"That's Not Food!"

Alex's two year appointment looms on the horizon, and I am anxious for the developmental questions.  I remember at Andy's two year appointment, they asked me if he could stack six blocks.  To which I immediately thought, "Blocks!  Damn!  Blocks!  I FORGOT ALL ABOUT BLOCKS."  I answered, tentatively, yes, and then shuttled Andy back home where I managed to dig up six blocks and command him to stack them.  Which, thankfully, he could, otherwise I would have had to live with a huge lie weighing on my conscious. The nurses are totally going to ask me about Alex's speech.  At fifteen months, they asked me how many words he could string together.  The answer to that riddle was zero.  Capital Z, Zero.  Nothing.  Now, at almost two years old, Alex says words, but only one at a time, unless you count "all done," which I'm pretty sure Alex considers to be one compound word.  Alldone. The thing is, Alex's one word has lately ...

Andy had his last day of three year old preschool yesterday, and with that we slammed shut another chapter of their young lives. Since I am switching Andy to another preschool next year (per Andy's request, as my number one personality trait seems to be "caves to the whim of a three year old"), we will no longer be hanging at the local park district two days a week.  And since Alex will also be in two year old preschool, my youngest buddy and I will no longer do those park district things we did while Andy was in class.  No more kids' "museum," no more parent-tot gym class, no more nonsensically riding the elevator up, dropping two handfuls of dried cranberries all over the elevator carpeting, and then holding hands and slowly taking the stairs back down. It's enough to choke this mommy up a little. But, instead of getting all teary-eyed about the transition of things, I'm trying instead to focus on how wonderful I intend for this summer will be....

When I quit my job to stay home with my kids, I lamented that we'd be giving up my income.  To this lamentation, everyone seemed to have the same response:  "Why don't you take in a couple kids and run a day care?"  This question is posed as if it's a no-brainer.  Why WOULDN'T I want to take in some strange kids and be stuck in my house all day and be responsible for the safety and entertainment and disciplining of a group of toddlers?  Why wouldn't I want to divide my attention between my own kids and somebody else's?  Why wouldn't I want to wipe not just two asses but perhaps four asses or five asses or A SEEMINGLY INFINITE NUMBER OF ASSES?  Why wouldn't I want to basically eradicate all the joy of being home with my two sons by ruining it with other children? Seriously, I'd probably rather just go back to an office job and stick my kids in a proper daycare. Flash forward to one week ago.  Lately Chris and I have been blowing through ...

1.  Cash is fine. 2.  I definitely want to sleep in.  This is hopefully a no-brainer, sweet husband of mine, but that means that once you get the kids downstairs, you also have to make sure to lock the child gate at the top of the stairs so they can't sneak up after you fall asleep on the couch.  Lock the gate. For God's sake.  And my bedroom door.  And maybe don't forget to feed them breakfast.  Andy likes anything with sugar in it. 3.  It would be nice to not have to change a single diaper or wipe any butts, but I know that's probably not super realistic.  So how about I'm just off duty for anything explosive.  That seems fair, right? 4.  I really don't want to clean anything, either.  But that doesn't mean that things should just go without being cleaned for the day.  Please clean in a satisfactory manner.  Sweep after every meal so we don't get ants.  You have to sweep pretty much right away, even as yo...

I put Alex's high chair in the basement last week.  Wait a minute, I don't have a basement.  I put Alex's high chair under the stairs last week, wedging that damn thing in and creating a tight, Tetris like fit between the chair, the vacuum cleaner, and one small box of shoes.  Now nothing else will fit in the basement, I mean under-the-stair-nook, and so the next baby-item Alex outgrows will simply have to be repurposed into some sort of functional piece of furniture that can just remain out in the house.  I'm looking at you, diaper changing table that will soon be my wine and potato chip rack. My little boy, sans high chair, looking infuriatingly adorable. Alex outgrew the high chair a month or two ago, screeching at even the sight of it and always running full speed to one of the actual chairs whenever I announced that a meal was ready.  He had decided himself that the high chair is for babies, and he is no longer a baby.  He is a big boy just like...