"Mom, be careful. Don't hit the curb like daddy did."

I'm a turtle! I'm a turtle!

We went to eat at Taco Bell after tball practice. Preston had been complaining of a stomach ache I was sure was hunger, but turned out to be gas. I was just relieved he didn't announce it to the restaurant. This time. Anyway, this is relevant, because his mood AFTER he felt better was about as silly as silly gets. At one point, he was dancing in his chair to the groovy 70's music playing. I'd describe it, but I couldn't do it justice.

He's been boogying in his seat for about 10 minutes when we're ready to go, so it's no surprise that he's dancing his way out the door. As Albert and I stop to throw away our trash, I notice he's standing at the front door, still dancing. That moment is about the time he breaks into a spin, drops to the floor, lays on his side with knees bent at a 90-degree angle, and alternates kicking his legs back and forth, al la "So You Think You Can Dance" intro-break dancing style. He then flips onto his stomach and is doing some sort of "snow angel-on-your-stomach" rendition. That's when Albert turns, and Preston looks up and realizes that we're both standing in the doorway of Taco Bell staring at him with incredulous faces.

You'd think he'd be embarrassed, stop, and stand up. No. No, not my child. MY child smiles this huge smile, and hams it up even more by yelling "I'm a turtle! I'm a turtle!" while flagrantly waving his arms and legs up and down. For at least 15 seconds. Ignoring the frantic "get UP off the floor" instructions, and feeding off the muffled laughter Albert and I are so desperately trying to contain. Because, you know, laying on the floor in Taco Bell and break dancing are some of those things that parent's are supposed to take seriously.

I asked him if he'd show me his turtle again when we got home, so I could sneak a picture for the site, but we forgot.

Team Sports: Apparently, they're out.

Preston had his very first teeball practice last night. Putting it nicely, it did NOT go well. First, he wouldn't participate, so Albert called me over to talk to him. When I tried, he ran away from me. Bad move, so I put him in time out, off to the side where he wouldn't interfere with the other kids playing. Of course, long story short, this turned into a screaming fit. He was acting completely out of character; not listening, running from time out, screaming and throwing himself on the floor. All in front of brand new parents. My child is usually the good one. I'm not used to this behavior. It's embarrassing, so very embarrassing.

This isn't the story, it's not funny at all, so I'll skip all the details and go to this morning. By the time we got home last night Preston was grounded for 2 days, and I was taking one of his new Transformers away from him. So this morning, on the way to school, he asked:

(abbreviated version)
P: Mom, did you take one of my Transformers this morning?

Me: No, I haven't. Yet.

P: But Mom, I don't WANT you to take one!

Me: I know, but I warned you yesterday. You were so busy screaming and throwing a fit that you wouldn't listen to ANYTHING we were telling you. If you would have listened, you would have known.

P: (silence)

Me: You acted really bad yesterday. Really, really bad. You know the rules, and you were breaking ALL of them. You know that, right?

P: Yes, I know...(lots of conversation about teams, etc.) I want to play a sport by myself.

Me: Preston, there are no sports by yourself. Baseball has a team. Football has a team. Basketball has a team. Soccer has a team. All sports have a team.

P: (matter-of-factly) Well. I'll tell you a sport that is by myself. Golf.


Well, no way to really argue that one. So instead, I made a deal; he finishes this season of baseball, playing at practices and games and without throwing a fit, and when the season is over I'll sign him up for golf. Sometimes, he has an unarguable point.