what google and my 4 year old know

Sometimes I think Wyatt is like that little boy from Jerry Maquire, saying something similar to 'do you know that the human head weighs 8 pounds'... okay, Wyatt's not this crazy genius, but he can hold his own.

And he holds on to information that he thinks is valuable or interesting.

This week he is studying bugs in preschool. He climbed into the minivan with this in his hand.


I asked him about the circle in stomach, I (incorrectly) assumed it was it's bellybutton... 'no mom', 'is it a spotted bug?' I asked, another roll of the eyes, 'no, it's his thorax'.

I climbed into the driver's seat thinking cute but a little weird and 'isn't the thorax in the throat?' Of course, I won't argue that with Wyatt. He claims to never be wrong, only wronged.

So I googled it after he went to bed.

The kid was right, the thorax on a bug looks like the belly area.

Ugh, I hate being wrong... especially to a four year old.


Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

thirteen

There is just something about right now that makes me need to write about you. Let me give you just thirteen things I love about you right now, at thirteen months. Plus, a blogger friend (who's private) did this yesterday and she always makes me want to be a better mom (read guilt).


1) The way that you blow on your food when I slide it onto your highchair tray, now matter if it's a cracker or chicken, you assume that it's all hot and needs to be blown on.

2) How you say 'Wu Wu', you pucker your lips and move them in an exaggerated 'Woooo, Woooo'

3) Your crawl, which is really more of a scoot, with one leg tucked in, your right hand pulling you forward, your left hand with something, whatever you fancy, in the palm.

4) You jumping up in your crib when I come in to get your after nap time. You in your sleeping sack, jumping up and down, looking like this little smiling potato bag of cuteness.

5) How you standing, you clapping for yourself... love your self affirmation.

6) The way that you pull bows out of your hair (even if I try... daily) you will stand a bow for about five minute, pull it out and hand it to me like it's mine, not yours.

7) You climbing into the sandbox, then out, then back in, and out once more.

8) How the little hair that you have flaps in the wind, it looks like an adorable fake baby toupee.

9) How you sign gentle and do the opposite, you will do the sign and then hit your friend on top of the head.

10) How you are obsessed with anything you can sit on; leafs taken out of the table sitting on the floor, books stacked in a pile, all of them must be sat on.

11) You saying 'Stella', period.

12) The way you hug me when I get you in the morning, you hug my neck and pat my back over and over.

13) And I know this will sound horrible, so rotten of me and completely unfair, but I love that you are a girl. Every day you heal my heart from wounds of just being a woman in this world.

My daughter.

Wordful Wednesday and
More Wordful Wednesday

one of these is not like the others

I'll unpack Henry's lunch box at the end of the day and every once and awhile, there are the fruit snacks I sent with him, because he ran out of time to eat his entire lunch. Since he knows those are his dessert, he doesn't eat his fruit snacks until he finishes the rest of his lunch.

That seems pretty remarkable honest for a second grader.


We met with Wyatt's love, Ingrid for a little play date yesterday. She contemplated sitting next to him by putting her finger to her chin and said "no", but within two seconds, she was sitting next to him listening to the librarian read about a cat that thought the moon was a milk bowl.

We walked out of the library together, Ingrid's mom talking about how Ingrid needed to drive by our house to see where the mail went (and if you haven't seen the letter she sent him, it's here... it's adorable). Her mother joked that Wyatt had his first stalker, I laughed too and thought about how I would have probably done the same thing at four years old, because I'm weird.

Ingrid, the wonderfully shy, quiet, completely opposite to Wyatt, then spoke up... "I would like to go into your house too".

Wyatt responds "Come now, let's go!".

I shoot him down immediately with "not today, but that would be so fun (you know, the standard response). I'll email with her mom, OK?"

Wyatt turns the corner to sit at the table for our packed snack. Then I hear him chanting "ThatSucks, ThatSucks, ThatSucks". I stop him and ask him "what are you saying?" (And why does this always happen to me when other parents are standing behind me and thinking about how I'm the worst mother in the world because I obviously taught my son 'that sucks'.. ugg).

I bend over and look at him squarely, I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt, "What are you saying" I say. Maybe it's another one of his made up words like 'bibilicorn' (which means bike in case you are wondering).

I tell him to 'say it slowly'.

He looks at me and says "That. Sucks."

"Wyatt!" I scream, "that is not a nice thing to say... that's not something we say, ever"

Then he looks at me "but I was thinking about a straw, how am I suppose to talk about what a straw does?"

He got me again.
That sucks.

where the magic happens

My husband offered to have my van washed and cleaned out as a present for my upcoming birthday. We are not talking about going through the Car Mart, but one of those fancy detailing places where they call you after your dropped your car off and tell you that they are 'going to have to charge extra for the the excessive amount of Goldfish stuck between your seats'. One of those car detailing places where they charge you over a hundred dollars.

So yes, in theory this could be a nice gift, but after spending every hour (damn you school and your late starts) for three hours yesterday, I decided that I think my van is already pretty awesome the way it is...

My beautifying station, complete with tweezers and gum wrappers,


because fresh breath can go a long way but shapely brows can go even farther. (And please tell me I'm not the only person who will tweeze their brows at stoplights).

The snack area:


Don't judge me... yes, I ate a full box of theater size Whoppers. Did you know that Whoppers are no longer being made? My hoarding them is therefore justified (right?).

Where my business transactions and receipts are kept:


Look closely, there are at least 4 receipts from McDonald's for a large Diet Coke, because you know, that's how I roll.

And of course, what everyone wants to see, the backseat, where the magic happens... and when I say 'magic' I mean where I spend years of my life buckling and unbuckling 5 little people. It's the second question people ask me when they see all of us strolling down the block, it's almost always following 'Oh my Gawd, are all of these kids yours?'.

What people are dying to know 'how do I fit them all in my van?'

So the answer is: very carefully (you can't even see the fifth car seat in this photo)


And getting every single one of these car seats out of the van for a real cleaning... thanks but no thanks, besides it's already (obviously) an organized traveling office and perfect personal space center.

dote the tote

He pulled out the chair from under the table to sit down and tie on his shoes.

"And where do you think you are going?" I joked since he just put the kids to bed and it was out of the ordinary for us to do anything after putting the kids to bed except try to push off the screams, whines and complaints of the day.

He responded, "Target... to get Chad's wedding present.

I thought 'awesome!' One thing off my list, and since the wedding was on Saturday and it was Wednesday night, well one of us better get moving.

Just to clarify, my favorite wedding gift is of the green kind. Cash. I prefer to give cash and of course, to get it. Checks with my new last name were equally as lovely though.

So, my husband came back from Target. He stomped up the stairs banging something on our stairway as he climbed the stairs. What the heck? I turned to see what he was doing and why he wanted to wake the kids up.

Apparently exhausted, he dropped two totes on the floor behind the couch.

"More totes?!" I'm shocked, God help me, this man loves organization.

"No, they're not for us, it's for the wedding".

I don't think I said anything, just sat there sort of stunned. He continues...

"I wanted to get him something that they wanted, they registered for them and they're really nice totes (read expensive)."

I tried to argue about this being an appropriate bridal shower gift... but he was having nothing to do with that notion.

I finally rolled my eyes with an alright and forgot the damn totes until Friday when I tried to pack the minivan around the totes and my three kids.

Awesomeness.

Then come Saturday afternoon he insisted on wrapping the 100 and 75 gallon totes. I try to convince him that it's pointless to wrap something so big, so obvious; slap a bow on the two of them and call it a day. My husband huffed to me from downstairs 'I'm not going to a wedding without a wrapped gift!'

A wedding where we were gifting totes,

but more importantly, wrapped totes.

And I lose... he goes to wrap them.

All that he could find is dark, plain grass green colored paper, which happens to coordinate with his shirt he his wearing to the wedding, exactly.

So, my husband proudly toted his totes over to the wedding table that evening while I hid in the corner and hoped that the card slides off the present.

And no one will ever know that it was from us...

minus the entrance we made walking into a wedding with a 75 gallon tote inside a 100 gallon tote matching exactly to my husband's shirt.

(insert the picture I would kill to have of my husband and his color coordinated totes)

Sigh.

teetering

I plopped down in the chair still teetering on if I would say anything at all.

"I just need it cleaned up" is my usual response. I hesitated, grabbing a few strands with my right hand and pulling the hair through my fingers, finally punctuating the silence "and I was thinking about getting a few feathers".

There, I said it.

I sat back to gauge her, but it felt necessary to talk before her... "only if it doesn't take too long" as I glanced in the reflection in the mirror of my son twirling a blueberry sucker around his mouth and my daughter sitting in the stroller sucking on her bottom lip, each suck like a time bomb marking the seconds I have remaining until she blows up.

"Of course (like she speaks my non-communicated, mom language) they just take a few minutes".

*

When someone notices them in my hair, I still teeter. Teetering sides between loving them, loving that feeling of being young, that feeling of throwing around the word hip once again and then teetering to the side of feeling silly, too old for such a frivolous things like feathers in your hair.

I turn 35 next month, maybe it's has something to do with it... teetering exactly between 30 and 40.


But sometimes you just have to say fuck it and go for it.

Wordful Wednesday and
More Wordful Wednesday

a letter to SpongeBob SquarePants

Dear Mr. SquarePants,

I'm sorry. Here you are in the news, once again, this time getting blamed for making our preschoolers stupid.

Apparently, just watching 9 minutes of your show caused executive functions to be lower than one group of kids who watched Caliou (yes, his voice annoys me too, and you are totally right; Caliou is way too whiny, but anyway...) and another group of preschoolers who drew pictures during that time.

9 minutes! Your show is a half-hour. I gotta say, with this new study, you might be screwed with the preschooler crowd.

They say that the fast pace is just too much for preschoolers' brains. That over exposure to your show could have long-lasting effects on 4 year-olds. That kids are 'more amped up after watching your show'.

And we both know that the tv was turned on in the first place to shut them up, not make them crazy enough to eat cat liter after watching your show.

But, it's not really your fault, now is it? Here at our house, we like to call your show Doritos for the brain. Sure, sometimes Doritos are (super) yummy, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to let my kids have them all the time. I'm not going to let them eat an entire bag either.

I just so happen to be smart enough to know Doritos aren't healthy for you, just like I'm smart enough to know your show isn't the best thing to plop my kids in front of.

Yes, I figured that out all on my own.

So... sorry. You're getting a bad rap once again. I'm pretty sure they meant to point out that parents can be dumb and they can make their kids dumb too, well actually, maybe that was insinuated.

Those sly researcher people.

Keep your chin up!
Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

stale mail

Life has felt stale lately,

but sometimes exactly what you need falls into your lap (or into your mailbox).

::

Wyatt giggled from under the dinner table as I told my husband to read it to him again.

My four year old couldn't believe that he got real-life mail.

He climbed back onto his chair only to roll right off again in a fit of giggles and embarrassment.

"She said she loves me and wants to marry me"... "Wouldn't it be funny if she married Henry instead, Henry would be all 'and I looooove you'.

(giggle, giggle)

The actual letter we got last night, addressed to Wyatt (and I assume written by her mom *wink*)

Wyatt - I hope you have a good day and I love you and I want to marry you when I get taller

(my favorite part: 'when I get taller' so stinkin' cute)

Well, I love you so much I want to marry you. When I'm a bride we'll have cake, flowers and kiss

Signed,
Ingrid
(with an arrow pointed to the Ingrid stick person)

It's covered with stamps and what appears to be glitter nail polish, the only thing missing is the perfume.

sigh.

PS - I think I love her too.

WTF Friday

You would think that I would have known this, I've been behind the wheel for more than 20 years, my father's a mechanic...


See that gasoline tank? Did you notice that little triangle? That triangle points to what side your gas tank is on, just in case you are like me and forget that stuff (like all the time). Mine is on the left, the driver's side.

WTF?

Go check your car, you've got one too.

You can thank me... share it with all your friends... impress your husband

or every time you get behind the wheel, you can think about what an idiot Anti-Supermom is not knowing it.

Promise you, I already feel like an idiot.