Posts Tagged ‘Little Brother’

Day Five of Potty Training. Last hard core day. We’re in good shape and ready to step out and breathe the fresh air without (too much) fear of imminent wet pants (or worse) disaster.

I’ve mentioned before that Little Brother is all about Jason Mraz. “I’m Yours” has been an anthem around here for a while now so this little video that I discovered yesterday afternoon is a fitting accompaniment to our weekend release from potty prison.

Way to go, Little Brother.  Now, let’s go outdoors.

“Cause I won’t stay inside, no more, no more.”

Like This!

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Yahoo BuzzAdd to Newsvine

Read Full Post »

I went to Walmart today.  Yip.  I heart Walmart.

And, incidentally, I had never set foot in a Walmart until about eight months ago when I mentioned this sad fact to my friend, Mo.   She looked at me like I had ten heads.

“Oh. my. god. woman.  Go.  Go now.”

And I did.

Thank you, Mo.

Anyhoo.  I went today to buy poster board, a bunch of stickers and some size 3 boys underpants.  Because I’m entering the wild n crazy world of potty training Little Brother.  Or, in other words, I’m a prisoner in my house for the next three days — tightly clutching my Bounty, my Brawny and my fragile sanity.  Little Brother is nothing if not an enthusiastic participant in the whole process.  He’s all fired up about going on the potty like his “big brudder” and thus far makes a trip to the bathroom roughly every 3 point 2 seconds to try again.  And again.  And again.

Every fourth trip or so, we seem to produce a few drops and celebrate with hoots, happy dances and a new sticker on the chart.

No accidents thus far but seeing as he’s spent the majority of his morning in the can, the odds are with him.

So, yeah.  Walmart.   You guys know about the hilarious website dedicated to the people of Walmart?  Well, now that Walmart and I are BFFs, I’ve been thinking the whole Walmart shopper stereotype is a bit unjust.

But then today I was browsing the sticker aisle when first I smelled (Is that Peach Boone’s?) then saw an older (ahem) gentleman to my right.   He asked me if I worked at Walmart, which might have been a blow to my self-esteem, had he not slurred the words through a cracker-infested beard and peered at me through half-mast eyelids.  I said no but pointed to an associate just down the aisle.

He stumbled a few feet towards the little lamb restocking shelves.


I’m sorry, sir.  What can I help you with?


She looked at me helplessly.  I shrugged.  No idea.  Sorry.

Vrdka?!  Vrdka?!  Ugitanyvrdka?!?

Oh, no sir.  I’m sorry.  We don’t sell vodka at Walmart.

Damn.  Where is my camera phone when I need it?

Read Full Post »

Awesome.  Thanks.

Like This!

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Yahoo BuzzAdd to Newsvine

Read Full Post »

I love this season.  But, I also hate this season.  Because, my children turn from gentle early-ish risers to ohmygodchilditsthecrackofdawnstopcallingmefromyourcribandgobacktosleepNOW risers.

It’s brutal.

Husband’s been a little extra busy at work lately and regularly leaves before sunrise.  He dresses quietly by the light of our bathroom, kisses me goodbye and heads out.  Then, I snuggle back into bed “knowing” I have at least an hour or so before the kids get up.  At least, I had that last month.  This month?  Not-so-much.

Snuggle in, eyes closed.

Just.   starting.   to.   drift.   off.

Maaaaaaahhhhh-maaaaaaay!  I want to get up.

No.  Please, no.

Head into Little Brother’s room.  He’s standing up in his crib, peering around at me, little brown eyes hopeful.

Hi, Mommy!  I want to get up.

No, J.  It’s much too early.  You need to go back to sleep.  Lie back down.

And, he does.  I tuck him back in.   Head back to my room.   Climb into bed, close my eyes…

Well, that used to work.  We could actually settle him back down and buy ourselves at least 1/2 hour more sleep, sometimes more.  Unfortunately, Little Brother’s brain is developing (well, I mean of course that is actually fortunate that his brain is developing but you know what I mean), and he’s figured out how to manipulate the situation to get his way.   So, now?

Climb back into bed, close my eyes and…


I storm in.  Open the door.

I’m serious, J!  You need to go to sleep!

…and then he’ll drop a little hammer on my heart.  He has a few hammers from which to choose.  Depends on his mood.

1.  But, I’m sooooo hungry! —  For some ridiculous reason Little Brother has recently decided to only eat one meal a day.  Of course, I still present him with three squares.  He just ignores two of the three.   Awesome.   Luckily, Big Brother is growing like a weed and would eat 100 meals a day if I let him.  He’s never met a leftover pb&j that he didn’t like.  So, when Little Brother complains of hunger from his crib?  Well, of course you’re hungry, little monster.  You had two blueberries for dinner last night.  But, I’m your mother and I can’t let you starve so, fine.  Get up then, little hungry bird.  Good morning.

2.   I miss Daddy so much! — Which is such a farce.  I mean, he loves his Dad terribly but this is a total ploy.  His Dad is home at a very reasonable hour almost every night.  We’re very lucky.  But, Little Brother knows his Dad isn’t home in the mornings.  He also knows his Mom is a total sucker when he plays the “I Want My Daddy” card.  So, fine.   Get up then, sweet boy.  Good morning.

3.   But, I’m poopy! I swear the child has learned to crap on command.  This is his last resort.  Because he knows I’m a total freak about dirty diapers and there’s no way I’m leaving him in there smelling up his room and sitting in his feces.  And, by the time I go in there, pull him out of his crib and change him, I know we are both far too awake to get back to sleep.   So, fine.  Get up then, stinky.  Good morning.

Gotta run.  Off to Target for room-darkening curtains.

And maybe some ear plugs.

Is it nap time yet?

Like This!

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Yahoo BuzzAdd to Newsvine

Read Full Post »

My Husband grew up in Connecticut.  In the “closer to NY” part of Connecticut, not the “Red Sox Nation” part of Connecticut.   He’s a Yankees fan.  A big Yankees fan.  But, he’s a baseball fan in the larger sense as well, so while he knows and loves the Yankees more than other teams, he could probably give you the line up of many other teams in the league and certainly provide details on any other team in the Yankees division.   But, usually, he’s reasonable about it.  He can have an intelligent conversation with any good fan of another team in which he will happily discuss the merits and troubles of each other’s teams without animosity.  Simply, as fellow sports fans.

When our sons were born, I know that Husband looked forward to teaching them his beloved game.  Teaching them how to throw and hit and be good sports.  And, raising them to love the Yankees.  And, they do.   They wear #2 t-shirts with pride.  Big Brother knows all the ridiculous monikers shouted out after a home run by radio-guy John Sterling.  An A-bomb!  From A-rod!

But, it hasn’t been an easy path for Husband.   We live just north of Boston in what is clearly Red Sox territory.  When we lived here five years ago, before the Red Sox had won a World Series, Husband couldn’t wear his Yankees hat in public without having people make snide remarks as he walked by.  He’d grit his teeth and smile as a bartender made a crack about not wanting to serve him.  Our town Little League actually had to get rid of the “Yankees” name for one of the teams because 6 and 7-year-old kids were getting booed at the town parade.  Pretty childish behavior by Sox fans, of course.  But, maybe (maybe) a little understandable as the Sox had been thwarted by the Yankees countless times.  And, it hurt.

When we moved back here about a year and a half ago, the Red Sox had won not just one but two championships.   And, for the most part, it changed people around here.  Sure, Husband will still get the occasional comment but it’s nothing like it used to be.   The hat gets worn again, the boys wear their shirts and things are fine.  Mostly, people keep opinions to themselves.   I mean, it’s not like they’re wearing anti-Red Sox things, right?

And, it’s not like someone would verbally assault a child, with their anti-Yankees rage.  Right?


I’ve written before about how Little Brother and I take a twice-weekly pilgrimage to Dunkin’ Donuts after Big Brother is dropped at school.   Today, LB was wearing his Yankees sweatshirt.

He was also wearing light blue shorts and carrying a little plastic light-up cow on a key chain.  He was wearing his tiny Crocs with Tigger and Pooh Jibbitz on the toes.   He was clutching my hand because, although I would have carried him, he wanted to walk in on his own.   “I do it, Mommy.”

We were trying to work our way through the double doors.  Walking and weaving our way through bustling 8:45 am DD traffic.  Trying to politely hold open the first set of doors for an older woman before we made our way through the second set of doors.

That’s when we saw her.  She was behind that second set of doors.  She looked like she was about to charge out, which could have resulted in Little Brother getting clobbered by the swinging door before him.   I quickly pulled him back.   But, she stopped, looked at us and waited on the other side of the door.  I smiled gratefully through the glass.

Then she said, as we opened and began to walk through the door…

“I wouldn’t have hit him.  At least, I wouldn’t have hit him until I saw that Yankees sweatshirt.”


What?!  Did you seriously just say that?  You reconsidered hitting him?  He’s TWO, you ignorant moron.

I wish I’d said it.  Said something at least.

Because it’s one thing to act like a brainless, bitter idiot when you’re dealing with my Husband.

But, my kids?!    So. not. funny.

I’m still seething.

Like This!

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Yahoo BuzzAdd to Newsvine

Read Full Post »

Little Brother has developed a bit of a stutter.  At first I was completely freaked out by it.   Worried and sad and upset — concerned that he had been dealt some terribly unfair hand.   That my baby, who was so quick to speak as a toddler, would now need some help getting over a few tough hurdles down the road.

A few days into the stuttering, I did some reading and started to speak to other parents about the problem.  And, thankfully, I learned that a stutter is very common in kids between 2.5 and 3.5 years old.   And, that the stutter can last anywhere from a week to 6 months or more.  That it can even come and go for months at a time.   That it’s most often seen in children who have developed their little vocabularies so quickly that their speedy little brain is simply working much too fast for their tangled tongues.  And that, most likely, it really means nothing at all.

The counsel is to basically ignore it.  Don’t tease him about it (of course) or point out the problem.  Help with the word if he gets frustrated.   Settle him down.    Let him work through it.

We’re fine.  He’s fine.  I know it’s all good.

The thing about it, though, is that Little Brother, clearly frustrated with the situation, has figured out a couple ways to compensate for this little blip in his ability to communicate his needs.  First, he went with VOLUME.   Holy cow.

“I – I – I – I wa-wa-” (heavy sigh).   GET ME MILK, MOMMY!”

So, I was doing a lot of gentle shhhhush-ing for a week or so.

But, now he’s gone with a new tactic.  It appears that Little Brother now believes he can get the words out a little more easily by whispering them.  But, he doesn’t really get the whole spacial relations things yet so I’ll just happen to look up and notice he’s all the way across the room asking me for something.

Me:   Oh!  Did you need something, J?

LB:   wh-sh-shw-hshshshshws.

Me:  I’m sorry.  What?

LB:   wh-sh-shhs-hhw-hsmsmsshw.

Good lord.  It’s like I’m stay-at-home-Mom to Milton Waddams of Office Space.

Just trying to have a little sense of humor about it.

Like This!

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Yahoo BuzzAdd to Newsvine

Read Full Post »

“Do I love you?

My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.”

– Wesley to Buttercup, “The Princess Bride”

Read Full Post »

How is it that sometimes they can seem so big and so little all at once?

Read Full Post »

We’re all happily home from a wonderful stretch of days visiting my parents in Vermont.   Beautiful weather, (mostly) happy kids, many fabulous outdoor activities, drinks with great friends and delicious meals with family.

Plus, my parents scored some cheap child labor in tending their fields.


But, seriously, how cute are they in those giant tractors?

Really, though, it was a great trip.  A perfect trip.

Well, almost perfect.

Except for a minor blip when I took the boys to a local playground and while I was running a 5K, doing a cart-wheel, rescuing my kids from a rabid dog, (oh, ok…) walking slowly along a wooden walkway, I went down like a ton of bricks.  Just fell.  For who knows what incredibly athletic reason.  (I may or may not have been reading something on my iPhone.  You can’t prove it.)  But anyway, down I went — arms splayed, legs askew, ankle rolled.  Ass over teakettle in my flip-flops.  Suddenly, on the grass looking up at a very worried Big Brother.

Mommy!  Are you ok?

Clearly, I am very graceful.   Swan-like, in fact.

Here, Mommy.   I picked up your phone.  It looks ok.

Mommy of the Year.   Yup, that’s me.   Go ahead and send my trophy to the Manchester Recreation Area c/o Grassy Area behind the tire swings.

So, anyway.   Here’s a shot of the right ankle Friday afternoon back at my parents house.  You know, shortly after I got up close and personal with the playground grass.

You like the pedicure?  You do.  Thanks.

And, here’s the stunning beauty that is my ankle (or lack thereof) today.  Sunday afternoon back at home.


It’s fine, of course.  I’m walking around on it without much trouble and, even though it’s hideous looking, it actually feels better than it did yesterday.

But, really.   Gross.

Yup, just another “sports injury” to add to my collection.

Note to self:  really must slow down.   Ha.

Read Full Post »

Back in the Dark Ages of my youth, I would eagerly anticipate the arrival of the Sears Roebuck catalogue.  Catalogues, in general, weren’t nearly as pervasive as they are today and Sears was the Grand-Daddy of them all.  That baby was huge.  And, with its giant toy and youth chapters, I spent countless hours lying on my belly on the floor of our living room flipping through it page by page by page.

(Yeah, yeah.  Bring it.  Lonely only child?  Perhaps.)


I discovered yesterday that there’s a new “Sears Roebuck Catalogue” in town.  For modern-day children.  It’s called the Yankee Candle catalogue and it rocks.  Nearly every page has a “rub and sniff” candle for the kiddos.  I’m not kidding when I tell you that Big and Little Brother spent nearly 45 minutes with it during the horrible post-nap but pre-dinner witching hour.  Rubbing, smelling, taking turns, commenting, flipping the page, choosing favorites and….not arguing.

I’m thinking about ordering a boatload of candles I really don’t need.  In part, as thanks to and recognition for the brilliant smelly pages idea.   In part, to ensure they keep sending me catalogues!

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »