Bad Mommy Status CONFIRMED

But I was provoked.... By a 21 month old....

Patrick: Mommy, this picture is for you.

It's an angry robot.

Me: Thanks.
Patrick: See it's angry.
Me: Why are you giving me the angry robot?
Patrick: Because you are always getting angry with Keith.

hmmm...... maybe I should take it down a notch or two..... maybe not?

seven and a half minutes later.....
Patrick (to Keith): Eww Keith are you all sweaty?

Problem, clearly a problem. Of course, I immediately assumed that the "sweat" was actually toilet water. Time for the worst case scenario handbook? Perhaps. Let's assess the situation...
Goggles? Check (for him not me)
Gooey Substance? Check
What is this stuff? (things I considered: lip gloss, super glue, bodily fluids, lotion, corn syrup, diaper cream...)

Do I dare smell this foreign substance? Well, of course. Smells clean. Clean and perfumy.
Take another look at the slicked down hair.... He was covered, head to toe in, hand soap.

But you really have to make sure you rub it in to get a proper lather.

The up-side (because Bad Mommy is inclusive of Lazy Mommy) he was pre-soaped for his bath. SWEET!

I forgive you Mr. President

I forgive you for crushing my dream with one swift stomp of your well worn off-the-rack oxfords. When I was, I don't know...8 years old, I had the infinite wisdom of an idealistic eight-year old. I also had a secret obsession with Ronald Reagan and all things related to the presidency. I was a dork, what do you want me to say.

Anyway, I was convinced that in the time it took for me to come of age (presidential age that is) our country would elect the first black president. So I set my sights on the first mixed race president. See... one swift stomp and my dream (my plan) is obliterated.

In our house there is a very clear partisan divide. Keith, bless his little spirit, would applaud any time he heard John McCain give a speech, or say anything for that matter. Patrick had the Obama spirit and with no prompting from either parent could identify Barack Obama from 40 paces. He even saw him walking in the parking lot at preschool one day!!!

Now that we don't see much of McCain, Keith has shifted his focus to Elmo. And since the opportunities to applaud have dwindled he has taken to cheering for people at the grocery store. "GOOD JOB PUTTING THE JUICE IN THE BASKET! YEA!"

Patrick has reaffirmed his commitment to Obama with one amendment. It isn't the male Obama who he likes, he really likes "the good-looking kids." He asked if he could cut their picture out of the Sunday Parade magazine.

Weren't my future DIL (s) cute in their J Crew coats?




For now I will wait for my call up to the big leagues, you know where to find me right?

Want to hear me recite all 44 presidents? Or would you rather hear MY definition of change? God bless America. A place where a girl as dorky as I am gets preempted by a complete geek.

Forced Grace and Hurt Feelings

Patrick (our little angel) got in trouble more than once this weekend. And his parents got a crystal clear glimpse of Patrick-the-Teenager (ugh).

Kevin and I have an unspoken agreement: patience and laughter before beat-downs and screaming. Sunday morning Patrick put us through our paces. We woke up kinda late for church. Early enough to rush out the door in complete chaos but late enough to suck my will to rush. We had enough time for one of us to make it to church and Kevin won the coin toss. Since I am a bit high-maintenance (hair, make-up, wardrobe, etc) it was fair.

Patrick woke up grumpy and complaining. Momma don't play that game! It is 67 degrees in January, praise the Lord and pass the Cheetos baby! grumble grumble this, that and the other thing. I finally told him if all he was going to do was complain, he needed to get his little self to church with Dad. Kevin thought that was an EXCELLENT idea (reason number 4298 why I love my husband). Patrick thought it was a HORRIBLE idea and complained for the 8 minutes that it took to get ready for church. I had already made him get dressed in decent clothes (jeans and a rugby shirt), which was part of the grumbling.

I was ready to call the Super Secret Agency (the one that specializes in naughty kids) to come pick him up as he whined and moaned and cried. Kevin did yank him out of the car for a non-corporal punishment attitude adjustment. I went back inside to start packing up any semblance of fun in his room.

As soon as they got home Patrick announced in his usual cheery voice, "I didn't have any fun with Daddy in big church." I excused myself and asked Kevin if I could relieve Patrick of his beloved Star Wars Legos as punishment. No dice. Patrick apologized and we proceeded on with our day.

My darling son (oh mini-me) got in trouble again today (more than once). I got after him (skipped right over patience blah blah to screaming) and hurt his feelings, or so he says. I told him that I would hurt his feelings every time he acted bad, 100% guarantee. Keith and I did comfort him. Except when you are 21 months old, pats are more like hits and 2 seconds with the new stuffed lamb should make it all better. There is no price for the brotherhood.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'VE BEEN TOLD

Compelling, Isn't It?

Patrick wants to be the Line Leader... bad, really bad. He doesn't want to follow anymore, he's sick of having to line up behind everyone else. And in case you were wondering, prayer helper and calendar helper are beneath him. Only Line Leader will do.

There is a process to becoming the line leader. And he has followed all of the rules: don't ask, sit quietly, wait your turn. They still don't pick him. To his credit, much like an unsuccessful political candidate he has the right focus.

Me: Did you get to be line leader today?
Patrick: No, not today.
Me: Who was line leader?
Patrick: I don't know.

That, my friends is a true politician. Senator Patrick Robert Callahan, Chair of the It's All About Me Committee. Would you like to contribute to his campaign?

He gives me chills

I'm injured...kind of....re-injured. My wrist is killing me. I can't blog much, because of my injury. But this is a blog post that doesn't require a lot of words (is she capable of a few words?). This is a blog post about my son Keith Fox. Sometimes I look at him and I get chills. Sometimes he makes me laugh so hard I cry. Sometimes when he wakes up he smells like fried chicken. The boy is amazing.




Can you possibly guess what he is trying to get out of the washing machine?





Waking up... Slowly but surely. The King of the Silkies.

Is reading the Sunday paper a contact sport at your house?

Ready for a big boy bed?

Enchiladas and Boom

Oh no! I lost my baby! Where has he gone? Have you seen him?
Peek-a-Boo!

My dad (gotta love him) always asks what the babies are doing and what the toddlers can say. He is around my kids plenty, he has seen them sign, heard them talk, and fully experienced their development. But he still asks, because... well that's just my dad. He likes to hear it explained to him to support his experience (you know I'm right). And he likes to ask questions that he knows the answers to. Anyway, this one is for my dad.

"What words can Keith say?" What can't he say? Here's a few of his favorite words:

1. Momma. Like every toddler, this word is used in many contexts. His father's favorite goes something like this: momma momma momma MOMMA
2. Outside. Isn't he brilliant with a side of OCD.
3. Stop. I like stop (or DOP if you are Keith), it is so much better than the dreaded NO. Keith usually directs it at the dogs.
   
4. Mine. But you knew that one.
5. Silky. Which is tricky because it sounds quite a bit like stinky. Which is another good word (potty training here we come).
6. Apple. We're in the car, there's an orange orchard (or two or sixteen) it goes like this: momma momma momma MOMMA APPLE!!!
7. Football. I really want this bedroom for Keith, he really wants this one. FOOTBALL!!!
8. Up-Down. Possibly the cutest thing he has been saying lately. He uses it when he wants to go upstairs or if he wants you to pick him up. He doesn't say it to have you put him down though, he prefers to just leap out of your arms.
   
9. And of course: Baby, Grandpa, Pop-Pop, Dog, Grandma
   
10. And for our Keith these are essentials: Ow, Hot, Boom and Uh-oh (although I have tried to explain that it isn't "uh-oh" if you do it on purpose.)

You may not think this is funny but someone found it amusing
Patrick's one man show is on the road, coming soon to a Target near you! The ladies think he's hilarious.
Show number one: Michael's After-Christmas Sale Dollar Bin Diving. "Hey Mom! The Cricut! Can we get it?"
Random Michael's Shopper: Seriously? Did he just ask for a Cricut? HAHAHAHAHA.

tip of the iceberg lady.

Show number two: Martin's After-Christmas Sale Much Admiring. "Hey Mom! It's an enchilada! It is beautiful, can we get it?"
ME: It isn't an enchilada, it's an artichoke and there are a million other things in this store I would buy before I bought a fake artichoke.
Random Martin's Shopper: Did he just call it an enchilada? How cute! HAHA.
ME: Yep, funny thing is he would eat an artichoke but he wouldn't touch an enchilada so....
RMS: HAHAHAHAHA
Patrick: Can we have sushi and artichokes for dinner and McDonald's for lunch?
RMS: Ha

If you say so.

I really don't want to go back to work tomorrow. (I don't wanna!) I am now twelve brief hours away from showing up at the office and if I could pay you on Tuesday for a free day on Monday I would. The problem? Awesome Vacation Syndrome.

I have had an amazing two weeks off with the boys. At first Patrick was perplexed by the non-travel vacation. "We go somewhere on vacation. Where are we going?" My big plan was going absolutely nowhere. Let's put it this way, I was driving around frantically trying to drain the expensive gas from the Expedition to make room for the $1.30 gas deal that expired on New Year's Eve. You see, I drive a lot for work, so not driving is a treat. So what did we do?

• We instituted a new rule for movie night. On vacation if we say it is movie night then it is movie night. Even if it isn't Friday night.
• We played little Legos and scrapbooked.
• We lined drapes for Keith's room. And renamed Keith's room, "The Nursery" since in a few months he will be moving into his new room.
• We cleaned out the purple room (soon-to-be Keith's room), my office and the Nursery. This took multiple days to complete with both of us focusing on the task.
• We packed up Christmas and put out Valentine's Day.
• We watched lots of Elmo DVDs.
• We slept in until 8:00 more mornings than not.
• We started reading the kids version of Marley and Me. A chapter a night.

Nothing ground-breaking. But we've had a lot of happy and funny moments over the last two weeks (sorry I didn't blog them). So it makes my resolution quite a bit easier... Work less, live more. I'll let you know how it goes. My goal is at least 3 three-day weekends every month.

Oh and if you made it to the end of this post one little story about the boys (and me, because I think I am funny and Patrick agrees). Keith got in trouble at the dinner table tonight (don't ask) and was... well posted. We turn him around to face the wall and move him away from the table. So Keith is crying and carrying on. Then he starts smacking his legs and feet because there was nothing else to hit. Now you know why he gets posted far away from anyone or anything. Patrick started laughing, because when you're four there is nothing funnier than hitting yourself.

MOM: Don't encourage him Patrick.
PATRICK: But he's funny when he hits himself.
MOM: You can laugh at him but you have to laugh at him like Daddy and me. Like this, on the inside. ***At which point I laughed on the inside. Moms and Dads? You know. Shoulder tremble, laughing eyes, a few tears.***
So Patrick was half-rolling from my display and half-rolling from his own attempt to recreate laughing on the inside.

I'm sure I will have plenty of opportunities to laugh on the inside this week at work...... Is it Friday yet?