You know those rubber bracelets people wear, generally in support of a charity, made famous by Lance Armstrong with his yellow ‘livestrong’ organization? Well, the Kraken has found an interesting new use for them.
Amy, a stuffed giraffe, has been my son’s favorite stuffed animal recently. She generally wears a diaper that momma has to change every morning. Diapers are expensive, and I am cheap. I decided it was high time to potty train. Hooray. It went well. Amy was wearing big boy underwear in no time. The only problem is I actually have to take Amy to the potty and pretend she goes. Like I have time for that.
Well, maybe not the only problem. The Kraken realized his little Siren sister is lacking a penis. My explanation of ‘boys have a penis and girls do not’ seemed to make sense to him, until Amy started using the toilet. Despite the name, my son has determined Amy is a boy and is therefore missing something. Being a resourceful boy, the Kraken easily remedied the missing situation.
Amy now stuffs her tighty whiteys with a yellow livestrong bracelet. Makes sense to me.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Point and Shoot
My son is potty trained. I don’t mean to brag nor jinx anything, but it was easier than any of us were prepared for. Sure we've had one random accident while at the library, but even that was small and he stopped himself from making any kind of mess on the floor. Hey, that’s what the emergency pants are for.
So, when I picked The Kraken up from the toddler room at church on Sunday it took me a moment to find him. His handsome little-self went in wearing khaki cargo pants and a red plaid button-down. He came out wearing a yellow tee shirt and olive green sweat pants complete with tapered leg and elastic hem. Interesting. The volunteer at the gate handed me a couple Ziploc baggies and tried to explain what had taken place, which must have included how my son landed a starring role in an 80s exercise video. I heard what she was saying, but it didn’t quite sink in as I was a little preoccupied with Shovey McShoverson, another parent who apparently needs to hear a sermon on patience.
Fast forward a couple hours and imagine me standing in front of the washing machine holding not one, but two pair of borrowed undies and slightly worn sweat pants. My first thought was the volunteer had given me some other kids pee and dirty clothes. Gag me with a spoon! But then my mind wandered back to our conversation . . .
“He did really well. He told us each time he had to pee.” Okay. So why am I holding two sets of backup bottoms?
“The first time he peed on the wall and sorta just splashed everything.” Oh. So, they attempted to have him aim at the urinal. That makes sense. There is no way in heck a two year old boy would pass up an opportunity to pee standing up at a urinal simply to explain to a stranger that he pees sitting down at home. (Don’t judge me people. I know a real man stands up when he pees. We will get there.) Synopsis: Poor aim during attempt number one led to splashed clothing and church backup outfit number one.
“The second time he told us he had to go,” (And yes, my son would milk every opportunity to pee standing up even if he had to drink 18 Dixie cups of watered down apple juice.) “he peed on the volunteer.” WHAT! How did I miss that? He peed on the volunteer. I wish I would have caught this at the time because it leaves me with only one question . . .
If he peed on the volunteer why did he need the olive green pants?
So, when I picked The Kraken up from the toddler room at church on Sunday it took me a moment to find him. His handsome little-self went in wearing khaki cargo pants and a red plaid button-down. He came out wearing a yellow tee shirt and olive green sweat pants complete with tapered leg and elastic hem. Interesting. The volunteer at the gate handed me a couple Ziploc baggies and tried to explain what had taken place, which must have included how my son landed a starring role in an 80s exercise video. I heard what she was saying, but it didn’t quite sink in as I was a little preoccupied with Shovey McShoverson, another parent who apparently needs to hear a sermon on patience.
Fast forward a couple hours and imagine me standing in front of the washing machine holding not one, but two pair of borrowed undies and slightly worn sweat pants. My first thought was the volunteer had given me some other kids pee and dirty clothes. Gag me with a spoon! But then my mind wandered back to our conversation . . .
“He did really well. He told us each time he had to pee.” Okay. So why am I holding two sets of backup bottoms?
“The first time he peed on the wall and sorta just splashed everything.” Oh. So, they attempted to have him aim at the urinal. That makes sense. There is no way in heck a two year old boy would pass up an opportunity to pee standing up at a urinal simply to explain to a stranger that he pees sitting down at home. (Don’t judge me people. I know a real man stands up when he pees. We will get there.) Synopsis: Poor aim during attempt number one led to splashed clothing and church backup outfit number one.
“The second time he told us he had to go,” (And yes, my son would milk every opportunity to pee standing up even if he had to drink 18 Dixie cups of watered down apple juice.) “he peed on the volunteer.” WHAT! How did I miss that? He peed on the volunteer. I wish I would have caught this at the time because it leaves me with only one question . . .
If he peed on the volunteer why did he need the olive green pants?
Saturday, February 5, 2011
There's a Snake in my Boot
At what point do I decide we watch WAY too much Toy Story?
- The Kraken alerted me to a change in nicknames, “Momma, I no call Rosie, Rosie B. anymore. Call Rosie, Stinky Pete.” And he does. I really hope that one doesn’t stick. My poor little girl.
- Toys are separated daily into a ‘donate’ pile and an ‘attic’ pile with a large percentage of Rosie’s toys being sent to Sunnyside.
- When very excited but can’t quite find quite the right words, my son yells, “To infinity, and beyond.”
- When I ask what movie we should watch, the response is in terms of Toy Story villains: Sid, Stinky Pete or Lotso Huggin’ Bear.
- My son can quote a great many lines, including some uttered by Spanish Buzz.
- If I call my son’s name while he is wearing a hat he asks, “Do you see the hat? I am Mrs. Nesbit.” Oh, sorry.
- He will randomly begin calling me, Wheezy and his daddy, Ken. I’m not sure who should be more worried: me because he thinks I resemble a chubby penguin with a smoker’s cough or my husband because Ken . . . well, need I say more?
- I always find a Toy Story 3 boxed figurine set in the bottom of our shopping cart in the checkout line at Target. Once removed the Kraken concedes, “Wait for it to go on sale? Good idea momma.”
Looks like we are having a Toy Story themed, 3rd birthday party in a couple months. I wonder how difficult it would be to make a rocket ship cake. Maybe I should start working on that with my nonexistent cake decorating tools. It can’t be that hard (says the woman with nary an artistic bone in her body). Maybe I should have a back-up plan on the rocket ship cake.
- The Kraken alerted me to a change in nicknames, “Momma, I no call Rosie, Rosie B. anymore. Call Rosie, Stinky Pete.” And he does. I really hope that one doesn’t stick. My poor little girl.
- Toys are separated daily into a ‘donate’ pile and an ‘attic’ pile with a large percentage of Rosie’s toys being sent to Sunnyside.
- When very excited but can’t quite find quite the right words, my son yells, “To infinity, and beyond.”
- When I ask what movie we should watch, the response is in terms of Toy Story villains: Sid, Stinky Pete or Lotso Huggin’ Bear.
- My son can quote a great many lines, including some uttered by Spanish Buzz.
- If I call my son’s name while he is wearing a hat he asks, “Do you see the hat? I am Mrs. Nesbit.” Oh, sorry.
- He will randomly begin calling me, Wheezy and his daddy, Ken. I’m not sure who should be more worried: me because he thinks I resemble a chubby penguin with a smoker’s cough or my husband because Ken . . . well, need I say more?
- I always find a Toy Story 3 boxed figurine set in the bottom of our shopping cart in the checkout line at Target. Once removed the Kraken concedes, “Wait for it to go on sale? Good idea momma.”
Looks like we are having a Toy Story themed, 3rd birthday party in a couple months. I wonder how difficult it would be to make a rocket ship cake. Maybe I should start working on that with my nonexistent cake decorating tools. It can’t be that hard (says the woman with nary an artistic bone in her body). Maybe I should have a back-up plan on the rocket ship cake.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Amen
The smoke detectors in our apartment are on the fritz. They are powered electrically but also have a back-up battery. The one in my son’s room decides every night around 3am that it needs a new battery and starts that crazy annoying beep every 26 seconds. (I can’t sleep, ever, and thought perhaps counting seconds would help me sleep. After FOUR HOURS of counting, I found the average time to be 26 seconds. Don’t you envy me now?) The Kraken thankfully has the ability to sleep through most of the beeping. Momma however is annoyed and therefore something must be done. And by ‘something must be done’ I mean my husband better fix it now.
My husband loves me or just wants to keep my inner nag kept hidden away and so promptly climbed upon a rickety bar stool to replace the angry battery. The Kraken decided to help by circling the stool stating over and over, “Keep your balance, daddy. Keep your balance.”
The ceilings in our apartment are quite tall, which is advantageous if you don’t want to feel like you live in a cave as many apartments can feel, but not so wonderful when messing with a smoke detector. After a few minutes of standing fully outstretched, my husband began to get a bit grumpy about the height of the stool. My son, always a helpful lad pointed out, “That’s only option. No have taller stool bench.” Huh. You are right son, we don't have anything taller. When did you take inventory of our furniture? And where did you learn the word option?
By this point, with all the beeping and testing of the detector, my little Rosie is wailing. At first I didn’t really notice. (Yeah, I know. What an awesome mommy. Her nighttime screaming is nothing new. She is, after all, The Siren.) The Kraken however, is quite sensitive to his baby sister’s pleas. He thus decided his role of helper needed a bit of a boost. He skipped into the living room, where I had retreated, folded his hands and said, “Dear Jesus, please help daddy no fall off stool bench. Please stop Rosie crying.” Then he looked at me with that precious dimpled grin, “That’s all momma.” I told him the best way to end a prayer was to simpy say, Amen. Delighted he replied, “Oh! Okay. That’s a good idea. Amen.”
Rosie did eventually stop crying and daddy didn’t fall of the stool, but now two more smoke detectors are beeping. It’s a darn good thing I can’t sleep anyway or I would be thoroughly peeved. At least I can lay awake remembering that little Cherub face praying to Jesus for his sister and daddy. Thank you, Jesus for the Kraken. Amen.
My husband loves me or just wants to keep my inner nag kept hidden away and so promptly climbed upon a rickety bar stool to replace the angry battery. The Kraken decided to help by circling the stool stating over and over, “Keep your balance, daddy. Keep your balance.”
The ceilings in our apartment are quite tall, which is advantageous if you don’t want to feel like you live in a cave as many apartments can feel, but not so wonderful when messing with a smoke detector. After a few minutes of standing fully outstretched, my husband began to get a bit grumpy about the height of the stool. My son, always a helpful lad pointed out, “That’s only option. No have taller stool bench.” Huh. You are right son, we don't have anything taller. When did you take inventory of our furniture? And where did you learn the word option?
By this point, with all the beeping and testing of the detector, my little Rosie is wailing. At first I didn’t really notice. (Yeah, I know. What an awesome mommy. Her nighttime screaming is nothing new. She is, after all, The Siren.) The Kraken however, is quite sensitive to his baby sister’s pleas. He thus decided his role of helper needed a bit of a boost. He skipped into the living room, where I had retreated, folded his hands and said, “Dear Jesus, please help daddy no fall off stool bench. Please stop Rosie crying.” Then he looked at me with that precious dimpled grin, “That’s all momma.” I told him the best way to end a prayer was to simpy say, Amen. Delighted he replied, “Oh! Okay. That’s a good idea. Amen.”
Rosie did eventually stop crying and daddy didn’t fall of the stool, but now two more smoke detectors are beeping. It’s a darn good thing I can’t sleep anyway or I would be thoroughly peeved. At least I can lay awake remembering that little Cherub face praying to Jesus for his sister and daddy. Thank you, Jesus for the Kraken. Amen.
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