Trick or Treat

Halloween.  Time for the annual family "bash."  Well, our version of a bash.  My in-laws, parents, and brother, sister-in-law, and niece (y'all know Boo) come over for chili and dogs and then some of the adults take the children trick-or-treating while the others hand out candy.  It's a great set-up.  My in-laws, who live about 20 minutes away, get to see the kids dressed up and participate in their Halloween.  (My parents and brother live in my neighborhood, so they would see the kids anyway).  Still, good times.  And the senior moms insist on providing dinner, so I'm winning all over the place.

I am a big fan of dressing up, not so much the ToTing.  I like the giving of the candy, but not so much the collecting of the candy.  I mean, my older child is only four and a half, so he only needs so much candy.  My 18 month old needs almost none.  We have never hit more than twenty houses, and then we're back home.  No complaints.  In fact, William was really concerned about missing the trick-or-treaters.  On the way home he insisted that he would be good at handing out candy because he was a good "hander."

After arriving back home, he took off the belt and cape of his his Count Dooku costume, leaving him in a black mock turtleneck and black pants, and then donned a pilot's helmet.  The costume of a trick-or-treater spotter and candy passer-outer.

For the rest of the night we heard,  
"Daddy, there are more guest-es.  I'll get the candy!"

As we all know, I am not very much on his radar lately, not even being invited to the wedding.

All the same, it was precious watching my little man passing out candy to kids three times his age.


P.S.  We stuck with the recent Star Wars theme.  William was Count Dooku, as mentioned above. Henry was Yoda, Boo was Leia, and Mimi and Uncle Tommy were both random Jedis, thanks to robes that I actually sewed myself.

The Saga Continues

So, William confided in me last night some things about his and Amidala's relationship.  And his sleep preferences.

Mom, I'm naked.

You're not naked.

The top part of me is naked. (He is sleeping in his underwear).
It's okay.  Amildala likes it.

She likes you to be naked?  What does she sleep in?

She sleeps in a blue gown.  She wears it all the time. (Sigh of relief).
She likes it when I'm naked.  She likes to feel my warm skin.  And my bellybutton.  (?????) That's boy language.  You can't say that.

I can't say "bellybutton"?

No.  Only boys can.

Girls have bellybuttons, too.

Yeah, Amidala likes mine.  And my warm skin.

Lord help me when puberty arrives.


By the way, I asked again why I wasn't invited to the wedding.  He told me that  he didn't "draw [me] on the list" because he didn't "know how to spell [me]." He did, however, know how to spell, Boo, Mimi, and Papa.  Not Mom.

Always a Bridesmaid

Never a mother of the groom.

William informed me last night that he was recently married.  To Amidala.  Because she was "so in love with him."  Who could blame her?

As any concerned mother would do, I questioned him on the genesis of the relationship.  Which, as far as I knew, was the actual wedding.

So, you and Amidala, huh?  Why did you get married?

Mom, I already told you.  Because she was in love with me.  And I love her.

Where was this wedding?

It was just at a restaurant.  It was at Off the Hoof.  (A local burger place--fancy).  It's a real restaurant.  But, you weren't there.

I wasn't invited?

Mah-ahm. (Exasperated tone).  I just already told you.  You weren't there. 

Well, just for the record.  Next time you get married, I want to be invited.

Well, it's too late.  Boo (his cousin and sometimes girlfriend) was there. 

Boo was there?  Why wasn't I invited?

You weren't on the list.

Eureka

This whole blog has been about my oldest (technically older since I only have two.  You should use the comparative, rather than the superlative.  That's the teacher coming out in me).  But, I digress.

This one is about Henry.

We were outside one early evening.  Both boys were just wandering around, trying out "outdoorsy" things.  I noticed that Henry's diaper was kind of hanging out of the bottom of his little one piece, baby-toddler outfit.  Rather than fix it, I just reached over and unsnapped his outfit and pulled the diaper off, leaving Henry essentially, "naked underneath his clothes."


It didn't take long for him to notice.  Arms straight down, he grasped the bottom of his now "open" outfit.  He lifted it up while simultaneously dropping his chin to his chest, eyes wide open.

PEE-PEE!


Up, down, up down, up down. PEE-PEE, PEE-PEE, PEE-PEE!


It was like a brand new discovery each time.


Reminds me of a comedian I once heard.  He had a young son, maybe 18 months old.  His wife was changing their son's diaper.  She yelled for him to come into the room, appalled that their son had "discovered" himself.  She asked her husband, "When is he going to stop doing this?"  The husband replied, "You're going to have to ask someone older than me."

Antonyms

Mom, these [ankle] socks are not likable!

They're not likable?

No, they're very hate-able!

Picture Perfect

Today was picture day at preschool.  Normally picture days are school-wide and the children are put in specific outfits.  So, I wasn't too concerned when William donned a Star Wars shirt.  (He has enough that he can wear one every day).  I don't think they were provided with outfits.  I don't think it was school-wide.  Oh, well.  I don't have to buy them.  William must have known that it was a wash.  This is the conversation he had with his teacher, Miss Kim.

MK--William, did you smile for your picture?

No, I just gave her a look like this. (And showed her his "mad face")

MK--Why didn't you smile?

'Cause I just didn't want to.  You know what I said to the pink lady?

MK--The pink lady?

Yeah, you know.  The lady that was wearing the pink.  I said, "May the force be with you." 
And she knew what it was.  'Cause she's seen that movie before. 

What IS This?

So, I was put in a position this morning where I had to shower, bathe Henry, and keep William out of trouble all at the same time.

We were running late for a birthday party.  Ben wasn't home yet from his haircut.  Henry was covered in appa sau'.  I asked William to grab a towel so that I cold dry off Henry and complete MY shower, which is impossible to do with a 17 month old in the shower, crying over the water splashing on his head.  He finally hands me the towel.

No, the red one.  Right there.  Behind you.  The RED one.  William.  Right. there.

William leaves the room.  A dry, naked Henry toddles after him.  My hair gets washed.  All is well.

William walks back in with something in each hand.

Mom, what IS this?

Some kind of cottony, butterfly on a string looking thing in the right hand.  Some kind of blue plasticky, cylindrical thing in his left. 

Holy crap.

He starts flapping the butterfly and pumping the smaller cylinder into the larger one.

Mom, what's this for?

Not ready to explain feminine menstrual products to my four year-old.  Son.

I mumbled something about it being for ladies.


Does Mimi have one?

Not anymore.

And, I got nothin' else.  No more William in the linen closet.

Lost In Translation

So, we were reading an obscure Shel Silverstein book last night called Don't Bump the Glump.  It contains a lot of weird poems.  And I mean that from the context of Shel Silverstein.  That's saying a lot.  I told him I'd read him the whole book. Unfortunately, I took this task literally.  I read every. single. poem.  Even the one called GRU.  The first line is "Don't pooh-pooh the Gru,"  as in don't dismiss or belittle. 

Am I really that dumb?  Because, to William that can only mean, don't defecate on.

And when William laughs, he means it.  He laughs with such sincerity.   From deep inside his belly.


Mom, why do you wanna POOP on the Gru? (belly laugh)

Umm, that's not what it means. It's hard to explain.

But, why you wanna POOP on it?

Sigh.  I tried to ignore the rest until he finally fell asleep.  Not the end of the story, though.

HE WOKE UP LAUGHING.  Half in his sleep.  And continuing the conversation. 

But, why you wanna poop on the Gru?

I give up.

Common Thread?

While watching Yo Gabba Gabba...They probably had some related segment, but I wasn't paying attention

Mom,  I love my world.

You love your world?

Yeah.

What do you love about your world?

The streets.  And 'lectrical wires.  And bear-blankie.  And air conditionin'...

Okay then.

Clarification

Dad, it's me!  Your son...William.

Brown Chicken Brown Cow

Did I mention that William is obsessed with Star Wars?  We play light sabers, 'lectricity from our hands, Anakin with the burned off hair...

He has two Star Wars encyclopedias that he pores over.  This one, that's from the movies and one from Clone Wars.  So, he's familiar with even some of (what I would consider) obscure characters.

Tonight he was playing with his Gaga (my mother-in-law) and Ahsoka Tano and Amidala were featured prominently in their play.  They cried a lot.  He really couldn't tell me why, but he wanted to know if Amidala could sleep with him tonight.  Not a figure.  Not a picture.  Just an imaginary Amidala.  But, he wanted permission first.

Please, Mom!  Please Amidala can sleep with me in my bed?  I really, really want her to!

Uh... Why?  Why do you want Amidala to sleep with you?

Because, I just really want her to!

(What is that they say about lawyers in court?  Never ask a question that you don't already know the answer to?  I can't help it, though.  I gotta know).

What are guys going to do? 

Read bed time stories and have fun!

Still a little too vague for me, but I'll allow it.  The biggest question, though, is what would he have done had I said no?

And the rest of the story...

At bedtime.

Is Amidala still planning on sleeping with you?

Yeah.  And Ahsoka wants to sleep with me, too.

I don't know if there's room for all of you.

Ahsoka can sleep on top of me because she likes me. (??????)  And she is very light.


How about she sleeps here at the foot of the bed?
  

Seeing Double?

In seeing a couple, both dressed in black, riding a motorcycle together...

Mom, look at those twins on that motorcycle!

Light up Star Wars Shoes

There are two kinds of parents in this world. The kind that think that light up shoes are tacky and the ones that think that light up shoes are tacky, yet buy them for their kids anyway. Maybe tacky isn't the right word. It's just a little disconcerting to see light emanating from footwear. Garish, maybe?

About a year ago, I bit the bullet and headed to Stride Rite to buy William some shoes. He has a weird foot and has always been hard to buy shoes for. I figured that I could find a nice pair at the big fancy shoe store.

We bought a nice pair of navy Saucony Velcro-strapped shoes. Plain. Just the way I like them.

Yet, he would put them on and stomp around going, "Look at my Star Wars shoes! They light up!" Whatever you say, dude.

So, best of both worlds for this mama. I get the plain shoes, he gets the light up shoes and we only had to buy one pair.

One day this summer, I insisted that he wear his Crocs (another parent favorite--I actually like them).

He said, "But, Mom. I want to wear my light up Star Wars shoes! These don't light up!"
(Hmm...let's try this) How about you pretend that these ones light up like you pretend with your light up Star Wars shoes.

That's a great idea! Mom, you're a genius! (You never know what's going to work. Crisis avoided).
The day came (just two weeks ago) when those plain/light up shoes had to be retired. They began to rip in front. Back to Stride Rite.

There on the wall--a whole row of Star Wars shoes. That lit up. Joy.

Ones that looked like the helmet of Captain Rex from Clone Wars. Like, 3 different versions.

And then, these.
For some reason, these were the least offensive to me. So, now we have an official pair of light up Star Wars shoes. Straight from his mind and onto the shelves of the Stride Rite. Could not convince him that the cute plain navy ones were better. Who did I think I was kidding?

The best part of this whole experience has to be from the point of view of the clerk at Stride Rite. A woman in a stained t-shirt, athletic shorts, flip flops, and hair thrown haphazardly in a barrette, tsking and rolling her eyes at those "tacky" light up shoes.