Posing for the camera.
Feeding the Ducks.
Friends + Fun = FABULOUS
The Three Amigos
Inspecting the Farm Life. And offering them Doritos.We are lucky enough to live directly across from some good friends, which means that all of our windows face each other. While there is no Peeping Tom action going on, Coy & Kyle have been known to sit in their bedroom windows and shout conversations back and forth. When we first moved in, this occurred on a much more frequent basis, but it has since slowed a bit. However, tonight I was lucky enough to overhear one of these fabulous conversations between two friends. It went something like this:
Kyle: Hey Coy, I heard your song!
Coy: That I was singing?
Kyle: Yeah
Coy: Did you like it?
Kyle: Yeah. I played tennis today.
Coy: Did you like my song?
Kyle: Yeah, but I played tennis today for fun.
Coy: Yeah, I was singing a song.
Kyle: You want to play tennis with me?
Coy: No, tomorrow is soccer.
Kyle: Yeah, tomorrow is soccer. You want to play tennis with me?
I was recently talking to my sister-in-law about her 4-year-old daughter. Apparently, this darling little girl has become obsessed with "fashion." With temperatures in the 50's, my sister-in-law attempted to put a pair of pants on her daughter, to which the little girl replied, "But mom, that's not fashion!" She also insisted upon delicate little silver sandals because they were "fashion."
"What's fashion?" my sister-in-law replied. "We don't do fashion at this house!" And mind you, this is a household with four girls and one lone boy. Yet, her 4-year-old is the first to obsess about style, mystifying her mother.
I had to laugh when I thought of my little boy, who is SO not into fashion. Like his daddy, he cares about nothing more than comfort. And perhaps his Utah State Aggies shorts. But I had to laugh the other day when he insisted upon leaving the house, dress like this:
Look closely. Yes, that's ONE church sock on that little foot, and none on the other. And the rest of the outfit wasn't any more pleasant. It was every shade of blue you could imagine, with none of them matching.
Due to my controlling tendencies, my son is rarely allowed to leave the house dressed like this. But, because it was for a Sunday afternoon stroll with an almost zero percent chance of encountering anybody we knew, I let it slide. And I'm glad I did. It's fun to see how those little brains work and what they think constitutes "fashion."
Some people may not know that my husband's a collector. Yes, it's true. There's his hockey puck collection, for one. Or his kite collection. Or his Whitewing airplane collection. The latest is his golf ball collection.
But before all of those, years ago, there was only one - his bouncy ball collection. We have bouncy balls that are big, balls that are small. We have sparkly ones, shiny ones, and balls that light up. We have Superman, Sponge Bob, Santa Claus, you name it. I don't know how many we have - probably 300, give or take a few (probably take a few, since Kyle's been known to play with the collection).
Once upon a time, we were looking for a place to store these bouncy balls. There didn't seem to be a container that was "meant to be." Until one summer afternoon.
My family was making the two-day drive up from Texas to visit. And in my family, road trips mean only two things: lots of books-on-tape and lots of FOOD. Upon pulling into the driveway, my dad got out of the car with a grin and said, "I have something for Kevin." He then proceeded to pull out a gigantic empty Utz Cheese Balls container.
There was a moment of confusion as we looked at each other and thought, "An empty bucket. Gee, thanks Dad."
But then we were enlightened. "It's for your bouncy balls," he explained. And sure enough, as soon we dumped those hundreds of bouncy balls in, we knew we'd found a perfect fit.
Since then, we've come to appreciate the gigantic Utz Cheese Ball barrel as a means of storage. It's perfect for those McDonald's toys and other random "treasures" that Kyle insists on keeping. Plus, you get the added bonus (in Kevin's opinion, not mine) of eating 35 ounces of grease and cheese powder.
What more could you want?
Kyle's always been a rather cautious child. He's never been much of a climber, he's afraid to ride his bike too fast, and heaven forbid you ask him to jump to you in the swimming pool. I think that Kevin secretly worries that perhaps his boy needs to be a little bit tougher. But me, I'm perfectly fine with a cautious young man. The way I see it, boys get into enough trouble - I don't need mine being the ringleader of the group.
But it seems that Kyle's starting to take a walk on the wild side. Recently, he's been spotted diving down the slide head first (that is, until he got a mouth and face full of wood chips). He's conquered the local swimming pool slide (he didn't even mind the face full of water), and he's moved on to bigger and better. Just take a look:
Now mind you, this slide may not look like much, but it was at least 25 feet high and fast enough to make me lightheaded. Yet, my little boy not only went down with me, but mustered up the courage to do it himself.
When he reached the bottom, he ran up to me and excitedly exclaimed, "I did it, Mom! I did it all by myself!" Then he proceeded to repeat this new trick over and over again.
I wonder if this may be the end of an era. I wonder if my cautious little boy is becoming something bigger and braver. Each passing stage makes me a little bit melancholy to be losing my baby. But if a self-confident little boy is what we get in return, I'll take it.
Everyday, I snuggle Kyle close (I wonder when he'll stop letting me do this) and say, "Mmmm, you smell sweet! Why do you smell so sweet?"
So today during lunch, he gave me a big hug, then sniffed my cheek. "Mommy, you smell like sugar!" he exclaimed.
What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice.
That's what little girls are made of.
What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.
That's what little boys are made of.
I sit here poised and ready to buy tickets to the Tim McGraw & Faith Hill Soul 2 Soul concert. Yet, even as my finger is about to hit that button, I can't believe that I'm doing it.
I'm not a concert-going gal. Don't get me wrong, I love jammin' out to a few tunes and people walking past my apartment may even catch a glimpse of me dancing in my living room. But I don't go to concerts. I can count on one hand the number of concerts I've been to in my lifetime. Well, on three fingers, to be exact. I don't even buy CDs. I once joined a CD club - you know, 12 CDs for the price of 1. It was actually a good experience and is the only reason I have the majority of my music collection. But I digress...
However, I love Tim & Faith. Together, they are beautiful - both musically and physically. Yet every summer I pass up the opportunity to see them and regret it beyond belief. Well, it's not going to happen this year. I'm coughing up the money and I'm going! And I'm dragging my sisters and mom with me.
July 20, 2007 - Mark that date on your calendar, girls! Tim & Faith, here we come!!!
It's the same routine every morning: Kyle awakes and comes into our room. He walks to my side of the bed, notices that it's me, and turns around to walk to Kevin's side of the bed. He then proceeds to climb in and we cuddle for a few moments until we all get up.
It's one of my favorite parts of the day, but I sometime wonder whether I should be offended at Kyle's obvious preference of Kevin over me. I've come to the conclusion that I shouldn't be. Sure, I spend almost 24 hours a day taking care of and playing with him. But I know he loves me. And let's face it, he's got a great dad. Not all kids have the luxury of a wonderful, hands-on dad who loves to spend time with his boy. It's a bond that I hope will last a lifetime.
However, this special bond is what has me dreading the 15 weeks of summer that our family will be separated. Sure, it will be difficult to be a single mom. And sure, Kevin's going to be lonely in Alabama all by himself. But Kyle has no idea what's coming to him. And there are no words to describe how much he's going to miss his daddy.
Here's hoping my boys' special bond can survive those 15 weeks.
It's safe to say that Kyle had a fabulous Easter. We awoke Sunday morning to the delighted gasps of a 3-year-old who had just discovered his Easter basket. Each item he pulled out was punctuated with surprise and delight.
"A book? I love this book!"
"A chocolate bunny? I told you I wanted a chocolate bunny!"
"A Superman kite? I love Superman!"
But the highlight of the entire day was the $3 foam rocket he got in his basket. He not only loves it, but it's now the envy of the entire playground. The day was so jam-packed with excitement, that it led him to proclaim:
"Easter is my favorite holiday! It's in the spring and I just love it!"
Maybe next year Santa Claus should just bring a basket filled with a few cheap toys.
We had several egg hunts this year - one with friends, one with our neighborhood, and one at Grandpa & Grandma Turner's. While some were more fair then others (Grandma Turner's), Kyle was in top form and ran around collecting as many eggs as he could. The result was too many eggs filled with way too much candy, and a little boy on a sugar-high.
The picture on the right is at the neighborhood adult egg hunt. The eggs were hidden up in trees, in the dirt, and underneath piles of leaves. Kyle navigated his way through with a stick in order to help me in the search for eggs. But it must have worked because we walked away with a fabulous prize - dinner and a movie at the Gateway! Happy Easter to Kevin and Ruth! Kyle's help will be rewarded with a trip to the babysitter's while and mom and dad enjoy their night out.
Kyle decided to join me as I scrapbooked today. As we sat looking through Christmas photos, he pointed out one in particular:
"You see I'm not smiling, mommy?" Kyle asked me. 
I ran across this joke while browsing through "Reader's Digest" today and I related - not to the childproof cap, but to Kyle's aversion to medicine. No, aversion probably isn't the right word. It's more like detest, despise, abhor, loathe.
I watched in disbelief as a friend gave her son medicine today and he eagerly gulped it up. I'm surprised he didn't ask for more. She says he does on occasion. I watched in disbelief because Kyle has NEVER done that. He's detested medicine from the day he was born - no matter the flavor, texture, or color.
To get medicine down his throat is a feat only accomplished by two people - one to hold him down, one to sneak the medicine into the corner of his mouth. It's accompanied by thrashing, screaming, kicking, and crying. We've tried to give it to him in the middle of the night, hoping the delirium would make him less aware of the liquid we were trying to pour down his throat. Didn't work. We try disguising it in food. He can sense it. We've tried the dissolving strips that you stick on their tongues. We've tried it all and it always leads back to the two-man restraint method.
It seems that manufacturers are aware of parents like us. Tylenol has introduced a bottle of clear children's medicine that is to be mixed with a variety of different flavored powders, giving kids the opportunity to pick their poison. I briefly entertained this idea before deciding it was a gimmick that would ultimately be a waste of my $10.
As so it seems that I'm left with few options. Unless anybody has any secret tips. Anybody?
"Spider-Man, Spider-Man.
Lived his life in the garbage can."
I don't know if that's how the song really goes, but for some reason, that's how we sing it in our house. Especially since the Spider-Man obsession has begun.
I suppose it's inevitable - the obsession with cartoon characters or super heroes. Little girls run around in Disney princess dresses and talk about Prince Charming. Little boys fight off the bad guys and jump heroically from pieces of furniture.
Well, it's finally happened to Kyle. He LOVES Spider-Man. He's seen approximately 4 minutes of the movie, but it's been forever ingrained in his brain. He points out anything and everything Spider-Man at the grocery store.
"Look mom! Spider-Man stickers!"
"Look mom! Spider-Man sippy cups!"
"Look mom! Spider-Man underwear!"
You get my point.
But my favorite part of this whole obsession is his new imaginary best friend and cohort, "Greasy-Man." Together, he and Greasy-Man capture Kevin, wrestle him to the ground, and bind his wrists with "web." It's hours of rambunctious fun.
I'm glad I get to play the "damsel in distress" and sit quietly off to the side, reading my book, until Spider-Man rescues me.
I've suffered from terrible headaches the past few days. As I sat at the kitchen table yesterday complaining about my symptoms to Kevin, Kyle piped in with a question:
"Did you turn into an old woman, Mom?"
Yes son, some days it seems as though I have.
For two days, we've been storing $200 worth of easter candy for the annual neighborhood easter egg hunt. And for two days, my son has been snitching it. A morsel here, a morsel there - whenever my back is turned.
Initially, he was actually pretty sly about it. We didn't know he'd taken any until we noticed chocolate around the mouth.
However, his methods have become progressively less sly. He'll now wander into the kitchen with his hands cupped and a grin on his face. As he makes his way to the garbage can, he'll say, "Don't see!" Then he'll dump the evidence and run back to his bedroom, laughing, and pop another piece in his mouth.
Kevin and I want to reprimand him, but the whole process is just too funny. However, in an attempt to teach a lesson, Kevin said, "You don't need to sneak the candy. If you ask, we'll just give you some."
To which Kyle replied, "No, I don't want to ask! It's fun to sneak!"
I think we have a problem on our hands. And I think it's time for the candy to change storage locations.
