A Shining Parenting Moment

Or one that I can't believe that I'm even sharing.

I would ask you not to judge, but I know that you are.  And I am judging you for your judgment of me.  So there.

This one is on my little one, Henry.

Let me set up the scene for you.  It is in the morning.  We are running late.  I didn't even need that last sentence.  Mornings are almost always a mad rush, especially when I have to be at school by 7:45 for a meeting.  I have had a meeting every morning this week except for Monday.  Henry has been staying up late whether we put him to bed at a decent hour or not.  He will literally do head stands in the bed if he is not ready to sleep.  So, he gets to stay up until I think he may actually stay slightly still when I put him in bed.

I asked you not to judge.  And if you are at this point, hold on.   It gets much better.

So back to the mornings.  Since Henry has been going to bed later, he sleeps later.  I wake him at the last minute, rush him trough his bowl of cereal, slap on some clothes, and shove him (not literally, people) out the door.

Today, he didn't like the fact that I didn't let him take one of William's Lego toys along for the ride to daycare.  So he voiced his displeasure.

I no like you anymore.  I like Daddy the best.

I don't think I said anything in response.  Or I said something that did not live up to the response he expected so he went a little further:

I gonna punch you in da face.

What the (fill in any four letter word you like.  I probably thought all of them.) ??????

Surely, he didn't say what I thought he said, so I asked him again. And he replied, a little sheepishly

I gonna punch you in da face.

 I did NOT teach him that.  I really didn't know how to react.  I am not a spanker (don't judge, I tell you!)  I have my reasons and they're mine, but I couldn't help but swat that behind.  Through that diaper, though, it didn't have much of an impact (pun intended).  I was reeling for the correct course of action.  Time out?  Time out? Are you kidding me?  But, I really wasn't sure he knew what he was actually saying, just that it was bad.  So, I continued our get-out-the-door-in-the-morning routine while mumbling something about a "consequence" when he got home. As I am doing this, he's saying,

"Sorry, Mom.  I sorry."

You can stuff your sorries in a sack, Mister.

We're home for about 30 minutes when I remember the morning.  I am conflicted about following through with the consequence or all the research I've read that consequences for the very young are meaningless if they are not immediate because children will forget and then be confused when you give them such a delayed consequence.  (Did you get all that?)

So I decide to bring it up to see what he remembers.

Do you remember what you said to me this morning?

William:  I renember, Mom!  I renember what he said!

I am sure you do, but I want to see if Henry does.  Henry, what did you say to Mommy?

William:  He said,

William, I know that you know.  I want to hear from Henry.

Henry:  I said I punch you in da face.

Well, whaddya know?  He remembered.

You know you are going to have to go to time out. (DO NOT JUDGE).

I not punch you in da face.  I say nice things to you.

You still have to have a time out. 

No.  I not want to.

I say nice things.

I love you, Mommy.

I sorry.

You pretty, Mom.

Such a sweet little manipulative face.  This kid has been 3 years old for less than two weeks.

So I pick him up and promptly place him on his time out bench.  I have to admit that a little part of me is swayed by the sweet talk.  And then I hear

You're gonna get it, Mom!  You're gonna get it!

What am I raising??



I just had to know what he thought "punching in the face" meant, so I asked him.

Ummm...it mean bein' not nice?  It mean bein' not good?

Small victory.  This child is not imagining actually thrusting his fist into my face.  And since I can't let anything go, I asked William where he thinks Henry heard such a thing.

I never said it...in front of him.

Well, maybe I did say it in front of him.

0 for 2.

Mother's Day 2013

What better day to share some of the things that make my life as a mother fulfilling?

My husband wanted to have dinner for me.  I opted to have it last night rather than tonight.  (And it was delicious, by the way.  Filets seared on the stove and then cooked in the oven.  Best steak I've ever had).  William wanted to also make me breakfast this morning.  Not just any breakfast.  Pancakes.  We opted for McDonald's rather than make a mess.  I got the gift I asked for--a nice travel coffee mug.  (Those things are pretty high dollar for what they are!). I have just recently become a daily coffee drinker.  I am also one of those rare moms who would prefer something practical.

Anyway, after breakfast and a little lazing, we went to church.  The boys got their Sunday church donut (the McDonald's breakfast was no deterrent) and Henry headed to the nursery.  The non-nursery children had their short sermon, which consisted mostly of watching a short video on motherhood, and were then instructed to hand out carnations to all the ladies in the church, not just their mothers, and then give each recipient a hug.  William wisely gave me my flower first and then gave flowers  to two other women.  It was adorable to see him give them a hug.  The second lady was at the far end of the pew and he and she stretched to pass/receive the flower.  He had to run back to the front of the church, around the front row and all the way to the back again to give her a hug.  Ahh, I just love that kid.  And then he went on to children's church while we enjoyed an extra EXTRA long sermon on families and prayer.  The conclusion was to have all of the children (nursery also) return to the sanctuary so families could pray together.  Now, this church is really small.  Like, the minister can probably make out my eye color from the pulpit and we sit in the next-to-last pew.  I see Henry and walk to the front to walk him back to our pew.  William comes in and sits next to my parents on the other end of the pew. I put Henry on my lap and bow my head.

Henry, pointing to the screen st the front of the church:  MOM, WHAT'S THAT SAY?

Me:  Shh.  It says "The Lord's Prayer".  We're supposed to be praying quietly.

Henry:  WHAT'S THAT SAY???

Me:  Be quiet Henry.  It says to pray with your family.

Henry:  CAN WE GO TO MIMI'S HOUSE LATER?

Me:  Shhhhh.  You're going to Gaga's.

Henry:  I WANNA GO TO MIMI'S HOUSE AND PLAY WIF SYDNEY!

Me:  You can go to Mimi's house after Gaga's.

Henry:  I CAN GO TO MIMI'S HOUSE LATER?

Me:  Yes.  Shhhhh.

Henry:  I WANT SOMEFIN' HUNGRY!

Me:  Shhhh.  Let's say a prayer together.

Henry:  I. WANT.  SOME.  FIN'. HUN. GRY!

I "quietly" lead him to the small area a the back of the church where the donuts are to get him "somefin' hungry."  They have a HUGE, like 6 foot tall painting of Jesus hanging on the wall.  He's holding his hands out, open palmed.  Henry looks up and asks:

What's God doing?

Before I can answer, "Blessing people." or "Welcoming people."  Henry comes up with his own answer:

I fink he's loving all da peoples.

Melt.

My husband took the boys to see his mother while I relaxed at home.  I was ready for them to come home when they did, though.  We'll go see my mom later. Right now, we're all on the couch together hanging out.  No one is fighting.  Life is good!

You're So Funny, You Should Host a Talk Show

Or at least appear on one.

Last night William and I were doing homework together.  One of his tasks was to identify and find the value of a quarter.  As he meticulously wrote 25¢ on the line he commented, "Twenty-five.  That's how old you are!"

I answered, "Not quite."

He guessed, "Twenty-six, twenty-seven?"

"Not exactly.  I'm forty."

"Forty?  You gotta be kidding me!"

"Forty is no joke, kid."

I must've chuckled which gave him the notion that he was hilarious enough for late night talk shows because his follow up was

"I think that I should be on the Tonight Show.  Can you get me on there?"

"Well, it's not that easy.  You have to be invited."

"Well, can't you Facebook them or Twitter them?" (And no, my six year old does not have either. And I barely ever use Twitter myself.  Facebook is a different story, but I digress).

"Umm, it's not that simple.  They have to know of you somehow. Like you have to do something that they hear about and then invite you on."

"Well, why don't you Twit them or Tweet them or something.  I think that people would really like to see me on there.  I would crack them up.  They would think that I'm really funny."

They just might, kid.  They just might.

We're going to hold out for Jimmy Fallon.

A Two-fer

William has reached an important rite of passage in every young man's life.  Yes, an obsession with Legos.  He loves them.  He doesn't exactly know how to put them together on his own *cough* enabling parents who do it for him *cough* but he loves them.

Every time we go to Target, we have to go look at the Lego section.  And, no.  He does not get to purchase a set even close to every time.  He is satisfied with looking and putting them on the imaginary and never-ending "birthday list" or "Christmas list."  It's amazing how that works, by the way.

Can you buy this for me?

No.  Not today.

Can you get it for me for my birthday?

We'll put it on the list.

(Excitedly) Thanks, Mom! (I will be so sad when this ploy no longer works).

So, this past weekend my in-laws had the boys spend the night Friday and  told them they'd take them to Target to get a toy on Saturday.  It had to be less than $20. Where do you think William took them?  That's right.  Straight to the Lego section.  She pointed to the row of Legos that were $19.99.  His eye wandered to a row of Legos that were $39.99.

How about one of these, Gaga?

Not those.  See the 3 there?  You need to look for Legos that have a 1 as the first number.

What about this one?

Um, that has a 9 in front.  I don't think I have enough money for those, William.

Sounds like you need to get a job, Gaga.

He eventually settled on two Star Wars Death Star Lego sets for $9.99 each.  And Gaga has no plans to get a job to support William's Lego habit any time soon.

One of the sets he wants is about $70.  It's the Lego City Forest  Police Station.  Definitely one on the "Christmas list."  He talks about it all. the. time.  Santa better deliver.  I'm just saying.

This morning on the way to school, something occurred to him.

Mom.  Why do they call it Far-est City.  It's not that far. (Keep in mind.  We live in the South.  We don't always say things like you do).

Honey. It's FOR-est.  The place with lots of trees.

Yeah, cause all you have to do is turn right.  Then you go where my finger is pointing and then you go over this bridge, and then it's right there.  (Apparently he knows the exact location of an imaginary Lego forest).

Um.  Yup.  It's really not that far.

Race Card?

There comes a time in every parent's life when s/he realizes that his/her child realizes that people are different.  It's natural.  We all do it. Compare/contrast and all that jazz. But children notice things that we are embarrassed to talk about. It's not polite conversation.  You don't point out that someone's skin color is not that same as yours.  When William first described one of his teachers as the one "with the brown skin" Ben and I were nervous.  Reminded us of a Seinfeld episode.  "Should we be talking about this?  I don't think we should be talking about this."  But, when you really THINK about it, it's weird that it's weird.  People are different.  So what?  Makes life interesting.  Makes life diverse.  And pretending that you don't notice that someone looks different than you is a little strange.

Nevertheless, it's not something that's easy to broach.  So I didn't know what to think when the following transpired.

William was sitting on the couch, leaning against the arm and playing with my iPad.  Some drawing app.

White is a race and a color.

What the what? My heart skipped a beat.  What does a five year old know about race?  Who would be talking to him about that, anyway?  I took a breath and tried not to jump to conclusions.

Tell me again what you said?

White is a race AND a color.

Okay.  I didn't misunderstand.  Where do I go from here?  I channeled my very limited background in early education.  Ask questions.  Don't assume you know what a child is thinking.  Even though it was DEFINITELY obvious.  I heard it twice.

What do you mean by that?

Well, it's a 'erase' because you can erase with it, but it's also a color.

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Hold on for Dear Life

Boys are gross.  Sorry, they just are.  Okay, maybe your boy is not gross.  But YOURS is.  So, YOU know what I mean. But, maybe not you.

I came across another surprise in the toilet one morning and I had JUST had enough.  What is so hard about flushing?  It's one little swipe down, but it makes all the difference.

WILLIAM!!!

What, mom?

You HAVE to start flushing when you POOP!  It's SO gross!

(Giggle).  Okay, mom. (I was not convinced).

That's it.  You are NOT getting ANY privacy ANYmore.  From now on, I will be IN the bathroom with you EVERY time you go to make sure that you both WIPE and flush. (Aside--William is not a consistent wiper, but he is almost always a "perfect pooper."  Spot wipe checks are almost always clean, but 95% is not 100, so he needs to get in the habit.  Just sayin').

What do you mean?

What do you MEAN, what do I mean?  I mean that I will be with you in the bathroom every time you go to make sure you wipe AND flush! (Aside #2:  William loves his privacy.  Even when he wants an escort to the bathroom, for whatever reason, when he gets there he insists that you leave. That's why I figured that this would be an effective threat).

And it went back and forth with him asking me to restate my position.  If you have a young child, you probably know what I mean.  They don't always believe you the first time when it's something that they don't want to hear.  EVEN when you're consistent about following through with threats.  It's like they're always holding out hope.

He gave me one last desperate look, and clutching his hands over his "man parts" asked

Are you really going to take away my privates?

How do you explain to your child that you are not in favor of genital mutilation when that is what he pictured in his head?  I don't know if I can erase that image.

Going on a Chicken Hunt...Wanna Come Along?

So, the other morning, we were sitting at the breakfast table.  Eating breakfast food.  Cereal and oatmeal (which I know is technically a cereal) when William asks

Do chickens die when you kill them?

(A little background.  William is a little bit obsessed with mortality.  He may be a teeny tiny bit anxious.  And a candidate for Zoloft).

Me:  Well, yes.  Just about every time.

I have a great idea.  Maybe one day, when it's not a school day,  like tomorrow, we should get a bow and arrow and go hunting for chickens.  And then when we find one, we can shoot it with an arrow and kill it and then we can eat it for dinner.

Hmm...I wouldn't even know where we would go hunting for wild chickens.

I know.  Maybe we could go to a farm.

I think we could find chickens at a farm, but I don't know if we would need to kill them with a bow and arrow.

How would you kill it? (Now, I don't know why I was hesitant to tell him how you could wring a chicken's neck or chop a chicken's head off.  Even typing it now, it seems so violent.  More violent than a bow and arrow, though?  Or...)

Maybe you could shoot it with a gun.

I think that might be a little overkill.

What you said?

Never mind.  I don't think you're old enough to use a bow and arrow.  We'll just buy our chickens at Kroger.

It's Been Awhile

Oh my.  It's been a long time.  I kind of lost steam, I guess!  We've been busy with work and life and our arch-nemesis...soccer (I will post on that later.  It will be a long one).

Here is a short one.  Just to get my feet wet.

As you may have gathered from previous posts. William is the ultimate consumer.  He is the anti-Lloyd Dobler.  He wants to buy anything sold or processed.

Last night was the last soccer game of the season (again, more on that later) and the thing that he was most excited about was the post-game "banquet" at McDonald's.  Because they have spy toys.  Which are for boys or girls.

Each of the three boys got a different spy toy and spent most of the banquet comparing spy tools and pretending to be spies.  Very much incognito in their bright yellow matching soccer uniforms.  Go Lightning!  (The two girls opted for the Barbie prize even though each could've gotten the gender-neutral spy toys).

William's toy was a spy locker (???).  You line up the two knobs so that the groove in each one is facing the correct direction and it opens.  Inside are...TWO SPY CARDS!  One with "Agent Alpha" and the other with "Agent Omega." William was impressed.  He even made up a game where two opponents each grab a card, showing only the back to the other.  Then, on his signal they lay them down on the table.  And that's it.

So, anyway.  He was so enamored of his new special prize that he wanted to bring it to school today. I told him that it was okay, but then in a moment of clarity asked if it was allowed. (I pretty much know it's not, but sometimes they're lax on their own rules).  And this is what followed:

It's okay.  I'll just hide it from Ms. Trisha.

No, William.  That's not how we roll.  We follow the rules. (I then remember that there have been exceptions and I have to explain why we have those exceptions because he WILL call me on it).  So I continue...

The only time you are allowed to bring toys to school is when Gaga is picking you up to spend the night because then I have to pack your things for the night. But, we leave them in your cubby.

Pause. Do you think that Gaga can pick me up and let me spend the night tonight?

Dude, you are not bringing your spy toy to school. But, the concession is always "you can bring it in the car, but when you get to school you have to leave it IN the car."  This is surprisingly effective.

When I pick him up in the afternoon, he asked his lead teacher, Ms. Kim, if she wanted to see his new spy toy.  Yes, he is still that excited about a McDonald's prize.  Which would mean that I would have to drag he and Henry to the car to get it and then come back in and show it to Ms. Kim.  So, I suggested that I cold bring it in with me tomorrow and show it to her.  He was not that easily swayed.

Ms. Kim, do you live very far away from here? (Because a good alternative would be to drive to her house and show it to her??)

I live a little bit far away, William. It takes me about twenty minutes to drive here.

Well, I know you don't live in China, because you don't speak Chinese. 

Because you can TOTALLY get to China in about twenty minutes.  Give or take.

Poots Personified

Boys are just gross.  Inherently.  I know that there are moms who will claim that their girls are just as gross or grown women who will claim that they are themselves, but I'm sure that if you had a group of 100 boys or men and a group of 100 girls or women, you would find 90 males who think that farts are always funny and 10 females who do.

Last night, William was lying down with me while I watched something completely wholesome and appropriate.  This is what I refer to as I-really-want-to-watch-my-show-yet-it's-bedtime-so-how-'bout-you-fall-asleep-in-my-bed-while-I-watch-Private-Practice?

So, as Dr. Addison Montgomery was trying to figure out how she was going to get her baby, William said

I pooted-ed

And now my poot is fighting with the good air.

And it will kill all of the good air. 

Were truer words ever spoken?

A Man's World

Henry, my nineteen month old, has recently discovered his favorite appendage.  No, not that one.  Do you really think that took him nineteen months?  I mean the other one.  The remote.

'Mote?  Are you?

And as embarrassing as it is to say, because I know better, he loves television.  I am going to blame it on his four year old brother.  'Cause that's certainly an appropriate age to watch copious amounts of television.

His latest fave is Matman (the old old school Batman with Adam West).  And it's terrible.  I mean awful.  But when he comes up to me, pushing the 'mote into my hand and says

Watch dis?  Matman?

he often gets his way.

We read books, too.  I promise.

Lesson Learned

William and I headed to Kroger one afternoon after school.  As I taking him out of the car, he tells me

Mom, my tummy is growling.

Okay, hon.  I will fix you something to eat when we get home.

Actually, mom.  I have a better idea.  My tummy is growling for McDonald's (His eyes shift toward the "restaurant" across the street).

I start laughing.

Mom!  You're making me feel stupid.

I'm sorry, William.  I'm not trying to make you feel stupid.

I know you're a teacher.  But, I am your son.  And I'm four-and-a half.  I was being serious.  You shouldn't be laughing at me.  That makes me feel stupid.

No, Mommy guilt did not prevail.  Guess I won't be laughing next time.  But, I won't be buying McDonald's either.

A Many Splendored Thing

When my in-laws picked William up last week (Henry had to go to the ER for an epinephrine treatment) one of the teachers pointed out his "new" VERY over-sized coat and explained that it was an unclaimed "Lost and Found" coat that William had "fallen in love with" so...

I am not in love with a coat!  You don't fall in love with things. You fall in love with people. And then you get married....

My bad, dude.

Best in Show

It's been awhile.  I have several stories to share, but I'll start with this one.

William's daycare/preschool puts on a Christmas program every year.  William is very much the ham, something he gets quite honestly.  It's such a treat to watch him belting out "The Twelve Dogs of Christmas," mouth stretched as widely as possible when singing "FIIIIIIIIIIIIVE GOOOOOOLDEN RETRIEEEEVEERS!" dancing with his white boy rhythm. And, to get the best possible view, you know I was sitting front row.  And suddenly, mid-song, his eyes locked with mine, his mouth opened and he belted out,

"Mom!  I need to go potty!"

Fortunately the bathroom was a few steps stage right and we made it back for the twelfth dog of Christmas, which was ironically a cat.

Elf on a Shelf

I have been thinking about doing this for awhile.  I like the idea of creating magic for my children.  I hate the idea of a tattle-tale.  I haven't been fond of the, "If you don't behave, I'll tell Santa" idea for quite awhile.  But, then some of my Bible study mamas started talking about all of the "mischief" that their elf creates.  I started to reconsider.  I was thisclose to putting it in my basket Target.  I looked it over and decided that it was way too creepy looking.  And THEN they aired a 23 minute movie about it on Friday.  It made it into my basket and through the check out this morning.  I still find it creepy looking.

William and Henry spent the night at Gaga and D's (my mother and father-in-law's) last night.  Before pick up, I put the tree up and decorated.  I placed our elf among the decorations.  Henry came in first.  (William had fallen asleep in the car).  Henry was in AWE of the tree.  Especially the jingle bell Christmas balls I bought at the after Christmas sales.  The Christmas tree didn't really register with him last year, so it was so fun to watch him take in the wonder of the lights and ornaments.

Then, William came in.  I tried to subtly point out the elf.

Look up here.  I put your (beloved) snow globe up here.

Yeah, I see it.

See this snowman ornament that broke (strategically placed right in front of the elf).

I see it.

And then, the obvious.

Do you see the elf?

Yeah.  Just like on the movie.  But, it's not a real elf.  It's just a decoration.  It's not magic.

Are you sure?

Yeah.  It's not moving.

The elf in the movie didn't move while the kids were awake.  Not until they went to bed.

It's just a decoration.  It's not magic.

Sigh.  I think that we're supposed to name it.

What about Lightsaber?

Ben:  I don't think that we should name it after a weapon.

What about Stinkypants?

That's not a very nice name.  I would hate for him to have to tell Santa that you named him Stinkypants.

How about just Pants?  That doesn't have Stinky in it.

I don't think so.  What about Pixie?

That's WAY too sparkly.  (Can't argue with that).

How about Foxie? (I really don't know where I came up with that.  Or why I chose to spell it with an -ie rather than a -y.  But after a few rounds, we decided to keep it).

We then read the story and he decided that Foxie WAS indeed magic.  He's still skeptical, though.  Mostly because he doesn't move.

And, as much as I hate the tattle-tale thing, I have to admit that it was a pretty heady feeling to tell him that I might have to tell Foxie about his refusal to finish his dinner.  Worked like a charm. 

(I forgot the best part.  After he first recognized Foxie as being magical, he proclaimed)


I think I'm going to get a little bit naked now.




 

Preferences

My mom called tonight as I was on my way home.  She asked that I stop by so that she could give William a present.  She had been at our church's "store" to buy herself a nativity.  Boo begged her for a smaller nativity and my mom caved.  She asked William if he wanted anything, but he declined.  He had been interested in a snow globe of the nativity, so my mom wanted to get it for him as a "happy" sometime.  Which brings us to tonight.

William, we need to stop by Mimi's.  She has a little present for you.

A present?  Why'd Mimi get me a present?


Remember when you and Boo were at church and Mimi got her a nativity?  She wanted to get you a little "happy," too.

I hope it's not a...(something I didn't catch).  And as I'm saying, "It's not a toy," he's saying

because I like Jesus, I just like Star Wars better.

Needless to say, he was a might disappointed.


And later...

It's just too pretty for a little young boy like me.  And too precious.  Too, too precious.  That stuff's for girls.

Those lessons on graciousness haven't stuck yet, apparently.   

On Road Rage

We went to church last night.  Ben (the husband) and I took separate cars so that my mom (Mimi) could ride with me.  We don't have that fancy third row seating, so we can only accommodate two adults and two children.  William was going to ride with me so that he could also ride with Mimi and Henry didn't have much to say either way, so it was set. Until William changed his mind.  No big deal, right?  Turned out, it kind of was.

As I was merging onto the the pre-merging lane, I saw Ben's car in my rear view mirror.  And another car that was behind me in the pre-merging lane.  Ben sped up to try to get in front of said car.  When it became obvious that Ben was going to be unsuccessful, he slowed down.  I made a comment to my mom that Ben will surely consider said driver a complete idiot, as is anyone who does not do what Ben thinks is the "right thing."

When we got to church, Ben and William were waiting for us in the foyer.  Ben tells me that he "had a moment" and forgot William was in the car with him.  Called it.  I didn't ask him what he said.  We were in church. Couldn't be that bad, could it?

This morning, William tells Ben

I know what you said last night and I know what it means.  You know, when that car almost got us in a accident.

What's that?

You said "funky tree hole."

Thanks a lot, Dad.  Good thing he had no point of reference to comprehend what you REALLY said.

Good job.

Funky tree hole.
 

 

It's a Toss Up

as to whether William will grow up to have a quick wit, or will need extensive therapy.

Scene from this morning.  (Saying that William is not a morning person is an understatement, by the way).

William, you look so handsome.

Stop saying that I look handsome.

Well, then you look ugly.

Stop saying that I look ugly. Stop calling me names.

Parent fail. Put another dollar in the therapy jar.

Moniker

Forgot about this little gem from Halloween night.  We were grilling hotdogs on our charcoal grill.  We had the little chimney, fire-starter thingy going, smoke billowing.  William walked over, raised his hands above his head like he was Abracadabra-ing the grill and proclaimed

I am the William of hotness!

Tonight as he was eating dinner, he brought up his new, self-imposed nickname again and then elaborated

You know why I am the William of hotness?  It's because I like hot things.

Makes sense.

And, if he wants to pursue a career as a Chippendale, he already has a suitable stage name picked out. 

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.