Mommy Calling Lessons

A short while after putting the littles down for their nap today, Campbell said "Mommy, poo-poo again," letting me know she needed her diaper changed. Again.

As I was finishing up our lunch dishes before responding, I listened on the monitor. Porter instructed. "No, sis. Not like that. You have to say 'MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY!'" and then she'll come in.

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY!" Cam repeated.

"That's right," encouraged Po. "Then you say it like this: 'MOOOOOOOmy!'"

"MOOOOOOOmy!"

"Great, sis. Now say 'Mom-MY!'"

Cam repeated "Mom-MY!" in quick cadence just like Po.

"Good job, sis. Now you have to put it all together like this: 'MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY! MOOOOOOOmy! Mom-MY!' Try it."

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY! MOOOOOOOmy! Mom-MY!"

Giggles all around, including me.

"That's perfect, sis."

Cam agreed, "perfect."

"Next, I'll teach you a trick. Go clap, clap, 'boom, boom, chooooo-chooooo," Po went on. I finally went in to change the poo-poo diaper that started it all. When I entered the room, Po admitted, "Mommy, I'm teaching her some tricks!"

"I can hear that!" I said. Now if only he could teach her how to use the potty.

A Little Respect

I have a paper flower in my car that resides in a compartment under my visor. Porter made it for me a couple of years ago during a trip to the Children's Museum of Phoenix. He wanted me to keep it in my car, and there it has been ever since. He'll occasionally remind me that he made it for me at the museum and ask me if I still like it.

Yesterday I flipped down my visor for a moment and he saw the flower. "Mommy, why is the flower all smashed up?"

"Well, Po, since it's under my visor, it gets smashed, so it's more like a pressed flower. It's still beautiful, and every time I see it I think of you."

He thought for a moment and declared, "next time we go to the museum, I am going to make you another flower. You need to make sure it doesn't get smashed. I really want you to respect the flower, Mommy. You need to work on having some respect."

Why is it that almost every time he sasses me he's too damn smart to punish? This is my parenting downfall with him.

Tai-chi

Porter was doing some sort of slow-motion dance with more control and concentration than I've ever seen. "Look, Mommy. I'm doing Tai-chi."

"Oh my gosh, Po. How do you even know what that is?" I questioned.

"It's a slow sport that you do to relax," he explained, "and I'm doing it really good."

"Yes you are. But how do you know how to do it?"

"I'm a smart guy."

First Thing's First

The littles and I are baking cupcakes this afternoon. Po loves to help pour all of the ingredients into the bowl and help me hold the mixer. And, of course, both kiddos love to lick the beaters. When I told Po I was ready for his help, he asked, "can we do the tasting part first?"

I'm not sure how that would work, but I like his thinking.

Santa's Energy Consumption

I'm finding that Po is primed for fun facts and figures during our drive to B's school in the morning. The fun fact is always preceded by several minutes of silence, so I know his wheels are turning. This morning he was contemplating Santa's power supply:

"I bet Santa has to use a REALLY big battery to power his toy machine."

I said, "I don't even know if they make batteries that big. I bet he uses electricity."

"Nope. It's a big battery."

And so the dilemma has been solved. I wonder if Santa has to replace his battery as often as we have to replace the ones in the toys he brings. Wouldn't that be sweet justice?

He'll Huff and He'll Puff

We were driving past Mountain Pointe High School this morning, and Po busts out with this:

"I observe that the high school is made of brick, so the big bad wolf will not be able to blow it down."

We can now all rest easy.

The Definition of Sharing

It never ceases to amaze me how my intelligent, verbally gifted child can outsmart me. This afternoon I was in my bedroom folding laundry when I heard an all-out shriek from both Po and Cam at the same time. As I dropped everything and bolted into the family room, I pictured blood and bruises. Instead, I found two toddlers and one mailbox toy. And, of course, there are no other toys in the house.

In between sobs, Po was able to get out that he was playing with the mailbox and "SHE just TOOK it!" By that time, Cam had calmed and was happily playing with the mailbox. I picked the mailbox up and told them both (over the screams) that I would be holding it until we got to the bottom of it. Since Cam could only say "MINE!" upon interrogation and Po was too emotional to think straight, I requested they share the toy.

Through his large panicked mouth, Po cited his alternate definition of sharing. "THAT WON'T WORK, MOMMY! WE CAN'T SPLIT IT IN HALF. IT'S MADE OF PLASTIC!"

The mailbox is now mine. MINE!

No Lack of Confidence

When we were out and about today, Po declared after some time of silence, "People are staring at me because I look so cool."

I stifled my guffaw out of respect for his coolness.

They Grow Up So Fast

Po and Cam share a room, and occasionally they'll have a little chat before they fall asleep, though usually they keep to themselves. I put them down a bit ago, then started listening to them on the monitor as I realized they were having quite a lengthy discussion.

I caught Po saying "...and then when I get older, I can hold you. I like to hold you, but I never get to. So when I grow up, I'll hold you. But now I'm just three. So when I grow up, I'll hold you."

Cam asked "grow up, too, Po-Po? Grow up, too?"

Po explained, "yeah, you'll grow up, too. I know! When you grow up, you can hold me!"

Cam then said, "grow up, too. Grow up, too. Po-po, grow up, too. Mimi (blankie) grow up, too? Mimi, too?"

I suppose Po had drifted off to sleep at that point, because she didn't receive a response. It's news to me that he wants to hold her. He's never even tried, and if I so much ask them to get in the vicinity of each other for a picture all hell breaks loose. You can bet your ass I'm going to let him hold her when they wake up.

Continuous Disappointment

This evening while Po was brushing his teeth, I was loosely supervising and checking out the label on the back of the toothpaste tube. After reading a bit, I put it back in the drawer.

Porter looked at me with sympathy and said, "did you think there was going to be a train on the back?"

I giggled a little bit and said, "no, I didn't. Why would I think that?"

"Well, that's what I think when I look at the back of things."

Control Issues

Porter has been having a bit of an issue lately with waiting until the very last minute to use the potty, so he has dribbling accidents on the way to relieve himself.

As I was helping him out of the bathtub this evening, he said "Mommy, I think it's so cool how when I get in the warm water, if I peed a little on my leg that day, it just goes right away!"

"Yes, Po, it does. That's why we take baths at the end of the day. To wash all of the dirt from the day away so we can go to bed comfy and clean. But you know what I'd really like?"

"No. What?" he asked.

"I would like it if you could try harder to make it to the potty before you get pee on your leg."

"Yeah, but I can't," he answered.

"Why?"

"Well, because inside my penis is an intestine thing, and the iris takes the pee to the blood and the blood carries it around my body and then it just SHOOTS out, and I can't control myself."

A little bit choking, I said "Okay. But did you know that your brain controls all of that, and you can think in your brain to hold the pee in until you get to the potty."

"No, my brain can't control my penis."

If he only knew.

The Abominable Snowman

We were listening to NPR in the car this morning on the way to drop B off at school, and the main topic was the recent shooting. The reporter began speaking about Obama's pending trip to Tucson, and Porter shouted out "Obama?"

"Yes, President Obama is coming to Tucson to show his support," I explained.

"Obama...sounds like the Abominable Snowman! Can I get a book about the Abominable Snowman for my birthday, 'cause I'd really like to know more about him?"

I'm guessing there are more books about Obama to choose from, but I'll do my best.

Favorite Shows

Daddy was making sure one of my "favorite shows" was recording on the DVR this evening while I supervised bathtime. Po asked what my favorite show is.

"The Bachelor," I admitted.

"Oooooooooooooo! I LOVE THE BACHELOR!" Po exclaimed.

"Really? What do you love about it?"

"Well, the name."

"You like the way 'The Bachelor' sounds?" I inquired.

"Yes, because it sounds like 'Batman' only more rockin'."

That's why I like it, too. Um...yeah.