Smacksy Sunday Link: My First Fail

This is not my child. Yet. Thank you, Jesus.

Thank you to my friend Wendy for alerting me to the delight that is the photo blog My First Fail. I can not get enough of photos of small children doing weird and/or ill-advised things so that I can feel better about my own parenting skills.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: Fort 2.0

Try to locate the smiling keeper of this citadel.

Another day, another fort.

Ready to Party

"Mama, is it my birthday yet?"

"No. Your birthday's in May. We have a ways to go yet."

"So it's after this day? When I wake up, after breakfast?"

"It's more than three months away, but it'll be here before you know it."

"But I do know it and it takes a long time."

"Sorry, babe. There are other holidays to celebrate between now and then."

"Oh! I have a super great idea! Do you want to know it?"

"Yes I do."

"We can celebrate my birthday everyday! It would be super great to do that."

"If we had your birthday everyday, then it wouldn't be special any more, now would it?

"Yes it would. It very, very would."

That's A No For Me

I’ve never fancied myself anything close to an amazing singer but on most days I can sort of carry a tune. When driving with Bob in the car recently I sang along with the radio, belting out Little Red Corvette. A classic. After the chorus, Bob interrupted me.

“Mama? Mama! Stop that nasty noise!”

"What did you say?"

"Please, Mama. I'm saying please."

I know Bob’s a Prince fan so he was not talking about the song choice.

I heard Simon’s leaving Idol after this season so I guess there's an opening. I think Bob might have a future in television.

Negotiations

11:30 AM

“Bob? I have given you my complete and undivided attention for the last two and half hours and I’ve loved every minute of the puzzles and books and being eaten by dinosaurs and freeze tag and helicopter launching and that part where you ate my sandwich, but now I really need five minutes to myself. I need five minutes where you are not pulling on me or whining or climbing me or demanding candy. Please go in your room, just for five minutes without writing on the walls or breaking things on purpose or trying to ride the dog like a horse or wailing. Five minutes. I beg you."

“But mom?”

“Just Five minutes, Bob.”

“No, Mama! Not five minutes! Nine minutes!”

“Fine. We’ll do nine, if you must.”

“Deal.”

“Deal. Let’s hug on it.”

“OK, but nine. I said nine, Mama, not five.”

“I will try.”

In a Galaxy Far, Far Away...

My husband Jeff is a musical/mathematical/computer genius-type. He fostered his nerdishness as many of his fellow nerd-men do, with an early obsession with Star Wars. In order to ensure that his genetic code for inverse hyperbolic trigonometry gets passed down to the next generation, Jeff has gifted Bob with his childhood collection of Star Wars action figures circa 1979.

Bob is still too young to see the Star Wars movie, but he loves the action figures which he affectionately refers to as his "robots." He is intent on learning all of their names and recently checked out a book from the library that lists of all the characters and their resumes. Bob has now chosen his career path.

"Mama, when I grow up I am going to be a robot teacher at Star Wars School. I'm going to teach Darth Vader not to be bad anymore. He was good before but now he's bad but I can help him remember the way to be good. I am going to teach Busk not to be so greedy anymore and only need his share and also I will teach the bounty hunter robots to only work for the good side. Oh and "Chee-backa" is just a nice guy so he won't need robot school because he is a Wookie. See this picture of R2D2? I think they took the picture in the Star Wars bathroom. It looks like that. So, also after I teach all of the robots to be good, then they can move out of Star Wars and into our neighborhood. That will be excellent. Super excellent."

Next stop, calculus.

Sawing Logs

For the first 18 months of his life, Bob woke up 8 - 12 times a night and could only get back to sleep with my help. This was hell for all involved. When I finally became so sleep deprived that I:
1. Fell asleep at a stoplight while driving
2. Could not form a full sentence
3. Hallucinated,
Jeff took over and did a gentle type of sleep training with Bob that he found in a book (Good Night, Sleep Tight by Kim West). I got to re-enter the long forgotten world of Rapid Eye Movement slumber. Because of that rough year and a half, this sound is like a sweet, sweet lullaby.



*Note: I am not being paid to promote or endorse the Good Night, Sleep Tight book although it was life changing and if I could meet Kim West, I would give her such a big, long, hug, she would be scared, and it might be awkward but she saved me and I'm a hugger. Ms. West, you have been warned.