A Hilarious Cole Story (R-rated--be warned)

Cole was in the tub tonight playing. He had a cup he was using to scoop water. I was at the sink with my back to him.

C: Mom, look what I've got. I have Better Boobie Lotion. (As he's talking, he pours the water onto his nipples.)

K: What does that stuff do for you?

C: I don't know. Make your boobies better or sumpin'.

He's still got it. What's funny (or scary) is that he's getting to the age that he's starting to say those things because he anticipates that I'll laugh at them, not because he's naturally funny. Which he is that too.


The Alphabet, remixed

Cole: ABCDEFGHIJK(emomeno)PQRXT(too)PWXYandZ. Now your ABC is here. Next time won't you sing with me?

Kate: Why are there two X's in the alphabet?

Cole: Because God wanted there to be two X's in the ABC's.

LOVE IT! Gilbert mentioned trying to correct him. I say, eventually he'll figure it out, and if I had corrected it, I couldn't have gotten this adorable response.


A More Positive 101

I was thinking last night while lying in bed about how much I LOVE being a mom, so I thought I'd share the few reasons that I was thinking of at that moment:

1. Stepping over tiny Converse that have been sitting by my bedside table for the last week.

2. Pushing toy cars and pacifiers to the edge of my bedside table so I'll be able to see my alarm clock in the morning.

3. Climbing into bed and having to sweep crumbs out from Sunday morning's cereal spill before I can fall asleep. (This morning we had "Cocoa Fluffs.")

And one that I would have been thinking of if I'd heard it before this morning:
4. Cole singing I Will Call Upon the Lord this way: "The Lord limit, and bless (mumbling) rock, God's alvation be exhausted." I didn't even know he knew it. "We sing that at my school, Mom."

They're both pretty awesome kids. I am blessed, for sure. Being a mom is definitely on the short list of "Best Things I've Ever Done."

This is Cole showing Beau his new Bakugans. (Pronounced by Cole as "back-you-gun." Who knows the real pronunciation, but I've had lessons in Cole's method.) He actually studied the pictures in the manual and discovered all by himself that the pieces would fit together, and put it all together himself. But don't be fooled into thinking that in this picture he's sharing his "backugun." Just letting little brother look from a distance.


My 100th post

What a lame, lame excuse for a 100th post. I was logging on, trying to decide the most appropriate title for this downer post, when I noticed that I'd posted 99 times. This would be number 100. It should be a celebration, I think. But instead, I'm opting for a vent session. I hope you're prepared for this one.

I. Am. Totally. Overwhelmed.
Shock of all shocks, I know.
My house is a train-wreck. A pig-sty. A disaster area. No joke. I'm not one of those people who says, "Whew. My house is a wreck," when it really isn't. This is a lame attempt at making those of us in the true pig-sties feel better. But it doesn't. It only makes us feel worse about ourselves.

I'm just going to be totally, up-front honest about things. My kitchen floor was swept for the first time yesterday since February 7th. Yes. I remember the exact date. I can't even begin to guess when it was mopped last. January, I'm sure. And it's obvious. Chocolate milk spots I didn't get to before they were almost dry. Chocolate icing splattered on the floor. Kool-aid in one place, spaghetti sauce in another. And when I swept yesterday, dust flew everywhere. I'm not joking.

The toilets have rings around them. The bathtub drains are yucky too. The mirrors have toothpaste splattered all over.

The living room was last vaccumed on February 14th, only because we had movie night with 7 boys, and the popcorn could not be overlooked. Trust me. If it could have been, it would have. I killed a spider the other night under the coffee table and just rolled the coffee table back into place on top of it.

And I've only mentioned the most traveled areas of the house.
It's ridiculous.

And I've been feeling okay about it all, trying to remind my
self of all those people who've said that when my boys are big, it won't matter how messy my house was when they were growing up. I've been hoping that's true.
But tonight, as I looked at Cole's too-long, dirty, sticky fingernails I asked myself, "Exactly what am I doing around here? My children aren't even properly groomed for Pete's sake."

They're dressed and fed (although judging from Beau's placement on the percentile chart these days, that is debateable too; and it's only true for Cole with thanks to McDonald's or Culver's or Moe's). That's about all I can say.

What am I doing well these days, you wonder?
1. Washing bottles
2. Pumping breastmilk
3. Smooching on boys

Okay, so now I'm at the point in the post that I realize how pathetic I sound. So I guess I'll put you people out of your misery. [In proofreading, I just realized another thing that I can say about my boys. They're HAPPY. I guess I should get over myself, huh?]

Just needed a vent session. Happy 100th post! Yay! (That's about all the celebration you people are going to get. What do you want from me? I'm exhausted.)

** And don't even think about sending me some feel-better comment if you see your counter top for more than two days consecutively, or if you saw your counter-top for more than two days consecutively when your children were young. (Smile)


Growing Up is Hard to Do

Cole, crying: I don't want to be a big brother anymore. I want to be little!
Me: What do little brothers do that big brothers can't do?
C: Play with little toys.

Poor baby. After I brought him a rattle, swaddled him, carried him to his room like a baby, and fed him chocolate chip cookies (making sure to remind him that big brothers can eat cookies but little brothers can't) he felt better.