Brodie Glenn is a brainiac. I'm enrolling him in Dartmouth next fall and I'm certain he'll graduate a year early. At seven he should have his undergrad and by fifteen he'll be treating your aches and pains as the country's most honored physician. Yup. That's my lil' Doogie! I've discovered he's super intelligent all on my own and I know I'm spot on!
You see, he's still not pooping in the potty. He'll be four in three months. He JUST started peeing like a big boy. That's how you know. It's not scientific but it's what I'm holding on to. I know he must be a genius because I have a cousin, now 16, that didn't get potty trained 'til he was 4 and he's UBER smart. Brodie IS a genius! Proof!
Come on....it's all I have.
We've tried everything. At two I brought him on a special trip to Target for his big boy undies. After picking out 8 different designs he put them all back. I then picked him out some Lightning McQueen drawers and happily gave them to him in the car,
"Here, Brodie! Your own big boy underwear!" He replied very clearly (he spoke well early on...because he's a genius) "No, Mom. Those are YOURS. YOU picked them out." Dang it!! He was right. "Well, they won't fit me so I'm giving them to you." "They'll fit Ty. Give them to him," he said blandly. Ty is his friend. His friend who LIKED to pee in the potty and therefor wasn't costing his parents 60 to 75 bucks a month.
We tried candy...too obvious. Money (at 3)...wishful thinking. Peer pressure...zilch. Withholding privileges like soccer until he wore underwear...he held steady. My friend even offered to take him to CHUCKY CHEESE if he would use the potty!! CHUCKY CHEESE, people! Vegas for minors! His response was, "Ummm. No thanks." My 3 1/2 year old had politely declined hours of less than average pizza and over stimulation so he could retain the right to mess himself. That's a man who knows what he wants.
We're trying to convince him to give up the #2 ghost. I've no doubt my little stubborn Einstein will do it when he's good and ready. He talked early, walked early, knows his numbers, letters and shapes, adds a bit and has the comdeic timing of Seinfeld. We'll give him his space because he obviously knows what he's doing.
He IS a genius after all!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
I'm an English Painter
We're renting a house in a wonderful quiet neighborhood where everyone is friendly, the lawns are all edged, flower beds are routinely weeded, children ride their bikes to the park and garages are organized for at least one car to be parked INSIDE. We're going to have to clean out our garage. We just moved in two weeks ago and now I've gone to Home Depot and purchased paint. Buying paint makes you an official resident of a home in my opinion. It's pretty dang grown up. The entire interior of our house is an inspiring Yawn White. Sterile enough of a color for an OB's office.
I haven't hung one single picture and right now it looks as though a group of college guys chipped in and went in on a house. Now I have decided to do the painstaking task of painting our bachelor pad. I'll be making it more inviting, complimentary of our furniture and an anti-keg party magnet.
So, last night I pulled out the plastic to guard the carpet, the rollers, the paint roller fuzzy things-a-majiggers, angle brush, step stool, the actual paint and a Mojito. I don't mess around. I laid out the plastic, pulled out the couches, turned on all the lights and slapped that first bit on the living room's blaring white wall. Ahhhh. MUCH better already! There's nothing like the sloppy wet sound of paint sloshing up and down something you dislike to make it something you'll enjoy. I was energized. Imagining my mirror here, wall hangings there and all the new things I'd eventually add. I didn't mind that my arm was hurting because I was doing a good thing and good things don't go...what's the phrase again?
PLOP! A four inch puddle of "Warm Caramel" spilled out of the paint pan onto the carpet because I got cocky and didn't tape the plastic to the stinking wall! My eyes widened in horror and I felt a curse word coming. "Oh! SHITE! Shite! Shite! Shite!" Apparently I'm a Brit when I'm angry and painting. I quickly shut my mouth, made a mental note that I'm a complete dork and cleaned up the mess amazingly well considering the amount of paint. About ten minutes later and 3/4 of the living room done, "Blood 'ELL!" slipped out after I dropped the brush into the pan. "Oh! BUGGER!" was exclaimed after paint got on a door frame. Now I was grinning.
I like cussing like an Englishman! It's freeing but NOT quite so naughty. If my kids woke up and came out they'd have no clue what I was saying and therefore no need to back peddle! You should really try it! It's bloody brilliant! You may sound like a complete WANKER but that thought is pure bollix. If your mates make fun just tell them to SOD OFF! Well, don't do that....that's actually really rude and you may get hit.
I still have a long way to go with my painting but now that I've found a way to entertain myself AND relieve the stress of inevitable mishaps I'm ready to go!
Cheerio, mates! I'm off to paint my flat!
I haven't hung one single picture and right now it looks as though a group of college guys chipped in and went in on a house. Now I have decided to do the painstaking task of painting our bachelor pad. I'll be making it more inviting, complimentary of our furniture and an anti-keg party magnet.
So, last night I pulled out the plastic to guard the carpet, the rollers, the paint roller fuzzy things-a-majiggers, angle brush, step stool, the actual paint and a Mojito. I don't mess around. I laid out the plastic, pulled out the couches, turned on all the lights and slapped that first bit on the living room's blaring white wall. Ahhhh. MUCH better already! There's nothing like the sloppy wet sound of paint sloshing up and down something you dislike to make it something you'll enjoy. I was energized. Imagining my mirror here, wall hangings there and all the new things I'd eventually add. I didn't mind that my arm was hurting because I was doing a good thing and good things don't go...what's the phrase again?
PLOP! A four inch puddle of "Warm Caramel" spilled out of the paint pan onto the carpet because I got cocky and didn't tape the plastic to the stinking wall! My eyes widened in horror and I felt a curse word coming. "Oh! SHITE! Shite! Shite! Shite!" Apparently I'm a Brit when I'm angry and painting. I quickly shut my mouth, made a mental note that I'm a complete dork and cleaned up the mess amazingly well considering the amount of paint. About ten minutes later and 3/4 of the living room done, "Blood 'ELL!" slipped out after I dropped the brush into the pan. "Oh! BUGGER!" was exclaimed after paint got on a door frame. Now I was grinning.
I like cussing like an Englishman! It's freeing but NOT quite so naughty. If my kids woke up and came out they'd have no clue what I was saying and therefore no need to back peddle! You should really try it! It's bloody brilliant! You may sound like a complete WANKER but that thought is pure bollix. If your mates make fun just tell them to SOD OFF! Well, don't do that....that's actually really rude and you may get hit.
I still have a long way to go with my painting but now that I've found a way to entertain myself AND relieve the stress of inevitable mishaps I'm ready to go!
Cheerio, mates! I'm off to paint my flat!
Croc Vs. Face
My all boy boys and I went to the park last week to enjoy some fresh air. Let me rephrase that. My all boy boys and I went to the park last week so that our house wouldn't collapse from their bodies bouncing off of the walls and into each other. That's more accurate. My beautiful well behaved most of the time and mostly clean most of the time kiddos were playing their favorite "park game:" HELP ME! I'M FALLING TO MY DEATH!! We are currently pitching it to Hasbro as a board game. I found a bench situated under an oak tree with shade! Score The temperature went from 100 degrees to 85 automatically on that bench!
It had been a solid five minutes of pure park pleasure but the mom in me knew this was to end soon. Mom's don't get to lounge in the shade at playgrounds. I knew something was bound to happen because my shoulders had just relaxed and a breeze had blown in to sweeten the deal. Naturally, we mom's don't get the pleasure of enjoying playground breezes with out SOME consequence. I was now staring at my oldest, E.J..
The unrelenting Texas sun was beating down on his 7 yr. old sweaty auburn head. His bright chestnut eyes caught mine and very clearly those gorgeous eyes said, "You didn't see that. Did you? No. You didn't. Right?" He was frozen with his bum next to the top of the slide, right foot straight down the slide, left foot propped up on the side of the slide and hands propping him up behind his rear. Natural pose. Nothing at all curious about that.
What I had just "not" seen was E.J. plant his camo Croc firmly on my cherubic 3 1/2 yr. old Brodie's face and shove him down the slide to certain doom because at the bottom was molten lava filled with starving sharks waiting to devour E.J.'s precious little brother. Brodie sat at the bottom of the slide with tears in his hazel eyes as would you! After all, he was sitting in LIQUID FIRE and sharks were circling and the boy at the top of the slide was supposed to be the one to HELP HIM BECAUSE HE'S FALLING TO HIS DEATH!! (Board game coming soon.) Plus, his face hurt.
My eyes, not wanting to leave my eldest's questioning eyes unanswered replied, "Hell yes I just saw that!" My eyes swear at my kids. They've no self-control. My head cocked sharply to the side, my right arm shot stiffly straight out in front of me and my index finger jutted directly at the ground in front of me. My eyes fixed keenly on him and one eyebrow lifted menacingly showing him that I'm not EVEN playing. I must have looked like a pissed off android. That's what I was going for. Pissed off androids seem to scare my kids.
E.J. quickly began the barrage of excuses and denials. "I didn't DO anything! He slipped! I slipped! He made me! I didn't KNOW my shoe was on his face!!" I eventually ended the parade coming out of his mouth with a Dr. Evil-esque, "Zip it! Zzzzzipp it!!! Just ZIP it!" He finally zipped it. I met him at the bottom of the slide where I was kissing away the size 1 to 2 Croc mark from Brodie's forehead and convincing to get back up and keep playing. Then E.J. and I walked back to my once upon a time relaxing perch.
Now, I'm from the Old School. The school which endorses idle threats and lame punishments. Where timeouts are given but the length of which are not enforced because the lecture that precedes them is deducted from the sentence. My school says, "Go tell your brother you're sorry and give him a hug." There IS another school. This school calls my school crap and runs to grab the nearest branch. My grandma was headmaster.
So, I issued my idle threat. "Do THAT again and we're leaving." (Girl, PLEASE! I'm not going home until the two of them are pouring sweat and complaining of being tired. Because then and ONLY then will they be worn out at the home I'm trying to save from destruction!) I gave my sorry lecture about not shoving feet into people's noses because it's mean and hurtful and you love him and he's your only brother...you get the idea. I then dished out the lame punishment of six minutes timeout minus three for the lecture and said, "Now go tell your brother you're sorry and give him a hug." He did just that. He told Brodie he was sorry and gave him a borderline crushing hug.
Brodie didn't want said hug and punched E.J. in the stomach.
I'll talk with Brodie later.
E.J. seemed to get over it and ran up the slide to fall down and yell for help. Brodie ran up the stairs to save his comrade in danger. Full circle! I went back to my special throne and quickly reentered the reality where my boys loved to play together at the park and I could enjoy their hearty laughs and shout about how wonderful their karate kicks and upside down swinging were! They found camouflaged Light Sabers obviously designed to look like sticks and dueled. E.J. let Brodie be Anakin this time.
My all boy boys are awesome!
It had been a solid five minutes of pure park pleasure but the mom in me knew this was to end soon. Mom's don't get to lounge in the shade at playgrounds. I knew something was bound to happen because my shoulders had just relaxed and a breeze had blown in to sweeten the deal. Naturally, we mom's don't get the pleasure of enjoying playground breezes with out SOME consequence. I was now staring at my oldest, E.J..
The unrelenting Texas sun was beating down on his 7 yr. old sweaty auburn head. His bright chestnut eyes caught mine and very clearly those gorgeous eyes said, "You didn't see that. Did you? No. You didn't. Right?" He was frozen with his bum next to the top of the slide, right foot straight down the slide, left foot propped up on the side of the slide and hands propping him up behind his rear. Natural pose. Nothing at all curious about that.
What I had just "not" seen was E.J. plant his camo Croc firmly on my cherubic 3 1/2 yr. old Brodie's face and shove him down the slide to certain doom because at the bottom was molten lava filled with starving sharks waiting to devour E.J.'s precious little brother. Brodie sat at the bottom of the slide with tears in his hazel eyes as would you! After all, he was sitting in LIQUID FIRE and sharks were circling and the boy at the top of the slide was supposed to be the one to HELP HIM BECAUSE HE'S FALLING TO HIS DEATH!! (Board game coming soon.) Plus, his face hurt.
My eyes, not wanting to leave my eldest's questioning eyes unanswered replied, "Hell yes I just saw that!" My eyes swear at my kids. They've no self-control. My head cocked sharply to the side, my right arm shot stiffly straight out in front of me and my index finger jutted directly at the ground in front of me. My eyes fixed keenly on him and one eyebrow lifted menacingly showing him that I'm not EVEN playing. I must have looked like a pissed off android. That's what I was going for. Pissed off androids seem to scare my kids.
E.J. quickly began the barrage of excuses and denials. "I didn't DO anything! He slipped! I slipped! He made me! I didn't KNOW my shoe was on his face!!" I eventually ended the parade coming out of his mouth with a Dr. Evil-esque, "Zip it! Zzzzzipp it!!! Just ZIP it!" He finally zipped it. I met him at the bottom of the slide where I was kissing away the size 1 to 2 Croc mark from Brodie's forehead and convincing to get back up and keep playing. Then E.J. and I walked back to my once upon a time relaxing perch.
Now, I'm from the Old School. The school which endorses idle threats and lame punishments. Where timeouts are given but the length of which are not enforced because the lecture that precedes them is deducted from the sentence. My school says, "Go tell your brother you're sorry and give him a hug." There IS another school. This school calls my school crap and runs to grab the nearest branch. My grandma was headmaster.
So, I issued my idle threat. "Do THAT again and we're leaving." (Girl, PLEASE! I'm not going home until the two of them are pouring sweat and complaining of being tired. Because then and ONLY then will they be worn out at the home I'm trying to save from destruction!) I gave my sorry lecture about not shoving feet into people's noses because it's mean and hurtful and you love him and he's your only brother...you get the idea. I then dished out the lame punishment of six minutes timeout minus three for the lecture and said, "Now go tell your brother you're sorry and give him a hug." He did just that. He told Brodie he was sorry and gave him a borderline crushing hug.
Brodie didn't want said hug and punched E.J. in the stomach.
I'll talk with Brodie later.
E.J. seemed to get over it and ran up the slide to fall down and yell for help. Brodie ran up the stairs to save his comrade in danger. Full circle! I went back to my special throne and quickly reentered the reality where my boys loved to play together at the park and I could enjoy their hearty laughs and shout about how wonderful their karate kicks and upside down swinging were! They found camouflaged Light Sabers obviously designed to look like sticks and dueled. E.J. let Brodie be Anakin this time.
My all boy boys are awesome!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Halfbrained....
I don't know how to multiply 6 x 8 most days. Other days I can't remember directions to my house. I've been known to stop mid-sentence and forget what I'm talking about. Am I losing my mind? That'd be a no.
You see, all these things happen when either of my boys are within ten feet of me. They rob me of my brain cells! As babies tucked warmly in my womb those rosy cheeked thieves slowly eked out of me iron, calcium, vitamin D and my youthful tummy. They've now pillaged my mind and come out with my common sense and a good chunk of intelligent conversation.
When will I be gifted back my stolen goods? I'm a bit tired of getting stupefied stares by clerks when I hand them a Buddy Buck (a grocery store kid dollar) and a Chucky Cheese token all the while blankly staring back wondering why I don't have my receipt yet. I may not be a world traveler but I'm pretty sure there is no exchange rate for a giant rat's coins and pretend grocery money.
My brain isn't being utilized in a way that benefits my reputation as a previously well-spoken woman. I am completely convinced I am only HALF-brained ....for now.
You see, all these things happen when either of my boys are within ten feet of me. They rob me of my brain cells! As babies tucked warmly in my womb those rosy cheeked thieves slowly eked out of me iron, calcium, vitamin D and my youthful tummy. They've now pillaged my mind and come out with my common sense and a good chunk of intelligent conversation.
When will I be gifted back my stolen goods? I'm a bit tired of getting stupefied stares by clerks when I hand them a Buddy Buck (a grocery store kid dollar) and a Chucky Cheese token all the while blankly staring back wondering why I don't have my receipt yet. I may not be a world traveler but I'm pretty sure there is no exchange rate for a giant rat's coins and pretend grocery money.
My brain isn't being utilized in a way that benefits my reputation as a previously well-spoken woman. I am completely convinced I am only HALF-brained ....for now.
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