Brother is becoming quite the linguist. And he's pretty understandable for the most part. Its funny to get him to say bigger words, because he has the enviable gift of turning a 3 syllable word into a 2 paragraph declarative statement. I learned this when I was preparing a pizza casserole with the kids a few weeks back.
"Pizza casserole." I recited for him, not expecting him to be able to pronounce it in any semblance.
"Pissa..." He began uncertainly, "Pissa cassa--.... whoa."
Yes. "Casserole" now comes with a lengthy pause between syllables and no R's in sight. Its pretty cute.
But there are some words that he will shout randomly that have made me stop and stare wide-eyed at him, wondering how such a small little boy could have a vocabulary so reminiscient of a prison inmate and/or pirate.
For instance, after washing his hands, he'll point at the tank on the shelf above my shoulder and shout "F***!!"
"Um, no, dude. Those are called FROGS.... Ffff-roooo-gggggg-ssss."
"F***!!"
"Nevermind."
Later on, playing with his toys in the living room, he'll excitedly point at the mantle and yell "C**k!!"
"Cccc-lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll-ock, Brother, CLOCK."
After lunch, I'll be helping him out of his high chair, listening to him chatter. One day about a month ago, just as I leaned toward him to unbuckle his chair, he pointed at my face and exclaimed for the first time, "F***ER!!!"
Excuse me?
Logic enters my mind first: You're not saying what I think you're saying. You don't know that word. This is illogical. Your parents don't use that word. I don't use that word. You don't frequent nightclubs. What are you trying to say??... Well, I mean, he's SAYING it as clear as day. But I don't think he's intending to. Quick recap, are there frogs nearby? Suckers? Anything that could be mispronounced as "f***er" to a 20 month old? Come on now...
"What did you say, Brother?" I asked surprised, leaning closer to him for a better listen, hoping against hope I misunderstood him.
"F***er!" He shouts again, pleased with himself.
I look around desperately for anything he could be talking about... Table-- no... Chair-- no... Sister-- no... Fruit---?
"Fruit, Brother? Do you want some fruit? Is that what you're saying?"
"F***er!" He insists, pointing directly at my face.
Now, I can take a lot. But come on. We're friends, little man! And I hate to pull the guilt card, but the girl who wipes your bottom, feeds you yummy food, indulges your sweet tooth, hugs you when you're sad, tickles you, plays with you, and cuddles you when you're not feeling well does NOT deserve to be called "f***er", little dude. We need to hash out this bad blood you're feeling. Right here, right now. 'Cuz homie? She don't even play that game.**
I patiently put my face up to his grinning one. "I don't know what you're trying to say." I tell him calmly.
"F***er." He tells me again, putting a little finger gently on my cheek.
Realization hits.
"Freckle, dude. Fffff-rrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee-ckllllllle."
**Editor's note: Apparently, my thought life turns slightly gangster under confusion. I assure my readers that I do not generally consider myself a homie. Nor do I possess full understanding of 'that game' that is allegedly not good to 'play'. Thank you and good night.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Every Neighborhood Should Have One
So there's this guy...
He's pretty tough. Pretty protective. Enjoys "eventures" . And has been encouraged as of late to pick out his own outfits before walks.
Most of the time, he's known as Buddy.
Occasionally, he's known as Iron Man.
After a lengthy walk around the neighborhood with our very own Iron Man one beautiful spring day, I am convinced that every walking group should have one. They are so useful. And iron-ish.
For instance, Iron Man will walk ahead of the caravan, scoping out potential threats before the defenseless citizens can be endangered...
He will draw attention to any potential threats he spots coming down the sidewalk toward us, so that we citizens can remove ourselves from harm's way...
He will educate the citizens on local wildlife, and how best to remain safe from any undomesticated animals...
Iron Man will impress you with his muscles. And will use them to make sure nothing blocks the citizens' intended route...
After all his hard work, he will occasionally request to ride in the Iron Mobile for the remainder of the walk, but will remain vigilantly watchful until all citizens are home safe...
But, being Iron Man is tough. And a big responsibility. So, once he was back in the privacy of his home,Tony Stark Buddy changed out of his crime-fighting gear, had some lunch, relaxed, and later took a well-earned nap.
Because frankly, being a superhero can be exhausting.
He's pretty tough. Pretty protective. Enjoys "eventures" . And has been encouraged as of late to pick out his own outfits before walks.
Most of the time, he's known as Buddy.
Occasionally, he's known as Iron Man.
 |
| Iron Man on patrol. |
For instance, Iron Man will walk ahead of the caravan, scoping out potential threats before the defenseless citizens can be endangered...
 |
| So intimidating. |
He will draw attention to any potential threats he spots coming down the sidewalk toward us, so that we citizens can remove ourselves from harm's way...
 |
| "Quack." |
He will educate the citizens on local wildlife, and how best to remain safe from any undomesticated animals...
 |
| "The wild animals went that-a-way, citizens. Stay close!" |
 |
| "Stand aside, garbage receptacles!" |
After all his hard work, he will occasionally request to ride in the Iron Mobile for the remainder of the walk, but will remain vigilantly watchful until all citizens are home safe...
But, being Iron Man is tough. And a big responsibility. So, once he was back in the privacy of his home,
Because frankly, being a superhero can be exhausting.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Poisonous Bacon
Every good moment you have in life should be enjoyed, appreciated, and relished. That much we've all been told time and time again ad nauseum. Its the good moments that sustain you through the bad, cause you to smile or chuckle like a crazy person while revisiting them in a boring checkout line or meeting, and they make life more than a just a shuffle from one job to the next; from one 'bill due' date to the next.
I'm blessed to have a job that makes me smile and laugh 1000 times more than causes me frustration or stress. I'm blessed to have friends that will inadvertantly call me for a chat when I'm just thinking to myself how bored or lonely I'm feeling at that moment. I'm blessed to have a family who are behind me no matter what, loving and supporting me. And I'm beyond blessed to serve my God who orchestrates it all so perfectly and lovingly.
That being said, let me tell you about my battle with poisonous bacon.
(Yes, you read that right.)
The Kids and I were playing in the kitchen playset one day a few weeks back, mixing odd "soups" together, having faux meals and snacks, and (in Brother's case) smacking siblings on the forehead with plastic spoons when he thought I wasn't looking.
After a while, Buddy held up a plastic piece of bacon. "This is poisonous bacon, Devyn." He told me solemnly.
"Aw man..." I acknowledged seriously.
"Yeah." He nodded impressively, staring at the bacon in his hands. Suddenly, his head shot up, a mischievious glint in his eyes. "EAT IT!!" He yelled, grinning.
Not wanting to encourage ideas of murdering me, I gave the standard, "Um, no."
Before I knew what was happening, I was a few feet away, curled up in a ball on the floor as Buddy bounced on my back screeching, "Eat it!! Eat the poisonous bacon!! It tastes good, I promise!!" All while giggling and trying to shove the offending meat product up my left nostril.
"Babies! Help!" I called out to our two audience members.
Sissy grinned and continued to suck on her two fingers, content to observe. Brother stood up gallantly, dropping most of the toys in his hands. How cute! I thought to myself, He's coming to save me.
From that moment, I covered my head as the bacon in question made another attempt toward my face, and instead heard the quick pitter-patter of feet that meant my hero was coming. I felt rather than heard as Brother took a flying leap and launched himself onto my crumpled form alongside Buddy with a battle cry of "TACO-OOOOOO!!!"
Then, naturally joining on his big brother's side, Brother began beating me senseless with the toy taco clutched in his hand. While the bacon continued to stab at my mouth and nose. All to the sounds of children giggling mischieviously.
Who knew poisonous bacon could lead to such a fun afternoon?
I'm blessed to have a job that makes me smile and laugh 1000 times more than causes me frustration or stress. I'm blessed to have friends that will inadvertantly call me for a chat when I'm just thinking to myself how bored or lonely I'm feeling at that moment. I'm blessed to have a family who are behind me no matter what, loving and supporting me. And I'm beyond blessed to serve my God who orchestrates it all so perfectly and lovingly.
That being said, let me tell you about my battle with poisonous bacon.
(Yes, you read that right.)
The Kids and I were playing in the kitchen playset one day a few weeks back, mixing odd "soups" together, having faux meals and snacks, and (in Brother's case) smacking siblings on the forehead with plastic spoons when he thought I wasn't looking.
 |
| Faux food |
"Aw man..." I acknowledged seriously.
"Yeah." He nodded impressively, staring at the bacon in his hands. Suddenly, his head shot up, a mischievious glint in his eyes. "EAT IT!!" He yelled, grinning.
Not wanting to encourage ideas of murdering me, I gave the standard, "Um, no."
Before I knew what was happening, I was a few feet away, curled up in a ball on the floor as Buddy bounced on my back screeching, "Eat it!! Eat the poisonous bacon!! It tastes good, I promise!!" All while giggling and trying to shove the offending meat product up my left nostril.
"Babies! Help!" I called out to our two audience members.
Sissy grinned and continued to suck on her two fingers, content to observe. Brother stood up gallantly, dropping most of the toys in his hands. How cute! I thought to myself, He's coming to save me.
From that moment, I covered my head as the bacon in question made another attempt toward my face, and instead heard the quick pitter-patter of feet that meant my hero was coming. I felt rather than heard as Brother took a flying leap and launched himself onto my crumpled form alongside Buddy with a battle cry of "TACO-OOOOOO!!!"
Then, naturally joining on his big brother's side, Brother began beating me senseless with the toy taco clutched in his hand. While the bacon continued to stab at my mouth and nose. All to the sounds of children giggling mischieviously.
Who knew poisonous bacon could lead to such a fun afternoon?
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Snake School
Remember a few posts back when I reasoned that it was too early in the year for snakes?
You really shouldn't listen to me about stuff like that.
The Kids' lawn guy was doing his mowing, trimming, raking thing outside on Friday and went to trim the two overgrown, flowy bushes by the back fence (the ones I am daily fishing The Kids' balls out of while we're playing) and came face-to-face with a footlong Copperhead.
(Insert heart failure)
We Southerners don't screw around when it comes to our Copperheads, or our Rattlesnakes (who at least give a courtesy jingle before they take a snap at you). So I had a dilemma to work through: my desire to keep The Kids in one piece vs my reluctance to be scared inside on beautiful days with three high-octane ankle-biters.
My solution? Snake School.
I gathered the children in the backyard, and enlisted the help of Buddy's toy snake to give him (the twins were uninterested, and instead frolicked around during Snake School) a basic crash course in what to do if he came across a snake in the yard.
I instructed him that snakes are always cold. So they like to lay in sunny spots sometimes, like the grass or the porch. And then they will take naps in hiding spots that protect them from birds and big animals, like the bushes, or under a pile of sticks or rocks, etc.
Then I laid the toy snake down in the grass and asked Buddy to tell me what he'd do if he came across a real snake outside.
"I'd stomp it in its stomach like this!" He demonstrated.
"Um no. Don't do that. That's a very bad idea. What is a better, safer idea?"
"I'll pick it up and throw it!" He said confidently.
"Also... Um... A very bad idea, dude."
Buddy looked confusedly at me, like there was nothing else to do with a snake besides stomp it or pick it up.
"Snakes bite, Buddy. Its what they do if something big and tough-looking, like you, comes up to it. And snake bites HURT. And then you have to go to the doctor. So if you ever see a snake in the yard, you stop, run backwards away from it with your hands out of the way, and call out to whichever grown up is here, Mom, Dad, or me. And we'll take care of it. But you never ever touch it, ok?"
"Ok." He nodded solemnly.
Then I hid the toy snake around the yard a few times so Buddy could practice proper snake procedure. And here was the result, mid-run:
His arms and hands are safe, I'd say.
And I feel much better having had this little talk with him. Let the warm weather begin!!!
You really shouldn't listen to me about stuff like that.
The Kids' lawn guy was doing his mowing, trimming, raking thing outside on Friday and went to trim the two overgrown, flowy bushes by the back fence (the ones I am daily fishing The Kids' balls out of while we're playing) and came face-to-face with a footlong Copperhead.
(Insert heart failure)
We Southerners don't screw around when it comes to our Copperheads, or our Rattlesnakes (who at least give a courtesy jingle before they take a snap at you). So I had a dilemma to work through: my desire to keep The Kids in one piece vs my reluctance to be scared inside on beautiful days with three high-octane ankle-biters.
My solution? Snake School.
I gathered the children in the backyard, and enlisted the help of Buddy's toy snake to give him (the twins were uninterested, and instead frolicked around during Snake School) a basic crash course in what to do if he came across a snake in the yard.
I instructed him that snakes are always cold. So they like to lay in sunny spots sometimes, like the grass or the porch. And then they will take naps in hiding spots that protect them from birds and big animals, like the bushes, or under a pile of sticks or rocks, etc.
Then I laid the toy snake down in the grass and asked Buddy to tell me what he'd do if he came across a real snake outside.
"I'd stomp it in its stomach like this!" He demonstrated.
"Um no. Don't do that. That's a very bad idea. What is a better, safer idea?"
"I'll pick it up and throw it!" He said confidently.
"Also... Um... A very bad idea, dude."
Buddy looked confusedly at me, like there was nothing else to do with a snake besides stomp it or pick it up.
"Snakes bite, Buddy. Its what they do if something big and tough-looking, like you, comes up to it. And snake bites HURT. And then you have to go to the doctor. So if you ever see a snake in the yard, you stop, run backwards away from it with your hands out of the way, and call out to whichever grown up is here, Mom, Dad, or me. And we'll take care of it. But you never ever touch it, ok?"
"Ok." He nodded solemnly.
Then I hid the toy snake around the yard a few times so Buddy could practice proper snake procedure. And here was the result, mid-run:
His arms and hands are safe, I'd say.
And I feel much better having had this little talk with him. Let the warm weather begin!!!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Twins
I have always been fascinated with twins.
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen are about my age, so I grew up watching them on Full House sharing the role of Michelle. I remember when I found out that 2 little girls were playing 1 character, and would sometimes even trade out mid-scene depending on who was better at dramatic lines, and who had a better knack for comedic timing. I watched one episode 2 inches from the screen, hardly blinking, trying to catch the twin switcheroo, and I never did.
It boggled my mind. And then and there I wanted a twin.
I mean, think about the possibilities! Switching places. Having someone your age to play with. Never needing a mirror again. (This was a child's interpretation, remember.)
I even went so far as to lie about having a twin when I was in fourth grade. I had a pretty needy, semi-stalkerish friend who we'll call Susie. Susie started out a fairly normal friend: had the same class at school, ate lunch with the same people, would occasionally play after school... Then Susie started calling me her twin sister, even though we looked nothing alike, save for having brown hair. And she began calling me on Sundays to find out what I would be wearing each day of the coming week "so we can match everyday".
Days 1 and 2 were novelty-like, and I played along with it. She was my friend after all. Beginning on day 3, it was getting old. I had worn the "wrong shoes", she accused me, and ruined the whole thing.
Day 4 I rebelled. I was supposed to wear jeans, a red shirt, and sneakers with my hair half-up. Instead I wore a sundress, black shoes, and a full pony tail. (Note: I really have no memory of my actual rebellion outfit. I just remember it was opposite of what she expected me to be wearing.)
Susie was irate! And she let me know in no uncertain terms that whole day. And called me again that night to verify what I'd be wearing the next day. And THEN called the next morning as I was leaving for school to double-check.
She could be a little draining.
A few months later at day camp, I saw her running excitedly up to me. And I was not in the mood that day to deal with a shadow named Susie. So I lied.
She called out "Devyn!! Over here! What are you doing? Can I come??" And I kept walking not looking up. She caught up with me and grabbed my arm. "I called you, why didn't you stop? Where are you going? What are we doing today?"
I blinked in shock and lied through my teeth, "Devyn? Ohhh... Nope. Not me. I'm Sevyn. Devyn's twin sister. Devyn's sick at home today. Sorry."
(Sevyn was clever in my book of twin names. My twin had to be a girl, so Kevin was out. And our names had to rhyme, because that was my understanding of most twin names-- Mia and Tia, Sara and Kara, etc.)
Now. I don't condone lying. And I want the record to show that my lie about having a twin named Sevyn only worked for a short while, until Susie asked a camp counselor who knew my family if the twin thing was real. (I really should have thought it through a little better.) But I was a child. And desperate for my own space.
Caring for twins now gives me a whole new view of them that I had only guessed about before: the comraderie, the bickering, the I-only-want-that-if-my-twin-can-have-one-too, the affection, and the bodyslams.
And it has made me appreciate how many people will ask if the twins are identical. Even if they look NOTHING alike. And are opposite sexes. And then ask if you're sure they're not identical. And how do you know for sure.
I still think having a twin would have been fun. But the questions would have killed me.
Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen are about my age, so I grew up watching them on Full House sharing the role of Michelle. I remember when I found out that 2 little girls were playing 1 character, and would sometimes even trade out mid-scene depending on who was better at dramatic lines, and who had a better knack for comedic timing. I watched one episode 2 inches from the screen, hardly blinking, trying to catch the twin switcheroo, and I never did.
It boggled my mind. And then and there I wanted a twin.
I mean, think about the possibilities! Switching places. Having someone your age to play with. Never needing a mirror again. (This was a child's interpretation, remember.)
I even went so far as to lie about having a twin when I was in fourth grade. I had a pretty needy, semi-stalkerish friend who we'll call Susie. Susie started out a fairly normal friend: had the same class at school, ate lunch with the same people, would occasionally play after school... Then Susie started calling me her twin sister, even though we looked nothing alike, save for having brown hair. And she began calling me on Sundays to find out what I would be wearing each day of the coming week "so we can match everyday".
Days 1 and 2 were novelty-like, and I played along with it. She was my friend after all. Beginning on day 3, it was getting old. I had worn the "wrong shoes", she accused me, and ruined the whole thing.
Day 4 I rebelled. I was supposed to wear jeans, a red shirt, and sneakers with my hair half-up. Instead I wore a sundress, black shoes, and a full pony tail. (Note: I really have no memory of my actual rebellion outfit. I just remember it was opposite of what she expected me to be wearing.)
Susie was irate! And she let me know in no uncertain terms that whole day. And called me again that night to verify what I'd be wearing the next day. And THEN called the next morning as I was leaving for school to double-check.
She could be a little draining.
A few months later at day camp, I saw her running excitedly up to me. And I was not in the mood that day to deal with a shadow named Susie. So I lied.
She called out "Devyn!! Over here! What are you doing? Can I come??" And I kept walking not looking up. She caught up with me and grabbed my arm. "I called you, why didn't you stop? Where are you going? What are we doing today?"
I blinked in shock and lied through my teeth, "Devyn? Ohhh... Nope. Not me. I'm Sevyn. Devyn's twin sister. Devyn's sick at home today. Sorry."
(Sevyn was clever in my book of twin names. My twin had to be a girl, so Kevin was out. And our names had to rhyme, because that was my understanding of most twin names-- Mia and Tia, Sara and Kara, etc.)
Now. I don't condone lying. And I want the record to show that my lie about having a twin named Sevyn only worked for a short while, until Susie asked a camp counselor who knew my family if the twin thing was real. (I really should have thought it through a little better.) But I was a child. And desperate for my own space.
Caring for twins now gives me a whole new view of them that I had only guessed about before: the comraderie, the bickering, the I-only-want-that-if-my-twin-can-have-one-too, the affection, and the bodyslams.
And it has made me appreciate how many people will ask if the twins are identical. Even if they look NOTHING alike. And are opposite sexes. And then ask if you're sure they're not identical. And how do you know for sure.
I still think having a twin would have been fun. But the questions would have killed me.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
In the Absence of a Good Roommate
I am moving out on my own.
Soon.
As in, this summer.
I had my fingers crossed for quite some time that a fun, yet trustworthy roommate would appear out of nowhere for me to get a place with. But sadly, the internet searches were quite frightening, and after graduation, you are no longer assigned a reliable roommate by a much-more-knowledgable-than-you-about-such-things university housing staff, and most of my dear friends are flung out across the map in search of the elusive job. So, it looks like my roommate will be.... me.
Geez I hope we can get along. ;)
At first, I was really pretty nervous about the thought of living on my own. But then I started thinking it through more carefully, and this is what I came up with:
1) Most women I've talked to who have lived on their own have told me it was an amazingly delicious part of life for them, not answering to anyone, having a space that was 100% their own, etc.
2) What if 20 years down the road when I'm married (God-willin') with kids (God-willin'), I regret not ever having had the experience of the total and utter self-reliance of living alone?
3) I can decorate it any which way I WANT TO!!!!! Wahahahaha!
4) It will be totally and utterly mine. If I want to come home and relax and have silence, I can. If I want to come home and be loud and turn on some music and what-have-you, I can (I know, I know..still have to respect the neighbors...). And. If I want to not come straight home from whatever I'm doing, just spend a day going wherever the wind takes me, I can! (Not that I can't do those things living at home right now, but I mean, c'mon, it's different, ya know??)
5) All the horror-movie scenarios I have in my mind of the things that COULD happen, in all honesty hardly ever happen outside of the silver screen. And if something scary does happen, I have tons of friends nearby, pepper spray, a pretty good right hook, a scream that can wake the dead, and my big-girl pants. And I'm from Texas, guys. Someone getting the better of me? Yeah. Right.
Here are the things I still need to gather for my big move:
-Pots and pans. Being the true Southern girl, I have my eyes set on these ones. In red or black, I think. Paula Deen is my people.
-Silverware.
-Glasses.
-Cooking utensils. Spatulas, knives, sauce spoons, etc.
-A kitchen table. I like the bar table style (the taller table that usually only has 2-4 chairs). But I love a good deal even more! So we'll see what ends up happening...
-A small desk.
Apart from those things, I don't think I'm missing much. Whether I'm truly not missing much or if I just uttered my famous last words remains to be seen. Stay tuned!
And any prayers or good thoughts sent my way in (hopefully!) getting the apartment I want would be incredibly appreciated!!
Soon.
As in, this summer.
I had my fingers crossed for quite some time that a fun, yet trustworthy roommate would appear out of nowhere for me to get a place with. But sadly, the internet searches were quite frightening, and after graduation, you are no longer assigned a reliable roommate by a much-more-knowledgable-than-you-about-such-things university housing staff, and most of my dear friends are flung out across the map in search of the elusive job. So, it looks like my roommate will be.... me.
Geez I hope we can get along. ;)
At first, I was really pretty nervous about the thought of living on my own. But then I started thinking it through more carefully, and this is what I came up with:
1) Most women I've talked to who have lived on their own have told me it was an amazingly delicious part of life for them, not answering to anyone, having a space that was 100% their own, etc.
2) What if 20 years down the road when I'm married (God-willin') with kids (God-willin'), I regret not ever having had the experience of the total and utter self-reliance of living alone?
3) I can decorate it any which way I WANT TO!!!!! Wahahahaha!
4) It will be totally and utterly mine. If I want to come home and relax and have silence, I can. If I want to come home and be loud and turn on some music and what-have-you, I can (I know, I know..still have to respect the neighbors...). And. If I want to not come straight home from whatever I'm doing, just spend a day going wherever the wind takes me, I can! (Not that I can't do those things living at home right now, but I mean, c'mon, it's different, ya know??)
5) All the horror-movie scenarios I have in my mind of the things that COULD happen, in all honesty hardly ever happen outside of the silver screen. And if something scary does happen, I have tons of friends nearby, pepper spray, a pretty good right hook, a scream that can wake the dead, and my big-girl pants. And I'm from Texas, guys. Someone getting the better of me? Yeah. Right.
Here are the things I still need to gather for my big move:
-Pots and pans. Being the true Southern girl, I have my eyes set on these ones. In red or black, I think. Paula Deen is my people.
-Silverware.
-Glasses.
-Cooking utensils. Spatulas, knives, sauce spoons, etc.
-A kitchen table. I like the bar table style (the taller table that usually only has 2-4 chairs). But I love a good deal even more! So we'll see what ends up happening...
-A small desk.
Apart from those things, I don't think I'm missing much. Whether I'm truly not missing much or if I just uttered my famous last words remains to be seen. Stay tuned!
And any prayers or good thoughts sent my way in (hopefully!) getting the apartment I want would be incredibly appreciated!!
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