Death to Kitty

I love Homer. I love him so much that without question, I plunked down my credit card a few years back when he swallowed a doorstop and let the vet snip out a piece of his intestine so he'd survive, despite the fact that it cost $700 and he had to spend weeks recuperating in isolation in our room, pathetically having to be lifted into the litter box. I love him so much, that I put up with his stinky litter and I HATE smells.

Still, I've spent the past week hating him. We've used umpteen squirt bottles on him. He's sopping wet and doesn't care. Half the ornaments are on the ground. Yet, he still persists in camping out underneath the tree and swatting at the darn thing. He can't knock it over because after my first Christmas with him, when he actually did knock over a tree and bring me half of it by dragging it down the hallway, stuck inside the darn thing, we have secured it to the base with picture wire and eye hooks.

However, constant jingling of the ornaments and swatting of the branches is annoying and he shouldnt' be under there. We have Waterford ornaments for God's sake! They are VERY secure on the tippy top and wrapped on the branches so unbelievably tight, I think a bomb could go off and they'd stay. Still, I hate him under there. It's crazy.

Collin has been enlisted as the cat hunter too. He comes downstairs and the first thing he does these days is grab the squirt bottle and imitate Mommy. He chases Homer with it and shout: "Psst! Psst!" Apparently, this is a scary noise because Mommy has deemed it one. He can't actually operate the squirt bottle, but he's learned it's a weapon from Mommy, so he feels more powerful for holding it while pursuing the cat. What he hasn't learned, is that he should only be terrorizing poor Homie if he's actually UNDER the tree. Look at poor, innocent looking Homer. Does he look like he deserves to be terrorized for napping? Doesn't matter, GIANT baby is attacking!

"Whatsa matter Homer! Tired from all that tree attacking you've been doin'? Well, PST! PST! PST!"

So, poor Homer is being chased around the entire house with the squirt bottle and being Psst-ed for no reason. Try explaining that logic to a 20-month old. It's not going well. At the rate of his tree-camping, I figure Homer deserves this extra punishment. I keep locking him in the bathroom, which is also not going well, because he's taken to playing with the doorstop in there...$700 vet bill here we come!

The Collinator...and Daddy's back!

What? With a state where the Ahnold is Governor, I can't make that joke? Come on, people? I couldn't decide whether to make a joke about Mommy's backfield injury and somehow tying that into daddy coming "back" or stick with the cute Collinator picture we took with Collin's sudden obsession with his sunglasses. I figured Collin is way cuter than my butt any day.

Anyway, Daddy's back! Yaaay! And his TDY next week has shrunk (not the same for my butt....still the same size). Anyway, he'll only be gone one day. Wheee! So, that leaves me only one day to severely injure or maim myself or become deathly ill. Seems to be my M.O. of late while he's gone; so, I'm thinking this time, I'll get typhoid or malaria. What do you think?

But, over the weekend of reunion we went to the base holiday party and had a date night. It was fun. Bryon laughed at me because due to the spouses club, I think I might've known more people there than he did! Collin enjoyed his babysitters again. He loves those gals, I swear. He's such a cad. I think he was straight pimpin' his holiday sweater from granny. He looked like a total stud if I do say so myself. He's so stinking cute in this thing, I'm afriad to take him out in public for fear we'll be mobbed by talent scouts that are probably lurking around every corner to snatch up the next baby Gap model. We DO live near L.A. It CAN happen, right?

And, we put up Christmas lights. I was uber clingy to Daddy this weekend. So we were outside with him watching. What can I say, I missed Daddy? Anway, we "helped" by watching and trying not to knock over the ladder. Collin got his first lessons in ladder safety too! Maybe Daddy should take some safety lessons too...like no sandals on ladders! But you know Daddy, sandals every day...no matter what!


And Mommy and Daddy learned that he can say, "rocks," "wagon," "ride," and "walk." Apparently, he's been holding out on us. Yep, all those words came out on their own as he handed me rocks to put in a bowl and demanded that we take him on a wagon ride, and the dog for a walk. Hmmmmm, I think he CAN talk and just doesn't!

So, that's the weekend for you...pretty fun. I'm currently baking a chocolate cherry loaf to take over to the holiday tour of homes that the spouses club is sponsoring on Fort Mac of the homes along the parade grounds. Should be a fun event. Me, if someone wanted to "tour" my decorations, they'd take all of about six seconds...oooh tree! Wait, is that a Star
Trek ornament? Why yes...thanks to my collector family who carefully preserved them in boxes :)

Collin...The Trained Assassin

Okay, I admit that when I've seen other kids throw major tantrums, and I mean MAJOR tantrums, I have smugly thought to myself, "wow, I'm lucky my kid doesn't do that." Yes, I've then corrected my smugness and just thought, "phew, dodged that one."

Collin has been a mellow kid since day one. Hungry? Feed me when you get around to it. Poopie? I'll sit in it all day. Tired, I'll sleep wherever you put me. That's his style. Just mellow. He has his moments, sure. If you stretch that hunger thing just too far, he'll let you know that he wants a "Cacka" in no uncertain terms darn it! But that poop thing, he's still pretty okay with wallowing in his own filth.

But, he's developed a penchant for the tantrum recently...very recently...like the last two days recently. I've decided that it's through no fault of the evoltionary phase that is the approacheth of the age of two, or the fact that his Daddy's been gone all week so he's out of sorts. No, I blame Damien because it's fun to blame him, and because we saw him at the park approximately three days ago (coinciding with the start of all this mess). Coincidentally, Damien threw about a dozen tantrums that day over everything from whether the sky was blue to how many sand grains there were at the playground to who got to play with the trucks. It was horrible.

These tantrums are awful. They are designed to make Mommy want to pull her hair out and jump off the roof...or maybe just lay down and die on the carpet becuase after the sheer number of them in the past two days, they are driving her insane.

They begin with the pint size human (Collin in this case), standing in front of Mommy and saying "NO!" to something/anything then promptly throwing himself on the ground, facedown and shrieking. Since Mommy doesn't pay any attention, thankfully this ends rather quickly becuase Collin, being the mellow kid that he is, finds this activity a bit strenous for his character. He quickly peters out to a low whine, which is much more irritating to Mommy's sensibilities. That goes on for another minute or so, then he looses interest. Eventually, he goes on about his life and plays.

The problem is, if you catch his attention mid-tantrum with anything at all that you aren't going to allow him to have, even accidentally, like say you walk by him with a pot of boiling water for dinner, he will immediately want it and that will start the whole process over again. It's quite the pickle. You can't really stand still and hope not to catch his eye; but you can't exactly stop living while he is in the throes of irrationality either. But, please Mommy, let me scald myself! Please! It's somewhat tempting when he's behaving like a lunatic.

I've decided that despite this new development in my sweet boy's personality, which I'm treating with complete ignorance to it's existence, I still love him. Yep, I'm pretending it's not happening. It seems to be working. So far, the longest one of these floor-body-slam things has lasted was about a minute. And, the number of them dwindled from the first day to the second and we're surviving.

And, for the second day in a row, I got major, major hugs before naptime. I mean super hugs. He wanted to snuggle my shoulder for five minutes, be rocked and then switch sides and be rocked again. He hasn't wanted that since he was a baby. So, if he needs to unleash a little floor demon to be a sweetie-pie now and then, I think I can live with it, so long as it's a phase...a short one.

Besides, he was still the best behaved kid in a waiting room full of kids at the doctor's office today, which by the way was filled with some of the biggest animal kids I'd ever seen. One kid actually kept trying to push my son off of my lap so I'd read him a story instead of my own son. What's with that? Uh, hello kid's mom who's sitting RIGHT THERE...do you think you could maybe get your son?

Dirty Collin

Maybe my mind is in the gutter lately because I've been doing a lot of focusing on my butt. But, as of late, Collin has developed some very distressing habits that I find to be on the naughty side...not the "time out" naughty side; but the Hugh Heffner naughty side of the street. Of course, he's 20 months old, so he doesn't know he's being naughty, per se, but still, it's hard not to chuckle, at least a little.

Low Bridge

One of his favorite games is spreading the legs of the nearest standing adult apart...WIDE apart and running underneath them. This game was discovered when Mr. Hottie pants was around. Don't ask me to explain the connection he made between running amok between his legs. It's just fact A that he likes the game and fact B that he also used those legs. Anyhoo, his head comes up to about crotch level to most adults, so he's obviously scalp dragging on most people's naughty bits. It's awkward to say the least. Enter "naughty" story of the day.

He loves, loves, loves hanging out in the bathroom when I shower. I figure if you are under two, you kind of don't need to worry about your kid seeing you naked, right? Anyway, apparently, we needed to play "Low Bridge" immediately after I took my towel off and BEFORE I put my underwear on. Go ahead and fill in the rest of the info for yourself. Suffice it to say, it involved a gentle hand on the head, some steering on Mommy's part, a box of legos, a little boy yelling "choo choo," and a Mommy trying to stand as high on her tiptoes as possible.

This is Collin playing "Low Bridge" with a much more unwilling particpant...Eddie.

Forking Socks

Collin's talking more. That's great. Fantastic. Wonderful. I'm over the moon. But, he's got a problem with a couple of words. Over the past few days, I've noticed a specific problem with "fork" and "socks." I'm pretty sure you can imagine for yourself what the problem with "fork" might be. It's not exactly intelligible as what you might think, but if misheard, yep, that's what it sounds like.

Socks on the other hand is "cocks." Every time, without fail, it's exactly, clear as a bell, just that. I have tried gently to correct it. But, I don't want to make a big deal out if it. Besides, I guess it is kind of funny. Every kid has their one word that's totally embarrassing, don't they? He's into labeling everything he sees that he can say right now, so if he sees anyone wearing "cocks," he makes sure to point them out right now too; so, we're definitely seeing a heck of a lot of "cocks" out in public and letting the whole world know, in a very excited tone that he sees them and likes them. I think it's a little early for us to know his preferences in "that" way, but still, what can I say, he likes his "cocks." Sorry, joke had to be made, didn't it? (I'm talking about tube socks, what are you guys thinking?)

Anyway, Collin is disturbing me today. And he's becoming a total gross boy too. After a three-minute snuggle-fest hug, which almost brought Mommy to tears, he burped in my face. Seriously. I put him in his crib, brought his face to mine, looked him in the eyes and said, "I love you, Peanut." He looked at me for a mini-second and then belched and giggled. Where do they learn this stuff? BOYS!

For good reason, I have no "good" pictures of Collin in his exploits today. I do have a picture of him watching "The Girls Next Door," and thinking, "I have to get me some of that." I told you, Hugh Heffner, right? Just kidding. I let him watch 20 min of Jungle Book this morning so I could sit on my butt pillow unmolested. For some reason, he HATES my butt pillow. He won't let me sit on it. He doesn't want to play with it or have anything to do with it; but he doesn't want me to have it either; so, I broke down and let him have some TV today. He thinks he won the butt lottery!

My Cracked Butt

Okay, so everyone's butt has a crack in it; but, mine has a special one...well, at least according to the X-Ray. That's right folks, my ass has been officially broken by my toddler. Yep, I had to go to the hospital last night because I was seriously in so much pain from driving him to speech therapy yesterday, that I knew I'd been beaten by this butt injury and had to hang my head in shame and explain to a doctor that my rear hurt. Ugh!

Bryon thought I was being a baby and couldn't for the life of him figure out why I was going to the doctor at all, let alone the hospital, for a bruised butt. Still, going to the doctor would mean driving forty minutes each way for an ordered X-Ray...the fifteen minute drive to speech therapy had me in tears after sitting in the car. Stop lights made me want to SCREAM!!!

So, I broke down and called our personal pixie-fairy-angel saviors (The Roach Family) and asked them for help. Neal came and watched Collin after he went to bed so I could brave the E.R. I figured a fifteen minute drive coupled with the comfort of lying prone on a gurney for the eons it would take them would be better than the drive time the next day.

I was right. I got fastracked because I was a broken bone. Weeee! And yes, I had to explain to everyone that my butt hurt and that it hurt badly. And yes, everyone laughed at me. They tried to pawn it off as laughing with me, but I knew better. Hey, wouldn't you laugh at the grown woman who slammed her butt into the stairs and broke it? I mean really, who can't take care of her own butt?

So, off to X-Ray in an all too gorgeous butt-revealing gown. They wouldn't let me walk, which ticked me off because I didn't want to sit in the chair. Grrrr. More sitting. Alas, it was quick. The doctor came in with a flourish quickly after, chuckling of course saying only and exactly: "You're butt's broken!" I wonder if he worked on that one?

So, apparently I wasn't being a baby. Take that, Bryon! The doctor says that it's especially painful to break your tailbone because you can't get away from the pain. If you broke your arm, you wouldn't lay on it, like you sit on your butt. If you broke your leg, you wouldn't walk on it, but you stand all the time, putting weight on your tailbone. So, you can't get away from constantly putting pressure on the break. Ouch.

He let me see the X-Ray and gave me a copy to take home. It was stunning really. The bottom third of my tailbone is just floating there in space. It's quite something. Oh yeah, and there's some rogue poop waiting to come out too. I learned that by asking, "hey, what's that stuff over there?" So, I also learned not ask questions about your X-Rays. Which, also led to more prescriptions, for stool softeners...because you know what...it hurts to go when your butt's broken. Bet you wanted to know that, didn't you?

So, since there's no cast for a broken butt, I was sent home with an embarrassing inflatable donut and Vicodin. Wheee! Apparently, the doctor pitied me or really knew how much pain I was in because the Vicodin he gave me was super strong. I have experience with narcotic pain relievers from my headaches and I usually have a pretty high tolerance. Well, I broke down and took some last night so I could finally get some relief. Let me tell you, I got some relief and then some. I almost forgot my tailbone was broken for a while there and I was also pretty sure that I was the first lady of France.

Now, it's only two more days until Bryon comes home and I expect full butt-kissing from him for not believing my butt hurt and for acting like I was being a baby and I think presents are in order. No previous presents and kindness can be used as payment. Broken bones require serious butt kissing, don't you think?

Oh yeah, and even though it was clearly Collin's fault that my butt is irreparably damaged, I've decided not to sell him to Gypsies.

Collin's "Painfully" Sweet

My little man injured me yesterday. He doesn't know that he did it; but he did it all the same. He actually injured me twice: once physically and once emotionally. I'm not sure which was worse. The physical injury still had me popping Tylenol and sitting on ice packs today; but the emotional injury may leave lasting scars...hmmmm.....Still, he tried to redeem himself today. I think.

Let's start with the physical pain. Collin likes me to accompany him, well everywhere. If I could climb into his skin with him, I think he'd like that. He also likes to do things like a big kid long before he is one, like walking upright down the stairs, which he's been doing for months, eschewing the on-the-bottom method. Still, he makes me hold his hand most of the time. It takes FOREVER!

I admit that sometimes I just leave him whimpering at the landing and get on with my life and meet him at the bottom. Hey, he makes it on his own! He doesn't actually NEED me. He just WANTS me and that's a big difference four zillion times a day! He forgets about the pain of abandonment by the time he gets to the bottom anyway. Hey, a Mom's got a life to lead, a house to vacuum and eggs to scramble, right?

Anyway, yesterday, he suddenly wanted to go down on his bottom and apparently it was paramount that I too go down on my bottom. No exceptions would be tolerated. He yanked my hand down so hard that if I didn't succumb to the pressure, I'm pretty sure that my arm would actually come off. So, I flopped onto the stairs, not paying attention to where I'd fall, just assuming I'd sit on a step.

WRONG-O! I edged against the back of a stair, slamming my tailbone into the back edge of the step. Ouch doesn't give enough credence to the pain. I didn't say any cuss words because I currently live with a parrot, not a child; but I thought all the cuss words you can imagine...TWICE, then some more. I might've even thought some in Japanese, German and French. And, I only know French.

I figured it'd hurt for a minute then I'd get on with life. Nope, it hurt ALL flipping day. It hurt all night. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't sit. I couldn't walk without it shooting pain through my legs to my ankles. I couldn't laugh without it feeling like I might actually poop myself with a piece of bone cracking off the tail end of my tooshie. Nice, huh?

So, I got ready to go to book club that night and Collin decided to twist the knife. Babysitter time! I HATE leaving my son. I hate leaving him with anyone....ANYONE. No one is good enough for my boy. Daddy is barely good enough for my boy. But apparently, Collin has decided that these two amazing girls that I found are better than me. At least that's what I've deduced from his reaction to them when they came in.

Here, I'd braced him all afternoon for the fact that Gracie and Laura were coming to play and they were putting him to bed (yadda-yadda-yadda), he appropriately nodded and said, no he didn't want me to go bye-bye; I melted a little and felt good. When they came in, he jumped up and down, said: "bye-bye, mama!" grabbed their hands (one in each hand) and dragged them upstairs. He then turned around and blew me a kiss. What!!!!!!

That's it. I'm replaceable...by two teenagers. I trudged away, hobbling with my sore ass and went to book club. I sat in a soft chair and had to explain to my friends why I was disgruntled and shifting my weight around on my bony butt. My son had tried to kill me.

Okay, now to the good part...today, I decided that he tried to make it up to me. He made my bed for me! Yes, I know it sounds to good to be true. But, I went to the bathroom in the middle of making my bed...I couldn't hold it anymore!...and came back to find Collin trying to finish the job. Could that be any cuter? He was putting the pillows on the bed and saying "There! There!" just like I do when I show him what I'm doing. Awwww.

I snapped some pictures and then of course, oblivious to my sore butt, he wanted to sit on my lap and review the photos of himself. He is nothing if not vain. He wanted to take more, of his feet, his hands, his neck, etc. We're learning body parts these days. And, he then wanted to make amends with Eddie for something, I guess, so he chased him into his house, where he gave him lots of love....and no Eddie isn't about to eat him...he's yawning. AND, I got a half smile at breakfast this morning. I try all the time to get a good picture of him smiling. He's obsessed with the camera. He ignores it completely, or smiles for a second and then instantly wants to see the photo. So, I get no good pictures of him. He is weird about them. WEIRD, I tell you. But, I told him my butt hurt so please, please smile...this is what I got. Trust me, this is good. Every other good picture is an accident.

So, the end result of all this torture Collin inflicted on me is that he's super sweet and not cruel and unusual at all. Little does he know that all the lap-sitting he's inflicting on me today feels like daggers; but I won't give up a second of it for my life. Little does he know that that kiss he blew me was the bittersweet because he's learning not to need me and that is wonderful and awful at the same time and I want nothing more for him. I'm just glad that in my deranged mind, I can decide that he made my bed only for me, not because he's a monkey, imitating me. Ahhh, now I feel better.

By the way...can you break a tailbone? I swear, when I sit, even on my squishiest of pillows, I'm still seeing stars. Ouch!

Get A Haircut!

A very horrible thing occurred to me today. The very horrible thing was that there is a very horrible man roaming the streets of California and he should be stopped! Stopped I tell you!

We went to Disneyland again yesterday. I know, I know, we should just keep a place there, maybe in the castle or something. Anyway, we were in line at the Haunted Mansion (my FAVORITE!) and this guy leaned over and asked me:

"Have you cut his hair yet?"

Exhibit A: Collin's Hair as of yesterday...the time of said incident...Only he's on "It's a Small World" here, where we learn about peace, acceptance and understanding of one another...stupid guy!
I didn't take it personally at the time. In fact, I just laughed and played with Collin's hair and we had a friendly conversation about how I'm crazy and simply CANNOT do it. No! Bryon laughed and said how he values his marriage so he's not done it behind my back and then this man proceeded to tell us how he cut his son's hair as a present to his wife on Mother's Day, saving the first lock of hair on a frame. He kept sort of leaning in towards Collin, insinuating that this would be a good idea.

So, we went on about our way, having the fast pass to the front of the line and left this horrible, horrible man behind us. I went on about my life, playing with Collin's precious curls and forgot about him until today. Then it dawned on me...what a butthead!

Okay, Collin's hair is long. I get it. It's not THAT long. Yes, it goes over his ears on the sides. Yes, it's over his collar in the back. You know what though, it's not like it's in a ponytail. And, it's not over his eyes. And, hey I didn't say anything about the fact that your kid wanting to wear a football jersey so badly that it was so big on him, it looked like he was wearing a dress, did I? So back off, buddy!

Exhibit B: Collin at lunch. And, clearly happy with his hair!
I know I have to cut the kid's hair. I know it's imminent. I know that it will be sooner than later. I know. I know. I know. I just don't want to do it. I don't want to think of it. Our neighbors cut their son's hair a few weeks ago and he looks like he's nineteen now! He's only one! ONE!

Can't I go one more week with those sweet curls above his ears and at his neck? I'm pretty sure that he doesn't look like a hippie just yet. You be the judge.

Okay...so his hair looks a little "feathered" here. It works on Jon Bon Jovi doesn't it? Besides, I think it stayed out of his face long enough to eat that Churro piece in his hand...Okay, he didn't eat it. He held it.

This is Collin and Mommy outside the Haunted Mansion...before Mr. Horrible assaulted us with his words.