Toddler Rules

This "list of rules" has been passed around my "mommy friends" for quite some time. I remember back in the day (about 4 months ago) I secretly pined for this list to be on My blog. Ummmm........what was I thinking????



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But, alas the time has come that this list is befitting in EVERY ASPECT! I swear these are the thoughts inside Grayson's head:


If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.

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If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.

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If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.

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If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.

If it is Mommy, it must be hugged.

It's the End of the Summer As We Know It...

And I feel fine!!!!


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Better than fine, in fact.

This week marks the beginning of the end of summer: my favorite time of the year. When the sun cools and there's a nip at night and air-conditioning can be replaced with fresh-air through the windows and an open sunroof and a playground slide that isn't 567,000 degrees.

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When wardrobe is not limited to tank tops and capri pants, and this years flip-flops hit the trash and knit hats and scarves and jackets are almost wearable again. Almost. (I mean, it's never really cold here but a girl can't ignore Fall fashion, even if the rain hates to fall here and snow doesn't even know North Texas exists.)

Saturday I wore a hoodie. And closed-toe shoes. And it was perfect. And Grayson wore his long sleeved t-shirt with shorts. I gave up my shift Friday and Saturday night due to the fact that Hurricane Ike was coming and I just wanted to hang with my boys. Even though it rained and rained and rained, it ended up being a perfect weekend.

We took Grayson to the Wiggly Play Center, which is an indoor play gym of awesomeness, so he could run and wiggle all of his energy out. I think Daddy had just as much fun as he did!

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What do you think?????

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Afterwards, we headed to Posado's for some yummy mexican food. Sunday we got up and went to church and then headed home to watch some football. We ate wings and potato salad and had a loooooooong nap!

And then there was today. Beautiful. We ate Chic Filet and then went to the park with our best, little friend. It was a gorgeous day with a coolness in the air.

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Around here, there isn't really a proper "end" to summer. You just know when you start seeing pumpkins bedecking front porches and the Halloween candy lining the shelves at Target.

It's my most favorite time of year!

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So although the time has come to say "goodbye" to swim shorts and water parks and "hello" to long sleeves and pumpkin patches,


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it's a happy ending to a seemingly endless summer.

Farewell to 100 degree days. So long, heat rash. Good riddence evil sun. Goodnight hairbrush. Goodnight mush. And the old lady whispering hush. Etc. Etc. The end.

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Oh, and HAPPY FALL YA'LL!

13 Months: My Little Teenager

Dear Grayson,

You are 13 months today, you little teenager you. Right smack on schedule you have become a squinty, devil-eyed, cackling rebel. Why? WHY!?

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First let's talk fingernails. You will not let me cut them anymore. Bad for you and worse for me as I am constantly given the once-over, scratch marks down my arms, neck and chest. I look like a victim of assault and/or a cat lady. As you know I dislike cats about as much as I dislike mayonnaise so this is really unsettling. Your toe nails are also quite long and I'm considering giving you a ghetto-fab mani-pedi. Maybe with a little butterfly stencil or a flower? Wuah-ha-ha! How about that for revenge? But seriously. Your claws are becoming an issue and that ain't swell, dude.

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Second, I would like to take back everything I said about wanting you to walk. Please regress so I can have my sanity back. In the past hour alone, you pulled 7201 items out from under my bathroom sink and strew them on the floor, about a zillion DVD's out of the coffee table, you broke a remote control, ate a doodle bug, and swam in the dog's water bowl. You hid out in my closet for ten minutes with 89 pairs of shoes and when I found you, you were eating my favorite Steve Madden sandal, you then sorted through the dirty laundry and spread it all over the kitchen. You decided to sit on "Dawk" (Bentley) while she was sleeping, thus pissing her off. You tore this month's Vogue, and I wasn't finished reading about Kate Hudson and gagging myself over her adorablity. You clawed me a hundred times, you emptied a bucket of Lego's and pushed them all under the couch. You emptied a bag of cheddar bunnies and pushed those under the couch. You knocked over my glass of water, you somehow found a small wooden object and chewed it. You threw-up something that looked alive, you banged your head against the coffee table until you cried, you locked yourself in the bathroom, and you broke into my car and drove it away. Seriously. All of this actually happened (except for the car-driving part.)


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Lastly I would like to comment on your diet. Two bites of grilled cheese and a 1/2 oz of juice? Dude. This isn't prison but it might be soon if you keep feeding Avocado, Pesto ravioli and Chicken to the dog. I want you to be happy, sure, but how can I possibly sit back and watch you eat rocks and sticks and sand? I just don't understand you!? Why do you fill your body with such harmful substance! How could you?

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You're only thirteen (months). You have your whole life ahead of you. Please let me cut your fingernails. Please don't try to eat the dog.


I love you anyway, even if you have chosen to join the dark side. It's just a phase, I keep telling myself. Sigh... Adolescence.

Hangin Tough,

Mommy

Stella

So this weekend we decided to add another member to our family. I know what you're all thinking.............."Missy, ya'll don't have room for anything else right now", but we just couldn't resist her sweet, beautiful, black face. And she doesn't take up that much room.

So without further ado..............
Meet Stella

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Isn't she lovely????
She came in this perfect little box and was very easy to put together. I must admit, we had our doubts bringing another female into our home, but we have fallen hard for this sweet little girl and she's here to stay!

Here are the two main reasons we picked her:
Exhibit A:

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I bet you're wondering why she looks so pitiful.............

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How would you feel if you ate AND SWALLOWED an entire pack of Trident Strawberry Banana gum, wrapper and all? And the answer is "no", it does not take 7 years to digest...........I'm just sayin'.

Exhibit B:
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Need a close up????????

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Yep, Mr. Grayson decided he needed a WHOLE BOTTLE of baby powder to make him smell extra delicious for mommy and daddy. I was at the grocery store when this little incident took place, but Kev said he was sitting at the computer when all of a sudden he saw a big white mushroom cloud walking towards him.

We made an executive-mommy-daddy decision and are quite proud of the outcome. It looks like we steam cleaned the carpet! You can actually see little foot indentions where we've walked.

She's THAT good!

Small Favors......................

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Sometimes God grants small favors to mothers of small children. Favors that no one but mothers of small children would need or notice. Maybe it's just his little way of saying, "Thanks for hanging in there and listening to your one-year-old's incessant and constant whining now in its fifth hour without ripping your ears off the side of your head."

Grayson has had shoes on his feet once in his 12 months of life. That single shoe wearing episode lasted about 45 minutes ... long enough to have Pumpkin Patch photos taken. They were the cutest robeez I had ever seen and not the knock offs, either. His Nana and I fell in love with them on our "girl's trip" to Hot Springs during my 8th month of pregnancy. I was all hot and hormonal and just had to have them! Well, the dang things ended up scratching his little foot all to pieces and even caused blisters. Blisters on a 3 month old! I felt so bad....I threw the little suckers in the top of his closet and promised "never again, son".

I lied.


But really, what purpose do shoes serve on a 3 month old anyway? Perhaps to keep the feet warm, but socks, proper clothing and blankets can serve the same role. And none of the three confine little toes. Let them wiggle, I say.

The only problem with this philosophy is that when said little one reaches the walking phase and decides walking needs to be done anywhere other than the floors in your home, shoes are a must. This is where the struggle begins.

Little feet that haven't been shoved into shoes for longer than 45 minutes of the 564,000 minutes they've been kicking don't always take kindly to the idea of pushing the curled little piggies into anything other than a sock (even that's not ideal some days). There's an "adjustment" period involved.

An adjustment period of a couple weeks when you slowly introduce shoe wearing and allow them time to learn to walk wearing something other than a sock. Usually it starts with them dragging one foot against the other trying to get the things off. After they realize those babies are staying on, they then try to take some steps sporting the new look.

Those first few steps appear as if there are cement blocks on each foot. Exaggerated in every aspect of the motion. The first foot slowly pulls up, the foot awkwardly goes down. The other foot goes up and clumsily gets placed down. It takes a bit to get used to this new feel, this new way.

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A couple of weeks ago I attempted to put shoes on Grayson's feet. I took him to Stride Rite and they measured him.

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He has a 5 1/2 XTRA wide foot. I bought two really cute pairs...an every day shoe and a cute sandal-y pair. Expecting the above scenario to play out and to have a little walker ready for the world in a week or two. By his birthday. Not so.

Screaming. From the time the velcro was velcroed until the time I pulled the shoes off he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Okay, it's nap time, we'll try again later when you're in better spirits," I reasoned with myself.

Skip ahead to that evening when dad's at home and decides to take a crack. Shoes go on, screaming starts. Shoes come off, screaming stops. We get it, you don't like the shoes. This kid's graduating and getting married barefoot.

Expecting the same result, we tried again the other day before leaving for church. He's seriously the ONLY child in his class that has bare feet and I just think we've only got a couple more years to get him sold on the idea if he's going to preschool, after all.

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Put one shoe on, quiet. Put the other shoe on, quiet. Stand him up and he walks. Right across the living room, on out into the kitchen, to the front door, he walked. A change of heart? Perhaps. Or maybe it's one of those small favors God grants to mothers of small children.

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