The Mud Run...

We did the Mud Run this weekend. If you don't know, it's exactly what it sounds like. It's a 5k run/Marine obstacle course - and it's awesome.

They have a kids race. I didn't sign P up - anyone who knows him, knows he hates to get dirty. He won't even finger paint. Wouldn't you know - he wanted to do it. Baaaaaad. Unfortunately, we couldn't register him AT the event, so he'll have to wait until next time.

Me: Babe, they won't let us sign you up today - so we're going to have to wait until next time to do it. I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd wanna get dirty and muddy.

P: But I do. (sad face)

Me: I know, and I'm sorry. Maybe me and daddy can set up some obstacles for you, and you can be practicing - does that sound good?

P: Yeah. (pause) You mean with mud, right?

Me: Uh, yeah. We'll see what we can do about that...

What's your favorite?

(holding up a red and a blue crayon)

P: Mom, which one is your favorite and do you want to use? (pause) But not this one, because I'm going to use it.

Applebee's

(pulling into the Applebee's parking lot)

Mom, do they have apples at Applebee's?

(They do. He asked.)

What your kids say when you aren't listening...

On the way home today...

(talking to his friend Dylan, in the car)
P: I don't want to talk anymore, I just wanna sit back and watch the rain fall.

(passing the vacuum store on Cooper)
P: Dylan, will you buy me one of those when you get bigger? (Yes.) Which one should I get? The green one?

(passing Putt Putt)
P: Dylan, that's where my grandpa and me used to go. You know my grandpa? The bald-headed one? We used to go there.

(just driving, right before spotting the Charger)
P: Let's play superheros. I'll be the bad guy and you be the good guy. (I don't want to play that.) Me either.

(just spotted the lime green Dodge Charger)
P: Dylan, instead of that other thing, will you buy me one of THOSE? (Yeah!) Will you steal it for me? While they are sleepin? You can be a little sneaker and drive it over to my house. (I can't drive!) When you get bigger! Will you steal it though? (Yeah!) Good!

(passing the grocery store)
P: Dylan, will you steal everything out of that store? (Yeah.) Woo hoo! Go Dylan!

We bought Preston's halloween costume this weekend -Snake Eyes from GI Joe.

He's a ninja. Preston loves ninjas. Of course, he wanted to try it on. I figured he wouldn't go for it , the costume has a full face covering, and he's really not that big on masks. He loved it. LOVED. IT.

Loved it so much, he wanted to wear it out of the dressing room.

Do you know how hard it is to convince those stores to let your 4 year old wear a costume out of the dressing room? It's hard...but not impossible. :) We got the costume home, without taking it off. He looks super cute in it - and that's not even the best part.

Snake Eyes is a ninja that took a vow of silence. P knows this, because he and Albert went to see the movie; I, on the other hand, had no idea. So when P is sitting practically silent unless forced to answer, I start wondering what's going on. The kid said 10 words over an hour time period - and he was bouncing off the walls hyper before he put the costume on. I suppose it's similar to that week around Halloween last year that he made us refer to him as Tony Stark when he wasn't wearing his Iron Man costume...either way, I love this costume, too. :)

I'm brown. You're brown. We're all brown...except for you.

Teeball team pictures came in on Saturday.



P: I like him (Albert) and him (BFF-Dylan), but no one else.



Me: What?! Why?



P: Because they are different from me, and I don't like people that are different.



Me: Um, how are they different?



P: I'm brown. They aren't brown, so they are different, so I don't like them.



Me: (momentarily speechless) Uh, I'm not sure why you don't like people that are different, because we learn cool stuff from people that are different from us - but honey, Dylan is definitely NOT brown.



P: Yes, he is. I'm brown. Daddy is brown. Dylan is brown. No one else is brown, so I don't like them.



Me: Um, K***** is brown.



P: (inspecting picture) He's not looking at the camera, so he's different. That's why I don't like him.



Me: I think it's really bad that you're judging people for being different from you, but babe, you like a lot of people that are NOT brown. Grandma isn't brown. Duckie isn't brown. Aunt Steph isn't brown....



P: Yes, they are. (starts naming everyone he likes) They are ALLLLL brown.



Me: Preston, all of those people are not brown. Look at Dylan's picture - he is NOT brown.



P: (looking) Yes, he is.



This is a picture of Preston and Dylan...

I realize the color is a little bad, but you can tell - Dylan is NOT brown. His mom will even tell you - he's practically albino. Dylan has a TAN LINE in this picture (of course, you can't see it) - so that's about as brown as D will ever get.

I'm not sure where he's picking all of this up from - but I'm not sure I even know what it means with the albino is a brown kid.

So, this is what I'm paying for...

"Mom, did you know we have guts? And we have little teeth in our throat to chew up our food for us. And our food goes into our stomach, and our body takes out all of the vitamins, and it goes through our intes...intest....guts, and then we poopie. (uncontrollable giggling) Isn't that funny, Mom? I said we poopie from our guts! (abrupt seriousness)And, if we squeeze someone, we'll squish their guts. (pause) Mom, do you have guts? ('Yes') I don't think you do."

It was body week at school.

Sick Days

P: (coughs) Mom, I have a very bad cough.

Me: Yeah baby, I know. It's allergies.

P: Mom, tomorrow when it's a school day, I can not go to school because I have a very bad cough

Me: Well, if you have a really bad cough for tomorrow, then you probably can't go swimming at Uncle Michael's today...

P: No Mom, it will only bother me tomorrow.

Monkey See...

So, one of the kids in Preston's class is allergic to - I don't remember what - but since P found out you could be allergic to things, he's been trying really hard to find something he's allergic to.

Yesterday, Preston came home from school talking about how he couldn't eat oranges because they make his mouth burn, and he's allergic.

My grandpa buys Preston those little clementine oranges that he can peel himself by the BOX LOAD; and Preston will eat orange after orange after orange until you MAKE him stop. He is absolutely NOT allergic to oranges.

I just had to call the school, because Preston convinced them that he is allergic to oranges, and can't eat them anymore.

Ask and ye shall receive...usually

So, yesterday I posted a blog about how UNFUNNY Preston is being. Actually, that's not true. The other day he was in some serious trouble at my mom's house, and we were having a hard time not cracking up at his behavior. It REALLY was bad, but it was funny too. If you're a parent, you get it. If you're not at that stage, just wait. If you're not a parent, well, you're probably laughing at it all the time, so...

Anyway, this morning in the car, P was in a good mood...about everything but school.

P: Mom, I don't want to go to school.

Me: Why?

P: I don't like it.

Me: Why don't you like it?

P: I like trips.

Me: (laughing) Um, I do too, but how do you think mommy and daddy pay for trips? We have to go to work, and while we're at work, you have to go to school.

P: Well...I never see you work.

In case you ever check this blog...

Preston isn't being so funny right now. More like a tyrant with a terrible temper. I have no idea where he gets that from - must be his dad. ;)

"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.

"Mom! We watched the movie cars, and now were playing collection! Look!"

Tornado in East tomorrow...Beware.

P: Mom, there is a tornado in East tomorrow. Right?

Me: Um, there is?

P: Yeah. There is. It's a tornado. In East.

Me: Oh. Hmm. Well, where did you hear that?

P: Grandma's car told me. Through the speakers, you know? They said there is a tornado in East tomorrow.

Me: (chuckles) Oh, I see. Hmm, well that's interesting. I don't think I knew that.

P: Yeah, East is that way.

Me: Which way?

P: (points East, impressive) That way.

Me: That's good. You're actually exactly right.

P: I know. There is going to be a tornado tomorrow in East. And if there isn't a tornado in East, then we can drive that way. If there isn't a tornado. But Grandma's speakers said there would be a tornado in East, tomorrow, and so we can't drive to East if there is a tornado. But if there isn't a tornado in East, then we can drive there, right mommy? But there IS going to be a torndao in East, so we better not drive there. And the wind will blow and everything will be in circles, and we can't drive in East because there is a tornado. But if there isn't a tornado, then everything won't blow in circles, and we can drive, and so we can go to East.

(this talking in circles continued for, seriously I'm not exaggerating, a solid 2 minutes)

Me: Wow. That's a lot. I hope there isn't a tornado.

P: Yeah, but there will be. In East.

P's Solution to Life's Problems...

(eating his morning fruit snack treat on the way to school today...)

"So, I think we should give everybody in the world fruit snacks, because it will just make them sooooo happy."

In case you hadn't heard...

Preston got a dog. We "rescued" him (long story), and he's an absolute sweetie...when he's not being a pain in the rear; but that is pretty much the deal for everyone in our little family, so he fits in great. ;) We got him the Monday night before we left for Disney World (another long story), so we didn't have much bonding time before we left him for 8 days. Preston pretty much ignored that he had a dog while we were gone, but I don't blame him. Then, out of the blue, on the way home:

P: Mom, where is Malaki*?

Me: Um, at Duckie's. Remember, we took him there?

P: Well, when will he be home?

Me: We'll go get him once we get home.

P: I miss my doggie. (pause) I love him so much. (pause) He's my beeesssst friend.

Awww, sweet - I know, right? Except...he didn't ask about him one time for an entire week. Hey, the mouse is big competition.

Here is a pic of Malaki:P and Malaki: (it's kind of blurry, but they never sit still enough for a picture!)

And P and Malaki playing their favorite game:

As my friend Breanna put it, he's an adorable floor mop. Malaki will bring P the sock and he will just drag him all over the house! This picture was at Duckie's house - at least we have wood floors. ;)

* I don't know what your reference of Malaki is, but I am (now) aware (thanks to my husband) that Malaki is the evil kid in Children of the Corn, my sister used to teach a little terror named Malaki, and generally it's not a great name. BUT, Preston didn't want to change it. (I'm sorry Grandpa and Steph, I TRIED to push Peanut, but he said no way. His only other suggestion was Gunnar Peanut, and that was a big, fat NO.) So, Malaki is his name - and I prefer to think of the Malachi in the BIBLE ("Messenger of Angels" is what it means), instead of some demonized child. Albert thinks its funny to "demon call" him, and growl "Malaki," sounding like something out of the Exorcist. I'll admit that he does stiffen up and coming running a lot quicker...

Haircuts...

Duckie gave Preston a mohawk when he got his hair cut yesterday.

Of course, all this means I had to recreate it this morning...

I'll give myself an A for effort. Dude, I don't do mohawks; braids, ponytails, curls? - Yes. Mohawks? Unfortunately, I was too busy being a pain in the rear to enter my punk-rock phase in high school.

Stitches are contagious...

[Preston's Aunt] Stephanie's dog, Gunnar, was at Easter this weekend since they went and snipped his manhood that Friday, and he needed supervision. To say the least, Preston was excited, and the whole "I want a dog" conversation has been happening ever since. (I am proud though; when Steph told him to ask for a little sister, he adamantly disagreed that he'd rather have a dog. High five, kiddo!) Anyway, we had to - carefully - explain to him that Gunnar had to go to the doctor, and he had stitches to make him better and to be careful if you pick him up or something, because it might hurt him.

Anyway, he was running around outside while all of us, including Preston (not going there right now) were in the backyard, not unlike a bunch of rednecks, with a BB gun trying to shoot a plastic pipe in half. Of course we were concerned about shooting the dog - I learned after trying to shoot [Preston's Uncle] Brandon in the butt with the gun, that you don't point the gun at living things. Apparently, you may (or may not) accidentally pull the trigger. Unlikely, I know...but a strict gun safety rule anyway. The dog, however, wouldn't move when you yelled at him, because the cat poop he was trying to eat was more important. So, every time he ran in the way, one of us got up to chase him. (By "one of us," I mean someone other than myself.)

It was Preston's turn to get him. He was slowly following him around, waiting for his opportunity, when he looked back, disgusted, and said,

"Mom, I don't want to get stitches on me..." subconsciously rubbing his arms.

While hysterically laughing, I tried to explain that stitches weren't contagious. "It's like when you had a hole in your shirt, and mommy sewed it up so the whole was closed. Gunnar had a hole, and the doctor sewed the hole so it would be closed...it's just called stitches!"

He didn't look convinced, so I continued, "I promise baby, you can't get stitches."

"But, they're on his stummy, right?" He wasn't buying it at ALL. "Yes," I replied "but they CAN'T get on you."

P spent the next 5 minutes trying to pick up Gunnar without getting stitches on him.

*Note: I still don't think he believes us... (YOU try explaining it to a 3-year old!) he keeps making comments about stitches and being able to "get" them. I think he's testing to see if my answer stays the same. He also checks his arms every time they come up...

Monster Trucks and Cheaters

I lied. I posted nothing funny over the weekend, but that's only because P has been a little slow on the funny factor. Until Sunday...

My stepdaughter came over Sunday to visit, and Preston absolutely adores her. They were outside playing with Albert, when someone got the idea to race monster trucks down the driveway. I'm not sure whose idea it was, it could just as easily have been Albert's as Prestons, but it was a good idea and P has PLENTY of monster trucks to go around.

So they are outside, lining up their trucks at the top of the hill, and letting them roll down in a race. (It was actually quite entertaining, and reminded me of racing hermit crabs from a vacation to Jamaica when I was younger.) I get the bright idea to grab the checkered flag, and play referee/announcer. We're having a good ole time, when Albert disappears inside and comes out with this giant monster truck. Obviously, it's going to win every time...the kids are playing with Hot Wheels sized trucks.

They run a few races, and at first it's funny that the big one keeps winning. Then, the kids start getting frustrated that no one can beat Albert's truck, and begin complaining that the cheater truck keeps winning. As the referee/announcer, I disqualify the big one from racing and push it to the side.

They run a couple more races with the little ones, when Preston heads down the hill to retrieve his trucks, and I see it. That lustful side glance at the big one; a sure fire win, while his truck has been turning every direction but DOWN the hill the last couple races.

He grabs the big truck and looks dead at his sister and dad and says, "I'm going to be the cheater."

He spent the next morning ride telling me about how he was the cheater, and he had the "cheatist" truck. I suppose we should have a conversation about cheating BEFORE he starts team sports...

Not a funny story about P.Mike...

Below is an article I'm linking for some friends of mine that wouldn't otherwise have access to the information. It's a brief article run in the Fort Worth Start Telegram back in 2007, when the cancer treatment that could have potentially saved my aunt's life was beginning to gain notoriety. The project has since been placed back in "research" phase pending government grants (hopefully!), because private funding was harder to get than everyone thought.

It's not funny, and for that I apologize; but it's definitely a worthy cause, and worth taking a break for. And I promise, I'll try to post some funny stories this weekend to make up for it! :) The program is interesting and has showed great promise. Donations are still being accepted, and when the website is brought back up (when the $$'s get us closer to trials), I'll make sure I post again. Anyone interested in donating can send it to:

Sanjay Awasthi Cancer Research Fund
UNT Health Science Center Foundation
3500 Camp Bowie Boulevard, EAD 802
Fort Worth, Texas 76107-2699


UTA research is a potential lifesaver for cancer patients
Fort Worth Star-Telegram (TX) - Thursday, August 2, 2007
Author/Byline: O.K. CARTER, Star-Telegram Staff WriterEdition: TarrantSection: MetroPage: B2

Speak with University of Texas at Arlington cancer researcher and biochemistry professor Sharad Singhal and it's easy to come away with a conviction that you've just met one of the smartest guys on the planet.

Then turn around in the same lab and darned if there isn't another one, Sanjay Awasthi, full-time M.D./oncologist and somehow part-time biochemistry professor. Call it an intellectual tie.

Fortunately, all that brain power collaborates on research , a beneficial partnership for mankind. Their laboratory experiments with mice have stopped several types of cancer cold and in a hurry. Without harming the mice. They'll soon be ready to move on to higher-level exercises, including trials with people.

Their results have not gone without notice. The Arlington-based Cancer Research Foundation of North Texas has been providing annual five-figure grants for some time, so it would be interesting if the work of Singhal and Awasthi — they also collaborate with five other UT-Arlington and UT Medical Branch-Galveston scientists — turns out to be a significant breakthrough. If so, credit will have to be given to the ongoing support of the relatively small Cancer Research Foundation.

It's a simplification, but the Awasthi/Singhal research boils down to this: A protein called RLIP76 is a multidrug transporter that shows up in cancerous cells — a sort of molecular cell train. Its presence, Singhal says, kicks off " a toxic network of biochemical signals that promotes inflammation and cancer cell growth." Inhibit or deplete RLIP76, and the network of biochemical signals that result in cancer stops. The cancer dies. The patient lives.

"The cancer cells can't survive without RLIP76," Awasthi says. "Normal cells don't need RLIP76. I think it's potentially a breakthrough of major significance."

It hasn't come easy. Physician/professor Awasthi first became interested in a do-no-harm body chemistry approach to treating cancer as an undergraduate more than two decades ago.

Likewise it has been a long haul for Singhal, who began research with this particular murderous protein 19 years ago. His laboratory computer is filled with photographs of mice with implants of lung and colon cancers .

There are unlucky mice who receive no treatment, mice with conventional chemotherapy treatments, mice that receive the RLIP76 inhibitor and mice that receive the inhibitor plus conventional chemotherapy treatments.

Singhal radiates the enthusiasm of discovery as he clicks through computer photo files of mice receiving the most successful treatment strategy — a combination RLIP76 inhibitor and chemotherapy.

"Look!" he commands. Sure enough, the tumors disappear in days to a few weeks — in medical parlance a complete regression. For colon, lung or melanoma cancers it's a near miraculous outcome, though there are other types — breast cancer for example — that don't respond. But research is still being refined.

Mice, obviously, are not people. What's needed is for more animal research to be conducted, followed by human trials. And quickly.

Singhal and Awasthi are not unknowns. Their findings have been noted extensively in medical publications of LeadDiscovery, the National Institute of Environmental Health Services, the National Institutes of Health, the New England Journal of Medicine, the American Association for Cancer Research and Cancer Research Jo urnal. Other researchers now emulate their strategies. Their work and results are not secrets, but there's still a significant snag.

It's the usual one. Money. Their research has to be funded at a level that is far beyond the financial capability of the Cancer Research Foundation of North Texas.

Somebody needs to find them the needed buckets of research cash. And soon. It's a life-and-death deal. And maybe a future Nobel Prize deal.

O.K. Carter appears Tuesdays and Thursdays. 817-548-5428 okc@star-telegram.com
Caption: SHARAD SINGHAL
Index Terms: arl ; okcarter ; MAIN STREETRecord Number: 180093Copyright (c) 2007 Fort Worth Star-Telegram


*Always in memory of a wonderful aunt, mother, wife, and friend, Pamela Deese-11/14/2008

A Fish?!

Preston has been spending a lot of nights in our bed. Albert and I are both kind of torn...we definitely enjoy the snuggles, but the knees to the ribs and kicks in the throat are uncomfortable, to say the least. Not to mention, there really isn't much room for 3 in a queen size bed. So, without upgrading (which we've definitely considered), it's probably time for us to start getting him into his own bed at least MOST nights. On many occasions, I get up my resolve before drifting off to sleep, only to be weakened by "but mommy, who will give me snuggles in my room?" and tears of "I just want to snuggle you and daddy" comments. Last night was no different. I've been hinting to Albert, reasoning that he's definitely the one that usually stands his ground against these kinds of things, to no avail; and when Daddy is saying it's okay - we're pretty much screwed.

This morning, I decided P and I would have a little chat about staying in his room. It's worked (for a few days) before...should work again...right?

Me: Preston, you REALLY need to start staying in your bed at night.

P: No, mommy.

Me: But you REALLY should sleep in there, at least most of the time.

P: No. I don't want to.

Me: Well, I'm probably going to take you back to your room some, because you REALLY need to sleep in your bed.

P: Well. If you don't let me come in, I'm going to put a fish in your bed.

Me: A what?!

P: If you don't let me in your bed, I'm going to put a fish in it.

Me: A fish.

P: mmmmm hmmmmm (very ghetto-like; as in "mm hmm, chew on that applesauce why don't ya...")

Me: So, if I don't let you sleep in my bed, you're going to put a FISH in it.

P: (again with the smart remark) mmmmm hmmmmmm.

Me: I see. And just where are you planning to get a fish from?

P: Walmart.

Me: Oh. Well, I'm probably going to put you in your bed tonight, so you might work on getting that fish.

P: Okay, but you're not going to like it.

Spikey like a Porcupine - Part 2

So Duckie cut Preston's hair yesterday, and he tells her, "I want my hair spikey!" Being the good grandma that she is, she spikes his hair.

If I said he was excited, that would be an understatement. He spent every spare minute looking at himself in the mirror. We went to the store to get him some jeans, and he stood looking in the mirror. When there wasn't a mirror, he was touching them to make sure they were still there. He mentioned, like, eleventy billion times that he had spikes (all of which, I already know, since I was THERE and all).



He was disappointed there weren't spikes ALL over his head, but I think since I added more on top this morning, he'll be okay. I just feel sorry for his teacher, there is no way my son's not-really-spike-friendly hair is going to make it through naptime.



Here he is yesterday, cheesing for a picture of his spikes...

Spikey like a Porcupine

Preston got sudden obsession with wearing his hair spikey last weekend. Obsessed, like, he wouldn't go to sleep because he was spiking his wet hair up and it kept falling back down. Preston doesn't exactly have spike-friendly hair. His hair grows sideways across his head, so much so, that we spent a good deal of time retraining his hair as a baby so that it didn't look like a comb over. Anyway, to move bedtime along, I told him we would get his hair cut and we would use some gel and make it spikey.

My approval of spikes made him very happy...for about 2 seconds. His face fell, and he looked at me with big, fearful eyes. "Mom, does gel hurt?" I assured him it didn't. Daddy uses gel, when mommy's hair is curly, it's because there is gel, gel is just sticky stuff that helps your hair stay where you want it...no pain. He seemed to believe me, and he went to bed.

So, we off to get his hair cut this afternoon, and the first thing he says is, "I want my hair spikey." Okay, you just have to tell Duckie that. He sits quietly in the back seat for a minute, "Mom, does gel hurt?"

"No baby, I told you. We all use gel, it doesn't hurt, you just rub it on your hair. It feels just like shampoo does, without the bubbles."

"Oh," he says, reluctantly, " but mom 'jail' is where all the bad people go and get locked up!"

Listening Skills

A little background, Albert and I have recently been having some SERIOUS issues with P wanting to listen to and/or do anything we say. I realize it's an age thing - he wants to do what he wants on HIS schedule; which is exactly why the other night, 15 minutes after I told him dinner was ready and he told me he wasn't eating, he came to the table to eat. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, he just wanted to eat when HE decided it was time.

As a positive to this whole situation, he's still very concerned about whether or not we're sad at him. (I always say we're sad, never mad - I feel like that's a better representation of most situations.) Anyway, he usually doesn't misbehave for too long, and once he finally complies - on his own time, but complies - it's not usually very long before he's making sure you aren't still sad at him.

Moving on, I've come to the decision that I'm going to stop doing so many extra things for P, reminding him that for me to do things he wants, he is going to have to start helping me do things I want. Good plan, right?

Well, it went into effect when the book fair came to his preschool. He ALWAYS suckers me into a book; more because I love books and think every kid should have a ton, than because I'm a sucker. But I told him Monday, if you can listen and help and act nice, then on Friday I'll come buy you a book. We didn't even make it to the parking lot.

So this morning, we're actually running on time because he was VERY good this morning, and he asks to look at the books. I say sure, but remind him we're NOT buying one. He points out all the books he wants to get - next time; and then figures out I will not waiver and decides he's done looking.

As we walk off to go to his class, I tell him that if he can use his listening skills and start doing what we ask him to do, maybe next time the book fair comes he can get a book.

And he exclaims, "Mom, I found them! In my room!"

"Found what...your listening skills?" I ask. And he looks back at me, so proud and smiling, "Yes!"

Creeper...

So, P has been showing up in my bed every night for the last few weeks. Normally, it's not a habit we allow, or encourage, but I have a sneaking suspicion it has a lot to do with me being gone 2 nights a week, because he's usually overjoyed to find out that I'm home when he sneaks in on Tuesday and Thursday nights.

Anyway, with all the resolve I have in my bones (which isn't much), I have been trying to resist the temptation of snuggling and holding him as long as he's little enough to allow me to do so. So, when he crept in the other night, I muttered as matter-of-factly as I could, "You REALLY should go back to your bed..." To which I received the response, "but mommy, I REALLY need some snuggles."

He won.

Friendships

P: Mom, I like friendships.

Me: You mean FUNships. (thinking about Carnival Cruises, which we've been on with him.)

P: No, FRIENDships.

Me: Oh.

P: I like Friendships a lot.

Me: What are friendships? (school lesson he misunderstood maybe? it is Valentine's week...)

P: Well, first you fly on an airplane. Then you get off, and then you get on a friendship. And if you get tired of one friendship, you just get on another one!

Me: Wow...that's really cool. Who taught you about friendships?

P: God.

Hot Tamales

P: Mom, can you put on Hot Tamales?

Me: Huh?

P: Do you have a CD that is Hot Tamales?

Me: a CD that is what?

P: Hot Tamales! I listen in Daddy's car.

Me: Uh, I don't know what Hot Tamales is baby...

P: I like it a lot, Mom. It's rock 'n roll...

Me: You mean, Metallica?!

P: Yeah! Metallica. I like Metallica.

Daddy

Tonights conversation in the car:

P: Mommy, when I grow up, I'm going to be a daddy!

Me: Oh yeah?! You're going to have kids?

P: No.

Me: Uh...

P: I'm just going to be a race car daddy and a police daddy.

Me: You have to have kids to be a daddy, and then I will be their grandma, like Duckie is your grandma.

P: I don't want to be YOUR daddy!

Me: I don't want you to be my daddy, silly...but you have to have kids. That's what makes you a daddy.

P: Oh, well then yes, I'm going to have kids.

Me: Do you want boys or girls?

P: Boys.

Albert: How many boys do you want?

P: Ummm, 2 or 3.

Me: Are you going to have a wife to?

P: No!

Me: (to my husband, Albert) Well, I'm going to be watching out for that skank...

Caught Up!

So, I think at this point I have caught the blog up to current times, and added in the stories that I always think about that already happened (at least the ones I can remember right now!). From here forward, I'm going to try and keep the blog updated as funny things happen - which is at least once or twice a week.

I hope you enjoyed catching up with us, and that you are as excited about what is to come as we are. :)

Light, my friend...

About 6:30pm, end of January or early February [2009], driving home from the mall:

P: Mom, is it dark outside?

Me: Look out your window, and you tell me; is it dark outside?

P: Yes.

Me: Well, there is your answer.

P: Mom, I don't like when it gets dark outside. I want to play, and I don't like bed time.

Me: I know, but everyone has to get some sleep sometime so they can grow big and strong.

P: Light, my friend, his name is Light. He's going to come and visit me - he's not here right now, but he's going to come back - and he's going to give me super powers.

Me: Oh yeah?

P: Yeah, he's gone right now, but he's going to come back and give me super powers so that I can never let it be dark again.

Me: I wouldn't like that.

P: Well, Light, my friend, is going to give me superpowers to not be dark, so...

Me: Well, that should be interesting. Super powers are cool.

P: Yeah. Light is my friend. He's cool.

Strangers

(Story courtesy of Preston's Tia Rosanna)

We left my brother in law's surprise birthday party the other day, and Preston decided he wanted to ride with his cousins, since we were going to their house for a bit anyway. As they were driving past the Ballpark, the conversation went something like this:

P: Tia Rosanne, me and my mom and my dad and me, we're going to go there to see the Strangers play.

R: Really? You're going to see the Strangers play?

P: Yeah, they play like this (swings arms like he's swinging a bat) and me and my mom and my dad and me are going to go watch them.

R: Wow, that sounds like fun. Can I come with you to see the Strangers?

P: (very serious) Do you have GPS?

R: Do I have to have a GPS to go with you?

P: My mom's GPS got stolen out of her car. Do you have one?

R: Yes. Does that mean I can go with you to see the Strangers?

P: (thinking) I guess. Gunnar, [his aunt] Steph's dog, he stole my mom's GPS. He's bad.

[January 18, 2009]

P's First Sleepover

Preston had his first sleep over in December [2008] with his friend Mycca. We weren't sure how he would do, since he's only ever slept over with family...but he said he was ready, so we let him.

When he woke up that morning, he woke up crying for us. Michelle (Mycca's mom) calmed him down and they got some breakfast together and everything. In a little bit he walked up to her and said, "I wasn't crying for my mom and dad. Actually, I was crying because I couldn't find my motorcycle."

...riiiiight... :)

The Hulk

So, for Preston's birthday last year, or the Christmas before that - I can't remember - my brother got him some Hulk gloves (pictured above). Preston thought these things were great...when you smash them into something they talk and roar like the Hulk. He used to wear them around the house, and it was like he had dual personalities. If the gloves were on, he'd talk in a deep, gravelly voice, like the Hulk...but the second they came off, he was normal Preston. He was an absolute PRO and switching between the two. Here is an example of a conversation:

Hulk P: (growling) Mom, can I have some juice.

Me: Sure, here you go.

(gloves come off so he can hold the glass)

Normal P: thanks mom. (drinks and put's gloves back on)

Hulk P: I'm going to play in my room. (runs off)

So, one day we're going into his room to get dressed for bed, and he gasps as he looks at his train table. The track is all smashed up, trains are everywhere, the table is in complete disarray. Since his cousins and friends had been over playing, I just assumed they got a little zealous at the train table, and "rearranged" the tracks.

P: (very serious) Mom, do you see my trains?

Me: Yep. Did you and your cousins mess them up?

P: No.

Me: Are you sure about that?

P: No mom, we didn't do it...but I know who did.

Me: Who?

P: The Hulk.

Me: The Hulk...really...

P: Yep. He got mad, and yelled "HULK SMASH" and he smashed all my trains up, and that's why he is BAD.

Me: Was the Hulk actually Preston wearing the hulk gloves?

P: No mom, it was the real Hulk. He shouldn't come over anymore.

The conversation continued for a minute more, me questioning his honesty and him completely insisting that the real Hulk smashed up his train table. I figured I'd let it go, and eventually just told him that the next time the Hulk wanted to smash up toys, Preston should come get me first. He agreed that the Hulk needed a time out, and went to bed. The Hulk hasn't smashed up anything since then...

Get your tennis shoes!

One day Preston and I were rushing to leave the house, and I asked him to go and get his tennis shoes so that I could put them on. He said okay, and I went to finish gathering things. I walked back through the living room a few times, and each time he still didn't have his tennis shoes; instead, he was watching tv. So a little more stern, each time I walked through I told him to go and get his tennis shoes, and each time he said okay, and each time I walked back through he was standing there watching tv.

A few minutes later, he still didn't have any shoes. I stopped and looked at him, and very sternly said, "Preston Michael, I said go get your tennis shoes, and I mean right NOW. We have to go!"

"I did mom! Right here!" He held up a handful of TISSUES....specifically, he held up one for each time I walked through and told him to go get his TENNIS SHOES.

That's when it dawned on me that he called tissues, tennis shoes; and he had, in fact, got his "tennis shoes" each time I asked him to.

Naptime...

This happened for a few weeks...

Grilled Cheese anyone?

Me: Preston, how about we have a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.

P: No.

Me: Why? You love cheese, and I'll put butter on the bread, and cook it, and it will be SO good.

P: No.

Me: Well, here's the deal. I'm making grilled cheese for lunch, and you can eat it or not. I don't really care, that's what we're having.

P: I don't LIKE it, Mommy.

Me: Yes you do. You'll love it.

P: (getting very upset and about to cry) But I don't want a girl cheese sandwich, I want a BOY cheese sandwich.

To this day, we are still not allowed to refer to grilled cheese sandwiches as anything but boy cheese. Try explaining that to the waiter in a restaurant.
"Excuse me, please don't call it 'grilled cheese;' just humor us and say 'boy cheese.' Otherwise, he won't eat it."

Potty-Training

When you’re potty training a child, you will pretty much try anything that sounds legitimate…and in those very desperate moments, even some things that don’t; which is exactly how this story happened.

As Preston got closer and closer to three years old, Albert and I got more and more frustrated about the potty training thing. We had #1 pretty much under control, but we could NOT get him to #2. (I know, these are things you love to hear.)
One night, my sister and her husband joined us for dinner at our house. My sister had been telling me for weeks about her a co-worker that potty trained her son by keeping his diaper off until he would finally go in the potty. Apparently, kids won’t poop into thin air. I was vehemently denying the use of this method. I was the mother, which also meant I was the one that got to clean up that idea when it failed…and it WOULD fail. So, after dinner, I took Preston to the restroom and left Albert to entertain our guests for what I knew would be an eternity of making Preston sit on the toilet until he pooped. I knew he had to, I knew eventually it had to happen, and we were trying the “wait it out” method. You know, the one where you sit in the bathroom floor with them for hours on end with the theory that, eventually, it WILL happen; unless, apparently, your child is Preston.
After an eternity (probably about 10 minutes) of waiting on the bathroom floor for nothing, my sister decides to get involved and start pushing her theory again. (I see now where she was coming from; catch me while I’m weak.)
The idea is this: When you know your kid has to go to the bathroom (read: poop), you take his diaper off. And leave it off. Apparently, your kid will cry and ask for the diaper so that they can go potty where it’s comfortable for them, but you’re supposed to resist until they eventually concede and use the toilet. Parenting eventually becomes a battle of wills, so the whole “force them to concede” idea sounded legitimate; however, I was skeptical because we’re talking about the kid that figured out how to manipulate the time out system (more on that later). So, I came up with a solution…if Steph wanted to be the one to clean up the mess when it happened, I would let her try her method. She agreed.
So, Preston’s diaper came off, and he came off the toilet. The boys were a little freaked, because he was running around the house with his package hanging out and swinging everywhere. It was cracking me up because all I could think about was the time I had mice (long story, completely unrelated to this) and it seemed like every time they did it (which was all the time) the boys nuts got bigger and bigger until they would drag the ground, or your arm. Anyway, I probably could have got him a longer shirt, but I was too busy laughing at the idea of this whole situation, and my sisters continual insistence that he would NOT poop into thin air.
I should digress for a minute to explain “continual insistence.” She spent the better part of 20 minutes repeating over and over, “A kid will NOT shit into thin air, it’s impossible. People can not DO that. You can’t just stand there and take a dump! It will NOT happen, he WILL have to go to the toilet…its fool-proof.” I spent the better part of 20 minutes laughing hysterically and not saying anything at all. I knew better; I know my child.
So, Preston is running around the house, happy as a clam and free as a bird, literally, when he comes flying through the room and stops dead in his tracks. I know that look. He glances and me, and then my sister, who at this point has STOPPED insisting that he will NOT poop into thin air, and back at me. As I start to yell, “RUN TO THE TOILET!” it happens. A big turd hits the floor, followed by a stream of pee and the most bewildered expression I’ve ever seen him have. (I should mention, before I go on, that I didn’t realize the look on his face until after the following occurred; at which time I felt HORRIBLE mom guilt and was sure my child would be scarred for life.) In the moment, I could do nothing to hold back the belly aching laughter that exploded…actually, no one could; we all hit the floor laughing. 10 seconds into it, I composed myself enough to stand up and go get him. As I walked over to grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom, he looks down and blurts out, “Look at that giant alligator, Mom!”

Ten minutes later, when the laughter had subsided and the mess was clean (by Steph, as promised) I realized that he was probably scared to death when he started pooping into thin air, and he might have thought we were laughing at him. Since you can’t really explain that to a 2 year old, I let it go and we avoided potty training for a few weeks. Later, I was reassured he’d be fine when he told me he, “had to go put the alligators in the toilet this time,” the next time he tried to poop.

The beginning...

So, I guess I should consider this the beginning of the end. My little boy is growing up, fast, and so I decided to keep record on the funny things he says and does. He'll probably hate me when he's older for it, but I wanted to preserve those moments that made me almost pee my pants. :) I hope that my writing talent grants me the ability to write the stories as funny as they actually were. Enjoy - I know I will.