Ketching Up

A couple of weeks ago I came home from class....wait, let me back up. A couple of months ago my sister sent the kids this great cardboard play house. It has little windows and a door that open, it's tall enough for Bo to stand in upright, and it's black and white, intended for coloring all over. Very cool.
Anyway, back to coming home from class. We'd had this thing for at least a month at this point. I walked into the living room and hear J's funny hello greeting from very nearby. Only, I can't see him. Then he pokes his head out of the window of the cardboard house. He's inside, wrapped up in a blanket, with a space heater, and his laptop. I couldn't stop laughing at him. He kept trying to have a conversation with me and I just couldn't do it. Finally I told him it was just a little too Michael Jackson for me and if he wanted to talk to me, he had to come out of the playhouse. He muttered, "Michael Jackson wished he had a playhouse like this."


Then, last week I came home from class and J was on the couch, with a snuggi (I found generic ones at Aldi for six dollars, that's why we own something like that, and because I know J has secretly dreamed of owning one since they were invented) and the fire burning. I don't know why I found it so entertaining. He so wasn't meant to live in Iowa, he is ALWAYS cold. But it provides entertainment for me. I pulled my blackberry out (my camera was missing) and he said, "This is going on the blog, isn't it?" Yes, yes it is.

On Saturday I spent a total of about 3 hours cleaning Bo and Avee's room. Bo's room was recently "remodeled" into a clubhouse, and upon quick surveying, actually looked pretty clean. Then I lifted blankets, opened closets, looked under beds....it was ridiculous. The kid's a disappearing artist with clutter! Then Avee's room; she doesn't have a closed in closet, so no ability to hide all her sins in there. She drapes her clean clothes over the bar though. I told her that's not how clothes are hung up (she's been harangued in the past for stashing clothes under mattresses, in dark corners, and pieces of clothing are missing for months) and she gets big eyes, tilts her head, her mouth sets, disapproving of my disapproval and she says, "They aren't on the floor, they are hanging and they are on the bar, that's what you said I had to do, that's what I did."

I have already said, "That's just semantics, Avee" several times in the last couple of months, about other things. She's five. I say that to my five year old. And I'm totally serious when I do it. She has the ability to throw my words back at me like no one I've ever met.

I got a couple of other gems from that hour plus of cleaning. She responded to something I asked her with air quotes. It didn't even make sense, what she said, but the air quotes were all that mattered. Then, about an hour into sorting and organizing, I started griping again about how unacceptable it was that her room was this messy. She responded, "I know, right?"
Totally shut me up. Cute always wins over gripey.

Bo has been enjoying an acting class for the last several weeks. Next week he has his showcase play. His character is a karate fighter named Fabio. The teacher let everyone pick their character, and then she wrote a play around it. I'm kind of anticipating a slow motion train wreck, so I'm really looking forward to it.

His sense of humor is so enjoyable. We listen to Veggie Tales a lot in the car and Bo is just starting to really get some of the more adult humor they throw into their songs. I love it.

He got really, really sick two weeks ago. He missed a week of school and probably would have missed the following Monday, but it was a holiday. Your heart aches for your children when they are so miserable, but his miserable is borderline hilarious. He couldn't talk without crying so he cried about things like, the air, cream cheese, pillows with fringes, etc. Then I'd dose him up with Advil and 25 minutes later he'd be telling jokes in bad accents. He still only operated at about 70% while medicated, but the difference was remarkable.

One of the days he was sick, I just really thought he should be on the mend and we ran a few errands. He was not one ounce better from Monday morning when he got sick, until Sunday morning when he woke up. I just didn't expect him to stay that sick for that long. Anyway, as we were running errands he mentioned that it would be funny if someone was named T. I told him I had a friend named Traci and her nickname was T. He then thought that she should run races so people could cheer for her, "Go T, go T!" It actually took me a second to get it. But, I did have a little hint with the eraser cap. He kept it there for about two hours. I love that he's comfortable being weird in public. Am I the only parent that feels that way? I wonder.

When he was in preschool and refused to wear gray pants because they weren't a cool enough color, it kind of made me sad. Funny thing is, I kind of get it now. Gray really isn't that great of a color.

School is going great for me. A lot of work, but J is a super awesome support and I'm an exceptional procrastinator. I love being in school though.

Danyo is the cutest little cutey patootey with the shortest temper and meanest mouth. It would be funny if it wasn't such a problem. He's finally learned to say "I hate when you do that" because "I hate you" hadn't worked out for him so well. We'll work on the word hate maybe when he's four. It actually drives me crazy because he likes to be right up in my grill when he throws his fits. And he's also completely shocked when he gets in trouble, like I just came out of left field or something. I kind of vaguely remember Avee and Bo being somewhat impossible at this age, so I'm hoping it will pass soon. He loves his little preschool and loves me the best, except when I make him take naps, eat his vegetables, put on a coat, and find underwear. Then he doesn't like me AT. ALL.

Most days I can handle his short-temper, but when Avee gangs up on me about my disciplining him, that's when I get exhausted. The other day she said to me with big tears in her eyes, "You just don't know what it's like to be yelled at by you!" Um, compelling? Yes. I spent the 10 minute drive to school defending my need to teach Danyo how to behave properly. Most of my best arguments were met with, "Whatevoh Mom" and "Uh, Mom, he's three." I wouldn't say I convinced her much. I'd never say that, actually.