The Human Tornado Strikes Again

Oh. My. Gosh. I could not be more fully convinced that boys are different from birth. Yes, my boy has been my most cuddly child so far, but that is not what I mean when I say different. I mean: Destructive. Tenacious. Energetic. Daring. Defiant. I'm sure there are more, but I am too worn out to think of them.

I had to take Carson to the doctor today. We must have been a sight. I am babysitting my 9-month old nephew until Saturday when his parents return from Hawaii (This is a whole other story. Just wait. It's coming.). So, it was me with my 3, my nephew Hayden, 2 diaper bags, my purse, and an umbrella stroller.

Even so, my doctor tells me that I have to get my 3-year-old daughter to pee in a cup. Yeah.

I left Cody in charge of Hayden, who was strapped into the stroller. I figured there was about a 50/50 chance for disaster there and being a mother of 3, I'm comfortable with those odds.

Carson and Memphis and I headed to the bathroom with our little cup. I sat Memphis down on the floor with his bottle (I know, not the cleanest place, but what were my options?) and got Carson situated. She was experiencing stage fright, so things were progressing v e r y s l o w l y. Memphis chooses this moment to pull himself up to stand.Using the toilet. DISGUSTING!!! I seriously thought about moving Carson off of the toilet so that I would have a place to throw up.

Apparently the inside of the toilet is very interesting because he then leaned over the seat to look in, nearly dumping his bottle into the pot. I one-handedly pulled him away (still holding Carson's cup with the other hand) and he immediately beelined for the toilet paper roll. He unraveled a good 10 feet, grabbed the accumulated pile and headed for the opposite side of the bathroom. None of this is helping Carson pee.

And for his Grand Finale: He took 5 or 6 wobbly steps over to the trash can and dramatically spiked his bottle into it. There! It was obvious that he felt better. It was like all of this crazy energy had been building all morning and...FINALLY...he got it all out. I was never so glad to leave.

Huh?

Cody sang a song for me tonight. It goes:

"It's the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse,
Come inside, it's fun inside.
M-I-C-K-U-I M-O-U-S-E."

Now, I've been to Disneyland. I've met Mickey Mouse. I have not, however, had the privilege of meeting what I can only assume is his brother, Mickui Mouse.

Summer, officially

This weekend we put up the above ground pool again. We've had such mild weather so far this year (global warming?) that it has only recently been warm enough to swim outside. The kids were very excited to jump in, but yesterday was stormy so today was the first time we actually got in.

For Cody and Carson it was pretty much what you would expect: happy screaming, splashing, choking... Yes, it seems that they have not yet figured out how not to inhale the water.

But the real fun came when Memphis got in. When he gets older I'm going to have a very hard time getting him out of the pool. He wanted me to let him go so that he could swim unrestricted. How do you explain sinking to a baby?

The best part though was after we got out. We were all sitting next to the pool drying off when we were attacked by ladybugs. It was so strange. They were everywhere. Anyway, one landed on my arm and started crawling around and I showed Memphis. He was amazed. He kept trying to grab it between his thumb and first finger. Of course, I knew that would only result in a very messy smear of ladybug so I put it on his arm instead. He watched it for several moments until it made it's way down to the tip of his tiny finger.

Apparently this was just what he was waiting for. He opened his mouth really wide, started moving his finger toward his mouth, and...

You don't really think I would let my son eat a ladybug, do you?

Heaven Sent

See what I mean?

Remember yesterday, when I posted that I'd be needing advice on wedding stuff? The following email exchange should make perfectly clear why I am soliciting this advice.

I sent Brad a link to the flowers that I like (a beautiful, yet understated bouquet of red roses) and this is what he sent back:

"I also really like the calla lilies with maybe a couple (or more) of the red roses mixed in."

and

"The roses with star of bethlehem R purdy purdy 2."

So I replied:

"baby, i love you. but i don't like the star of bethlehem. and let me tell you that i love you one more time."

and

"ok...so did you see the romantic rose one? I'm not really diggin the calla lilies. Do you hate my roses?"

His response?

"I like roses! Really! I like 'em alot! I was just throwing ideas out there. I love you!!
And yes, I thought the romantic roses were beautiful."

So...is he just saying he likes the roses to make me shut up? Because you know usually the guy couldn't care less about what flowers the bride will be carrying, so to make a fuss out of it makes me think he hates the roses. And furthermore, since when have I cared about things like flowers? Dang, this wedding is really messing me up.

Just in case you are interested, these are the roses in question:
http://67.59.139.71/flower_product.asp?sCurLabel=romantic&sCurFile=romantic_red.swf~
If the pic doesn't come up right away, just click on Romantic Rose in the Select a Flower menu. Don't, however, click on Calla Lily. Comments are more than welcome.

Introducing...

My family is expanding. Don't worry, I'm not pregnant.

There will be three new additions and therefore three new frequently photographed faces to add to these pages.

In case you haven't caught on by now, I'm getting married. And my husband-to-be has two wonderful children who I am excited to help raise.

Somebody will be calling me a step-mother. Step-mother. Step-mother. No matter how many times I say/type/read it, I can't get used to that. Oh man, what an opportunity to fail miserably.

No, I'm just kidding. I think.

Anyway, I suppose some of you are dying to know what they look like.

Let me introduce Brad, the man I love, who will kill me for posting a picture of him that was taken while he had a mouth full of burrito. At the time I told him nobody would ever know...

Also, his daughter Brianna who will be 10 soon and who will either give Cody a run for her money in the drama queen department, or be one heck of a role model. Only time will tell.

Last, but not least, his son Meyson, 14, who may be one of the funniest kids I've ever known. He says things like, "Hey make sure not to run over the giant chick," while holding a tiny barbie car and a large toy Easter chick. Ok, so you probably had to be there, but it was friggin' hilarious.

So anyway, for a long time I have kept this part of my life off limits for my blog, but the times they are a changin'. As we draw closer to August, which is when the deed will be done, I will probably need lots of advice about things like flowers, hair, and whether or not to give up my real identity. He's laughing now but in the back of his mind he's thinking, "Oh no, is she serious?"

Of course I'm serious baby.

Bribes?

Cody and Carson have been fighting over who gets to climb into our mini-van first for a few weeks now. It gets on my nerves quite a little. I have been refusing to mediate these fights for the last few days assuming that they would come up with their own solution. I'm not sure I'm happy with what I heard:

Cody- "Carson, can I please get in first this time?"

Carson- "Sure, if you pay me a dollar."

At first I wondered if she even really knows what a dollar is, but then it occurred to me that I should probably be more worried that my 3 year old knows how to execute a bribe. What's next? Blackmail? Extortion?

Carson's prayer

Dear God,

Thank you for my mommy's fingers,

thank you for my mommy's head,

and...ummm...thank you for my mommy's tights.

Ah-man.

He's Got No Strings

Memphis has become a tornado. Today he hauled over to the entertainment center, pulled open the cabinet, spilled a tower of CDs and DVDs onto his lap, squealed like it was the coolest thing that ever happened, and repeatedly slapped the pile while laughing.

Exasperated, I made my way over there for the futile task of putting everything back. But Memphis was not done. The two minutes that I had my back turned were just long enough for him to destroy the nice, neat piles of folded laundry. I don't mean that he unfolded a couple of things; two whole loads of laundry strewn about the living room. In general, I'm lucky if I get the laundry folded in the first place. The odds of it happening again...slim.

As if that weren't enough, for the third night in a row he has deposited more dinner in his hair than in his mouth. It makes me want to order little tiny shower caps for him to eat in.

I have come to the conclusion that there's only one explanation for all this destructive behavior:

He's a real boy.