Free!

It's official.

He's 3, I mean Free!

(Looking back at older posts, I noticed I keep mentioning "It's official" when referring to my children turning older.  Like in my mind it really hasn't happened, but according to the calendar, it really is happening.  The numbers are there to stamp it "official" for my in-denial brain.)

And so far it looks like he's trying to kick the "terrible"-wasn't-a-harsh-enough-adjective "2s" to the curb.

He's finally settled into being the "oldest" for a majority of the day.  And he's embracing it.  Awesome play time with mom.  Uninterrupted talk time about anything HE wants to talk about.  Talking sweet to his little brother.  Caressing his head ever so gently.  Bringing him the coveted Monster Trucks to play with (under one condition: "Doan put dem in your mouf, bay bruder").  Special trips to survey construction equipment, go to the playground or even pick out his own books at the library.

No more slamming doors when he first wakes up to yell, "WHERE'S DADA!"  He quietly comes inside our bedroom, carrying at least 3 blankies, and attempts scaling the bed with them in arm.  I kiss him on the forehead and say, "Good morning, big man"  and he replies, "G'mornin Mama."  Makes my heart melt just typing it.

He's turned into quite the Little Man.  He is fascinated with the concept of going to work, what you do at work, who goes to work, etc.  I'm still trying to convince him that girls and mommies go to work.  That one is usually met with a resounding, "No they don't!  That's silly!"  He will ask his daddy every day when he gets home from work, "Dad, what'd you dwive today?"  And Daddy will excitedly list off all the equipment he drove: front end loader, tractor, golf cart, pick up truck, forklift, combine, skid steer....  Something about this little guy is already geared to work and provide.

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 Mr. Cutie Patootie got the ultimate birthday gift on his actual birth day because Daddy stayed home.  You see, Mohawk Man came down with a really bad cough the night of the 12th and within a couple of hours we knew it was not going to be a good night.  I read up on croup and was 90% sure that was what he had at 3am when he woke with a coughing fit that made it hard for him to breath and snap out of.  So, by 3:30, LadyKiller and myself were on our way to the emergency room.  The car ride was enough to calm him down so I felt kind of silly walking into the ER with a sleeping baby asking for the Dr. to look at him because he was having trouble breathing (through the snoring).  Thankfully our trip to the ER was remarkably short and we were home by 6am, just in time to sing Happy Birthday to Monster Man and Daddy decided to stay home to rest off the eventful night.  The ULTIMATE gift for a 3-year-old boy who adores his dad.

His mother, who thought she had outdone herself this time, about lost her eyes from rolling so far back in her head when it was time for Nathan to open his gift.  Nathan has been talking about SpiderMan for months.  He saw a 5 minute snippet of the movie and was enamored with him.  Jumping around like SpiderMan and shooting webs was quickly taking over Monster Truck activities.  So when I had him open his SpiderMan costume, which would conveniently cover Halloween also, I thought I had this one in the bag.

Not quite.

Nathan opened his gift, said "Oh", looked at both sides of the packaging and asked, "Where's my toys?"

Little stinker still hasn't put it on.  But SpiderGirl has visited a time or two.

Update: this was all the time he spent in the costume...

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His birthday party was a success.

 

Some of his biggest fans showed up to celebrate with him. 

 

 

Looks like Daddy needed some help.



Some of us were wondering if the near dry-rotted rope might need some help also.

 

It managed.

Our front yard was separated into zones.  There was the unwrapping zone...

 

The unpacking zone...(this zone being manned by the one person I know of that despises tinkering with tiny, detailed, difficult to undo objects.  A funnies home video just waiting to happen.)

  

The observation zone...

 
 

 Please don't ask me what she's wearing.  I gave my mother a fit with my clothes in elementary school, so it's only fitting.  This was not a battle worth fighting.

And the Oh Yeah! zone.

 

CowPapa got him these real reading glasses and there's a story to go along with it.  Last week, Nathan found the cardboard with instructions on it for his GraveDigger truck we were jumping in the hallway.  He came up to me and said, "Mama, Wook, I found the map for my GwavesDigger.  Want me to wead it to you?"

"Why yes I do.  Will you please read me what the instructions say big guy?" I asked.

"OK Mama."  He squinted his eyes for a second and said, "Oh, I need to get my weading gwasses."

So he walked into the playroom, got the sunglasses out of a bin, brought them back and put them on the tip of his nose.  He tilted his head back, looked through the glasses perched on the tip of his nose and started "reading" the instructions for how to operate the truck.

Neither Jim nor I wear reading glasses, so go figure, he's picked up on that from the little bit we're around people who do.

Nathan and Henry got into the MINE showdown.  Henry was attempting to hone in on Nathan's new tractor and he would have nothing to do with the sorts.

 

 

 And don't worry my dear Nephew, M, two years ago you declared "Uncle Jim, you guys don't have ANY fun toys here at all" and I got this beautiful picture of you in the pink Barbie jeep.  Sweet.

 

And whaddayaknow I got another one from this year. :)

Be careful kid, I am the keeper of the photos and I take my job VERY seriously.  You will be old enough one day to be morbidly embarrassed of me.

The Motley Crew.

The weather was beautiful (not like his party 2 years ago, when it was sweltering hot) and we enjoyed another day of celebrating our little man's life.

Happy third birthday, Nathan.  You bring us much joy and laughter.  We can always count on you to surprise us with something that makes us laugh.  I love you so much and look forward to many more birthdays watching you grow.

Our little cutie has started laughing.  Heartily laughing.

Katherine figured it out one day when trying to do cartwheels and handstands in the living room.  Her legs smacking the floor was very amusing to Brandon, so naturally, we got out the camera and had her do as many as she could stand.

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The joys of having boys

I remember when I found out our first child was going to be a girl.  I cried.  It never crossed my mind I could be good at being a "girl mommy."  I had/still have no fashion sense.  Wasn't any good at doing hair. Never had a graceful bone in my body and had to/still have to work real hard at being "lady like."

Luckily, Katherine made getting in touch with my "pink side" really easy and enjoyable.  Her love of girly things became my new love and I started to truly enjoy the joys of being a girl.

Then, we found out Nathan was coming.  For some reason, preparing mentally for a boy just came natural to me.

Today, Nathan, Brandon and I got the chance to bond and I tapped into my inner growl.

Nathan, who will be 3 next week, got a GraveDigger Monster Truck for his birthday, that jumps over other cars.  Daddy got to play with the BDay present last night, so today was my turn.

Boy toys are pretty fun.  Something about the planning, designing and engineering involved is enjoyable for me.

Nathan was a great sport.  I think he was thrilled I was on the floor playing with him so he was eager to get up and down many times so this aging momma didn't have to so much.

We decided to test GraveDigger's ability to jump over objects in the hallway.  Nathan was Chief Setup Engineer.  It was his job to select the vehicles to be jumped and set them up in the hallway.

I was the Design Engineer.  It was my job to test GraveDigger and see how far down the hall it traveled before it jumped, then relay that information to the Chief Setup Engineer for correct placement.

I think all Engineers should wear plaid pants with their diapers peeking out the top.

I was also given humbly took on the job of photographer.  To catch GraveDigger in action, you know?  And my what a tough job that was with one hand.

One of the misses.

Oops!

 

Some of the hits!

Check out his excitement.  He's cheering for his ole' mom.

 

 

 

Finally, he resorted to manually jumping over them with his trusty SnakeBite Monster Truck.

 

And Brandon, he was taking notes on how to effectively jump a Monster Truck over a train, trailer and ramp piece.  He was also working on his ladykiller mohawk.  Hard work.

One aspect of raising boys I wasn't fully prepared for was how randomly disgusting they can be.  I know, I know, boys are dirtier, more gross and disgusting.  I knew all that.  But I was more prepared for events like dead snakes being brought to the unsuspecting mom standing in the kitchen, or dirt in places I didn't think was possible, or issues with personal hygiene.  All the typical grossness that comes from having boys.  But I was NOT prepared for this.

Not sure what that is?  That is a little boy upset that his mother is taking a picture of his handiwork on the car window.  The story goes a little something like this...

As mom is driving and looking forward.
Nathan: Mom, I doan like havin' a cold.  It's yucky.
Mom: I know big guy.  Colds are yucky.  That's why me and Daddy are always asking you to wash your hands.
(Had to get the mom advice mixed in with the sympathy I thought he was looking for)

Silence

Nathan: Mom, I sink I need to bwoah my nose.
Mom: Ok, if you'll hold on I'll get you a tissue.  Let me get it out for you.

Rummaging through the console maybe took a whopping 10 seconds.

Nathan:  Oh, nevehmind Mom.  I don need de tissue.  I all done.
Mom: Well, I got you a tissue anyway.  Why don't you just hold it for the next time you need to blow your nose.  Did you have any boogies in there you needed to get out?
Nathan: Yep, they'we out.
Mom: They're out?  Where are they?
Nathan: Here.

Thank goodness I was pulling into the driveway because I'm pretty sure I would have caused a wreck if I wasn't.

Home boy didn't need a tissue, nor did he even need a shirt, his pants or a sock.  He found the closest item to wipe it on that wouldn't mess up his wardrobe but would also leave some neat designs to admire.

Yes folks.  In that picture, right next to my son that successfully grossed me out that day, is the handiwork he artfully created on his car window.  With his boogers.

Let me reiterate, I was NOT ready for this type of grossness.

One more thing I was NOT ready for was little boys' fascination with poop.  I figured they'd want to talk about it, compare notes with each other or even attempt to gas out the house, but NEVER did it ever cross my mind he might want to touch it.  Hence the stakeout location I've secured when there is a #2 coming on.  The other two children will have to take care of themselves because frankly, I'm in there for health and sanitation purposes.  I shudder to think of what he's accomplished the days I wasn't in there to monitor him.

 

What a sweet little boy he is, though.  He loves his family, including the cat.

And his mind is a sponge soaking up everything related to daddy that there could possibly be.

And on most days, he likes his momma.

Differences

These two are so remarkably fascinating to me.  He could turn a Barbie into a hammer and she could make a family out of wrenches.

 I am in total awe of God's perfect design and engineering of us creatures.

Why me and song lyrics never really got along

Tonight, something happened that Jim thought was totally blog-worthy, so here goes.
May God have mercy on my naive, innocent and totally uncool soul.  I'm done, toast, lost forever in the universe of grasping for any shreds of coolness that might be left.


Upon reading this, many of my close friends will most likely roll their eyes because this behavior of mine has been around forever, but to others, it will be frighten-ly eye-opening.

While Jim was flipping through the channels tonight (he switches the channels so fast the lights from the TV flicker like a strobe light), he stopped on VH1 and the Snoop Dogg song "Drop it like it's hot" was playing.  I listened for a while, thought back to when that song first came out and very innocently asked, "What does 'Drop it like it's hot' mean?"

Jim very calmly said, "I don't know, what do you think it means?"

Well, I naively believed him and innocently started offering my suggestions for the phrase's meaning.  I offered everything from "suggestive" to practical definitions, which were all met with crazy wake-the-baby laughter.

After much prodding, he still didn't give me a good explanation to the phrase's meaning, probably because he was enjoying the many WASP-y options I was coming up with, so I got out the trusty Google search page and looked it up myself.

How uncool am I for having to look up the meaning to a rap song?

How uncool am I for reading the lyrics out loud in my white-girl-pronouncing-the-slang-just-perfectly voice?

Well, after browsing the Yahoo answers and Urban dictionary websites, I came to a conclusion I felt comfortable with and now I officially feel like a complete nincompoop for getting my kids to sing "Drop it like it's hot."

So am I the only goober out there that didn't know what that meant?

That wasn't enough for me.  Somehow the song, "I'm down with OPP" showed up on these websites I was browsing through looking for answers to dropping whatever like it's hot, even though I never understood why someone would want to hold something when it was super hot anyway.  And I chuckled at the definition of OPP.

I swear I wouldn't have believed Jim knew the definition unless he didn't blurt out the answer or even glanced at the website, but he did know it.

"How did you know that?", enter in more laughter.  I just didn't understand what was so funny or how he would know what OPP stood for.  So I kept browsing and started listening to the music video.

I swear, lawdy lawdy, people out there are nuts (enter in what I'll sound like as an 80-year-old).  Why in the world would that be okay?  Don't know what OPP means?  Look it up.  I'll not be responsible for spreading that filth.

What is so frightening (or hilarious if you're my husband or one of my friends that truly knows me) is that I would sing the chorus AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS back in high school.  Why?  Because that was the only part of the song I understood and could sing.  But what a complete dingaling I must have looked like for singing that I was down with OPP.  I swear.

I'm sorry, it never dawned on me that #1 that philosophy would be okay for other people out there, and #2 they would write a song about it and #3 I might be singing the words to a chorus that has a completely different meaning that has ever come within 50 feet of my subconscience.

So on top of Jim laughing hysterically that I didn't know the meaning to "Drop it like it's hot", nor did I know what OPP stood for, I then became very determined to figure out how Jim knew what OPP stood for so I listened INTENTLY to the video and I'll be fushizzled that the definition is spelled out right there in the song.  It took MUCH concentration and I still didn't hear but about every other word but I heard it.

Jim's hysterical laughter then reminded me back in the day, singing at the top of my lungs, "I'm down with OPP, Yeah you know me!"  Singing loud and proud girlfriend, because it was the only part of the song that I knew the words to, so that meant I had to sing them even louder.  'Cause I was singing my heart out, doing a little Jersey Shore fist-pumping for emphasis, looking cool of course.  And every single person who saw me either thought that I was "down" because I was into that type of lifesyle or they knew the REAL Kel that was so bloody naive she had no idea what the words meant, she was just glad she knew some of the words.

No wonder I would sing the song by Patty Loveless wrong.  It's "What part of No don't you understand?" and I would sing, "What part of Love don't you understand?"  Loud.  At the top of my lungs.  Like I was Patty Loveless myself, on my world tour, riding in the front seat of my cousin's truck with the windows rolled down, wind blowing through my hair.  Until my cousin would crinkle her eyebrows, turn the radio down, look at me confused and ask, "What are you singing?"


Kind of like when I was a huge Whitney Houston fan.  I would pop that cassette tape in my player, put my permed hair in a scrunchy, grab a microphone prop and sing at the top of my lungs, "In a shopping mall, love will do.  Hoo hoo."  And then would find out years later that the real words were, "Ain't it shocking what love can do. Hoo hoo."

It's bad, I know.

It's really bad.

I'm starting to see iceberg-size chunks of "cool" being ripped away from my outer shell and I can't do a flaming thing about it.  I have no chance at recovering.  My only hope is saving the shredded pieces that are still left.

There's no telling what I've taught my kids to sing all the while not having a CLUE that it might have a crypted meaning.

So here's your fair warning: Steer clear of me when a good song comes on the radio and I start singing.  There's a good chance I've unbeknownst created new lyrics.  But do me a favor, find creative ways to teach me the correct lyrics without totally ripping the rug out from underneath my fragile lyrically-challenged existence.

Mommies of daughters, get comfy, grab a hanky and read this...

50 Rules for Dads of Daughters

Heaven-sent

I've told all three of our little precious babies that before they came out of my tummy, they were up in heaven playing with the angels.  So, it's fun to hear what they have to say before speech capabilities and even afterwards when I ask them about what they used to do when they lived up there.

Here's Brandon's take on it:

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Did you know the fan could be so interesting?  It is mesmerizing.

Fingers, yum!

Mommy can be funny

Mohawk in the makin'.  Watch out ladies, cause you know I'm bad.

Time to ourselves

Since Sister has started Kindergarten, he's had lots of time to reflect and do things by himself he hasn't had the chance to do as a middle child.  Like, doctor the dog.

  

He can be so gentle when he wants to be.

I'm gonna pretend like I don't know where that suction ball has been and let them keep playing with it.

 

Learn how to write letters in shaving cream.

  

See how many bubbles we can fill up the sink with.

 

All the while explaining that this is the car wash for his monster trucks.

It's all such important stuff, you know.  Stuff that gets put on the back burner when you have a mom that's stretched beyond recognition with just trying to stay up with wash, meals and refereeing for a family of 5.

You see, Kindergarten can be very tiring for everyone.

 

Some of my precious views in the car picking up Sister...