The little things

Sometimes all you need is the little things. Not a whole lot of muss and fuss. Not a lot of words, or a mish-mash of metaphors, none of the bells and whistles, special effects or elaborate plans.
When was the last time your kids told you they could not have fun if you didn't take them on an expensive, pre-packaged vacation?



Or "No mama, we don't wanna go outside today." I didn't think so. :)

A picture is worth a thousand words.



A blog post with two words is better than holding out for the perfect alignment of pictures, writing flow and camera-ready moments, cause as we all know, when do those really happen? I mean really.

Sometimes, you just gotta let the little ones drive the boat.



Then one day a miracle will happen. They will say "I don't wanna watch T.V today. Wanna do work on the 'puter." And pigs ain't flyin' either.

Next thing you know, they're doing laundry. Unprompted. :)

Some days, all it takes is an old blanket and 4 cupcakes on your lawn for the perfect picnic.



The little things.

It ain't over till the stuffed sheep 'baas'...

...Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! I have been on a hiatus and I have missed you. but I have been enjoying the holiday season with my little men, and I tell you what, Christmas from their wee perspectives is all too special. The highlight of the season for Monkey Boy was the Christmas tree lights and for Numero Uno son - the plugging in the lights into the socket - which of course, he was forbidden to do, but did with aplomb, anyway.

But both of them just adored the singing (or rather 'baaing') stuffed sheep ornament I bought from Target years ago, for Numero Uno son's first Christmas. You press his stomach and he baas 'We wish you a merry Christmas.' So of course we would sojourn to the tree at least twice a day and listen to him, baaing encore after encore while the boys rocked out. And I do mean MAJOR dancing - until weary, I was able to drag them away. And after it all - get this- Monkey Boy would actually say 'Yay!' and clap his chubby little hands. A standing ovation for the singing sheep! I can take it, the cuteness of those boys. Now those are the memories holidays are made of.

Mazeltov! pp

Wuss, much?

I have been busy with work and life in general. But I am back and fiercer than ever, so fear not. :-)

Now to the business at hand. Numero Uno son, just turned three - pride and joy of my heart and possible, WUSS? Sigh. He is immensely popular in school, loved by every teacher and pupil it seems, but he just appears to be extremely socially anxious - at three! Isn't three the age when you're supposed to be equal parts rambunctious and carefree and totally oblivious to people and what they think? I mean I noticed he seemed a little sensitive for a rough and tumble little boy, talking about 'hurt feelings' and 'feeling sad', but I just chalked it down to his being expressive. Then there was that time at a birthday party at 'My Gym', when they were all supposed to say their name and run around the circle by way of introduction and I literally held my breath for at least one minute, so anxious was my son, this wonderful little sweet boy. He was literally in tears, nervous - nay petrified- he so wanted to do this intro thingy - I mean, which young boy doesn't just love running around and being the center of attention? I watched him battle within himself, biting his nails as his turn reached closer and closer, and when he turned around and his eyes met mine, I almost cried with him. I had a smile plastered firmly on my lips, but inside I was yelling 'Go on Numero Uno Son! Mama's right here with you!' And I half stood up, ready to grab his hand and do the lap with him, should his resolve fail. Yes, this Mama goes all out for hers. But he did it! And I have never been so proud, because I knew what he was feeling, and I felt it right along with him. So my husband and I discussed it that night - was Numero Uno a wuss or was it because he wasn't familiar with the surroundings, the parents there, the kids?

Fast forward to our vacay at Dreams (which I highly recommend by the way) in Punta Cana over Thanksgiving. They had the most awesome kids program EVER. With a sunken pirate ship, tons of activities, excursions etc. So great - I would have gladly been a kid for a day just to participate. Numero Uno Son lasted 5 minutes. Literally. I watched him hidden from his view, after I dropped him off, contentedly building a sandcastle, when all of a sudden he flung down his shovel and little pail and threw himself wailing into Ms. Malinda's arms. No clue as to what set him off. But he would not set foot in the club again for the duration of our vacation. He did agree after much pleading to take a picture in front of the club - that was his concession. So yes, he is a wuss. The daughter I never had maybe? :-)

Earth Mother, pp

Tea parties

It's not just for little girls. At least not at our house, since those -little girls, that is- seem to be in short supply. Dear Hubby took us for a lovely 'spot o' tea' at Tea on the Tiber in historic Ellicott City. It's so weird how when you live so close to something, you never really bother to check it out, you know? I was so glad we did go here though. They usually cater to the 7 years and older crowd, but Hubby convinced them to make an exception for Numero Uno son. Of course he proceeded to charm all the staff and behaved quite well, considering. Who says 'soaking up culture' always has to be about museums? I am a firm believer in allowing my kids to travel as I travel and experience what I experience, as long as it is not inappropriate.

It was actually quite charming - everything from the old mansion, our own personal space in the library, fine china place settings for all three of us, the petit fours, fruit, scones and clotted cream, incredibly tiny yet yummy crustless sandwiches, oolong pomegranate tea, chai cream tea, etc etc. We totally pigged out and still could not finish all three tiers. But we came close. And at $25 a person, it was a steal.

I don't want no trouble with the Law, Officer...

A picture is worth a thousand words. Ah, how I love these boys...

All Grown...

We are all grown up. Numero Uno turned three last weekend, Monkey boy turned 9 months that same week and I, mother of these two am well, maturing. Finally. I stuck to my guns and had a luau themed low-key production at our gym with just ten invited guests. I completely ignored the list of 18 (yes 18) kids that his teacher proffered and invited (discreetly) just his closest pals. Bad momma, I know. Nothing personal, but there is a recession, you know? And I did those parents a favor. Because who really wants to drag their child at the most inconvenient time (nap time) to yet another 3 year old bash? Exactly. Plus it was raining and hailing outside. My just styled hair went limp immediately and I did not even have a minute to apply lip gloss or change my shirt before the event. I arrived there 5 minutes after my first guests (darn those super-punctual parents) and the guest of honor arrived at least ten minutes after with his Daddy and Monkey boy. Half of our balloon arrangements got missing (it's a long story), the 'party coordinators' (Ha!) acted like they had never thrown a party for anyone before and it was each parent for themselves and their children. Hey, don't look at me lady, I paid to just show up, so there. It was a chaotic mix of scooter riding, bowling pin throwing, duckduckgoose playing three year old mess. My dear husband acted like the last place he wanted to be was at his son's party because -get this - he was tired. Well, bite me. The cake was pushed on its face by Numero Uno son and he blew out his candle before we even started singing happy birthday. But guess what? I did not freak out. I was not suicidal. I will even throw a big birthday party for Monkey Boys first. A really big, tacky, over the top one, with face painting and entertainers. See, we are all 'growed' up. :)

Like fine wine, pp

PradaPrincipal, interrupted

I was going to have a glamorous pradalicious weekend. This was ordained, because, you see - I deserve it. My husband deserves it. I mean, with two little ones, let's face it - after a while it's hard to find each time for each other, or indeed, even finding each other becomes an egg hunt of sorts. Because one (or both of you) are in opposite sides of the house, hiding from the kids, or watching your shows, or just having 'me' time. So 'us time' gets lost in the shuffle often. Well, Friday night was going to be a nice adult night to do nice adult things. Like go to a premiere. Yes, it was for a Nollywood* movie, but a premiere by any other name...



It was nice to actually think about what I was going to wear. I asked my hubby what the dress code was, and of course he said "jeans and a shirt", which is manspeak for "dunno, didn't ask." Ah, men. Gotta love 'em, bless their uncomplicated souls. So, the fashion wheels started turning - I had to put together something that would not be too dressy, just in case it was a more casual affair and nothing too ' hithereIjustrolledouttabedtocometothisevent' looking. I decided on a black mini DVF wool dress with 3/4 sleeves, purple over-the-knee cashmere socks, black Maryjane shoes, with three or four silver and oxidized chunky silver bracelets and cuffs. Add hoops and a big, bold purple flower pin and I was good to go. I am currently wearing my hair in a chin length bob, so I was just going to sweep it to the side with a couple of barrettes/ hair pins by good ol' 'Goody'. And Viola! Premiere here we come.



Except life happened. And it was Nanny's week off and she actually had plans - I know, who knew, right? And could not be cajoled - nay, threatened :) into staying Friday night and leaving Saturday morning. So, yeah. I watched 'The Game' (fabulous yet underrated show by the way) upstairs in my jammies and hubby watched {insert some political show here} downstairs. Deja vu? Oui. As well as tres pathetic, while we're being honest.



The next day we all (MB, Numero Uno, PP, hubby) went to the Smithsonian to catch the Jim Henson 'Sesame Street/Muppet exhibit and the 'National Air and Space' Museum. I know, how fabulous are we?

Prada's postscript: To be honest, the sesame street exhibit was a bit of a snooze for me and numero uno son - except where they got to make 'puppet faces' and have their own puppet show. But the NASM rocked. I was all giddy with excitement and so was NU son. It was no premiere, but it was fun!

Living the life, :-) pp



*Nigerian Hollywood = Nollywood

Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Monkey Boy?

I am. Very much so. In a' pee in my pants', immature kind of way. The phenomenon known as MB crawls at the speed of light now - in this bizarre, sitting yet crawling, crab-like manner. So weird that I am fascinated by it and I sit there staring and bam! he's tugging at my pants leg or hair (depending on if I'm sitting on the floor or standing) or necklace, or earrings (ouch) and with a vise like grip hoisting himself up. Yes, the MB doth stand. On bow legged but sturdy legs. I actually thought he would be one of those babies that didn't crawl and just got up and walked. Cause from like four months, he would try to 'stand' and yell bloody murder if you dared try to sit him down. The result is that we might have a very bow legged little boy (it's true, not just an old wife's tale - a doctor confirmed this, so there) . And/or some kind of gymnast on our hands. He does these perfect little (unintentional) splits when he's been standing for too long and cannot for the life of him figure out how to sit down. Sometimes I just watch him. Just out of pure malice. Gotcha Monkeylicious. That'll teach you to be so freakishly strong. Which he is. His bites (with just two of the most impossibly teeny teeth you have ever seen in your life) actually bring tears to his Daddy's eyes. Numero Uno son is already telling on MB for wresting a lollipop from him. {Side note: How does an eight month old best a three year old in a 'snatch and grab' fight? I say MB won it fair and square. Go ahead then, boy.} I pride myself on training my babies to sleep in their cribs by three/four months of age. With MB? You guessed it - he has broken me. You can hear his bellows through closed doors and without a monitor. And our rooms are not that close. But gosh darn it, how I love that MB. (In spite of all the abuse.) But I am totally scared of the child.

Jes' like Bisquick...

Numero Uno Son turns three later next month. Yay on the one hand, as it means good bye to the terrible twos (right?) and hello to three year old 'maturity'. Ha. On the other hand, I have been stressed out trying to plan the 'perfect three year old party', because from what I understand, three is when they actually get it. Everyone knows the all out one year old bash, is for the parents, and since Numero Uno's second birthday was nothing more than a balloon, cupcakes and pizza in school, I figured that this year I'd do something a little special - especially since he has been badgering me about getting him the purple 'mustache' (mustang) car we saw in B.J's for his birthday present. Never mind that he barely drives the one he has now. But it is my fault, in a way. Everything he asks for, "I'll get it for him on his birthday." The trouble here is that I have a toddler with the memory of an elephant. So come his birthday, I might have to take out a loan or something.

I was thinking a fire engine theme - an ode to his love of all things 'auto' with flashing lights and I found out that the Fire museum actually hosts parties - how cool would that be for three year old boys? For the girls, maybe not so much. Or you could have the party at home and have the fire truck swing by your house! Even cooler! But I am determined not to be stuck with three year old debris/ after party fall out, so outsourcing it is. Luckily in 2008, there are more options than ever. 'My Gym' (to which he belongs) - is like 'Gymboree' only better, IMHO, complete with games and everything. All you have to do is bring Pizza, juice boxes and presto - Par-tay! Or our gym - which totally rocks (check it out http://www.lifetimefitness.com/ - you will love it, if you actually like, go.) Same deal as 'My Gym', but even better - with swimming, obstacle courses, scooters - even rock climbing for older kids. And they provide the pizza and juice boxes! I tell ya, 'jes like Bisquick, them parties.'

But when I was googling 'birthday parties for three year old boys' I came across this site 'birthayswithoutpressure' and I was like ' How sad that anyone would need this', until I realised that um.. okay, that 'anyone' included me. Why am I putting pressure on myself to throw NU son this party that he could probably care less about? How about just having a simple party at home with three or four of his pals, a cake pizza, sun chips and ice cream and call it a day? Then of course buy him his beloved mustang. End of story. Me and all moms of his buddies would breathe a sigh of relief - cause really, who needs to attend yet another scintillating toddler party? Not me, not after this summer. So why inflict his on others? a) Because I am a glutton for punishment and masochistic at the same time, b) Because I want to show people and my son that I really truly love him, c) Cause I have 'working moms guilt' and this is in part, penance, d) I am lazy and do not want to move a muscle or use a brain cell. I think a bit of all of the above actually, but if I had to choose one, then (d) would be it. Oh and I would pay a fortune just to get out of small talk with some of those Moms. Mm hmm, you know the ones, right? Shudder.

So I have purged myself and I am suitably ashamed and chastised. But I can't promise you I will be baking a cake and making my own pinata just yet though. Not this year. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

the party planning, pp

Chatterbox

My Numero Uno son talks up a storm. He started speaking early, and not just baby babble, but good (though far from perfect) adult English. This is probably due to the fact that we kept the 'baby talk' to a minimum once we realised he understood what we were saying. So his speech is very 'proper' as one of my friends puts it. Even though he has been talking for a while now, once in a while I still look at him in wonder. Is that you, baby? With all those tiny little teeth, and a point of view and everything. Sample question: "Why did you cry in school today?" Answer: "Because I need my Mommy. (accusingly) You leave me, that's why." How cute is that? The fact that he always adds the "that's why" to end of his explanation kills me every time, I tell ya. Or, "Why won't you go to bed?" "because there's a dragon in my room, that's why." Don't you just die? Or is it a personal Mommy thing? Whatever it is, I am determined to nourish it. And with him in the "what's this? why?" oh so cute but undeniably tiring phase, this book by Jamie Lee Curtis seems like it would be perfect - and something he would undoubtedly grow into. It's called 'Big Words for little People' and it explains words that we adults use (without thinking, most times) in a way that kids can relate to. Too, too adorable. And with purpose too. Can't beat it - will be buying it for sure.

Books rule, pp

Paris.

view of Eiffel from hotel room

Yes, we are back from the fabulous city. Food in Paris was a bust. I just had to get that off my chest. The one meal I enjoyed cost an ungodly amount of money that I just don't feel comfortable 'fessing up to spending. Ye gods! I have honestly never, ever, had food that bad. And it's not like I don't like French food. Au Contraire, I actually adore it. Well, when it's seasoned and cooked right. So I deducted mucho points from Paris, as everyone that knows me has to know that I take my 'manger', tres serious. I had never been so happy to see a McDonalds in my entire life (we came across one near the hotel) I was this close to kissing the floor. For real.

But food aside, Paris was great. And everything was just a little bit nicer than I thought it would be. Parisians are less rude and snobbish than in the yesteryear, not everyone (in fact very few) were decked out in head to toe haute couture(lol) and everyone wears jeans now. It was a laid back, nice fab vacation. Well, not really laid back for us, obviously, with two little boys - one of whom had decided he was potty trained days before the trip and so would NOT under any circumstances pee in his 'pull ups' on the plane or anywhere else for that matter (even though I begged him to at one point) to this mothers' consternation and extreme annoyance. I mean, picture me- exhausted, bleary eyed at some ungodly hour, running down the narrow plane aisle to get Numero Uno to the stinky, cramped plane loo, while he's crying hysterically that "Poo-poo's coming, Mama!". Of course we get there, and nada. Just a few miserable drops of pee. All this after almost dislocating my arm to prevent him from falling down the cavernous, stinky toilet bowl. Now rewind and picture this twenty or so more times during the same flight. Exactement. I am grateful the boy is (finally) potty trained, don't get me wrong, but dear Lord, where is a nanny when you need one? I know, I'm a bad Momma. :-)

The boys (en Paris), having a laugh at our expense

But this picture of Numero Uno staring out his hotel room window, soaking up the culture, made all his hassling almost seem worth it. Almost.

Mom of the Year, pp

All Purses Go to Heaven

Do I love my children more than anyone (or thing) in the world? Yes. Do I love my awesome collection of purses as well? Yes Ma'am. I have always loved pocket books. Big ones, little ones, fat ones, thin ones, patent ones, leather ones, canvas ones, woven ones, All purses go to heaven in my world, except imitation/fake ones, which I simply detest. I just think they cheapen your whole outfit as they are never well made anyway. But I digress.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away when I was a lowly program coordinator in an NGO, I got laid off and decided to invest part of my severance in something that I would always have. Enter my white gorgeous limited edition coach purse. Before the days when every teeny bopper was sporting a coach wristlet, Coach was actually a well respected pocketbook to have. Besides, the leather ones last forever.

So I treasured my bag and cleaned it lovingly with my special leather cleaner after each stint and pacedk it away in its dust bag every time. I used this pocket book for 5 years without incident until - you guessed it - the 'Numero Uno 'monster got a hold of it. "Butterfly" He says, gesturing for me to see his latest work of art. Only one problem, it's ALL OVER MY COACH BAG!!!! In blue ink that I will never get off. Front and back. Oh. I. Have.No.Words. Just, Oh no.
distraught, pp

Room mates

Growing up in a house with five siblings has left me with an undeniable respect for privacy and personal space. Don't get me wrong - we were never on top of each other or anything like that, but there were long stretches of time where I invariably shared a room and thus could never really do with my space what I wanted. Thus, it has been somewhat of a priority for me, to give our little tenants as much space as they each can handle. But just here and now, with a live-in nanny and a guestroom that might as well have a revolving door, it ain't happening. So Monkeyboy and 'Numero Uno' Son are sharing a room {:-(}, albeit a large one. But with a Thomas the tank toddler bed, sleigh crib, armoire, dresser/changing table and rocking chair, not to mention architecturally impossible angles, it's a bit of a squeeze. I was at a loss as to how to decorate their room without each losing their own little personality. thank God they're both boys. I just went with allocation a side of the room to each, with the rocking chair area being a central spot and making MB's stuff a pale shade of green that wouldn't look too bad with NU's soft blue. And that has worked for us, until I got my latest issue of 'Cookie'. It is filled with so many tidbits about 'shared space' that I have been dreaming about headboards and beanbags. But alas MB is only 6 months old, so i will embrace patience as a virtue. :(

the decorating, pp

Target Wonderland

Target be rocking, yo. You know the one about the lady who went into Target to buy some gum and then ended up spending $100? No? Oh, you know what? That's just my story. I went into Target to get a few of their ridiculously cheap 'Osh Kosh' shorts for my boys - Numero Uno who is now going down in pant sizes from a size 3T to 2T, and monkeyboy who is growing rapidly, wearing his teensy tiny, but oh so cute 6M shorts. I learned the hard way not to pay $20 for anything for babies under 18 months. So armed with this noble mission and full of purpose and financial prudence, I am bewildered to find myself at the checkout counter with not only a cart full of shorts for both munchkins, a travel comfort set (blanket, pillow and eye mask), cause I just know that soon we will be bringing our own seats,to travel on airplanes, mark my words. Two sets of hot wheels cars (Numero Uno is a car fiend and Aunty Carmen's grandson would appreciate them too, right?), a pair of incredibly cute 4th of July flipflops, for ONE Dollar. Stickers, T shirts (on sale for $1.49) - I Love this Mr, Grumpy one. More T shirts. Toddler underwear with Thomas the Tank on them. Hoping and praying that Numero Uno would respect the train and not pee on them until Mama is able to get proper training pants. Um, nope. But they were just $4 for a pack of 3. Ridiculously cute 'faux crocs' for MB. $6.99. But you know any footwear in that size is insanely adorable. All told for a whopping $60. Before you judge me, I challenge you to try spending just $10 at a Target - let me put a caveat there, a good Target. The crappy oes you just wanna get in and out. Virtually impossible though, in a clean, brightly lit Target such as mine. And when you think of all the things I could have gotten ( organic shopping totes, lotions and potions from the 'Boots' line, those delicious soda- seltzers from Target's 'Archer Farms' and every other yummy or in trend or so affordable-why-not? thing), but didn't, I really am disciplined. No, really.

The ever so prudent pp

Cut Throat

I love contests and competition. On the surface, I may seem a little cool and laid back, but I will go for your jugular at a baby shower to win the coveted bag full of sickly sweet diaper shaped soaps, feeding bottle candles and jelly beans all done up in gauze. Believe that, Ma. I dunno, but winning is just great and I am good at word scrambles and finding hidden minuscule baby combs in curtain patterns, so I usually win those. So this is why I need to win this contest and a free giveaway on sleep deprivation hosted on this cool blog, aptly titled 'coolmomsrule'. All I have to do is answer a few questions, which suits me just fine as I LOVE to talk about myself. (You'd never guess, right? :-)) So here goes...

Well, today we are giving away a copy of Sleep Deprived No More here on Cool Moms Rule! And here's what you have to do to:
Win it!Link to this post on your blog, and then comment here with your link. If you don't have a blog you can still win! Just leave a comment.

Here's what I want to know:

When was the last time you had 8+ hours of sleep?



October 27 2005 - the night I left the hospital with my first son. I was smart, I knew in advance to enjoy my time in the hospital and NOT have him room in with me. Trust me, he'll have more than enough time to room in with you, so sleep while you can!



If your child sleeps through the night, what routine worked for you?



That's exactly it - 'routine' works for us. he knows the drill, after his bath and food, there is computer time or story time or TV time and cuddle time, prayers, chocolate milk night cap and bed. Some nights there are tears and the occasional 3 am wake up, but they are far and few between and it's always back to bed.



On really bad nights, Mama is not above using good old fashioned bribery, with whatever is the 'thing' of the month.



If you are a struggling, sleep-walking zombie of a Mom, I want to hear about that, too.



I thought I was sleep deprived before number 2 son came along, but I cackle hysterically at the notion now. I have accepted the fact that I will not be sleeping 8 hours until at least four, five years in the future and I'm okay with that. Not because I am this great mom, but because, well, sleep is overrated. I'd rather be watching 'Flavor of love' at 2 am anyway. Call me crazy...



Share your tips and tribulations below in your comment for a chance to win Sleep Deprived No More!Last Day to Enter: Thursday, June 5, 2008Winners Announced: Friday, June 6, 2008

Travel Torture Chamber

Travelling with two children could be a new form of torture. Easily. Add cramped seats and no pillows or blankets to the mix and it is literally, hell. This is why I would happily kiss the printing press that Cookie is produced on. It is the best, hippest and one of the truly useful magazines for modern mamas out there, if you've never heard of this literary phenom before. Once you get past the Prada dresses for children, they actually do cater to regular people. Well, kinda.

This months' mag is packed with useful articles, like the 'anatomy of a trip' which gives handy tips from national caregiver directories to sending bulk baby items ahead. (babiestravellite.com). I also appreciated the heads up on cool family vacation spots where the kids are treated like royalty and parents actually get to have a vacation, without it being a noisy, chaotic kids fiesta like some Holiday Inns turn out to be. That kind of environment can really suck the joy out of your vacation, like being in one giant daycare, if you know what I mean. Even if breakfast is free.

Filed under 'why didn't I come up with that idea?' www.babiesplay.com is a toy rental online site where toys are vetted for lead poisoning and recalls and sent to your home for a nominal monthly membership fee. Like Netflix meets Toysrus. I like it!

toodles, pp

Chasing Fireflies

If I were a rich girl, nananananananana*...I would shop EXCLUSIVELY at chasing fireflies. Or maybe I'd shop there regardless if I had a little girl. I mean, I have two adorable boys and I shop there - not exclusively, but more than I should. You see, while I love my Old Navy/Gap staples (any mom with a kid in preschool knows how well they hold up to the 'play doh' and paint) I cannot resist a saucy T-shirt, or this pair of 'dragon appliqued' pants. Let's face it, this is the only time when he'll be able to wear those and get away with it, so I'm going for it. Yes, the prices are a bit steep (sometimes even when they're on sale) but they hold up SO well, are totally adorable and unique and I promise you, you'll never see any other kid in them.
That's why if I was a rich girl (nananananananana), I would live in this saucy, lime green, glorious tutu. And sleep in this disgustingly fabulous bed. Yes, I totally would.

*Sung by Gwen Stephanie, Butchered By Prada Principal

Potty Mouth

Bad words. Like s--t and st--id and 'shut up'. That's the phase we're in now - 'numero uno' son and I. It is a constant battle between us, made all the more difficult because he is, afterall only repeating what Mark* says. And as long as he prefaces it with "Mama, Mark said {insert expletive here). Bad word!", I am supposed to be okay with it. I mean, he is merely acting in his capacity as an objective journalist, providing verbatim quotes, but not really saying the 'bad words', right? Wrong, buddy.

I on the other hand, am trying to find the delicate balance of letting him know those words are not acceptable in our house, and from his mouth in any house for that matter, without getting too excited, as that would invariably have the same effect as making him say them even more, just to get a reaction from me. Sigh. Being an adult and a parent can be so tiresome. Why my kid has to be be BFFs with Mr. Potty Mouth is beyond me. So, does washing one's mouth out with soap and water really work?

* name changed to protect tots identity.

Speaking of mouths, (I know, clever segue) the good folks at 'Let's Dish' are offering a free - yes free - dinner for all new (even repeat) moms from May 4th to the 11th in honor of Mothers Day. I love free stuff and I love 'Let's Dish'! My hubby and I went to the Columbia location last year and had a blast. Plus we came away with meals for weeks and weeks. Delish and cost effective, which always works for me... (P>S. Not sure if they are only based in Maryland, but you could check the website and/or facebook page to find out.)

toodles, PP

Bribing Toddlers and all that good stuff...

We all do it, so don't judge me. Since I'm home on waiting on this 'phantom baby', I have the privilege of 'drop off' and 'pick up' duty of the little prince to/from preschool. Inevitably he cries. But only when 'Mama' is dropping him off. When Daddy drops him off (which is 98% of the time), he is stoic and happy and a regular 'little mr. sunshine'. I don't get it - is it some kind of unspoken male code not to cry in front of each other, even when one is say, two years old? Or is it because he sees me for like 1.5 hours a day (when I am working) that he feels separation anxiety more? I think so, and that's not an easy one to swallow, as an already guilty mom, so hence the bribes. Yesterday it was the promise of a new 'choo-choo', which he forgot about, today it was a pack of construction stickers slipped into his chubby hand as he wiped his face with the other. I just love my little man so much, don't wanna see him cry! I mean. who could resist that face???? Soooo, the bribes will continue 'until morale improves.' Gotta love parenting, no?