Happy Easter?

So, as most of, well, ok, ALL 3 of you, know, I work full-time.  Divo is in Kindy mornings, then joins up with, Whiney and Thing are with an angel of a sitter during the day.  Which works out just fine, when school is in.  Apparently not so much during vacation.

Day 1 - Monday.  The boys had a hard day.  Whiney spent most of the day in time-out, while Divo spent the afternoon there.  Apparently there was much sticking out of tongues, sassing of the adults, and general hooliganigans (my new word).  No TV, bed immediately following dinner.  No, you cannot play the iPod.

Day 2 - Tuesday.  Pre-sitter pep-talk, unending vows of IwillBeGoodIPromiseIwillIwannaGoHuntEasterEggsDon'tTakeItAwayPuhleese!  Of course, all vows were forgotten 0.34781684 seconds after I walked out the door.  Again, no TV, iPod, computer, outside, etc. etc.

Day 3 - Wednesday.  Again with the pep-talk and vows.  Added new threats and dire warnings to the mix.  Two pairs of totally innocent brown puppy eyes and one pair of hazel ones swear up and down they will be good.  SO.NOT.HAPPENING.

Day 4 - Thursday.  Nana-day.  Apparently the little tyrants were such perfect angels for nana that they got a trip to Storyland AND Playland.  WHUCK?!

Day 5 - Friday.  There was nothing good about this Friday.  Big & Middle (AKA Divo & Whiney) spent the day making our sitter wish she could gouge out her own eyes and stuff them in her ears to make it stop.  Or at least temporarily drown out the noise.  End Result?  Two big guys who were not allowed to go to the church Easter Egg Hunt on Saturday.

Day 6 - Saturday.  Biggest Kid welshes on manual-labor clause of punishment.  Thing goes on his first big-boy egg hunt and cleans up.  Tries to return eggs to chickens.  Insists that horses and ponies say MOO.  Fun Times.

And I am officially the Meanest Butt-Cheek Mom EVER and I suck.

Day 7 - EASTER SUNDAY!  Am awakened at 6:10 am by Divo "Guess what the Easter Bunny broughted me!"  Hmmm, I am totally stumped. At 7:10, Divo is back upstairs explaining what the other boys got in their baskets.  I ask if he opened their stuff, fully expecting an honest answer.  He said NOPE.  Head downstairs with Whiney.  And what to my wondering eyes did appear?  A room strewn with Easter schwag, and one smug tyrant!  That, that, that KID just up and opened both of his brothers' baskets, including candy and chocolate bunnies and gifts and such, to satisfy his own curiosity.  WHUCK is WRONG WITH YOU SON?!  To his credit, Whiney did not make any comment about it, and simply tucked in to his chocolate bunny.

Come to find out that Divo has also been outside, scoping all the eggs - Not Cool my friend!  Divo lost his egg hunt privilege.  So, as I explain to D and he explains to Whiney, Whiney comes back with (now, imagine a diva-ish head bobble/finger wag/hand-on-hip stance) "Now THAT sounds like a PLAN!"

I love my kids, even when I want to throttle them.  THE. END.

Toddler Tidbits

Ahhh, the twoddler (my new fantabulous word for those kidlets between 3 and 5, who aren't really tods anymore, but aren't "big kids" yet either).  There are several steps the twodler must master on his or her journey to Big Kid-hood; I shall elaborate on the first 5 today.


My twodler is Whinemaster, aka Whiney, aka Logan.  Now, several things you should know about Whiney:

1. He is a literal gas-bag.  The kid toots all. the. flippin. time.
2. He is also a poop machine.  Nuff said.
3. He can whine and look angelic at the same time.
4. He is a middle child - I think we all know what that means.

Now, Whiney is my mama's boy.  He's always demanding to sit on my leg, or to kiss my arm (whuck?), or wear my shoes or SOMETHING.  ALWAYS.  When Divo began twodler-hood, I had it relatively easy.  Whiney was but a twinkle in my eye and a basketball in my belly.  When he got out of the 'hood, Thing was in the belly, practising kicking ass.  Divo, as an only, then as an oldest, never really hit all of these stages, and yet, looking back I see them for what they really were; the first steps on the road to world domination.  At least until you turn 5.


Step 1: Perfect the art of the snappy comeback.
Step 2: Master the art of clothing and shoeing onself.
Step 3: Forget you've completed Step 2.
Step 4: Get your flirt on
Step 5: IcouldtellyoubutthenIdhavetokillyou

Step 1, the snappy comeback.

Now, maybe it's just me, but I NEVER would have considered thinking about some of the stuff that comes out of my sweet Whineys' mouth.  Not to say that it's all bad, I just, well, I, oh nevermind!  Where was I?  Oh yes, the snappy comeback.  Take this conversation as an example:

   Mom: Whiney, chalk is not really for coloring books.

   Whiney: (head bobbling all over like some sort of crazed chicken) Well its wowkin just fine - see, I gotta    pink Iron man here.

   Mom: Yes, I do see that, and he is lovely.  You are getting chalk dust everywhere... LOOK AT YOUR HANDS DONT TOUCH MY COUCH YOU ARE COVEREDINPINK!
   Whiney: (again with the head bobble, add hand on hip and shaking index finger) Well it's a dang good things I'm washable now aren't it?  (Stomps off to show art to more appreciative person).


This is simply one of many examples of the indisputable logic of the twodler.


Step 2, the art of getting dressed.
Now, back in the day when Whiney was, oh, pushing the ripe old age of 3, he would get up when the sun peeped over the mountains, get completely dressed in the dark, toddle down to get some breakfast, then come back upstairs when he heard daddys' alarm go off.  It was lovely.  Until.....


Step 3, completely forget Step 2.
   Whiney: Moooooooom!  I need HOLP!  I canna get dis dang cwoves awf!
   Mom: So, you are telling me you can't get naked?  Why not?  
   Whiney: Oh, I can get nekkid on da bottom, (proceeds to do so, in the middle of the living room), but da TOPH.  Da TOPH momma - I tink mah noggin tew big.  Or da shithowle tew smoll. 
   Mom: THE WHAT?!!!
   Whiney: Da shithowle (pulls at the neck of his shirt to demonstrate)
   Mom: OH!  The neck.  Honey, your head is just right, but you can't just yank on the neck to get the shirt off.  (Proceed to "help" with the getting nekkid portion of the morning entertainment.)
   Whiney: Arencha gonna holp me? 
   Mom: Help you to what?  You know how to get dressed.  You've been doing it for 2 years now.
   Whiney: (demonstrates complete ineptitude by shoving two feet into one undie leg-hole and falling flat on his face, while tooting.)  SEE!  I canna get dese dang (stomping & toe-flicking of the undies ensues) chonies!  I NEED HOLP WITE NOW!
   Mom: (sigh, maybe an eye roll, I plead the 5th)  Fine.  I'll get your feet into the chones, then you can pull them up. 


I could go on, but this is getting painful.  Needless to say, I ended up dressing him, and have needed to assist with the getting dressed portion of the morning every morning since Thing was 6 months old.  FUN.  Because Whiney just doesn't give a damn if I toss him in the car in his jammies and drop him off at the sitter.  At least until he realizes he's still wearing last nights' pull-up and he forgot clean chonies.


Step 4, perfecting the flirt
Now, most kids I know are either in-your-face hi howareya when they meet new people, or they cling to the leg of the closest familiar adult and refuse to look past the end of their nose.  Until they have mastered Step 4 anyway.
Step 4, for twodler boys, is usually accomplished in the presence of a cute older girl, often a tween or young teen.  She is always pretty, and always friendly. 
Twodler boys will start by using the bashful eye-batting move and peek-a-boo glance to get the attention of said cutie.  Once they have obtained their partner, they will master the art of flirting at mach speed.  At least until their voices start to change, or they start growing man-hair, whichever comes first.  Or so I'm told.

Step 5, Secret Squirrel, and other stuff Moms can't know.

I don't know what it is about turning 4, but twodlers like to become very secretive when they reach this ripe old age.  As in I stole mommy's baking cinammon and hid under the table to taste it but it was nasty so I dumped it onto the WHITE CARPET king of secretive.  The child moved.the.dining.table to hide his pile of nasty cinammon.  NICE.

What is it about the space under the bed?  Whiney has TONS of crap stashed under there.  Does he play with it?  No.  Does he need any of it?  Nope again. Does he freak the freak out if I even mention  going under there to clean?  Oh even YESSER.

And the BACKPACK.  Whiney's backpack weighs 30 pounds if it weighs an ounce.  And it talks.  And it squeaks.  Seriously, what is in that thing?  I'm pretty sure it's just a Kung Zhu hamster, but it's still a bit disconcerting to hear a teeny voice twitter 'Raaarin to go!' every time you pass the bag.  But god forbid I ask what he's got in there, because then he won't take the darn thing off for the rest of the day because 'Sumbudy might git mah stuff in hewe and I don hafta shewe dis stuff cuz its MINE.'

And don't get me started on the hiding of the dirty underwear.  That's just gross. Seriously, dude, if you have to hide it, please hide it in the washer!

And, as a treat for all of you, I've finally figured out how to give you a link to Mommyland!



http://www.rantsfrommommyland.com/