White Trashin' it Up

You may wonder why I haven't been dutifully updating you all on the minutae of our lives. Come on, I know you are wondering. Well, it's because we've been busy sitting perfectly still as to not burst into flames. In other words, it's been hot. Mostly, I've been busy being uncomfortable and Collin equally so; thus we've been equally whiny and irritable with one another and we've been busily annoying one another throughout the day and this leaves little time for typing or taking cute pictures. Should I have photo-documented any moments, it might've put me on the child protective services watch list. Kidding. Still, I'm glad they weren't around to catch me with him at CSU the other day when I got lost with him for over three hours in the blazing heat and he was sobbing, "need go home, need find my car, need to eat, need my water, help me!" I looked like a stellar parent at that point. Poor kid. Poor me.

But, I got Bryon talked into a frivolous purchase of a portable a/c unit this week. It is totally frivolous because we only get spots of heat waves around here that last for a few weeks here and there. So, it's use is pretty sporadic. I don't care anymore. If it had cost three billion dollars, I was willing to pay it. I also don't care that this is what it looks like. Pretty, huh? Currently, it's in our bedroom because I was selfish last night. It will reside in the living room this afternoon. Nothing says class like this puppy.

To complete our indoctrination into the white trash world, our kid is becoming a whino. I should've guessed he'd like Daddy's home brew, really. A couple months back, he was begging, pleading even to try Daddy's mead and I said, sure let him have a sip; he'll gag on it and never ask for our drinks again. Did he? No, he loved it. Backfire. Bryon's beer was ready last night and Collin wanted to try a sip. No, I don't give my kid beer on a regular basis. Or ever for that matter! But he begged and pleaded again. Who would think a two-year-old would love a beer so bitter that I couldn't even stand the tiniest of sips? He's his father's son; that's for sure.

At least he knew when to quit. I like this shot that says, "No thanks man, I've had enough."

By the way, you'll notice that in this heat, I can get him to go without pants but not without a shirt. He insists that a shirt is a fundamental garment at all times. He refuses to even sleep shirtless. He won't even let Bryon walk around without a shirt. Ever. Period. He gets very, very upset. I guess I should be grateful I don't have one of those stripper kids who takes their clothes off at will, but it's pretty weird that he freaks if his shirt is off, right?