Targets

Why did my 19 month old son poop in the tub? And then why did the boys (the youngest one and a six year old) have to stomp on the brownish floating targets....so that I got splashed with poop water when I (heroically) went to "save them" (as they so dramatically requested)?

I don't have those pictures. You don't have to thank me.

Pinch

Z, B, cousin E, and S

We have a daughter, who, despite our constant encouragement, is STILL petrified of doing anything wrong. I don't know why.
Tonight, she came out of her room after she had been put to bed. I said, mostly out of curiosity, "Why are you out of bed already?"
And she had to use all of her super girl powers not to cry.

Because of that one question.

Because she doesn't want to do anything wrong.

Ever.

And. Then.

We have a son, Z, who is CONSTANTLY doing things wrong...and not really caring one tiny bit about it. Actually, he thinks he is pretty darn cool no matter WHAT he does.

In the span of about five minutes, I heard him say, "What the hell!" four times. As in, "What the hell! How can a baby possibly be that strong!?" And "What the hell!? How come you just walked on my face, M?" And "What the hell!?" (because he hit his head on the couch).

After the fourth time, K went to have a "discussion" with Z about it. You know, about how six year old boys can't really say "what the hell" appropriately. (Can anyone?) And how congregation members might not approve. And stuff.

Z shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and said, "Okay, Papa."

And that was it. He doesn't mind being corrected. It's just a part of life, right? He's still the coolest thing on the planet, correct?!

We went on Spring Break. My Dad rented a house for our WHOLE family to share. 22 people. 13 kids. Z and his cousin, E, (after living together for 5 days), were fighting about whether adults or kids were smarter. Z said adults were smarter and that they were the bosses. E said kids were smarter because "they have bigger heads and bigger brains." Z adamantly disagreed.

Z pinched E.

We had the talk...about how if you are upset, it is best to try to walk away...or get an adult to help you work it out...something besides pinching or hitting...and then we went to the beach.

E had a pretty good pinch mark, so I said, "Sheesh, E! Look what Z did to your arm!"

E, now a proud victim, went to show Z the damage that was done.

"Look what you did to my arm, Z!"

And Z, beaming, announced, "Yup! I sure am a good pincher, aren't I, E?!"

And E, a little stunned, said, "Yeah. You are." And they were buddies again.

Facebook is Evil

I spend too much time on Facebook. By the time I finish learning about everyone else's fresh-baked chocolate cookies, beautiful days, and busy schedules, I lack the necessary energy to write about my own life. Or my kids'.

M is close to the same age that my older kids were when I started blogging, and apparently, he comes with much more vocabulary. The kid can not be described as lacking in words.

He says family nicknames, like "Hi Beeksy!" and "Hey Baz." By the end of our 10 day vacation last week, he knew all 22 family members names, including S's new stuffed rabbit.

He knows how his world should go, and he requests that it go exactly as he expects: (He IS our youngest.) He demands (with manners, I might add) his "Bottle, please" every morning, followed by "Seery-oh" and "Down, please" when he is finished.

He announces, with exclamation points, "Poop butt!" when he needs to be changed, and "I farted," when he wants a good laugh.

He kids. He says, to me, with twinkle-eyes, "Hi Papa" and laughs (wide-mouthed) when I remind him that I am his mom.

He prays. He says, "Jesus, Amen." Yes, that's it. But isn't that what we'd all like to say when we are hungry and there are steaming bowls of food going quickly cold in front of us? No? Oh. Well, then.

The kid is a joy. He is happy. Polite. Fun-loving. Adorable. And very, very talkative. I guess he is making up for his really quiet mother, wouldn't you say!?