Chalk art

The boys and I got this Monday morning off on the right foot by heading outside first thing to blow bubbles, draw with sidewalk chalk and take a little walk up the block.

Up until today, whenever I've given Wilder chalk to play with, he just kind of scribbles. I've asked him to draw me faces, but he mostly ends up with something sort of Pollock meets Picasso: facial features all out of wack and the chalk just kind of smeared onto the sidewalk.

Until today. Below is what he drew me today. A face with eyes and mouth in the right place and arms and legs attached. There's hair there, too, and even a mustache. Some of the other scribbling can be attributed to Hunter, who's still in scribble mode. But, seeing as how this is Wilder's first real recognizable drawing, I wanted to get a picture and put it up here on the blog.

The other two pictures are from yesterday's visit -- the first of the year -- to the spraygrounds. Although Hunter went last year a couple times, this was his first "real" sprayground time, and he enjoyed it full throttle. Wilder did, too.

Happy Monday all.

Yes, I still blog. Harumph!

So I've been accused recently of not maintaining this blog anymore. Not accused really ... just my 10-year-old niece, Allie, mentioned to me that her parents were talking in front of her about how I didn't keep the blog up anymore. So, JAY AND DEBRA, this blog post is for you.

Actually, they're kind of right. Between Facebook and Twitter and having a preschooler and toddler and a husband who's constantly trying to show me and read me things from his favorite magazines (I don't kid ... he just walked up to me to show me a house in Mother Earth built from dirt bricks and I had to shoo him away), it's been really hard to get on here and blog. Despite the fact that I promised myself that if I quit my job I would write more. Turns out I meant less. Whoops.

But this morning, Wilder is at his friend Owen's house. Not his first sleepover, but the first where he was actually fully cognizant of the fact that he'd be somewhere other than his own little comfy bed with his parents 20 feet away all night long. A little background: Jerry had shoulder surgery a week and a half ago, and ... OK, I might have been freaking out a little bit about how I was going to handle those aforementioned small people and the one-armed love of my life. And I might have unloaded some of this freak-out on my friend Carmen, Owen's mom, to whom I've become pretty close over the last couple of years. She and I have kids the same age and, though we're not all that alike in some key ways, our differences seem to play well off each other. She's inspired me to be a better housekeeper and I've inspired her to, oh I dunno, probably blow off the occasional bathtime in favor of a cold drink and relaxing moment.

So, anyway, Carmen being the good friend she is, she offered to -- after Jer's surgery -- have Wilder for a sleepover. You see, Owen and Wilder are two peas in a pod. Wild, unfocused and high-spirited boys who often completely ignore the repeated entreaties of their mothers in favor of doing whatever the hell it is they'd rather be doing anyway. They're also both completely adorable and loveable, but just read that last sentence again, and it might explain again why Carmen and I have become so close. We're like foot soldiers together in the war of raising 3-year-old boys who do not listen. I know this applies to practically every 3-year-old boy out there, but trust me that Wilder and Owen bring it to art-form status. If you don't believe me, come spend an afternoon with them. Carmen and I will be glad to help you get over your doubt by going out for coffee and pedicures while you yell, sweat and run your way to confirmation.

So, back to Wilder's sleepover. As of 5 yesterday afternoon, he's been at Owen's. And we've been here. With Hunter. Alone. We took the opportunity to pretend that we're parents of the blissful one child again and went out to dinner. We strapped Hunter into a high chair and ate and drank really strong margaritas and cast looks of pity at the couple near us with their two kids. It was great fun. And we've been enjoying Hunter, whose personality and desires are often overshadowed by his big brother.

You see, people often mistake Hunter for the calmer child. They'll ask me: Is he really always this mellow? (Which I think translates into "How high is his IQ?," because in public, around people he doesn't know very well, Hunter can be quite the mouth-breathing, blank-stared little guy.) And the answer is that he's not. He talks constantly and he LOVES a good game of peek-a-boo almost more than he can stand and you can't take Hunter outside without walking to the opposite side of the block with him (and he's glad to go without you and will have a downright come-apart if you try to turn him around before his little toes are perched on the last square of that sidewalk). He really and truly embraces life with near the level of vim and vigor that his big brother does. It's just that in the blur and noise level that that brother brings to the table, it often gets lost. At least for now.

Just this morning, Jerry and I both got up early to take advantage of our alone-with-Hunter time. I think we were both encouraged and inspired by last night, when we found just how much we enjoyed his company alone. He ran around the house unmolested by his big brother, choosing toys that were not ripped from his hand. Jumping around on the couch w/o being tackled. Cuddling with parents who were not being tugged and body-slammed by another small body. We both wanted more of that. And so did Hunter.

Anyway, I have to cut this short (I know, I know ... it's LONG, but I've been accused of not keeping it up, so I had to cram a lot into one post). But Jerry and Hunter have headed back outside and I can hear the fun being had without me. And that just will not do. So I'm signing off to spend time with my dear little Hunter. Honey, I wish we had more moments like this (not that I don't miss your brother terribly and can't wait to go pick him up), and I'll try to make sure we do. You are such a magical little boy. Don't think for one moment, EVER, that no one notices that.

Florida photos

I had intended to post photos of our trip here, but time has gotten away from me again, and since I've already posted them on Facebook, I figured I'd just link to them here and you could all see them there. So here they are.

The trip was amazing, and just what we all needed. It was great to see and spend time with family, see the shuttle launch and spend as much time on the beach and in the ocean as we could. The boys were both trepidacious about the water at first, but were splashing around like they'd been in it their whole lives by the time we left.

Jerry is having shoulder surgery tomorrow to replace a torn rotator cuff. It is supposed to be a pretty minor tear(though it's causing him plenty of pain), and the recovery should be OK. But he'll be in a sling for five weeks.

The boys are doing great. Hunter is starting to mimic everything his big brother does and it's entertaining as hell to watch this. Of course, they don't always get along, and this has resulted in one facial wound this week. I'll post pictures later.

I'd love to write more, but the boys just won't seem to let me lately. Logging off for now and will try to post more later.

A day at the Mote

We've been in Florida since Saturday, in Cocoa Beach first and now in Bradenton Beach for the last few days. We had two days of solid sun pretty much, and today's forcast called for some rain, so we decided to do something in one of the nearby towns. There's a research aquarium near here called Mote Marine Laboratory.

It sounded pretty cool, and when we figured out that our Dallas Zoo membership would get us in for free (the two organizations are reciprocal partners), it was a done deal. So glad we went. It was a pretty amazing place, as evidenced by the fact that we spent more than four hours there. All kinds of marine life, holding tanks where you could touch things like sea cucumbers, sea urchins, saltwater hermit crabs, rays of all kinds, etc. Then a seabird rehabilitation center, and a separate building that housed sea turtles, manatees and dolphins. There's also an immersion cinema, where filmgoers use video consoles to help determine the outcome of the short films played there. We tried that but the boys were too young to last.

All in all, if you're ever near Longboat Key or Sarasota, Fla, with kids, I highly recommend this place. It was awesome. I'm bummed I won't get to take the boys back anytime soon. I have a few photos I'll post later, but we talked about the trip just as the sunset tonight with Wilder. Here's some video of that.

Wilder movin' and groovin'

A little video of Wilder singing and dancing to Woody Guthrie's "Car, Car (Riding In My Car)," as performed by Donovan. Notice: HE NEVER STOPS MOVING. Ever.

Mama and the boys

A couple weeks ago Jerry shot this photo of the boys and me. We have these little yellow flowers growing in our front yard that we're sure the neighbors hate, but we won't treat them to get rid of them. Look how pretty they are! Anyway, I love this shot.

A violation of the open-door policy

Just now, Jerry had taken Wilder into the family room for a little downtime before he goes to sleep. I took the opportunity to change into something I could lounge around the house in, and then to pee. I closed the door.

Suddenly, the door swung open. There stood Wilder, an impish grin on his face, with one arm behind his back.

"Mama! I have to show you something!"

"OK, what is it?"

He pulled his popscicle out from behind and proudly displayed it. As if the orange goo around his mouth hadn't already given it away.

"Good?" I asked.

"Uh huh!" Long pause. ... "Mama, what you doing with this DOOR CLOSED????"

"Well, Wilder, believe it or not sometimes I actually shut the door when I have to pee."

Stares at me. "OK then. Pee." Closes door. Runs.

Haircut day

I took both the boys to have haircuts today. Wilder's poor mop needed rescuing from what I did to him a few weeks ago, and it had grown out enough to be fixed, and Hunter's hair was just starting to take over his cute face. I can't believe how much more like little boys they both look with the cuts. And, for his first cut ever, Hunter did great. He zoned out for most of it, but started grinning like a jack-o-lantern when she was near the end ... I think he was just so damn glad to have his hair out of his eyes and not tickling his ears anymore. Anyway, when we got home, I really wanted to get some photos taken of them. Not an easy task these days as they both have a very hard time sitting still, particularly Wilder. I swear if we could harness the energy of 3-year-old boys in this world we wouldn't need coal, oil, wind, solar or nuclear fuels. Phew. But I got a rare treat this morning, along those lines ... both boys decided that sitting in my lap in our big comfy chair while watching Sesame Street was OK, and I had a blissful 10 to 15 minutes of relative calm and good snuggling with these two cuties. Here are a few of my favorite shots from this afternoon's photo session:

Right after Hunter smacked Wilder in the head. Great facial expressions ... Wilder: "Mama! He hit me!!" and Hunter: "Uh oh!"

I was jumping all over the room trying to get them to sit relatively still and look at the camera at the same time. They were more concerned with sitting on each other's head, trying to fall off the couch, etc.

The money shot.

Brothers in giggles.

Wilder suddenly noticed the scraped knee Hunter got last night and hadn't even noticed himself. As Jerry says: "Kid don't feel pain." But W. was very concerned, like the great big brother he is.

Self portrait of my recent haircut as well. I think I get weirder looking the older I get.

Reason No. 2.396 to love Hunter

You know that full-body grin that Ray Charles did when he was happy? It was like, being blind, he never realized how other grown men didn't do that, and so he did it anyway, and was thereby able to show the world just how much joy it gave him? Yeah ... Hunter does that. It's so friggin' great.

Flash Wilder

There is absolutely nothing good about this photo composition-wise. But that blur you see on the left? Well, that's Wilder. Sticking his face in and out of before the lens in typical Wilder fashion -- i.e. as fast as he possibly can. Tired. So very tired.

The Brothers Scott: Now on Twitter!

So I've found myself without a lot of time to blog again lately. I've taken on some more freelance projects because, well, apparently I'm a glutton for punishment, work and money. In the immortal words of Chicago frontman Peter Cetera (a reference I'm sure you never thought you'd see here ... surprise!): It's a hard habit to break. 

So, anyway, The Brothers Scott is now on Twitter, which allows me to essentially make blog posts in 140 characters or less. It also forces me to be succinct, which — as an editor/writer — I really appreciate. It's a continual challenge, and I love it. 

So, if you're interested, you can follow us on Twitter by clicking here.

Lesson learned

Here's a little parenting lesson I've learned the hard way: Never, EVER tell a 3-year-old that you're all going to the beach unless that trip is imminent. Like, leaving the next day or in the next few minutes imminent. Otherwise, you'll have to endure this conversation for weeks:

Kid: I want to go to the beach.
Mom: We are, but not for a few weeks.
Kid: Well, let's go then.
Mom: It's VERY far away.
Kid: But I want to go. Now.

And pretty much repeat ad infintum. I might have to find a beach in Dallas here soon.

Hunter turns 1, and other blathering

I've neglected the blog as of late. No real reason, just busy and taking on extra freelance projects and such. Lots of other little tangential stuff going on: planning a trip to Florida, planning the neighborhood Easter party (Can you believe I got tagged as events planner? Why, WHY? can't I just say no to these requests? I don't know what children like ... I only know what my kids like and that's because I've forced my own tastes in entertainment on them ... i.e. we play poker and dance to awesome music and drink cocktails every night ... I kid.), trying to research pre-schools for Wilder next fall, doing the taxes, filing our lives away in nice little neat manila folders. Etcetera. I'm telling you, the excitement NEVER ends around here. It's jazz hands 24/7!

Actually, we did have a big day: Hunter turned 1, and we had a nice little party with dinner and cake and ice cream and a few friends. Very small, very mellow, very awesome. I'm posting some pics below. Little Hunter is talking more ("uh oh," "hi," "ball," and "AGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!," uttered whenever something goes even minutely in a direction other than the way he's intended. Yep, our little Baby Buddha has gotten decidedly un-Buddha like; he's more like Mohammad, The Early Years.) At least I've got Wilder under my belt, because now I can just kind of look at Hunter, give him my, "Yeah, let's see what having a come-apart gets you," look, and walk away. It's not that I'm not nurturing; it's just that I don't want to encourage his little fits. It'll either work or he'll end up in therapy in 30 years bemoaning his horrible mama.

So, without further ado or torture at the hands of my sarcastic prose, here's some photos. Love to all, k.

Hunter's first birthday ...

PS. Hoping to get more photos from the last few weeks up here soon.

37, and feeling every second of it (in a good way)

So today is my 37th birthday. Each year they seem to get a little less exciting, and I don't mean that in a cynical, "bah I'm getting old and cranky" way. I actually kind of like that most years now my birthday sneaks up on me, and then it's gone before I know it. I know some of you will say, "What? You? No WAY," but I actually used to be a pretty damn self-absorbed and moronic individual. I still am in some ways, but having kids has made me so much less concerned about anything having to do with me. I like that. It also helps that Hunter's birthday is two days before mine and I get pretty wrapped up in his day. 

Which, by the way, was great. We kept it really mellow. Just had a couple friends over and had a nice dinner and cake. I have some photos and video that I hope to post later this week. I can hardly believe he's not really a baby anymore.

Anyway, in their own unintentional ways, the boys have given me some great birthday presents:

1. Though I don't expect this to last, Hunter has slept through the last three nights, starting with the night before his big day. When Wilder turned 1, I had to convince Jerry — who by the way claims that he spent his entire childhood hungry, though knowing his Momma and her cooking the way I do, I don't believe it for a second — that Wilder would not in fact waste away in his crib at night if we did not rise to give him a bottle whenever he demanded one. It literally took a compromise wherein we agreed to ask his pediatrician and go with her advice. Thank goodness she sided with me (though I was pretty sure she would, which is why I proposed the deal). Anyway, we'd agreed to do the same with Hunter when he turned 1, and I think both of us have been dreading it, because he shows more signs of putting up a fight about it than Wilder ever did. Dare I say Hunter might have my sense of righteous indignation about getting what he wants out of this world? And getting pretty pissed about it if he doesn't. Poor thing ... another trait inherited from his mother. Anyway, long story short, he's just snoozing right through the nights now. At least, until I typed that last sentence and now he'll wake up tonight, mark my words.

2. I haven't blogged much about potty training since those last posts, and there's a reason. We hit a wall and were going nowhere. I won't go on and on about this because this is definitely one thing I don't want to jinx, but Wilder got through an entire morning today without any accidents in his pants, on the floor, etc. And he even went No. 2 for me without any fuss. HUGE. I think, for me, realizing it was a marathon — not a sprint — and realizing that M&Ms go a long way has made the difference. And probably W just being ready. 

Way to go, kids! Oh, and they danced their little tails off to loud music with me before going down for their naps. Also very nice birthday blessing. 

Gotta get to work. Love to all,

k.

My alter egos ...

Just now, while I was lying on my back on the kitchen floor letting Hunter -- who'd been quite cranky and needed a cheering-up -- have his fill of crawling on top of me, eating my face and wiping his nose on me (the fun of this was only lessened by the fact that I pulled the hell out of back muscle in the process), it occurred to me that I am much more than a stay-at-home mom. To wit, a list:

•Human Kleenex
•Chew toy
•Rope (for tug-of-war)
•A mime (apparently I'm gesturing wildly but nothing is coming out of my mouth because no one is hearing me; fortunatley, this one works more and more to my advantage, as I perfect my own mother's "stop-that-now-or-you'll-pay" look and my ability to point to make my demands known and abided by.)
•Furniture (for pulling yourself up on)
•DJ (this one's not so bad, unless I'm forced to play that Madagascar movie song 11 times in a row)
•Verifier of "cool moves"
•Chef (albeit a not very good one ... actually, I'd say I'm more a "lunch lady" -- in appearance and demeanor -- than a chef)
•Mechanic (I fix all cars, whether they're actually broken or not)
•Architect (Legos, baby ... this is a good one)
•Vigil-keeper (I keep a constant vigil over what Hunter might/could/possibly find on the floor and put in his mouth; of course, with a 3-year-old around, the possibilities are endless)

It's an ongoing list, ever evolving. I'd love to keep adding to it, but someone's using his Human Furniture to demand his Lunch Lady satisfy his cravings.

Just two pictures

Just a couple photos, the first because it makes me laugh when I see it. The second because it's Jerry and the boys on the computer, all making the same face and looking adorable. Because of the time of year, Jer doesn't get to spend too much time with the kids these days, so any moments like these are precious ones.

Watch out world!

The boy is mobile ...

Oh happy day!

You know that song that always plays over slow-motion shots of flowers blooming? Yeah, that song is in my head right now. Why? Wilder had a BM in the potty! I was so happy I started crying and had to explain "happy crying" to Wilder.

Seriously, God, just go ahead and suck out the remainder of my soul that pottytraining hasn't sapped

All right, I know. I know. That subject line is a tiny bit over the top. But seriously, is there anything in the world worse than potty-training (I mean, other than genocide and certain Sci-Fi channel movies that a certain significant other of mine watches, and other things along those general lines)?

I had decided that today was the day. I'm tired of pussyfooting around with this business, and so I decided that TODAY WAS THE DAY THAT WILDER WOULD POOP IN THE TOILET. Like it was some kind of decree that I had drawn up in gold-leaf and unrolled next to the toilet paper, a mama-mandated ultimatum that Wilder could not, would not deny.

And, like most things that I've decided I would do or would never do when it came to being a mom, that has gone right down the drain. Pun intended, though I swear I'm not even close to laughing.

Today we have cried on the potty. We've hugged and said supportive words. We played catch with a football (and yes, my FACE caught it more often than not), we pasted temporary tattoos all over our body, we read one VERY enthusiastic and, if I do say so myself, appropriately dramatic version of "Horton Hatches An Egg," and I've spent more than my fair share of time tackling an almost-walking Hunter while Wilder stared emptily into space, no doubt willing his sphincter not to release the precious poo inside of it. Oh, hey, we even played a game of "Poke Your Brother's Penis Because You're Not Sure What the Hell It Is While He Hollers His Head Off To Quit TOUCHINGGGGGGGG His Penis." (The boys didn't need me for this one.)

Sigh ...

I've been on Poop Stalk for hours. That's where I have the distinct pleasure of following Wilder everywhere he goes watching for signs of grunting, face-reddening, stomach-muscle tightening, etc. etc. and I swear if I had $20 for every time I said "Are you pooping?" or "Is it time to poop?" today I would be able to pay off my car note.

I image-googled "ice cream" and pointed out all the delicious frozen combinations that Wilder could have if he just deigned to have ONE flippin' BM in the potty. I printed out a copy of his favorite of the photos and let him carry it around the house as a reminder of the deliciousness that awaited him if only, if only ...

So, sure, you can see where this is going. The boys are FINALLY down for naps and of course nary a bowel movement has occurred here today. Not only that, but I have not showered, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, hardly cleaned (I DID vacuum, because I -- no kidding -- thought the sound of the vacuum might relax Wilder enough to poop), etc. All available minutes have been devoted to this.

It is 83 degrees outside today. The sun is shining. Why, WHY do I plan these things so poorly?

OK, I feel better. And lest anyone think me the Idi Amin of potty-training, I swear we have had our fair share of fun today. For instance, I've taught Wilder how to catch a football (eyes open!) and he will be the next Brett Favre. Of course, he'll be wearing Depends in the locker room, but who cares when you make that kind of money, right?

What a difference six months makes

I'm working on a series of these, because I realized how many similar photos I have of these two. But these particular couple of photos, to me, are very striking when juxtaposed. They grow up SO fast. Sneef. But they're such beautiful boys, aren't they?


Late August 2008


Late February 2009

Exciting Hunter news!!

I was just trying to get Hunter to join Wilder and I in the front room to download some photos. He wasn't, as is his contrary nature, following orders, so I said: "OK then. Bye bye!" thinking he'd follow me if he thought I was leaving him.

He said "Bye!" waved his hand at me and went back to doing whatever he was doing (Searching through some drawers for something to stick in his mouth or light afire, no doubt.)

I started jumping up and down and hollering for Wilder to come see. We tested it out about 63 more times, and it's official: Hunter says "bye bye" and waves!

Yay Hunter!

PS. We just finished a brotherly photo shoot so new photos TK here soon!

Walk in the woods

For quite some time now, Wilder has decreed that he would like to go "for a walk in the woods." It's something that makes Jerry and my hearts sing with joy that our boy should express such a desire. We'd like nothing more than to be somewhere where taking a simple walk in the woods was an everyday occurrence.

Someday ...

In the meantime, there is a little area near our house, an area that I go out of my way to drive by most every time we get in the car, that I've been meaning to take the boys to for some time. It's really only five minutes from our house, and it's a little hard to believe it's in the middle of the city here. When you get down in the trees, it ceases to smell like big-city Dallas. In fact, when we went there today, I made Wilder stop and take a huge breath through his nose. Smell that, kid? That's fresh air.

So yes, today we went. I strapped Hunter into his baby backpack and Wilder used his own two strong boy legs and we went for that walk in the woods. It was pretty awesome. Eventually, the woods open up into a meadow, which open up into a field, which merge into a couple of baseball fields and a playground, which is where we ended up before looping back. I think we're going to have to make this a regular occurrence, if my back can take it.

Wilder and Hunter were both pretty tired by the time we got back. In fact, you can see from the photos below that Hunter was more than tired. He was passed out face first into his pack. A biker rode by us laughing his butt off at our little Hunter.

On a completely separate note, this seems to be Facial Wound and Concussion Week in the Scott household. For Hunter, anyway. He's trying so hard to walk that he's caught himself with various facial parts more than once. Well, that and the near black eye that Wilder gave him with a toy. (No lie, as I typed the last part of that sentence, he faceplanted behind me.)

I need to make dinner. I leave you with photos. xo, k.

Highs and lows

Two random and unrelated happenings from today:

• A little background here for the first. A few weeks ago I visited Washington DC during inauguration week to see our first African-American leader ushered into the presidency. I was an Obama supporter, but I was also just damn proud to see my country finally do that. So anyway, while I was there I picked up Obama T-shirts, hats, etc. including a couple for the kids. I'm not really the type to dress up my kids in politico-wear and drag them off to rallies, parades and such. But I figured they could wear them around the house, keep them as keepsakes, etc. Anyway, in the interest of having a half-aware kid, whenever I wear my T-shirt or Wilder wears his, I ask him who it is, and he responds, "President Obama." I've tried to tell him who this is, what he does, etc. Today, we were driving to a play date, listening to NPR, and there was some stimulus package coverage. All of the sudden, from the back seat, Wilder pipes up: "Hey Mama! They're talking about President Obama!"

I thought it was kind of cool that he was listening to the radio news enough to recognize that. Made me kind of proud.

• On the flip side, Jerry and Wilder and I were eating dinner tonight while the already-fed Hunter wandered around the sunroom. Wilder was being Wilder, which is to say he wasn't listening to a thing I said and generally acting like a barbaric cave boy while we were trying to have a nice meal. Finally, I just dropped my head, shook it and said: "There is not enough booze in the world to raise a 3-year-old boy for more than a year."

Jerry said it was profound and should go on the blog. I dunno about profound. I just know it's damn true. I'm sure the same can be said for 16-year-old girls. At least I won't have to deal with that, eh?

Nite all. xo, k.

The poop chronicles

I haven't mentioned it on here before, but we've started potty training pretty intensively; at least, a lot more intensively than we have in the past, which admittedly wouldn't take much. I'm pretty sure I figured Wilder would eventually wander up to me before the age of 13 and let me know he was ready to use the toilet. I've severely underestimated his stubborn streak in the past, and this was no exception. I'm pretty sure at this point if I don't force the issue, he'd be wearing some bedazzled Depends to his prom.

So we've begun. And let me start by saying this: I don't believe in hell, but if there is one, my version of it would involve an eternity of teaching 3-year-old boys to conduct their business in the commode. I've been able to find a silver lining with most things parenting-related, no matter how unpleasant. For instance, when the children are projectile vomiting, sure ... I smell like death on earth and spend a good portion of my time scrubbing floors that look like Linda Blair stopped by for pea soup. But hey ... look! That boy who never sits still? He's cuddling with me for hours on end.

But potty training? Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

So back to Wilder. He's actually doing pretty well. He's peeing in the pot on a regular basis, doesn't require a lot of props (either physical or of the atta-boy variety, although chocolate rewards help), and you can be assured that if he's acting like a bunch of fire ants are in his pants, he's gotta take a leak.

But poop? Well, he just won't do it. Won't even seem to consider it. I've heard there are a multitude of reasons for this, and that it's completely normal. So trying to get to the bottom of it, I asked him why he didn't want to poop in the potty. I can't remember his exact answer, probably because there was nothing even remotely resembling logic involved. But it basically came down to he just didn't think it's what people did.

So, if your ears burned today, it's probably because I was sitting on the bathroom floor assuring Wilder that everyone we knew, myself included, poops in the potty. Grandpa? Check. Luke? Check. Micah? Check. The list went on and on.

It didn't do any good, but at least it filled some time.

If only we had mountains for neighbors ...

This past weekend, somewhat impulsively, Jerry and I decided to set up the tent in the front yard. Well, it was my suggestion. Jerry did the actual setting up. Anyway, it was still a little cold to throw the boys into it to sleep, but we wanted them to crawl around in it, feel the wonder of it, etc. It was a hit, though when I asked Wilder if he'd like to sleep out there, he looked at me like I'd just suggested he ritualistically set his Buzz Lightyear on fire. We'll have to work on that.

So we set it up Saturday afternoon and left it in the yard overnight. The next morning, I wanted to show Wilder what it would be like to cook breakfast and eat outside, so I broke out the Coleman stove and cooked eggs with blue cheese and garlic and fried some bacon. Jerry brought out the French press and made coffee to put hair on your chest. We sat in the tent's vestibule and ate, while Hunter napped happily in his crib inside the house (he'd had a good romp inside the tent, hugging and soggifying Betty for quite some time).

Wilder seemed to think the idea of eating outside wasn't too big a deal, though he talked about how he loved the eggs over and over. And really, that's what always happens to me when I cook outside; I always think everything tastes so much better. So maybe I've cast the spell after all ...

I imagine as the weather warms, we'll be doing this somewhat regularly. It's not hiking in for three hours and being surrounded by mountains and cold high-altitude lakes, but it's better than nothing, I guess. And it gets the boys primed for the eventual move back to Colorado.

So anyway, here's come pics:

Wilder helps Jer hang Hunter's tree swing.

Pre-nap post

The boys are down and I'm getting ready to take a little nap myself. But I had to put a couple things down before I forgot them.

On the way home from a Valentine's Day party at Wilder's old school (his teacher invited us to join them), we were playing Slug Bug (or Snug Bug as Wilder calls it). Wilder will sometimes point out non-VW cars and say things like Snug Bug Shiny or Snug Bug Stripey. I did the same today, and he hollers at me: "Those are CARS, mama, not Beetles." What are Beetles then, I asked? Without missing a beat, he says: "Beetles are bowls that can GET YOU!!"

Also, I realized today how nice it is to be told by your kids that they like you. I always knew that to be told "I love you" by my kids would make my heart skip a beat. But the simple statement of "I like you, Mama," can sure do wonders for your confidence as a mom, too.

Wilderlingo

Jerry made a nice post about Wilderisms and Hunterisms the other day. You can read it here.

I've got two to add to it:

PYOOP (pee-yoop): It means "puke," as in "Damnit, Hunter just puked again!" But Wilder seems to be confusing puke and poop and just combining them. The way he says it is so forced; it definitely does not roll off the tongue.

And this new one today:

Sun 'jamas: I was just now putting him down for his nap, and he was still in his jammies. I went ahead and changed him into normal clothes so he'd be ready for his playdate when he woke up, and he asked: "Mama, are these my sun 'jamas?" It took me a second to recognize the brilliance in that question, but then it hit me. Night 'jamas for bedtime, sun 'jamas for naptime.

Run Wilder Run

So here's a video clip of Wilder dancing to the soundtrack of "Run Lola Run." For the record, Lola ain't got nothing on my boy. He could have saved her boyfriend in every single vignette.

Hunter + Betty = Love

Photo time

None of my ramblings today. Just a few photos. Here they are:


After yesterday's trip to the zoo with some friends and their little ones, Wilder was chasing me back to the car. I kept dropping the camera and pointing it in his general direction, hoping to get a good shot. This one pretty much sums up the joy he gets from a good game of chase. Look at those eye-teeth ... my boy looks like a vampire!

Hunter and Papa. Hunter's a little obsessed with his tongue these days, and he sticks it out a lot. Probably good for stretching that frenulum.

Can I help it if I brag about how handsome he is? Look at him. This is the look he will no doubt use to slay the ladies circa 2030.

Playing at home early in the first week of having Mama at home full time. We've discovered the front room, with its four floor-to-almost-ceiling windows and a few toys thrown in, is a great place to kill a little time.

Wilder with his new "M" hat, which just showed up at our house one day. If this belong to any of you, let me know. In the meantime, it's become his new favorite hat, and the "M" stands for different things, depending on my mood. But most often it stands for "manic," because, well, refer to No. 2 in previous post.

SAHM Week 1 update

So here are some random thoughts and impressions on my first week of being a SAHM:

1. My back and other assorted body parts are killing me. I have the same kind of body aches you get with the flu, without the other assorted nastiness. I guess hauling 70-plus lbs. of boy + boy + car seat around will do that to you. It's going to take me a couple more weeks, I think, to build up the necessary muscle power to get over it. I guess that's what I get for marring a man who's 6-foot-6.

2. Wilder needs outlets. Good God, this kid has energy. Like, ENERGY. Times 10. Times a trillion. Yoga yesterday was great, but before that we danced like maniacs to the Run Lola Run soundtrack (Hunter too), and afterward we had a bike-riding lesson followed by soccer and wrestling in the front yard, and he was still out of his mind with energy afterward. It would take me probably 12 Red Bulls to work up to half that level. On a side note, Wilder was apparently put in time out during yoga. Just once, and he told me about it -- not the teacher -- so I'm still not sure exactly what he did. But on some level I believe only my son could be put in time-out during exercises that are actually supposed to make him more serene.

3. Hunter is an undescribabely sweet baby. I mean, I knew this, on some level. I certainly knew before this new phase in our lives that he's an easy baby, that's for sure. But between the amount I was working and the amount of attention that Wilder requires (see No. 2), I just didn't really KNOW Hunter as well as I should. Oh man, this child is so full of smiles and kisses and general mellow sweetness. Of course, there is another side, and that side mostly comes out after 5 p.m., when I am trying to cook dinner. That is when he and his brother apparently sneak into another room, smoke crack and then spend the next hour taking turns (or, more often, double-teaming me) with attempts to have my undivided attention, which inadvertently results in one of them pantsing me (I'm going to have to start wearing suspenders or overalls here soon). Anyway, that side of Hunter's personality has earned him the nickname Captain Short-Tempered Long Crack (previously he was just Cpt. Long Crack, so named for the size of his bum, which he has acquired from his mama's side of the family, poor thing).

4. I need more patience. Maybe my fellow SAHM readers can tell me ... is this something that comes with more time at home? I hope so, because I'm finding that I'm engaging in non-effective parenting techniques too frequently. After the 16th time of telling Wilder to stop squishing his brother, or stop trying to shove a plastic bowling pin down his throat, or stop carrying him around the room like that Peanuts character carries her cat, etc etc (you get the idea), I tend to snap a little bit. Don't worry, you don't need to call CPS, but I'm assuming (and hoping that I'm right on this) that patience and more effective parenting techniques will naturally form as I spend more time at home.

5. I am still not, and will likely never be, a joiner. All the parents at yoga yesterday already knew each other. I felt lucky to have Hunter with me, and gladly chased him around and played with him on the floor so I wouldn't have to engage in too much conversation, especially where it involved public vs. private school, developmental milestones, etc. I mean, honestly, I put my kid in yoga so I wouldn't have to be his human bounce house for an hour. I'd rather not discuss whether he can ride a bike without training wheels yet (lord, he can't even ride a bike yet!) or what preschool I'll be putting him in (when I get asked this, I want to cheerily answer: "I dunno ... I'll probably figure it out when he stops shitting his pants." You seriously cannot have a conversation with another parent in Dallas that doesn't at some point discuss what school you'll be putting him in. I mean, he's 3 ... am I really supposed to be plotting his course toward Harvard already?)

OK, so that last one was more of a rant than a thought. Whoops! Got off course there. Anyway, I have lots more thoughts, but I'll save those for another post. Boys up ... time to roll. xo, k.

Note to self: Never, ever let the boys fall asleep in the car again

Oh, Divinity of Naptimes and Afternoon Snoozefests, what is the secret to getting Grumpy McFightsSleep and Willful McInsistsHe'sNotSleepy to catching a little post-noon shut eye?

I let the boys fall asleep on the way home from running errands. They slept for 10 minutes in the car, tops. And now it seems they both think they slept for about two hours. One is currently hollering in his crib, and the other keeps escaping from his room to try to watch TV. I'm one more escape away from telling him I'll throw the TV in the pool if he does it again ...

I need a mantra. Suggestions?

(On the plus side, Wilder starts Yoga For Tots tomorrow. They stretch and roar like lions and stuff like that. We've been practicing our roars. In a few weeks, he starts Sports For Tots. Thank goodness for cheap rec center programs.)

Rattle, rattle ... do I still know how to work this thing?

Well, it's been awhile. Let's see ... do I have an explanation for why I haven't posted here lately? Hmmmm. Oh yes, that's right! Life got so crazy that I ended up quitting my job to become a stay-at-home mom.

Am I kidding? Nope. As most of you already know, this has been my first week at home. I'll get to the details of that a little later. Now, I know I spent about the last three years going on and on about how I wasn't cut out for SAHM-dom, how I wasn't "that mom" (never said with any derision ... it's just that I didn't think I could do it). As it turns out, I had seriously underestimated the two-kid thing. Details aside, it had gotten pretty rotten around our house. None of us were all that thrilled to be around each other, and something had to give. After many months of agonized, tortured "should I ..." conversations in my head, and after Jerry confirmed he was on board with it, I made the plunge.

So anyway, here I am at home. I'm still doing some work for the magazines I've been working for for seven years, and I've promised myself that I will write, because it's what I love to do. I'm going to start just by posting here more often (and I expect to be held accountable ... if you don't see me posting at least a couple times a week, email me here and tell me to get off my ass. I feel kind of rusty, not only with the whole writing thing but with the usual humor that I try to bring to these posts. That in itself was the biggest warning sign that something had to give ... if I can't crack a joke about life, there are big clouds on the horizon. Hell, there's a tsunami on the horizon.

Anyway, I'm only into my fourth day as a full-time mama. Here's my biggest observation so far, and it's kind of one of those "duh" ones, so don't make too much fun of me. While I'm happier and feel more satisfied and content at the end of the day, I'm also exhausted. As in, EXHAUSTED. Because, let's face it, at least at a job, you can pretend to be working even if you're mind is on a beach somewhere. You can sit in your chair and do mindless grunt work. Not so much at home. I knew that would be true, but it's been confirmed ten times over.

It's also kind of hard to figure out what to do each day to keep the kids entertained, challenged and, frankly, tired. Tired kids are good kids (mostly) and so far I'm struggling with that. So if any of you moms and dads out there have suggestions that work for you, I'm all for hearing them. Unfortunately, though I'm trying, I'm not the craftiest of moms or the joiner type. Still, when all else fails, I find clearing a big space in the living room and dancing our butts off works. And I can force my musical tastes on them and hopefully (though I know it's pointless and futile) fend off the Jonas Bros. and Miley's of the future.

"Hey, no no no no no, we do not stick things in people's ears. Or noses. Or mouths."

This is what I just said to Wilder, and these are the kinds of things coming out of my mouth these days.

Really, though, I'm loving it. It's sad to say, but I feel like I'm getting to know my kids better, particularly Hunter, who had the unfortunate luck of being born second. Before, I saw him mostly during his grumpiest part of the day, and on weekends, when we spent a good deal of time together, but when I was also running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get the things I couldn't get done during the week done.

Anyway, the troops are protesting behind me. They don't seem to like it when I type. Here are a few recent photos, because I know this is what you guys really come here for. These are from the boys' last day at daycare.


Miss Maria, who was so upset with me for withdrawing Hunter that she alternately fought back tears, would not look at me or speak to me, or just declared "I love that baby," plays with him. Whenever I would pick the boys up, Maria almost ALWAYS had Hunter in her arms. We were probably lucky she didn't abscond with him on his last day.


Wilder's teacher, Miss Jeri, and I planned a little party for his last day. I brought cupcakes; she brought popsicles. I found it was a great way to end a week. All the kids broke my heart, though, when they kept asking me why I was taking Wilder away.


Wilder surrounded by girls. Gabby, on the left, and blondie Kate were two of his favorites. Very, very sweet girls.


Miss Marguerita and Miss Maria pose for a goodbye photo with Hunter.


Brothers ...

Take lemons, make lemonade. Suck it, lemons!

So many of you know that our second car is still in Altus, Okla., which is where we left it on our way to Santa Fe a few weeks ago. Jerry was supposed to go pick it up this past weekend with a buddy of his, but it wasn't ready yet. That same buddy can't go this weekend, so we thought we'd pile the kids into the car and drive out on Friday.

I was kind of dreading the trip, but now I'm psyched about it. Why? Well, we've booked a suite at the Holiday Inn there that has an indoor pool, so we'll be staying two nights now, using all of Saturday to explore (after we pick up the car). OK, so it's only Altus, and it's kind of a nowhere town. But nearby is the Quartz Mountain Nature Park, and that place is actually supposed to be kind of pretty. If you click on the link, it shows you a 360-degree view, and well, hell, it's nicer than Dallas, TX in January. So we'll be packing the swimsuits, baby hiker and making a day of it.

Hopefully I'll have some pictures.

Then, Monday, it's off to DC for me. Altus, Oklahoma. Washington, DC. What a globe-trotter I am.

Let's see, do I still know how to work this thing?

Ugh. It feels like I never get time to post here anymore. Future Hunter, when you're reading this honey, know that it's not that I didn't write or post as often because I cared for you any less. You are seriously such a great kid who could inspire so many wonderful posts, if only mama had the time. Whatever year it is you read this, kiddo, look at me ... see those lines and dark circles and that huge display of textbook haggard written all over Mom's face? Yeah? It's even worse now. And remember, hon, Mama was the 3rd child, so she knows all about getting the shaft. There's like 1,847 photos of your Aunt Tara as a child, 348 of your Uncle Jay, and about six of me.

Anyway, a quick post. In the last week, Hunter has learned to say "Mama," learned to give high fives, clap and ... drum roll please ... pull himself up and cruise around the room. He'll be walking in no time. Oh, and he's gained 14 lbs. OK, that last one is an exaggeration, but it feels like it. In fact, I have decided I've GOT to get a 4-door car because Linebacker McEats-Constantly and Wiggles McCant-Sitstill are just too hard to get in and out of my little two-door.

Speaking of Wiggles, err ... Wilder, he is quintessentially 3. I walk around all day going "Wilder, can you pick that up?" Repeat aforementioned phrase somewhere between three and 12 times, and you see what I'm getting at. Are all 3-year-old boys like this? He is literally in his own head about 90 percent of the time, but let me slip an eff-bomb just once I tell you. I kid, I kid. I don't swear in front of my kids (hardly ever).

Well, it's after 9 p.m. My pillow is begging me to come drool on it for a bit. Hugs, k.


Hunter in his crib right after he pulled himself for the first time. So pleased. So proud of himself.


Wilder comes in to congratulate his brother. Have I mentioned how much this kid LOVES his little bro? Man, he cannot get enough of him. It's pretty great, but honestly sometimes Hunter looks at me with an expression that says: "Seriously, what's a baby gotta do to get a little space around here?"


And Betty, just because she's neglected too often. But look how cute she is! And that stuffing on the floor behind her? A toy! She ripped to shreds! Because I don't have enough messes to clean up!!! (NOTE: sarcastic use of exclamation points ... but honestly, I adore this dog. She's the best.)

Wilderism No. 1,597

Said at breakfast the other morning: "Mama, little boys need ketchup."

I've also been meaning to note for some time that I taught him how to play Slug Bug(minus the slug, of course ... that'll come later when I can teach him there's a time for a little punch but mostly a time for never punching). Anyway, it's kind of funny that we don't slug each other, because he says SNUG bug, as in "SNUG BUG BLUE MAMAAAAAAAA!"

And now a few photos from our recent -- and Hunter's first -- trip to the zoo:

Christmas Eve & Christmas 2008

Santa Fe scenes

The epic bad road trip

I guess if a road trip starts off with your car engine crapping out on you in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, and ends with a shot in the ass cheek of your choosing, there's not a lot of need to fill in the details of what went wrong in between. And, truth be told, those were the two big craptacular bookends to a trip that -- had I known now what I didn't know as we excitedly piled into the car last Friday morning -- I would have run kicking and screaming from.

Jerry thinks this whole trip might have been a good thing. It's good to get out of our comfort zone, he says. And indeed, this is one of the things that makes me love him: his incessantly optimistic, Pollyanna-esque attitude toward life. Most of the time these days, I can keep pace with him on this stuff. Even Saturday morning, as we rolled out of our Amarillo hotel in our rental car (courtesy of the nice folks at Putnam Toyota in Altus, OK), with a mere four-hour drive between us and Santa Fe, I thought: "Yes, he's right. This is good. Shakes us up. Gets us back to the basics." But at that point, I'd had a mere three nights of bad sleep. By the time we got home, that had doubled. And, let's face it, when you don't get more than three hours of consecutive sleep for six nights, there's this slight tendency to not only not be very sunshiny in your attitude toward life, but in fact to want to curl up into a small fetal ball and cry and pout and pummel a soft object.

Which is pretty much how I felt on our descent into Dallas late Tuesday night. We'd been in the car for more than 12 hours due to a HUGE snowfall in Santa Fe the previous night. We barely made it out of the New Mexico driveway, and our neighbor, though he did not know us, shook his head in disbelief that we were even attempting to leave with two small kids in the car. We didn't have much choice. Not only were we not booked into that place another night, but my psyche was bound and determined that we would all sleep -- sleep real sleep -- in our own glorious beds that night, come hell or high water. Or, in our case, jack-knifed trucks, icy roads, idiot drivers in PT Cruisers, and god-foresaken pain-to-beat-all-pain ear aches.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice to say the trip took a little longer than expected, and we were probably lucky to make it at all. We were on I-25 North for a bit when I-25 South was shut down completely. The boys were wonderful on the drive, and a baby-changing station near the New Mexico-Texas state line that didn't make me fear for Hunter's immune system had me thinking that maybe our luck had changed. Yes, it took something so simple as a place to change the baby that didn't look as if it might harbor Black Death germs to make things look a bit better.

Boy, was I wrong.

I had been sick since the previous week (and, truth be told, this probably accounted for more than its fair share of my bad attitude about this voyage). It's one of those cruds that's very hard to shake. Just when the head cold was starting to clear up, a sore throat would set in. Etc. About two hours outside of Dallas, I'd noticed my ears were starting to clog. I thought maybe it was the altitude and weather changes we'd experienced that day. But a little clogging quickly led to pain and, by the time we pulled up to our front lawn, I was white knuckling the dash, rocking in my seat. I had a breakdown outside of Dallas and Jerry just rubbed my head while I silently sobbed, partly from the pain but, honestly, more from the just horrible experience this trip had become, and that one additional bit of nastiness had been heaped upon my head. I was feeling epicly sorry for myself.

So we pulled up, I ran inside, peed, grabbed my keys and jumped in the car to the hospital. There was no way I was going to endure a seventh night of no sleep. I just couldn't. Well, that and the pain wasn't tolerable. I like to think I'm a pretty tough chick, but that pain was more than I could take.

So luckily, I only had about an hour wait in the ER. The doctor quickly saw me, looked in my right ear and summed it up: "Yep, that's pretty bad." He talked about numbing drops, a shot of antibiotics and pain relievers. I nodded, and nodded and nodded, thinking silently: "Yes, oh dear god in heaven YES! Drugs! Now!! Stat!!"

And then he asked if he could talk to me about something non-medical condition related. So, for five minutes -- five minutes of me thinking "What in the hell is going on here?" and physically restraining myself from jumping on this medical professional's head and dragging him to the meds station -- he talked to me about some group of critical thinkers he was forming, to talk about such things as global warming, climate change, etc. etc. I guess he thought I might be interested, although I have ZERO idea what could have given him the impression I could be an intelligent critical thinker. I hadn't slept in a week, my hair was greasy and I was covered in the general crustiness that goes along with being a mother of two small boys. I'm surprised he thought I had a home other than a cardboard box, much less gave some credence to my brain. Anyway, eventually I muttered something about how I'd pass him name and number along to my much-smarter husband, and then some very nice lady came in with a shot of antibiotics and numbing drops. The only thing she wanted to talk to me about was which side of my ass I wanted the shot in.

I chose my right side, and afterward I wondered how I came to that decision.

Now, before I go giving the impression that this trip was without its merits, let me say this: We had a wonderful time with our friends Jeff (who turned 40 while in Santa Fe) and Ginger and their son, Micah. Our friends Julie and Jim rolled in from Denver and it is ALWAYS good to see them. And we got to know Jeff's brother's family, and not only are they awesome, but Glenn and Emily's twin daughters, Cecily and Corrina (and I'm sure I'm spelling those wrong) are my babysitters of choice if we ever move back to Colorado. Those girls are the kind of girls that, if I had daughters, I would want them to be. I also had, courtesy of my amazing husband, a chance to visit the Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, and that is always a soul-healer for me. I adore her. She makes sense to me. And I love her art.

So ... there you have it. Not much else to add. Our car is still in Altus, OK. We have no idea what we're going to do about that. We'll probably have to go down there to pick it up. Another road trip. Oh, joy.

I have some great photos from this trip, despite the details. I will post those separately, so as not to taint the general feeling of fun they represent (you'll note I'm not in any of them). Those and Christmas Eve and Christmas photos to come over the weekend.

Merry Xmas to all. Love, k.

From the "Words You Never Thought You'd Utter" files

"Wilder, get your hand off the dog's butt."
(And yes, I mean THAT part of the butt. Eww.)

And the award for best whine job in front of the mirror goes to ...

I might be too tired to do this post justice, but I really want to write it. So we'll see ...

Wilder has something of a dramatic side in him. He's been known to sit in front of the mirror when crying, looking at his face from all sides to, I guess, see which looks the most authentically crushed. Presumably he does this because he's both impressed by his own theatrics, and because he's plotting which of the teary-eyed expressions in his general grab-bag of sadness he'll use to manipulate me the next time I deny him a piece of candy or say no when he suggests we mainline sugar into his veins for breakfast. 

This morning, he involved me in this little game. I'd called him into our bathroom vanity area to brush his teeth, which he half-heartedly didn't want to do. I say half-heartedly because, as soon as he saw that big 'ol mirror with that sort of torqued off little tow-headed boy looking back at him, he decided to really turn on the waterworks. He buried his head against my stomach and began the usual routine of having his little come-apart. 

"Are we trying out a new crying jag?" I asked.

"YES," he pouted.

"How's slumping against my belly working out for you? Do you think it lends authenticity to your plight?"

He narrowed his eyes and gave me a crusty eyeballed look. 

"No, seriously, why don't I cup your head with my hand? It might help even more ... oh wait, that's blocking your face, and we can't do that, can we? It totally takes away from your performance, doesn't it?"

Pause. Further narrowing of eyes ..."Yes." Very small, distrusting voice. Small whimper.

"Kid, that was an Oscar-worthy performance. Congratulations ... Shall we brush your teeth now?" 

Wilder hearts Hunter

Rarely do I get a chance to post here these days, much less twice in one morning, but I'm off work today, sick, and I can't lay face down in a puddle of my own drool ALL day. So a brief respite from rest for this:

It happened over Thanksgiving weekend, but Wilder and Hunter have embarked on a new phase of their brotherhood. I think I'll coin it the "Hey, I had no idea you were so FUN" phase. Sometime on Thursday or Friday night of last week, Jerry and I blended into the background while the two boys played an interminable game of peek-a-boo that had them both laughing and wrestling and generally forgetting they had parents for quite some time.

And I have to say, it was pretty damn cool.

When we found out Hunter was going to be another son for us, I suddenly had all these visions of the things my boys would do together: play catch, hunt for rocks and lizards, wrestle, climb trees, swim in lakes and dunk each other, have races. And, probably occasionally, yes, beat the hell out of each other. In other words, I envisioned them as brothers, yes, but also friends, playmates. Co-conspirators. Adventurers-in-arms.

And this past weekend I got a little glimpse into our future. The thing I saw is this: They ADORE each other. It was like a light suddenly went on, particularly for Wilder, and he saw the potential that this ever-growing little flesh monkey poses for him. Someone who, given a few months, will always play cars with him.

I can't really adequately express how happy this makes me. I'm not sure they'll have a ton in common; it's still too early to tell that, of course. But, for now, they make each other giggle and, more often than not, just when I'm about to tell Wilder to leave his brother alone, stop jostling him or squashing him or rubbing his head so vehemently, I'll notice the look on Hunter's face.

"Finally," that look says, "he's noticed me." And that look is accompanied by a HUGE grin.

Dissed by a 3-year-old

Last night, I was reading a Curious George book to Wilder before bedtime. In it, George makes a mess, as George often does, and a nurse scolds him. "A monkey!" she yells (or at least she does in my version; storytime is for bringing out your rarely used inner actress, after all). "And he's making a BIG MESS!"

Wilder stops me, mid-book. He points to George.

"That's me."

He points to the scowly-faced, stick-up-her-butt, no-fun-having nurse.

"That's you, Mama."