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