Saturday Morning Cartoons

Now that we have TV again, this is the crap the kids watch?

Caitlynn is addicted to watching old cartoons on Boomerang (owned by Cartoon Network). So far we have watched:

• The Smurfs
• The Banana Splits
  
• The Justice League (with the C list superheroes)
  
• Yogi Bear
  
• The Flintstones
  
• Richie Rich
  
• The Pink Panther (cartoon)
  
• Atom Ant Show
• Amazing Chan Clan
• Perils of Penelope Pitstop
  
• Captain Caveman (oh you know this one, say it --
   "Captain CAAAAVEMAAAAAN")
  
• Huckleberry Hound Show
• Hong Kong Phooey
  
• Thundaar
  
• Captain Planet
• Scooby Doo
  

Trip down memory lane, anyone? I forgot how bad some of these cartoons were. Bad. Very bad.

Boomerang also shows some good cartoons...

• Duck Dodgers
  
• Tom and Jerry
  
• Dexter's Laboratory
• Powerpuff Girls
  
• Johnny Bravo
  

However, Caitlynn doesn't want to watch the good cartoons, except for Tom and Jerry. No, the worse they are, the more likely she is to watch.

Oh and in case you are worried that I let her watch too much TV... Little Miss Caitlynn is a huge bookworm. She reads all the time. She has a better taste in books than she does in cartoons. 

Ok and I admit that I watched some of the bad cartoons. Fine. I watched nearly all of them and yes, even enjoyed it. The Smurfs are rather addictive to watch. Or maybe it's the theme song. It just sticks in your head. Like right now. I know you hear it... sing along with me...

I guess Caitlynn is learning early on what is good and what is bad, TV-wise. I hope. 

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Baby Mama

I realize some of my readers are men. That's ok. In fact, it actually pleases me that men read my blog. I have a weird sense of humor. I make Joe laugh but I'm not sure if it's because we're married. It was in our vows -- "I shall always laugh at your lame jokes." He said it. I didn't. I'm not obligated... Moving on. Today's post is for the moms in the crowd. Come forward. Don't be shy. We're all friends here. I have a big question for the Moms around here:

When faced with sitting in a room with other moms, why do we look around and start talking about our birthing stories?

 
I'm guilty of this and I don't know why I join these conversations. This is funny because if you ever met me you would notice that I'm reserved and a bit shy. That is until I have a few drinks and then I'm spilling all sorts of secrets. Kidding (I think). 

Don’t worry, I’m not going to talk about my birthing stories. I had a couple of doozies though, especially Caitlynn’s but I’ll spare you the details.

Did I mention I was hooked up to an IV the whole time? I had an infection. And toxicity. Oh and Tom Hanks was there. Sort of. 

And Miles weighed 10 pounds 12 ounces. I deserve a gold medal for that. Vaginal birth. Epidural didn’t help. I felt everything. And labor was only 10 minutes. Craziness. 

Darn it! There I go again trying to bring you into the conversation. So, are you sitting there thinking about what you went through? Let me guess…36 hours of labor. Husband freaking out more than you. Incompetent doctors. 18 pound baby! 

That's amazing. Totally amazing. And your kids look normal. Wow. 

I got worried after seeing Caitlynn for the first time. I wondered if she would always look like an alien. 

But why do we have to compare birthing stories? We all went through something significant. It was painful, no matter how big the child. My mom told me I was born without a doctor but with a rookie nurse. That’s even better. Thanks, Mom. Oh – you were born in the back of a car with Lassie helping deliver you. Um. Well. That’s better than my story. I'll quit telling stories now.

I blame TLC for this particular sickness. Ever seen the show “A Baby Story?” I have and I’m so glad I never wanted my labors to be televised. Yikes. I tried watching it with Joe and he kept giving me the look – Why in the hell are we watching this?

I couldn’t stop watching it. I just had to see how it ended. The baby was born! Hallelujah! Roll out the red carpet! We have a baby in da house! Oh yeah! Baby born! Oh yeah! It’s your birthday!

Instead of sniffling over seeing the parents' happiness and joy, I wanted to start shouting – SHE DID IT!!! It’s not so much a sad show but one of jubilation because . . .this new mother has just one-upped us all. She gave birth on television. She told her story to everyone. She sits among other young mothers and says, “Oh yeah? Well, I gave birth on TLC’s A Baby Story. You wanna see my experience? I show ya. I have tapes in the car.”

She has bragging rights.

Miles born the size of a linebacker?

Ha. That’s nothing.

TLC aired the awe-inspiring birth and they show reruns...

I knew I should have allowed the Moms Gone Wild crew in the delivery room.

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Mental Break

I know nothing.

I see nothing.

I hear nothing. 

Time for me to take a little break from this blog. See you in a couple of days.

Got too much crap to do around the house. Miles is out of clean undies. 

Now is not the time for regressing. 

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Award

A Let's be Friends Award. 

Bestowed upon me and my blog by AV, the author of many great blogs including, Things that Fizz. Don't forget to link back to the award donor.

These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.

In light of this award (I got it yesterday, but have been really busy lately), I decided to write an acceptance speech but Miles erased it. Dang it...

Well...

I would like to thank my kids for being a constant source of material. I hope you don't hurt me when you get older for publishing your antics online. 

Thanks!!

Who are my picks? Well... it just seems so silly having to choose... and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings... and I'm supposed to pick eight? How about two (I just hate following the rules)? These are two bloggers that I know personally who were my first readers of this blog and they each started their own. 

Stormy

Becca

And while I'm at it -- 

I'd like to send out a special thanks to all of you who are faithful readers of my little blog. It means something to me that y'all want to read what I have to say, even if it is about Miles' unwillingness to poop in the toilet... Everyone deserves this award... 

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You were born when?

Caitlynn is a bit fascinated with ages right now. I was like this at her age. I remember standing at my grandma's house looking at old pictures and asking who the children were. 

"Who's that, Grandma?"

"Well, that's your mommy."

"No it isn't!"

I was confused. I didn't realize that my mom was once a little girl and I was greatly disappointed that she wasn't born an adult or that Grandma wasn't always so "old." As I stared flipping through old photos, I noticed that everyone was once young and I became very interested in my family. I guess that's a good thing, right?

So, now I have Caitlynn and I'm doing my best to educate her on understanding age and years. She knows she was born in 2001 and she knows my age. She asked me the other day, "You were born in the 1900's?" She asked in almost horror that I might be "old." Not as old as daddy (he's 6 years my senior) but old enough to be born in the 1900's. 

To go along with this obsession with ages, Caitlynn has also started collecting what she calls antiques. We have many antiques in our little house, but the collection Caitlynn has amassed is a bit strange. Two things in her collection are actual antiques: a little baby blanket made by my great-grandmother and a perfume bottle. The other stuff? According to Caitlynn, anything from the 1900's (in her mind this is anything between 1970 and 1999) can be considered antiques: a picture of Joe from when he was in grade school, a picture of my cat (RIP Jerry) when she was just a year old, and a purse that my grandma made (sometime during the 90s). 

What am I supposed to think here? 

Joe is an antique and I'm almost one.

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Here's one for ya...

Deep Thoughts by Miles Gaston:

Sometimes I go pee pee.

I have nothing else to add. 

Wow. Such insight for a toddler.

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Videos

We have nice computers and we will probably get another nice computer soon. However, when it comes to having a great TV or a camcorder, we fall drastically short. We have a crappy old TV and the only video equipment we have is on our cell phones. We have plans to update the TV but I'm one of those people that doesn't want to spend $1000 on a television. I'd rather buy a computer with that money. So, Joe's 40-inch LCD Sony TV will have to wait. Sorry, babe.

Recently, Caitlynn discovered the video recording device on my cell phone. Ever since, she's been making short videos of her and Miles. After combing through a bunch of 30 second shorts of Caitlynn asking Miles to say something and him blurting out random words like "car," "couch," "green," (sounds like $25,000 Pyramid to me), I found a little video that made me laugh. Caitlynn recorded Miles "reading" the paper. I apologize that the video is of such poor quality. It's a cell phone, not a Sony camcorder. We plan on purchasing a nicer camcorder in the future. For now, Caitlynn can play with my phone. 

There isn't much audio except for Caitlynn giggling and Miles pointing to a picture and saying, "Girl." 

Have a good weekend!

I'm sorry we're late

I'm sorry we're late. You see, we are a family now, which means that the German heritage I'm so proud of, is pretty much non-existent. I used to be on time to functions, parties, work, church, and family gatherings. I seem to have lost track of time in between searching for my keys, Miles' shoes, and a pair of matching socks for Caitlynn. Why do these things seem to take hours?

I also used to wear a watch and check it regularly, like in church when the pastor would look out into the congregation. I was the one staring directly at my wrist to give him the hint that it's time to wrap up. I should have been a TV producer, especially at award shows when winners seem to babble on thanking everyone who ever said hello to them. Just once I'd like to win an award where I was placed on a huge stage in front of a bunch of famous people and to say thanks in 30 different languages. 

Back to us being late...

I would like to place all the blame on the kids but that wouldn't be fair. They are slow to get ready, but I am embarrassed to say that it's mostly my fault. I know, it would so much funnier if I came up with a story about the traffic jam we encountered on the way to Miles' room or the massive 1000 car pile up in front of the door. Yeah, it's always fun to put all the blame on the kids, like blaming the dog for farting (you know you did it -- just own up to it already). 

Alas, I am the culprit for our lateness. I don't really have an excuse. Sometimes I'm running back and forth between the house and the car, yelling "Oh wait! One more thing." Other times I realize that the kids are ready to go but I'm not. I can't go out in public with curlers in my hair. Not a good look for anyone even Angelina Jolie. So, then I'm racing around my bedroom looking for clothes that are somewhat presentable to wear, i.e., somewhat clean with only one or two stains (just say they're polka dots). However, there are other times that the kids have gotten themselves dressed and they are waiting for me to stop blogging or writing. They're the ones standing at the door yelling, "Come on, Mama! We need to go! Now!"

I guess, consider this both as an apology and a warning. We will be late again and are sorry to inconveniencing you in the past. I can't promise it won't happen again. I know myself. Some day, perhaps when the kids are grown up and out of the house, I can get back on track.  Maybe. 

Oh forget it. I'll be late and just deal with it. Ok?

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Meme: I love B

Thanks Hektiklyfe...

Here I am doing a Meme in honor of the letter B. 

I guess the official rules are, if I tag you, then you ask me to assign you a letter. But I've decided, to change it up a bit. I hate following the rules. If I tag you, then you have to do the letter Q. Q doesn't get enough love. So go on... Q it up for me. 10 things. 

I have B. Here goes nothing.

1. Bagels: a favorite breakfast food here; toasted in a skillet with butter (not in a toaster)
   
2. Baseball: I *heart* baseball. Go Tribe!
3. Bread: Makes my home smell oh-so good when I bake Rosemary Parmesan Bread
   
4. Butter: For the bread, of course
   
5. Brown: my hair and eye color
   
6. Black: I wear too much of this color
   
7. Brick oven: what I want built in my dream home
   
8. Books: I read as much as the kids allow me which isn't as often as I would like
   
9. Buttsmack -- favorite thing to call my husband or anyone that irks me 
   
10. Brownies -- I was a Brownie at one time long ago. One of my favorite baked goods.

Instead of tagging a bunch of people, I am only tagging one person. You have the letter Q. Get to it...

Stormy

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Guest Blogger

Today, I'm guest blogging at Eazy Cheezy... 

Check it out if you get a chance. Brian at Eazy Cheezy has a good blog with tons of great information. 

See you tomorrow. 

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Rebuttal

Michael, a blogger I follow, is very gifted. Each time I read his posts, I have to remind myself that he's only 17. I wish I had this much insight at that age. 

So today on one of his blogs, Do You Hate it Too, Michael wrote a post about the annoying antics of kids who yell "Mommy!" in public and their mothers who do nothing to quiet their children.

Since I've been confrontational lately (it isn't you, it's me; going through the 30s angst, I guess), I felt the need to rebut his post. Here's my side of the story, as a mother of two children who can be found yelling for me in public.

Kids can be the most annoying little creatures on the face of the earth. Mosquitoes are first. Toddlers are second. (Oh -- I love my kids and so do you BUT they are annoying. Admit it.) Every day the chorus I hear is a combination of:

"Mama, I want..."

"Mama, I need..."

"Mama, can you..."

"MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!!!!!!! MAAAAAAMMMMAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!"

(my kids do not call me Mommy)

Hearing this day in and day out gets under parents' skin, especially mothers of more than one child (so why would you want to have 5, 8, or 10 children is beyond me). There are days that I am forced to take my two little kids with me to the store. By forced, I mean, I will be put in jail if I leave them home alone. I don't know about you, but I don't want to go to jail. We lost all of our "get of jail free" cards. 

What does this mean to you, the other shoppers? Well, you'll have to suffer along with me when my kids decide that they really, really want the Spongebob game that costs $20. Sure, $20 isn't that much money but it is when you are feeding a family of four and you actually budget your money. There my kids will be screaming and crying because Mommy (Mama) Dearest won't buy them what they want. As I walk to the next isle or section of the store you will hear them yelling after me: "MAAAAAMMMMMAAAAA!!!!!" 

I'm doing my best not to raise spoiled children. So no, I won't quiet their cries of misery by buying them a stupid game that they most likely will only play once. They'll survive without it, whether they know it or not. 

I could do without the looks and stares of the single people (and the opinionated Supermommies) as I gladly ignore and tune out my children. Ignoring their behavior is the only thing that will make it stop. 

I've been single and childless. I know what it's like to stand in Target and see a child freaking out over a toy that his mommy won't buy him. I've given her "the look." I thought bad things about her as I walked to another part of the store. I vowed my children would never act that way. Ha. 

If you are one of these folks that is staring me down in a store as Miles throws a temper tantrum over a Spiderman toy that I refuse to buy him, just remember that you were a child once and you did the same thing to your mother. You pestered, pleaded, begged, and stomped your feet over something as insignificant as a Matchbox car. Call your mother right now and apologize for your rude behavior. 

The next time you see such a spectacle, try to be helpful by distracting the screaming child by making a face, doing a dance, or better yet, just walk away to another part of the store. The show will be over soon enough.

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Expeditions Gone Wild

Explorers are baffled by an odd set of booby traps (boody traps? No, booby traps) that were recently discovered while searching for the Lost Room of Caitlynn and Miles. 

As they traveled the dark, smelly caverns of the Cave of Wonders on their route to the Lost Room, they came across what can only be described as "a series of rope tied to chairs." Chief explorer, Dr. Mama Knows Best, strongly cautioned her crew as they made their way further into the cave. 

"Watch out for boody traps?"

"Booby traps."

"Yes. Booby traps. As they seem to be everywhere. See -- right there. It's an intricate series of jump rope tied with great care to chairs in order to trip us up. Obviously, they don't want us near the Lost Room. It only makes me more curious. Watch where you step."

Just then a crew member accidentally tripped on the trap sending forth an avalanche of teddy bears crashing down on top of him.

"Oh no! Are you all right?" 

The crew member came out of the incident unharmed from the falling teddy bears. He was able to continue on the journey, adding quite affirmatively, "I wouldn't miss this for the world. There is something truly great in that room. I can feel it."

The closer they got to the room, the stranger the traps became. First they had to forage their way through socks. It seems quite odd that the socks were not dirty and even had mates.  Then they had to climb over mounds of Lego's, even having to complete a tower in order to pass through. The expedition crew was quick to acknowledge the weirdness that possesses the room.

At last they entered the room of Caitlynn and Miles. Was it what they expected?

"Oh -- it's so much more!" Exclaimed an excited Dr. Mama Knows Best, trying her best to control her emotions. Holding steadfast to her desire to remain cool under pressure, she merely contained her surprise revelation to:

"They actually cleaned the room. I had no idea it could..." trying to hold back tears "look so nice."

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And the award goes to...

The Gonzo Award is given out each year to the person (or being) that demonstrates the most weirdness. Among weirdos, this award is highly coveted and sought after. 

The nominees for this year's Gonzo Award are:

Caitlynn: For announcing she is going to her "office" each time she enters the bathroom

Joe: For humping a lamp post in the city of Chicago. (The producers of this award show would like to apologize to any person who witnessed this act. We are deeply sorry if you find yourselves seeking "help" after this incident.)

Dexter, the Cat: for entering the bathtub after each shower (and nearly getting in during the shower)

Miles: for constantly making odd noises while playing Ben 10 Alien Force games online

Marcy: For...well...just always being weird every day. (She's been nominated for this award several times. Will this be her year?)

And the 2009 Gonzo Award goes to (drumroll please ... thanks, Larry Mullen ... ok -- you can stop now)

Dexter the Cat

We all know humans are weird (yes, even you, trust me), but for a cat not be afraid of water is just plain bizarre, not normal behavior. It's weird.

Dexter takes the stage to accept his award:

Oh my this is such a great honor to be nominated with all these folks. Marcy, you are such an inspiration. Your weirdness has rubbed off and I thank you. Wow...I'm so nervous...who else...composure, Dexter... Ok -- I would like to thank the academy of weirdos, all those who voted for me, and Gonzo -- you're the ... um, I'm not quite sure what you are, but I do know you're weird and that's awesome! But most especially, I would like to thank my family for putting up with my constant pestering at 3:00 in the morning, attacking their feet, and my insistence that the blinds must be up during the day so I can view the outside world. You're the best!

Thank you!!

This ends our award broadcast. 

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He's a boy!

Miles has long hair for a boy. I think he's cute, but I'm biased. I'm his Mama. 

Even though he may wear Caitlynn's clothes like her pink swimsuit (in the privacy of our home, I might add) and he does have purple mittens (he hates his black mittens), he is very much a boy who wears Transformer shoes that light up, boyish t-shirts decorated with boyish themes, and a blue and black winter coat. 

Yes, his hair is long but how can people mistake him for a girl? This has happened twice in the past week. Twice. 

The first time, I just let it slide. I figured, "Oh, she'll figure it out. Eventually." The second time threw me for a loop. Seriously? What about his outfit screams "girl?" He has on red sweatpants and a Nascar shirt. Totally girlie, I know. 

It's the hair. Maybe it's time I forced Miles to sit and get his hair chopped off. He's had it short before but it was such a pain that we stopped having it cut. I can only take holding down a screaming child so much. Plus he's really strong and I don't like being kicked in the gut. I trim it but he only allows me about 2 seconds to get it done. 

He may need sedated. Tranquilizers? Brandy? 

Or people just need to pay closer attention.

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My first bike

Why does it always seem I find out about good blogs after they've been writing for what seems like an eternity? I recently started following Michelle Mitchell's blog Scribbit. She writes about many things pertaining to parenting, crafts, cooking and she even posts writing contests. This month's is about your first bicycle and this is a little story about mine. You can read more about the contest here. 

My first bike...

was a girlie bike as opposed to the bikes my older brothers, Tom and Mike, rode. Mike had a bike with a huge maroon banana seat and wire baskets on the back for carrying newspapers. He made me ride in the baskets on the way to the swimming pool. I hated it. In fact, I wasn't crazy about riding anywhere with Mike, not even on Grandma's tandem bike (and I don't dare talk about his driving -- Yikes!). I swear he was trying to kill me (or just make me cry, whichever). Tom, however, had a 10-speed. That was really cool because they go fast (and not to mention I idolized my oldest brother; anything he did was pure awesomeness).  

Like I said, mine was a girlie bike, complete with a purple seat, plastic ribbon on the handles, and a basket on the front for my favorite teddy bear to sit in. I was five when I first got it. Training wheels were necessary due to my lack of natural coordination. I wonder, did Lance Armstrong use training wheels or was he a "natural?" I bet he started riding at the age of one year (kind of like Mozart writing a symphony at the age of four). Gifted, unlike me. 

I recall the day I wanted the training wheels removed. It was the year I turned six (going on 18 because of my superior maturity level). I felt compelled to ride my bike without the assistance of training wheels and embarked on a quest to have them removed. Standing in the garage on a breezy summer day, I sought out my eldest brother, Tom and politely asked him (begged, pleaded, stomped my foot at) to take off the training wheels. As I remember the day so vividly in my mind, I am reminded of our conversation (little sister to big brother):

"Pleeeeease take the wheels off. Pleeeeeeeeeease."

"No. You don't know how to ride."

"Yes I can! Yes! I! Can!"

"No, you can't. You'll get hurt."

"I'm telling Mom. MOM!!!!"

I won (of course). Mom sided with me and ordered (asked nicely) Tom to remove the training wheels. There I was, basking in glory of my victory (bright shining sun) realizing that I had to actually ride the bike. The training wheels sat pushed to the side in our dingy garage and I stood staring at my bike. I had to rely on ... my gracefulness (awkwardness). 

If anything, I'm stubborn, so I set out to teach myself how to ride. Off to the curb I went, dragging my frilly, girlie bike with me. I was determined to figure this out one way or another. If my brother, Mike, who trips up and falls down the stairs every single day can learn how to ride, then so can I. How hard can it be?

After an afternoon shakiness and wobbles, I finally got it! I rode my bike! Woo-hoo! Footloose and fancy free! I'm riding a bike! Look Mom! Look at me!

Crash. 

Onto the concrete, down I went. Ouch. I hope no one saw, especially Tom. Just a few scrapes, no biggie.  I picked myself up and continued to ride. From that point on, I was riding ... no training wheels needed. No more riding in the wire basket, hanging on for dear life as Mike rode me (pretended he was an Indy car racer on a bike) to the swimming pool. Now I was faced with the task of actually keeping up with him as he sped down the streets to the pool. You could find me 100 yards behind him cursing our evil mother (sweet mum) the entire time while I huffed and puffed my way to catch up with him. "Why didn't you buy me a faster bike?! I need a 10-speed! Why?! It's not fair!"

Sometimes being the youngest isn't what it's cracked up to be.

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Mmmm...

I was standing in the kitchen waiting for my scones to get done baking. Miles walks in, as he does every time I'm baking or cooking, and asks, "What are you making, Mama?"

My immediate reply was, "Crud."

Innocent Miles, free of any sarcasm, exclaims, "Ooooo, I love crud! Can I have some?"

It's Wednesday ... have a middle of the week laugh on me. Wanna come over for some crud? It's good.

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Nonstop chatter

So, lately Miles has been talking nonstop about anything and everything. Like I posted earlier, he's like a Chatty Cathy Doll. 

Most of the time I tune him out. I don't think I need to hear his reasons why Daffy Duck is funnier than Bugs Bunny. This I already know. 

I just let him talk. And talk. 

It occurred to me on Sunday during church that there might be times when Miles should be a bit quieter. You know -- those places where you must be quiet: libraries, church services, nap time at school. But how do I quiet a little boy who has so much to say? I have a few ideas.

• Give him peanut butter. Sticks to the roof of the mouth. 
  
• Put an actual sock in it.
  
• Try buttoning or zipping his lips shut. I don't think it will hurt that badly.
  
• Using a clothes pin to pinch the lips closed.
  
• Give him a big wad of chewing gum (Big League Chew).
  
• Have him eat big jawbreakers.
  

These were just a few suggestions that I wish I had thought of earlier, like during church after he got back from the restroom with Joe and immediately blurted out during a silent part of the mass, "MAMA, I JUST WENT PEE!" 

That's great, Miles! God will be happy to know your plumbing is functioning properly.

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The list...

As if I don't have enough crap to listen to throughout the day, Caitlynn spent Saturday nitpicking about everything in life. Most were pointed at me and Miles. Caitlynn is now channeling my mother, it seems. I guess someone needs to nag at me a bit.

• Miles needs to learn how to sleep without a diaper. But we just got him trained to go in the toilet during the day...we have to train him for nighttime, too? This isn't addressed in Elmo's Potty Time.
  
• Miles needs to learn to chew with his mouth closed. I like cows.
  
• Where are his manners? He needs to start saying, "Please." He's says "thank you" more than you. You cancel each other out.
  
• Can you not sing while in the car? I'm not that bad of a singer. Critics suck.
  
• Miles smells. Did you give him a bath? Yeah. Last month. You were there.
  
• The cat box needs cleaned. Looks gross. Tell Daddy.
  
• Can I play on the computer? You've been on here too long. No. Don't bother me. Reading a good blog right now.
  
• I don't like watching your movies. Can we watch something else? Note to readers: No TV in the house right now. Entertainment options: DVDs, Internet, and books. Guess what? We've been watching the same kids movies over and over again and Miles is now addicted to Ben 10 games on Cartoon Network. This Mama needs to see television. News. Stupid shows on HGTV about selling houses. Hell, I'll even sit through American Idol. Just give me TV. Now. I've read all the books in the house. Ok, not all. I am not reading theology books. The books I ordered from Amazon are taking forever to get here.
  
• When are we getting TV? Never. Why don't you go to the roof with tin foil and a hanger and see if you can get a signal. (Reality: we'll be getting TV next week. I'm not telling her yet.)
• The cat scratched me. Don't bother it.
• I need a band-aid. For that? It's a millimeter long. oooo...

On it, Caitlynn. Thanks for the list.

 

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History Lesson

In case you didn't know, the Civil War (yes, the one fought in the early 1860s) is now known as "The Real War." Professor Ethan, resident fellow of the Somewhat Historically Accurate Institute at the University of Mike and Jana, has officially renamed Lincoln's war. His reasoning? Other wars don't seem real enough. World Wars I and II? For chumps and Europeans. Vietnam? Where's Vietnam? The Iraq War/War on Terror/Afghanistan War...we're still fighting over there?

According to Prof Ethan, "The Real War," is fought over the span of one weekend per month when grown men (and some women) get together to "fight," complete with Union and Confederate uniforms, muskets, and in some cases, hard tack (hard flat bread). Prof Ethan has witnessed such a man leaving for 2-3 days to go "fight" in a battle of the Real War. University President, Mike, is a known Real War "fighter" since he was in high school. 

Ok... back story ...

So, Ethan is my five-year-old nephew. Mike is one of my brothers and he's been a Civil War reenactor for several years. Ethan is confused each time Mike leaves for a weekend to reenact a battle. He sees Mike's uniform and musket and thinks he is actually fighting a war. 

How disappointing will it be for Ethan when he finds out that Mike is not a war hero (and finds out about the family ancestor who actually fought in the Civil War - funny story... but not one I'm going to tell)? Nah... Mike will always be a hero in Ethan's eyes. He's definitely a "daddy's boy."

Have fun fighting in The Real War, Mike. We'll be here waiting when you return. 

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Hey! That's my sister!

Beware all you boys out there that may want to date my daughter. She has a younger brother and judging from the size he is now, he will end up being bigger than you. 

And you thought you should be afraid of her dad. He's quite intimidating and grumpy. However, it's Miles you need to worry most about and he's very protective of her. Don't believe me? Ha.

Most recently, Caitlynn and Miles were playing with some neighborhood boys (all around Miss Caty's age), when they started picking her like most boys will do. Miles stepped in, being at least 4 years younger than the boys, put himself between one of the boys and Caitlynn and said, "Hey! Stop! That's my sister!" Of course, the boy did not stop picking on sweet Caitlynn. Miles isn't big enough yet to be threatening.

Just you wait, though. If he's a big boy now (people routinely think he's 5 years old when he's only 3), I can only imagine how big he'll be at age 16. We better have enough food in the pantry for him and all those boys better watch out. 

Miles won't take your crap (working on keeping this PG). 

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Shhh...

He just won't stop talking. He's a regular old Chatty Cathy doll. Geez, Miles, I didn't know you had so much to say. Should I be writing any of this down? You know who killed JFK? Wow. That's pretty impressive for a toddler. What else? I don't understand you. Are you speaking Latin? Great. Miles is an Other. Fabulous. Another language I need to learn in order to keep up with my kids (Caitlynn knows Spanish). Is it similar to Pig Latin? Is it hard? I hope not. 

Yak, yak, yak 

Miles keeps talking and educating me on the secrets of the US government. I should probably monitor his internet usage. I thought the Cartoon Network site was innocent. I guess it's just a cover to unlock the greatest mysteries plaguing the 20th century. (I would say the 21st century but we're only nine years into it and there hasn't been too many mysterious happenings since 2000. Well, not that I know of anyway. Miles would know better than me.) He's learning a lot of interesting facts on the web. Area 51? I guess that's where ... well you don't want to know the truth. 

Um, Miles, it's 10:00 and time for bed. It's ok if Mama stays up late. She's a mom and needs her space from you. So, off you go to bed, where you will soon be quiet. Fast asleep in your Spiderman sheets. Just don't talk in your sleep. We don't want you spilling the beans on how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. Hint: It isn't three. Who trusts an owl anyway?

Ah...peace and quiet. 

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I thought I saw the switch somewhere...

Miles is full of energy. Typical 3 year old boy, I guess.

As he races up and down the hall, jumps on the couch, throws the cushions off the couch, runs to Caitlynn's bed to jump on that, and chases the cat around the kitchen table, all in the span of 2 seconds, I wonder, "Did Miles come with an "off" switch?" I didn't see one in the instruction manual. Oh wait. That's written in Japanese. Damn it. 

I have yet to find what turns him off. Some parents have used Benadryl to quiet a child on car rides. Sometimes parents also use brandy, so I'm not saying that either is a good method. Benadryl (and cold medicine) have the opposite effect on Miles (haven't tried brandy yet). It tends to make him more awake, even when he's actually sick. He's not a hyper child. Just energetic and he wears me out. At the end of the day, I'm the one being tucked into bed by Miles. Goodnight, Mama. Sleep tight. Get ready for another day.

In the meantime, I'm still looking for that "off" switch. 

Here's a red button. What happens when I press that?

Oh.

Sorry, Miles. I think the doctor can fix that. 

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Men! (or rather, Boys!)

Today, Miles and Caitlynn were trying to hide in my bedroom without me noticing. I was making the bed and I could see them crawling on the floor supposedly out of sight. Miles kept giggling but got irritated at me when I noticed them sneaking around the bed. 

Like I'm not gonna notice them. Hello! I have eyes in the back of my head (just like teachers).

I asked Miles, "Do you think I'm dumb?"

His honest reply, "Yes."

Thanks, Miles. Thanks a lot. I realize that even though I have brown hair and love to tell blonde jokes, I do have my "blonde" moments more often than I would like to acknowledge. However, I don't like to get any reassurance from my 3-year-old son that there are times during the day when I'm not firing on all cylinders. 

Why doesn't he ever tell me I'm smart? He's too busy to notice my brilliant moments throughout the day. 

Just like a boy...

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