As the Punkin Turns....

Just for perspective, this is our punkin patch (yes, I know that's not how you spell pumpkin, but I REFUSE to spell it correctly and I won't for the remainder of this post) excursion last year, during which my strongman wannabe tried to pick up his own punkin. As you can see, he had to be held up and was obviously unsuccessful in his strong-man endeavor.Not surprising, considering the punkin was eighty-seven times the size of his head and outweighed him by at least that much. These days, not much seems to outweigh our super-beast of a toddler and most things are smaller than his head too. And, at punkin patch time, he again decided that he should try to heft his own punkin home.Comparatively, I think he might've selected a slightly smaller punkin than last year; but nonetheless, he still thought he might heft it home on his own, and nothing would stop him from insisting on picking it up and carrying it himself. I was a little sad to realize how big that meant he'd gotten...until...Like any toddler, he got sick of the idea of any singular idea, this one being carrying the same object for more than two minutes, and gave me his punkin to carry for the rest of the day. I quickly swapped it for a smaller one. Hey, like he'll remember that he originally chose one the size of Colorado instead of a nice petite Rhode Island one? He barely remembers to call me Mama instead of Dada, sometimes just going for the all-purpose MamaDada. I'm pretty sure Rhode Island punkin will suit him just fine.

But, when I got home and looked at how tiny he looked next to last year's punkin pictures, I couldn't believe it. Next year, it will be even worse! And the next year even worse still. But, maybe the year after that, he'll carry his own darn punkin all the way to the car.

"Terrible" Twos?

My kid is always the quiet one. In a room containing more than two people, he's the one you'll find nestled in my lap, watching the whole, in his opinion, "crazy" scene unfold. Usually, after an appropriate amount of time, ranging anywhere from ten minutes to ten days, he'll decide it's safety to emerge from the protective cacoon of Mommy and explore. He's the one you won't hear a peep from all evening if we're at your house from dinner, and not just because he can't talk, but because he's busy being shy. How can you question an innocent, "quiet" face like that...I guess it's what lies beneath...dum-de-dum-dum-DUM!

We had a barbecue last night: eight adults, four toddlers and a crawling baby. So, you could say it was a full house. I learned something. My kid is only the wallflower on someone else's turf. He is pretty confident being a CRAZY child when overstimulated by kids he knows en masse (including his little girlfriend Grace), fruit on a stick (thanks Daddy for thinking an 18 month old and toothpicks mix), and his own toys.

He started off quiet enough, but still not needing Mommy's lap, that's for sure. But, by night's end, he was slamming his toy box shut within centimeters of Grace's fingers, then shwacking her on the head with puzzle pieces, just for the heck of it, and not regular puzzle pieces, those big wood ones with huge knobs! He was throwing toys within centimeters of other children's heads. He was loud. He was running faster than I'd ever seen him run. He wasn't alone of course. The other kids, except sweet and quiet Grace who looked like she was witnessing a crime, were running a bit rampant too.

Time out was a joke at this point. Our "work" on sharing seemed to be all but forgotten anytime anyone, anywhere in the entire house touched any of his toys. He was a bit of a monster. After everyone left, I asked Bryon if he was, in fact, said beast, hoping that I was exaggerating his behavior in my mind, thinking my embarrassment for my kid was just in my own weird parent-mind. Nope, Bryon said he was a monster too.

In hindsight, the morning after. He wasn't that bad. He was just a kid. He only threw two toys. He only hit Grace once. He didn't make her cry any more times than on a normal day at a playground. Heck, he's a boy and she's a girl. Girls cry more than boys and take things a lot more seriously, and much more dramatically. He's not a bully and he's kind and gentle usually with her when he makes her cry, usually unintentionally. In fact, he usually apologizes with a hug.

Yesterday was a party, what could I expect. No one got hurt. No one threw up from eating too much food when we weren't looking. No one had to go home in tears. No one actually had to be punished. No one got screamed at or seriously punished. Everyone got along well. No one's mommy rolled their eyes at anyone else's mommy. Oh yeah, and no one BIT anyone else.

I forget sometimes that he's only eighteen months old. Sharing is hard. Not throwing your toys is hard. Not hitting someone with a puzzle piece can be really hard too when her head is right there in front of you, I guess. Hey, sometimes I've debated hitting him with a puzzle piece, right? Okay, only for a second when he's really, really, really fussy! Maybe he gets this from me!

P.S. Does he look like a crazed monster in this picture or what...it's from the heatwave week, not from the party, but still...CRAZED MONSTER, everyone get out of the way!

My Disneyland Secret...Shhhhhh!

We're Superdorks! Yep, that's the secret. If you know us very well, you probably know this already. If you know us as casual acquaintances, you probably have suspected this and elbowed your significant other about it, giving them the "eye" when you thought we couldn't see you. We saw you. We just didn't care because, yep, we know it already.

So, when we go to Disneyland, we sort of all-out-dork it up. Well, it may be my fault. I have this theory that if we all wear the same color, it'll be easy to find one another in a crowd. I know, it's totally lame because first of all, what mother in her right mind, lets go of her toddler or lets him out of her sight, regardless of what he's wearing? Wait, I could get him one of those toddler leashes...NOT! Oh, but wait, they look so humane because they are shaped like teddy bears and almost look convenient because they have a backpack too...or I could also just drag him around in a cage, or even hook a collar to his neck and teach him to sit, stay and beg for treats. (Yep, don't like those!) And to that point as well, what wife ever really looses track of her husband when he's got the wallet full of money?

And, truth be told, I really halfway do it because I think it's fun! The first time we went, it was a lark. Bryon put on an yellow shirt and I thought, wouldn't it be neat if I wore an yellow shirt too? We could match and it would be like we were in sync. Awwww. So, I waited until he was downstairs because I knew he'd change immediately if he saw me do it. Then, I dressed Collin in yellow too.

Then, I promptly made up the story about getting separated and how it'd be so easy to spot one another in crowds, blah blah blah. I kind of believe it now as my primary reason because it does sort of make sense. Besides, if you do something three times, it's tradition. So now, we HAVE to do it, right? I think in his way, Bryon would be sort of bummed if we didn't' match the next time we went.

The next time we went, it was an automatic matchy-matchy day because it was a Friday. If you've know the McClains for more than a week, you know that Friday is Hawaiian Friday in our house. Period. Thus we were decked in our usual obnoxious Hawaiian gear. But, Collin wrecked the whole thing by peeing on his by lunchtime and he looked the odd man out because we had to buy him an outfit at the gift shop. So, I made up for it the next day by copying Bryon's shorts in the morning and then sneaking Collin into the mix when I dressed him. I'm pretty good that way!

This time, the color was green. It was hard to see most of the time because I was cold, and wore my jacket. But, we matched all the same. We're such a cute family, I swear If I wasn't in it, I would barf if I saw us. Still, even with green covered up, could Collin look any happier to be with Dada? I don't think so. And, I try to convince Bryon that although we match, no one would notice. Do you think it's obvious? (Oh yeah, and doesn't Daddy seem to be enjoying the game Collin invented? It's called, "Give me your tonsils")

Secret Loving...The Only Way I Get It

We went to get flu shots today. We took Kari and Grace with us because Kari's husband Barry (go ahead, take a moment to process that name thing, she's used to it), has their car during the week. Since she's pregnant and thus considered "high risk," the kids are automatically "high risk," and I'm a pansy about the flu; so therefore categorize myself "high risk," we all got a shot.

I kind of like shot days. I know it's horrible to like pain for your child. But, here's the thing; I have a now, almost nineteen month old BOY. That means I get kisses at random and when I bribe him for one by holding his meal or bedtime pacifier hostage. I get hugs (or how Collin interprets hugs, thus being headbutts) even more seldom. It isn't that he doesn't love me, it's that he's too darn busy. Carpet lint is more interesting than affection. But, Grace gets full body, arms around the waist hugs at regular intervals. I've learned to accept this.

On shot days though, I get snuggles. I get hugs. I get kisses. I get the whole shebang. I kind of wish shot days were a more regular occurrence sometimes. On checkups I sometimes ask twice: Are you sure he doesn't just need ONE immunization? Maybe something like malaria? We COULD be going to the Congo...you never know!

So, I wasn't totally bummed about flu shot day. I braced myself for a full on snuggle. Wrong. When the needle went in, he shrieked and reached for me. I hoisted him up on my shoulder and waited for the lean-in that was due to me. He saw over my shoulder that Grace was still waiting her turn in the chair area with Kari and he strained to get down. What?!!!

Yep. He wanted Grace. He ran to her and hugged her. I was left standing in the immunization area dumbfounded. Apparently, Mommy hugs are useless compared to those of someone who understands your pain all to well. Adults that don't cry, wail and take it like brave soldiers just don't get it, I guess. Grace's shot was next and SHE wanted HER Mommy. So, I'm at a loss to explain my son's behavior except to say that he is a bit off. Another kind Mommy in the waiting room just shrugged her shoulders, looked at me and said, "Don't feel bad, it's a girl thing. He's a boy."

For now, I'll keep stealing my kisses. This one came after a full day at Disneyland...yep, we went AGAIN..he's a spoiled kid, huh? More on that later, probably.

48 Hours of Misery...with Joy Sprinkles

Mommy has some tummy troubles...maybe serious tummy troubles, and Mommy's doctor wants her to take some unpleasant tests to figure out what's wrong with her. If Collin had to do this, she'd probably buy him a Lamborghini and a Porsche because she'd feel so sorry for what he'd have to go through, then she'd buy him a pony to keep in the trunk. Needless to say, these tests are unpleasant, and you need not be filled in on the gory details.

Daddy had take a day off work to take me to the "procedures," and thankfully Monday was a holiday, so he was already off to watch Collin while I did the prep for them. The prep consisted of starving myself (okay, the doctors call it fasting) for a whole day and then drinking a yummy (NOT) concoction that further ensured my entire system would be spic and span clean for the doctor to look at the following day. When I say yummy, I actually mean that it tasted like dirty salt water; not like ocean salt water, like salt water that has dead things floating in it.

Anyway, you'd think this was an all bad experience; but it wasn't. On fasting/starving day, I was technically allowed to eat two things: Jell-O and clear broth. Boy, you sure can fill up on those two things. Sense sarcasm? You should. But, I have the greatest husband on the planet because he pretty much bought out the store of the flavors of Jell-O I was allowed (no red or purple) and he actually made me jigglers too, and special ones at that: see below. Awwwwwww.

And, he took care of Collin once the preparation for my tests began. I anticipated the body cleanse to be an altogether unpleasant experience, but I didn't realize I wouldn't be able to leave the bathroom AT ALL. So, he hooked me up with my computer and some DVDs and a little nest and I was all set. Meanwhile, they hid yummy smelling food away from me downstairs and he even brought up the pictures later so I could see how much fun my son had enjoying his first enchilada. Cute, huh?

Mommy doesn't look like she's having nearly as much fun, does she? Hey, at least I'm still smiling...you should've seen me a few hours later, after the second dose of the salty-water-tasting concoction that kept me up half the night with visits to this lovely room. Nothing says fun, like lying on the bathroom floor, right?

The next day, after the "procedures," I slept. That's it. Slept. After not eating...oops...I mean fasting, for twenty-four hours, then not being allowed to even take a sip of water for twelve hours, then being cleaned out and dehydrated by the concoction, I was wiped out. Besides, I felt like someone had jammed stuff through my tummy and intestines...wait a second, they had! But, I got lots of visits from my favorite energy ball. He thought it was great fun to be able to jump on the big boy bed, and on Mommy's sore tummy. How can you feel sick with this kid around? That lump back there...that's me.

The end result is...more tests. I'm sure that I'll survive, especially with a Daddy that takes such good care of us. In the meantime, I'll just go back to eating my go-to sick food...grits and ginger ale. It always makes me feel better when I have a tummy ache. Yep, I know it's gross. Don't care.

Heatwaves and Haircuts

So, my son is going to be a modern day hippie, or at least mistaken for a girl relatively soon. It's actually already happened three times. If ever anyone wants to know the stories, I can tell you exactly when they were, and two of them were recent and yes, I think the people who did it are maniacs; but yes, it was because of his hair.

See, I can't cut it. I just can't. CAN'T. Some moms feel like they can't let them give up their blankie or their pacifier or their bottle or whatever. I feel like if I cut his hair, I'm cutting off something he was born with. I know it's crazy. Tell me all about how we shed billions of hairs a day or something scientific and watch my eyes glaze over. In my glazed over, catatonic state, I'll be imagining those bygone days of infancy when he was sweet and idyllic.

Meanwhile, his hair grows longer and longer every day and loses the most adorable thing about it, the curls! We see them peeping out when he gets hot...really, really hot. Like last week, when we had a heatwave, he looked like I gave him a perm and then gelled it that way. It was awesome. Well, except for the discomfort he appeared to be in with the fair skin I've gifted him with that shows rosy cheeks if he even thinks of being hot, let alone if he's sweltering. He's also got seemingly over productive sweat glands (a gift, I'm pretty sure from both mommy and daddy unfortunately...thank you over-the-counter prescription secret!). But, if he's not totally sweating and roasting, those curls lie flat and hidden :(

Still, I can't bring myself to chop them off, so I'm thinking that by the time he starts kindergarten, he's going to have to learn to braid it, put it in ponytails, or wear headbands. I don't know. Or, Mama is going to have to buck up and get over it. One or the other. It's not at do or die point just yet, so I think I have some time to warm up to the idea.

P.S. When do we get too old to hang out naked in the heat? We have no a.c. in our house and I had to wear clothes but let Collin strip...just wondering were the cutoff is? 25? Look in the the background, even the dog is hot and he IS naked.

Who you gonna call?...DUST BUSTERS!!!

Yep...two days, that's all it took to figure out an even more absurd way to handle an absurd problem. Problem: Dust. Solution: Mommy. See, moms wear all kinds of caps in the household, from slave to the sticky side of Velcro to their toddler that is the fuzzy side stuck to her leg at all times (from laundry folding to peeling potatoes to peeing). But, I've just figured out that one of our most important tasks, other than figuring out just what the freak they are trying to tell us half the time, is tackling irrational fears and quashing them.

So, I've spent the last two sun-streaked mornings trying everything from standing on my head and kicking my feet through the dust to show my son that my piggies are magical and upside down now to picking him up and swirling him through the "pixie" dust sparkles. I know, I know, that's a little gay. We've waved our arms and swirled. We've yelled at it. We've howled. I've huffed and puffed and flapped my arms.

But today, I tried something random and apparently hilarious and it worked. I leaped and clapped at the same time and this is apparently what KILLS dust. Oh, and you have to yell at the same time. Yep, YELL! So, while I got ready for my shower, I tried this last ditch effort, buck naked (aren't you glad to know that part?) while he whimpered at the door and looked pitiful. It worked.

His glee was immeasurable, like he was trying to tell me all along that he wanted me to do this and if only I'd done it earlier, this problem wouldn't have gotten so out of hand. He barrelled into the bathroom, leaping, clapping and howling! Whee! I took a shower and heard his little feet pounding the floor the whole time, his hands smacking together and his exuberant voice telling those terrible dust particles to get the heck out of his bathroom! He's a tough cookie when he wants to be!