Chicken, lickin

Chicken, lickin'
Oh my kitten.
Was Humpty Dupty an ostrich egg?
We'll never know.
Darn fool sat on a ledge
And made a mess of himself. Oh No!

Back to School Timeline - SocialProfiles.us

Back to School Timeline - SocialProfiles.us:

Man up, Dude.

Is it wrong to say to a whinny almost three year old, "Man up dude"?

Here is the context. I was changing his diaper and his "blankey" was downstairs where he left it. The whole time I changed him he whined about needing his blankey. I told him we'd have it in two minutes just as soon as he had a clean diaper, but no. He kept whining, in a really sweet but needy almost 3 year old sort of way, but still annoying. As we walked downstairs, I said, "We're going to get your blankey now. So stop whining. Man up, Dude." This of course made me snicker, which made him ask,

"What's funny Daddy?"

"I'm just wondering if it's okay to tell an almost 3 year old to man up, Dude."

"Oh." He said and snickered with me. So, I guess it's ok.

Thoughts anyone?

Delicious Chicken Soup

So, I walked in to pick up Nate from daycare, and his teachers informed me that my little 2.95 year old (He'll be 3 next month) has moved up to three syllables. Apparently, during lunch he took a moment to say. "This chicken soup is delicious. My Daddy made it." Well, how about that.

Romeo Frog

I've been somewhat of an ass about things the past couple of days and needed to do something to make my wife smile. While picking up Nates toys, I found this and had a thought to make this video. I showed it to her. It did make her smile. So, if you're in the dog house, try sharing Romeo Frog. Let me know how it works out.

Precious Little Villains

Children are precious little villains intent on stealing every private adult moment you dare. The bathroom is now a communal place. (The dog even comes in to see what all the fuss is about). Leisure reading is now out loud with an AA, BB, A, B, A, B rhyme scheme three minutes long before the hooligans bed time. Watching a tv show that doesn't have puppets, or animation or coy songs and people with perpetual sun-shine smiles during the thief's waking hours does not happen. Just try, try to sit and sip a cup of coffee quietly any time after 6:30 am and you risk a frustrated morning.

Of course, parents are complicate victims, myself included. Though, I've developed a semi-effective wicked evil eye, "Don't you
touch that!" And, counting to three with a two an half, three quarters , seven eighths, along the way, before it's "...three. That's it. Time out."

Though, that doesn't always work out so well because the second stair becomes a bully pulpit of screaming, a soap box of misery, a wailing wall of injustice and despair that makes me think, "Good God.  Maybe I should have just let him play with the butchers knife. Holly Fuck! Stop it all ready! You'll cut your finger off and really have something to cry about!"

Of course, I can't say that. Though once or twice something like that might have slipped. No, no. Instead, we have to crouch low, below his eye level so he doesn't feel intimidated, put on a consoling voice as though speaking to the bereaved disciple of savior murdered, and say.

"Now calm down. Calm down. Your two minutes are up.
Why are you in time out?"

And there's the blank look of total bewilderment and innocence, genuine tears and all. Or, there's the look of joyous, defiant hatred and irrational stubbornness inherited from I don't know who.

"Come on now. You were playing with a knife. We don't play with knives do we?" (Mote I'm speaking in plural now.)

Silence.

"No touching daddy's knives. Right?"

Silence.

"Come on. Look me in the eye." I say and bend myself around to put my face in front of his which is now looking anywhere but toward me. If the defiance is gone, or there is a true lack of memory of cause for the consequence, or, if he understands, I ask "Ok?"

Silence.

"Just say OK, ok?"

"Ok Daddy." He says and goes about his merry way plotting his next criminal endeavor of assassinating my privacy. Though, lately, his OK sometimes conveys a bemused exasperation and subtext of "Sure pal. I'll play your game because you are way bigger than me. But when you aren't looking I'm going right back over to that light socket and lick it."

This, of course, makes me snicker as I go back to whatever hallucination of un-interrupted adult activity I might be having at the moment such as changing a light bulb, polishing my shoes, eating a cookie before desert time. It doesn't matter. If he's awake, my little gangster is sure to steal the moment through direct engagement or putting his life at risk or some other child's antic.

Even so, all in all, I can say, as most parents will agree, I hope, Though he steals all my private adult moments,  he's my precious little villain and I would cut your throat or my own, if that's what it took to keep him safe.

Where did that come from?

After I finished stoking the fire in the family room - I was right in the middle of cooking dinner - I turned and found Nate standing in front of me.  He held up his hand as though pleading with the gods to say something profound. No words came. On his middle finger there was a dollop of something black. I knew what it was but had to ask. "Where did that come from? Your butt?"

"Yes." He said as a matter of fact with a hint of glee.

"Great. Ok. Go to the potty. Don't touch anything."

Simultaneously, the steak in the frying pan threatened to burn, pasta water boiled and the oven started beeping at me. "Careful. No touch. That's yucky. Let me clean that. Just stand there. Ok, pants down. On the toilet. There you go. Go potty."

"No go potty, Daddy."

"To bad. Sit there. Try."

"Daddy!"

"Wait. I gotta turn off the stove. Hold on."

"No potty!"

"Try." I said and rushed out to quell the riot in the kitchen.

"All done Daddy." He yelled from the bathroom."Daddy? DAAADDDYYYY! ALL DONE!"

"Okay, okay. I'm back. Let's see."

"All done daddy."

"Nope. Nothing in the potty Nate." I said as I lifted him off the toilet and looked for the evidence. "Oh, yuck." I said as I noticed he had poop hanging like nasty black frosting out of his bottom and half way up his back. "That's gross dude."

"I poop Dad."

"Yeah, I see." Bend over. Hands on the ground. That's it. Butt up like a turtle."

"Ok daddy."

"Hold still. Let me get a wipe."

"All clean Daddy."

"No. Not yet. Phew."

"All clean Daddy."

"No. Hold on. Stay down. Butt up. Couple more wipes."

"All clean daddy."

"Yeah, ok. One more. There you go."

"Cars? Cars? Cars?"

"Yes. Cars." I helped him into his pull-ups which have characters from the movie Cars on it.

"Yay! Cars!" He screamed.

"We're gonna try to use the potty before pooping in your pants. Right?"

"Ok Daddy." He said with the sweetest lying sincerity of a seasoned politician. I smirked doubtful of his intent. Pleased with placating me and having a clean diaper he monkey walked away with a teetter-totter joy, leaving me to clean the toilet seat.