Hoo-Hoooooooo

You may think that a certain place with a certain famous mouse is "the happiest place on earth." For many people, I'm pretty sure it is. I've been known to enjoy a happy day or two there, myself.

But if you are not quite two years old, and you happen to be my son, then "the happiest place on earth" has got nuthin' on this place:



We spent yesterday at a local railroad museum, and even got to take a ride on a working steam engine. We also got to spend the day with Grandma and Papa (my parents), so Wiggle Man got thoroughly spoiled. (As is proper, for a day out with Grandparents.)








Of course, Thomas The Tank Engine has a lot to do with Wiggle Man's love of trains.

All day long we got to hear Wiggle Man point out the trains to us: "Hoo-hooooo! Hoo-hooooooo! Hoooooooooo-hooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

We got some interesting looks in the museum, that's for sure. And, when he wasn't "hoo-hoo-ing", Wiggle Man was screaming. (Also bringing us interesting looks, stares, and--from the parents of other Thomas-loving toddlers--knowing glances.) Yes, screaming. Big, giant tears of agony every time we left one attraction to go to another.

It didn't matter that we were leaving the steam engine ride to go to a entire museum filled with trains. Or that we were leaving the museum to go to a petting zoo. Wiggle Man doesn't exactly have the concept of anticipation down yet.

All he knew was that we were dragging him away from something fun. It didn't matter how much more fun he was going to have where we were going next--he was willing to miss out on that to stay where he was. A bird in the hand, and all that.

There's a lesson in that, I'm thinking.

Presenting....The Cake

Drum roll, please.



I didn't get a good shot of a slice showing all the gooey filling, since my "birthday girl" piece was an end piece with all the icing.

So imagine all that chocolate buttercream covering yellow cake with actual fudge marbled in (not just chocolate cake--fudge, people) and two fillings: strawberry, and a chocolate custard filling.

Do you understand the importance of the countdown now?

This is why I jog, friends. Because I get this excited over food.

In other news, I did not get the one thing I asked Wiggle Man to give me for my birthday--the word "Mommy." No, his ever-growing vocabulary, which includes "cake" (he means pancakes, not the sugary goodness pictured above), and "Pop" (meaning Pop-Pop, or yogurt pop, depending on the context), still does not include Mommy.

I did get a sweet Willow Tree, though, and the faceless boy and his faceless mommy look remarkably like my Wiggle Man and me, so I'm happy.

Potty Break

What a day, what a day.

If you happened to be walking around a certain town in a certain part of Virginia today, you may have seen a woman walking hand in hand with a young boy, not quite two years old yet. You may have stopped the woman to tell her that her son was adorable--that he had beautiful eyes, beautiful hair. You would have been right.

You may have noticed the woman's hair was, perhaps, slightly less beautiful. You would have been right again. You wouldn't have known that the reason for that was she forgot her straightener. And her running shoes. Which has no effect on her hair whatsoever. But still.

(Fear not. I have it on good authority that the woman in question hit the local Wal-Mart to buy replacements.)

However adorable this mother-son picture may have seemed to you, walking around the picturesque town you may or may not have been walking around this morning, you would have had quite a different impression if you were in the vicinity of a certain coffee shop.

Had you been outside the ladies room of a certain coffee shop in a certain town in a certain part of Virginia, you may have heard the following conversation:

(If that was you, my deepest apologies.)

Mother: Wiggle Man, come here please. Come here, honey. Mommy has to change your bum.

Wiggle Man: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

M: Please, honey, don't scream like that. This is a very small room. Now come here, please.

WM: EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

M: Now. Come here NOW.

WM: (Shakes his head no.)

M: Stop touching that garbage can. Get up off the floor and come here so I can change your bum.

***It should be noted at this point that there was no actual change table in this washroom, nor was there even a counter to do in a pinch, so Wiggle Man ended up back on the floor, where his bum was promptly, and with wet paper towels--guess who forgot wipes?--changed anyway.***

M: Ok, Wiggle Man. All done. Mommy needs to use the toilet now, and then we can go.

WM: Uh-uh. (More head shaking, followed by whimpering and tiny hands being held over tiny ears. Whatever you may think, this is actually about the noise of the toilet flushing. It's Wiggle Man's newest fear.)

M: Wiggle Man, come back here. Stop running around. No honey, it won't be scary. Please stop whining. PLEASE. Stop making that sound. Seriously. Stop.

The conversation continued in much the same vein throughout the fearsome toilet flush, hand washing, and purse-gathering that followed.

And then, of course, came my apology to the kind woman waiting outside, who I can only hope was entertained while she waited for her own potty break.

Being BH

In my ever-growing list of blogs I enjoy, you'll find Suburban Turmoil. Lindsay is not afraid to tell it like it is, and tell it in a way that makes you laugh so hard you may or may not just pee a little. Last month she linked to a column she wrote about Brag Hags.



The Brag Hag, a term Lindsay coined, is that mom who insists on sharing with you each and every one of her child's many, many accomplishments.



Well, just this once, just this once, you understand, I am going full on BH.



See this?

If you spend any amount of time in our house at all, you've probably seen Wiggle Man doing one of two things: eating a peanut butter sandwich, or asking for one. Now, Wiggle Man's vocabulary may not be as extensive as your child's. I'll give you that. But is your child bilingual?

I thought not.

Remember, Wiggle Man is half Canadian, and there's some French Canadian in that Canadian part of him. You may not realize what he's saying at first when he comes up to you and says "Brrr. BRRR!"

Is he cold? Is he mimicking a car? But if you grew up in the TNSAF (True North Strong And Free) and remember any of your high school french, or if you always read the french side of your food packages, you know that what he's actually saying is this: "Beurre." As in "beurre d'arachide", or peanut butter.

Yes indeed folks, my kid is spontaneously speaking french.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

His First Car

Look out, world! Wiggle Man's got wheels.

Apparently, this is what happens when Hubba Hubba has time to kill at the mall (imagine how often that happens.) He'd been wanting to get one of these little cars for The Wiggle for a while now, found himself at the mall with some time on his hands, and voila. (I wonder if I should drop some hints about a stand mixer....or perhaps a new pair of shoes. )




It seems that Hubba Hubba and the Fisher Price Company have slightly different definitions of the terms "minimal assembly required." I think it's the "minimal" part they differ upon.

Luckily for Hubba Hubba, Wiggle Man was ready and willing to help.

He was even willing to take it for a test drive. Wheels? He don't need no stinkin' wheels.

There was no keeping Wiggle Man from this car. Let's just say Hubba Hubba learned his lesson, and now puts together any new toys while The Wiggle is conveniently sleeping.

Here he is, in all his new found freedom. Wiggle Man hasn't quite got the hang of going forward yet, but he does a mean reverse.

Beep, beep!

Not Me! Monday

It's been a while since I've participated in MckMama's awesome blog carnival--Not Me! Monday. If you'd like to check our her blog, and other bloggers who are participating. It's like free therapy.

Here goes:

This week I did not have to chase Wiggle Man through not one, but two kitchen restaurants.

I did not eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

I did not let Wiggle Man eat an inordinate amount of french fries while we traveled, simply to avoid meal time arguments.

I did not sleep in my clothes one night while we were away, simply because I was too lazy to change into jammies. That same night I did not let Wiggle Man sleep all by himself on the air mattress because he was too afraid to sleep in the pack n' play in a new place for the third time that week and every time I rolled over on the air mattress it woke him up so I slept on the floor beside the air mattress and made Hubba Hubba sleep on the couch.

I do not enjoy the use of run-on sentences.

I do not have several baskets of clean laundry to put away.

That being said, I need to start procrastinating. While it's not likely I'll tackle that completely fictional laundry right now, I should be a little productive this afternoon.

Ta-ta!

Seeing How The Other Half Lives

A thousand apologies for my blog absence. Since Grandma's passing, and funeral, I just haven't felt up to it. I had my lap top with me the whole trip, in case inspiration hit, but...nothing.

Today, though, I'm feeling a little more myself. So I thought I'd share some of my experiences on my recent trip to the True North Strong and Free.

Living where I do in the actual "garden" part of the Garden State, motherhood can be a little different than the experiences of other mommies. This past week, I got to see how the other half lives. Well, the other third. Rural Mommy got to experience a little of Suburban Mommy's experience. (Urban Mommy is a whole other experience.)

There are a couple of things I'm terribly jealous of. Like parks. How awesome to be able to walk to a park. Rural Mommy can drive 2o minutes and get to a park. But it's just not the same.

We took serious advantage of the proximity of a great park to my parents' house. This is Uncle D, helping Wiggle Man down the slide.

Wiggle Man and I got to experience a Mommy and me swim time at a local pool. How great is that? Three dollars and a change room filled with mommies and kiddies later, we were in a pool swarmed with people. Wiggle Man wasn't used to all that chaos, so we headed to a less crowded part of the pool. Eventually, though, he settled down and spent a long time carefully pouring water from one toy watering pot to another.

This is cool stuff, people.

After that, lunch at McDonald's (grilled cheese and apple slices for Wiggles, nuggets and apple slices for Mommy) and then Wiggle Man spent a loooonnnng time playing in the play park. I was a little envious of the camaraderie among those in the "mommy circuit." Rural mommies generally don't have a "mommy circuit."

All this comparison got me thinking. There's a lot to be said for Suburban Mommies, and, while I'd love to join their ranks, Rural Mommy has her moments, too. Rural Mommy can take her kids to feed the chickens, or watch the ducks swim in the stream.

Like I said, Rural Mommy has her moments.

At The Car Wash

It's been a busy week around here, and is likely to get busier in the week to come. We have a very special wedding this week, that the whole family will be involved in. Wiggle Man will be debuting as a ringbearer. I can't wait to see him in his tuxedo.

After the wedding we'll be taking a trip to Virginia, so you can bet I'll have some beautiful pictures.

Until then, here are some pictures of Wiggle Man "helping" Aunt Shell wash the car.

From The Mouths of Babes...

Well, friends, Wiggle Man has started expanding his vocabulary a little bit. For the longest time, he said two words: "Da-Da" and "Uh-oh." He can also spout off a zoo's worth of animal sounds, but in terms of actual words, we were stalled at those two.

Bear in mind I've been coaching him on "Mommy" since he was about 6 months old.

A couple weeks ago we noticed Wiggle Man repeating the same word over and over again, but it was hard to make out what it was. Then, we realised it was actually two different words: "trash" and "garage."

This may seem odd at first, until I tell you that Wiggle Man is obsessed the the trash can. The only way I've found to keep him from constantly digging in it (and yes, sometimes licking it) is to let him throw things out frequently throughout the day. It seems to satisfy his curiosity, and let's face it: it's a handy thing, having a kid who wants to take things to the garbage for you.

I'm not sure what his fascination with the garage is, except that it seems to be a neat place where Daddy and Pop Pop go to get tools.

To recap so far: "Da-Da", "Uh-Oh", "trash" and "garage". This week he added one more.

I know what you're thinking: "Mommy". It would only be fair.

Which is why his newest word is "Aunt Shell."

Boys.

Blueberry Banana Pops

What kid doesn't love popsicles in the summer heat? I wasn't super excited about the amount of sugar and additives in store-bought popsicles, so I looked for some recipes online.




Most of the recipes I found had sugar, or called for straining out the skins on the blueberries. Since so much of the good stuff is in those skins, I came up with my own (much simpler) version.





Add the following to a blender:

8 oz plain yogurt
1 banana
A handful or two of blueberries
A squirt or two of honey

Blend everything up, and pour into popsicle molds. (You'll get about four regular sized popsicles.)

After that, it's just a matter of chasing your child around the house with paper towels to catch all the drips!

One Word:

Pre-school.

That's where I was all day.

Pros: The kids are energetic. (The day goes by super fast.)

Cons: The kids are energetic. (I'm beat.)

What's really crazy? Wiggle Man will be ready for pre-school next fall. I kept watching these kids, thinking that in just over a year, my little man will be as big as they are, doing the things they do.

Whoa.

Maestro

I think Wiggle Man is learning to sing.



Lately, when he plays the piano, I hear him humming and doing what could be the beginning of singing. I've consulted with both of Hubba Hubba's sister's and they agree. He's singing.

This really shouldn't surprise me--I sing to him. A lot. Like when I change his diaper (click here if you're curious about what that might sound like). Or when we brush our teeth, or get dressed, or clean up toys...really, just about any time of the day you're likely to find me singing to Wiggle Man, or at him, or at least in the same room as him.




And, since it's a rare day that I'm playing the piano and not singing along, Wiggle Man has learned that the two go together--at least in our house.

These shots are courtesy of my sister-in-law and, judging from the circumference of his hair, are a little dated. They must have been taken shortly after his last hair cut.

If you look closely, you can see our attempts at "art" on the easel in the background.

No laughing--remember, I've already admitted I can't draw. If you look very, very closely, you can see my attempt at Curious George.

Sigh.

Shave and a Haircut...

Two bits!

If only that's all it took to get Wiggle Man's hair cut.

Thankfully, we pay even less than "two bits" for our hair cuts--it's fabulous having a mother-in-law who is a beautician.

And yet, even though it's his own Grammy cutting his hair, Wiggle Man wants nothing to do with the whole process. This never used to be a problem--when he was smaller, we could get his hair cut fairly regularly. Now? Wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And so, for now, our Wiggle Man is a little mop head! Whaddya think?

A Little Dirt Never Hurt

When Wiggle Man decided to play outside in the mud again tonight, I wasn't missing another opportunity to capture his messcapades on film.




I forgot how badly mud puddles smell. Seriously, gross.

I can see that Wiggle Man is going to be all boy as he grows up. You know--frogs in his pockets, bugs in jars, and mud under every fingernail.

Yes, he's in the mud in sandals. Yes, I'm sure someone out there will be horrified by this. I'm OK with that.

I can see that a good laundry detergent is going to be Mommy's best friend.