Monday, September 30, 2013

This last weekend I met my hero, my role model. The gal who said that she started blogging by "taking a picture of her kid eating spaghetti out of the garbage and decided to share it with family." Yes, I model myself after her. She also got pregnant with her fifth child while living with her parents. So there was an instant connection.

It was a lovely day. The conference itself could have been mind numbingly boring (it wasn't) and I would still have loved it. Mostly because of the monsoon rain that had blown in, no really it was the remnants of a typhoon. And there were soccer games to be played. Three of them in fact. So having to stay indoors while not wrestling X-Man (who apparently found the largest mud puddle out there and laid down in it to exemplify his annoyance with the father figure during one of the games).....yes please.

The day started out lovely. Lots of friends were there. The conference was entitled "Catholic Women Rejoice." I observed that it was difficult to rejoice when there were no mimosas served with breakfast, but I'd survive. And so we went on a journey of encouragement and joy. And lost binkies. I missed a good section of the first talk because I was retracing my steps looking for a lost binky. I figured no one was going to enjoy the conference or do any rejoicing without the binky. I found it, stashed inside the baby carrier, the one I had searched numerous times, only after I retraced all my steps.

Then my hero spoke. Simcha Fischer gave a lovely speech. She spoke  about how a mother will always pick up her dirty sticky little children, no matter if she's ready to head out or not. They were true words, and not the last ones to make me teary that day. Gestated Cinco, who was the one child to make the cut and attend with me, spent the entire talk trying to get herself under the table next to ours. Fortunately, this amused those sitting there. I, however, was perplexed how she kept getting herself over there. She was very dedicated in her efforts, and was rewarded by the doting of countless women. Later, she even had Simcha oohing over her. She's good that way, being utterly adorable.

However, this wouldn't be my life without some absurd situation created by my children. And Cinco certainly delivered. Over the last few weeks, she's practiced her vaulting. She's quite the bouncer now, up and down, up and down. She's also fascinated by food now. I've been holding off, I say I'm waiting until six months due to the father figure's absurd allergies. But there's a large part of me that is dreading the end of the not so horrible nursing diapers and more horrific diapers. Like the kind X-Man produces with impunity. So, I didn't let Cinco eat my lunch, although she continued to vault herself towards it, with arms outstretched and mouth open. I shared my food delaying wisdom with the other mothers. Mostly I just talked. I'm sure I said very wonderful, wise things. Things that a woman covered in feces would say....while people were attempting to take her seriously.

this blog exists for pictures like this. 
As I was opining at lunch, I just happened to look down. And if I'm being honest, the first thought that crossed my mind "well I guessing I'm blogging about this." Pictures don't really do it justice. You can't see the vibrant green through the brown. Nor can you see the damage done to my favorite pair of jeans. Gestated Cinco's legs are more impressive than the off the charts length would let you believe. Her bouncing allowed for the contents of her diaper to cover a greater arc than any child before her. A detached spectator would have been in awe.

I am who I am, so I took one look at myself and didn't really worry about clothing, or the fact that I was supposed to go to dinner with my role model that night. I thought "Hey, I know what I'll do!" So I let another friend worry about tracking down another sweater for me to wear. I marched myself up to the front of the room and to the head speakers' table. I found Simcha, tapped her on the shoulder and said "In light of your talk, about embracing those who are dirty.....wanna hug?"

She didn't.

my role model and my little girl. 
It took a good twenty minutes to get myself and my daughter cleaned up. I had the forethought to bring a change of clothes for Cinco, not so much for me. A friend had a sweater that I borrowed and I enjoyed the remained talk given, although I missed the beginning, cleaning up poop and all that.

Dinner with Simcha was lovely. I found that she was everything I envisioned but more. More humble, more gentle, more sincere. I really do want to be her when I grow up. She was so gracious and just down to earth. I really think she was surprised that so many women turned up to hear her speak. There is a real joy that comes from discovering that the woman you look up to is even a better person than you imagined.

After the wonderful day and night and Cinco's shenanigans, I wasn't even fazed to come home to a leaking roof.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

For reasons she won't explain. Gestated Cinco is bound and determined to pull the phone off the shelf and onto her head. Again. She apparently thinks it's still her best hope for rescuing.

As of tomorrow I will have an attic. An insulated attic that is. An attic in which I can lock my children. Oh did I say that aloud. I mean, an attic in which I will lock my children's clothes and various other things that they continue to outgrow yet I seem to still need. This will go a long to to clearing out my living room. And hopefully taming the zoo that is our home. Although, as we will all still be living here, it's a minor victory.

I was stopped at a traffic light, puzzled as to why my car was rocking. Much to the father figure's dismay, I keep the bass turned way down. So it wasn't that. I craned my neck and saw X-Man rocking out. There really is no other way to describe it. He was literally rocking his carseat, fortunately anchored, back and forth while thrashing his head and kicking the back of my seat. I am impressed with that boy's power.

It's not so much that the boy has soul. More that as he is now in a big boy bed, in a room full of toys that no one else can bother him in, he kinda skips out on the nap. He'll stay in there for three hours, enjoying his peace and quiet. As a result, as we head off to afternoon soccer, he's bound and determined to do whatever he physically can to keep himself from passing out. Because you never know what exciting things you might miss in the commute to soccer.

Cinco enjoys the show. She starts squealing, with then encourages him further. Then she gets even more excited. Today, the joy cumulated in a thrown binky. Which hit me in the head as I was driving. The arm on that child is most impressive. Of course, both were startled when I let out a yelp. The three older kids didn't even lift their eyes from the Calvin and Hobbes they were reading. I caught the two little ones exchange looks of wide eyed concerned, followed by more giggling. I think X-Man was hoping Cinco would stumble upon another binky.  My clean driving record appreciated her inability to.

I used to think that typing while nursing was hard. Now I miss those days (does that make me sound old?). While typing this, Cinco has gone from bouncing herself on my leg, to laying on my leg gnawing my knee, back up and vaulting towards my nose to holding my thumb and licking the keyboard. We're calling it a night.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

It's been the kind of day where you don't even notice the extension cord that plugs the fridge in a working outlet. Two rooms away. The electrician said it didn't have anything to do with the father figure's resetting of the outlet, numerous times. But I'm not so convinced that they aren't in cahoots with each other. I mean, the guy wants to get paid doesn't he?
I discovered that toys breed if you put them in a cardboard box and leave them unattended. Mostly they make hodgepodge toys, mixes of random parts, none of which go with each other.
The insulation should be installed Friday which means part of our hobo existence will be put to rest as we put totes away in the attic. Not that we'll have a floor or anything. We know our place after all.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Sunday morning found the father figure and I playing beat the clock as we attempted to find ourselves with time to actually reach church on time. Somehow this led to a conversation that contained the phrase (uttered by me) "Your fat wife." The father figure responded in a sassiest voice possible while still possessing a y chromosome "If you mean P H A T girlfriend." Well played husband, well played. We will never be having that conversation again.
I'm sitting in the car with Mac, X-Man and Cinco while Baba and Baby are practicing soccer. Of course they are in different parts of town, my life doesn't get to be that simple. X-Man is determined to remove the Lightening McQueen from the base of Mac's umbrella. Mac is convinced the umbrella ought to be opened in the car. Cinco knows she's missing out.

Today's car trip went something like this.

X-Man "MA!!!!!"
"I dunno"

"I dunno"

"Do you know what's going on X-Man?"

Because that's not annoying or anything. Lest I became bored while driving X-Man kept things lively with the unmistakable sound of a rather full glass of water being dumped.

I find myself retaliating at times. Mostly just for kicks, because I'm a bad mother.






Irritated pause. The child is not amused.


At this point he crumpled to the floor, head in hands and began to wail. Until he realized that Cinco had vacated her swing and he was on a mission.

"Get out of the swing X-Man."

He was triumphant. He won. I was almost as amused as when Baby wails to the father figure "I'm hungry" and he responds "I'm Daddy." Now those are some fireworks.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

I'm going to pretend that the flooring guy didn't tell us it would be mid-October before they can get the floors in. I'm going to forget that the electrician can't figure out what half the switches in the house do. It's not that I don't LOVE plywood covering what should be a window....that's four weeks out as well. What really is eating at me is the fact that the hardwood floors that are in the house already make it very, very easy for Cinco to get everywhere. And at the moment, everywhere in this house is still mostly a death trap. Death traps sing the song of Cinco's people. And don't even ask me how many places and times X-Man has gotten his head stuck today.

Ok, I'm back. Gestated Cinco crawled into a garbage bag and is now lecturing me on the cruelty of taking away the best toy evah!

It was occurring to me as I tried to get Cinco down for a nap--a nap that she most firmly rejected  by the way--how weird my kids are. Some might call it tactile. I call it really, like spine tingling, annoying. This line of thought started as I recalled the events of the previous night's soccer practice. As I was talking with other moms, trying to figure out how I would manage 8am, 8:30 am and 9 am  soccer games, no where near each other of course, I realized that Cinco was yanking on my lower lip while trying to eat my nose. And I was there talking, like this was all normal. Because in my life, it is. I'm assuming that's where the strange looks were focused on. But whoever really knows.

When Baba fell asleep she liked to play with my cuticles. She would trace each finger, over and over again until she fell asleep. Heaven help me if I had a hangnail. She would play with that sucker for what seemed like an eternity. And, rookie that I was, I let her do so. It still causes me to cringe, ten years later. Baby liked to pull my hair. I should have let her continue this instead of letting her focus on her own. She spent four years with large bald spots on her hair where she had twisted it out. Mac liked to play with my neck skin when drifting off. Yes, that's right. My son went for my jugular on a daily basis. X-Man preferred noses. He would hold my nose while napping. I'm sure there's a not so hidden message in that. And then there's Gestated Cinco. She likes my whole face. Any of it. All of it. Preferably my nose, again. Although, unlike her brother, she prefers to slip her delicate little fingers up my nose. While grasping at my eyelashes. What make this all the more impressive, is that she does all this with her eyes closed. So maybe it's not so much weird as it is talented.

X-Man has his head stuck in a stool, again. He's bellowing "Help please." Guess it's time to show him manner pay.
This doesn't have to do with anything. It just makes me happy.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Today's brand new experiences. Watching X-Man straddle a fire hydrant and shoot passing soccer moms. Never thought of it that way, but fire hydrants do actually make passable turret guns. Good  to know. X-Man also hasn't learned that he should not bring me my wallet saying "help, help". He likes to pilfer through it and find mommy i.e. my driver's license and Costco card. Except that in doing so, he lost my Costco card. I have five kids.  I can't go without Costco.

Also, when moving cleaning supplies, some might mix and burn through the box and singe the floor. It's been an interesting day. And with that, I'm back to unpacking.

Monday, September 16, 2013

This is why I'm not blogging tonight. This is my living room. I distinctly remember telling the father figure that I did not want a fixer upper or anything that needed work. He listens as well as his children.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Today's the kind of day where you lay on the floor screaming. And as others try to comfort you, hit and try to bite them. Also, if you are sent to bed as it is a school night, make sure to share that "I don't want to" because that will totally change the situation. Stomping up the stairway will totally sell your case. Refusing to use the potty and refusing to wear a diaper makes complete sense. It is my fault that you didn't put your shin guards away when we get home. Why would you remember? This is, after all, only your fifth season. And would someone explain the point of a five point harness carseat if a toddler can, and routinely does, get himself out of three of the five points?

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

It's 9-11. And although it's been twelve years since the attacks, it's still a day I can't bring myself to be flip. It's a somber day. It's odd to think that although none of my children were alive that day, at least three of them are old enough to ask questions and wonder about those events. Mac saw some highlights on TV and asked if "that was an accident or was it bad guys." I told him bad guys and he shrugged and said "that's too bad."

And that's all we really will share about 9-11. In the upcoming years there are many things I want to share with them. I want to tell them about Congress standing on the steps of the Capitol singing "God Bless America." I'll tell them about the National Anthem being played at Buckingham Palace. I'll tell them about Fr. Mychel Judge who died giving the last rites to dying firefighters. I'll tell them about the record blood donations. And the sense of pride that came as the President, in body armor, threw out the first pitch at the World Series. I will tell them about Rick Rescorla, Todd Beamer and Tom Burnett, who was a hero before that September day. I hope to inspire them, to teach them that no matter what, always stand up, always fight because evil wins when good people sit still. It might result in the countless chirps coming from the rubble, fire fighter homing beacons indicated man down. But it is better to die for something than live for nothing....or anything. It is necessary to know who you are, what you stand for and why you believe what you do.

You don't have to rush the cockpit or charge into the collapsing building. Countless regular old joes assisted in the largest ever evacuation by boat that day. You just have to do, when the need arises. Don't wait for someone else. Be the first. Be the leader. Let others follow you. But don't seek glory. Don't boast. Because you aren't doing anything special. You are doing what you ought to do. Never let those in positions of authority keep you from doing the right thing. Before anything you must answer "did I do right?" You must live with yourself, take pride in who you are.

I hope to focus on these lessons, rather than the violence and evil of that day. Sadly, I know that my children will see and experience plenty of evil in their lifetimes. I hope to enable them to handle themselves as true Americans. The kind of people who say "We're surrounded. That simplifies the problem of getting to these people and killing them." The kind of people who don't allow for defeat.

And it doesn't have to be only in time of war or violence. It can be any day. It can be every day. It simply means rising to the occasion, whenever than occasion presents itself.

American Airlines Flight 11 was the first airline to hit that day. It departed Boston and was forced towards New York. As it headed towards mayhem and death, it flew along the Hudson River. Seven and a half years later, another flight took a similar path along the Hudson. US Airways flight 1549 took off. It was a similarly sized plane, and carried three times the number of passengers that Flight 11 had.  Quickly into the flight, just as with Flight 11, it became clear that things would not go as planned. Flight 1549 would not reach it's intended destination. It too would fly along the Hudson in an ill fated drift towards history. But unlike Flight 11, there was an American at the helm of Flight 1549. And unlike those controlling Flight 11, for the pilot of Flight 1549, death and destruction wasn't a goal. It wasn't an option. So Chesty Sullenberger did what was needed, he did his job. And in doing so, Chesty Sullenberger did more than just save 150 lives, not to mention those that would come later. He reclaimed that route. A path that had led to death and destruction was now the path of resilience and survival. In true American fashion, something ugly was reclaimed and made triumphant.

Again, as before, strangers with boats came to the rescue. Strangers came, to help strangers, at no small risk to themselves. Because.

Taking something and make it good and beautiful. No matter how large or how average. Being the person who does that. Always. That is the lesson from 9-11 I wish to impart on my children.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Leaving soccer today, we walked past some cheerleaders. Mac said "Look mom, there are some girls doing girl scout stuff." He might be a bit surprised when he attends his first cub scout meeting later this week.

There's not much to share. Work is keeping me very busy along with trying to keep five children alive. The biggest threat they face most days is a sibling of some sort. Mostly X-Man. He's huge and lives on the warpath. He still likes to hit me when he's angry. Only he's figured out that's not the best idea as far as self preservation is concerned. So while he's screaming and thrashing around, he pats me. There's no honest way to call it a hit. It's most definitely a pat. But I'm fairly certain it's no love pat. I still tell him no hitting mommy and he still doubles down, or better yet, goes limp on the floor. It's no picnic trying to lift 45 pounds of dead, yet outraged, toddler weight.

I'm almost embarrassed to admit my motherhood fail. Which, to regular readers of this blog, is most certainly saying something. I bought Cocoa Puffs for the first, and last time, today. Mac asked for it and I said yes. Mostly for the reason why he wanted it. He wanted the prize inside. A little Minion from a movie. Now, I admit, I have a hard time saying no. Although as the children stack up it does become easier. But Mac has wanted a Minion forever. He almost won one at Six Flags, not once, not twice but three times. Three times he had the Minion in the stupid claw and was carrying it over to the drop slot and, oh what a surprise, it suddenly dropped each time. I'm still annoyed about it, so the way to stick it to the null at Six Flags was most obviously to buy Sugar Frosted Cocoa Bombs. I showed them.

Mac wanted to eat cereal for dinner. I did manage to draw the line there. Probably about six feet too late.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Forget bombing Syria, we should all focus our rage on Sweden, because they gave the world this. And that folks, is true terrorism. I was showing it to the father figure and had to pause it lest it give the fruit of his loins nightmares.

This morning's panicked conversation went something like this....
"The keyboard won't work on the computer" 
"Is it plugged in?"
"Of course it's plugged in. That would be the first thing I'd check." 
"Well then I'll have to take a look at it when I get home."

There is a massive jungle of wires around the computer. Apparently there are several that run from the keyboard and plug into the back of the computer. And many of them are green. Long story short, the keyboard works. And has been plugged back in.

There were many errands to run today. And a lot of waiting for the contractor to arrive at the house. I think everyone ended up frazzled. There was copious amounts of screaming coming from the back of the car and I might I have asked in a raised tone of voice "What the sam hill is going on back there?" Mac helpfully announced "Just now's the time of the day that we fight." Well then.

As Baba got kicked out of the car for her soccer practice and we headed off to Baby's, I heard Baby hissing at Mac "and then you are going to get a disease that makes your hair fall out and red spots all over your body and your breath will really stink." Mac wailed out "Baby! That's really not polite!"

He has a point. And I'm torn between finishing school or military academies for my little darlings.

Forget bombing Syria, we should all focus our rage on Sweden, because they gave the world this. And that folks, is true terrorism. I was showing it to the father figure and had to pause it lest it give the fruit of his loins nightmares.

This morning's panicked conversation went something like this....
"The keyboard won't work on the computer"
"Is it plugged in?"
"Of course it's plugged in. That would be the first thing I'd check."
"Well then I'll have to take a look at it when I get home."


Thursday, September 5, 2013

Here in the PNW, there has to be lightening in order for soccer practice to be cancelled. So monsoon weather aside, it's business as usual.

X-Man is completely uninterested in soccer. He is, however, smitten with football. He kept toddling away from Baby's practice field and settling himself down on the football field itself. One does not think agile when looking at X-Man. One does think linebacker. So, we'll see what happens.

A chunk of the day was spent hauling the debris from the house we managed to destroy without even living in. The kiddos did a remarkable job clearly it up. They vigorously campaigned to watch X-Man rather that haul sheet rock. Mac said it best  "I'd rather watch X-Man so I can play."

X-Man had yet another meltdown. This one was instigated when he realized that Cinco was in the baby carrier, not abnormal, however she was on my back so I could carry debris. The back in X-Man's location, Cinco belongs in the front. And this alarmed X-Man greatly. He stumbled around behind me screeching "MA Up, up MA UP!!!" Whatever it takes to convince the child he's not a baby and therefore ought to be using the potty.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

The lady at the checkout, who I was forced to see because someone decided to paint the bathroom sink with toothpaste, commented on the fact that I had two girls and two boys. She could count just fine, Baby was at soccer practice while I was running errands. "You are so lucky" she said. "More than you know" was my response. I figured that covered Baby's existence while not actually having to get into the math of the whole thing. She continued "There was a lady at church who had seven boys before she got her girl." Apparently the whole not having to try for a girl is what made me lucky. Whoo hoo for me then.

People have such different attitudes towards boys and girls. It's assumed that moms need...girls. Don't get me wrong, I couldn't survive with my two oldest daughters, but I was thoroughly excited to find out that Mac was coming. I find it odd that mothers with sons engender so much pity. Boys indeed are insane, but that in and of itself doesn't require sympathy.

I think all of us approach sons differently than daughters. Even if we don't intend to. I recognized myself doing just that during Mac's soccer practice. There was a little boy that had it out for Mac. He was determined to steal Mac's ball during keep away and would loudly announce his intentions. Mac held his own just fine and so I enjoyed the skeptical. I also didn't mind that there was another boy who is fiercely competitive. When Mac beat him in a race, the boy responded by tackling him. Mac jumped back up and crowed "I won!" I was pleased to see Mac rise to the occasion and to hold his own. And I was surprised by my reaction. Had it been a teammate of Baby or Baba's I would have been seething. But here I was, silently rooting my son on, wanting his fellow teammates to challenge him more and push him harder. He seemed to thrive on the challenge.

I am excited for this upcoming soccer season for Mac. I've seen him become more focused on the physical aspects of the game. He hasn't thrown leaves on his fellow teammates heads, thus distracting them and stealing the ball. He's simply relying on his skills. It's a far cry from the little guy who got into a wrestling match with an opponent at the start of last season. During the game. In the middle of the field. Never saw that at any of my daughters' numerous games. The teenage boy who was reffing the game simply jumped over them as if it was a routine occurrence in boys U-5 soccer.

I like the challenges that boys present. Mostly. But I need to be pulled back from over hovering, as the father figure says. And I can see how it helps my little guys to get pushed by their peers. Although, I'd prefer a less literal approach.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Today is one of those days. The kind of day where you throw your hands up in the air and say "That's it. Call the short bus I'm throwing you all on." Baby forgot place value. And how to tell time. And how to count. And that's after a week of no summer school. She did not forget to tell me that it is my fault because I got a book that was too hard for her. Heaven forbid the third grade student do third grade work. Meanwhile, as I was trying to remind Baby that she did indeed know state she lived in, Mac completed half his workbook. And X-Man contemplated biting me. He thought a particular drawer in the kitchen should be opened. I did not. He screamed at me and opened it again. I said "Unless your head's on fire, don't scream at me like that" and shut the drawer. I kept my  hand on it and thus thwarted his plans. Enraged he lunged towards my hand, mouth wide open. He moves faster than he thinks, but he did manage to catch himself, as his teeth barely grazed my skin. Slowly he turned his large eyes towards mine. "You want to rethink that choice young man?" He took me up on that offer and backed out of the kitchen.  Oh yeah, and the father figure drank all my beer. The "girly, sissy, way too sweet" stuff that was supposedly waiting for me after a long day of soccer and school.

So that was my day.

So this is a bumbo chair. Little ones, who are not capable of sitting on their own quite yet, can sit upright in it and observe the chaos into which they have been born. Note to the readers, apparently the bumbo was recalled or something because some parents would place their highly unstable children in it, on a high surface and then leave said child unattended. The still top heavy child would topple and injuries would abound. That's not prudent. An advantage to having thousands of children is that you can't ever leave the baby unattended because you will return to her eyes gouged by her enthusiastically affectionate brother. Speaking of improper uses of the bumbo chair, X-Man is obsessed with it. Much as he is obsessed with Cinco's playmat with toys that hang overhead. I am chalking it up to part of his refusal to be potty trained. He is perfectly willing to share the baby spotlight with Gestated Cinco, but he will share it. There will be no surrendering of it. So, of course, he too must sit in the bumbo. Fortunately, at least at this point, he is still willing to wait until Cinco is out of it.

The first, of many problems, with X-Man's attempts to sit in the bumbo is that he is a first world toddler. His legs are about the size of my arms. There is a certain amount of give in the bumbo, to allow babies of varying sizes in. But part of the beauty of the chair is that it doesn't easily release the child. Which greatly annoys X-Man. And leads to the bumbo butt. And rage. Because, while he most certainly wants to be free, he's not interested in anyone removing it from him as that means they are taking it away from him. Most likely to give it to Cinco and We. Can't. Have. That. So he staggers around. Chair and all.

Which is why, at least one of the many reasons, I avoid all things parental on the internet. Most especially anything else written by a home school mom. I don't need to hear how your toddler is conjugating verbs in Latin while mine in pooping in the corner and then helpfully bringing said waste products to me. I'm well aware of the fact that someone has to bring up the bottom of the scale. I guess this is how I take one for the team.

Monday, September 2, 2013

X-Man removed his diaper. I put him on the potty. X-Man used the potty. I gave him a treat. We may have come to an understanding.

We have purchased a home. Again. Not the same home twice. But sort of. Not much bigger. Not much of a change of scene. But the father figure has a vision, both short term and long term. So here we are. Well, we are at my inlaws. The father figure is at the house weilding weapons of mass destruction.

I waited until closing to start purchasing items for the house. This required copious amounts of self control, not just in the three weeks it took to close, but in the months that led up to this purchase. We sold our first home with one game plan in mind. We ended up no where near that game plan, but whatever. Moving forward.

So, I was purchasing items for our home. Mac was with me and informed me that he needed a toy. Yes needed. I tried to explain to him the difference between needing and wanting. He clarified "There's only one toy I need. There are lots of toys I want." Again, I reminded him of the difference between wanting and needing. Mac saw that I was confused as to his predicament and explained to me "If I don't get that toy, I will explode."

Now that's a new one. He was very serious and looked at me with reproach. I was risking his life here. I blasaly replied "Well, make sure you clean up the mess." He stopped walking and I had to turn to see him "Mom. If I explode, I will be gone." Oh, well then, let's go grab that two dollar Spiderman toy.

Or not. I informed my first born son that his possible explosion was a risk I was willing to take. Mac resigned himself to carrying out items that I had purchased, knowing he had given it his all.

There's a new term in the house. Bumbo Butt. I'll have to explain tomorrow.