It seems to be a habit over the weekend, that I collect thoughts and then my brain wants to drop them all over the interwebs. So, from hitherto forward, I will be making Manic Monday Blogarrhea a regular feature.
- The almost four year old is actually four. We celebrated a ton this weekend. I am beat. We had a train themed party where all the guests were train conductors and they went to different stations to do crafts. They made a train whistle, decorated a sugar cookie, did spin-art, assembled a train frame (which we filled with a picture of the four year old and each guest), and got inked (temporary tattoos). I am of the opinion that with young children, more planning means less opportunity for chaos. So, I had everything planned, down to the nano-second. Why can’t I be so detail oriented in my own life?
In any case, what I learned from this is that someone could make a pretty penny planning these kinds of birthday parties and then putting them on for kids in their home. Because I would have gladly paid a mint to have not had that kind of stress during the planning period.
- A conversation between the four year-old and me about becoming four:
Me: Ollie, you’re four now.
Ollie: Yep, I am, and I’m getting bigger every day.
Me: But no matter how big you get, you’ll always be Ollie.
Ollie: You mean, I still get to have my name?
- We watched the movie Babies on Sunday. The whole family. We talked a lot about how different each culture is with they way they raise their babies. Different equipment, different attitudes, different everything, and yet, the four year-old’s favorite part of the movie? (Spoiler alert) When the Mongolian baby was lying on his back with no pants on and he peed. His second favorite part? Watching the American baby strain to poop. Because, after all, he IS four.
- The four year old had a babysitter the other day, and when I returned home, she reported that after he dropped a bunch of stuff on the floor, he exclaimed, “DAMP!” It appears as though my technique of mispronouncing swear words is working quite well.
- My husband loves football. LOVES football. He also loves baseball. Like gets-depressed-if-the-Twins-lose loves it. The other night he ordered the UFC fights on Pay-Per-View. I don’t understand. I want to understand, but I don’t. I think I need a sport to love. I cry at the beginning of Wild games when the kid skates out to center ice with his little hockey-stick flag and then pounds it on the ice. Maybe I’ll try loving hockey. Then again, it sounds like too much work, and let’s face it, my DVR is pretty full.
- Keeping Her Cool trivia, the post that brings the most people to my blog through google – THIS. I am amused and disturbed – probably mostly disturbed.