Happy Halloween!

I’ve reduced my child to a pun.

Payne Stewart ,

meet Payne “Stewart”.

and I’m not sorry! It was so worth it.

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A timely disaster.

So Dan and I are making dinner, and Payne is getting antsy for food. I, being a lovely nutritionally minded Mother, set him up with a plate of fruit at the kitchen table. We go about our business, nothing to be concerned about, or so we think.

Things get suspiciously quiet. I turn and look at Payne.

REE! REE! REE! REE! REE!

(that was supposed to be the score to Psycho)

I KNOW, right?

So it turns out pomegranate seeds pop like mini balloons! Yay! How incredibly fun is popping dozens of tiny balloons? Payne thought it was a thrill a minute! Of course these mini balloons are full of nice, dark, incredibly staining red juice. The juice which was now all over my kid, my kitchen table, the mini blinds, the floor, and the walls.

How horrible is it that the first thing I did was laugh, and think of this?

And the second thing I did was make Dan take a picture?

Ok, well at least I cleaned up the kid and the walls before putting the picture on the internet (Puts gold star on Mommy behavior calendar).

Things Payne says funny.

I might as well have titled this “Things Payne says” heh heh.

He has mastered key, eye, bye, daddy, mama, cheese and hi. Humans not related to him actually understand those. All of the now too numerous to remember words are something that few can understand.

Some of my favorites:

Piggy: Gee! (We were watching the library puppet show yesterday and he kept yelling “Geee!” at the puppet pig. Aw, born heckler.)

Doggy: Doddy

Help: How (he asks me for “how” about 400 times per day right now)

Potty: Pah-ee! (This he screams anytime I head to the bathroom, and continues to scream while standing in front of me and trying to unroll the toilet paper)

Sit: This one just became clear, but until a few weeks ago his sit started with a “T”. Yeah.

Water: wawer

Muffin: Muh! Muh! (while he flails his arms and looks at me desperately)

Cookie: Key! (This can get confusing as “key” also actually means a key and he’s obsessed with the mail)

Blanket: nigh (as in night night)

Dog: Dao!!! (Yes, this is always spoken in a way that would imply three exclamation points)

Diaper: ipe-errrr

Golf: Goff! (my Dad has started the indoctrination early on this one)

Ball: doll

Bath: Baff! (which is always said while tring to take his own shirt off)

Shower: another super clear one, unfortunately he thinks it means to get naked (signing him up for therapy)

Up: Uh! Uh! Uh! (while staring up at me with what can best be decribed as Puss’s eyes from the Shrek series)

Door: Doh-wer

Go: Goo! (which is always chanted as if we were at some sporting event)

Socks: soss

Shoes: soos

Toes: toss (I guess he likes his feet)

And my very favorite, “Dee doh!” which doubles as “There you go” and “Thank you”, very Hawaiian of him, don’t you think?

I could go on. I love this kid and his toddler speak so very much.

Stella is a head case.

Although I’ll be the first to admit it probably isn’t her fault.

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I mean, Stella was in our engagement pictures, so obviously we set her up for a bit of an identity crisis. I got her as a Junior in college and she was queen bee for two years. We indulged her every weirdo whim.

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She’s always been, um, quirky to the max. She growls and growls at us about minor details around the house that aren’t to her liking. She hates it when we move around the furniture. She’ll sit by a blanket and growl at us until we put it over her. She constantly growls for food, but then only takes a few bites and saunters away all “Who’s the Alpha now biatch!” but her newest thing is even weirder.

I assume this is related to the laundry room being her “sanctuary” from Payne, with the baby gate and all. However, it’s really really unsettling to walk into the pitch black laundry room, flip on the light, and find Stella chillin in the whites bin. THEN she has the nerve to look up at me like I’m interrupting something! She seriously gets a “Do you mind?!” look on her face.

So yeah, my dog hangs out in the dirty laundry, by herself, in the dark. Not sure what to do with that.

I can’t be the only one

who’s kid is usually without either pants or a shirt pretty much anytime he’s at home.

 

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(I don’t care who you are, that’s just funny right there.)

 

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(Ok, between the boots and the Shiner box, I’m starting to look a little country.)
(Those are carrots. He was “Helping” with dinner.)
I mean, if you’re at home and you change your kid’s diaper, why would you waste precious energy putting those pants back on? You could be using that energy to push the buttons on the remote! If the kid destroys his shirt during lunch I’m certainly not digging out a new one unless he’s going to be seen by the general public. I consider a shirtless baby to be an excellent belly button location teaching opportunity. We’re all about education in this household.

I really thought I was a patient person, until I had a child.

There are moments where my son can bring me to the brink of completely losing it.

For example, we were once in the grocery store, and I was drinking a latte from Starbucks. Is this revolutionary? No. But since I’ve quit working full time I try to be pretty frugal, and nearly $5 for a latte isn’t exactly a bargain basement price, so I try to not have one too often. A latte is a BIG deal to me (my life is quiet, ok? heh heh). We had already had to leave Starbucks because Payne was being a pill and disturbing all of the “over the laptop” glarers.

So I’m perusing the canned tomatoes, when I hear a splattering noise coming from my cart. I spin around, and I swear everything went into slow motion. There is my son, grinning, pouring my beloved seasonally flavored espresso beverage out onto the linoleum. I just about dropped to my knees and wailed “My precioussss!”.

At that moment, I had a very vivid fantasy of leaving him at the end of the aisle with a sign taped to his front that read “Buy an economy size carton of Goldfish crackers and a gallon of whole milk, and get this for free!”. Instead, I mopped up my precious with baby wipes while muttering to myself, and took Payne home.

However, the frustration doesn’t last too long, and before I know it he’s making me laugh. Today it was while eating his lunch. Normally he throws his grilled chicken and green beans gleefully to the dogs as soon as my back is turned, but today (oh glorious day!) I gave him Frito pie (I added some diced carrots to the chili. Muah ha ha!). Ethel took up her usual ninja dachshund post beneath him, at a spot under the table that I can’t see from my seat. He looked straight down at her as he stuffed his face with cheesy goodness, and said “Uh uh” with the exact same intonation I use. Ha! Take that ninja dog!

And if funny toddler hijinks’s don’t convince me to keep him around for a few more days, a well timed adorable face of mischievousness usually does the trick.

He’s all “You’ll get over it, Ma.” smirky here. Harumph.

I’m a neat freak.

At least I hate clutter. I don’t mind dirt, so much as everything is put away (wanna come over for dinner now? Ha ha).

My house actually could probably pass for a rental, except for all of the pictures of those same 10 or so people hanging all over the place, and I might be the only arguably sane person who has a framed portrait of her dogs hung in her breakfast room, but I digress.

I like things nicely arranged. My office book shelf was once a thing of…well, if not beauty, structure. I had it organized by book size and subject matter. All of the series were grouped together, there were various knick knacks positioned in the open spaces. It was tidy.

Then I birthed a human ping pong ball.


(The muffin tin is really an inspired touch.)

Now I just scoop up Sookie Stackhouse and slap her down right next to 1776. Jane Eyre suffers the indignity of being stacked horizontally within my battered Everyday Food collection. It’s pure chaos I tell you!

I guess he prefers T.V.

(Guiltily draws line under and adds exclamation point to “Library story time” item on calendar.)