I'm beginning to wonder how old Dalton is. He is physically two. I know this, because I have a birth certificate that says he was born in 2006. But, some of the things that comes out of his mouth is wise beyond his years. He also keeps lying about his age. For a while, he claimed three. Then it was five. Now, its seven. He's three years older than is older brother. The only way this is possible, is if he is in fact really older than his brother. Hmmm...But, then, he pouts, he cries, and he can throw one hell of a tantrum in the middle of Target. So, he must be two...I've attached some video proof...enjoy.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
The Boy Mommy
Okay, so what prompted this? So many words, actions, gestures, you name it, had left me laughing, crying, puzzled and stunned raising two boys, that I figured I just had to start sharing.
So, what makes me an expert in the art of raising boys you might ask? Well, my credentials look a little like this. I was raised with ballet slippers and ice skates strapped to my feet. I had play dolls, collectible dolls, and Barbie dolls. I had felt dolls and porcelain dolls and even a fake Cabbage Patch doll that my mom never finished sewing, so she had one normal foot complete with toes and one club foot (never mind no belly button or adoption papers). I had a big stuffed bear, a giant stuffed swan, a big stuffed horse, and hundreds of others animals all that were stuffed. I was horse crazy with horse stuff everywhere (and for the record, this doesn't go away no matter the age of the woman). I had a canopy bed with pastel colored bedding complete with a matching blanket folded at the foot my grandmother had knitted for me. I was all girl.
But...I have a brother. He showed me that Slinky's are not made to "walk" peacefully down the stairs one at a time. They are more fun to have your friend hold one end as you run down the stairs with the other end and see just how far slinky can stretch. For the record, slinky never goes back. He showed me how to hold down a termite and tear off his wings so he can't fly anymore. He taught me how to take a good punch to the gut when I'm trying to tell on him, and mom turns her back for a split second. He taught me that gathering the household trash can actually be fun. He taught me how to ride my bike for the first time in true boy style - by taking off my training wheels, pulling my banana seat bicycle up a small hill, and then letting go and yelling "pedal!". He showed me how mow the lawn. He showed me that too much black makeup and listening to Iron Maiden in my wanna-be-goth faze may not be cool to attract future suitors. (Although I do still love some good hard rock - betcha didn't know that about me huh?) He showed me the boy side of things...and for the record...thanks (and big hug).
So, while I girly girl with my ice skating and ballet, dolls and horses, I also was a little prepared when almost 5 years ago they announced "it's a boy!" And then, 2 years ago, they said it again...
So, what makes me an expert in the art of raising boys you might ask? Well, my credentials look a little like this. I was raised with ballet slippers and ice skates strapped to my feet. I had play dolls, collectible dolls, and Barbie dolls. I had felt dolls and porcelain dolls and even a fake Cabbage Patch doll that my mom never finished sewing, so she had one normal foot complete with toes and one club foot (never mind no belly button or adoption papers). I had a big stuffed bear, a giant stuffed swan, a big stuffed horse, and hundreds of others animals all that were stuffed. I was horse crazy with horse stuff everywhere (and for the record, this doesn't go away no matter the age of the woman). I had a canopy bed with pastel colored bedding complete with a matching blanket folded at the foot my grandmother had knitted for me. I was all girl.
But...I have a brother. He showed me that Slinky's are not made to "walk" peacefully down the stairs one at a time. They are more fun to have your friend hold one end as you run down the stairs with the other end and see just how far slinky can stretch. For the record, slinky never goes back. He showed me how to hold down a termite and tear off his wings so he can't fly anymore. He taught me how to take a good punch to the gut when I'm trying to tell on him, and mom turns her back for a split second. He taught me that gathering the household trash can actually be fun. He taught me how to ride my bike for the first time in true boy style - by taking off my training wheels, pulling my banana seat bicycle up a small hill, and then letting go and yelling "pedal!". He showed me how mow the lawn. He showed me that too much black makeup and listening to Iron Maiden in my wanna-be-goth faze may not be cool to attract future suitors. (Although I do still love some good hard rock - betcha didn't know that about me huh?) He showed me the boy side of things...and for the record...thanks (and big hug).
So, while I girly girl with my ice skating and ballet, dolls and horses, I also was a little prepared when almost 5 years ago they announced "it's a boy!" And then, 2 years ago, they said it again...
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