Grrrr

Hunter and I are stuck at home today. , you ask? Well, because some shining example of Dallas' criminal element broke into my car yesterday in broad daylight, smashing out my passenger side window. Did they make off with my stereo? Was there an iPod sitting on my dash? Perhaps some credit cards laying in the console?

Why, no ... they made off with about $1 in change. Stellar work guys. Props to you and your mad law-breaking skills.

Wilder's favorite new inquiry

How many times can a giggling little boy ask "What you doin' Mama?" and be told, "mildewin'" before he gets tired of the game? Why, 34 to be exact.

Also, new to Wilder's lexicon: "Mini-van," which he pronounces "mini-man."

What's happening to the world we live in?

Oh the insanity. The absurdity. The bald-faced friggin' idiocy.

It strikes again.

And this is the world my boys will inherit? Jeez, at 2 months and 2 years, I'd guess that Hunter and Wilder are already capable of higher reasoning than the people who would complain about a scarf in a donut ad. And, I might ad, they already have more cojones than Dunkin Donuts, which caved into the pressure of these idiots.

On a side note, Bill O'Reilly was given the Governor's Honor by the people who hand out Emmy Awards. Comcast employee and journalist Barry Nolan protested the decision and was promptly fired. Clearly, having a spine no longer counts for anything in the journalism industry.

I have no idea what the Emmy Awards are named after, but if they're going to go handing them out to raging douchebags like O'Reilly, I propose something altogether new:

E(gotistical)
M(yopic)
M(isogynistic)
Y(ahoo)

Think I'm wrong? Click here or watch one of O'Reilly's greatest hits below (warning: NSFW):

Hunter: still big

Hunter had his two month doctor appointment yesterday. Here's the latest stats:

Weight: 14 lbs., 12.5 oz.
Height: 24.75 inches

He got a bunch of shots too, poor thing, but unlike his brother, who slept like 14 hours after his two-month shots, Hunter stayed awake most of the evening and not much would comfort him except nursing. At some point I decided I'd just lie down in bed with him and let him nurse his way through the evening. It was actually kind of nice and relaxing after a hectic day (heck, hectic WEEK).

Tomorrow our friends Bree and Chris from Colorado get here for a long weekend. I'm hoping we just eat, drink and swim our way through their three days here. I foresee Bree and I holding babies while watching Jer and Chris -- both men in their 40s, mind you -- do cannonballs. I'll get some video.

Hoping to post a bunch of pics I've compiled over the last few weeks today. A photo blitz post ... or, in other words, none of my usual blathering, ranting, etc. It's my gift to you. ; )

xo, k.

DUBYA TEE EFF?????

I simply cannot fathom the things that come out of this man's mouth. I am staggeringly appalled by his stupidity:

Tapping my inner stage mother

So OK, yeah, I think my kid is cute enough to be cover material. Don't all mothers?

Anyway, I've entered Wilder in the Parents magazine cover model search contest for this year. You can view the gallery of photos I submitted here. After receiving my June issue and seeing that they were conducting the search, I thought, "What the hell!?" and decided we'd conduct an impromptu photo shoot. I don't really expect this to go anywhere, but it sure was fun taking his pictures for half an hour while he ran around looking for lizards and snails until finally the session ended in a run up the block, a tackling session in the grass and, ultimately, a kneecap injury (me, not him).

You can rate and view his photos every day from now until some date in June, and while I don't think it has any effect on the outcome of the search, I sure would love to see him ranked highly. Because, you know, he's cute as a button, no?

For the record, Hunter begged me to enter his handsome mug too, but the minimum age was six months old. So, we'll just have to post his most recent spectacularly gorgeous photo here:

Cheers! k.

The Bros. Scott: an update

Well, Bright Eyes McPoopshispants has finally fallen asleep after much protest, so I figured I'd update the blog a little with some details on the boys. Not much to write, really, but it's been so long since I posted anything of substance that I figured it was time. 

We'll start with Wilder. After many weeks of being just the absolute sweetest, best behaved boy on the planet, his, err, wilder side has re-emerged. Don't get me wrong, even Wilder being a bit of a turd is still not that bad, but he's definitely learning to push the envelope. It's kind of funny really. I'll be all like: "Hey Wilder, let's not treat the dog like he's living at Guatanamo Bay, OK?" And he'll be all like: "Umm, OK Mama, I'm thinking about what you're requesting of me and soundly rejecting it as utter nonsense. I think I'm going to go ahead and suplex the dog." 

What's really most amusing to me (or frustrating, depending on the day) is how he knows he's being bad and testing out what his inner-James Dean can get away with. I'll ask him to quit doing something and he'll kind of trepidaciously shake his little blond head and then dart his adorable blue eyes over at me and look away quickly. He's gauging how quickly he might have to do a 180 or, you know, run for his life if I react poorly to his pathetic attempts at rebellion. A lot of times when he's in trouble I'll ask him to look at me while I explain to him how he's SO not getting away with this and he has SUCH a hard time looking me in the eye when I'm mad or disappointed. I take this as a good sign. I remember experiencing the same with my own mom, and I remember that I couldn't meet her eye because I was in awe of her power and scared to death of her judgment. 

Anyway, I'm sure all this with Wilder is just another phase. Hopefully, however, it's not a phase that's going to last until he's 4. 

In other areas of Wilder's world, there is no semblance of potty training going on. He has ZERO interest. Jerry thinks he's starting to be interested. I think that's the eternal optimism of a man who's tired of wiping poopy boy butts and dealing with what we call "fromunda" around here. (By the way, I suggest NOT doing a Google search of that word ... very colorful and, uhh, GROSS.) I recently bought some Buzz Lightyear and Diego underpants, explaining to Wilder that he could wear them when he was ready to try the potty. Nada. If any of you veteran parents and grandparents have advice on this front, holler. I'm pretty much decided to address potty-training as I've addressed everything else with Wilder — let it happen when it happens and trust that it will happen w/o much fuss sooner or later. It might be laziness, but it's a parenting style that seems to work best for me.

As much as I'd like to provide an update on Hunter, he is currently contemplating intensely protesting the fact that he's woken up and IS NOT IN MY ARMS!!!!! Oh yes, there fly the first yells. 

I'll be back on later to write more and hopefully post some pics.  

Wilder and Hunter in 20 years?

This is priceless:

The Womb Bear Speaketh: Part Deux ... and other babbling

This happened weeks ago and I meant to post it. The Womb Bear told me who Barack's running mate will be. I want it on record that my WB is psychic, in case it comes true. Wait for it ...

Colin Powell.

I swear I'm not nuts. Sleep deprived, yes, but not nuts. It's just that this contraption talks to me. Hell, my breast pump talked to my sister Tara while she was here. It said to her: "Etiquette. Etiquette."

All messages from inanimate objects must be taken seriously. So I'm sure Tara is perusing Miss Manners columns as we speak. I personally prefer Dear Prudence, but that's just me.

New pictures TK before the week is up. And guess what? Jerry and I have a baby sitter Saturday night and have a wedding to go to, at which I'm almost certain there will be an open bar. Cha-ching! I see a shower, tooth brushing, heels, make-up and stumbling in my future!