Evidence that my toddler actually listens to me. Sort of.

This morning, I awoke to Banner yelling, "MAMA!  TRASH!"

A quick check of the baby monitor revealed a very, very naked toddler standing in his crib holding his diaper.

I immediately dashed into the nursery, where Banner handed me said diaper and announced, "Trash, mommy.  Di-pa, trash.  No potty."

Sound familiar? 

Now if I can only get through to him about the whole randomly stripping in his crib thing.  Because, OMG.  Why?! 

Not to mention, HOW.  Backwards sleeps sacks, duct tape...Houdini has nothing on this kid.

A case of the Mondays...

I cherish my Mondays with Mommy.  I really do.  But there is a reason why I am more exhausted on Monday night than any other day of the week, and his name is Banner.

(Seriously.  How do you stay at home mommies do it?  I am in awe!)

This morning, Banner woke up at 7 AM.  Which, all things considered, isn't that bad.  Mainly because it wasn't 6 or 5:30.  But Trevor had just left for work, and the wind was howling (it went from 76 yesterday to FREEZING in a matter of hours overnight).  I wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep for another 15-30 minutes.

"Momma!  Up!  GET UP, MOMMA!"  UPPPPPPPPPP!"

Back in October, Banner started calling for mommy and daddy when he wanted us to come get him in the morning.  Then, in November, he had a polite streak and would ask, "Momma?  Daddy?  Wheer ah oooo?" over and over and over again.  Apparently, that wasn't effective enough (truth:  it was pretty easy to ignore), because now home boy has turned all mini drill sergeant on my a$$. 

"Momma!  Get up, Momma!"  NOW!  MOMMA, UP!  MOM-MEEEEEEE!"

He even stomps his foot in his crib as he says it, and wags his finger in the direction of my bed in the other room...LIKE HE CAN SEE ME TRYING TO IGNORE HIM.  I know this because half the time I'm in denial about the situation and find myself pleading with his image on the baby monitor (Please!  Pleeeeeeease go back to sleep!  Just five more minutes!) from underneath the covers.

But the best is when you walk into his room.  You open the door, and Banner immediately says, "HAH-LOW" (hello) in the cheeriest of voices.  He might as well be saying "I win", because that is what he really means.  But you can't be mad at him, because - most of the time - he is just so effing happy to see you.  

So now that we were officially up, the Ban Man and I went through our usual Monday morning routine:  I scrambled an egg and cut up an apple for his breakfast.  Gave him some milk.  As usual, he wanted to try what I was eating (pomegranate seeds mixed with blueberries).  I reminded him that he didn't like pomegranate seeds the last time he tried them, but he didn't believe me (he never does).  And, of course, just like last time, he spat them unceremoniously back into my bowl.  I ate them any way, because I am of the mind that it is a sin to waste a perfectly good pomegranate seed.  Plus, I'd probably starve if I refused to eat anything that hadn't already been in Banner's mouth.

(Note:  I draw the line when food lands on the floor.  Usually.)

(But only because the dogs are ON IT.)

Banner watched about fifteen minutes of Toy Story III, while I drank my coffee.  Then we played until 9:15, when I started the process of getting ready to leave for 10:15 swim class.  My goal is to be out of the door by 10 AM, but the process of leaving takes at least 45 minutes these days.  Mostly because Banner likes to dress and undress himself over and over again, and be needlessly opinionated about which clothes he will or will not wear.  I was getting nowhere fast until I asked if he wanted to go see Ms. Debbie, his swim instructor.  This really seemed to excite him, and he ran back to his room.  

I used the moment to rinse the left over milk out his sippy cup.  

(Mistake Number I)

By the time I made it back to Banner's room (less than thirty seconds later), he was completely naked, chanting, "Debbie, Debbie, Debbie" and attempting to flush his diaper down the potty.  And by "attempting" I mean the diaper was IN the bowl, and he was actively trying to get the toilet to flush.  Luckily, my appearance on the scene startled Banner and he only partially depressed the lever.  Otherwise this story would have been a lot worse, involved an overflowing toilet and we probably would have missed swim class.

Regardless of the nearly averted crisis, I found myself just staring at Banner for a moment, blinking.  I remember thinking, how did we get naked AND in here so quickly?  Seriously?  How?  He just had clothes on.  With buttons and zippers.  It should have taken closer to 2-3 minutes for him to achieve this level of nudity.  Mind: BLOWN.

I gathered Banner up, redressed and re-diapered him while explaining to him that diapers don't go in the potty.  Diapers go in the trash.  And like a good little parrot, Banner kept repeating back to me, "Diaper, trash.  No potty.  Diaper no potty.  Trash, trash, trash."

Then, I put him down, and went back to the kitchen to grab a plastic bag to fish the diaper out of the potty.

(Mistake Number II)

I returned ten seconds later to discover NO diaper in the toilet.  Only a watery trail on the hardwoods that lead me to my son in the other room, soggy diaper in hand, chanting, "Diaper!  Trash!"  To be fair, he was trying to put said diaper in the diaper bin, but still.  OMG.  AND WHY WAS THERE SO MUCH WATER EVERYWHERE?

Also, there should be a special word for "water" when it has come out of the toilet bowl.  Just saying.  Because I can deal with water.  Toilet water, however, makes me a little twitchy.

Needless to say, we were late for swim class.  And it wasn't even 10 AM, yet.

It isn't easy being green...

So, this happened today:

That, my friends, is what happens when a toddler gets ahold of a green, permanent marker.

And turns himself into Kermit.

(Trevor says The Hulk.)

It all happened in less than two minutes.  He ran into the study.  Neither Trevor nor I thought anything about it until we realized it had gotten unusually quiet.

Quiet is a very bad thing with a two year old in the house.

Correction:  Quiet is a very bad thing when you have a two year old in the house who isn't sleeping.  Otherwise quiet is FABULOUS.

The good news is that Banner only decided to decorate himself.  The bad news is that we had swim class less than 45 minutes later.

At least the green marker went with his new turtle swim diaper.

Also?  Other parents?  Yeah, they found it hysterical.

It is possible he had it coming...

Oh, Haskell.

What to do about Haskell?

(Or, as Banner calls him, "A$$ Cow".)

Outside of being hit by a car (before I found and adopted him), and a couple of accidents along the way; Haskell has always been my easy keeper.  He maintains his weight eating less kibble than his sisters, loves to wear costumes and coats and is the BEST behaved dog at a party.  Especially when wearing a red bow tie.

He is patient with Banner.  Although, when he has had enough, Haskell has no problems with relocating to the child-free safety of the dog run...much to Banner's chagrin ("A$$ Cow!  Wheer ah oooo?  A$$ Cow!  Inside!  Now, A$$ Cow!...Peas?").

Sure, there are times when Haskell is annoying.  Like when he ate TWO ENTIRE HOMEMADE DESSERTS made by my brother last year, and didn't suffer at all.  Not even slight intestinal distress.

(Not that I was hoping for my dog to be sick or in pain.  Trevor, on the other hand, was really looking forward to all those slices of angel food cake and gingerbread brownies.  A little bit of indigestion on Haskell's part would have made Trevor feel a whole lot better about the situation.)

And then last week when we had people over for slow cooker tortilla soup that had been simmering for  ten hours in the kitchen.  Don't get me wrong.  The soup was fabulous (as it always is when Trevor makes it), but it would have been even better if Haskell hadn't stolen the FOUR AVOCADOS off the island, gently pealed them in the dog run, ate the good part and left a pile of skin and seeds behind a potted plant.  Just like the desserts, we knew it was all Haskell, too.  Because Gypsy and Alley simply think about eating something other than kibble, and get the runs.  Haskell, on the other hand, stomach of steel.  

It is obnoxious, really.

So, imagine our surprise when we arrived home from date night Thursday to discover Haskell's face was swollen up like a Shar Pei.  Other than looking ridiculous with lips that weighed at least ten times more than usual, Haskell was fine.  No difficulty breathing, no tummy upset, drinking/eating normally, no mouth sores, bad breath or broken teeth.  Granted, he didn't seem overjoyed with my poking his face, but that probably had more to do with annoyance (and the fact he was trying to go to sleep) than pain.

Rather than rush him to the emergency vet, we decided to wait and see.  The next morning, his face was slightly less swollen, and by the time we got home from work he was all better.

Still no idea what caused his head to swell, but I'm guessing it was an allergic reaction to…something.  Maybe a bug or spider bite?  We will probably never know, but it safe to assume it wasn't anything stolen from the kitchen.  At least not this time.

Poor swollen-headed, big-lipped A$$ Cow.

Long weekend at the ranch. A photo blog.



Last Friday night, we packed up and headed to the ranch for the long holiday weekend.

 

The place is pretty much heaven if you are a two year old boy.  Or a dog.  Or just a person who wants to relax, drink beer and breathe in some nice country air.  Plus, you could not have asked for better weather.  It was BEAUTIFUL.

 

Here are some (okay, a lot) of my favorite pictures:

 

Saturday sunrise.

Buh-bye!

 

Saturday Sunset...

Tottenham wins!

OMG.  I make that face!

Butterfly porn.

Post nap hair fabulousness.



There was no taming the hair on Sunday.

Sunday sunset.

Hand prints.

Snuggly Pil.
(Oh, wait.  I mean, "Uh oh, Pilgram!  UH OH!")

Bath time with Auntie Amy.

Last snuggles before heading back to Dallas.