Library Time!

I have a confession, I mean I have plural but I'm not telling you all of them now (you know, like in the soaps when one day you come home early and your gardener is sleeping with your tennis instructor or somebody dead is alive again, or someone's all "Over my dead body!" [door slam])...  You know, like that.

I do this...  

I take the 3 year old to the library so I can e-communicate with the outside world.  That's me doing it, guilty.  And she totally loves it, double guilty.  Just don't tell her 15 year old self because that attitude is so bad, I can hear it 12 years into the future, as in right now.  Scary. 

More on that topic, is there some kind of karma law that confirms if I was a total a@@hole* as a teenager then my children will be as well?  Please God tell me no, because I was a rotter, an A++ rotter.  I'm a bit of an overachiever.   I once locked myself in my room for three days blasting Metallica as loud as my 1990 boom box would allow, why?  See earlier *.  And because I didn't make Varsity volleyball, oh the first world problems I've endured!  The horror.  

Okay, that was two things and I said I'd only admit to one so now it's your turn.  Fess up, you'll feel better.  

Nutrition-ish

Do you know what I just said to my 3 year old?

"Eat your bacon and then carrots and you may have your sour candy".

Friends, do not judge. I am a creative type. I believe food pyramid means different things to different people and that is a-ok with me.

PS. If you saw his face when he ate the bacon, you'd realize it's totally awesome to be the one who gets to make these decisions...

Larry, Curly, Moe, and Pokey

Right. Status update in numbers:
Griffin - 3 years old
- 2 weeks to school starting (OMG, what?!)
- 2-3 timeouts per day (down from 15-20 a few weeks ago)
Camille - 6 months old
- 2 thousand weeks until school starts because I am not going to let her grow up any more
- 2 vacations she has rocked so far (San Francisco and Marco Island)
Me - 0 days until my maternity leave is over because I'm RETIRED! Or on hiatus, whatever. There is no shame in sounding like a 68 year old insurance agent getting ready to move to Florida full time. I applaud those individuals. Actually, several times I've tried to move into retirement villages only to learn you have to be over 60 and collecting social security to live there... Thwarted again.
Grant - 30 hours he will be on his own this weekend with both kiddies. Mama's going on a bachelorette sleepover (Did I tell you the story of the last bachelorette party I went to in the Hamptons? No? In a nutshell, it was named "Mom's gone wild, 2009" and I was the only one there with kids... Whoopsidaisy).

1 funny story. Dave and Caitlin, our first and great friends here in the city, came over for dinner last night. Griffin has seen them dozens of times and they even stayed with him the 2 days I was in the hospital having Camille. But he's taken on this air of authority in all matters Camille lately so when they came in and said hello to him, he re-introduced them to Camille (whom they've met several times) and then proceeded to instruct them to "not poke her in the eye, because she's a baby". Which caused me to laugh in the first part because it was funny and in the second part because I have video evidence of the first several times Griffin held Camille and constantly tried to poke her in the eyes with his chubby little fingers, like the 4th Stooge or something. But just so you know, you aren't in the inner circle of people who can poke her in the eyes, that's reserved for family members only.

Red Light, Red Light, Red Light

My latest parenthood epiphany is called "Red light, Green light: My Life in the Passenger Seat of My Toddler's Car".
Friends, I love my children. (And you know it's going to be bad if I feel the need to say that up front). If you've ever experienced a 2 year old - going on 3 year old child up close and personal, away from the safety bars and moat pond, you will know what I'm talking about. For the rest of you, listen here and don't ever say no one told you it would be like this.

My life is a constant game of Red light, Green light. The actions I would like to do or accomplish on any given day are the ones that get Red lighted and the actions said 2.8 year old would like to do are unfailingly Green lighted. A.l.l. d.a.y. Every day. Now that you know the rules, let's see how you do on a test run...

Game score: 0-0. You are peacefully slumbering away in the dead of the night like all functioning and happy people should be when your opponent starts hollering from his bedroom that he would like some milk. A "big, tall milky. Huge like my hands" to be exact. Your sleep - red lighted, so you try to red light his request and return to sleep. Only in my house, this would only be achievable if you either moved out of the country or went instantaneously deaf so as not to hear the screaming, crying bedlam that is coming from his room now. You wearily get up to fetch the master his milk... Score: You - 0, Toddler - 1.

Next up, you struggle to collect a few more moments of sleep until he wakes up for the day when in fact, he wakes up for the day. Signaling you are now waking up, you try to book it to the bathroom before he melts down so as to relieve your already bursting bladder. Red Lighted. His bladder is also bursting and since you just got your crap together enough to potty train him 2 weeks ago, you must put your bladder on hold (getting dangerously close to buying your first box of Depends) and help him back and forth to his potty. Score: You - 0, Toddler - 2.

Don't even get me started about meal time. Score: You - 0, Toddler - 4,278. And you will never need to diet again because to diet you'd have to be able to eat.

Outdoor adventures. You use every piece of creative enterprising you have ever possessed to get him ready to go run some errands with you. You make it out to the sidewalk and instead of following you the 4.5 feet across the street to the dry cleaners, he's halfway to Brooklyn without even a glance in the rearview mirror. What? How does that happen? Dry cleaners, Red lighted. Grant will learn to build his own washing machine before he gets those shirts back... Playground, Green lighted. Score: You - still 0, Toddler - we gave up keeping track because it was depressing the scorekeepers.

Lately, our game has taken a pleasant turn, however. There is no longer a score, there is no winner and loser. Peace reigns for the time being. How, you may ask? Because I f-ing gave up. My ambitions have been taken over by a 2 year old. I now want nothing more than to throw toys and eat hot dogs. But hey! We're not arguing anymore! Success?!

On Hitting the Lottery a Second Time...

Camille is officially 5 weeks old today and time is speeding by so fast my cheeks are windburnt. Already her personality is shining through the poopy diapers and the 2am wake up calls. And let me tell you, she is freaking hilarious. She already has the, "Mom. You-are-not-one-bit-funny-so-quit-looking-like-an-idiot-to-try-to-make-me-laugh" look so down pat she can do it in her sleep. Which is sometimes necessary to utilize because even though her eyes are closed, I'm still unable to stop looking at her beautiful face all night. :) You'd think after 6 months of uncomfortable sleep while pregnant, and 5 weeks of constantly interrupted sleep for baby needs that I'd be sucking up as much sleep time as possible but, no. I lie there in bed at night, exhausted, but thinking about what her eyelashes look like on her cheeks when her eyes are closed or how her chest moves up and down as she breaths and I have to get up to watch these tiny miracles happening over and over again. I could never get enough of it.

To sum up the feeling: I've had not many, but a few moments in my life that have transcended earthly descriptions in there magnitude. One was after Griffin was born, and the thought that kept repeating itself in my mind for days, weeks, and months afterward was, "Now I understand how much God must love me". And Camille's moment is this: "It takes less than 1 second to memorize the features of a child you've been waiting your whole life to meet".

Though I cannot get enough of looking at her, after just a moment of seeing her face every color, eyelash, and feature is permanently in my mind, and I can't imagine not knowing her.

I love you, Camille.

Just Don't Blame Me Later If They Don't Turn Out Like Mine

Several things on my to do list include:

Tell you about why I owe a certain pediatric dental hygenist 3 fingers and a fortune in medical bills...

Explain to you why my child will never recieve a formal education...

Get your opinion on why 1 minute I love my job and the next minute I would rather dismantle my limbs than spend 1 second at work...

But first! I have another Griffin tale of make-your-day goodness to share.

So, sorry about the tata shot but it's important for the story. See that necklace I may or may not have purchased for myself for my birthday as a little "to me, from me" gift? Yes? You do that too? Okay. So glad we're on the same page.

Anywho, I came upstairs this morning with it on and sat next to Grif at the breakfast table. He was engrossed in his morning coke habit - the Backyardigans, and barely noticed me. Finally, when he came up for air he looked at me, thought for a second and said, "Mama listen to me?" Which in translation means he thought my necklace was a stethoscope and he wanted me to listen to his heart and back. [Go ahead and die of cuteness now.]

So, not wanting to disappoint my little genius of medical knowledge, I grab my necklace, shove it into his shirt and pretend I'm listening. And I crap you not, he tilts his head to the side, smiles at me and says, "Boom-boom, boom-boom". People, the entire week of screaming unearthly banshee child is totally worth it for those few minutes in the morning. Go ahead and procreate with my blessing now. Your serious side totally needs it.

Hold On To Your Cowboys!

Updizzle: Apparently the reason I've been ten times sicker this pregnancy than with Grif is because we're having a GIRL! So that does not exactly bode well for her teen years, I fear. But the bambina is healthy and gorgeous and building her little bones and muscles just fine, which is amazing. She is kicking me right now for talking about her, so once again with the teen years...

Griffin has never been more hilarious and has added several phrases to his daily comedy stream such as, "Of course!" and "That would be great!" But only if you ask him if he'd like to watch another episode of Little Bear, or would he like some more milk and pretzels (the only things he eats now). I tried asking him if he'd like to move out into his own apartment where boys don't ever have to potty train and they can wear diapers until they're 60 and he did not say, "Of course!" It was worth a try. He also sings and makes up songs now. His favorite being the "Polar Bear" song. It goes like this, "Da. Dadada. Da. Polar bears are sleeping. Polar bears are sleeping" [pause for applause from all available audience members within earshot]. It is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed in my life. Sometimes he ratchets up the showbusiness element with wide sweeping arm motions. (I think he definitely gets that from his daddy). And almost always he is up on some sort of a step, or "stage", or some random stranger's doorstoop.

Otherwise life is ticking along, work is cyclical, and the weather is awesome. We have a whole hellabuloo of traveling coming up, one trip of which is to visit my BFFTWD (till we die, obvi) in Dallas, TX, so if you need a new lasso or saddle, drop me a line before I go and tell me what size/color etc. I am so excited to see everything Dallas and especially to find out if "Everything's bigger in Texas" applies to my boobs because if so, we're all in for some inclement weather.

Salty, Salty, Salty

Want to know what made me lose my mind just now? The delivery guy only gave me ONE salt packet for my fries. O-N-E. (And I've decided I really, really can't tell you how many fries I consume these days. Really.) On the topic of food, did I tell you about the Rome episode of No Reservations? Because you are depriving yourself of happiness by not watching it. And I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that's against the commandments.

So this is probably weird*, but as people start figuring out I'm pregnant again I have this overwhelming urge to trick them into thinking I'm not and they just called me fat. So far, I've almost made 5 people faint/vomit/pee their pants by telling them I'm not pregnant I just eat too much. One of which was definitely more of a "boss", than "co-worker", but I literally lost control of my mouth when I started talking**. I mean, I eventually tell them I'm kidding so I'm not a total d-bag, right? And it's definitely better than saying, "Yes, my husband and I had sex and the egg was fertilized with sperm so now my boobs are getting huge and soon my vagina will shoot out a watermelon. You're so kind to notice". Come on, I have some semblance of decency. (Except for that one about engorgement...)

However, do not misunderstand this as complaining or taking for granted what we have been gifted with by having another baby. I am more than over the top excited for Bambino, Part Deux and I do thank God He forgave us for screwing up the first one and let us have another try. I simply think it's a tad weird to talk about internal organ formation with a person I have said 3 words to in 4 years, and I'm pretty sure two of them were calling them by the wrong name.

*Did I really have to preface the story with this admission? Would any of this blog be here if I thought like most people? I must redress.

**Again with stating the obvious.

The Visor Is Extra

Because you never seem to have the time to look through those hair magazines at the salon to pick out your ideal do, I've coined and patented the haircut term for you.

Observe and Appreciate: The Star Wars Helmet.

Don't thank me now, my birthday is in a few months...

In other news, last week Griffin told me he broke his head. I said, "What?" And he said, with exasperated efficiency, "I broke......my head". So, of course I told him, as any good parenting award recipient would, "Well, if you think it hurts now, wait till your first hangover".

In other other news, you should definitely watch Anthony Bourdain's Rome episode from Monday night. If you don't want to rip your tv down off the wall/stand and eat it during this episode I don't know what is wrong with your brain, but there are plenty of neurologists who would take your money to find out. Maybe they'll even ask you to donate your brain to science afterward. (Although, I had to work on those things in nursing school and let's just say body donation is not on my list of top ten things I have to do before I die and go to Bora Bora.) Just saying.

In unrelated other news, we had a family vaca to Salt Fork Lodge last weekend and it was awesome. Pics to come, when I decide that uploading photos is more important than ridding this city of fried foods one french fry at a time after work today. It's a dirty job...

The One & Only

What?

Like 61 ounces of Gazillion Bubbles aren't part of your daily make up routine?

Loser.

And Then There Were Two

Just when you thought it would be safe for you to have me housesit for you, I wrecked the Cadillac again. Translation: We're expanding our little spiraling sphere by 1 more human and my obstetrician is contemplating early retirement.

Several blog worthy stories to include here:
At the ripe age of 23 months my firstborn has learned what it means to die*. (*Not really, it's a bad joke.) Because for all intents and purposes "The Wonder Pets" have d.i.e.d. Now I don't know if you know about these pets and how wonderful they are, but let me save you the agony. They Are Not One Bit Wonderful. If you've seen one extremely long and repetitive and annoying episode, you've seen all 4 million of them that air an obscene amount of times every day. And thank you to whoever brought them into my life, I may send some bedbugs your way.

Well, Griffin was so obsessed with "The Pets" that we watched multiple episodes a day for several weeks before vacation. Which coincided perfectly with the alien takeover of my nausea sensors which were permanently set into overdrive times a trillion. But I never made the connection until later... So after returning to our house after vacation, I decided we were exterminating the Wonder Pets from our lives entirely. And do you know what happened? Now whenever I'm unfortunate enough to hear a note of their opening song I immediately throw up. Isn't that beautiful? Also, can I send this phenomenon in to one of these TV marketing research surveys?

Comments: Your show literally makes me vomit. Please advise.

One more. I've given in to the fact that this is going to be a massive pregnancy, what with the fact that we now have 400 restaurants that deliver to my house. (Did you hear that? DELIVERY). But the interesting and perplexing thing is that the two biggest cravings I've had are for food from restaurants with 2 major problems: 1. They're both in Columbus. And 2. They've both been out of business for at least 10 years.

And my answer to these conundrums is this: Call Grant and explain the situation. If he cannot fix it, it is his fault.

And now you know my OB's pain.

Here we go again!

Wherein I Once Again Thank the Lord I Have Faith

Holy hell has it been that long? I kept thinking of you (my solo reader that may or may not be my mom) and hoping you hadn't forgotten me. It is I, and I am alive. For now.

Much to fill you in on in the meantime, starting with the fact that it's so f-ing hot right now I'm hanging out in my microwave for some relief. Also, we went on an amazing vacation to White Birch Lodge a few weeks ago and I cannot say enough about lake water swimming. Except that I'm a million miles away from it right now and that is undesirable.
Here's a pic:That's the whole fam-damly on the husband's side, plus the 3 absolutely edible babies that pretty much took control of the vacation and had there way with it from the beginning. Obviously. Griffin had more fun that you can throw a rock at, which he did, over and over and over. It was quite interesting one day how he threw a kicking and screaming fit on the beach because he couldn't pick up the 14 ton boulder that was parked in the sand so he could throw it in the water. He's his father's son, I'm telling you. Not at all like me.

Another funny story goes something like this:
3am: wake to get ready to go to airport
4am: car arrives
6am: flight to Chicago
8:30am: running up airport gate with pee* running down my arms, onto my pants, down my legs and into my sandals. *Not my pee.

There's something calming about the feel of your child's pee drenching your clothing in a public place that you're just going to have to take my word for until it happens to you. Or maybe it's the direct hand of God reaching down to pat you on the back and say, "Hey there, you're going to be alright. Some day."

Summer Lovin'

Well, here we are again. Sweating our bejesus' off in this city with about a jillion people also sweating their bejesus' off directly adjacent to ourselves. Awesome.

And no, I will not apologize for letting my child run around in his diaper with no clothes on at the park because if it were up to me, I'd be doing the exact same thing. Unfortunately, Park Police do not agree with me. They lack all sense of imagination. Poor people.

But seriously though, Griffin loves him some water works at the parks nowadays. He starts asking for it when he wakes up in the morning and it's the last thing on his mind at night. Kind of like me and Reeses Peanut Butter cups. Now you understand the obsession. Wait till you see the pics.

3 to the Izz-0 And Still Got It

*Griffin Story Alert*

So his new thing is, how can I put this delicately? Farting. And then sheepishly in a very quiet voice announcing to everyone in earshot, "Toot".

The other day he was raving on about something or other to me for a full 14 minutes of uninterrupted toddler-babble when he passed a little gas. He didn't even take a breath and stop before he goes, "toot", and kept right on talking.

Which sets you up for yesterday's event when Grant and Griffin were playing in the living room while I did some work on the computer in the next room. I hear random bumps and yells scattered with a few musical toy interludes and finally someone rips a huge one which jarred the very bones in my spinal column. I wait for it, and Griffin yells, "DADA TOOT! DADA TOOOOOOT!"

Happy Birthday, Babe. We love you.

To All the Mom's I've Loved Before...

Mothers Rock*.

*Disclaimer: At this time I must disclose that I, myself, am a said "mother" and thereby hold certain financial ties to being a "mother" and therefore so what.

My mother and my relationship has run the gamut of emotions in my lifetime, as do most maternal-daughter relationships I would contend. We bonded early or so I was told, since it began at birth and lasted for several years of which I have no memory, but the fact that I survived and was a pretty happy and extremely intelligent child is proof enough for me. Then we went through our headbutting stage, which I might pinpoint to start when I was 4 years old (meaning the first formable memories I do have of my life) and ending at about 24, so that was brief. But around the time that I had Griffin, and you may have heard this before, my entire perspective of mothers completely went out the window and crashed on the pavement 4 stories below, injuring hundreds of people. There's just something about pushing a gigantic human baby out of your you-who that says, "Gee, my mom's a pretty f-ing terrific and classy lady. I better make her a really special construction paper card right now". Trust me, if you don't understand exactly what I mean now, you surely will someday soon.

Over the course of the last 2 years my suspicion of her awesomeness has only grown. If I thought pregnancy was challenging, raising a 1.5 year old absolutely blew my mind. And it's not even the disciplining that gets me, it's the teaching. Over and over again with the teaching. This is a spoon, this is an apple, this is your bathtub, that is your peepee now leave it alone for the love of the lord. Don't blatantly hit the kid that stole your truck, just make it look like an accident. Say please and thank you but only to grownups or if a grownup is watching, otherwise kids your age will think you're a dork. I mean, was there a course on this in college because I'm pretty sure I would have remembered it and possibly had a plan and budget in mind to outsource my childrearing responsibilities when this time came. J/k! Ha. Haha. Okay, well maybe just a few hours a week at most.

But I think I do an okay job of it, and that is because of my mom. As these situations of being a mom crop up here and there with Griffin, I find myself remembering that I know what to do. As if I read this book somewhere along the line that told me all the answers but then I totally forgot I read it so when it comes back to me, I'm totally surprised and thankful for that book. Only the book was my mom and I'm still reading it every day, every time I talk to her. And the scariest part about the whole thing is now I've realized I need to read ahead, because at some point I won't have the book to consult anymore. And yes, I'm sorry I just went there on a Friday morning when the sun is shining and the birds are chirping there little heads off but the reality is I have never been more aware of my parents mortality than I am as a parent myself. So hug your mom today and tomorrow and your dad to because 1 or 2 days a year is not enough to thank them for being everything to you as a child, and more importantly as an adult.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

It'll Keep You Busy, But it Ain't Getting You Anywhere

The things my child says these days absolutely throw me for a loop. Case in point, we met some of our friends for a picnic lunch yesterday at the Turtle Pond. Grant took Griffin over to the water to take a look and there were tons of turtles and ducks milling around. Grif takes one long look at the activity and goes, "TURTLES! Mama turtles and baby turtles and Dada turtles". Shut up, he really truly did.

Not to scare those of you who may not have children yet, but to give you a heads up as to what you may or may not experience as a first time mom, I'd like to wax you some philosophy right now. You may have heard the term, "mommy issues" or seen an episode of Dr. Phil wherein mothers spout off about everything that they think is wrong with their perfect life. And if these people drive you absolutely insane, you are not alone. However, there is some truth to the stress that new parents experience that is usually completely foreign to them, ie me.

When Griffin was first born I felt a lot of anxiety about nothing in particular, but mostly that I was doing it wrong. I come from a big family that has a million people in it, half of which are under the age of 11 with new nieces and nephews popping up here and there, which has blessed me with the knowledge and confidence to lovingly raise children of my own. However, that does not mean I've been spared the feelings that I could be doing it better, which I believe is probably something many parents deal with on a regular basis.

Unexpectedly, the baby is the one who has solved this problem for me. He's not even 2 yet and he has mastered so many things. I mean, he started from nothing and learned how to communicate, learn new skills, have a sense of humor, show patience (sort of), and share affection. Oh the affection. Last week he was playing at the park with a little boy we'd never seen before and when the boy had to leave Griffin stood up, opened both his arms wide and said, "Come here", motioning the boy to bring it in for a big boy hug. I mean, come one, that would melt even Kim Jong Il's cold dead heart.

So to sum it all up, the kid - he's fine. We all need family and friends to help support us and remind us that we're doing a good job. And worry is a rocking chair I don't even want in my house.

19 Incredible Months

Here are a few glimpses into the many accomplishments of Griffin "Jack of All Trades". First up, we have Engineer Griffin...
Not to be outdone by Cold Weather Student Griffin...

Here we see Professor Griffin, and lest you think I masterminded this little ditty myself, rest assured he lined up every one of those animals and went and got a book to read to them. Who is this kid? I'm pretty sure the Engineering Department at the Human Genome Project wants him back.And because it's a national holiday, I wanted to get you something special... No, your eyes are not playing tricks on you. He has his baby in his baby sling which he carried around all.day.long.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Next Up: Harvard Law

One more story that will make you laugh*.

(*Or if not you better get a cardiologist because your heart is missing.)

Yesterday, Griffin asked Grant for a cookie right after breakfast. But apparently Grant didn't think he needed a cookie so he said "no". So that sweet little genius of mine thought about that for a moment, paused, and said "potty, potty", ran right to his room, plopped down on his little plastic potty, looked up at his dad and said with a clear look of success in his eyes, "Potty. Cookie."

Well played, my darling, well played indeed.

Are you kidding me with this? No. I'm not.

Here's One for Ortho Tri Cyclen

Call me crazy, but I think my OB is trying to send me subliminal messages. I mean, it's not that crazy considering those people who think they were abducted by ufo's, but you know... If I constantly compared myself to those people I'd end up digging for unicorn caves in the Indian Ocean. (I'm just saying.)

So anyway, I saw my doc this week and she asked tons of questions per usual including the ever-popular "What are you using for birth control?" To which I replied, "Condoms". To which she replied with a blank stare and nervous little cough. Now, maybe I'm being oversensitive, or maybe it's the fact that she delivers, oh maybe 236 babies a day for her living, but I definitely picked up on some negative vibes after this exchange.

Yada, yada, yada and just as she was getting ready to leave she quickly asked, "And what method of birth control are you using?"

....

Now, I have an intensely invigorating and quasi-intellectual position for my hospital and consider myself somewhat medically educated. But all that aside, I think she's debating between telling me that my choice of contraception is not actually considered birth control or if she should just go ahead and schedule my next visit in a month to see how far along I am.

Lady. Understand this. I have an 18 month old cross between the Tasmanian Devil and a fire hose who still routinely wakes up screaming for me at 4:30am. That's the best birth control there is.

This One's Going in the Baby Book

From time to time I hear things from my Grant like, "Do not blog about this" or "I don't want this to end up on your blog" and "This is not to go on your website". Which, of course you know translates to "ABSOLUTELY BLOGWORTHY" in my brain of brains, or lack thereof. Hereafter lies the latest addition to this group... (Faint of Heart Disclaimer: If you have problems reading, talking, hearing, or otherwise being part of certain feminine matters regarding the "special time of the month", you may want to sit this one out).

[Curtain up, my mother's house over the holidays which is a venerable 3 ring circus of adults, children, babies, cats, Santa, neighbors, solicitors etc etc.] The house is somewhat empty, magically, and I run to the loo to quickly pee all whilst leaving the door open so I can hear Grif getting into some kind of trouble all the way across the house, knowing I can't actually stop him, and imagining the horror I will find upon exiting said restroom.

Only this time he pops his head in for a visit just as I grab my Kotex from the drawer. He immediately begins screaming something at the top of his lungs. Now, this little 18 month-old fireball of mine is quite verbal at this age but there are still many, many, many things he says that I scratch my head at and move on because there is no possible way he is saying something intelligible to my brain (much like 90% of the things my husband says as well, but I digress). I initially do the same to this exclamatory outburst but as he keeps it up for 2 minutes I realize he is saying something. And when the realization of what it is smacks me full in the face I have to hold on to the wall to keep from falling off my "seat", both in comedic appreciation and also in fear of what he will blog about me someday...

Let me digress again for a second to give you some back story. There are several things in this world that can make my son absolutely lose his mind in excitement for. Lest anyone question his paternity or maternity, one of them is food. (Obviously). Trucks, trains, airplanes, babies, slides, dogs, and balls also rank pretty high up there on the scale of unimaginable bliss. And, within the food category also exists a hierarchy of favoritism. Starting out with chicken or meatballs, advancing to bananas and peas, then up to blueberries, and at the utmost top remain the unseated champions yogurt (or "gogurt") and cheese.

Back to my restroom experience...

After seeing me begin to unwrap my Kotex, Griffin begins circling the bathroom yelling at the top of his lungs, as if his very life depended on me understanding what he is saying, "Cheese? CHEESE! Cheese, cheese, cheese, cheese. C.H.E.E.S.E!"

I'm so proud of that kid.