You Can Lead a Horse to Water....

I'm beginning to think that it will take me longer than anticipated to teach Collin colors. I'm also beginning to think that teaching Collin anything may be a struggle considering that providing him with the answers doesn't seem to help any.

A New View of Manny

I've decided that I hate sitting outside like a weird-o waiting for the garbage man. Maybe it's just me; but, it's occurred to me that I don't totally enjoy sitting on the curb at dawn to wait for trash collection. There are lots of reasons for this:

1. It's cold
2. I'm beginning to wonder if the trash man thinks it's actually me who is waiting for him and the kid is a cover
3. It's boring to wait for him to come back around the cul-de-sac
4. The neighbors think I'm weird
5. Collin gets filthy while we wait because we have no grass
6. It smells like trash next to the cans
7. Half the time, I'm still in my PJs too...that's fun for the neighbors to see (see 4)
8. I just don't get it!!?? Garbage truck, hydraulics, woo-hoo? Can we move on now?
9. He arrives at unpredictable times, meaning sometimes I have to drag the kid from his breakfast chair out there, covered in food and we look like white trash on the curb just so we don't miss him. (aka covered in food, filth and in PJs...nice...see 4)
10. I'm sick of it!!!

Alas, I've devised a plan. It's wacky. It's crazy. It's out there. It just might work. A chair in front of the window!! Collin can see the garbage man from the window, and he can see him all the way down the cul-de-sac and back! It's better than before. The greatest part is we don't have to go outside and I can continue on with my life indoors! Wheee! How great is that!? He was a little displeased when he drove out of sight, but otherwise it went well.

How Mommy is Surviving Right Now

I'm pretty sure that Collin's sweet disposition was attached to his hair; and when we chopped it off, we removed all the sweet boy. That can be the only reasonable explanation for his sudden change in demeanor of late. He's become unruly, unresponsive to the sound of my voice and all around snarly. I'm pretty sure that in the next twenty-four hours, I'm either going to have a nervous breakdown or leave him outside for the crows to pick at. Something's going to give. Or, I'm just going to keep holding onto the cute, sweet moments that I hate to admit do happen more often than not.

Like this morning when he was pretty certain that this was a reasonable ensemble in which to start the day. Yes, those are PJ's, sunglasses and....underwear on his head.

In all fairness, it boils down to one issue...stop, and I do mean STOP touching your pee, Collin! For the love of all that is sacred on this earth, STOP!

You Know You're Cool When....

You wear your shades in the bathtub.

And your mother takes blurry, extremely close-up pictures of it in an attempt to NOT capture the fact that your Daddy caved and got in the tub with you to play after your relentless begging. Yeah, it's cute and fun but not so pleasing to the general public eye. Oh, don't worry, there are plenty of blackmail images available for my future use.

Big Shoes to Fill

Collin loves it when Daddy comes home from work. He gets a little excited; so much so that I have a two minute video of Daddy throwing Collin all over the room today. Too bad I don't feel like waiting a million years to upload it. Sorry! That's just way too big of a file! But, look how cute they look just chilling and Collin telling Daddy all about his day.

Then, randomly Collin decided that it was vitally important that he learn to tie a shoe...NOW! (Is there any other time period for a two year old?) You can guess how well that lesson went. He is only two, after all.

Of course, walking a mile in Daddy's shoes is great fun for all to watch. He did surprisingly well considering the stiff nature of stupid chlorframs.

Poindexter Tortures Daddy

Collin tried on Daddy's glasses today. Sure, he looks cute; but, he packs some menace behind that innocent facade.

We're thinking of petitioning the senate commission on torture to add this to the list of non-allowable tactics for getting information from detainees. What do you think? Holding a person's nose to jam a cement mixer in their mouth just doesn't seem cool to me. Where does he learn this stuff?

Mommy Milestone: Puke

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I don't deal well with puke. Okay, that's an understatement. I deal with puke about as well as a mental patient, the kind that needs a straight jacket, deals with being plunked into the real world without medication. Yeah, I'm that freaked out by it. It was a subject that was actually addressed when Bryon and I talked about having children: as in, "can I handle it if I get morning sickness?" and "can I handle it if my children actually do vomit?" Laugh if you will, but I'm sure someone out there is equally phobic about vomit. No one out there really likes the old pile of stinky stuff, but I really, really would rather die, literally. I've stealthily avoided it so far. I didn't have morning sickness and I even lucked out with a kid who thought spitting up amounted to a bit of a burp bubble.

The run is over, folks. It started innocently enough with me cleaning the potty and putting him in time out for touching his poop, AGAIN. I think I see a pattern emerging, don't you? Regardless, he was neatly contained in his time out chair in the kitchen while I scrubbed the potty clean of the weirdly loose poo that had stuck to the bottom and wouldn't come loose (eewww!). I was already kind of convinced this kid had picked up a bug of some kind just from that alone! As I finished and came out to the kitchen to retrieve my little peanut what do I discover? Oh, nothing but that he'd vomited all over himself in the chair and was EATING IT!

"Sandwich came out mouth, mommy!" he said.

It was bad enough that the dog was licking it off of him, the floor and the sides of the chair; to see my own child picking bits of bologna off of his pant leg and eating it! Oh, there are no words. None.

All I can say is that I have survived my first brush with vomit. I cleaned it up. I did not die. I did not faint. I did not swoon. I did not even gag. But, I am glad that my hubby is back by dinnertime tonight to help me with the care and non-feeding of this sick kiddo as the amount of stuff that is coming out of him is surprising and foul.

Still, he's adorable. He's taking a liking to the bucket. And, he is a surprisingly energetic patient. Aren't kids supposed to be low-energy when they are sick?