Don't smirk over spilled milk...

Since Brent and our cat have a certain love-hate relationship, he sometimes goes into the bedroom and shuts his door to escape the little mischevious furball. On Saturday, when Doof was being particularly evil, I let him set up his little drawing table in there and eat his cereal. Right...do you see where this is going??

Anyhow, I am always prepared for a little spillage as the spoon gets to his mouth, or when he picks up the bowl and drinks the milk out of it. But this time, I sat in the other room and listened for a few minutes, trying to decipher the peculiar sounds coming out of his room. Is he using the spoon as a drumstick on the tv screen? No, not quite that loud... But it didn't sound very...good...whatever it was. Finally I hauled my butt out of my comfortable position on the couch and walked down the hallway.

I listened through the door for a minute. Silence. He was on to me at this point. I opened the door slowly, revealing small white circles (approximately 1000) on the rug, a pool of milk on the table, the bowl upside down beside the pool, and a small boy trying to become one with the wall on the other side of the room.

He held his composure for a second, with a few weak sounding "I'm sorry"s. Then every time he apologized, he would try and hide his smile...then it was an all out smirk. He WAS sorry, I think...somewhere deep down...mostly at getting in trouble. But you could tell he was so pleased with himself at the same time.

Needless to say, the cat goes in the other room now during meals, and cereal is only eaten under supervision. But also deep down, I also thought it was a little cute the way his eyes sparkled with mischief and accomplishment.

Haircut

Finally! He was getting just a little shaggy lately. I did have to bribe him by saying he could get a new pair of shoes. Good thing he doesn't know he needed them anyways :)

So, we're looking quite spiffy today with our new 'do' and our new 'Cars' shoes. He was so excited to pick them out last night!

I know I had another funny story to write about, but now I can't remember what it was. My brain cells are slowly being replaced by the echo inside my head of Spongebob saying fifty times "I split my pants!"...Only, it sounds like "Ahhhhhh split maaaahh pahhhnts!". It's killing me...

Sometimes...

Sometimes...

I look at this person before me...not an infant...not yet a boy...but this person, with his own thoughts now, his own perfect personality. I watch each day as he grows bigger, and smarter, and sneakier. And I couldn't be more proud.

Sometimes...

The last three and a half years seem like a dream. Where parts of me want to fly away and experience the world, before they remember that something far more precious is right under my nose.

Sometimes...

I lie there on an ordinary evening, and the three year old touches my feet while playing and notices that they are cold... He runs to get a blanket and snuggles on top of me while we watch some cartoon that I won't remember. But I'll remember the way his elbow presses into my side, and the way his eyelashes seem to go on forever in sillouettes.

Sometimes...

I lie awake and worry about things that I have no control over...about war and government, and test results. I think that each moment in this life is too precious to waste. And suddenly it doesn't seem to matter that I hear him jumping on the bed, thinking that he's getting away with something. It doesn't matter that he didn't eat enough bites of his vegetables tonight. And it certainly doesn't matter that we don't have the fanciest house or the newest car. Because all I ever wanted is wrapped up in a 3T pajama set just 20 feet away, snoring as the faintest sound of Spongebob Squarepants is left in the dvd player, safe from the world, for at least another night.

Sometimes...

Better late than never!

Well last night we finally got to see Alvin and the Chipmunks, after missing it on opening night because it was sold out. So 6 weeks later, I kept my promise. Better than nothing, I guess.

The first thing he did was ask for popcorn. I didn't know he even knew what popcorn was. If he's ever eaten it, it's been forever. And I don't care for it really, so I got him a small bag and a drink, and we headed in.

I forgot, as I always do, that he doesn't weigh enough to keep the seat from flipping up and folding him in half the whole time. So I always have to position myself so I can hold it down. That might sound easier than it truly is...trust me. And halfway through the movie, he started yelling at me "Don't TOUCH my SEAT mommy!!!". So I gave up and let him smell his shoes for the rest of it. He didn't seem to mind, so why should I? As long as he had his popcorn, he was happy.

For the first half hour, whenever there was a scene that omitted the little furry creatures, I would loudly hear "WHERE are the CHIPMUNKS??? Where'd they GO???" So I would tell him, for the first of a hundred times that night - "Honey, you can't talk that loud at the movies, you have to whisper". And then I would hear, loudly of course "I AM Talking QUIET!! I'm NOT being LOUD!!"

But they had some cute songs during the movie, including a shout-out to my dad, with a remake of "The Witch Doctor". And I would look over and see his face in the shadows...the dancing reflection of the screen revealing his sparkling eyes and wide smile. And he would catch me looking at him and give me a goofy grin, then we would start bobbing our heads to the music.

"Ooh Eee, Ooh ah ah, Ting tang, walla walla bing bang". You can't beat that :)

Good thinking

I was strapping Brent into the car seat the other day after day care, and he was trying to dig around in his pockets. Finally he produced a single penny.

"I need more money!" he said...
"Well, you should probably start thinking about getting a job for after school, then!"
"OKAY!"
"Well, what do you think you'd like to do for a job?"
"Ummmm...... make more money?"

You can't argue with that logic!

Road Trip

Well, tonight the munchkin and I head up to meet Daddy so he can spend the weekend up in PA. Hopefully he is better equipped than I to handle the grumpy entity that is inhabiting Brent's three year old figure the past couple weeks. Whether it's what clothes to wear, what to eat, what jacket to put on...it seems there is always a squabble on hand lately. That's if he even hears me. He likes to do the typical guy thing these days and tune me out, then look at me a couple minutes later and ask sweetly "What choo say to me?? What choo talk to me 'bout?" To which I usually reply by just tickling him. At least it makes me feel better.

So have a safe trip, little one. I'll see you soon :)