, thats my boat!!!" Finishes pissing. Wiggles just a bit to get the last dribbles in the pot. In one fluid motion, lowers the lid back down 4 inches with one hand, the other hand reaches over to flush the toilet, and steps down from the stool. Runs to the tub.
TA-DA!!!
Now, that is a model of efficiency. One day, highly paid consultants will study this technique and write white-papers and best practice studies complete with elaborate work-flow diagrams. Maybe we should trademark it now.
Or....it could just be a sign of laziness. Crap. I already feel sorry for his future wife.
BUT....what if his hand accidently slips, or even more likely he has a nagging itch on his butt that he instinctively reaches for. THE LID WILL DROP DIRECTLY ON HIS WEINER. This will cause thousands in medical bills, not to mention years of psycho-therapy. Crap. Now I feel sorry for all of us.
Tits
Nathan is 20 months old. He is the MASTER of one-word communication. Usually, this word is
"No."
This morning, I plucked Nathan from his crib and as I was balancing him on my left hip, he turned to me and said his usual super-low-deep-throaty-i-just-woke-up voice,
"Hi."
Then, he pointed to my boob, and very clearly, slowly, calmly, in his same super-low-deep-throaty-i-just-woke-up voice said,
"Tits."
(jaw dropping to floor)
What the hell are they teaching my kid at school????? He's 1 year old, for God's sake! I think I need to have a parent-teacher conference to discuss their so-called award-winning curriculum.
"No."
This morning, I plucked Nathan from his crib and as I was balancing him on my left hip, he turned to me and said his usual super-low-deep-throaty-i-just-woke-up voice,
"Hi."
Then, he pointed to my boob, and very clearly, slowly, calmly, in his same super-low-deep-throaty-i-just-woke-up voice said,
"Tits."
(jaw dropping to floor)
What the hell are they teaching my kid at school????? He's 1 year old, for God's sake! I think I need to have a parent-teacher conference to discuss their so-called award-winning curriculum.
But you're my BEST FRIEEEEEENNNNNDDD!
uuuuggggghhhhh!!!!
Sometimes when Andrew gets in trouble or doesn't listen, I get so frustrated. Usually, my choice of ammo is "go to your room and sit in time out." Andrew used to immediately go run into his room. He'd cry cry cry, and if sufficient time has passed, he'd suddenly stop, look to see if he had an audience. If not, he'd move closer to where he thought I would be, and start his whole routine all over again - on his elbows and knees, forehead to the ground, cry pathetically and then, again, stop and look up to check to see if he had an audience.
This cycle usually would go on for oh, about 10 minutes or so, until he got tired of tracking me down all over the house, each time starting his routine from scratch. Then, he'd come over and apologize.
That used to work....until he started being able to have intelligent conversation.
One day, he refused to pick up his toys. I asked 4 tmes, and finally he said "NO MOMMY! I don't want to!"
So...I did what I had to do, "Andrew Jacob Hair...you go to your room right now!"
"No! No! No!"
"I'm going to count to three....1...... 2...... 2.5.... 2.75...... 2.98.....3! Ok mister. you are in BIG BIG trouble. Mommy is mad! No more TV!"
He then looks at me...with those big, brown eyes....
"Mommy.....you're my best friend!"
"Andrew, you didn't listen to me. You need to go time out."
Now, his lips are trembling....one hand gently tugging at my skirt....with a hurt look on his face like he just lost his favorite toy...insert dramatic pause....
"But Mommmmmmeeeeeeeee....I said you are my BEST FRIEEEEEEEENNNDDDDD!!!!!!!!"
I don't know if this whole lip trembling thing is an act or not. Or, if they teach that at his day care, which is also a church. But I seriously doubt that carefully scripted, manipulative guilt trips are part of the Baptist religion or pre-K curriculum.
Sometimes when Andrew gets in trouble or doesn't listen, I get so frustrated. Usually, my choice of ammo is "go to your room and sit in time out." Andrew used to immediately go run into his room. He'd cry cry cry, and if sufficient time has passed, he'd suddenly stop, look to see if he had an audience. If not, he'd move closer to where he thought I would be, and start his whole routine all over again - on his elbows and knees, forehead to the ground, cry pathetically and then, again, stop and look up to check to see if he had an audience.
This cycle usually would go on for oh, about 10 minutes or so, until he got tired of tracking me down all over the house, each time starting his routine from scratch. Then, he'd come over and apologize.
That used to work....until he started being able to have intelligent conversation.
One day, he refused to pick up his toys. I asked 4 tmes, and finally he said "NO MOMMY! I don't want to!"
So...I did what I had to do, "Andrew Jacob Hair...you go to your room right now!"
"No! No! No!"
"I'm going to count to three....1...... 2...... 2.5.... 2.75...... 2.98.....3! Ok mister. you are in BIG BIG trouble. Mommy is mad! No more TV!"
He then looks at me...with those big, brown eyes....
"Mommy.....you're my best friend!"
"Andrew, you didn't listen to me. You need to go time out."
Now, his lips are trembling....one hand gently tugging at my skirt....with a hurt look on his face like he just lost his favorite toy...insert dramatic pause....
"But Mommmmmmeeeeeeeee....I said you are my BEST FRIEEEEEEEENNNDDDDD!!!!!!!!"
I don't know if this whole lip trembling thing is an act or not. Or, if they teach that at his day care, which is also a church. But I seriously doubt that carefully scripted, manipulative guilt trips are part of the Baptist religion or pre-K curriculum.
My mouth is 5 grapes big!
Slideshow
Barefoot fireman meets naked handyman
I don't even think I need to write an entry about this....its self explanatory.
To see the pictures bigger, click here
To see the pictures bigger, click here
No fashion sense
This worries me. Both kids just woke up. Nathan's hair is so big I think he's hidden a few pop-tarts in there. Andrew decided that his feet were cold. So he went into his room by himself, picked out RED RED socks and put them on....and pulled them ALL THE WAY UP. Kinda like how old people wear shorts and then black dress socks that are pulled all the way up to their crotch. Which makes me wonder. Why do they do that? Do they think the socks hold their saggy skin up in some way? The extra support that 70% polyester and 30% cotton gives is really not all that powerful. Maybe spandex...but come on, dress socks?
Is Andrew's red red socks pulled way way up high a sign of his future fashion instincts? Obviously that didn't come from my side of the family! ;-)
Need....more....brain....cells
Ever since I gave birth 3 loooong years ago, I started losing brain cells. Not just a few cells here and there from pushing so damn hard getting these two kids out in one piece, but I'm talking about losing massive clumps from the part of my brain that controls memory, housecleaning and obeying traffic signals.
So, last week I went to the vitamin shop next door to our shop. After walking through just 2 isles, the stench of "healthy" really got to me (you know what I'm talking about....vitamins STINK). I came out with a bottle of Focus Factor. I've seen the ads on TV, magazines, radio, newspapers....its supposed to improve your memory and...(duh!)...focus. Plus my friend, Soupie, said it worked for him...and I trust him because he's a doctor.
What the hell, maybe sanity can come in a $30 bottle.
The part that the rich makers of Focus Factor didn't take into account of is this: I keep forgetting to take the stinkin' pills every day. So, no, it doesn't work at ALL. Maybe they should package a reminder service with the pills. It would be really swell to get friendly reminder phone call every morning to take the stupid pills. Kind of like those courtesy calls you get from your hotel to wake-your-ass-up-and-check-out....pleeeeeeezzzzzz.
I'm ditching the pills.
So, last week I went to the vitamin shop next door to our shop. After walking through just 2 isles, the stench of "healthy" really got to me (you know what I'm talking about....vitamins STINK). I came out with a bottle of Focus Factor. I've seen the ads on TV, magazines, radio, newspapers....its supposed to improve your memory and...(duh!)...focus. Plus my friend, Soupie, said it worked for him...and I trust him because he's a doctor.
What the hell, maybe sanity can come in a $30 bottle.
The part that the rich makers of Focus Factor didn't take into account of is this: I keep forgetting to take the stinkin' pills every day. So, no, it doesn't work at ALL. Maybe they should package a reminder service with the pills. It would be really swell to get friendly reminder phone call every morning to take the stupid pills. Kind of like those courtesy calls you get from your hotel to wake-your-ass-up-and-check-out....pleeeeeeezzzzzz.
I'm ditching the pills.
Dear boys....
Dear boys,
Wow, what a month. Both of you have graduated from your class and moved to the next one. When I dropped you off the "first" day of school - I teared up thinking how fast you boys are growing. And just yesterday, Dad and I were in the car and he said "Can you believe we've lived here for almost 4 years?" Holy cow. We aren't newlyweds anymore! You boys aren't babies anymore. We are real, responsible parents of 2 kids! Who knew this day would come when I would embrace the identity of "MOT" Mother of Two. I'm getting old. Though thank goodness PoPo doesn't have very many gray hairs and she still looks 40-ish. Maybe she dyes the hair, but still, she looks good for being a Grand-ma!
Nathan you can name every single stinkin' train in your Thomas the Tank Engine book. You, a little 1 year old, who only knows a small handful of words such as "No! Mine!" can identify every train. Every single night we read this same book.
Every. Single. Night.
While I am SO proud of you, we need to get some variety in your nightly book ritual. There are only so many times I can look at cartoon trains with awkward, unanimated faces before I go absolutely nuts. How about classics like Holly Hobby? Hello Kitty? Can we vary the car/train/airplane/dump truck thing with splashes of more interesting subjects that would satisfy my inner desire to have a little girl? Your Dad would kill me.
Your favorite Thomas the Train characters:
"Heli-cocker" for Helicopter (Andrew used to say "heli-ta-ta"
"To-nas" for Thomas
"Tob-ee" for Toby
"Mur-na" for Murdoch
"Cran-o" for Crane
"Train-o" for Train
Somehow, you've gotten into the habit of adding "o" to end of words that don't need it. Just fyi, there is no part of you that is Spanish.
Just the other night you said "Ni-Ni Pa-Pa" (Night Night PaPa) I was so proud of you. You also love it when I hold you tight and say "baby baby baby." Lately, when I put you down in your crib, you want me to stay in the room until you fall asleep. Every time it gets too quiet for too long, you'll pop your head up, glance to make sure that Mommy is still in the room...and if I'm not...you jump up and scream LOUD! Maybe I should just buy one of those life sized blow up dolls, put a wig on it and sit it on the chair. We could call her "Mini-Ma."
Another cute thing you say is when Andrew does something bad to you, you say with your finger wagging "No No. Nee-Ni!" (be nice)
Andrew- oh my. You are such a big boy now! It amazes me all the new words, expressions and sentence structures you come home with everyday!
Your latest thing:
"Mommy, I'm browing (growing). My heads browing, my eye brows browing, my feet browing, my knees browing, my belly browing, my pee-pee browing...my... "
WHOA. Out of all possible body parts that you know....you specifically call out your pee-pee! Thats too cute.
Andrew, the drooling, barefoot firefighter (thank you Uncle Jay!)
Your 3rd birthday was fun! We went to G.Wiz the science museum. They had a special dinosaur exhibit. You got to push lots of buttons and watch the dinos animate. Mommy thought to be clever with a dinosaur theme, and got green balloons, little tiny plastic dinosaurs and stuck the dinos in the balloons, blew them up so that they were "dino eggs". I let you guys sit on the balloons and pop them and "hatch" the plastic dinos.
Well, clever Ma Ma wasn't clever enough to think about how those hard plastic dinos would hurt baby bums once you guys sat, jumped HARD on those balloons to pop them, and land with a "THUMP" on top of a spiny dino. OUCH! There's nothing like spiny dino poking your butt. And yes, all you kids did look a little ridiculous sitting on the balloons as if giving birth to a 2-inch plastic dinosaur.
Also, I think we traumatized baby Joshua Holler. Right after we popped the dino eggs, we sang happy birthday.
SO...now, Joshua associates loud balloon popping (about 20 of them) with singing happy birthday. Well, everytime anyone sings happy birthday now, Joshua screams in terror, frantically looking to hide. Joshua's daddy teases! He says to us "Look, watch what happens to Joshua when we sing."
"Joshua.....happy birt.."
"WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
"hahahaha!"
Thats mean! But hopefully he'll get over it. Because I would hate to be the cause of tens of thousands of dollars of therapy in 10 years.
Here are pictures from your birthday parties! Click here
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