Weaponry

Cubby did not have a good morning this morning.  I don't know if it's the remains of the cold he's still dealing with, or a bad night's sleep, or just general cussedness, but there were many fits and tantrums and tears.

The morning can probably best be illustrated by the episode in which he was reduced to hysterical tears for a good ten minutes (which were, of course, not good AT ALL) when he continued to shoot at me with the Oklahoma piece from his United States puzzle (admittedly gun-shaped, though I never noticed the resemblance until today) despite a warning that I would take it if he kept doing that*.  He did, so I did.

Yes, I have been reduced to confiscating Oklahoma from my toddler for inappropriate use of a puzzle piece.  Super.

I can only hope he wakes up from his nap with a better attitude.  He's not getting that stupid puzzle back, that much I know.

* Keeping him from pretending every blessed thing is a gun would be a futile endeavor, but I refuse to be menaced by vacuum cleaner attachments or his recorder all the livelong day.  Which is exactly what would happen if I didn't enforce the rule that pretend shooting at me results in real confiscation.  And it still happens every day.  I will never fully understand this innate boy thing.  I just find it irritating.

I Took Some Pictures on Thanksgiving

Because it would be a shame to waste a day in which we were all clean and dressed respectably.

Happy Friday, duckies.

Fine Family Fun

There is no denying that Cubby is a challenging child.  He's scary-smart--scary because he remembers every single thing you ever do or say and will tell you in no uncertain terms if you say something wrong or do something he doesn't think is right--incredibly high energy, very articulate and vocal (translation: he never stops talking), aggressive and physical, and just the tiniest bit stubborn (translation: kid's a damn mule).

I love him dearly, but he wears me out on a daily basis.

Luckily for him, he also entertains me on a daily basis.  Like the other day when I was making dinner and he came clomping into the kitchen in this outfit:

This child is nothing less than awesome, am I right?

I guessed correctly that he was going hunting.  He then informed me that he was going hunting for deer with his .22.  I remarked that the necklaces were an interesting accessory to his hunting outfit.  He explained that the necklaces were so the other hunters wouldn't think he was a deer and shoot him.

No arguing with that logic.

Wearing Charlie

I'm just gonna come right out and say this: I am not a fan of baby-wearing.

Baby-wearing, for those of you who are possibly not as immersed in All Things Child as I am, means strapping the kid to you like some kind of marsupial and hauling it around on your very body.  As opposed to a stroller or something.

It hurts me.  Literally, I mean. Carrying around an extra 16 pounds of dead weight hanging on my shoulders means that my muscles are always sore. But I do it because I have that other child who requires a lot of outside time and must be followed around constantly.  And now it's cold, so to keep Charlie warm, he needs my body heat.

Luckily, I bought this awesome L.L. Bean wool coat at the thrift store last winter that mostly zips up around both me and Charlie.

And makes me appear perpetually pregnant.

Charlie, unsurprisingly, is a big fan of this arrangement.  He very, very rarely cries when he's strapped to me, and in fact usually falls asleep.

When he hasn't been mainlining caffeinated milk, apparently.  That's one wide-awake child.

And so I will wear him, all the while dreaming of the day I have two fully bipedal children.  That will be a happy day, indeed.

Shut It, Fortune Cookie

We went to the Chinese buffet for lunch today.  Know what my fortune cookie said?

"Come back later . . . I am sleeping, (yes, cookies need their sleep, too)"

I did not find this entirely amusing, considering my chronic sleep deprivation.  So I ate the stupid cookie in retaliation.  Serves it right.

In related news, Charlie ate about two tablespoons of yogurt today.  At Charlie's four-month check-up, the doctor was all, "No hurry in giving solids to a breastfed baby."  And I was all, "A breastfed baby who is as big as his nine-month-old cousin and isn't sleeping more than two hours at a time at night is getting solid food."

But I only said it in my head.

The doctor also reminded me to start with rice cereal and then progress to the orange vegetables.  I nodded, all the while intending to start Charlie with yogurt, just as I did with Cubby, who is probably the best eater in the almost-three-year-old category that I have ever encountered.  Why mess with success, right?

So everyone cross your fingers that getting some solid food encourages Charlie to maybe make it four whole hours without waking up at night.

An exhausted mother can only hope.

Oh, the Horror

I can't believe that I have let a Thanksgiving pass without consuming a single roll.  It's tragic.

Tragic in a totally made-up, drama queen way, of course.

See, the MiL's sister makes these crescent rolls for every single holiday.  They're some kind of overnight risen thing.  I don't know how they're made, and I don't really care.  All I know is I could eat the whole basket by myself and consider my meal complete.

But this year I wasn't sitting at the table with the basket of rolls in residence.  I was out on the porch with the kiddie table.  And my own kiddie, of course.  Someone brought out the basket of rolls and passed them around.  I took one, tore it in half and gave one half to Cubby.  Then I shoveled in my dinner while trying to placate Charlie, who was not so happy because it was approaching his bedtime.

Then Cubby asked for another roll, so I gave him the other half still on my plate.  And I never got another, because shortly after making sure everyone in the family got their pie fix (with brownies for me, because I don't do pie), we had to race home before there was a complete baby-related meltdown.

And so, my Thanksgiving was entirely roll-free.

FAILURE.

We're going to my sister's house for Christmas again, which means I have to wait until Easter now to get another shot at the rolls.  And that makes me very, very sad.

How was your Thanksgiving, duckies?  What's your favorite food to consume in mass quantities?

Make of It What You Will

Whether Thanksgiving for you is a day of serious reflection on the good things in your life or just a day in which you get to eat large amounts of desserts (the two are related, in my case), I hope you have a good one.

Happy Thanksgiving, poppets.