Guess who's going to be 3 in just 4 days? That's right. His name is in the subject line. It's Devin!
Let me tell you about Devin. First, I love him. He's really cute and sometimes, he's really sweet, but other times, he's the opposite of sweet, like when he hits strangers or grandparents as hard as he can in the legs.
And, his hair! It's SO blonde and since we haven't cut it lately, it's a little curly and messy.
If Trevor does it, it's got to be OK for Devin, too. But, sometimes, he fights back and just wants to do things his own way. When Trevor insists something is his, that's normally OK with Devin. But, not always. (I need to work on NOT giving in to Trevor's insistence that everything is his, myself.)
As his last cold demonstrated, he hasn't outgrown his asthma, yet. But, I think he's almost there.
He claims that he will start using the potty when he's 3. We are counting down the days. But, I don't believe him, really. Trevor is in charge of potty training Devin. I don't really remember how, and I'm not equipped for this job. I expect great things from Trevor.
He likes to sing catchy songs. His last catchy song was "Happy Valley, Happy Valley." I don't know what he knows about Happy Valley, but it made for a nice song. As soon as he started singing this song, Trevor joined right in.
He's got great comic timing.
He can count to 5 or 6 and sometimes even 10 (but not 3. He can't stop at 3. He always goes at least to 5).
He tries to make me read him two books at night, and when I give in to that, he expects me to wait while he reads the two books back to me.
When I try to give him hugs and kisses at night, he brings his knees to his chest and makes it impossible. But, when he does let me hug and kiss him, his hugs and kisses are really nice.
When he's not feeling well, he is really hard to get along with.
He drove his power wheels motorcycle all the way around the neighborhood tonight at dusk.
He laughs at inappropriate times, like when he's in trouble.
He's little for his age (which I worry about because I knew a Plant Manager once who was short and had short-man syndrome and was impossible to work with, but on the plus side, he's easy to carry around.)
If you give him a cupcake, he'll only eat the icing off the top.
His favorite drinks are apple juice and chocolate milk. He only gets apple juice when he goes to grandma and grandpa's house. So, he likes to go to Grandma and Grandpa's house. He needs to see the syrup for chocolate milk to qualify as chocolate milk.
If he gets in bed with us, he insists on sleeping in the middle, even if there's no way he's going to sleep.
So, that's Devin on the eve of his 3rd birthday. I can't believe he's only been with us for three years. It seems like I've known him forever.
Monday, October 08, 2007
He's still deep
The other day, Trevor talked about and demonstrated his need to be independent. He is still just my little boy, though.
Last night, he was laying on the floor watching The Simpsons, when he started to sniffle. The sniffle turned into a cry.
We asked him what was wrong, but he just cried a little cry even more.
We asked again, and he finally told us that he was sad because he doesn't want to grow up. He doesn't want to grow up because he won't be able to do all the things he likes to do. I guess that includes eating ice pops at school, laying on the floor watching the Simpsons and drinking milk through a cookie straw.
I'm glad that his moments of struggle to be independent come with moments where independence is confusing and sad. I like watching him grow up. I do wish he realized that we don't normally give in to requests made during tantrums, but that's a story for another day.
Last night, he was laying on the floor watching The Simpsons, when he started to sniffle. The sniffle turned into a cry.
We asked him what was wrong, but he just cried a little cry even more.
We asked again, and he finally told us that he was sad because he doesn't want to grow up. He doesn't want to grow up because he won't be able to do all the things he likes to do. I guess that includes eating ice pops at school, laying on the floor watching the Simpsons and drinking milk through a cookie straw.
I'm glad that his moments of struggle to be independent come with moments where independence is confusing and sad. I like watching him grow up. I do wish he realized that we don't normally give in to requests made during tantrums, but that's a story for another day.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
I Think Fast...
...But not always logically.
Here's a story from my illustrious past.
The boys and me and the computer guy were having sandwiches at our favorite bagel shop back in Chicagoland one day. Our favorite bagel place wasn't too far from a Naval base, and because of this, every now and then, we saw people in Wranglers and/or cowboy hats, sometimes even boots. (These folks were NEVER from Chicagoland). Or, we heard people speak with Mississippi twangs. I always wanted to hug these people and welcome them to Chicagoland and tell them it was a really great place. I actually nearly did that once with a girl wearing an Eskimo Joe's T-shirt. The computer guy was mortified and the Eskimo Joe T-shirt wearing girl thought I was odd. So, I normally kept my desire to be the welcome wagon in check after that experience.
Until that day at our favorite bagel shop.
She sounded like she was from deeper in the South than me. And, she looked at my baby, Devin, with obvious admiration and longing (I imagined the longing part). In the space of about 32 seconds, I decided that she was looking at my baby longingly because she was expecting her own soon. And, I decided she was there visiting her boyfriend or husband who was currently stationed at the Naval Base. And, I figured since it was her first time to Chicagoland up from rural Texas or Alabama or Mississippi, she was probably uncomfortable and in need of a little welcome wagon action.
So, I smiled at her.
I wish I had just left it at that. That would have been welcoming. That would have been the thing that taught her that people in Chicagoland are friendly. Even if all of my assumptions about her had been wrong, the smile was the right thing to do. It's nice to smile at people.
But, I wanted to engage her. I wanted her to know that I was a kindred spirit who lapses into a Southern accent whenever I'm around others with a Southern accent, someone who can appreciate the whole Wranglers, Boots, Cowboy hat ensemble. So, I asked her a question:
"When is your due date?" I tried to stop the words halfway through the sentence, but it was too late. Too, too late.
She took it in stride, and she told me that (of course) she wasn't pregnant. I tried to explain that she didn't really even look pregnant. The shirt reminded me of a maternity top I had worn when I was pregnant. That was all. I didn't explain the rest about how I thought she looked at my baby with longing and that I thought she needed to be welcomed to the area.
That would have just been odd.
Here's a story from my illustrious past.
The boys and me and the computer guy were having sandwiches at our favorite bagel shop back in Chicagoland one day. Our favorite bagel place wasn't too far from a Naval base, and because of this, every now and then, we saw people in Wranglers and/or cowboy hats, sometimes even boots. (These folks were NEVER from Chicagoland). Or, we heard people speak with Mississippi twangs. I always wanted to hug these people and welcome them to Chicagoland and tell them it was a really great place. I actually nearly did that once with a girl wearing an Eskimo Joe's T-shirt. The computer guy was mortified and the Eskimo Joe T-shirt wearing girl thought I was odd. So, I normally kept my desire to be the welcome wagon in check after that experience.
Until that day at our favorite bagel shop.
She sounded like she was from deeper in the South than me. And, she looked at my baby, Devin, with obvious admiration and longing (I imagined the longing part). In the space of about 32 seconds, I decided that she was looking at my baby longingly because she was expecting her own soon. And, I decided she was there visiting her boyfriend or husband who was currently stationed at the Naval Base. And, I figured since it was her first time to Chicagoland up from rural Texas or Alabama or Mississippi, she was probably uncomfortable and in need of a little welcome wagon action.
So, I smiled at her.
I wish I had just left it at that. That would have been welcoming. That would have been the thing that taught her that people in Chicagoland are friendly. Even if all of my assumptions about her had been wrong, the smile was the right thing to do. It's nice to smile at people.
But, I wanted to engage her. I wanted her to know that I was a kindred spirit who lapses into a Southern accent whenever I'm around others with a Southern accent, someone who can appreciate the whole Wranglers, Boots, Cowboy hat ensemble. So, I asked her a question:
"When is your due date?" I tried to stop the words halfway through the sentence, but it was too late. Too, too late.
She took it in stride, and she told me that (of course) she wasn't pregnant. I tried to explain that she didn't really even look pregnant. The shirt reminded me of a maternity top I had worn when I was pregnant. That was all. I didn't explain the rest about how I thought she looked at my baby with longing and that I thought she needed to be welcomed to the area.
That would have just been odd.
Friday, October 05, 2007
What the??
When Trevor sees or hears something that deserves an exclamation, he says, "What the??"
I don't think we taught him this, but it's possible.
I don't think we taught him this, but it's possible.
Spectacular
Before I met the computer guy, I thought there were 2 kinds of wine, red and white. Now, there's really just One (and it's all we (and be we I mean me) want for Christmas, Midwest Auntie) but that's not really the point at all. The point is I can spill things. Have I told you this story before? If so, just skim the rest.
The computer guy and I were living in the Midwest in the house that used to be a parsonage next to the house that used to be a church, and we liked to have wine. And, we liked to have this wine in the living room in front of the TV every now and then.
I brought my glass of wine to the living room with its white walls and white ceilings and white carpet. It was a glass of Red Wine, perhaps a merlot, maybe even a Blackstone Merlot because before we discovered two buck chuck, there was Blackstone. For some reason that day, I wanted to sit on the floor. So, I sat on the floor with my glass of red wine. Red.
The glass started to fall.
I tried to catch it.
I almost caught it.
But, instead of catching it, I launched it up into the air.
It spun oh, so gracefully through the air sending a barely touched glass of red wine (red) onto the walls and carpet and ceiling.
I had spilled wine on the ceiling.
We cleaned it all up. Except for the ceiling.
Later, I married the computer guy, and we had both red and white wine at our wedding. I chose the white wine because of my history of spectacular spills and the fact that I would be wearing a white dress (white.)
I stuck with that white wine most of the day. It was a nice, fruity Sauvignon Blanc. But, then, I had one glass of red wine (red) near the end of the afternoon. I spilled it on my dress, the white one I wore on my wedding day.
This is the legacy that will stay with my children, I think, for a long time to come. This ability to spill things in a spectacular fashion. I think that Devin will be the one more afflicted with this legacy than Trevor. And, when they spill and smear milk and what-not and spaghetti and Froot Loops, I will just love them and then clean up their messes and remember the red wine on the ceiling.
The computer guy and I were living in the Midwest in the house that used to be a parsonage next to the house that used to be a church, and we liked to have wine. And, we liked to have this wine in the living room in front of the TV every now and then.
I brought my glass of wine to the living room with its white walls and white ceilings and white carpet. It was a glass of Red Wine, perhaps a merlot, maybe even a Blackstone Merlot because before we discovered two buck chuck, there was Blackstone. For some reason that day, I wanted to sit on the floor. So, I sat on the floor with my glass of red wine. Red.
The glass started to fall.
I tried to catch it.
I almost caught it.
But, instead of catching it, I launched it up into the air.
It spun oh, so gracefully through the air sending a barely touched glass of red wine (red) onto the walls and carpet and ceiling.
I had spilled wine on the ceiling.
We cleaned it all up. Except for the ceiling.
Later, I married the computer guy, and we had both red and white wine at our wedding. I chose the white wine because of my history of spectacular spills and the fact that I would be wearing a white dress (white.)
I stuck with that white wine most of the day. It was a nice, fruity Sauvignon Blanc. But, then, I had one glass of red wine (red) near the end of the afternoon. I spilled it on my dress, the white one I wore on my wedding day.
This is the legacy that will stay with my children, I think, for a long time to come. This ability to spill things in a spectacular fashion. I think that Devin will be the one more afflicted with this legacy than Trevor. And, when they spill and smear milk and what-not and spaghetti and Froot Loops, I will just love them and then clean up their messes and remember the red wine on the ceiling.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Devin's dreamy lie
Trevor was telling us about his scary dream the other night, so Devin piped up with his own scary dream. He saved Trevor from whatever monster was haunting him. I'm pretty sure it was a lie because he incorporated elements from Trevor's dream into his own, and he had to wait for Trevor to tell us his dream to add to his own dream story. I wonder when 2nd children start having original thoughts? Did I have original thoughts when I was 2, or did I just repeat everything Sindy said with my own little twists?
Well, Devin apparently had another scary dream last night, and he told us about this one without hearing Trevor's dream first. Either way, it's a figment of his imagination. Here it is:
"I dreamed there was a light on my tongue, and then I laid down at the lunch place. But, I laid down on top! And, then it turned into a monster, and then the light on my tongue turned into a monster, and there was a monster in my mouth, and it scared me."
I wonder what it means.
Well, Devin apparently had another scary dream last night, and he told us about this one without hearing Trevor's dream first. Either way, it's a figment of his imagination. Here it is:
"I dreamed there was a light on my tongue, and then I laid down at the lunch place. But, I laid down on top! And, then it turned into a monster, and then the light on my tongue turned into a monster, and there was a monster in my mouth, and it scared me."
I wonder what it means.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Confession
I use www.statcounter.com to see how many hits I get on this site. And it also shows me your IP address. I am really good at Excel and I can show you a picture here on my blog using a little HTML. I can even show you links to other sites using my limited and rudimentary HTML, but I'm not nearly as technically savvy as I would have been if I hadn't married the computer guy. See, I don't have to be. I just ask him. I wanted to know how many readers I have, so I tried to get y'all to comment. My mom did. So, did my Aunt Mary. They rock. Then I told the computer guy I that I wanted to know more about my readers, and he found www.statcounter.com and then figured out how to put into my blog template so that it would keep an eye on you, my readers.
So, I'm keeping my eye on you.
But, I'm not all that technically savvy. That's the summary. That's not even the confession.
Here's the confession. I may as well be Catholic given how intense this need to confess has been. I have tried repeatedly to figure out exactly who in Boise, Idaho has been reading my Blog on a regular basis. I had all sorts of ideas about what kind of person it might be. And, I tried to call Boise, Idaho out and get him/her to comment so that I could know who he/she was. I changed daddy's name to daddy and then the computer guy because I didn't want Boise, Idaho to track me down somehow.
Then, www.statcounter.com did a little upgrade. And now, Boise, Idaho shows up in Oklahoma. I'm pretty sure Boise, Idaho is an aunt or she works with my mom. So, gosh. I don't know what else to add. I'm sorry for thinking you lived in Idaho.
Next time, I won't trust the old www.statcounter.com quite so much.
I do know a little more about you if you want to comment so that I can re-label you with who you really are. You visit using Safari 1.2 most of the time. You really ought to know who you are now. So, tell me.
It will really help me sleep at night.
So, I'm keeping my eye on you.
But, I'm not all that technically savvy. That's the summary. That's not even the confession.
Here's the confession. I may as well be Catholic given how intense this need to confess has been. I have tried repeatedly to figure out exactly who in Boise, Idaho has been reading my Blog on a regular basis. I had all sorts of ideas about what kind of person it might be. And, I tried to call Boise, Idaho out and get him/her to comment so that I could know who he/she was. I changed daddy's name to daddy and then the computer guy because I didn't want Boise, Idaho to track me down somehow.
Then, www.statcounter.com did a little upgrade. And now, Boise, Idaho shows up in Oklahoma. I'm pretty sure Boise, Idaho is an aunt or she works with my mom. So, gosh. I don't know what else to add. I'm sorry for thinking you lived in Idaho.
Next time, I won't trust the old www.statcounter.com quite so much.
I do know a little more about you if you want to comment so that I can re-label you with who you really are. You visit using Safari 1.2 most of the time. You really ought to know who you are now. So, tell me.
It will really help me sleep at night.
Vikki, Extraordinaire
So, I know that you know that I think my sister Vikki is an incredible and inspiring person (who's stuck in a dead end job, and that pun is really not intended).
She's been a painter, a sculptress, a full-time mommy and student forever, and she's currently doing this last part while working full time and/or part time for a bunch of ungrateful and immoral bosses who will remain nameless mostly because I don't know their names. But, I wish I could tell them that Karma is bad, bad, bad, and get them to treat her right.
Anyway, she is currently taking classes so that she can become a full-time funeral director in her home state. She is taking a creative writing class, and she's found that she is just as creative and artistic as a writer as she was as a painter. I made her send me a poem so that I could publish it here for your reading pleasure. I know most of my audience knows and loves Vikki as much as I do, so please enjoy:
I will spin my web
Here, the ideal place
To catch those with wings
In my organic lace
I start from this branch
And free fall through space
To the ground and up again
To make a sturdy base
Around in circles
I make certain to take care
To be mathematically divine
Ensuring insects will be snared
Now that it is done
I only sit and wait
For unsuspecting passersbys
To meet their ghastly fates
I sense vibration
And I move with speed
I will poison and cocoon him
And wait 'til later to feed
Copyright by Vikki (is that legal and binding? I think it is)
(She has written another poem that I plan on posting in the next few days.)
She's been a painter, a sculptress, a full-time mommy and student forever, and she's currently doing this last part while working full time and/or part time for a bunch of ungrateful and immoral bosses who will remain nameless mostly because I don't know their names. But, I wish I could tell them that Karma is bad, bad, bad, and get them to treat her right.
Anyway, she is currently taking classes so that she can become a full-time funeral director in her home state. She is taking a creative writing class, and she's found that she is just as creative and artistic as a writer as she was as a painter. I made her send me a poem so that I could publish it here for your reading pleasure. I know most of my audience knows and loves Vikki as much as I do, so please enjoy:
I will spin my web
Here, the ideal place
To catch those with wings
In my organic lace
I start from this branch
And free fall through space
To the ground and up again
To make a sturdy base
Around in circles
I make certain to take care
To be mathematically divine
Ensuring insects will be snared
Now that it is done
I only sit and wait
For unsuspecting passersbys
To meet their ghastly fates
I sense vibration
And I move with speed
I will poison and cocoon him
And wait 'til later to feed
Copyright by Vikki (is that legal and binding? I think it is)
(She has written another poem that I plan on posting in the next few days.)
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Mr. Independent
Trevor, the light of my life, has become very vocal on the topic of his independence. Specifically, he says, "I don't want you to be the boss of my anymore!" This statement did come right on the heels of my asking him to pick the toys up off the living room floor. It was his choice. He could either go find something else to do, or he could pick up the toys from the floor and then I would turn on a show. I thought giving him choices would be enough. It wasn't.
It took awhile. But, finally he picked up his toys. He even told Devin how great it was to pick up toys. At dinner, I mentioned to the computer guy how Trevor is tired of me being the boss of him. I don't think I was judgmental. I only told the story because I thought it was cute. But, still. Trevor offered a sheepish grin, and said, "Yeah, but I was just joking."
But, he wasn't. He's really interested in being independent. He's acting out at school and home in an effort to make his own choices, and he's even dreaming of the day when he's the boss of himself. He asked me yesterday if when I was a kid, I ever wanted to do things all by myself. When I told him that I sure did, he revealed that when he can, he will buy all the toys in the world. I remember feeling like that about cool whip, and how I would eat it straight from the freezer when I was all grown up. (I really don't do that nearly as much as I thought I would.)
So, this is a new phase, and one that I hope I manage well. Because if I can raise an independent kid who is considerate and makes good choices, I'll give myself the mother of the year award.
It took awhile. But, finally he picked up his toys. He even told Devin how great it was to pick up toys. At dinner, I mentioned to the computer guy how Trevor is tired of me being the boss of him. I don't think I was judgmental. I only told the story because I thought it was cute. But, still. Trevor offered a sheepish grin, and said, "Yeah, but I was just joking."
But, he wasn't. He's really interested in being independent. He's acting out at school and home in an effort to make his own choices, and he's even dreaming of the day when he's the boss of himself. He asked me yesterday if when I was a kid, I ever wanted to do things all by myself. When I told him that I sure did, he revealed that when he can, he will buy all the toys in the world. I remember feeling like that about cool whip, and how I would eat it straight from the freezer when I was all grown up. (I really don't do that nearly as much as I thought I would.)
So, this is a new phase, and one that I hope I manage well. Because if I can raise an independent kid who is considerate and makes good choices, I'll give myself the mother of the year award.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)