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.