Nope, I really don't want your help

My kids love to "help" Kevin and I do chores. Lindsay asks, "Can I help?" Charlie, in his broken English asks, "Me. Help?" I hope that this is a sign of things to come down the road that they understand chores and why we all help out around the house. But to be truly honest, I don't want their help. Because frankly, they suck at helping. All it does is slow................me................down.

The other night when they were miraculously playing together in the living room (read: wrestling more aggressively than most parents likely allow), I figured I would sneak to the bathroom and get that disaster cleaned up. But just as I started attacking the week-old toothpaste spackle dotting the sink, counter, floor, and walls (seriously....what are they doing in there when brushing?), the dreaded, "Me. Help?" rang out. And then, just as I found a task for the 2-year-old, the older of the young ones comes in, "Can I help?"

We don't have a large bathroom. So manuevering around 2 kids sounded less than ideal. I tried pawning their help off on Kevin, who was doing dishes, but apparently he beat me to the punch on passing off the help because Lindsay told me, "Daddy doesn't have anything left for me to help with."

Damnit.

So, what I snuck out thinking I could accomplish in 20 minutes took 40 minutes. But I'll be damned if I don't have the cleanest doorknobs, lightswitch covers, and bathtub ledge this side of the Mississippi. Next time I just have to get them helping with dishes before I sneak away to clean.

Don't Be An Asshole

Life's hard. Days are long. So when you go on vacation, the last thing you want to do is deal with other people's crap.

So, Mr. Oregon Ducks Guy, I can understand that a toddler isn't in your wheelhouse when eating out at a restaurant on your vacation. They can be loud. They can be busy. And lord knows they can be messy. Hell, said toddler is mine and let's be honest....even I don't want to be out at a restaurant with him.

But let's be clear. That's no reason to be an asshole. And that's most certainly what you were.

The next time you think combatting a toddler's loud babble and kissing noises a few tables over with an even louder demand to "SHUT HIM UP I'M TRYING TO EAT!", I'd like you to recognize the irony of your outburst. Maybe it's a big assumption to think a grown adult has self-control over one's actions, but common sense leads me to believe only one of the offending parties should have any concept of social norms.

Here's a tip for you -- if you don't want anything loud around you at a restaurant, don't go to a pub that willingly serves chocolate milk for the kids, shots for the adults and has live music. Ask to get a new table if you can't handle it. Or better yet, go to a restaurant where quiet ambiance is expected.

There was only one person in that restaurant that deserved to get yelled at, and it certainly wasn't Charlie. In fact, one of the people at your table should've grabbed you by the ear and hauled you out to the car to wait until everyone else was done eating. I would've done that had my child acted that that way. 

I have never before called a complete stranger an asshole to their face, but rest assured, I have no regrets about doing so to you. I just hope I don't have to again because I'll have had a lot more time to think about my profanity-laced tirade.

Oh...and just so you know, the Oregon Ducks uniforms are ugly.

How Proud You Must Be

Our wonderful daycare provider/extra grandma sent me this picture of Charlie this morning:

All I can picture is this:

How proud you must be, indeed.

Charlie and Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Life

We made it. We kept Charlie alive long enough to make it to the Terrible Two's (would've been nice had he waited until he turned 2). In the past 2-ish weeks, my very active and sweet, snuggly boy has turned into my very active monster....and not one of those cute Monsters, Inc. versions either.

Almost exactly one year ago, Charlie did things like this:

And even a month ago, he walked doing things like this ("WATCH OUT FOR THE TABLE!"):

And this:

But since then, here is a small sampling of the things you shouldn't attempt to do if Charlie is awake:

1) Look at him;
2) Not look at him;
3) Give him food;
4) Not give him food;
5) Sit by him;
6) Not sit by him;
7) Bring him in from outside;
8) Give him a toy;
9) Take away a dangerous object;
10) Put him in his car seat; and most importantly
11) Say NO to something he's demanding

If you say no, you better be prepared for something like this:

No lie, that video went on for at least another minute. Thankfully for you, my loyal readers, my phone will only allow a certain length of video to be messaged or emailed. Even more thankfully for you guys, you didn't have to witness that specific tirade firsthand because it lasted at least 10 minutes (felt like 10 days).

What caused that outburst, you ask? Well, I had the audacity to tell him that no, he couldn't carry my 10-inch chef's knife around the house. I'd say I won this round because he didn't get to carry the knife around, but I'm the one that had to survive the onslaught of tears, snot and ear-splitting screaming...plus, he gets bonus points for doing all that while wearing a t-shirt that says, "Mommy's Prince Charming." Extra jab to the throat for that dick move. Well-played, Charlie.

This little tyrant has taken from us the few remaining minutes each day that weren't already consumed by 5-year-old meltdowns over itchy shirts and not being able to wear sandals in the dead of winter. So if you are considering stopping by, staying with us or we invite you over, you might want to think twice about it. You've been warned, so don't blame me for a crappy visit.

You CAN handle the truth!

We've reached a stage where Lindsay wants to break rules, lie and omit, but just can't seem to do it. Either her conscience is catching up with her or she's just really not grasping the concept. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I actually WANT her to lie to us, but the way she doesn't lie right now is hilarious.

A couple weeks ago she walked up to Kevin, out of the blue, and said, "There's something I'm not going to tell you." After he asked what it was she said, "We were playing with something we aren't supposed to." Good cover, kid.

A few nights ago she discovered the deliciousness that is Starburst jellybeans. She had some before bed and then came out of her room a little while later for another handful. (Ignore that we gave her candy before bed and again when she came out of her room. Parents of the year.) The next morning when she woke up she told me that she was planning on sneaking out for more jellybeans once I went to sleep, but she had sadly fallen asleep herself.

That last one is a truly remarkable confession. I mean, there was literally no chance I'd ever know she was planning to deceive me. And even dumber, she ruined her chances at pulling off said deception the next night.

I'm not so much worried about her inability to break rules without confession (or even think about breaking rules without confession), but I think the skill of omission can be a very valuable one. That very much needs to get figured out. Although I suppose we probably still have time for that. For now I guess I can just pretend that she'll always feel the need to tell the truth and confess....until the day she sneaks our car for a joyride when we aren't home. (I don't have any idea who would do something like that. Most definitely not me.)

Musical Beds

One of the first purchases Kevin and I made after we got married was a king bed. It was glorious. Spacious. Allowed both of us to sleep peacefully without the necessity of being kicked, punched or needlessly breathed on.

Then we got a puppy named LaFawnduh who took up some of that space and sometimes punched, kicked or breathed on us. But she was a great snuggler, so we rolled with it. Then a puppy named Kip came into the picture and he pretty much ruined it. Once there were two 90-pound dogs in there with us, well, it didn't feel so spacious...especially when Kip decided laying on top of one of us was a good place to rest his weary head. We were one small, not-as-rested family, but hey, talk about a first world problem.

Once Lindsay came along, we were used to our king bed feeling pretty small. She didn't sleep with us much, but sometimes sleep deprivation calls for desperate measures. And it surely beat crawling into her crib of toddler bed.

You might be wondering where the musical beds come in. Well, let me introduce our sleep terrorist, Charlie.

Oh, sure. Looks cute, huh? Wait....is that a dog playing football? That is cute.

Charlie has spent most of his 17 months (Side tangent. I can't WAIT for him to turn 2 so I can stop pretending I know how many months he is. Why can't I just say he's 1?) being a pretty darn good sleeper. In fact, it isn't unheard of for him to actually walk himself to his crib waiting for us to put him in. Sure, he gets up earlier than his sister ever did, but for the past 6 months or so he'll go to bed, maybe cry once in the middle of the night for a bottle and that's it.

Lately, not so much. Sure, he's been sick. But who isn't, kid? This alleged sickness (or terroristic behavior, more likely) has created some interesting sleeping situations with him. Previously mentioned king bed? Check. Floor? Check. Couch? Check. And his current favorite? Recliner. 3 out of the past 5 nights one of us has ended up there with him.

And while that is wonderful in and of itself, the biggest of the small ones has begun an almost nightly ritual in the past few weeks of waking up in the middle of the night and sneaking into bed with us like a ninja....of course kicking, punching and breathing all over us. She even commented a couple mornings ago, "Mom, you and Dad were really a couple of blanket-hogs last night."

So sorry for the inconvenience, kid.

With all this bed switching happening most nights, we've mostly lost those dog snuggles. Sure, they may spend an hour or two in there, but as soon as those kiddos arrive, they are smart enough to get the hell out of there and find other arrangements...often in the vacated beds/rooms of the small ones.

Once the lights go out these days, the Best house is a noisy, long symphony. I, for one, am very much looking forward to it going back to the days of the house quartet....dog breath and all.

There's TWO of them!

Did you know that? Well, probably most of you did because I assume at this point only my mom and grandma are reading this. And frankly, if either of them don't know about Charlie, it's time to get that Alzheimer's consult scheduled.

Anyway, yes, there's another lovable time and energy suck residing in our home (Guess what? It's been so long that there's a new one of those too!). His name is Charlie (dammit, I already told you that...time for that Alzheimer's consult for me) and he's already ONE! Seriously, he's one. Which means I've woefully neglected this place (sorry Mom and Grandma).

Apologies aside, here's a little info about our little guy. He arrived fast. On August 29th around 9:30pm we were leaving a restaurant after dinner with friends and when they asked "You feel like you'll have that baby anytime soon?", I responded by saying, "I'm still hoping for tonight." Well, by midnight we were dropping Lindsay off with her daycare provider who kept her overnight and by about 2:15am (as if I can remember an exact time), Charlie Robert had joined our family.

Since then, well, he's been an adventure. He's infinitely needier than Lindsay ever was, but also infinitely more smiley and adventurous. He was even walking by 10 1/2 months...I could've done without that. He really does bring a smile to *almost* everyone's face that sees him. I say almost because occasionally you run into a curmudgeon who can't be softened by this face (I'm looking at you, two ladies behind us at the Twins game last night):

I'm not lying when I say Charlie is the light of every room. When he gets to daycare, all the kids rush over and yell "CHARLIE!" He's the Norm of daycare. If that keeps up, I imagine he'll be a big hit at college. I now look at every kid he meets as a potential Cliff to his Norm.

Really the only "problem" with Charlie is that he's an early riser. Early for us, at least, usually getting up around 6:45am or so. Now before you lose your minds about how ridiculous it is that we consider that early, you need to understand that Lindsay generally will sleep in until after 9am on weekends. Now is the time I expect all of you to shed a tear for us. The only good thing about getting up at that time is that by the time I normally would be getting up, I have all my lazy morning stuff done already, so we have more time to get stuff done or have good, old-fashioned family fun (and heck....even write a yearly blog post).

Happy Hour

In the not-so-distant past (although it feels like a lifetime ago), happy hour meant heading to the bar for a couple cocktails and appetizers with friends after work. And if things got really crazy, maybe some karaoke and dancing before heading home.

During the rush of our evenings, I think back fondly on the days when I could decide last minute that Kevin and I needed drinks instead of heading straight home. But, while cooking supper the other night, it struck me that maybe that first hour or two after work isn't quite as different as I've come to think it was.

Sure, there aren't buffalo wings or cheese curds, but I often get fruit snacks or an apple. Not as good, but a hell of a lot healthier.  And there certainly aren't 2-for-1's, but let's be honest, wine is often involved. And my friends are never involved, but my 3 favorite people are always there.

So you know what? It really still is Happy Hour. The scenery and the characters are different, but it's still pretty damn fun. And you know what? Sometimes things get really crazy and we end up with some some dancing too.

Sour Patch Kid

One of my favorite advertising campaigns from the past few years was the Sour Patch Kids commercials that ended, "First they're sour, then they're sweet." Every one of those commercials cracked me up. For those that didn't ever see them or just don't remember them (highly unlikely if you are even remotely able to be amused), here are a couple examples:

Alright, I'm back....just spent the last 15 minutes watching all of these online and laughing my ass off. Anyway, getting to the point.

So these commercials cracked me up. No one could forgive someone for those acts so quickly! Hahahahaha....those silly candies.

Well, fast forward a few years and my toddler has turned into one of those candies. One minute she is the most awful, whiny, naughty kid you've ever met and the next she will say the sweetest thing to almost make you forget what happened mere minutes prior.

For instance, at swimming lessons tonight, she decided she wasn't into it....no way, no how was she getting into the water. She was throwing such a fit in the locker room just getting her suit on that once we finally came out into the pool area, some of the teachers were "discussing" our situation to figure out how to lend a hand. Once she finally calmed down and got into the pool (only 15 minutes into the 30 minute lesson), she promptly did the first exercise and then gave me a thumbs up and blew me a kiss. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd think she was mocking me with each of those gestures, but she had the biggest, most genuine smile on her face that it doesn't seem possible that she didn't mean it.

I could literally post hundreds of situations like that, but I'll limit it to one more....which, if it is ever beaten for most embarrassing and frustrating moment of my life, I may just give up.

A month or so ago (just now has enough time passed for me to talk about it), I left work a few hours early with the express purpose of picking Lindsay up to have a Mommy/Lindsay date at the zoo. We had a great time. We took turns picking what animals to see next, shared ice cream and played on the playgrounds together. Throughout our date, I was giving Lindsay warnings about how much time was left until the zoo closed, meaning we'd have to leave. Towards the end of the day, we both agreed the penguins (near the front of the zoo) would be our last stop.

As we got to the penguins, I could tell leaving wouldn't be quite as easy as I had hoped, but that isn't terribly earth-shattering. After watching for a few minutes, I tried reasoning with her. No luck. I tried negotiating, but even the savviest negotiator wasn't cracking that shell. So, I resorted to the good, old-fashioned method of just picking her up and walking out. So there we were, pregnant mama carrying a kicking and screaming kid out of the zoo.

As luck would have it, the zoo was having some big after-hours event and there were literally hundreds of people lining up outside. As I'm wading through the crowd with a still kicking and screaming kid, I made an amateur move....I caved into her demand that "I WANT TO WALK!" I set her down and started to tell her that she could walk as long as she stopped throwing a fit when she took off running and yelling back at me, "Don't touch me! I'm afraid of you!"

Seriously. In front of at least a hundred people. I really hope none of you have ever had to feel (or ever do feel) the searing eyes of complete strangers who may or may not believe you have just been exposed as a child abuser.

I did my best to calmly wade through the people after her despite kind of hoping one of the strangers would take her home. I honestly was so stunned that I really didn't want to catch up to her, but obviously knew I had to. Once I did, I swooped her back up and carried her the rest of the way to the car without talking....just silently fuming while my child screamed bloody murder and apparently kicked at me, not in frustration, but in fear.

After getting her restrained in the car seat and getting the air conditioner running for her (see, I'm clearly not a monster), I took a few minutes to myself outside the car trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Of course, she was still screaming when I got in the car to drive home....and continued to scream until we got home and I put her in her room for timeout. WORST. DATE. EVER.

A few minutes later when I went back in (thankfully the screaming had subsided), she was laying on her bed and she looked at me and said, "Even when I'm mad at you, I love you all the time." And then gave me a big hug and kiss.

Again, seriously. Sadly, this version of my kid was not witnessed by a hundred people.

We had a long talk after that about "the incident"....and never did get to the bottom of where she'd get the notion to apply "afraid" to me, but thankfully she hasn't broken out that soul-crushing phrase again.

So while you can see this incident didn't come in a neat, packaged 15 second commercial, she clearly has the routine down. SOUR! Then sweet. It's just really too bad the sour part isn't as appealing in kids as it is in candy.

The Power of Band-Aids

Lindsay is WAY into dresses. She'd wear one everyday if we'd let her. And frankly, if not for rainy or chilly days and my laziness in doing laundry, we'd probably let her. The problem with dresses, however, is that they leave a good portion of a clumsy toddler's skin exposed when they inevitably go tumbling across the ground 20 times a day.

Of course, not all of these tumbles happen on grass or soft ground. So yesterday, walking through the Target parking lot, Lindsay took a tumble and scraped her knee pretty good. We got through the crying and tears and went into the store. While shopping, I noticed some blood on Lindsay's knee, so we walked over to the Band-Aid aisle (or adhesive strip aisle for you anti-corporation folks)...because really, you can never have too many Band-Aids available.

As soon Lindsay realized what we were looking at, her "injured" leg stopped working. She could no longer walk. Amazing timing on those delayed symptoms. So she picked a box of Tinkerbell Band-Aids and we decided to use one right there in the store. Amazingly, she could once again walk, so we were able to finish our shopping.

So last night we were doing some yard work (meanwhile, Lindsay was sitting on a rock "waiting for some wind so she could fly a kite") when I decided to check her wound and give her some fresh dressing. As soon as I removed the old Band-Aid, she predictably could no longer walk. The limp she used to get back inside the house would've made any personal injury lawyer proud (assuming Target is clearly at fault for negligently having the audacity to pave their parking lot). Again, as soon as we put a new Tinkerbell Band-Aid on the wound, she was good to go.

We have a strict "no-blood, no-Band-Aid" rule in our house. But after seeing the magic powers, we may have to change that. Although maybe it was just the fairy dust?

Anatomy lesson

About a month ago, I made a decision. Right or wrong, it was time to teach Lindsay about girl parts and boy parts. Age 3 might seem a little young, but the reality was that she had noticed there was a difference between boys and girls and she wanted to talk about it. It all started with this little exchange while she was going potty one day:

Lindsay: "When I grow bigger, I'm going to turn into a boy and grow a funny butt!"

Me: "What now?"

Lindsay: "When I grow bigger and turn 4, I'm going to turn into a boy and grow a funny butt."

Not sure what exactly to say about it, and being pretty certain she wasn't talking about butts, I just changed the subject. But a few days later while going potty, she again said, "When I grow bigger, I'm going to turn into a boy and grow a funny butt!"

Having mulled the previous conversation over, I had decided that if the issue was raised again, I was going to face it. I knew what I had to do. So this time I explained to her that boys have penises and girls have vaginas. And that girls will never have penises and boys would never have vaginas. (Yes, I saved the conversation about sexual reassignment surgery....figured that would've been a lot to handle on top of all the penis/vagina talk).

We talked about it for a bit and she seemed satisfied with my explanation....so I thought that was the end of it for now. But she thought differently.

A few days after our conversation, we were driving in the car and she said, "You're a girl. And I'm a girl. And we have 'banginas!'"

And it didn't stop there. She went through a list of everyone we know and told me whether they had a penis or a "bangina." Not exactly normal rush hour discussion, but I guess at least it was in the privacy of our car and not in the middle of Target.

Again, I thought that might be the end of it, but she had different ideas. It has become a regular topic of conversation around our house. And then one day it turned to cartoon characters. We were sitting there innocently watching Diego and she said, "Diego is boy and he has penis! And Dora is a girl and she has a bangina! Mike the Knight is a boy and he has a penis!"

So far, no one is safe. If she's met you, she has speculated on your anatomy. I'm just waiting for the question about whether Bot (from Team Umizoomi) has a penis or a bangina. Now there's question I don't have an answer for.

Little rocker

While attending a friend's wedding on Saturday, we discovered that Lindsay is quite the little rocker. Sure, she was excited about dancing the chicken dance and she liked the conga line (despite the fact she kept goosing the lady with the short dress on who was right in front of her), but her real dancing chops showed up when the DJ played "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC.

Ladies and gentleman, I offer you Lindsay's first foray dancing to a rock song. Hopefully she doesn't try the ankle dance at an actual rock concert.

What's missing?

A long, long time ago (September 19th), Kevin and I left for a long weekend trip to Orlando, FL. Kevin had a conference and I had....well....I had to sit by the pool while he was at the conference. We had grand, old time.

We ate well:

We drank (very) well....that pink drink is Kevin's:

And we swam with the dolphins (some people might call them ducks):

And while we were gone, Lindsay was having fun with Grandma and Grandpa Pfeifer and the pups back in Rosemount.

But that wasn't all the fun they were going to have because not only did they all hang out together in Rosemount for a few days while we were away, Lindsay was going back to Watford City (that's in North Dakota for all you out of state readers) to stay with both sets of grandparents and hang with the rest of the family.

TWO WEEKS! "What will you do with yourselves for that long?" was the question we were asked dozens of times prior to our trip. Well, we found lots of stuff to do.

We ate at nice restaurants:

We enjoyed some more libations:

We golfed (I'll let you decide if I drove the ball that close to the flag):

And we ate at some more restaurants:

That took up about 4 days. And then we were bored....because all we want to do is play Uno Moo with this kid:

I joke that this means we are too old for fun and are boring suburbanites, but what it really means is that this little monster has buried herself in my soul. I wouldn't have it any other way. If that makes me old and boring, so be it, I guess.

Herein ends the sappy part....and the blog post. Because this girl is hopping in the car to head to Fargo soon to get my little girl back!

It's a girl!

No, I didn't birth another child. Nor am I breaking any news about adding to our family. This is just a simple reminder that Lindsay is indeed a girl. Maybe you didn't need the reminder. But I'm not just talking any girl....I'm talking GIRLY GIRL. Since most of my readers have probably met me, you also probably don't need to be told that the phrase "girly girl" most likely has never been used to describe me. Don't get me wrong...I expected some of this.

For instance, I kind of expected her to really like the color pink. After all, most people buy little girls pink clothes. Here's the outfit she chose to garden and help Daddy put up a fence in (pay particular attention to the gold-sequined flats with the bow on them):

Check.

I also kind of expected her to be into princess stuff, well, because a lot of people also buy princess books, toys, clothes, etc. And yes, she does love princesses:

Check.

And you know, I sort of even expected her to be into dresses even though she will rarely see her mommy in one, because again, people love giving little girls dresses....and I must admit there is something damn cute about a little girl in a tiny, little dress. Well, you guessed it....she loves dresses and when she's going out, she wants to put one on. Here's her "party dress". Appropriately named because she wore it for her 3rd birthday party:

Once again, check.

But one thing I didn't see coming was a declaration she made a couple weeks ago. Daddy had to work, so her and I drove to Minneapolis to watch the Vikings preseason game against the Chargers. No one that has met us would be surprised to know that we've trained her to know the names and numbers of some of the players on our favorite teams. She will happily declare that "Joe plays baseball! He wears a 7!" or "Kobe wears a 2 and 4 and plays basketball with Mommy!" (I haven't corrected her on the latter.)

Anyway, we got to our seats and I said, "Who are we here to watch?" The answer, of course, is supposed to "CHRISTIAN! He wears a 7!" Instead, her answer was, "The cheerleaders!" *ERRRRRRRRRR* (That's supposed to be a record scratching....which is what I heard in my mind.) Either this girly girl thing is getting out of hand, or she's been hanging out with her Uncle Richard too much.

I tried to explain to her that no, we didn't drive to downtown Minneapolis, pay for parking and buy a beer (for me) and some popcorn (for her) to watch the cheerleaders. We came to watch Christian....and AP....and Jared....and Percy. But she was having none of it. In fact, when the cheerleaders came out for their between-quarters routine, she said, "When I grow bigger and bigger, I'm going to be a cheerleader!" And wouldn't you know it? The next day she found a couple pom-poms in her toy box and has been carrying them around ever since. I guess she might make a cute cheerleader...

This whole girly girl thing will take getting used to, but if she goes the cheerleading route, I can get on board. But Lord help us all if she wants to be involved in pageants. THAT is something I'd have to consider trading her in for.

Helper?

Occassionally, Lindsay is a really good helper. For instance, last weekend Kevin was building a fence and she sat next to him and handed him screws. When she's helping out, it makes us want to have dozens of kids so they can just do everything for us.

But most of the time, she's the opposite of helpful. As in, I'd rather just do it myself than even ask her to help. But, as any parent can attest, you really have to teach them how to do some things so they learn how to be helpful. It is excruciating though. She has a million books and about every 4th day, they've all made their way out of the bookcase onto her floor. Normally I've just picked them up for her, but last week I decided that it could be her job to pick those up.

Her initial reaction was running to the kitchen to hide behind the doors of the Lazy Susan. Apparently she thinks we can't see her.

She then proceeded to take approximately 30 minutes to pick up the books. During which time my internal temperature reached a boiling point and I almost put her in timeout at least 8 times.

I know at some point this pays off, but rest assured that teaching her how to help is not easy and not worth the return. So it appears we probably won't have dozens of kids...in case you were still wondering.

Prepositions!

Hearing Lindsay's language expand is one of the great joys of parenthood. It seems everyday there is a new word or phrase she learns and she's getting pretty good at putting sentences together in a decipherable manner. However, there are still some gaps and sometimes it makes for interesting conversation.

Lindsay (as she was getting buckled into her car seat): The buckle is in my butt!

Me: No, it isn't in your butt, it's by your butt.

Lindsay: No! It's in my butt!

Me: No, no. It's just by your butt. Nothing is actually in your butt.

Lindsay: There's poop in my butt.

Me: True.

Lindsay: The buckle is in my butt too.

I give up. She doesn't need to know all the prepositions quite yet. And I don't feel like explaining right now that objects shouldn't be in your butt. Another conversation for another day, I guess. I just hope I don't find her trying to put a buckle in one of the dog's butts.

Miss Independent

I'm not sure if Lindsay is a fan of either Kelly Clarkson or Ne-Yo yet, but she's definitely a fan of doing everything herself. And I mean EVERYTHING. Now, I've been told that I am slightly independent...but I'm certain I'm not as bad as her. In the average hour, you'd likely hear at least a dozen things that under no circumstances can Kevin or I help with.

For instance, the grocery store. Only need milk, but one small cart and an incredibly slow stroll through the aisle later, we are looking at least 15 minutes instead of 2 minutes. And part of the reason it takes so long is because she stops to chat with everyone that tells her she's cute. So please, people, just don't even look at her if you see us coming your way.

Last weekend we were in the airport. Kevin dropped us off at the front door of MSP with our bags and then he went to park the car. Lindsay INSISTED on pulling her own suitcase through the airport. It wasn't easy for me to pull our rollers and carry the carry-ons, but it was 8,000 times faster when she let me do it. But once we got through security, it was out of the question....she was doing it. Of course we were heading to the last gate in the farthest away concourse and she wouldn't get on the rolling walkway. So here we were, tiny little toddler pulling her huge suitcase through the airport.

We got equal amounts of looks of "She's so cute!" (which just slowed us down more because Lindsay then wanted to talk to them) and "Why would she make her kid pull that suitcase?" (which made me think they might think I'm actually punishing her...or encourage child labor). Personally, I thought it was adorable at first. But about halfway through the concourse, I started thinking "This kid needs to hurry up." And by the time we got to the gate (a gate Kevin beat us to, by the way), it was "I'm not letting her pull this ever again."

And guess what? That lasted about 30 minutes. Because when we were getting ready to head down the jetway, she threw an ever-loving fit and I gave in faster than she could scream, "NO! I PULL MY SUITCASE!" because I didn't want to be the parent with the child screaming before we even got on the plane. (Which probably gave off the unintended impression that I'm the parent that just lets her kid do whatever she wants.) I quickly hurried her down the jetway (her pulling her own bag, of course) and away from the witnesses of the scene of the crime.

As I was struggling to put our luggage in the overhead bins, a guy kindly asked if he could help me out with the bags and I said, "No, I got it. Thanks though." Alright, so maybe I do know where she gets it. But I'm certain it doesn't take me 15 times longer than the average person.

Threats

Yep. We make them. Not physically abusive or terroristic threats, but threats nonetheless. Lindsay is now of the age that there is some level of reasoning that can be effective. She's still 2, so it clearly doesn't work great, but it is reasoning. But when the reasoning fails, it often digresses into a threat.

That brings us to Thursday night. We were having our friends over for dinner (damnit, SUPPER!) on Friday and that meant Lindsay's best buddy, Evan, would be coming over. So during SUPPER on Thursday night, I told Lindsay that Evan was coming over to play tomorrow night. Of course, she was super excited and could hardly wait for the next night.

Well, as it usually goes, we had to battle to get her to eat her supper, take a bath, etc. So what did I use as "motivation?" That's right...Evan's visit.

Me: "Do you want Evan to come over tomorrow?"

Lindsay: "YES!"

Me: "Then you need to eat your chicken (which really was pork, but she'll only eat meat that is chicken, so we call all meat chicken....another post for another day because lying probably isn't a good thing either)."

Lindsay: "NO!"

Me: "Well, I'll call Lindsay and Jeremy and tell them not to bring Evan tomorrow."

Lindsay: *eats a bite of "chicken"*

Worked like a charm. We got her to eat supper, take a bath, change her clothes in the morning and even pick up some of her toys. Although, at one point she did call my bluff, but I think that was a miscommunication on her part. At least I hope it was because lord help me if she already has picked up on this newest tactic of mine and decided I don't have the follow-through.

So, I guess as long as it works, I've become a fun terrorist. I was starting to feel guilty about doing it, but then I think back to Christmas and I remember hearing a lot of parents saying Santa wouldn't come if the child didn't listen or behave. So I guess I'm not the only fun terrorist....or at least I don't think I am. I really hope all those kids that weren't listening didn't miss out on Santa.

No January?

Maybe I missed it, but my calendar says February and my last blog post says December! Whoopsie.

Because I've been so lacking, I present to you this blog's first video. A stirring rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus." A slow start, but make sure you stick around until the 1-minute mark to see what a "Mommy" on the bus says. Hmmm...

If I had kept the camera rolling just a little longer, you would've seen what a "Daddy" says on the bus. Apparently they say, "Sit down now!" Not sure which of us is painted in the worst light by this song.

Multi-tasking

Some days, you don't have time to get everything done....so you are forced to do two things at once. You know, like catching up on the latest art methods and going to the bathroom.