The ultimate motivator.

Kids will do a lot for a piece of candy corn.

 

As it turns out, dogs will, too.

Hold the cheese.

Audra, who didn't smile for the first year of her life, has recently become rather agreeable when it comes to taking pictures. The trick? Teaching her to say "CHEESE!" whenever I need her to smile for a photo. She loves it. And she belts it out at the top of her lungs like it's her job, which is fine by me. I'm not going to deter a kid who's willing to work, even if she's loud enough to interrupt phone conversations two towns over.

We took the kids to the Children's Museum on Saturday afternoon, and in typical mamarazzi fashion, I spent the better part trying to capture their fun on my iPhone. Expecting nothing but more "CHEESE!" from Audra, I crouched down with my phone to take a picture of my big girl carefully navigating the steps on her own — a newly acquired skill.

But I did not get "CHEESE!" I got this blurry picture:

and a stern "NO CHEESE! NO. CHEESE. MAMA!"

Well, okay then. Guess I'll be resorting to Cal's preferred method of photographic bribery (candy corn) sooner than I thought.

Lessons in gifting.

Alternate title: Calvin's Fourth Birthday
Alternate title: Why Spend Money on a Bike When a Free Rubber Snake Will Do?

This is the first year Calvin has been old/interested enough to play with other neighborhood kids. Which is both a good and bad thing (more on that later). But the other kids all have bikes, so we thought his fourth birthday would be the perfect opportunity to purchase the best.gift.ever: a big-kid bike! Who wouldn't love getting a bike for their birthday??

My kid.

Of course.

To be fair, it's not that he didn't love it. I think he does love it...sort of...but he's in this phase where anything he can't do/can't do well frustrates him. And since he's never had a bike before...well, it frustrates him.

Here's the look on his face when he opened his "bike hat."

And when Nate rolled his bike around the corner.

I would describe his reaction to the bike as apprehensive. He liked it, he wanted to do it, but he just wasn't sure. I think his first ride up and down the alley lasted all of five minutes.

And then he asked to go back inside to his snake.

Forget the $$$ bike that Nate spent a couple hours putting together. He preferred the teeny, tiny rubber snake that came inside a bucket of used ocean animals I got for $4 at a consignment sale. (Why was there a rubber snake in a bucket of ocean animals? I don't know! Why was there a DOG in there? Or a hippo? Clearly these people did not invest the same amount of time I did into preparing toys for consignment.)

We told him it was a water snake, because that seemed a kinder, more logical explanation than "some mommies aren't as obsessive/compulsive or as good at organization as your mommy."

Ahem.

I am so happy he had a great birthday and loved his gifts. Even if he loved the ones that erroneously found their way into a stranger's bucket more than those that were lovingly selected and shipped and assembled and hidden away by his parents.

 

 Love my big four year old!

Accessory.

Like any well-dressed woman, Audra knows the secret to looking good is accessorizing.

Eh, we'll keep working on it.

The Poopsmith Song.

Ever heard it? It's by Over the Rhine and it goes a little something like this:

Not on your arm
Not on your leg
Not in the toast
Not in the eggs
Not on the carpet
Nor the linoleum
Just how'd your little brother get it smeared all over him?

Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty

Not on your brother
Not on your sis
Not on any family member, you might wanna make a list

Not on the plants
Not in your hair
Not on the porch
No, we do not want to share

Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty

Not on the swing
Not on the slide
Not while we're spinnin' on a carnival ride
Not on the window
Not on the wall
No more surprises on the light switch down the hall

Hey!

Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty
Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty

Not in the yard
You're on your honor
Don't go gettin' no ideas from the neighbors weimereiner

Poop in the potty, poop goes in the potty...

It's actually quite catchy. We listen to it once in a while in the car — it's on a great CD I have called For the Kids Three. I love that it very clearly states where poop goes...and does not go.

If only they'd worked in a line about fences.

Thumbs down, indeed.

Fair people.

There is no people watching better than state fair people watching. Crazy hair, unflattering clothes, dirty kids. Upper thigh tattoos of tiger cubs nestled in a patch of grass.

You know, the usual.

I always assumed those people looked like that year-round. Until I looked at my own family on our way out the door to the fair.

Calvin was wearing a mismatched outfit, too-small shoes, and too-short shorts, because he likes to dress himself now. Nate was wearing a blue golf polo with his yellow and black gym shoes because comfort is important when you're walking that much. Audra was wearing a sunhat about eight sizes too small because I left her other one at school. And I was wearing a skirt. With tennis shoes. Because...well, I have no flipping idea.

Obviously this is the fair's fault. The fair made me think it was acceptable to dress up like a tennis player and allow my children to go out in public looking homeless. The fair made me eat kettle corn and mini donuts and cheese fries and a turkey sandwich and a sno cone. The fair, darnit, turned ME into someone for other people to watch.

So, new theory. The fair turns normal people into fair people. All those folks with crazy hair and upper thigh tattoos? Yeah, I'll bet they probably spend the other 364 days of the year well-coiffed and dressed in J.Crew. 

Mom. Seriously. The hat. Get it off.

Kettle C(K?)orn!

Kettle C(K?)orn in the back of a tractor!

Mini donuts!

Giant slide!

We have NEVER seen him more excited. He was jumping up and down yelling "YES! YESSS!" when I took this picture.

Post-slide high!

Crazy hair resulting from too-small hat!

Sno Cones!

Diggers and kid!

Diggers and kids!

Fair people! (A keeper for sure)

I need a hero.

I'm not sure there will ever be another picture of these two that makes me laugh as hard as these do.

A star is born.

Not so much. Thankfully. Although that sure would have made for a memorable night.

And yes, I know. I've never looked lovelier. Thank heavens for one-size-fits-all stretchy white polyester.


And Calvin? Well, he was the sweetest pageant star of them all.


Even though he refused to pose for a single picture with me.


At least we were able to capture the true spirit of the event: A bunch of tired working moms in garland crowns trying to wrangle a bunch of ornery candle-wielding preschoolers while singing Twinkle Twinkle Christmas Star.


Dying to know how that one goes? Well, let me fill you in.

Twinkle twinkle Christmas star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the manger so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Guiding wise men on their way
To where baby Jesus lay

We all did pretty well, until we got to "guiding wise men..." At that point it kind of fell apart. Luckily, Calvin and I did some serious practicing beforehand and were able to carry it for the rest of the bunch.

Based on our stellar performance, as well as the number of moms I saw dressed up as angels (the next class up), I fear this won't be our last mother/son pageant appearance.

At least next year the robe might fit a little better.

Racket.

I don't think I ever posted this before, but last year Calvin had his first school photo taken.

Yes, that's right. They start school photos at age one now. Who knew? I didn't. Frankly, I was kind of appalled. And I certainly had no plans to purchase them, because that's just plain ridiculous. But that was before I saw this masterpiece:


Crazy hair? Check.
Bruises on side of face? Check.
Scar on his upper lip from falling head-first out of a play house? Check.
Beloved playmate in hand? Check.
One year old sitting on a pile of fake leather-bound volumes? Check.

$50 later, this sucker was mine.

This year, I wondered what kind of hilarity school photos had in store for us. Whenever I take out my camera, Calvin says "NO PICTURES" and runs away. Also, he's even more attached to his bear and its head doesn't look nearly as nice (or clean) as it did a year ago.

Imagine my surprise when I was presented with this truly adorable shot of my two-year-old at photo pick-up last night:


$50 later...

Yes, taking school pictures of children who are not yet school aged and then presenting them to their tired parents at the end of the work day along with a list of insanely inflated prices that are good for ONE DAY ONLY could be considered a bit of a racket.

But darn it's hard to put a price on cute.

A modern classic.

Last night before bed, Calvin starting singing Jesus Loves Me for the first time by himself. It was precious. That is, until he got to the middle.

"Jesus wuv me this. I. know. Bible tell me so. Wittle wuns to beeeeeyond!"

Um, what?

I asked him to sing it again with the same results, only this time when he got to the "to beeeeeyond!" part, he pumped his little arm up in the air.

Ohhhhhhhh.

He was singing the Buzz Lightyear version of Jesus Loves Me. Of course.

Thank you, Disney-Pixar.

Counting our blessings.

There's been quite a bit of biting in Calvin's daycare classroom since he started in mid-September. He's bitten three times, and he's been bitten twice. While I'm still deeply disturbed/upset/frustrated by this behavior, last week I gained a bit of perspective on the whole thing.

On Friday we got an incident report saying Calvin bit another child, and an accident report saying Calvin was bit by another child.

The incident report said: Calvin bit another child in a struggle over a book after the bookmobile came.

The accident report said: Calvin was bitten on the face while trying to give another child a hug.

So it seems I have an affectionate bookworm on my hands.

It could definitely be worse, my friends. Much, much worse.

Slingback.

I think he walks better in heels than I do.

Ice Ice Baby.

I think I might have pica. But not the dirt/paper/paint eating variety.

I eat ice. A lot of it.

I like it (need it?) so much that I often find myself grabbing ice cubes out of my — and occasionally, Nate's — glass. For me, having a significant amount of ice in my glass is darned near as important as liking the beverage that comes along with it. And when there's not enough in mine...well, I steal his. Isn't sharing what marriage is all about?

Truth be told, I never thought much of my ice eating/stealing habit until Nate gave me a stern lecture on social graces. Apparently it's gross to stick your hand in a glass of water, and even grosser when it's not yours. Especially in public.

Huh.

I still do it, of course. Just not in front of him. Or in restaurants.

But I guess I've done it in front of Calvin a time or two, because last night he crawled up on my lap, stuck his hand in my water, and fished out an ice cube. He stuck the first one in his mouth, then pulled out a second one and promptly put it down the front of my shirt. I shrieked, he cracked up, and my glass of water was quickly moved out of reach.

Not sure who taught him that funny little trick, but I have my guesses...