Halloweeny!

Happy Halloween!

Cousins trick or treating...

 Their fearless leader...

 Three eyed pumpkin?  Sure!

Shoes.

I am currently driving around with $80 worth of shoes that do not fit my child and are awaiting return.  Eighty.  Dollars.  All three pairs are the same size as the shoes he is currently wearing, but magically those fits and these do not.  Lamesauce.

I didn't think this whole issue really bothered Alex since I am not dumb enough to try to take him to the store to try on shoes.  I realize this would eliminate the buying/trying/returning cycle I'm in, but that little dance is a cakewalk compared to bringing him with me.  Trying to contain him upon entry to the store and in turn make him try on shoes in the store, I imagine is quite similar to herding 13 cats high on catnip into one undersized carrier.  Neither thing seems worth the effort.

Anyway, aside from having to sit still for 32 seconds in the comfort of his home while his mother tries to stuff his sausage feet into shoes, he hasn't really been inconvenienced by this debacle.  But, apparently he is very sensitive to the amount of energy I have expended trying to find suitable footwear.  Last night, as the fear of zero pairs of shoes fitting him became a reality, he just looked up at me and said, "Ugh...Seriously?!?"  Took the words right outta my mouth kiddo.

Treats

Our neighbor brought over his dog to play with Aiden for a bit last night.  While they were running around like wildebeests, Alex asked if he could get them a treat.  And then quickly changed his mind.  Not a dog treat, Cheez-Its.  Because every dog deserves a Cheez-It every now and then right?

He grabbed a snack cup full of ABC Cheez-Its and stood at the top of the back steps.  And then he just started calling for the dogs while throwing crackers over the railing at them like he was throwing popcorn to pigeons.

Cheez-Its launched wildly at dogs.  Sounds about right for an evening in the Julius backyard.

Tarnished Star

Well, Monday proved to not be the brightest day for the Star of the Week.  Not only did his lame mom not have any pictures for his poster ("This is me!" - blank, "This is my family!" - blank, "This is my pet!" - blank) and write the wrong age in, but the star himself had an awful day.

I'm pretty sure I'm the first mom to pick up her star and have his name on the red light.  One bonus of being the star is that you get to be line leader.  You get a little badge and everything.  Not my kid.  He lost that privilege due to lack of listening.  And he and another kid had a hard time keeping their hands to themselves. Shocking news all around.

We talked a lot about his behavior and how to change it, his brown blanket got taken away, and we made sure to turn up the volume on his listening ears to HIGH this morning.  Here's to hopin' he's still the line leader.

Star of the Week

Alex is the star of the week.  I, of course, didn't take the poster with this weekend, so this morning I was frantically coloring in little stars and circles and filling in the blanks for his favorite food, favorite color, what he wants to be when he grows up, his age.  Yeah...I put 4 for his age.  He's not 4.  He's 3.

Looks like the Star of the Week doesn't have that stellar of a mom.  Niiiiiice.

Smoldering

My brains are fried.  Last weekend was great if you only gauge it on how well Alex and his cousins got along and how much fun they had together.  If, however, you are gauging it on my darling little boy's behavior toward me, great doesn't really come to mind.  Unless you are thinking of great amounts of mom-style anger.

His attitude toward me can be summed up in one sentence...

He literally spit in my face at the pumpkin patch.

Yep, that happened.  He spit in my face as a response to me scolding him for running into a parking lot.  And while I silently carried him, he kept telling me that he spit in my face.  My rage was only superseded by the amount of strength it took for me to not beat the ever loving snot out of him right then and there.  We reached the hay bail his jacket was sitting on just as he said it again, and I broke my silence to tell him that was exactly why we were leaving that instant.  And the crying fit began.

I wrestled him into his car seat and as I was backing out he cried again that he wanted to stay.  I slammed on the brakes, spun around and very loudly informed him that due to his poor decision making he no longer gets what he wants.  The crying continued, so as I pulled out of the parking lot, I told him I didn't want to hear anymore crying and that he needed to sit in his seat and think about why I was so upset.  He clearly has yet to learn to admit nothing since he sat there rattling off different things he had done throughout the day that had upset me.  Way to add fuel to the fire that's burning your ass kiddo.

spinning spinning spinning CRASH! spinning spinning spinning THUNK! spinning spinning spinning  OOF!

Add two Oreos and you've got the scene in my living room for the first 15 minutes we were home last night.

He's gifted.

No I don't, yes I do.

Me:  Alex do you want to count for me to start the car?  (Like you do every single time.)
Alex:  Nope.
Me:  You sure?
Alex:  I don't want to.
Me(knowing damn well he wants to):  So you don't want to count for me?
Alex:  No, I don't want to.
~I start the car~
Alex:  MOOOOOOM!  I wanted to count!!!
This was followed by him crying the entire way home because I wouldn't turn the car off, let him count, and then start the car again.

Alex:  Mom?  Can I have some blueberries?
Me:  We don't have any blueberries, but we have this red pepper we grew in the garden.  Do you want that?
Alex:  Oh yes please!
~He takes a bite~
Alex:  Mom?  I don't want the seeds in it.
Me:  Ok, but I will have to cut it in half to get all the seeds out.  Is it alright if I cut it in half?
Alex:  Yep!
~I deseed the pepper and give him the two halves~
Alex:  MOOOOOOM!  I didn't want it like this!  I wanted it together like a rocket ship!
This was followed by me telling him not to eat it if he didn't want it; him flinging it on the floor; me telling him to go to his room; him screaming NO!; me banishing him to his room by the back of his neck.

~Backing the car out of the garage and I push the button to close the garage door~
Alex:  MOOOOOOM!  I wanted to push the button.
This was followed by me giving up.  Forever.  Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

The good, the bad and the squeezey.

If he promises to be this cute in his costume every year, I will get behind Halloween.

We did have a bit of a rift when I pulled the costume out of the bag.  I excitedly told him I found a monkey costume and I got, "MoooOOooom...I want to be a BAD monkey."  Oooookkkkk...and exactly what makes a monkey "bad?"  Apparently, to be a bad monkey you have to carry shooters with you while dressed as a monkey.  Learn something new every day.

So, he will be a super cute snuggly monkey...that will shoot your ass if you mess with him.  Solid.

Alex finally decided on being a monkey for Halloween.  I just bought a monkey costume without him there to try it on, and there are no returns.  I'm currently taking bets on which is going to happen:  he is going to announce being a monkey is no longer an option, or the costume won't fit.  

I hate Halloween.

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooal!

Alex and I spent the weekend in Platteville while Travis spent the weekend in St. Louis going on a brewery tour and going to the Packers' game.  Travis is really lucky I like my brother- and sister-in-law a whole lot.  But, Alex adores playing with his cousins, so we had a good time too!

On Sunday morning, the kids got to play video games on the big screen at the movie theater.  They had a whole theater to themselves, all the popcorn and soda they could consume and video games larger than life.  The guys took the kids so the ladies could have a morning of coffee and silence and chatting and silence and glorious silence.

Apparently, the uncles' favorite part of the excursion was that Alex was running back and forth on the stage in front of the screen while the other kids were playing FIFA soccer...and he was pretending he was scoring the goals.  That kid's got some sort of imagination.

Small spaces

The toilet tank was leaking juuuust a little bit and we didn't realize it...for a while.  Long enough that the water seeped under the tile floor and now the tiles are popping up and, in turn, breaking.  Yay.  But!  There's a silver lining!  We finally found an appreciation for our tiny tiny bathroom.

When you only have 15 square feet of tile to replace, you don't have to spend a lot on tile.  And when you have a miniscule amount of room between the door, toilet and tub, only 1 style of sink will fit and it's the cheapest one!

We purchased:
tile
trim tile pieces
grout
all the tools necessary for tiling a floor
pedestal sink
faucet

So, we are going to do a close to complete bathroom make-over for the grand total of....$200!

I'll take it!

Last night was a very whimpery night for Mr. Alex.  I can deal with sass and naughtiness without going berserk, but whiny?  Stop.  Stop right now.  I can't hear you when you whine.  Ah, the life of a compassionate mother.

Any way, due to the whiny, I was more than ready for bedtime.  We read a story, turned on his fish light, and snuggled up.  After telling him to stop talking and go to sleep and getting him a piece of cheese and covering and recovering him, he finally was still.  And then he wiggled over to me, put his head on mine and whispered, "Mom?  I totally totally love you."

Sounds 'bout right.

50/50

This morning we got to bring a dump truck, a motorcycle, Ramoné, and a police car along for the ride to day care.  Paaartay!  On the way, it hit me that today's letter is the letter D.  Voila!  Dump truck!  So I excitedly told Alex he could show his dump truck for the letter D.  Good stuff.

Upon arrival, I collected all of our travel companions and handed Alex my keys so he could use the little fob thingy to buzz us in.  After reminding him for the third time he had to go to the bathroom, I took his toys, blanket and sweatshirt over to his cubby.  He got done in the bathroom and ran to go play.  Half way to a shopping cart, he stopped dead in his tracks, spun around and yelled for me.  He came running over with concern dripping off his face.  Hands out, palms up, and forehead wrinkled he said, "Oh no!  I forgot to get my thing for letter sharing!"  The joy on that child's face when I reminded him it was in his cubby was awesome.

As he ran off to get his dump truck, one of the teachers asked how I can handle not just squeezing his face every time he talks because he is just so cute.  Yeah...I can handle it because at least half the time I'm fighting the urge to squeeze his neck.

Never stop learning

I forgot to mention that when we were talking about having a baby at our house, Travis asked Alex what he would do with a baby that lived at our house.  "ummmm....just play wif 'em." And then Travis reminded him that babies cry a lot.  At which point, Alex informed us that all you have to do to stop a baby from crying is pet them, because babies like to be pet a lot.

So that's what we were doing wrong the first three months of Alex's life!  Not enough petting!  And here we thought he just had gas.  Dumb parents.

Do ya now?

At the dinner table last night, (the dinner table we were all sitting at simultaneously eating dinner like a real family...I know, right?!) Alex blurted out, "I want a baby at our house!"  And I, in turn, blurted out hysterical hyena laughter.  Once that subsided I asked him what he would name a baby if it was in our house.  No response.  Ok...do you want a boy baby or a girl baby in our house?  Response:  A daddy baby ahahAHAHHAHAHHA!

We're in luck!  We already have one of those.

Since someone has been wearing his sensitive pants at all times lately, it seems Alex's request for a daddy baby has been filled.  Let's continue on with our chicken pot pie thankyouverymuch.

Don't worry.  They're just practicing wrestling moves.  All good.  Nothing to see here.

Invincible.

So apparently being a big boy means you can do stupid shit and you won't get hurt...you know, due to your big boy status.  That is, until you do actually get hurt from doing stupid shit like bouncing your way off the end of the couch.  Then you only acknowledge you are hurt for the amount of attention you want.  After that time has expired, you are back to being an invincible big boy and your mom is back to be an idiot who clearly doesn't understand what it means to be a big boy.

Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Stamping...not just for scrapbooks

Alex has been better, but is still having days when it is hard for him to keep his hands to himself.  That's his teacher's euphemistic way of telling me he is being a big jerk and is whacking people.  Yesterday, he was back to just smacking people as he walked past them.  He's gonna make a lot of friends, I can tell.

Any way, I talked to him about it on our way home and again before we sat down to read books before bed.  I reminded him that he needs to keep his hands to himself and people won't want to play with him if he keeps whacking them.  He agreed and off we went to read books.

We were sitting for .7 seconds and he whacks me on the arm and says, "STAMP!"  And when I scolded him for hitting me, he instantly corrected me.  He didn't hit me, he stamped me.  Ummm...What's that now?

I would never tell him this, but I am kinda impressed with his thinking outside the box there.  Obviously, I still told him "stamping" people was not ok and he needed to keep his hands to himself, but in my head I was all, "nicely done on figuring out how to circumvent the rules buddy!"

That's more like it

The second attempt at reacquainting myself with Jillian went much better.  I made it through, no stopping and I don't feel like I pulled every single muscle today.  We'll call that progress.

Van No

I'm thinking art may not be his strong suit...

The Bitch is Back

Now that it is getting dark at like 3pm, finding a good time for running outside is becoming more of a challenge.  And since I have been gaining a bit of poundage since the Madison Mini, I need to get back on the work out horse.  Which means, until I find  different work out I like, Jillian is back.

Travis and Alex were playing with Alex's train, so I figured I could sneak in a work out.  Especially since Alex was not just standing next to his train table playing, he was sitting on his train table in the middle of the track.  Pretty sure he was distracted.  After the warm-up though, Alex came in the living room and asked if he could watch my exercises.  Sure, why not, everyone loves an audience while going through excruciating exercises!

The first strength move you do in Level 1 is 30 seconds of push-ups.  Which, quite frankly, is a long time of push-ups.  I started doing for real push-ups, but then quickly decided I didn't want my arms to fall off, so I switch to push-ups from my knees.  As soon as my knees hit the floor, my darling son pipes up with, "MoooOOoom! She said to put your feet all the way out!!"  Yes dear, I heard her say that, but until your little ass is down here doing the push-ups with me...shut it.

When I was half way through the first set of cardio, I got more input from the peanut gallery.  He just looked at me and said, "PHEW!  I'm tired."  Yeah...I bet that couch riding is tiring stuff.

The most irritating part about this whole work out was that I absolutely could not make it through Level 1, LEVEL 1, without stopping.  Like stopping for a loooong break.  So I didn't pass out.  Ummm..yeah.  I can run a half freaking marathon, but I can't take 20 minutes of this bitch?!?  You gotta be kidding me!

Day two of the aftermath of Jillian required ibuprofen.  I hate her.

Look who got a haircut and is finally ok with wearing sunglasses!

Trading Places

I am quite positive some sort of demon has taken over the body of my child.  And that demon is a 3 year old, bipolar asshole.

I was late to work this morning due to a meltdown stemming from pushing a button.  Apparently, today, not any other day EVER, Alex wanted to open the garage door.  But for fun, he didn't let me in on it.  So, after finally convincing him to get dressed and leave the house, we raced through the leaves and to the garage.  I opened the side door, reached up, and pressed the garage door button.  How dare I.

With that, a full blown, snot and tears ridden meltdown ensued.  The only thing I could think of that would coerce this inconsolable child into the car, was to offer to let him sit on my lap while we backed out of the garage and then he could push the button to close the door.  Deal accepted!

We get all backed out, I put the car in park and tell him to hurry and get in his seat so I can buckle him up and we can go.  And in the time it took for me to leave my seat and get to his door, all hell broke loose.  The backing up and closing the door deal was no longer good enough.  Because didn't I realize he still wanted to open the door?!?

I tried telling him we couldn't open it because we had to leave.  He just stood there, screaming and crying that he wanted to open the door.  I told him he had a choice.  Either he could get in his seat under his own accord, or I could put him in his seat.  That choice was met with a resounding NO!  So, I chose.  I put him in his seat, and after 12 seconds of trying to wrestle what I thought was my child, but was in fact now a wild boar, I had had enough.  I told him this was ridiculous and I slammed the door.  Walked to the other side, closed my door, and I walked away and into the backyard.  Yes, that's right.  I walked away from my 3 year old, not buckled in, in a running car.  Winning!

I counted to ten while doing some deep breathing, regained my wits, and walked back over to the car.  And I found him sitting in his seat quietly crying.  As I buckled him in, I asked why he was crying.  "Because I wanted you."  And he reached up and gave me a huge hug.

What. The. Hell.

Winner.

Recently, I was once again tricked into thinking Mickey Mouse held the title for most annoying children's show.  And once again, I was dead wrong.  Mickey Mouse has got nothin' on that repetitive exploring little freak Dora and her damn monkey friend, Boots.  Boots, by the way, wears red boots.  No other items of clothing.  Just red boots.  And he really loves his boots.  And he tells you he really loves his red boots ALL THE TIME.  "I'm Boots!  I love my boots!"  Shut the fuck up, Boots.

And don't even get me started on Swiper, the thieving fox.  This asshole fox pops up every now and then with the sole intent of stealing whatever it is Dora and Boots need to fix their problem.  The problem they have told you about in the exact same words at least a dozen times.  And the only thing this stupid fox ever says is, "Oh maaaaaaan." while snapping his fingers in an "Aw shucks!" kind of way.  And he only does that after Dora, Boots and the home viewer yell, "Swiper!  No swiping!" at least seven times.

One episode of Dora, and I am on my knees, begging for that mouse.

Don't blink, you'll miss the clean.

This weekend I realized I couldn't remember the last time I washed the kitchen floor.  I realized this as I was noticing a dried up, now part of the floor, piece of lettuce from the boy's taco adventure three days prior.  We aren't going to talk about the pink-orange slime I had been successfully ignoring in the tub for a couple or four days.

A trip to the grocery store was also needed.  Alex announced he wanted to stay with me, which obviously wasn't going to work.  I tried to explain a zillion different ways why it would be awful to stay home with me and as glorious as riding a rainbow on a unicorn to go with Travis to the grocery store.  Didn't matter.  So we finally decided that we would race.  We would see if they could get done with the grocery store before I could get done cleaning THE ENTIRE HOUSE.  Fair?  No.  Successful at getting the boy out of the house? You bet your sweet bippy.

They walked out the door, I cranked some 80's and the race was on.  I was a cleaning tornado and was just about done de-sliming the bathtub when they got home and joyfully announced they beat me.  Congratulations!  You two managed to get 4 bags of food faster than I cleaned the whole downstairs.  Yee.  Haw.  Never have I been more impressed.  My poor sportsmanship aside, the house was shining and sparkly and the cupboards were full.  Happy happy joy joy.

About 86 minutes later, the beast child had to pee.  About 52% of the time, he wants to stand up.  Awwwwesome.  This kid can manage to pee between the seat and bowl and get pee all over the wall, me, and his pants, WHILE HE IS SITTING DOWN.  So, yeah, I am not excited about the standing up thing.  The toilet was clean for 86 minutes.  At minute 87?  Urine waterfall.

Then we ate dinner.  Before I could swallow my third bite, the floor under Alex's chair was piling up with rice, peas and corn that juuuuuust didn't make it into his mouth.  And it was at that moment I decided I am never cleaning again and we are just going to have to learn to deal with living like pig people.  I'm cool with it.

Carly Rae Jr.

In the car this morning, "Call Me Maybe" came on again.  I heard Alex slightly gasp and then...

"Mom!  This is the song I sing!  Can you make it bigger?"

Since it gave me a giggle, I'll let him slide on the bigger vs louder thing.

Click!Click!Click!

While Grandma was here, so was her camera...

Thanks Grandma Z!!

Catching our breath

This weekend was somethin'.

On Saturday, Alex seemed like he was getting a little bit of a cold.  But it didn't seem too bad and he was in a  good mood, so we went to a pumpkin patch with Claire and Addy.  We saw some goats, saw (and heard) a donkey, rode a hay ride, played in some corn.  The kids were tired so we loaded them up and headed home.  Both conked out within 10 minutes.  It was only about a 30 minute drive, so when we got home, I figured I would just lay Alex down.  And since he was so deeply asleep, I figured he would just go right back to sleep.  WRONG.  So, for the rest of the day, I had a borderline sick kid operating on 20 minutes of sleep when he is used to at least an hour.  Let the games begin!

After a bunch of whining and arguing and sassing, I figured an errand would be good to get us out of the house again and kill some time in new surroundings.  We needed dog food so I proposed we go to the pet store and look at fish.  Proposal accepted!  After about 10 minutes of running around like a maniac touching every fish, snake and lizard tank within reach of his little arms, we headed over to get some dog food.  But, one of us was distracted by a stuffed cat posing on the cat climber thingys.  And when I requested the stuffed animal be put back and the quest for dog food continue, the meltdown began.  Lots of whining while slumped or sprawled out on the floor.  And any time I would get within a foot of him, he would start yelling OW!OW!OW!  It was such a spectacle, not one, but two different store employees frightfully asked me if I needed help.  Gee...I look like I need help?  Why?  Oh, because I have a 35lb bag of dog food slung over my shoulder and I am dragging a 3 year old down the aisle by his armpit?  Nah, I got it.

I did accept the help of one girl when she asked if I wanted her to carry my purchase to my car.  As we were walking out, Alex was crying and requesting to be put down.  I told him no because clearly he was unable to use his listening skills.  With that my personal dog food sherpa giggled and told me I sound just like her mom.  And then she launched into a story about having to wear a backpack leash when she was little because she would run off and her mom would find her talking to some guy named Bill but she would tell her mom he wasn't a stranger because she knew his name now and thank goodness she grew up in a small town where the only strange man she was introducing herself to was good ol' Bill.  This whole story while I have a writhing, whining, crying 3 year old on my hip.  And then that little writhing , whining, crying 3 year old had the gall to ask me to stop and get him french fries.  Yeah....right.  I'll get right on that.

We got home and of course Alex didn't want to get out of the truck.  Time for another meltdown!  But lucky for me, we were at home, and I have a prison disguised as his room for him there.  Into lock-down he went. I shut his door and started angrily picking up the stuff strewn about the house.  Alex's toys were thrown from across the living room into his play room with love, cupboard doors were slammed shut, and the vacuum was sweetly ripped from its resting place.  All this ruckus, brought Travis downstairs from HIS NAP, and he asked if I needed to take a walk.  To which I started laugh-crying and told him, No, Rumpelstiltskin, I don't need to go for a walk. I need everything to just magically be fine.

By this point, Alex had emerged from his room and was sitting in the middle of the living room floor.  And I hear a little voice saying, "Mom?  I need you."  So I went in and asked what he needed.  "I need to snuggle you."  Which, while it was awesome and a much needed snuggle, made me realize something.  I am allowing myself to be emotional abused by a toddler.  He beats me down down down and then pulls me right back up with a smile and a snuggle.  Sneaky sneaky.

At about 7:45, he asked to lay down and read books.  And he was passed out by 8:10.  Now, I know he didn't have much of a nap, but there were still red flags a-flyin'.  And for good reason it turns out.  Sunday morning he woke up pretty much out of breath.  Just laying there.  Short, shallow, fast breaths.  A listen to his back confirmed some wheezing and rattling, so off to urgent care we went.  He got a breathing treatment and we were sent home as the proud new owners of our very own nebulizer.

I stayed home with him on Monday and called in Grandma reinforcements.  Not only did she help entertain and bathe him, she also showed up with three bags of food, a new book, and a sticker book.  Grandmas rule.