Mine mine mine, all mine

helping daddy pack

Last night Drew decided to help Dad pack his bag for his outing to the gym.

We didn't know he was assisting in this endeavor until Charles was getting his gym bag ready after we put Drew to bed.

Apparently, these are the items Drew thinks Daddy needs when working out:

1. A Laurie Berkner CD (so Daddy can exercise to "Pig On Her Head"?)
2. A small, pink flashlight (in case the power goes out at the gym, maybe)
3. A half-eaten chocolate-chip rice cake (a post-workout snack!)
4. A squeeze bottle of Hellman's mayonnaise (...umm...protein? carbs?)

Today, by the way, is my two-year blogaversary. In celebration, I will link to my most popular post. This post was written almost two years ago, and it's still getting comments. Yes, that's right - after TWO years, Evenflo still has not managed to simplify their Exersaucer instructions to the point where normal, non-rocket-science-space-engineer people can put them together.

Way to go...losers.

So. Speaking of things that are hard to put together, we're now in the market for a playset for our thriving young child. Yes, we got our tax return, and, as is our tradition, rather than squirreling it away in savings or putting it responsibly in a 401K or Roth IRA or some kind of college fund for Drew, we're going to spend it. All of it. Well, most of it. Who am I kidding? Probably all of it and then some.

This should be fun. Between us, Charles and I have 30 years of education, three college degrees, about 17 years of military experience and 40 years of work experience...and I'm willing to bet we won't be able to put together a playset that, according to the website, involves "Easy Setup in 4 hours estimated time when 2 adults participate in construction."

Don't worry. I'll post pictures.

flattery will get you somewhere

Drew lately has taken to referring to every food he eats as "hot", no matter what the actual temperature. Cereal, breakfast bars, Cheetos - all "hot".

So this morning, while getting ready for work, I was enticing him to be patient by telling him we would soon go downstairs and have breakfast.

"Beh-fast hawwwt," he responded.

"Breakfast won't be hot," I said. "It will be a breakfast bar."

"Bar hawwwwt."

"No, bar won't be hot."

(pause)

"Mama hawwwt."

Well, yes, come to think of it. Mama is hot. I'm a hot mama! My son said it, therefore it must be true! (yes, yes, I know cereal breakfast bars aren't actually hot even though he says they are, but that doesn't necessarily mean that everything he says is a lie. You have to consider it in context.)

Adults night out!

Yes, Charles and I got to have an adults-only night out this weekend - with beer and everything.

Oh, and Billy Joel was present, too...

He was in concert for one night only here in Greenville, and Kelly works for a TV station and managed to score some comp tickets. 14th row, on the floor. We were close enough to see him sweat.

By the way, I blatantly stole this picture from The Greenville News website, because Charles couldn't get his cell phone camera to work, but I'm giving credit and a link, so for the love of God don't sic any lawyers on me.

The guy behind us was complaining about paying $85 for tix and having to sit in a folding chair. Yeah, if I'd paid anything for the tickets, I would have complained, too. For $85, you should get a recliner with a cup rest and someone should bring beer straight to you. Oh, and the beer shouldn't cost $6.50. Yes, that's right. I was so desperate for beer that I paid $6.50. For a domestic. Needless to say, I only drank one. Mainly because I couldn't convince Charles to get up and brave the crowds to get me a second one.

We shared a babysitter with Kelly and Jeff - a 17-year-old who came highly recommended by a friend. I was apprehensive at the thought of leaving two toddlers with a teenager - I mean, I work in social services. The teenagers I see are not ones with whom I am likely to leave my child. Or even my cat, really. But then she started talking about what church she attended and a recent mission trip she went on and I didn't see any visible tattoos or piercings, so I relaxed quite a bit.

Billy Joel sounded great - just like on his CDs. Charles' favorite part was when a roadie named 'Chainsaw', sporting a huge beergut and what looked like prison tats all up and down his beefy arms, took the mic and belted out an eerily good rendition of "Highway to Hell." Now who expects Billy Joel to let one of his roadies sing AC/DC covers at his concert, I ask you?

When we got back to Kel and Jeff's house around 11:30, both kids were fast asleep in Alex's room - Alex in his crib and Drew in a pack-and-play. They were laying head-to-head, so it looked like they'd had a whispered conversation before they succumbed to sleep. Probably plotting how they could overthrow the teenager and escape to the park next door.

who says males can't communicate?

Drew's communication skills have exploded recently - I've noticed some huge leaps just in the past few days. He's gone from babbling random words to forming actual sentences, minus pronouns and, occasionally, verbs.

Some of the sentences I've heard from him in recent days: (phonetically rendered in order to demonstrate the cuteness factor)

"Mama, lock-o-lit mick, peeese". (translation: Mother, I would like some chocolate milk, please.")

"Doc say, 'fit road.'" (translation: You know that character Doc in the movie 'Cars'? He told Lightning McQueen to 'fix the road'"

"No wee-ah dig dirt. Wee-ah Keen." ("I prefer not to wear the shirt with the big dump truck on it today. I'd rather wear the shirt with the picture of Lightning McQueen - you know, the same shirt I want to wear every single day of my life.")

"Dada get lock-a-lit beh-fist bah. Now." (Daddy,  go get me one of those chocolate breakfast bars, promptly.")

Also, when he doesn't want to do something or see something, he tells it "night-night." That's sort of his universal catchphrase for "Make it go away."

As in, I tell him to eat his dinner and he responds with, "Noooo eat-eat. Eat-eat night-night!"

Or I offer him milk instead of Diet Coke, and I get, "Noooo mick. Mick night-night!"

Or when Charles tries to sing to him, we hear, "NOO DADA TING. Dada ting night-night. Mama ting", which, loosely translated, means "Daddy can't carry a tune in a bucket, but Mama's voice sounds like a choir of angels sent straight from heaven."

in my inbox this afternoon

From :	auto-confirm@amazon.com <auto-confirm@amazon.com>
Sent :	Tuesday, February 6, 2007 4:19 PM
To :	amymbrennan@hotmail.com
Subject :	Your Order with Amazon.com

Shipping estimate for these items: July 20, 2007
Delivery estimate: July 21, 2007

"Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7)" J. K. Rowling; Hardcover; $18.89 Sold by: Amazon.com --------------------------- The last one. I may cry.

the circus

On our way home from the Ringling Bros. & Barnum & Bailey Circus on Sunday, I asked our cotton-candy-coated son to tell me about his favorite part of the show.

"Was it the elephants?" I asked.

"Ummm, NO, mama!" responded my tot.

"OK then. Was it the clowns?"

"Umm...NO, mama!" Drew said with a grin.

"I know!" I said. "It was your cool clown hat...right?"

"No, mama, no."

At which point Charles breaks in with, "Was it the cute spandex-clad girls doing contortions and splits?"

"YES, Dada...YES!"

This was the actual conversation, pretty much word-for-word, and I think it explains quite a lot about, well, men in general.

Drew behaved quite magnificently during the two-hour-plus show.

He managed to scarf down a whole bag of cotton candy pretty much all by himself, with only minimal help from his dad and me.

He got amped up on approximately 5 pounds of spun sugar, which led to the inevitable crash...

He fell asleep while confetti was shooting out into the audience and clowns were singing and cavorting about and the music was blaring...I think perhaps he experienced some type of sensory overload and all his circuits shut down for a reboot.

What was really cute was when he woke up about 15 minutes into the second act, and looked about in confusion as if to say, "Holy crap, I really am at the circus! It wasn't just a dream!"

Drew gives the acrobats a big sticky thumbs-up.

Drew and Charles on the floor during the pre-show.

Drew and Alex after the show. I was kind of hoping he'd take a real nap when we got home, but no such luck. He lay down in his crib willingly enough, but spent the next hour babbling to himself about clowns and "el-pants" and "Go, Diego, Go". No, Diego wasn't at the circus - my son just has a short attention span.

Snow day!

Here in the Southern U.S.,  a "Snow Day" is any day in which any amount whatsoever of frozen precipitation falls from the sky, accumulating (or not) in any amount upon the ground.

This happens generally one day per year, typically in early February but sometimes as late as early March.

On this one day each year, 90 percent of commercial and educational enterprises in the state come to a screeching halt. The grocery stores, the night before The Big Storm, are stripped of their supplies of bread, milk and beer (the holy trinity of snow day supplies) and the one Burger King that remains open (and it's always only one) in the face of such calamity nets a profit approximately 4,763 times greater than all other days of the year, as everyone who can't seem to drive through the half-centimeter of ice on the roads to get to work finds themselves able, magically, to make the 10-mile trek to the restaurant for their morning coffee, which they forgot to buy at the grocery store the night before because they were too busy fighting over the last six-pack of Bud Light.

The last Snow Day we had occurred roughly this time last year, but Drew was too young to really appreciate it. This year, however, was another story.

Hearken back, if you will, to your childhood Snow Days. Those of you who grew up in the South will commiserate: didn't your mom, no matter how little snow there actually was, feel like you needed to wear two pairs of jeans, a jacket, a coat, a pair of mittens, two pairs of socks, snow boots and a ski mask before she'd let you outside? And then you were so bundled up that your arms stuck out at your sides so you looked like a mutant bird with broken wings and you couldn't bend your knees because of all the padding? So basically your time in the snow was spent waddling about looking like a drunk penguin?

Yeah. I would have done that to Drew, but his dad took off to work (he didn't rate a Snow Day, hahaha) in the Mercury, which contained the bag that held Drew's mittens and hat. So, yes, in these pictures, you will see my small child cavorting about in the snow with NO mittens and NO hat and only ONE pair of jeans and, if you look closely, you'll see only ONE pair of socks on his little feet. Obviously, I am neglectful.