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    Happy Birthday, My Favorite Big Boy

    February 16, 2007

    Ethan,

    Today you turned two.  Good thing Marmie thought to teach you your new age a few months ago because I think your parents would probably have not thought about it until today.  When we asked you this morning how old you were, you yelled “TWO!!!” 

    If anyone had told me two years ago today that this is how it would be, I would never have believed them.  You are so more amazing that I could ever have imagined.  You are fascinated with all things related to fire/danger so we have spent the last week putting candles in everything and letting you blow them out.  This morning it was your breakfast muffin.  Apparently they taught you how to sing “Happy Birthday” at school because it is all you have been singing.  We are really glad that we had your birthday party LAST Saturday because your brother came a little earlier than expected. 

    You are the most fantastic big brother ever and would spend all day, every day kissing your “baby bru-dder” on the head if allowed.  You have been quite a surprise though.  For 2 years we have tiptoed around this house to make sure that you don’t wake up from any small sound and now that your brother is home screaming in the middle of the night, you sleep right through it.  If only we had known.

    Your dad broke down on the day your brother was born and bought you a two-wheeled bike with training wheels.  Normally a present for a 5 year old, he is determined that you one day find your true dream of becoming a dirt bike champion.  After watching you pedal backwards on your tricycle at 30 mph around corners, we think that maybe you have moved up the bike food chain.  You promptly got on the bike and started to complain because pedalling backwards makes you brake, not actually GO backwards.

    While you look like a clone of your father, the general consensus of the people is that your mouth has been cloned from mine.  While a short time ago you were only saying a word here or there, you now find it impossible to remain silent for longer than 3 milliseconds at a time.  It exhausts your father but I find it charming.  And it’s nice to now how the proof of your brilliance by merely opening your mouth.  Today your father had difficulty opening a box and you loudly directed him to “GET A KNIFE, DADDY.” 

    You love to paint and draw.  Even more, you love to snap crayons in half.  It drives me crazy.  Then you hound me to put all your favorite letters on the paper for you to try to copy.  E, O, A.  If I turn around, you’ll hop down on the floor and try to color on the carpet.  I’m not sure why but I think it may be just to drive me crazy.  I mean, crayon doesn’t even show up on carpet and yet still I freak out.

    You used to be a pretty good eater but now you just ask to go to “Costco, Mommy, hot dog.”  It’s moments like this that I know I have truly failed in the food department.  Until you ask me for pasta.  Then I know I have done something right. 

    Thanks to your Aunt Pache, you are obsessed with Dora.  I don’t know what Dora is teaching you, but I am enjoying the 30 minutes to myself every morning now.  You still occasionally like to watch CSPAN with me, but it just isn’t as frequent as it used to be.

    You have a fantastic sense of humor and you know exactly when to pull it out.  Not long ago when we taught you your animal sounds, you figured out that if you answered that every animal made the “BAAA” sound that I would flip out.  So for 6 months you did it every single time I asked.  You couldn’t even contain your laughter as you did it and I knew from the very beginning that I was being played.  Now you do the same thing with your colors and shapes.  You giggle, giggle, giggle like it is the funniest inside joke ever.  I have resorted to asking your preschool teachers what exactly you know because you are always laughing and giving me the wrong answer to everything I ask.  In that order.

    You and your father are two peas in a pod.  Like clockwork on Monday morning after a very fun weekend, you hand me the cell phone to call your father.  When he answers the phone at work, you say, “No, Daddy, no work.  Home, Daddy, home.”  I think it breaks your father’s heart a little bit everytime you do it. 

    You took swimming lessons and refused to do whatever the rest of the class was doing when instructed to do it.  The instructor begged you to blow bubbles but you looked at her like she was crazy.  You then came home and performed EVERY SINGLE EXERCISE in the bathtub correctly and blew bubbles for 45 whole minutes.  You are going to be the death of me. 

    You are a pro in the kitchen and we have determined that you are just biding your time until you can get your own apartment and live on your own, eating cookies at your leisure.  If we don’t get you the food you want fast enough, you just help yourself.  I could do without you trying to pour your own milk from the gallon container however. 

    You are completely fascinated with taking pictures and then checking them out on the back of the camera.  Your father got clever and has now stipulated that you can’t see the back of the camera unless you smile for the front of it.  So far it is working like a charm.  I’m very concerned that you will be a preschool child who demands a digital camera.  I would tell you to get a job to pay for one but I think you might take me up on the suggestion.

    You are growing up so very fast and every day I realize that I love you even more than the day before and with more love than I ever thought was possible.  A week ago today you told me for the very first time that you loved me.  It was unsolicited and had you asked me for anything in that moment, I would have given it to you.  I can’t wait to see what this year has in store for us and we are so very blessed to have you in our lives, Ethan Lewis.  You are my favorite boy in the whole world (but don’t tell your brother).  I love you.

    Your Favorite Mom

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    We’re calling it “The New-Fangled Potty Training Method”

    February 9, 2007

    Yesterday we were sitting in Barnes and Noble drinking our Starbucks when The Boy decided that he was going to revisit his aversion to coffee.  Or would that be attempt to overcome his aversion to coffee?  College freshman buy into the mantra that beer is an acquired taste and The Boy will lick the top of a beer bottle until all hints of hops are a faint memory.  What’s a little coffee?  He refuses to be thwarted.  I handed him my cup.

    E:  EWWWW.
    K:  Give it back.

    His father wandered back from a trip to the lav.  It was only then that The Boy realized where his father had gone.

    E:  Daddy, Eat-ney pee too.

    His father looked at me expectantly.  I looked at him like he has 24 heads on his shoulders.  If I even mention the bathroom to my son, he throws himself on the ground violently and wails.  If his father makes a suggestion, it is as if Dora the Explorer herself has come out of the t.v. and made the suggestion.  Why would you NOT take a child to the bathroom if he asked? 

    K:  How did it go?
    D:  It was a little complicated, but it was fine.

    People, those words are what we in the business like to call “red flags.”  The words, when uttered, seem out of place.  What’s “complicated” about pulling the kid’s pants down, taking off his diaper and plopping his ass down on the American Standard? 

    Did I heed these red flags?  Did I even acknowledge these red flags?  Oh, no.  I had a caramel macchiato in my hand and I had just had 3 minutes to myself.  I thought, “complicated?  Whatever.”

    Until hours later when the following occurred as I was making a cheesecake.  I heard The Boy follow his father into the lav down the hall.

    E:  Pee too, Daddy.
    D:  OK, Ethan.

    And I looked.  I still don’t know why I looked, but I did.

    There was my husband holding his son in a fireman’s carry across his chest with pants pulled down and my husband attempting to aim his pee into the bowl.

    K:  WHAT IN GOD’S NAME are you doing?
    D:  He wanted to pee like Dad?
    K:  All over the floor, all over the toilet bowl and occasionally in the toilet?
    D:  Bitch.
    K:  Oh, prove me wrong.  Prove me wrong, I say. 
    D:  It’s difficult to help him pee without his getting it on his clothes.

    I have never once had this problem with my son.

    K:  So you decided to turn him upside and let his pee just fall into the bowl.
    D:  It worked.
    K:  Oh, he’s gonna be potty trained in no time.  Good job, Dad.

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    Solution-oriented? They would like to think so

    This morning The Boy climbed up into our bed complaining of cold feet.  Maybe it was because the thermostat was set on 50.  Maybe it was because with two comforters, a blanket AND a flannel sheet, he still can’t figure out out to, and this is going to sound so off the hook, pull the covers up.

    Or maybe it was because his warm footie PJ’s were missing the footies.

    E:  Mommy, cold, cold.
    K:  Ethan, where are the feet in your footie pajamas?
    E:  No feet, Mommy.

    His father was remarkably silent.  I grabbed The Boy’s feet and held them up to his father’s face. 

    K:  These pajamas had feet in them when I washed them yesterday.
    D:  Huh.
    K:  Is there something you want to tell me?
    D:  No.
    K:  Are you sure?
    D:  He was hot.
    K:  He was hot?  So you got a pair of scissors and cut the feet out of his pajamas?
    D:  He wasn’t hot anymore. 
    K:  At the moment.  And he certainly isn’t hot now. 
    D:  And they were too small for him anyway.
    K:  Good thinking.  It’s not like we would ever have ANOTHER boy that could wear those pajamas. 

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    Rico Suave, age 1 year, 11 months, 21 days

    February 7, 2007

    Her mother swears it was her first kiss, but she seemed pretty experienced…

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    Hot little ticket…

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    Because, People, you can never have too many pictures of your boobs on the internet

    February 3, 2007

    Who needs 30 miles of train track from IKEA when you have Mom’s belly?

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    But if he doesn’t get into the right preschool, he might never get into HARVARD

    January 31, 2007

    Tomorrow is preschool registration day.  Remember back in September when I went into the only preschool in the entire area that would take 18 month olds and it was 3 days before class started and I managed to get The Boy enrolled?  Grant it, it was the afternoon, two day a week program, but by golly, the kid is in school and I have received a bit of a second wind and no longer look for sharp objects to use to take out a major vein or artery.  At least not as much as I used to.

    Having tasted this freedom, I find it is equivalent to possibly a drug addiction.  My only possibilities for next year are two day programs again, but there is one class that goes for 4 hours a day rather than the standard 2 hours and 45 minutes.  And I want in.  I contemplated putting The Boy in the preschool right around the corner for convenience purposes but his father was having no part of that.  Something about how great this school was and it wasn’t like the 15 minute drive was going to kill me and did he already mention how great the school is?  So now I HAVE to, absolutely MUST get The Boy back in there.  I decided to warm up the preschool director a little. 

    K:  So is preschool registration like getting tickets for a U2 concert?
    D:  What do you mean?
    K:  Do I need to camp out here the night before to get a good spot in line?
    D:  (rolling her eyes) You should probably just be here at 9:30 when we open.

    Another mother walks in and pipes up with her “concerns.”

    M: What if, say, I’m in line and I get my registration paper first but then someone fills theirs out before I get finished and they want the spot I want.  Do I lose that spot?
    K:  Can I sell my spot for $20 to someone else?

    The director, whose sense of humor is better than mine, gives me a look that can either be read as “shut the hell up” OR “do you really need to get this woman worked up like this?”  But I can’t stop.  I have pregnancy mouth.  I’m required to say EXACTLY what is on my mind at all times regardless of the consequences.

    K:  Oh, man.  I heard it’s a real cat fight.  People actually climbing over each other like the Black Friday sale at Best Buy on the day after Thanksgiving when there are 20 people vying for the four $180 laptops.

    Now I’m pretty sure the director has changed her look from the “shut the hell up” look to the “shut the &^% up” look. 

    But I’m having fun.

    K:  I heard there is hair pulling. 

    This coming from a woman that packed the hand warmers in her coat pockets for the long cold wait tomorrow morning.  Sometimes you just gotta be a hypocrite.  Had I thought it through, I would have told the woman that the registration didn’t start until Friday.  It’s so wrong, yet oh so right.

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