I’m at work today, the Friday before the big Christmas weekend, because I’m not allowed to take vacation until I’ve been here for 6 months, and I had to use most of the fancy comp time I had built up specifically for next week to stay home with my sick son and then again when it snowed and his school was closed, which doesn’t leave me with a lot of comp time to use on luxurious staying home around the holidays. I don’t mind being at work really, because boy was the traffic BREEZY and there’s not really many people here, so it’s quiet and kind of nice. However, I have had contact with home a few times and it makes me a little sad to hear all the cute oh-so-Christmasy sounds emanating through the phone at me, like the sound of Jocelyn talking her cute little phrases, “What doing?” “Stuck!” “Dat better!” “HI! HI! HI!” and Ethan singing his cute little nonsense songs and the sound of the Christmas train choo-chooing and whistling and just the overall snuggly coziness that home sounds like in those brief seconds.

It’s ok though. I have several of snuggly Christmasy staying at home days coming up, so I can handle today. And while I belive I’m going to get VERY busy directly after new years, right now the actual availability of work is on the low side so it makes for a pleasant, slow sort of work day.

While this year I got all grown up and sent presents to all of my family and even most of James’ family (all of his immediate family), I neglected to get something for my only remaining grandparent, my mother’s mother. I can’t BELIEVE I overlooked her, errgh. And it would be especially bad if she came over to my folks house for Christmas day, which is a likely scenario, and if everyone opened presents from us while my grandmother sat and wondered where HER present from us was and why didn’t she get one. I did realize this in time to select something online and have it sent to her, but noooooo I neglected to do this as well. When I discussed it with my mom, she mentioned that I might just send her some flowers, so earlier this week as I desperately cast around for something to send for her, I landed on that idea. Which quickly changed to, “Flowers die, I’ll send her yumminess! Then at least when it’s gone, you still got to eat something good!” So I browsed around Harry and David looking for something tasty, which they ALWAYS have, and that led to me asking James if he thought HIS grandmother would like some too, which he thought she would, so I ordered some for her as well. Then just as I was thinking how yummilicious everything was looking, it popped up with “Order some for you and get 20% off!” Seriously, who can resist that? So Grandma is getting a box, James’ Nana is getting a box, and now WE are getting a box too. Yum. I love Harry and David fruit.

This is not the end of the story. The next paragraph seems unrelated, but actually IS RELATED. You just have to trust me on this.

So last night I was wrapping up a few remaining presents, and I thought, hmm. I know I had more stuff for James. Now, I didn’t go all hog crazy with presents for James, but when I wandered around the house collecting the boxes that had arrived from various online stores that I knew that contained James presents, I only found two, and one of them I remembered what was in it, and it was pretty minor. I walked around a couple more times trying to think if I had placed a box in a super secret hiding place SO super and SO secret that I had forgotten where it is and James will have to have his present in 2013 when we sell this house and found the super secret hiding place only because the entire house is being packed up to move to, I don’t know, Canada.* It didn’t help that I couldn’t actually remember what was supposed to be in the missing box, or even which online store the mythical box came from. By this morning, I had actually remembered the item that was missing, so I felt relieved that at least I wasn’t going crazy. I do have specific memories of placing this item in a shopping cart, but I am fickle sometimes and perhaps did not follow through on the actual ordering. So this morning I hop on my e-mail and try to track down whether or not I actually ordered the item or not. It turns out that I did not. Silly silly Amy! No big deal, because I can go get it in a store, it just probably won’t be as cheap.

So, while I was rummaging around in my “orders” e-mail folder, I decided to check in on the Harry and David boxes, and was pleased to see that both grandmother’s orders had been marked as “Delivered” and that our box was currently out for delivery. However, on closer inspection, I saw that ours and Nana’s box were the same, but my grandmother’s had a different product. I ordered the same thing for all three orders. Then on even CLOSER inspection, I realized that NONE of the three orders had the box that I actually ordered, they were totally something else! So, depending on what arrives at our house, I may or may not open up a can of whup-ass on Harry and David for sending the wrong items. I figure I can at least wait to see what we get, and maybe it actually is what I ordered, and they just put something else on the tracking page for some odd reason. The box I ordered had apples and pears and I *think* chocolate covered cherries. I want the box I ordered dammit!

* Oh. My. God, do I love the run on sentences. You really should hold an intervention for me or something.

I hope that you love me and forgive my pointless seemingly-never-ending stories. Because I don’t think it’s likely to stop any time soon.

I’m getting my haircut today at 4:30. THAT went over well when I told James last night:

me, mumbling incoherently: I made an appointment to get my hair cut at 4:30 tomorrow.
james: What did you say?
me: I made an appointment to get my hair cut tomorrow at 4:30.
james: WHAT?!!!*
me: I’M SORRY I CAN’T HELP IT!!
james: WHY are you getting your hair cut again?! I thought you liked it after you got it cut!
me: I DID like it! I liked how she did it! I, however, cannot do it like she did it! I’ve given it a week! I have tried!
james: What are you talking about?!
me: LOOK AT ME! I LOOK LIKE SHAGGY FROM SCOOBY DOO!
james stares intently into my eyes, probably trying to recall how he ever thought marrying a whacko like me was a good idea.
me: you’re looking at my eyes, LOOK AT THE HAIR!
james looks at the hair.
james, finally admitting to the shaggy doo look: You really don’t have the hair skills, do you.
Now, this is too much. I HAVE MAD HAIR SKILLZ. IT’S THE HAIRCUT PEOPLE!
me: I BOUGHT A NEW HAIRBRUSH! I EVEN GOT OUT TWO DIFFERENT SIZED CURLING IRONS. YOU EVEN SAID YOURSELF THAT IT WAS A MAZE OF CORDS AT MY SINK! I HAVE THE HAIR SKILLS, I JUST CAN’T GET THIS HAIRCUT TO WORK FOR ME!
james: Well, ok then.

* note: I JUST had my hair cut last week, and unfortunately I have a history of not liking haircuts and going and either making the original hair cutter redo it, or going to a different salon and getting it re-cut. *cough* I think I’ve done this 2 or more times. At least two though, in the past 2 years. Maybe even three. I just add this note to let you know that James reaction is pretty much on target, and I was totally expecting it.

Aren’t you sick of hearing about my hair? I know I am sick of spending gobs of time on it only to look like Shaggy Doo. I’m thinking, let’s hack it all off, something that requires no curling irons, no brushing while blow drying. I’ve totally used up my allowable minutes spent on hair beautification for this year and the next, so a bob* is starting to sound really good to me about now.

*How roaring 20’s is that? I think I’ll get my hair bobbed, go meet a sheik and slip into a speak-easy to drink and dance the Charleston. James, you can be my cat’s meow, the bee’s knees, or maybe even wasp’s nipples.

amy often thinks about what she would do if all other human beings were suddenly gone from the planet.

Lately, Jocelyn likes to exclaim, “STUCK!” and then get whatever it is free, and say, “Dat better.”

It’s especially cute when she isn’t stuck in the least. Like when she stopped on top of the toy box lid and shouted at the top of her lungs, “STUCK! STUCK! STUCK! STUCK!” only to hop off and say, “Dat better!!”

My mother always said, “Don’t argue with a three-year old.”

She was usually talking about my older brother(s) at the time, but still, I got her point.

But now that I actually HAVE a three-year old, I REALLY understand. You JUST CANNOT WIN. It doesn’t matter that facts are on your side. It doesn’t matter that your child USED to have a sense of logic (or at least listened to you and accepted your word as The Truth no matter what). What matters is, what HE THINKS IS TRUE IS TRUE DAMMIT.

Let me give you some examples.

We have a great children’s CD, “No!” by They Might Be Giants. Even if you don’t think you know their work, you really do. You just don’t know you do. Kind of like Danny Elfman in that regard, to a lesser degree.

Anyway what was I talking about? Oh right. The CD. It’s in my car pretty much always, and we listen to it on the way to school and from school to home. Track three features a song called “Robot Parade”, which James has always said is his favorite. Well, I think around the middle of the summer, Ethan decided that it is his favorite. And therefore, it cannot be anyone else’s favorite.

This is our conversation in the car when the robot song comes on:

Ethan: It’s the ROBOT SONG! This is my favorite. It isn’t daddy’s favorite. It’s ALL MINE.
Me: No, honey, this is daddy’s favorite song too. You can both have the VERY SAME FAVORITE SONG! It makes it even more special.
Ethan: No, Daddy’s favorite is the bed song. And Jocelyn’s favorite is the clap song. And your favorite is the tree house song!

Another argument with a three-year-old:

Me: Just think Ethan, it’s only 5 more days until Christmas.
Ethan: No, mommy, it’s FOUR!
Me: No, I’m pretty sure it’s five more days. It might even be six.
Ethan (working on holding up his fingers): No mommy, it’s THIS MANY DAYS! (holding up three)
Me: Well, when we get home we’ll check the calendar and see.

I was worn down at that point and just gave up. The urge to continue the argument is there, because you have the COLD HARD FACTS on your side, but little sway do they have. Even though you are in the right, you must submit. Maybe politicians should be required to spend some time arguing with three year olds just to learn how to compromise and submit – even when they don’t want to (and/ or think the facts are on their side).

Another Ethan conversation:

Ethan: I’m getting so big mommy. I’m getting bigger and bigger and bigger, and the little hole is all gone now! From the snot!
Me: The snot?
Ethan: No, the SHONT!
Me, totally confused: The shont?
Ethan: Yes, the shont!
Me: Honey, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Where did you get this hole?
Ethan: It was a little hole, and it hurt, and she pushed it down. And it hurt all day long. And then I got bigger, and it’s gone now! It doesn’t hurt any more!
Me (seriously wondering and vaguely worried): It hurt? Who pushed it down?
Ethan: Our new doctor! She pushed it down and it was a little hole. And now I’m so big I don’t need any more shots!

He was referring to the flu shot he got last weekend. Jeez, mom get with it already!
—

It is really fascinating how his mind works sometimes. I should really bring a little tape recorder or something in the car with me because I am SO not doing his train of thought justice.

Of course, being so close to Christmas and all, he’s totally fixated on that. About 10 minutes after we had put him to bed a few nights ago, I heard him talking in his room, so I peeked in. He was singing “Santa Claus is coming to town”. Too cute. He also likes to sing it as well as Jingle Bells while he’s on the can.

Total side note: I got Ethan these toddler wipes that are just like normal baby wipes but are in a cute toddler friendly container. I got them because I’m tired of him hollering, “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY Come wipe come wipe!” from across the house because he doesn’t want to wipe his own ass. Maybe with these toddler wipes, he’ll wipe his OWN ass! Well, since we got them, he has been hopping up on the potty to poop ALL THE TIME, instead of the constant reminders we have to give him lest all the poop building up in his backside EXPLODE OUT OF HIS BUTT IN A DESPERATE BID FOR FREEDOM killing everyone in it’s wake. So this morning, I left him alone to poop per his instructions (“Leave me alone mommy. Go outside.”) and when I came back, he had left the BIGGEST MAN-SIZED POOP in the toilet that I was totally flabbergasted. He poops EVERY DAY now! HOW could he have had that much poop in him? And HOW GOD HOW could he have ever pooped it out?!! Seriously. I don’t think -I- have ever pooped that big. I’m still boggling.

We’ve had issues with Ethan behaving in school. There’s no question that the boy needs a firm hand when it comes to discipline, or he’ll take advantage of it. So while not directly, I have been playing up the whole, “Santa only brings toys to little boys that make GOOD CHOICES AND IS NICE TO THEIR FRIENDS!” aspect of it all, and while I talk, it really does seem like it’s going in one ear and out the other.

Until yesterday, he told me that Santa Claus came to his school. Fishing information out of Ethan is no easy task, let me tell you.

Ethan: Santa Claus came to my school.
Me: Really! (thinking, oh they must have had someone dress up and come in)
Ethan: Yes!
Me: What was he WEARING?
Ethan: He was wearing ALL RED! Just like my favorite color!
Me: Wow, that must have been great! Did he have his big bag of toys?
Ethan: Nooooooooo.
Me: He must have left it at home.
Ethan: Or on his SLEIGH! (the kid knows about the sleigh!!! I don’t know why I’m boggling, he’s seen the Polar Express enough times to know about it by now, but still!)
Me: How does Santa get his sleigh up in the air?
Ethan, thinking it over for a minute: With his REINDEER!!!
Me: That’s right! So what did Santa do when he was at your school?
Ethan, getting a little quieter: He watched us.
Me: He watched you?
Ethan: Mmmhmmm.
Me: Did he talk to you?
Ethan: Nope. He just watched us.
Me: Aha.

At this point, I let it drop because it is my guess that there was nobody dressing up and visiting his school.. He just knows that Santa is “watching”, and thus, this story. It’s cute, and scary all at the same time. James expressed his belief that we’re raising a conspiracy theorist who’s going to be nervous about Big Brother all the time.

He’s obviously thinking about Christmas and the presents a lot, because one night, I wrapped up the slippers (in green wrapping paper) that they’re going to get to open on Christmas eve, and set them at the top of the stairs to take down the next morning. He of course saw them and bombarded me with questions, and insisted on putting them down under the tree. DAYS later, we were in the car coming home, and in the middle of his running dialogue stated, “And it’s GREEN!” I had no idea what he was talking about, but at the same time I just KNEW he was talking about those two presents, and sure enough, next he said, “And it’s for me! And the other green one is for Jocelyn!”

Sometimes it’s hard to decide whether Christmas is better as a kid, or as an adult experiencing it with kids 🙂 Since I’m here, now, I’m going to go with the “as an adult” scenario. You know when you see something super cute, like kittens or puppies or little newborn baby bottoms or a baby horse standing for the first time and you just have to go “awwwwww!”? James always used to say that he felt it in his chin. Like if he saw something cute, he would feel the cute feeling in his chin. I never quite got that. Maybe it’s because if you go, “awwwwwwww!” and then still have that “oh it’s so adorable” frowny smile on your face, your chin does feel a little weird. Maybe that is why he pinpointed the chin as the source of all cute-adorable feelings.

Well, my chin is definitely feeling all the cuteness around here.

Happy Cute Chin Feeling!

Today’s lesson is in “HOW TO NOT GET SERVED WITH DIVORCE PAPERS:”

me: I made cookie dough today.
him: yes i saw it in the fridge.
me: i would have made the actual gingersnaps, but we were out of sugar. you have to make little balls and roll it around in sugar, and THEN bake them.
him: i remember.
me: they are ethan’s favorite!
him: he does love those gingersnaps!
me: maybe i’ll make the chocolate ones with powdered sugar next – your favorite!
him, very quickly: those are good, but they’re not my favorite.
me, very deliberately and then slightly dementedly: yes, i know they’re not your favorite. your favorites are the chocolate drop ones with frosting. but i tried to make your favorites. i made the cookies, and the frosting, but you said the frosting wasn’t right. so i made a different frosting, and still, it wasn’t the right one. so then i got your aunt’s frosting recipe that was from your grandmother and STILL you said it wasn’t right. I MADE THREE FROSTINGS FOR YOU AND NONE OF THEM WERE RIGHT AND THEN NONE OF THE COOKIES GOT EATEN EVEN THOUGH THEY ARE YOUR “FAVORITE”!
him: maybe i’ll have to track it down.
me, ignoring the previous, and quite gaily: So now, THESE are your new favorite!
him: You’re picking me a new favorite cookie?
me: Uh-huh.
him, very wisely, i might add: I see.

THE END!

This morning on the way to school, Ethan being chatty as always, inquired as to what road we were on. I usually give him a running narrative on what road we’re on, which way we’re going to turn and onto what road. He informs me to give him more information on occassion, usually by pointing out roads we’re passing and demanding, “What is THAT road mommy?” So this morning went like this:

“What road are we on now, Mommy?”

“We’re on Sutter Rd. We just left Woodwin Drive, and turned right onto Sutter Road.”

“I like Sutter Road. It’s my favorite. But I don’t like *that* road, Mommy.” (pointing at some side road)

“Ahhh.” (this is my standard response instead of saying, ‘I have no response to that.’) “Now we’re turning left onto Planbee Lane.”

“I like Planbee. It’s on the way to my school!”

“Yes, your school is on this road.”

“This road is soft Mommy.”

“Soft?” (‘Ahhh.’ didn’t seem to apply here. More info was needed.)

“Yes. It’s soft.”

“I don’t think so, I think it’s very hard.”

“When we stop, let’s feel it, Mommy.”

“Good idea.”

We pulled into his school and I dutifully crouched down and beckoned him down too. “See? It’s hard.”

He shakes his head and points out to the street. I can’t pull one over on him. He knows this isn’t the road.

“NO OUT THERE! We need to feel THAT ROAD. I think it’s soft.”

I promised him on the way home, we’d feel that road. I’ll keep you updated on it’s resistance to permanent deformation.

Read how my husband had a spat with his online husband.

“Ok Brian, you’ve got the bridge.”

So I ended my marathon of saved up Gilmore Girls the other day, and I have to say, that Alexis Bledel is just stunning, especially with the new ‘do. When she has her hair a certain way, she very reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. James came into the room, and I had to comment.

me: “Isn’t she beautiful? She sure has grown up.
him: “I wouldn’t toss her out of bed.”
me: “ME NEITHER!”
him: I’M BLOGGING THIS!”

We used to have waffles all the time. I was a waffling maven. (I still do waffle a lot, but not in the eating sense.) Since I didn’t want the kids hopped on sugar ALL the time, I enacted the Mom Rule of 2004 of jam on weekdays, syrup on weekends. Since that rule was made, the waffle making and consuming has slacked off a bit, but last Sunday, I hopped on downstairs and made waffles, AB style. It’s kind of amusing how Ethan still uses the jam/syrup determination for everything. It will be Friday and my head will be filled with thoughts of plans for the weekend, and I’ll say, “It’s Friday today Ethan, tomorrow is the weekend. You know what that means?”

No work! No school! Sleeping in! (as if) Fun things! This is where my mind goes.

“SYRUP!!!!”

The three year old mind is a one track route to SUGAR.

So. Sunday. Ethan was delighted when the wiggly squirt of syrup over his waffles made an “N”. I always drizzle some on the waffle, and then put some on the side. For some reason early on, the squirt on the side, be it syrup or ketchup or whatever condiment you care for, in our house, it has been christened a “doot”. I think because, in my desire to punctuate every action, I always made a “DOOT!” noise when I squirted it out. Thus, the doot was born. Back to the syrup at hand. Ethan discovered the “N” written there on his waffle, and there was much exclaiming and excitement. So for waffle #2, I purposely made an “E” with the syrup drizzle.

Me: “Look Ethan, what letter is that?”
Ethan: “It’s an EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”
James: “Hmmmm. Is it E for … Evan???”
Me: “SILLY DADDY! It’s an E for-
Ethan: “MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-THAN!”

Kids say the cutest things…

Dinnertime. Fish sticks and french fries.

Ethan: “Lookin’ good.”
Me: What’s lookin’ good?”
Ethan thinks for a second. “This ketchup is lookin’ good!”

Seen on the car in front of me:

STOP
Continental Drift