Went out to dinner tonight, walked around the corner and The Kid was standing in line at the cashier:
Me: What're you doing?
The Kid: I'm going to ask them for some money.
Me: That's not really how it works, dude.
The Kid: Why not?
The Kid: But Grandpa Jay is in heaven!
Me: No, Grandpa Paul is in heaven, Grandpa Jay is in Arkansas.
The Kid: Yeah, and that's not even almost heaven.
The Kid is quite concerned about the Ukrainian/Russian conflict. Husband explained it to her like this, "The Russians came to the Ukrainian's house and took all of their toys."
The Kid has already decided that she will drive her pirate ship up to Russia, call Vladimir Putin, and tell him to stop being so mean. And also, he's not invited to her birthday party. That'll show 'em. Raising a future Secretary of State up in here.
The Kid: Who in Russia are we going to talk to?
Me: Vladimir Putin.
The Kid: I heard Vladimir Putin poops his pants.
The Kid: You know what we need, mama? Cherries and The Hulk undies.
The Kid just crawled over to me and started sucking on my toes. When I asked her what she was doing she said, "Well, I'm just having a really hard time waiting for lunch time."
The Kid will use pretty much any excuse to not take a nap. Today, she "had to go to the bathroom". So, I let her out and she sat on the toilet:
Me: Looks to me like you don't actually have to go, dude.
The Kid: Well, it looks like my bum isn't working.
Went to the bathroom and came out to find The Kid had put a Dorito in The Tater's armpit. When I asked her why she said, "Well, I thought he might be hungry."
The Kid just took a major digger while trying to make herself a trampoline out of couch cushions. She looked at me and said, "That was all part of my plan. More or less."
As I'm in the shower (and The Kid is standing RIGHT OUTSIDE THE CURTAIN....because I am apparently not allowed to take a shower without a guard):
The Kid: What's that noise?
Me: What noise?
The Kid: I hear a man talking in there. I think it's Santa Claus.
Me: I don't think so, dude.
The Kid: I'm going to ring daddy and tell him Santa Claus is in the shower with you.
Because other kids just see their mothers kissing Santa. I take it to a whole new level.
The Kid: Are there mean potties in Russia?
Me: Why would there be mean potties?
The Kid: Because Vladimir Putin is mean and mean people poop in mean potties.
The Kid: Where does the Tooth Fairy come from?
Me: Uh...I don't know, dude.
The Kid: Does she come from heaven?
Me: No, I don't think so.
The Kid: Well if she doesn't come from heaven, where'd she get her wings?
The Kid: I need a balloon.
Me: I'm not buying a balloon, dude.
The Kid: Well, I need it to take outside to let go up into the sky so the birds can enjoy it.
The Kid to The Tater during tummy time, "Tater! Did you hear your mother? ROLL OVER! DO WHAT YOUR MOTHER SAYS."
While helping me make dinner:
The Kid: Is the elf (on the shelf) proud of me for helping?
The Kid: And Santa, too?
Me: Yeah. And Heavenly Father is, too.
The Kid: But Santa really is.
Me: You know Heavenly Father is more important than Santa, right?
The Kid: Yeah, I know. But Santa brings presents and candy.
Last night, after praying for everyone from the Easter Bunny to Santa Claus:
Me: C'mon, dude, wrap it up.
The Kid: Wrap what up?
Me: Finish your prayer.
The Kid: Well, I can't wrap anything up because I have so many things to bless.
Me: Hey, what do you want for lunch? A fish sandwich or a ham sandwich.
The Kid: A ham sandwich. Except instead of bread, can I have nothing? And instead of cheese can I have nothing? And no mayonnaise.
Me: So basically you're telling me you want a piece of ham.
The Kid: Yes. I'm basically saying that.
The Kid: Mama, Lucas says he wants to go to the temple to get married. I don't think I can because I don't have a baby in my belly yet.
Me: No, dude, the baby in your belly comes AFTER you go to the temple.
The Kid: Well, I guess if Lucas has a baby in his belly, we can still go.
The Kid: Will I have to be white for the rest of my life? Because I want to be brown.
The Kid: I can't stay little forever, mama. I just keep growing and growing and I can't even help it.
It would appear that it's time for The Kid and The Tater to bathe separately. She's taken to calling his boy parts his "pancake".
Me: Hey, today is St. Patrick's Day and we wear green to celebrate!
The Kid: We celebrate because we're not green anymore? What day do the Oompah Loompah's celebrate turning orange?
While watching Frozen:
The Kid: This girl sure has a lot of boyfriends.
Me: She does, huh?
The Kid: Yeah. The open door guy, the guy with the moose, and that funny snowman.
Me: No one has a moose. It's a reindeer.
The Kid: One of her boyfriends is Santa Claus?!
The Kid: Mama, do ladybugs have nipples?
Me: Uh...I don't know, dude.
The Kid: Well, if she doesn't have nipples, how does she feed her babies? Maybe she gives them oatmeal I guess.
Gave The Kid cut up strawberries for breakfast this morning:
The Kid: Mama, I'm gonna need you to cut them into circles because I intend to bit them into semi-circles and then into crescents. Like the moon.
Me: Oh, you intend to, huh?
The Kid: I sure do.
The Kid's prayer tonight: Bless that we will remember to feed Tate every night. Bless that daddy will go to work and get money so we can go to the fair and ride the rides...
Me: Dude, go put your undies on.
The Kid: But mama, these underwear are so creepy, they won't let me put them on!
Yesterday during Sacrament Meeting:
Me: It's time to be still and think about Jesus. Why do we think about Jesus?
The Kid: Because he teaches us to fish for men?
Amazingly enough, her lesson in Sunbeams included five fish and a fishing pole...
The Kid is quite interested in how The Tater eats. Last night, Husband wanted to know if she wanted to breastfeed as well (trust a man to go ahead and offer that):
The Kid: No, I'm sorry, I just don't do the boob anymore. Thanks for offering, though.
Got ready to go to the doctor yesterday and then realized I'd left my keys in Husband's car. When he came home to bring them to us, The Kid ran to the door shouting, "WE'RE SAVED, WE'RE SAVED!"
Trying to teach The Kid the primary song for the month, which is "I Stand All Amazed":
The Kid: I don't think we should have supper with Jesus.
Me: Why not?
The Kid: Because he bleeds and dies there.
Me (after some thinking): Ah! No, dude, he doesn't SUPPER, bleed and die. It's SUFFER, bleed, and die.
The Kid: Oh. Can he have a cheese sandwich, then?
The Kid has been holed up with my kindle for over two hours.
I opened her door to check on her:
Me: Hey, you ok?
The Kid: I will just stay in bed. I think I caught a cough in the rain last time. I believe I'm ill.
*she does not have a cough nor is she ill.
There was a purple caddy in the Target parking lot:
Me: Hey, dude, what do you think of that purple car?
The Kid: It's good! It's got swag!
We make our popcorn after the manner of Paul E. Neff: we have a little popcorn with our butter. Today, after the popcorn was gone, The Kid continued to run her hands around the bowl and lick them proclaiming, "I just really like this popcorn juice."
The Kid was the last person seen with the TV remote. Places we've looked for it at her behest: the freezer, the bathtub, under the sink, in the toilet, and inside the cooler under the stairs. Still haven't found it.
The Kid: Do you miss your daddy?
Me: Yes. Everyday.
The Kid: We'll just fly to heaven to see him, ok?
Me: You can't fly to heaven, dude.
The Kid: You can if you have wings. I happen to have some in my closet.
While in the grocery store:
Me: We gotta run home. I have to go to the bathroom.
The Kid: You mean your bladder is full? LOOK OUT, MY MAMA IS GOING TO POTTY IN HER PANTS!
At Christmas, someone may or may not have forgotten to put away the Elf on the Shelf...and then forgot that they forgot for two months. The Kid spotted the elf hiding behind a plant the other day. Needless to say, we're getting a little extra mileage out of the thing. All it takes is, "Dude, the elf is watching!" WINNING!
As a child, it didn't make sense, but as the mother of a three-year-old, "because I said so" is totally a valid reason why one should do whatever their mother just asked them to do.
Husband's wise words after telling him I feel I'm failing as a mother, "Baby, it's like a bull market. You don't know it's bull until a few years after it's over. In a few years, you'll look back and realize you did better than you thought you did."
The greatest blessing of being a mother is seeing life through the eyes of a 3-year-old. It's magic.
One year ago today, after 18 months of crappy fertility intervention, I found out I was expecting a baby. Here we are 12 months later, I'm carting around an approaching-20-pounds Tater and losing my hair in handfuls. He's worth all of it.
I'm now in the middle of a book series about Scotland in the 1740's. The main male character is supposedly quite a hottie. However, after seeing all of the men in Braveheart (bless their unbathed, crusty hearts), I'm having serious doubts that such a man exists.
The good news: The Tater is becoming more and more interested in communicating. The bad news: His "communication" is akin to the screech of a dying moose. He's quite pleased with himself as evidenced by the grin and gurgling giggle he produces after each screech.
The Kid just brought me a piece of paper and instructions for some very simple origami. Apparently she doesn't know that I was schooled and consequently dubbed hopeless in the art of origami by an origami master in the actual country of origami origin.
Yesterday I attended what I thought was going to be a meet-and-greet for local massage therapists at a chiropractic office. I was assured it would be very informal and that I could bring my children. Turns out it was a proper interview with one of the chiropractic practice owners. So, there I was, in the interview with my two children when The Kid shouts at the interviewer, "My mama doesn't do massages anymore because she doesn't have a job!" I'm not holding my breath for a call back.
The Kid just pooped on the patio (because "the bathroom was too far") and then proceeded to roll it out into "cookie dough" with my best rolling pin. That pretty much sums up how my week has been.
#1 sign that my no shampoo experiment is affecting my entire family:
Husband: Did you wash your hair with sulfate, baby?
Me: No. Why? Does it look bad?
Husband: No, it just looks less curly than normal.
The Tater will soon be advanced to "Idaho Spud". He's weighing in at at hefty 18.25 pounds and 26.75 inches. Looks like we're well on our way to a strapping fullback. Or a sumo wrestler.
Is it wrong that I get my jollies by watching The Tater repeatedly smack himself in the forehead as he tries to get his fingers in his mouth?
Yet another sign I'm losing my mind: making Husband's birthday cake, get the eggs out and set them in the bowl so they won't roll off the counter while I get everything else together. Empty everything else into the bowl and start to whisk and think, "Man! Something's awfully hard in there. The butter must have been more solid than I thought." Ten seconds later, I'm pulling still-shelled eggs out from under the flour. Awesome.
I've added a product to my hair care routine that smells just like the air freshener Grandma Beryl used to have in her bathroom. Not sure how I feel about that.
You know who was a big believer in the power of the free throw? Paul E. Neff. He used to take us down to the church every once-in-a-while and we'd shoot 100 free throws each. Then we'd play around-the-world multiple times and dad kept stats on our shooting percentage (he kept stats at every, single high school basketball game I ever played in and then gave them to me afterwards). With all that practice, it's such a shame I never was a very good shooter. Or player for that matter.
Went to bed at 10. Up at 11 with one, 12, 3, and 5:30 with the other. Crawled back into bed at 6:30, thinking I might be able to squeeze in another hour. 6:44, there's someone jumping on the bed. Gave it my kindle and tried to go back to sleep. 7:19 everyone in the house is awake and ready for the day...everyone except me.
Last night's Amazing Race dream: The task was to find a certain model of John Deere tractor somewhere in Ruby Valley and the whole entire time, I was screaming, "My dad would kill me if he knew I was looking for a John Deere!"
The Kid has learned how to let herself out of her bedroom. Now we get a little 3 am visitor who "just needs to use the iPad". Kill me now.
There's a carnie at the Nederland Heritage Festival that has a picture of himself on his belt buckle. I find this a particularly bold and sassy way to celebrate your own awesomeness.
Newest exercise idea: triceps extensions with my 18 pound baby (he loves it). Of course, the reps aren't continuous as I have to stop every 2-3 to wipe the slobber off of his face to make sure it doesn't drop onto mine. WINNING!
The Kid knows the words to Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus. I'm a complete failure as a mother.
We've got a rolling baby A screaming-bloody-murder rolling baby, but a rolling baby none-the-less.
Dear The CIA,
I'm sorry to say that should you wish to offer me a sweet spy job, I'd have to turn you down. After having a growth-spurting 3 month old and a non-stop talking 3 year old, I now understand that if the Russians caught me, I'd never hold up under torture such as sleep or sensory deprivation.
Your (Former) Top Recruit,
Yet another phrase I thought I'd never say, "Dude, stop putting the birthday candle in your undies."