Good question....

He searches and searches for his long lost friends every evening when we go outside. "Mommy...why do caterpillars turn into butterflies?"

Not HOW, which I was getting ready to answer...but WHY. And I'm kinda stumped on that one. Why aren't there just baby butterflies??

Quick comment

I believe I changed it so that anyone can post comments without having to sign up for anything. So please, feel free to post something if you ever feel the urge! This is something I print out for Brent to have when he gets older, and I'd love for him to know how many people cared enough to read about him.

Down by the River

Last night Brent and I went down the little waterpark and had a picnic dinner (aka McDonalds) and waded around in the river for a bit. This nice lady we've never met came over and talked to us, and we all looked for seashells for a necklace she was making. Brent mostly sat in the 3 inch deep water (I know I'm probably overprotective, but the water was moving too fast for my liking, though it looked innocent enough). He had a small stick and spent a lot of time just running it through the sand, in a kind of meditation almost.

When we were alone again, he looked up at me, eyes bright and curious.

"I have to pee mommy".
"So go ahead and pee baby, you're sitting in the water, which is connected to a gazillion other gallons of water...I don't think anyone will mind," I said.
"But I can't!"
"Why?"
"I CAN'T!"

And before I could stop him, he stood up, pulled his shorts down, and donned an impressive arc in full view of everyone, proud as could be. He reminded me of the little Calvin photos that are constantly dissing the number "3" on every truck's back window in this area.

Then he plopped back down, and went on with his stick/sand play, oblivious of my mouth hanging open and the shade of red that spread across my cheeks.

I swear, one day it will get easier. Right??

Oh, and if you look close enough in the picture, you can see the little quarter-sized hole he cut in the middle of his shirt with scissors at school, for some reason. Just for those of you that thinks he's always a little angel :)

Snippet

At the dinner table (where else??)

Brent: Mommy, I just pooted
Me: I know, I heard you. It's okay, I do that sometimes too.
Brent: We are stinky people, aren't we...?
Me: Probably, yeah. But lets keep that between us, okay?

Thanks...I think

Last night Brent was sitting on the edge of my bed watching a movie. He had kicked off his shoes, put his socks beside him, and sat enthralled. His mouth was open in a classic "duh" expression, his eyes glazed over in a child's tv coma. His eyelashes remained bold and still against the flickering images coming from the screen. I had to come over and kneel beside the bed, and tell him how much I loved him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He glanced away from the tv long enough to see who it was, and then said sweetly "You have a boo boo on your nose, mommy". "I know, honey, it's just a little skin thing - a little pimple," I replied. He reached down and picked up his sweaty stinking sock and before I had time to protest, was smearing it wetly across my face. "It's okay mommy. I got it for you"

Randomness

Random thoughts:

-- While he was in the bathtub the other night, Brent asks me: "Mommy, what happened to your credit card? Is it in the trashcan, or is it in the toilet?" I've never even mentioned credit cards to him.

-- Lately, Brent wants to sleep only in a shirt. No pants, and no underwear. It's disturbing sometimes to go and wake him and all you see is a white naked rear amidst a sea of blankets. If you're lucky, it won't have cracker crumbs stuck to it.

-- Also, he has a fascination lately with gas. And not the kind that goes in your car. He might let a noise slip while laughing at something, and that will send him into torrents of more laughter. Suffice to say it's a vicious cycle. I'm okay with it until he slides over on the couch and places his butt up against my leg, waiting for the next one with a sly smile. Who teaches kids this stuff?

Okay...I might LAUGH, but I didn't TEACH it to him.

Moments worth waiting for

Granted, raising a child is not easy. At first, the smiles and coos of a newborn are [almost] enough to counteract the sleeplessness and dirty diapers and constant supervision. Then there are so many milestones - crawling, walking, potty training. The older Brent gets, I find myself missing all those big milestones. But I realized that they have just been replaced with many smaller ones.

For instance, one day last week I pulled his daily artwork from the cubby at school. I'm used to seeing random squiggles, maybe some shapes that resemble shapes that have names. I love them all, don't get me wrong. I love asking him what they are, and revelling in the various outrageous responses - and trying to see what he sees. I love gushing about how wonderful they are and seeing him beam with pride. But then one day I take more than a haphazard glance at one, and notice it looks amazingly like a house! I'm talking windows, trees, little stick people. I get to the car and ask him about it, and that's exactly what it is (except the "tree", it turns out - is me! - stuck in between the windows! Yay!). He points out the roof, and his little figure in the window. How exciting!

Or this morning, as we listen to one of the few "girl" songs I am allowed to listen to ("Big Girls Don't Cry", by Fergie, in case you were wondering). He knows the chorus almost by heart, and when it gets there, we both scrunch up our noses and bellow it out with confidence, like the true car rock stars that we are. I watch him in the rearview mirror and become amazed, once again, at how much he's grown....and how lucky I am to have him in my life. It's finally getting to the point where it's not always about parenting. Sometimes it's just about being friends, whether he's propped on my back as I do my exercises in the evening (or laying across my legs during situps), or getting up to dance with me when a good song comes on the radio, or sitting on the patio looking at the setting sun. And though parenting isn't always a walk in the park, being his friend gets better every day.

Grrrr. Arrrrgh.

You know, as a mother, there's one thing I'd just want to be able to do peacefully each day, and that's taking a shower. I just want 5 or 10 minutes to wash my hair and shave my legs so that I can tackle the world effectively. The one luxury I indulge in is sweet-smelling organic shampoos and soaps that I painstakingly pick for me and me only. I like starting my day with calming scents and hairless legs. Not too much to ask, right? I purposely get up before Brent does so that I can have these few minutes to do this one thing for myself.

So I can only assume that my little mind-reader has figured this out about me and is enjoying having something new to sabatoge. I can only assume.... because for the last two days as I'm lost in my smelly paradise, I suddenly feel a cold rush as the door flies open. "I NEED TO GO POTTY!!!!!!," he shrieks as he comes in. "I can pee pee standing up now mommy!!! Look!! I put the seat up this time!! Uh oh....mommy Doofie is in my way! MOMMY Doofie won't get out of my way so I can go potty!!! GO WAY DOOF! GO! GO! Okay mommy he's gone. Mommy I got pee pee on the floor mommy. Can you clean it? Can you clean the floor now mommy? Do you want me to turn the light off now? Are you in the shower mommy? Are you getting clean?"

(sigh)

This morning, I thought I would get up even earlier to try to avoid this scenario. Not what I'd prefer, but it's better than the alternative. So I was halfway through my shower when I hear Brent screaming. LOUDLY and SCARILY. I don't have to tell anyone how quick I was streaking through the house with a towel half around me toward him. I find him bleary eyed in front of his room, sobbing "Mommy Doofie is out of the house". I ponder this for a second, still waiting for some reason for the crying - the last of the bloody scenarios leaving my head slowly. "You mean Doofie is in your room?" which is usually what upsets him about the cat. "No, he's outside!". He walks out with me to the living room, where the front door stands wide open.

First of all, my main concern at this point is WHY THE HELL IS HE OPENING THE FRONT DOOR when I'm in the shower, and I'm having trouble getting past that to even deal with anything else. But since he is okay, I throw some clothes on and go out and find the cat. Finally I see him crouched under a bush and coax him back into the apartment. Brent is waiting for me on the couch, and before I can even begin to go into my long and loud spiel that was forming in my head, he runs into my arms and collapses into a sobbing heap. My sympathy is over-ridden by the fact that I know I need him to be scared and realize that he can't EVER EVER EVER open the door without me there. And I press this into him more firmly than my heart wants to, because I know it has to be done. In reality I know I will go get the hardware to put a chain up anyways, because I can't take that chance, but I'm hoping still that I can impress upon him the importance of what I'm saying. I want him to be as prepared for the world as he possibly can, no matter where he is or who he's with. And he's not always going to have chains on doors or someone to watch his every move.

Needless to say, until I do, I guess showers are going to be quick, unenjoyable, and probably held at 2 am until I get that chain up.