Oh ...my... IPhone

Two days ago I got an IPhone. My kids are, well, quite happy about Angry Birds. I am quite happy about Angry Birds (and so is my husband but don't tell him because he refuses to admit he likes anything "Apple"). I can feel the inner struggle begin, though - how much can the kids play with my phone? August woke up yesterday, after knowing the IPhone for only six hours of his entire life, and the FIRST WORDS out of his mouth were "Mommy, where's your white phone?" Oscar, almost 6 years old now, played for at least 45 minutes and could have played much longer if we didn't insist he go to bed because it was 9:00. It's also the third day of November which means Halloween just happened. I loosened up and let the kids go buck wild with their candy. So, do I let them go buck wild with the IPhone? What to do...

Crazy Army Fashion

I enjoy checking out red carpet fashion. The other day Oscar climbed up in my lap as I looked online at red carpet outfits from the recent SAG awards. After declaring all the gowns "too black," "too pink," "too shiny," "too nothing" and even "too pretty," I asked Oscar what he would say when he sees a dress that he likes. His response: "Oh, I'll say 'crazy army' when I see one I like, Mommy." Yes. Yes, of course you will.

A few moments later I hear "Crazy army!" for a picture of a woman wearing a red mini-dress over dark tights. Oscar says he only likes the shirt, not the pants. I agree, thinking silently, because there are no pants, honey.

Mommy Bird, Daddy Bird

I usually only post the insane things my kids do. But not today.

When I drop off Oscar at school, there is a "Question of the Day" for the kids to answer with their parent before the parent leaves. Yesterday it was "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Now, Oscar does a lot of pretend play - he's a plumber, a mechanic, a mommy bird or a princess, but we don't talk about what he wants to be when he grows up. It's honestly never come up. So, he didn't know how to answer and that makes him shy. He slinked next to me and quietly said, "I don't know what to do" as other classmates loudly announced what they were going to be: "Astronaut!" and "Yoshi!" (I don't know what that is, but it was one girl's answer). So I said quietly to Oscar, "That's OK, you don't have to know. But sometimes you tell me that you want to be a Daddy. Would you like that to be the answer today?" And he lit up, "Yes, Mommy, yes! I want to be a Daddy!"

Not Even Ice Cream, People

"If you make me rest on this couch, I'm not going to like you, or Daddy... or the baby! Not even ice cream," Oscar informed me this weekend.

And by "informed," I mean "yelled at the top of his lungs" when I was five feet away. I mean, not even ice cream, people. This is a seriously unhappy three year old. It's my fault, of course. I was torturing him with fifteen minutes of forced rest on the couch. He could read or play quietly, but had to stay on the couch for fifteen minutes because his behavior had gottne so insufferably cranky. He almost fell asleep. But he rallied, and his rallying cry was just so good. I had to share it with you all.

Not even ice cream!

Either I Really Hate You or I Want to Get Married

This whole episode is further support of my theory that a three-year-old is really just a very small teenager. The past few days have been, well, let me be frank, hell-ish.

Every day, barely veiled anger directed at me, tantrums, clenched fists and the occasional "I hit you because I'm angry at you, Mommy." I concluded that I just can't do this anymore - this whole raising kids thing. Maybe it's time to get a job and let someone else raise my three-year-old because I am doing such a crap job of it. Let's face it, I think he hates me.

Then last night Oscar tells me that he wants to marry me. Why, I ask. He says "Because I love you soo much and you are the best lady in the whole world."

How can these two strongly opposite emotions coexist in a three-year-old? Sure, the books say this is a developmentally normal stage. I say he's a teenager in a tiny body. I wouldn't be surprised if he starts smoking next week.

p.s. the baby is not sandwich

Time has flown away into a vortex and I haven't posted here in seven months. The "Baby" in the blog title has a name now, and it isn't "Sandwich" as Oscar suggested. It is in fact, August. The "Tornado" is a big brother and seems very OK with the new family scenario, except when the baby cries very loudly. But nobody likes it when the baby does that. I should be honest, we still call him "Baby" more than we call him anything else. And a nickname has yet to emerge as the clear winner.

Just a Warning: This One is About Poop

Until recently we've been using a little toilet for Oscar - one that sits on the floor of the bathroom and must be cleaned out after every use. Last week I switched to a potty ring that sits on the adult sized toilet (and requires no cleanup!). However Oscar is used to sitting on the ground where he can stand up, look inside the potty and check on his progress, especially when he is pooping. He likes to identify the various sized and shaped poops, usually as either a snake or little balls. So, a few days ago he's sitting on the big potty and he is working on a poop. He asks me excitedly if it looks like a snake. I say we'll have to wait and look inside when he's all done. He finishes. We look inside to see several small lumps. Oscar quickly identifies it: "it's a family!"