His Favorite Girl

I've spent enough time around kids, mine and other people's, to notice that when it comes to how they feel about the opposite sex, age has nothing to do with it.  Nor does the sex of the child.  They are either all about it or they find it embarrassing or even disgusting.

My boys fall somewhere between embarrassing and disgusting.  It's not that they don't like girls.  Far from it.  Some of Ben and Mitchell's closest friends are girls.  But if anyone even hints at the word "girlfriend," or raises an eyebrow when a girl gets flirty with them, or teases them in any way about girls, they get embarrassed and shush you.  Big time shushing.  And add in some serious eye-rolling too.  You get the picture. Ben more so than Mitchell, probably because Mitchell is just better at ignoring anything he doesn't like.  

But because they have been good-naturedly teased about it and just exposed to the whole idea that a friendship between a girl and a boy might someday have more involved that they don't quite get, they now use that knowledge as just one more thing to torment each other with.  

When they tire of more tried and true forms of pestering that start to loose their irritating effectiveness, they now toss in girlfriend comments.  Any time one of them wants to bug the other, they just claim some girl is his girlfriend and off they go!  

Jack doesn't get what all the fuss is about.  He is just recently even aware that girls are not just boys wearing girlish pink!  But because he listens to everything going on around him and soaks up all his brothers do like a sponge, he's jumping on the girlfriend wagon as well.  But he's all about it!

Riding in the car a couple days ago, he was playing with his phone.   Normally, he is playing a game on it, but this time, he was pretending to talk on it.  He was chatting away and I asked him who he was talking to and he said, "Oh, just my girlfriend."  I asked who his girlfriend was and he said, "Oh mom, it's you of course!  I'm talking to you because you are my girlfriend!  You are my favorite girl so you're my girlfriend."

He might be the sweetest boyfriend I've ever had.  I'll overlook his age and general lack of personal hygiene.  I'll be his girlfriend until he decides to break up with me.  

Girlish

As many of you know, we generally like to do things "dude style" around here. After all, one lone female is not enough to balance things out so I've let go of some of my more... optimistic hopes in raising kids: things like never having pee on the floor, drinking out of cups rather than straight from the carton or faucet, a neat and tidy yard free of all the random sticks from the entire neighborhood, wearing pajamas to bed rather than nothing, and peace and quiet at any time of the day. I'm dealing with those things. I'm adapting. And constantly picking up sticks.

As Jack gets older and smarter, he's picking up on and embracing dude style as well. But he has taken it to a new level by defining its polar opposite: girlish. Anything he suspects his big brothers would frown upon is labeled "girlish," like, "Mom, if I wear those red pants, its ok! It's not girlish!" Or, "I don't want you to snuggle me right now, mom, it's too girlish." A couple days ago when I asked him to talk on the phone to a loved one he ran away yelling, "I can't!! Talking on the phone is too girlish!!"

Good point, Jack. You win that one.

The Message

I am a light sleeper. I can't tune anything out, even in my sleep. So when my kids are out of bed while I'm in mine, they rarely surprise me. I hear their shuffling feet long before I see their sleepy (or not-so-sleepy) faces.

This morning, before the sun came up, I heard jack shuffling toward my room. So when he peaked in, I was ready. What do I mean by "ready?" I had pulled my covers over my head and pretended to be asleep still.

Jack was undeterred. He pulled the covers down and said in my face, "Mom... Wake up sleepyhead... I need to give you a message. I really need to give a message..."

Turns out his message was simply that he wanted to get out of bed and watch cartoons much too early. I was kinda hoping for a more original message. I've actually heard that one before. Quite a few times actually.

Bilingual

Jacks gloworm plays frere jacques and he loves to sing along to it (and make me stay in bed with him until gloworm cycles through his loop of 5 or 6 songs until it gets back to that one so he can sing it again for me.  And then again.  And then one LAST time...)

When he asked what the words meant and I explained it was in French, he seemed to be satisfied, even pleased with that explanation.

But now he thinks he speaks French.  Every time he doesn't understand what someone says to him he says, "Are you talking in French?" And just the other day, his brain got ahead of his words and he started to jumble up his sentence.  He stopped talking, laughed, and said, "Oh mom... Did you hear me talking in French?"

Coke Breath

Jack was sitting on my lap after his nap today (one of my favorite times of day; love that warm, snuggly little guy...)

Anyways, we were just chatting a bit when he suddenly burped.  With a surprised look on his face, he said, "Mom! It tastes like Coke!  Can you smell my Coke breath?"

He must have overdone it on my Coke this afternoon because the burps just kept coming.  Each time, he'd stop and say, "I had another Coke breath mom!"

Moggy

On our walk to the bus stop this morning, Jack looked up at me from his little bike and casually mentioned, "Mom, it sure is moggy out this morning! It sure is..."

I guess he's right. When it's both muggy and foggy, naturally, you have on your hands a moggy day!

Smart little boy...

The Countdown

Jack has developed an interesting countdown.  First of all, I'm impressed with his ability to count backwards.  Secondly, and more importantly, I am impressed with his... embellishments!  It goes something like this:

10.. 9... 8... 5... 7... cereal... 4... 7... Mitchell... 1... BLAST OFF!!!

Let me tell you, it never gets old.  The more Ben and Mitchell laugh at it, the more encouraged Jack gets and the sillier and crazier the countdown gets.  At some point, it really just looses the ability to be called a countdown anymore and becomes a constant stream of silly words and giggling boys.

And of course, what sort of countdown can be considered complete without a space helmet to make it official.

Mosquito Lunch

Ben and Mitchell have a theory worked out concerning mosquitos.  Care to hear it?  It's pretty good.

Seems like out of all of us, Mitchell gets by far the most mosquito bites. Jack gets his fair share.  Ben hardly gets any.

As we drove home today, I heard them working out their hypothesis.

Ben: Mitchell, you must get the most mosquito bites because your blood tastes like dessert!

Mitchell: Then you must taste like vegetables!  Like mashed potatoes! (if you know us at all, you know mashed potatoes are the most disgusting food imaginable to my boys)

Ben: But what about Jack?  He gets some but not a TON like you.  He must be.... he must be like fruit! Or like lunch!

Jack: No!!  I'm NOT lunch!  I'm just Jack!  Mom!  He called me lunch!

Mitchell: Yeah... he's lunch...

So apparently, dessert is the best, mashed potatoes are the worst, and in the middle somewhere is... lunch?

A Little Thunder for Breakfast

Jack woke me up before 6 this morning.  That gave me a lot of time to spend with just him and his adorable silliness (trust me, I did NOT find him adorably silly when he came shuffling into my room...)

As we were eating breakfast outside, he was a constant stream of conversation as usual, only requiring or even allowing the most basic of responses from me - yep, oh really? you're kidding! uh huh...

The thoughts that come out as words in his mouth are really something special.  Almost worth waking up early with just him to hear a couple hours worth with no distraction.

Like this morning when he opened up his bagel, peeked inside, and, with wide eyes said, "Oh no!  There's thunder in there!  Can you see it with your ears?  It's thunder!  Remember the thunder outside?  And I ran away?  I ran inside and watched previews!"

He does love/hate thunder and he does love to talk about it.  I do remember many thunder stories involving Jack, but I am somehow forgetting the time he ran away from it to watch previews...

Save the crocodile!

Today, on our first official day of summer break... we ran out of things to do.  It was just so hot outside and the big boys insisted that since they have "been so busy" all year, they wanted to do nothing today.  

So while Ben and Mitchell "did nothing" together - which consisted of building a massive castle out of Legos, pushing Ugly Dolls around on the vacuum, and making potions in the sink - Jack kept getting in their way so they banished him.  He was forced to play with me.  

No matter to Jack.  He tromped into the kitchen, pulled out a few utensils, and proceeded to make up a good game of "Save the Crocodile!"  How, you ask, does one play this game?  Well, one person has to be the crocodile (my hand) and Jack has to be both Kevin, who is trying to hurt the crocodile, and at the same time, God, who is trying to save the crocodile.  

At one point, Kevin got in his van and ran over the crocodile.  This necessitated a savior - "Don't worry, crocodile!  God will save you!  He's gonna save you!"

I like this game.  I get to sit (or lay...) on the couch while Jack kills and revives my hand/crocodile over and over again.  The only downside is that he sometimes gets a bit rough in his multiple attempts at killing my hand... I mean, crocodile.

War Paint

As I was getting dinner ready this evening, the boys began to trickle down from their upstairs activities.  First came Ben, then Mitchell, then... well... that was it.  Jack never trickled.

After a while, my curiosity got the better of me (plus it was time for dinner), so I went up to investigate.  I found him in my bathroom.  alone. Never a good sign.

Guesses?

I found him with two tubes of mascara, globby wand in each hand, brushing his hair and painting his face like war paint.  He grinned at me and said, "Look mom!  It's pretty like you!"

We let him wear it for dinner.  Nothing like giggling boys to make dinner stretch on even longer, but it was worth it.  He is a stinker... but hilarious.

The Troubles Of A Two-Year-Old

My boys have a pretty amazing lives. Unless I am seriously missing something, they are not lacking in many areas of life. Although we allow them to be boys - adventurous, messy, a little crazy, sometimes loud, and even almost dangerous at times, we provide everything they need and love and care for them with all we've got. Their lives are secure.

Despite this security, unconditional love, and comfort in life, they still have their own brand of troubles. Ben hates confrontation. He hates it when someone - anyone - is unhappy or upset. He is a secret perfectionist: doesn't, at first glance, seem terribly competitive, but is very tough on himself in reality.

Mitchell hates sharing food. If I take a bite of an apple, he won't come near it. If I take a pretzel out of his bag, he will pass on snack time. He loves physical attention and hugs and snuggles, but prefers not to be kissed. Even knowing this, I kiss him when I just can't help it. After every kiss, he wipes it off. He hates the idea of slobber, even when it is the driest kiss I can manage.

Jack, being the hilarious age he is, has the funniest troubles in life. Boogers. Jack cannot abide "boogies" Every morning, when I get him out of bed, he at some point rubs his nose, feels the crusties inside, and panics. "Mom! I have boogies! Get my boogies!" Try as I may, I cannot convince my youngest child to pick his own nose. This leaves me literally picking Jack's nose for him not just every morning, but multiple times throughout the day.

He also can't stand his socks being "crooked." I am not sure what this actually means, but often, I just don't quite put his sock on correctly, and his whole world falls apart. Until I tug and pull and twist and shift that sock sufficiently, life is unbearable.

One more thing he hates (and this is my favorite) is when his shirt gets shifted up at all. If we are playing or wrestling or... doing anything really and his shirt happens to come up above his belly button... oh man... STOP EVERYTHING! "Oh no!!! My belly is stickin' out!" He just hates his belly to show...

I may feel I have trouble in life, but at least I can pick my own nose, have no sock issues and my shirt isn't constantly ridin' up. Perspective...

A Little Perspective

Jack is so stinkin' cute. The way he talks is just so funny and unique! He's got far more imagination and vocabulary than I feel any 2 year old should have! He cracks us up with something he says every single day.

Dozens of times a day, I hear Ben say something like "Oh mom, I love it when Jack says..." or "Isn't it funny how Jack always makes that same silly face every time he says...?" or "Did you hear how he said...?"

He has regular silly faces, he has way too much attitude, he can sing songs, and he charms the socks off everyone around him even when he is being a naughty little stinker.

Right now, he is in a phase where he likes to call his favorite gals "princesses." For a while, he thought "princess" was the same word as "girl" and used it accordingly, but now he saves the title for special times. Like yesterday. We were sitting around the living room, eating some licorice when he climbed up on me and said, "Mom, you're a princess!" Then he paused, looked at his licorice, and said, "But THIS is really a princess!"

So I got upstaged by a piece of licorice... Everyone needs a little perspective sometimes I guess.

I'm Stuck!

Not one to patiently wait until my hands are free to help him with anything, Jack often finds himself frustrated in his attempts to take care of himself. Just this morning, the simple act of taking off his jacket was comical enough to me that, rather than help him once my hands were free, I picked up my camera:

Good job, buddy!

Painless Attacks

I know my blogs have all been about Jack lately, but he is just at that often trying, but so hilarious stage right now! Here's another dose of Jack:

Jack loves weapons: guns, swords, axes (yes, we have a toy axe... from a pirate costume I think??), sticks... he's always shooting and whacking things, including his mom. For about half a second, I considered not giving my kids toy weapons (I had to at least pretend I thought they were inappropriate) but in the absence of real toys, they all fashion their own out of sticks, tinker toys, legos, shoes, blankets... you name it - it can and will be made into some sort of weapon.

So it is no surprise that with two older brothers who are quite skilled in battle, that Jack has learned early how to defend himself.

What is different about Jack though is that because he is as young as he is, I don't think he quite gets what a weapon is actually for! He makes the appropriate motions and sound effects, but his words just don't quite match: "Pow! I shoot you mom!" When I feign injury, he quickly says, "Don't worry mom! It not gonna hurt!" He stabs me with a stick or whacks me in the behind and I genuinely am hurt and he assures me, "I not gonna hurt you!" He pretended to throw some sort of exploding weapon at me from the back seat today, and I said, "Ow!" His response: "No, mom! It not hurt you! It not gonna hurt!"

I think he doesn't quite get it. At least he doesn't actually want to hurt me. I have to say, I never hear him say that to his brothers. Perhaps he doesn't mind hurting them occasionally...

Dad!!!

I am doing things a bit opposite with Jack than I did with my older boys. Both my older two were sleeping in "big boy beds" before they were potty trained. As I don't need the crib for a new baby and I am not moving at the moment, I am in no hurry to move Jack out of the confines of his crib. So although he is potty trained, he is not able to get himself up in the morning to take care of business.

What does he do about this?

Well, since I was gone all weekend, Jack became quite attached to and used to his dad, so when he wakes up and needs to do his duty, he immediately starts yelling, "Dad!! Dad!! I need you! Come through my door! Open it! I'm ready to get up! Get me out of bed! Dad!! I need to poop! Dad!! Poop!" For those Will Ferrell fans out there, picture him yelling "Mom! Meatloaf!" and you will get the idea.

I love that he calls for dad now. It's too cute. I also love that he no longer wants to poop in his pants. However, I don't always love to rush into his room immediately after he wakes up at 6am. I miss the days when he would wake up, poop in his diaper, not care, and just sing and play and talk leisurely in his bed.

So what does he do now that mom is back on duty and dad isn't rushing in first thing in the morning? Well, he doesn't want to poop in his diaper, so this morning, after calling for dad and telling him he had to poop and no one showed up, he took his diaper off and pooped in his crib!

I heard that all on the monitor as well. "Dad! I need to poop! Dad! I'm pooping! Dad! I'm making a mess mess mess! Help, Dad!"

I really have no one to blame but myself. I am the one who keeps him trapped in his cage and I am the one who ignored his pleas for help. It is only fair that I am the one who had to wash him, his clothes, his sheet, his blankets, his giant stuffed dog, and his bibi.

As I was cleaning Jack up, he looked at me accusingly and said, "Mom, I needed dad! I pooped!" Glad Jack at least is blaming someone else...

Exactly!

Jack is well-loved on the playground. This I have stated before. The moms love him and he's got a whole group of girls who follow him around, doing whatever he demands. If he wants them to chase him, they chase him. If he wants to walk WAY over to the rainbow on the wall, they dutifully walk over there with him. If he wants to make bark hamburgers and ice cream, they pretend to eat it with him.

Of course, sometimes, he has had enough of the girls and just wants something a little more real - like warmer hands, food not made of dirt or bark, a drink of water, a kiss after he's fallen down, or, in yesterday's case, a can of seltzer water.

My friend was just carrying this half-full can of fizzy water around, torturing poor Jack with it. As I was talking to her for some time, he had plenty of time to notice it, want it, and repeatedly ask for it. As it wasn't mine to give him, I told him I'd find him some water elsewhere, but she stepped in and offered the rest of the can to him. I let him have it, fully expecting him to dislike the bitter fizziness.

His reaction to it was priceless: He took a tentative sip, smacked his lips, sighed, and said, "Ahh... Exactly!"

He then wiggled to get down and carried the can around the area, taking tiny sips and savoring each one in a similar manner. Not quite ready to be done running around, he did keep leaving it with me with the instructions "Keep it safe, mommy! Don't drink it!" and would come running back to me later in a panic crying, "Where's my drink?!"

There are clearly some very simple ways into my youngest child's heart.

Turn It Up!

It is winter break for my kids this week. Yes, we already had a Christmas break, but it was only a week long and now we are getting Christmas break, take 2, a couple months later. As I have all three boys home all day every day with me all week long, I think I will take this opportunity to share with you something that is driving me loony in my daily life.

Jack loves music. Jack loves to sing. He loves to dance. He wants music on no matter where we are or what we are doing. He will dance at home or in the car or in a store. He does a little boogy on the sidewalk when a car drives by with it's music blaring.

Jack also loves music LOUD. Listening to a song at a normal volume just isn't acceptable to him. This is most evident in the car. I take Jack everywhere with me and he spends some time running to and from things in the car with me every morning. That kid loves the radio and he knows many songs by name, and often it is cute. He will say "I like this song, mom!" or "turn it off! It's rubbish!" or "Don't like this one!" or "I know this song!" But no matter what his opinion of the quality of the song, he always has one constant command: "Turn it up! Loud! Louder! Super loud!"

I also love music and I like to listen to it in the car. I also have opinions on which songs are nice and which are rubbish. Jack and I often agree on such things. We DO NOT agree though, on how loud to listen to it! I hate loud music. I love all kinds of music, but I want it all at a volume that I can hear other things going on around me, or my kids trying to talk to me, or a car honking, or my husband trying to have a conversation, or my own mind thinking!

Jack, like his dad, wants to blast the music, then talk about something. I then turn the volume down so I can hear him, and he shouts/demands, "Hey! Turn it up! Need it loud!"

I have a fight over how loud is too loud in the car every single day and am daily left wondering why this little boy of mine is such a bossy-boots with insensitive ear drums. I am going crazy...

I Tried To Warn You!

Did I ever mention that I finally rigged up a seat-belt situation to help train my older boys to sit properly in their chairs? After countless times reminding them to sit up, sit still, stop one-cheeking it, get off your knees, no you may not lay on your chair, no you may not sit backwards, stop rocking, stop tipping, JUST SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM AND SIT UP RIGHT!!! - I finally bought some handy bungee cords that do just the trick for wiggly bottoms. I strap them down to their chairs when they just seem to have springs instead of butt cheeks.

Well, even though he is far too big for it now, I have kept Jack in his high chair as long as possible just to keep him contained. But he knows he's too big and his poor thighs are just getting squished in there, so he has been asking for and sitting in regular chairs more and more often, which just means one more springy bottom to deal with.

This sort of shenanigans is bad enough at the breakfast table, but at the counter, it goes beyond teaching good table manners and ventures into dangerous waters. My chairs at the counter are very sturdy, very high, and very heavy. Knock one of those bad boys over while sitting in it and you could really hurt yourself.

I am CONSTANTLY warning Jack not to climb onto and off of them by himself. Surely he was listening to all the terrible things I patiently warned him could happen to him or my poor chairs, right?

Wrong. Tonight, as I was cleaning up dinner, Jack decided he was finished and immediately began the decent. Right as I was dropping what I was doing to halt his progress, the chair went over. How he managed to remain upright through this is beyond me, but he somehow landed on his feet - and so did the chair. We all thought he was crying because he was mostly scared until we noticed the blood seeping from his big toe. His entire toenail was hanging by a tiny bit of skin off the tip of his toe.

Man, that must have hurt. Somehow, saying "I told you so" to a sobbing and clearly in pain 2-year old isn't very satisfying so I just tried to clean it all up the best I could and comfort him in the process. Dare I hope he learned his lesson with the chairs now? Only time will tell...

To end on a more endearing note: I did get a good two hour snuggle from him after this incident, which anyone who knows Jack, knows that is unheard of. He's not a snuggler. As we lay cozy under a blanket watching a movie with the big boys, he kept checking on his bandaid covered toe, just to see it and then would give a deep sigh and say, "Remember my toe, mom?" or"Remember when I cried so long?" or "Remember when I knocked chair over?" It was pretty cute.

Interrupting Cow

Jack has quite the sophisticated sense of humor. I'm not sure who taught him his favorite joke, (I suspect Ben as Mitchell's jokes tend to be a bit more... well... made up) but he loves to shout this one out:

Knock Knock, mom!

who's there?

Interrupting cow!

Interrupting cow who?

MOO!

I swear, he gets the word "interrupting" correct and even has the interrupting "moo" timed perfectly! The first time he pulled this one on me, I couldn't believe how perfect he got it! It was so funny!

He loves to tell this joke anywhere, but his favorite place is in a parking garage where his voice is amplified and echos so he can really get full acoustic sound out of his "MOO!"