Rugrats

The punk had recently done his business at the grocery store, in the "unisex" bathroom where I could fit myself and the basher, who was strapped into the obnoxious spaceship grocery cart full of purchased groceries. So I knew that after we read our nap time story, he would just be able to lie down and go to sleep. I left the punk lying cozily in his bed and fed the basher his afternoon meal of mixed grain and squash. Then we retired to the rocking chair for a final thirst quencher and a descent into dreamland. It all sounds so magical, doesn't it?

Well, as the basher was finally dozing and I was about to detach him and place him in his crib, the punk opened the door and smiled, as if to say, "I'm cute. Therefore, I am exempt from punishment." In a whisper, I instructed him to go back to bed, to which he loudly replied, "WHAT?" Luckily, the basher was tired enough that he only fluttered his eyelids, but did not wake up. After I made silent strangling signs, the punk understood. Just kidding. But he did go back to his room. When I tiptoed out of the dozing basher's room, the punk had come out again and was placing his stool by the toilet so he could get to it. He demanded that I let him do everything himself, which takes forever, but okay. It made him happy to accomplish something so magnificent. With his business done, I again led him back to bed.

Finally, a deep breath. I put the groceries away and picked up a few things. I even managed to resist the java chip ice cream I just bought; all I wanted was a minute on the couch and some silence.

Right when I sat down, I heard a door shut loudly upstairs, a shrill, tired cry from the basher, and the punk's footsteps down the hall. Awesome. The basher had slept for 30 minutes and the punk, not at all. Only 3 more days until my man returns home. No, that's too long. Only 5 more hours until bedtime? No, that doesn't work for me either. Only 2 1/2 more hours until my brother comes over to wrestle with my boys and make yummy noises as he eats dinner with us? Yes, I can deal with 2 1/2 hours.

After all, they have their cute moments too:

Teddy Bear Picnic

Behold, a lively song to jump-start your weekend!

[If you go down in the woods today, you're in for a big surprise.]

If you go down in the woods today, you'd better go in disguise.

For every bear that ever there was will gather there for certain because

Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

Picnic time for teddy bears! The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today.

Watch them, catch them unawares and see them picnic on their holiday.

See them gaily gad about. They love to play and shout. They never have any cares.

At six o'clock their mommies and daddies will take them home to bed

Because they're tired little teddy bears.

Friend, Foe, or Something Else?

Me: "Well my friend, you did such a good job at your swimming lesson today!"

Punk, noticing my choice of words: "My friend? Are you my friend?"

Me, after pausing to think that I am not supposed to be my child's friend; I'm supposed to be his parent. But this probably won't be a factor until his teenage years and then it'll be too late anyway. So to simplify things, I answered: "Yes, I am your friend! Are you my friend?"

Punk: "No. I'm not your friend. I'm your Calvin Boy."

So he gets it.

And now, here are today's swimming lesson videos for your viewing pleasure.

Diving Board

Back Float

Jumping Platform

Bubbles, Kick, Jump!

The punk recently completed his first session of swimming lessons. It was two weeks of swimming every weekday. The first week was rough. This is what the punk looked like on his second day of swimming lessons (and first and third and forth).

He is the one with the tears.

The second week was a different story. While driving to the pool every day, he would tell me that he wasn't going to cry. And he didn't! On his last (tenth) day, he jumped off the diving board!

The crying sounds are coming from another kid in his class.

His comfort level and skill set improved so much in those two weeks that we decided to enroll him in a second session, starting next week. We will be spending every afternoon at the pool for two more weeks. Because our lesson time is the last before open swim, we get to stay after the lesson to have lunch and play in the pool, as long as I have someone there to help me with the two boys - usually a sister, mom or mother in-law. Not a bad way to spend the day!

We took advantage of the punk's grandparents' country club membership and enrolled him in lessons there. It's a nice pool with fantastic teachers (the punk's teacher Brooke is a saint; he talks about her all the time) and pretty mountain scenery. The only problem is that the menu consists of sinful temptations such as burgers (I enjoy the garden burger), fries, onion rings (my fav), cookies, ice cream, and the like. The ironic thing is that many of the country club members look like they've never eaten an onion ring in their life. Go figure.

Down To The River To Pray

It seems an appropriate song for the bathtub, wouldn't you say?

{The sucking noise is the basher in my arms, sucking on his fist.}

Patriotic Punk

In order to get my mind off these contractions that are frequent and intense enough to be a big bother, but not regular enough to make the trip to the hospital, I thought I'd share a video with you. The punk and I often recite the Pledge of Allegiance together whenever we see a flag in our travels. Actually, I would recite the Pledge while he joined me in repeating a few of the words at the ends of phrases. So when one day, he spotted a giant waving flag and surprised me by reciting the entire thing, I was quite impressed by my little patriot.

Here, he shows off his skill while enjoying a blueberry pancake with powdered sugar and strawberries. I guess the red, white & blue breakfast was catalyst enough!

Baseball Season

Last weekend, the punk and his daddy went sledding to make up for time lost to a business trip during the week. Today, my man is investing in his retirement. It's called left-handed hitting.

Saturday Exercises

Can you sense the punk's relief when his ruthless trainer stops at 10 crunches instead of going on to 20?

Now it's payback time! (Insert whip-cracking sound effect.)

Six Mostly Unrelated Thoughts on Music

1. I love it when my family visits me because we usually end up singing or banging rhythmically on the table or dancing wildly around at some point. Last night my brother David and Little Sis came over for dinner. After we ate, I showed Uncle Davey the piano piece I've recently learned: Linus and Lucy (aka the Peanuts theme song). While I played, he made percussion sounds with his mouth and hands and Little Sis danced with the punk. I'm happy to see that he has musical influences besides his crazy mama.
2. Why is it that when women age, their formerly lovely singing voices begin to sound like men imitating women? (See this video.) The only two women I know of who have avoided this are Dolly Parton (who I'm assuming is injected with age-defying substances) and my Grandma Valeen.
3. Steven Tyler has revitalized my interest in American Idol. I don't even miss Simon and his creepy crawly chest hair.
4. Thanks to a brilliant Christmas gift from the aforementioned Grandma Valeen: an electric guitar that plays several familiar rock excerpts, the punk knows the words to Love Shack. How many of you could sing, "Love shack, Baby!"as a two year-old? It's totally awesome. And slightly disconcerting.
5. Sometimes I wish I lived in a musical.
6. The punk's Kindermusik teacher commented today on his talent for rhythm. Thank goodness for that because it seems he is only capable of monotone singing:

Punk Subtitles:

I am a child of God

And He has sent me here.

Has given me an earthly home

With parents kind and dear.

Lead me, guide me,

Walk beside me.

Help me find the way.

Teach me all that I must do

To live with Him someday.

Jingle Bells

'Twas the week before Christmas

And all through the house

The punk's singing Jingle Bells

A little louder than a mouse.

Jammin'

And now for our second installment of non-traditional Christmas music,

the punk presents

Ode on the Harmonica.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Move over Jingle Bells! Itsy Bitsy Spider is taking over.

Thankful

I am thankful for my family, immediate and extended. Also: the changing seasons, my warm house, my loyal friends, and dark hot chocolate.

Punk, what are you thankful for?

"Grandmas, papas, and Bogey (Grandma Lynn's dog)... and Aaron too (his uncle)!"

Happy Thanksgiving!

So Cute

My man, the punk and I went out to breakfast early this morning. After the man paid the bill and left to catch a flight, the punk and I lingered to finish our pancakes. (I may die in the next 5 minutes of early morning sugar overload. Farewell.)

In observing the decor of the restaurant, the punk said something I've never heard him say before and it tickled my funny bone. He pointed to some flowers in a vase and said, "Flowers, so cute!" I wasn't sure if I had heard him correctly, so I asked him to repeat what he had said. "Flowers, so cute!" I laughed so loud and hard that he could be in no doubt of how I felt about his new phrase; he is not lacking in positive reinforcement. So then he pointed to the decorative plates on the walls and said, "Plates, so cute!"

When we got home, I asked him to repeat his new phrase for the camera. (The lighting in our basement is horrible, so please ignore the poor cinematography.) Enjoy!

Conversation with a Toddler

While enjoying our breakfast of sugary cereal (the punk) and hot chocolate with buttered and toasted demi-baguette (mama), we had the following conversation:

Punk: "Wockit."

Mama: "What did you say?"

Punk: "Wockit."

Mama: "I'm sorry, I didn't understand you."

Punk: "Wockit."

Mama: "Can you say it a different way?"

Punk: "Wockit."

Mama: "Why don't you show me?"

Punk: "Huh?"

Mama: "Show me what you mean."

Punk: "Hmmm?"

Mama: (laughing hysterically...)

Punk: (looking puzzled, then amused...) "Mama funny."

At least we can communicate through music. Here is the punk at his first Kindermusik class:

For Your Entertainment

Here are some punk-isms in video ("diddle-o") form. Enjoy.

"wack-a-diddly" = wet and dirty

What does a kitty say?

Alphabet with David

Even though the punk was reciting the alphabet perfectly at 7 months old, we've continued our work. After all, one can not perfect his talents too much. Here he is singing the alphabet song (kind of) with Uncle David, 11 months later.

My favorite part is when he giggles at silly "Da-id" at the end.

There Was a Little House in the Middle of the Woods

Please enjoy this musical selection, a feast for the eyes AND the ears.

Poop

The punk is adding new words to his vocabulary every day now. Among other things, he can now say "cereal," "truck," and "snack." One of the most recent additions to his repertoire is "poop." After he suddenly stops whatever he's doing and stands, red-faced, in the middle of the room, grunting and concentrating, he will involuntarily shiver and then look up with wide, blue eyes and helpfully exclaim, "Poop!"

The other day, he was in the other room wrestling with his dad. I heard the play stop and then my man whisper to him, "Go tell mama." A second later, the punk appeared at my bedroom door. He pointed to his bum and said, "Poop!" I yelled into the other room, "Nice try!" and heard a hearty burst of guilty laughter.

He also knows another word that rhymes with poop:

Slam Dunk

Tonight, my man took his punk to do something very manly. Grunt. They visited a hardware store to buy the supplies to adjust the punk's basketball hoop to a toddler-friendly height. Now he can slam dunk without any assistance. Utah Jazz, we'll be expecting your call.