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Smartass

"Mother, I would rather be playing Angry Birds".

So Vince has turned into a smartassed hellion…

You know, not suddenly, it’s been a gradual process since he hit 3 in June. But it’s here. It’s like the precursor to 13, and by that I mean ‘three’. It’s the toddler equivalent of the early teen stages.

Right now, everything has a smart answer. And of course I realize that he has no idea what he is really saying, but lord have mercy it’s making me crazy…

Case in point:

“No, I can’t take a bath, I’m too good”. “No, you can’t do that, you’re too little”. (said to me, if you were wondering). “No, I can’t eat that, I’m too dirty”.

“Maybe later, when I’m clean”. “Maybe later, when you’re taller”. “Maybe later, when I’m older”.

And finally…. “You can’t say no to me! You can only say no to strangers!!!”

That is currently my favorite. Today brought us this lovely conversation, which is in the running to become number one…

*while practicing our kicks for the first season of soccer*

Mummy: “Vince, did you know that your Tita is a really good soccer player?”

Vince: “No, Tita plays music and I don’t want to listen to it…”

I had to hold in the smirk for this one, it was just so blatantly grumpy and pouty. I think we were trying to leave the park when this witticism was uttered.

There has been increased demands and increased dislikes on everything and regarding everything. And if he is refused, he starts crying for the parent that is not there.

Vince: “Mummy, can I play Angry Birds on your phone?”

Mummy: “No, not right now”.

Vince *sobbing*: “I want my Daddy…. MY DADDY!!!!!”

Mummy: *eye roll*

I think I could go on and on, but do you really want to hear it? Because, most likely, it’s going on in your house too and you are as sick of it as I am. I am sure it will just morph into something more ridiculous in a month or so and I’ll complain about it too….

You know, the usual.

xoxo a.m.

 

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Mostly about sweaters, not at all about christening…

Too many cool people to count...

 

This morning started off terribly relaxed. I am pleased to report that Vince ran himself so ragged with his cousins yesterday, that he crashed hard. And so did his parents.

Yesterday was Vincent and Chloe’s Christening party, which was held and organized by Chloe’s parent’s, Edward’s Aunt Christine and Uncle Lee at a really pretty little park on Long Island (I’d tell you where, but honestly, I’m not really sure where we were).

Christine pretty much broke her back organizing everything and it was amazing. Centerpieces, catered delicious food, party favours, childrens crafts etc etc. How she is not dead from exhaustion, I have no idea…

We arrived and helped (sort of) set up and for a while I wondered if as many people as I were told were coming. It was pretty quiet, Vince and his two little cousins ran around and scared the Canadian Geese that were chilling out. (Hey look!! My family showed up!) and it was a pretty low key event…

And then, what started off as a slow trickle became a deluge of Italians. Not that I’m complaining, I love them all.  Oh how I LOVE them. It just seemed that there were none and then suddenly there were 70. And all of them were saying one of the two following statements:

“Vincent is the most adorable thing I have ever seen. LOOK AT THOSE CURLS!!”

And

“When are you having another?” And when I paused to answer… (while holding a Bud Light Lime) “Are you pregnant RIGHT NOW?!?!”

I think I hit 10 before I lost count. I asked Edward this morning. His response?

“Are you two going to have another baby? Is Jaime pregnant RIGHT NOW?”

Oh my lord.

Let me just clear everything up.

Yes, we are planning on having another child. No, I am currently not pregnant. I will be sure to let you all know immediately as soon as I find out, right after I pee on the stick. Maybe even before I tell Edward. Possibly before my mother-in-law knows. Maybe I’ll tell everyone via blog, that way everyone will instantaneously know. Plus, it will up my readership. To include more members of my family. Ha!

So, to conclude. I heart my family. Yes, they are all crazy and obsessed with babies. We eat a lot together. In fact, that appears to be what we do best. Yes, we are trying to have another one. No, I am not pregnant.

I really hope that has cleared up any and all questions…Don’t hesitate to ask me anything else. I’m sure you won’t.

xoxo a.m.

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Passive aggressive arguing via Pirate…

I have, from time to time, a few bones to pick with the husband. Excusing that he does work 2 jobs, rarely has a whole day off and get approx one morning a week to sleep in, he is a pain in my ass.

Like, I imagine, all of your husbands are. And if they are not, there seriously must be something wrong with your relationship. Even though I am sure they all do awesome stuff, just like mine, I seriously swear they also all have no clue at all.

Mine will literally leave pieces of actual garbage around the house and not notice them. He will walk over them. I have actually seen him walk through a pile of dirt I have just swept up, kicking it as he walks through it. Not noticing at all.

First time (yes, he’s don’t it more than once), I shouted “Oh COME ON!!” You’ve got to be kidding me!!” I mean, its not as if all paths lead right to the dirt. There were other routes he could have taken. He, honestly, just doesn’t notice.

But, I have solved the problem. And I am pretty sure you will be extremely impressed with how I handled it.

Yesterday, Vince and I got home from HomeDepot and Edward had left just a few minutes prior. The house was a disaster. One, I am sure, he hadn’t even noticed. And I had had enough.

After cleaning THE WHOLE ENTIRE HOUSE, while entertaining a 3 YEAR OLD CHILD and FEEDING HIM DINNER.

I very gracefully wrote a note in a sort of pseudo-pirate type language and propped in up in the fridge, next to ‘dinner’.

Late last night, E woke me up on his crawl into bed. He muttered something. I don’t remember what it was, but it wasn’t about pirates. This morning on my way to work, Edward called, asked after how the rest of my morning had gone, arrived at work and did not mention pirates.

Don’t worry, I brought it up.

“Hun, did a pirate leave you a message in the fridge last night?”

“Ummhmm, seemed to be making a good point too.”

“Are you planning on listening to him? He seemed rather forceful..”

“Clearly I do. It is obviously in my best interests.”

It obviously is. Jackpot!! All suggestions will now be delivered via pirate. I highly recommend.

xoxo a.m.

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Revenge pee

Things to Google:

Revenge Pee

And, of course, it is my son that leads me to Google things like this. The majority of knowledge I have gained from my son in the last 3 years is urine and feces related. Google is my best friend. It has helped me learn  lots of things, most of which are regarding how to remove odors and stains from various fabric-type materials.

For the last 3 weeks or so, a particular pattern has been developing. One which has, honestly, been rather hard to figure out. Periodically V will just pee. A sort of no-warning situation. Often times it’s as a result of a stressful situation, or a situation he just doesn’t approve of. Or, mostly, something he disapproves of.

Or we’d fight, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Through his shorts. Or, I’d say no, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Sometimes he’d just run off to a corner of the livingroom, pretend to play with his toys and then announce “Mummy. I peed. Right der.”

*sigh*

But finally I made the connection. Revenge pee. Dude.

Telling one of my friends about my theory, she thought “Did you see if there is anything online? Probably there is a Mum that has dealt with it already…”

Well, I did learn a whole bunch of interesting stuff about people who take revenge on other people by peeing on their stuff. Animals too. Not peeing on animals, I mean. Just animals that revenge pee. That’s what you get when you Google ‘revenge pee’.

When, however, you Google ‘Children pee’ you get all sorts of shizzle. Info that, frankly, I have no interest in really reading as I am living the dream and am pretty sure that all Mum’s are doing the same things that I am. There honestly is not that many actual options.

Comfort (if it was indeed an accident) or reassure.

Obviously clean up is a MAJOR part of the operation.

As of yet, there is no punishment. It is so a total ‘f-you Mummy, let me have my own way!!’ that I pretty much cannot have any real reaction. Maybe an eyebrow raise. Oh, and a Mummy-face. One that I am still perfecting as it has a 50-50 response rate.

Today was a good day though. No revenge peeing. Plus V actively asking to use the potty. AND he pooped. TWICE. ON the potty.

Despite my total exhaustion and low levels of everything (Family health issues that I will not be discussing, except to say that there are some. They make me sad. And I am trying very hard to be adult about them), V filled that potty the m-f-ing up.

Which, I admit, in hind-sight type-wise sounds a little gross, but for real. We were super high-fiving each other and I did not have to clean up any poo from any non-toilet surface today.

Now I have totally lost my train of thought. Pretty sure it’s about pee. Probably poo too. It is my life, after all.

Anyways, any tips on surviving revenge peeing?

xoxo a.m.

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Lies you tell your children (and other things I regret)

Lying to your kids.  For  ladies and gentlemen of my generation? Well, it’s a new thing.

For our parents? They are seriously thinking “Oh darn, they’ve finally figured it out.” And they mean us. If you just started lying to your own kids, this means you just figured out that your own parents lied to you.

Case in point: a few months ago, Vince and Edward were playing with the light switch in V’s bedroom. Flicking in on. And off. And on. And off. Andonandoffandonandoffandonandoffandonandoffandoff.

“Guys!! Don’t do that! You’ll start a fire!” I shouted dramatically. Which is, apparently, the only way I know how to shout. Unless it’s at work. Then I shout calmly. With dramatic license. Maybe that’s the same thing…

Edward looked at me. With humour. “It’ll start a what? What will it start Jame?”

“A fire. It’ll start a… hmmm… fire. Ya.”

“And who told you that?”

“My Mummy. My Mummy told me it would start a fire,” I said, petulantly, like a 3 year old. A three year old who knew they were wrong.

“Jame. Your Mum totally LIED to you,” Edward stated fake solemnly. Bastard. Seriously for years. YEARS. I thought that was the truth. It’s the little things, right? It was just a small lie, one that you’d forget about, one that would just become ingrained… (But regardless, I’ll still blame my husband)

And so, apparently, we all carry it on.

This past Christmas when we decided to take the tree down, we did it overnight. So when V woke up in the morning, it was gone. Coming downstairs, he was rather surprised.

“Mummy!! Where’d da tree go?!”

“Santa took it, back to the North Pole baby. Next year, he’ll bring it back.”

“Mummy? Where da weeth go?? And da lights?”

“Santa took the wreath and lights, baby. To the North Pole. But he’ll bring them back in December!”

“Oh, ok Mummy!”

And that has worked for several months….

This last week or so?

Whole buildings have disappeared. Random items from the house. Dirty underwear. Garbage. Chewies toys. Etc etc…

“Mummy!! Santa took it!! He took the building! And da fire truck! And da Christmas Dog movie!”

“No baby, no he didn’t” (Although, ‘Santa Paws’ can stay with Santa. I don’t want it back. Stupid movies about dogs with magical Christmas powers…)

Etc etc.

Santa apparently has taken everything or is about to take everything. Vince doesn’t say too much about him bringing those things back. I wasn’t trying to make him out to be a bad guy, just trying to find an explanation for why these things disappeared over night.

So it has now turned into a constant re-imagining of life. Because Santa can and, apparently, will, crop up and take things. He will TAKE IT ALL.

And NOT BRING IT BACK.

I can just see years worth of either therapy or lying ahead of me. Probably lying. Lots and lots of lying. Hopefully not therapy. Could be expensive…

xoxo a.m. (the big fat liar)

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Some more about poop

Look Mum! No Poop!!

As if I don’t write enough about it. Geez. I am annoyed with myself. But, you know, you draw what you can from your own experiences and this is apparently what my life is consisting of lately.

Today was a particularly special day.

It started off with poo and ended with it as well. How blessed am I! I guess I am blessed with an almost 3 year old that can pee in the potty, but hasn’t quite mastered the poo. But has mastered the ‘holding it’ part of the movement and is rather good at it.

Blah. Anyways, thats how it started today. A nonchalant statement ‘Mummy? I poo in my underwears.” It was just a flat out statement. No emotion at all. It has become de rigeur. Routine. Normal.

And then this afternoon? We got home, walked the dog and then headed out into the courtyard to pull some weeds. We have had a serious weed eruption in the last 5 days. It’s insane. V and I pulled about 3 pounds of weeds this afternoon and in the middle of all of this vigrous pulling, V announced:

“Mummy! Dere’s poo! Right der!”

“Oh?” Uninterestedly… “There is?”

“Mummy!! Right der. Da poo. It’s icky. It’s on my sock”.

Ok, now that got my attention. What? And then? There it was. In the middle of the courtyard.

A turd. Just one. But don’t worry, there was a shower of them to follow.

I had to pick them all up individually. With my bare hands.

Ha! I kid. I keed. I used a papertowel.

And just when I thought I’d got them all, we started heading upstairs and then one more appeared. Renegade poop.

Vince shouted: “It’s a stinky icky poo!! Ewwwwwwww!” Which made me laugh as it rolled out of his pant-leg and on to the floor. He created and disowned in a microsecond.

Having nothing near by to pick it up with, I used V’s dirty sock to pick up the turd, carry it upstairs and deposit it in the toilet.

And that, probably, is the perfect example of the regular life of a normal Mummy. Sock poo pick-up. Vomit slasher-film type experience. Random wet pants.

Edward got home 15 minutes later to a clean Vince, pj-clad and pleasant. Neither of us mentioned anything about poo. To Daddy or each other. Not that, I think, its something we’d have a conversation about. But it was just not mentioned.

And then, I watched Beauty and the Beast and went to bed. Clearly a win of a day…

xoxo a.m.

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Mary, Mother of God(‘s ring that I bought in Georgia)

So yesterday morning, my parents snuck out of the house so as to not say goodbye to me or Vince or Edward.

SNUCK!

Although, when I got all confrontational via text later that morning, it would appear that the Melvins simply had not gotten up in time. Oh man. I thought 5:45 would be early enough. It was apparently not.

But, I have to admit, this was a blessing. I think, if I had to physically hug my Mum goodbye on Friday morning, I would  probably have been a big meltly mess the rest of the day. And since Friday was extremely busy, that would have not flown well.

This way I just felt a bit cheated that I hadn’t hugged longer the night before. And kind of sad that V hadn’t gotten in one last hug. And now, on Saturday night, Chewie and I are hanging out alone after fighting with V at bedtime. And then making dinner and eating at about 8:45. Ugh. Mum, this is part of why I miss you. You encourage early eating. Also you would be encouraging not watching ANTM. I appreciate that encouragement.

I have so many stories to tell, I am afraid that you might hate me. Let me just finish with one.

Somewhere in Georgia, we (V, E and Sissy) pulled over for lunch at a BBQ place. I think it might have been a southern bbq first for my sis. But it also was a much need lunch for the 4 of us. V was cranking it OUT. He needed food.

We ordered. V and I went to the bathroom every 30 seconds to wash his hands. I gulped bbq. Sis ate hush-puppies. Edward oversaw it all. We survived the meal. My hands were particularly clean. So were V’s.

On the way out, as I chased V through the restaurant, we passed the toy machines . You know, those little machines with the tattoos, rings, stickers. All that sort of stuff?

Religious Icons. Thats what they have in Georgia.

Mary, Mother of ‘rings’, Jesus, Son of ‘rings’. Guess what we won.

Shoot.

xoxo a.m.

(and xoxo to Georgia and bbq too)

 

 

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Cookies

Click me for deliciousness

One of my lovely Mummy friends posted a cookie recipe last Friday.

Now let me just say that we are not a big ‘sweet’ family. Well, actually, that’s a lie. We are. And we have no self-control. And so we control it by not purchasing ‘those’ types of things, otherwise Edward and I would be a million pounds. A MILLION. And this is not an exaggeration.

I was checking out the link to the recipe and got happily sucked into the whole site. Glossy photos of food, charming writing with witty anecdotes, yummy looking recipes. I mean really, how much more interesting could it get?

So on a whim I bought the cookie ingredients on Friday during my lunch hour. I never buy a bag of M&M’s. Never. In fact, just the act of buying them made my whole body quiver in anticipation of sugar, chocolate and forbidden cookies.

“Edward, I’m baking cookies tonight, so take your time coming home with V”, I said during my frantic drive home. Frantic because of my precious cargo. and I don’t mean V (he was with Daddy).

“I’ll be home at midnight. Bake all you want. In fact, bake all I want, which is a lot…” he said. Or at least it was something to that effect.

Oh M&M’s, how you completed my last Friday night.

I baked sheet after sheet of cookies. Our house smelled mouthwateringly good. I ate maybe a bit too much cookie dough, because I was kind of bouncing off the walls when the boys rolled in.

F* me these cookies were good. I skipped the peanut butter chips (V’s allergy) but added coconut which added a nice extra texture layer to the finished product.

So thanks Cari for sharing. Not only have you introduced me to another great read, but the boys are in LOVE with the cookies. And I have somehow been coerced into baking 40 tomorrow night for some teacher meeting for the big E.

xoxo a.m.

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Things that happened this weekend..

… things that I didn’t tell you.

Things you might not even care about? Or maybe you do. Aw, I know you do!! You love us!

You love Edward (who doesn’t?!). And who can’t love a saucy Canadian and a plump, cheeky 2 year old? Literally, its impossible.

V had multiple booboo’s this weekend. Some of which he announced to me while I was driving. A booboo must be kissed by Mummy, that’s just the way things go. It is very difficult to kiss a booboo when one is driving and, say, the booboo is on a plump little foot that is being thrust towards you from the back seat. And then there is crying because you don’t pull over and kiss it.

So I suggested that Vince kiss his own booboo. And to my surprise, he did. And when I finally stopped the car at our destination? He didn’t want any additional kisses from me. And then I felt hurt, because I wanted to kiss those little plump, slightly smelly feet. Sad disappointment, eh?

I went back to the organic farm this morning with V, post-thunder storm. Pulling into the makeshift parking lot, our tires clung and stuck to the mud that we churned up. And as I got out of the car and walked over to V’s side, my flip-flops slurped and stuck with every step and I had a ‘My Cousin Vinny” flashback.

Inside, we picked up a stir-fry greens pack, some farm-fresh eggs and some goats cheese. Vince picked up some basil and squished it. And so I picked that up too.

On the way home, the car had the most delicious aroma. That basil was strong, it permeated everything. I literally would have rubbed it on my wrists, the aroma was so gorgeous.

Post-farm trip, I hit the sidewalks for another run. A repeat 5k, just in my immediate neck of the woods. Of course, I run as a super-thunder storm approaches. Mid mile number 2, Edward calls: “Do you want me to pick you up? I saw lightning.”

Me: “No, I think I’m ok. I haven’t seen any here. It isn’t raining yet either. I’ll call you”.

This? Because I was determined to do 3 miles and was pissed that I’d logged 1 1/2. And happily ignored the suspiciously black clouds that looked like they might be maybe right on top of me.

7 minutes later, I rang Edward “Hey!! Hi! Can you pick me up?!?!”. Oh his face was something to behold when he picked up my wet, smiling mug at the shelter of the YMCA overhang.

My response? Pure cheek.

Literally that is the only thing that would have been a good response. He is Italian, after all….

xoxo a.m.

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‘Edward’

Isn’t it interesting how things suddenly seem to change in a period of, say, 24 hours? And of course I am talking about children. As that is all I talk about because, well, that’s pretty much all there is going on.

There was forewarning, but we didn’t recognize the signs…

Thursday night, V called Daddy by his first name.

“Dad. Daddy. Daaaddddddyyy. DAD! Edward!”

*He wishes his real name to not be used, so I am using his middle. And that choice has absolutely nothing to do with having just watched Eclipse this afternoon.

Well, whatever we are calling him, it certainly got our attention. And then I laughed my face off. Last night at our family chili dinner, V did it again much to the delight of his Grandparents and Auntie.

And this morning, just after I left to hit up the movies with my girlfriend, M (or Edward) called and told me that V was running around the house looking for me, shouting “Mummy! Mum!!! MUMMY! Jaime!!!!!”.

Still, I find it quite funny. And probably will until he  starts using it as his primary name for me. My game plan is to (try to) not react to it at all. Wish me luck with that.

And moving on?

Moving on to V learning how to climb up his changing table.

‘Edward’ told me all about it Friday morning when he woke up on V’s floor (you know, since we are having night-time issues). He was still 3/4 asleep and V cleverly chose that moment to climb up his changing table. It looks like a 2 level book shelf and I guess that is helpful. Make it kind of like ‘steps’.

I laughed it off a bit when ‘Edward’ told me about the incident. Until this evening when he did it about twelve times. Right in the middle of bedtime.

Now this may sound like there is no control in our house. Really there is. This just happened to be a bad 2 minutes.

So while I moved the changed table out into the hall, rearranged the whole room and contemplated Ikea tomorrow morning, Vince read some books. Edward came upstairs and finished off the evening routine.

I lugged the table downstairs to the garage. And as I dragged it out through the courtyard I really had a good look at it. A proper good look. I think the last time I really noticed it as a piece of furniture was when I bought it. And I was hugely pregnant then. And then after? I ignored it. It is, after all, a receptacle for poo, diapers, powder and bums.

But as I was pushing it in to place in the garage, I looked at it properly.

Was the high rail supposed to be facing outward into the room? Or was the low rail. Because there is one of each. And we have always had the lower rail facing the room, with the high rail against the wall. But as I looked at it again and squinted and thought…

Shoot. Have I been changing my son incorrectly for 2 years? Has he been in non-stop danger of falling off the table? And then I laughed.

Not like it matters now, since we will be changing him on the floor, while we push the ‘big boy pants’ and the ‘stinky icky poo’ and then push the potty like an m-f’er.

There is now no place at all to keep V’s many many books. They are piled up all over his bedroom floor. Hence Ikea tomorrow.

But on an up note, his room seems bigger. And the cosy chair we have in his room is now positioned nearer a window which equals better light for Jaime and Edward to read by as V falls asleep.

Doesn’t that kind of sound like I am married to a vampire?

xoxo a.m.

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