Little. Brown. Stick.

In honor of Ree the Pioneer Woman judging over at i Heart Faces this week, I've decided to publish this post inspired by her that I wrote months ago but have been hesitant to share for fear it might offend some readers (how's that for a run-on sentence?!). Please let this serve as both warning and apology to my more sensitive readers: Over the next few days this blog will feature more mature than usual content, not that I won't be my same goofy childish self, just that several of the next few posts will contain adult humor. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this Ree-inspired, never-before-published post from my archives...

This post was inspired by a blogger most of you are probably familiar with: Ree of Pioneer Woman fame. (She was recently named one of Time Magazine's Top 25 Blogs!) I was cruising around her archives and found this hidden little gem. It's an audio recording of her youngest son mispronouncing a request for a juice bag. Hilarious - definitely worth a listen. Go ahead - check it out. I'll wait...

Welcome back. Now, here's the little Beast's version of dirty mispronunciation {Warning for those of you who don't appreciate adult humor - this might strike you as inappropriate, sorry!}

The little Beast is always collecting odd, useless little objects he finds outside, like buttons and rocks and pinecones. The other day at the park, it was a stick, and when he dropped it and couldn't find it again, he became a little bit frantic. Here's a couple short video clips of him whining to me about helping him look for it. See if you can catch what he actually says when he means to say "little brown stick":




What words do your kids hilariously mispronounce?!


Though this isn't a video about emotion, it is technically a vlog, so I'm submitting it over at Fort Thompson as part of their Vlogemotions carnival. I think the concern and disappointment the little Beast is feeling is evident in the clips, even if he can't yet verbalize his emotions!

Casualties of Naptime War

Naptime for the little Beast is always a struggle. Some days he falls asleep after a short round of whining and resistance. Other days, we fight it out for hours -with me usually ending up the loser. I just don't have the skills or energy to counter and defeat the litte Beast's guerilla tactics. I "lock" him in his room, he screams, kicks the walls and door, and totally destroys his bedroom. Here are some photos to illustrate just how outmatched I am in this battle:


Yes, he's crying. Because he got scolded. But you'll stop feeling sorry for him by the end of this post, I promise...






Had enough?! Me too, but the little Beast is not done yet!


Just look at that smug little smirk on his face! He knows he's winning!


Dude. You're three feet tall. How did you manage to mess up the curtains?!?!

And last but not least - The Great Diaper Disaster:

(Check out the full story of this photo - and my favorite naptime mess EVER - at this previous post.)

Anyway, these are just the battles I have photos of. I could bore you for hours with my naptime war stories, like the time the little Beast took off his own dirty diaper and used its contents to redecorate his bedroom. Ugh! Lately he's been escalating his offensive and I think it's probably about time I waved the white flag of surrender. But, boy, does it ever rankle being bested by a two year old! Grrrr...


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

On Refriction

When my cousin Scott was about 4 years old, he got into trouble for crossing the street to visit the neighbor girl without permission. As punishment, his parents put him on restriction from playing with the neighbors for the rest of the day. A little while after the law was laid down, his neighborhood playmate came outside and yelled across the road for him to come over and play. He hollered back:

"I can't, I'm on refriction."

"I don't know what it is, but I'm on it!"

It's a classic story in our family, and it makes me laugh everytime I remember it. Scott was - and is - a funny guy. (Luckily, his fashion sense has improved since childhood):

What is my point? you ask.

Well, I am punishing myself with a temporary blog "refriction" for the next few days, so that I can get a handle on my real-life responsibilities. Oh, I'll still log on now and then to respond to your comments and visit my followers, but there will be no What the @%*#?! Wednesday or Photostory Friday this week.

While I'm away, feel free to browse my Best of Beauty and the little Beast collection, and of course, enter my A Work of Heart Giveaway for a chance - or five - to win a gorgeous piece of jewelry!

Take care and I'll see you around the blogosphere very soon!

Got Milk?

The other day while driving in the car with his grandma, the little Beast spotted some cows standing in a muddy, flooded field, which led to an interesting conversation I'd love to share with you.

The little Beast said: "Those cows is standing in milk, gramma."

Grandma replied: "No, that's mud buddy. Cows don't stand in milk, they make it."

Beast: confused silence.

Grandma: "Do you know where milk comes from?"

Beast: "From my frigerator."

Grandma: "Yes, but where does mommy get the milk to put in the refrigerator?"

Beast: "From store!"

Grandma: "But where does the store get the milk?"

Beast: Thinks for a moment: "I don't know!"

Grandma: "From those cows on the farm!"

Beast: "Ooooo-oh."

Grandma: "And where does Beauty get her milk?"

Beast: "From mom's shirt!!"

Which reminds me of another story. When the little Beast was a baby, his then 4-year old cousin Ms. Smartypants, was fascinated with the concept of breastfeeding. She gave it a lot of thought. One day she announced to the family that she knew why women had two breasts:

One side for hot milk, and the other side for cold!

I love the way their cute little brains work. What are some of the funny things your kids have said?


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Damn. You. Dora.

So this will come as no surprise to my regular readers, but in addition to being wild, crazy, destructive and aggressive, the little Beast is, above all things, L-O-U-D! I mean, grit-your-teeth, clench-your-fists, make-your-ears-bleed noisy. I have been trying to teach him volume control for weeks. We encourage the "inside voice", give timeouts when he wakes his sister with his yelling, even the occassional spanking when the shrieking gets out of control. But all my hardwork is undone every morning at 10:30, when Dora the Explorer takes over our lives.

There are tons of things that annoy me about Dora: her squeaky, nasally voice; her stupid, stuck-in-my-head-all-day songs, that meanypants Swiper. But nothing on television, not the violence of SpongeBob or the bizarre freakiness of Yo! Gabba Gabba, bothers me as much as the top-of-the-lungs call-and-response of Dora. Every episode, over and over again, she tells viewers "Say. It. Louder!" And the little Beast is more than happy to comply, to the misfortune of my poor ears and short thread of patience. The show is only 20 minutes long, but 4 minutes into it, I'm ready to reach into the television and squeeze Dora until her ginormous head explodes!

So, this is it. No more Dora in this house. EVER. Not even if it is the only show on television when Publisher's ClearingHouse shows up with a ten million dollar check for me if I could just distract my kid long enough to sign it. No thanks. You can keep your ten million dollars. We are "Done. With. Dora!" Consider this your official notice, Nickelodeon, we are BOYCOTTING Dora until you teach her to use her inside voice!

If you've got something to vent or complain about, head over to Mama Loco's and link up!



*photo property of www.doratheexplorertvshow.com

What the %@*#?! Wednesday, Part 4

One of the things that drives me crazy about my little Beast is his predilection for putting his feet places that they don't belong. He loves to put them on my face when I'm changing his diaper (yes, he's still in diapers. I know, I know!) And they always find their way onto the kitchen table during meals (Ewww!). He hooks them like fingers around the knobs on our kitchen drawers in order to climb onto the countertops and stand barefoot browsing through the cupboards. And he even uses them as utensils, as seen at this recent post:

But the thing he most loves to do with his dirty, nasty porkchop feet is put them on his baby sister. Here is a photo montage of just a few of the many, many times I've caught him rubbing his stinky piggy toes on my poor Beauty's face:





Do you notice the smirk of devilish glee he wears while torturing Beauty this way? Seriously, what the %@*#?! Can't he just keep his feet to himself?



If you liked this post, check out my past editions of What the %@*#?! Wednesday here, here and here!

What the %@*#? Wednesday, 2nd Edition

There are hundreds of dollars worth of toys in this house. Toys that light up, talk, sing, roll, bounce; toys that even drive themselves. I'm beginning to think we've wasted every hard-earned penny spent at Toys 'R' Us. The little Beast would rather play with arbitrary, decidedly non-toylike items he finds around the house (like this). Case in point - I left the little Beast alone for a nap, and this is what he did instead of sleeping.


What the %$*#?! Yes, those are diapers. A LOT of diapers. In a mix of types and sizes, which made it a pretty difficult mess to pick up. Oh well... at least they were clean.

My Big Fat Accomplishment

I picked up the little Beast's usual gourmet lunch at the Golden Arches today. Yeah, that's right, I'm a stellar mom when it comes to balanced nutrition (a multi-vitamin and a Pediasure count, right?) Anyway, as we were pulling away from the drive-through window, I handed him his Happy Meal toy over the back of my seat. Thrilled beyond measure with the cheap hunk of plastic that would shortly be lost and forgotten amongst the other debris stuffed under the backseat, he cheerfully exclaimed, "Thanks, mom! I so proud you!"

Wow! After 2 years, 5 months, and 10 days of exhausting, exasperating, unceasing hard work on his behalf, the little Beast FINALLY offered some measure of gratitude and praise. For what? For handing him a 25 cent toy that came with the artery-clogging meal that I bought, rather than made, and served in the car. Well done, mama, well done.

What the %@*#? Wednesday

Over the weekend, my dear husband (DH) spotted the little Beast chewing something while glancing around furtively. "What are you eating?", he asked. The little Beast offered the standard toddler response to that question, which is to clamp one's mouth tightly shut and paste the most wide-eyed, innocent look one can muster onto his face. Not fooled for a second, DH pried open the little Beast's jaws and fished this out:


"What IS that?" you ask? Ummmmm.... yeaaaah, THAT is the rubber cap that's supposed to cover the bolt that holds our toilet to the bathroom floor!


What the %@*#? Look how filthy that bolt is! Why would he choose to seek out the dirtiest, most germ-ridden object in our entire house and suck on it? I'd like to be a fly on the wall of his brain for one day, just to get some idea of how his thought processes work!

Tune in next week for another fun installment of What the %@*#? Wednesday!

Glue On a Dog

The other day I left the little Beast unattended in a room with my sister's dog. In a few short minutes, our evil genius managed to let the dog out of her crate, find and open a bottle of Elmer's school glue, and squirt said glue all over said dog. Of course, I reprimanded him, but he was probably confused by my laughing demand that he re-enact the moment so I could capture it on camera for all of you. And here it is:


the Re-enactment

Beauty's Revenge

Writing about our weekend incident at the mall started me thinking about all the other times my children have thrown up on me. The little Beast was a reflux baby, so for more than a year he regularly showered us with regurgitated milk. When Beauty came along, she was thankfully reflux-free, but did go through a short phase of projectile vomiting. One afternoon, I was walking her around trying to soothe her as she fussed. As usual, the little Beast was underfoot tugging at my pant leg to get my attention. Suddenly, Beauty exploded vomit all over the little Beast's head and upturned faced. My dear husband scooped up our screaming son and ran for the bathroom while I, being the exceptionally compassionate mother I am, hollered after him, "Don't clean him up yet - I need to get my camera!" I laughed all the way to the bathroom thinking that the little Beast had finally gotten a little taste (literally, ugh!) of his own medicine! Anyway, here is that disgusting moment captured for posterity:

Sorry About the Mess

It started out as a good weekend. After church today, we stopped by the mall so that I could spend a gift certificate. JCPenney was having a grand opening celebration so we headed there first. It was really nice, everything spanking new and sparkling. At least until we got there.

We hadn't been in the store 10 minutes when the little Beast defiled their pristine floors with a couple hundred gallons of vomit. And I just happened to be holding him at the time, so me, him and the shiny new floor were covered in puke. Of course, he had to lose it directly in front of an entrance and a checkout station, so that we could ensure the largest possible audience. Even worse, we were 2 steps from a table full of celebratory cupcakes, and I'm sure the nasty smell was doing nothing for the appetites of Penney's patrons. To top it all off, I hadn't packed a change of clothes in the diaper bag, so I had to strip the little Beast and myself down to our undershirts and stuff our stinky wet clothes into a a plastic shopping sack I begged from a disgruntled and disgusted employee. I won't be showing my face in that store again for a loooooongtime. I got out of there as fast as I could, but it was definitely one of my more embarrassing moments.
(Don't worry - the little Beast is doing okay. Sleeping soundly thanks to a little bit of Tylenol.)

My Kids Will Sleep Anywhere.

Beauty Defeats Darth Vader

Asleep at the wheel

Tattletale!

Not long ago, the little Beast was struggling to fit an arm into the nose hole on his Mr. Potatohead without success. Frustrated, he threw the toy to the ground and growled, "Daaammit!".

Shocked, I asked him "What did you say?"

He repeated it clear as a bell. I tried to stay disapproving, but could barely hold back laughter. I said, "Go tell Dad what you said."

I followed him into the kitchen where he repeated the curse to Dad. Dad asked, "Where did you learn that word?"

I thought for sure he was going to blame Dad or Auntie or some character on television, but no. Without a second's hesitation, the little Beast pointed an accusing finger at me and said matter-of-factly, "From Mommy."

Oops. Busted by a two-year old.

I Can Count!

Even before the little Beast was old enough to speak, my mother and sister were trying to teach him to say "peace out dog" instead of goodbye. A few months ago their dedication finally paid off. Kind of. When departing, the little Beast now awkwardly holds up a random number of fingers and shouts out "two dogs", I guess because that's the number of fingers he thinks he's holding up. What a goofball!

Yogurt Facial.

Can't leave him alone for a second.

Attempted Fratricide

The day before yesterday, I made the little Beast some apple streudel toast for breakfast. He really liked it. When he ate the first bite, he said "Mmmm, Mmmmm, I love it!" I left him alone with the toast to go make my own breakfast. Moments later, he came running into the kitchen exclaiming, "Her got it out, her got it out!" I asked, "She got what out?" He took my hand and led me into the playroom where Beauty was lying on the floor, a big wad of toast next to her head. I asked the little Beast, "Did you put that in her mouth?" He responded proudly, "Yeah! And her got it out!" I guess he liked the toast so much, he couldn't resist sharing it with his 4-month-old sister. Thankfully, she managed to spit it out before she could choke on it. And the little beast is lucky he didn't choke on the knuckle sandwich I almost gave him to wash down his toast!

You Better Be Good For Goodness' Sake

Another couple of funnies from the mouth of Miss SmartyPants. She really started to question the extent of Santa's authority this past Christmas. She was very concerned about her status on Santa's list, which led to some pretty funny convos with her mommy. Here are two examples:

One evening, Miss SmartyPants was being Miss SmartyMouth. Mommy warned Miss SP that talking back might land her in hot water with Santa, and reminded her that Santa can see everything she does and hear everything she says. Miss SP shut her mouth momentarily, then spouted off, "Does he know what I'm thinking?"

Another evening during bathtime, Miss SmartyPants was acting up. Mommy SmartyPants warned that Santa was watching and might put Miss SP on his naughty list for her bad behavior. This was very upsetting to Miss SmartyPants so she settled right down. A moment later she asked, "Mommy can I whisper something to you?" (presumably so that Santa couldn't hear). She whispered into mommy's ear, "If Santa writes my name on the naughty list, do you think he'll put it in permanent marker?"

Let the Euphemisms Begin!

The other day I was changing the little Beast's diaper while talking on the phone with my sister. The little Beast reached down and started tugging and pulling on things that dangle "down there". He kept trying to interrupt my phone conversation to ask, "What these?" but I kept shushing him, telling him, "Not now, Mommy's on the phone." In truth, I didn't want to answer the question at all, especially since everything I learned in 7th Grade Health class had suddenly evaded the grasp of my memory. For the life of me, I could not remember the scientific term for the body part he was presently squeezing and squashing. I asked my sister desperately, "What should I tell him?" but she couldn't hear me over her own hysterical laughter. The Beast's questioning became louder and more insistent, flustering me until I snapped out, "They're your balls!" Oops, perhaps not the best answer, but it did at least shut him up. The Beast was quiet for a moment, considering my answer as he tilted his head to carefully study the appendage in question. Then he straightened up and announced brightly, "Yeah! They my footballs!"

Big Thoughts for a Little Thinker

I have a 6-year old cousin we'll call Miss SmartyPants. She is the sweetest, most precocious child I've ever known. She will surely make many appearances on this blog because of the funny things she says. Here is a favorite of mine:

One day while driving in the car, Miss SmartyPants' mommy was telling a story about her own childhood. This led to the following conversation:

Miss SP: Where was I when you were a little girl, mom?
Mommy: You weren't born yet.
Miss SP: I know, but where was I?
Mommy: I don't know.
Miss SP: (quietly) Heavens?
Mommy: Yes, I guess we start and end in Heaven.
Miss SP: Do you take an airplane to Heavens?
Mommy: No, the angels come and take you after you die. They take your soul.
Miss SP: Do you hang upside down?
Mommy: (really baffled, trying to figure her line of reasoning) No, honey, why would you hang upside down?
Miss SP: Well, if the angels take you by your soles, you'd be upside down, right?!?