Career Day

This morning, Pumpkin told G what he wanted to be when he grows up:

"A weather pointer."

To you and I, that's a meteorologist, but think about it...what do they do? They "point" to the weather.

It's a much more realistic (and appropriate career aspiration than last month when he wanted to be a "bad guy" or an alligator).

More posts to come when I figure out my photo issue. Apparently, I'm at my max.

A Pumpkin First: The Curse Word

When I picked Pumpkin up from school yesterday, his teacher pulled me aside and started to whisper.

Teacher: Pumpkin said a bad word today.

Me (hand to mouth in "shock" hoping it wasn't an f-bomb): What?!?

Teacher: He came up to me and told me that "Zach p'd him off."

Me (still feigning shock): Oh...

Teacher: Then he said it again. And then all the other kids started repeating, "p'd me off, p'd me off, p'd me off."

Me (surpressing a giggle): Oh...

Teacher: Maybe he heard it on a television show he shouldn't have been watching?

Me: Um, yeah. That's probably it.

I'm not advocating kids saying "pissed" but honestly, his first public curse could have been much, much worse. G and I really work hard not to curse - we usually spell it out, which has caused Pumpkin to spout random letters when he's upset. (Block tower fell down, "LRPQ!" Crayon broke, "HVBINNJ!" Dinner isn't what he anticipated, "SICPLAQ!!!")

It's hard when "pissed" and "ass" are common on just about any TV show. Back in the day, these were among the words NEVER heard on primetime outside of cable. But now, these words everywhere. Where does it stop?

You'd think he spends all day in front of the TV

Since he was born, we've really limited Pumpkin's TV time. He gets an hour on weeknights, right after dinner before bed. On the weekends, he gets a little more - maybe one kid movie on top of his dinner/bed hour. (Recent fave: Bee Movie - go figure, those bees wore clothes.)

Recently, however, P's been spouting the best in television commercials. See, even though kid content isn't on the TV, sometimes, it's just on, especially in "boy world" (i.e., the basement) where ESPN and other sports run virtually nonstop.

His three favorite:

Snuggie - Because, really, who isn't obsessed with the Snuggie. I mean, the commercial is EVERYWHERE and like it or hate it, everyone's talking about it.

P: "Mommy, you need a Snuggie. Regular blankets slip and slide. The Snuggie will let you reach for things!"

F-150 Trucks - The trucks are big and the commercials are loud and fast paced. What's not to love!

P: "Grandma, if you had an F-150, you could bring home a BIG swimming pool for me. F-150s have the greatest towing capacity in the whole world! They're the best trucks on the road!"

Capital One - The commericals are goofy, and if you're in the market for a credit card these days, you may have the mentality of a four year old.

P (over dinner): "Mommy, what's in YOUR wallet?"

Now, I'm in a marketing-related career, and I certainly enjoy hearing when the messages I've written are repeated, or someone references an event or project in which I've been involved, but it's really startling when you're own kid is spouting ad-speak and taglines.

I really just hope he doesn't start quoting from the ever-present-on-sports-content ads related to ED. Really don't know what I'd do if P started quoting from a Cia1is or Vi@gara commerical.

Land of low prices and bee coats

Pumpkin: Zach ate a bee today in school.

Me: No he didn't. There are no bees in the wintertime.

Pumpkin: Yes he did. There are bees in winter. They just wear coats.

Me: Coats? Bee coats?

Pumpkin: Yes.

Me: What kind of coats do bees wear?

Pumpkin: Red ones. Pink ones. Blue ones. Camoflague ones. Those are the kinds of bee coats.

Me: Where do bees get these "coats"?

Pumpkin: Wal-Mart.

Cookie Monster

Scene: Making cookies at my parents' house with P running in and out of the kitchen. He didn't seem too interested in what I was doing, but that was a rouse. At one point I looked over and he had his hand in a pile of cookie dough.

Me: P! What are you doing?

P: Yum!

Me: P, we're making cookies for Grandpa.

P: OK.

Look over again, and he has his hands in a lump of cookie dough.

Me: P, what are you going to tell Grandpa when he sees these mis-shapen cookies?

P: I'll tell him, "SURPRISE!!"

Turning Three

P had two third birthdays - one with just G and me, the other other with Grandma, Grandpa, and my niece. That meant two cakes.

Cake one: yellow and chocolate marble. Big "3" candle on top.

Cake two: French vanilla with buttercream icing. Bob the Builder theme. Oh yeah, and tool-shaped cookies to complete the ensemble. (Three hours to decorate this sucker - P's reaction when he first saw it? Priceless!)

His reaction, when told he had to share the Bob the Builder cake with the rest of us:

"Here's your piece, Gramma!"

We spent time at the zoo. P loved the zoo this year - the monkeys, zebras, bears, penguins (or "pay-gins"), and of course, elephants. I think we'll get a lot of mileage from the Family Membership we bought for his birthday. It's going to be a good year - happy birthday, baby boy!

Running Home

After two weeks of crying on my lap, P decided to play on his t-ball team this weekend. It only cost me a $2 bribe and promises of having "splash day" at home after the game. Luckily, P can't count coins, so I can't say for sure that he actually got $2, but he LOVED putting the money in his bank.

The best part of the game was whenever he was told to "run home." Instead of running toward his coach and home plate, he'd come running to me. That sound you hear? Yep, that's my melting heart.

Hobo Toast: A Recipe

Edited to add: recipe should be for cinnamon SUGAR. Don't forget the SUGAR. Ugh.

A few weeks ago, P was in an extraordinarily playful mood. It was nice.

When I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, he replied, "Toast."

"No problem," I said, and I took out two slices of whole grain bread and put them in the toaster.

"Wait!" P cried. "I want toast! Hobo toast!"

I stopped. "What?" I asked. "Did you just say 'hobo' toast?"

P giggled and said, "Yes. I want hobo toast."

"Fine. Hobo toast it is," I said and I frantically searched for some magical ingredients that could turn ordinary toasted bread into hobo toast. (Side note: Where the hell did he hear the word 'hobo'? And what does he think it means?)

P doesn't like peanut butter, and he's not really fond of jelly/jam/preserves. I wanted it to be somewhat healthy. What the heck could I use to make hobo toast?!

Finally, I found the perfect ingredient to transform his toast into hobo toast - cinnamon.

Behold the recipe for hobo toast, a new Chez Parentville specialty:

2 slices whole grain bread
dollop of butter/margarine
liberal sprinkle of cinnamon

Toast bread in a toaster. Spread butter/margarine. Sprinkle cinnamon. Serve warm.

Toolin' Around on a Sunday Morning

We get the Sunday paper delivered to our house. We never read the actual paper-paper (hello, recycling bin); we get the paper for the sales ads.

G takes the "boy papers" - Best Buy, Circuit City, Lowes. I take everything else. I even have a system - coupons first, followed by the stores I'll never go to (Kmart, office supply stores, furniture stores), saving the best for last (Kohl's and Target).

We sit at the kitchen table, scouring the ads for things we "need" or want. Sometimes we're just browsing, looking to see what's new and who has the best price on Diet Coke or New Balance tennis shoes.

We drink coffee and fresh juice. We eat toast and sometimes eggs and bacon. It's relaxing, and it's our little weekend thing. I actually look forward to Sundays because of this quiet time.

Now, Pumpkin has taken an interest in the Sunday paper. As soon as G brings in the paper, P starts asking for "my tool book." Pumpkin is obsessed with the Sunday Sears ad.

He removes the "extra" pages - gone are the clothes, housewares, and appliances. P is only interested in tractors, tools, and garage stuff. He skims these pages like some sort of treasure map, talking to himself under his breath, taking it all in.

Finally, he crawls into my lap and asks me to read the pages to him. Like a bedtime story, I start, "Save 100 dollars! Now only 399 dollars, Craftsman seven drawer tool chest with ball bearing drawers! On sale! Ten piece screwdriver set with free carrying case! Fourteen ninety-nine! Your choice: tape measure or tool carry-all for under seven dollars!"

When P's had enough of my reading of his tool pages, he jumps off my lap, takes his advertisement, and sits at his little table in the corner of the kitchen. He'll spend minutes (feels like hours, but I'll take the 20 minute relief where/when I can) with the ad and a pencil, making tiny marks on the images, almost like he's taking notes.

We have to save his "tool book" for the entire week. P comes back to it almost every night, pondering the images, "reading" it to himself. When the next Sunday's ad arrives, the old one is discarded. And the cycle continues...

We're going on our first family vacation later this year (first trip that doesn't involve visiting family, friends, or our alma mater), and my parents recently sent a package for P to be opened on the plane when he gets antsy. It's a 200-page Craftsman tool catalogue. P will LOVE it!

P's Catch Phrase

Scene: Family sitting around kitchen table, eating breakfast.

G: I think I'm going to mulch the flower beds today.

Me: (in my best mocking voice - since I've been asking him to do this for WEEKS, hands pumping in the air, just like P does when he's super excited) Oh boy, oh boy!

Pumpkin: Mommy, that's my line. Only I say that.

G: You were schooled.

Put in my place by a two year old. Nice.

Scenes from a Saturday: Princes and Pimps

Scene: I'm getting dressed in my bedroom; G is dressing Pumpkin in the nursery. Suddenly, Pumpkin comes running down the hall, wearing a diaper and a blanket wrapped around his mid section.

P: Mommy, I'm a princess.

(I can hear G groan.)

Me: Pumpkin, little boys are princes... I mean, more than one prince...I mean, you are a prince.

P: (confused)

Me: Mommies and little girls are princesses. Boys and daddies are prince-es, well, you're a prince. Let's turn that blankie into a prince cape.

P: (running back to G) I'm a prince! I have a cape!

Me to G: Ever realize that the plural of prince sounds like princess?
______________________________________________________
Scene 2: Watching the movie, Cars. Pumpkin points to something on the screen during one of the racing scenes.

P: Mommy, what's that?

Me: That's a blimp. It flies in the sky like an airplane, usually around sporting events.

P (turning to G who just walked into the room): Daddy, it's a pimp! A pimp! Pimps like sports.

He Can Barely Say "Emergency," Let Alone Comprehend One

We don't allow P to watch a lot of TV. He gets to watch a show or two after dinner, before bath time, and we're very particular about what shows he's allowed to watch. "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" and "Handy Manny" are fine, for example.

I'm a huge fan of Disney. Heck, I was raised on it. My favorite movies are still Disney animated classics. I love that P loves Playhouse Disney. Playhouse Disney is wholesome, family-oriented, and fun - or so I thought.

Almost every night, P will beg for "just 10 more mim-ets" and we'll usually compromise with five minutes. Sometimes we fill that void, if he's been particularly good, with a TiVo'd episode of "Lou and Lou Safety Patrol," a Playhouse Disney short cartoon.

Last night may have been the last time we watch "Lou and Lou." The episode was called "Get Ready! Get Set! Emergency!" and I assumed it was like all the other "Lou and Lou" shows, focusing on teaching kids to do the right thing.

This episode was different. There were no "safety violations" but instead explicit instructions for preparing for a disaster. Mom is filling water bottles and storing them in a plastic tote. Lou and Lou ask her if she's thirsty. She replies the water is, "just in case" and part of the family emergency supply kit.

A flashlight, radio, batteries, first aid kit, and non perishable food items (in case "we can't use the stove") are gathered. Lou and Lou gather their own necessities for their backpacks in case they need to leave home in a hurry. Even the dog collects his bone in has bag. Lou and Lou even encourage kids to "talk to your parents about what you need for your emergency kit."

At the end of the episode, P crawled into my lap and said, "Why they need water and food, mommy? They go camping?"

P is not even three years old. He gets scared whenever "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" features the giant. He's innocent - and I want to keep him that way.

I know today's world is different than the one in which I grew up. But preparing for an emergency - terrorism or natural disaster - is not something my child, my baby, needs to worry about.

I would like to give the creators and writes of "Lou and Lou" a safety violation of my own for that episode. It's one thing to teach a lesson, but it's another thing to call out things a child doesn't need to know about or understand. There will be plenty of time for P to worry about things like emergency preparedness - but not until later, much later.

Shame on you, Lou and Lou. Shame on you, Disney.

Filling in for Daddy this Morning...

I stood in the dining room, gathering my keys, Blackberry, laptop bag, and purse (am I a pack mule?). "Bye, Pumpkin," I called into the kitchen where he sat eating "hobo toast" (aka cinnamon toast).

"Bye bye, Mommy! I wuv woo!" he called back.

"Bye, G!" I called in to the kitchen. "Love you!"

Silence.

"See you, G!" I called again.

"Bye, Honey Bunny!" Pumpkin called in a deep voice (well, "deep" for a toddler), using G's nickname for me.

Since G stepped into the garage, I guess Pumpkin thought he'd fill in for his daddy.

Where Bon Bons Play on the Sunny Beach of Peppermint Bay

(I'm all about song lyrics as titles this week.)

Pumpkin had a valentine's party at school yesterday. I sent him off with 17 tractor-themed valentines and a package of string cheese, our contribution to the party spread.

I was not prepared for the glut of sugary goodness that Pumpkin brought home.

I love me some chocolate. I might even be an addict. I'm okay with that. I'm not okay with stuffing my 2.5 year old with HoHos, a pound of kisses, Reese's cups, Tootsie Rolls, Hersey bars, seven bags of M&Ms, and more. The loot filled an entire mixing bowl. Seriously, are parents feeding their kids this crap?

I don't deprive Pumpkin of tasty, bad-for-you treats like French fries or cookies or candies. But, I dole them out in small doses. As treats. Even on V-Day, I didn't think to buy this stuff for Pumpkin.

So, this morning for breakfast, Pumpkin told me he wanted "candy." I explained we don't eat candy for breakfast and he cried. (He gave up when he realized that he wasn't going to get chocolate for breakfast.) Now I have to figure out what to do with all this stuff before I eat it all.

Have you ever been annoyed/overwhelmed/dismayed by what other parents think is acceptable? Am I depriving Pumpkin by being really selective about when/how much candy he eats? Most importantly, how do I get rid of the candy without resorting to eating it all?

No "P" in P's Alphabet

Alternative title: How many times can I say "potty" in this entry?

So Pumpkin is potty training. School's trying to get him to use the potty, and we're trying to get him to use the potty at home.

A year ago, Pumpkin was totally into the potty. In fact, we bought him one, two, three potties since it was so interesting to him. Then it happened.

Pumpkin was sitting on his blue potty before bathtime, and WHIZ! He started peeing. Since he hates the boy cup on the potty, he shot clear across the room.

"I leak! I leak!" he said.

Suddenly, Pumpkin was not interested in the potty.

Fast forward a year. Pumpkin refuses to pee in the potty - "it's icky," he says. But #2, yeah we got that covered. He's 2'd in the potty all week. His teachers can't believe that he's jumping to "Advanced Potty-ing" without any interest in the remedial class (a.k.a. "Just pee already").

What to do?

Gone With the (Pumpkin) Wind

It's a bit windy here in St. Louis.

Case in point:

As Pumpkin and G were leaving school this evening, hubby had to manually shut the daycare door as a gust of wind nearly took it off the hinges. At the same time, Pumpkin kept getting further and further away from him . . . closer and closer to the parking lot.

"Pumpkin, stop! Come back here," G called. "Seriously, Pumpkin, stop and come here. Stop!"

"I can't stop, daddy! Save me!" Pumpkin called as he nearly blew across the parking lot.

Probably the Worst Location for a Business Trip

I'm in the process of visiting all the properties owned by a new client. Last week was Dallas; tomorrow I leave for the Poconos; next week Cleveland and Mason, Ohio. Travel goes on through early March.

Tonight I told Pumpkin where I was going and asked him to repeat it. "Pick-a-nose," he answered proudly.

Yep, lucky me, tomorrow I go to Pick-a-nose, Pennsylvania. Jealous?

We're officially in the "why" stage

A snippet of a conversation with a toddler:

"More Mickey Mouse, please," Pumpkin requested.

"No, baby, it's time to go upstairs and take a bath," I answered.

"Why?"

"Because you're dirty."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't take a bath last night."

"Why?"

"Because you have dry skin like Mommy, and it's better to have a bath every other day."

"Why?"

"So your skin doesn't dry out."

"Why?"

"That's how we're made."

"Why?"

"Just 'cause. Now let's get some water in a sippy cup."

"Why?"

"Because you'll want some in the middle of the night."

"Why?"

"Because you'll be thirsty."

"Why?"

"Because you sleep with your mouth open."

"Why?"

"Pumpkin, I don't know. Let's go upstairs to take a bath."

"Why?"

"Haven't we already talked about this? You're dirty."

"Why?"

And...the circle of conversation is complete.

Going to jail beats a roadtrip with Mommy

I've spent the last two weekends roadtripping with Pumpkin. Six hours (each way) in a car, alone, with a toddler. Feel free to have me committed.

After about 30 miles of singing a combination of "Bob the Builder" and "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" tunes, Pumpkin became unhinged just as my cell phone was ringing with an important call from Workplace.

By the end of the three minute phone call, Pumpkin was crying LOUDLY and begging to go home. We were coming up to a county jail, visible from the interstate.

"Pumpkin, if you don't stop crying, I might have to take you to jail," I threatened. (And with that, I officially forfeit my right to being named this year's Mother of the Year.)

The tears stopped. The backseat was quiet. "Jail?" he asked.

"Jail," I replied.

"Yea! I go jail! I go jail! I go jail!" he started singing.

Apparently, jail sounds better to a two year old than the prospect of being stuck in the car with a crazy woman who can't carry a tune. Go figure.

"I go bapple pickin'!"

Pumpkin and I spent last weekend visiting family. We also went apple picking with my parents. And we picked, and picked, and picked. Two hundred and fifty pounds of apples later, Pumpkin's first experience with apple picking was over.

Here's the thing about my parents: number one, they don't do anything small. If we're going apple picking, we're going apple picking and that means not leaving until every apple is picked. Number two, if Pumpkin likes something, they will go to no end to make sure he has what he wants. Yep, he's not spoiled or anything. Turns out, they gave him some homemade chunky applesauce the week before. Pumpkin loved it, so the 'rents needed to make more, "because he really likes it."

Pumpkin and I didn't take any of the apples with us, and he really wanted an apple when we got home a few days later. "Bapple? I no bapples," he told me.

"OK, let's go get some. I need to get milk too," I said.

"We go bapple pickin'?!" he asked excitedly.

"No, it's raining. I thought we'd just go to the store."

"Nevermind. I eat cookies."

"Mommy, I'm going to taste this bapple before I put it in the basket." There were about a dozen apples with little teeth marks in our baskets.