Boulders...

Preston is obsessed with sharp things on his body. Nails. Hair. His vampire teeth.

This morning I left my little wallet with a mirror in it on the table. He found it during breakfast and spent most of breakfast time staring at his vampire teeth to make sure they were still sharp.

"Mom, guess what? I'm not chewing with my boulders, you know why? I'm chewing with my vampire teeth."

Some words are just too cute to correct. I just might be the parent of a 12 year old that still rides the "elligator", or visits the "jagwaters" at the zoo.

Camp is more fun than work

Preston is attending camp this summer at one of the recreation centers. It's been great so far. This morning, Preston decided to point out how much BETTER camp was, than work.
"Mom, what do you do at work?" Funny you should comment how much better it is, when you have no idea what I do all day..."work!" I respond. Heavy sigh, "I know you work, but what KIND of work?" I explain that I do accounting, which means I make sure all the money and numbers are right. "How much money do you have?" -- the "in the millions" response got a jaw-drop, and the conversation is over.

As we're gathering up stuff, I ask him if he eats lunch on swim days at camp, or at the pool. He says he's already told me, so I admit I've forgotten the answer. So he says,
"At camp, Mom. We eat at CAMP. At camp. At camp. At camp. At camp."
"Ok! I get it," I respond, to which he retorts that he doesn't want me to forget again. As we're headed out the door he says,
"Mom, can you please bend down." I do, and he begins banging the side of my head (softly enough) saying, "get the numbers out. get the numbers out."
"What was that for!"
"I want you to get the numbers out so you won't forget that I eat lunch AT CAMP!"

Oy.

Public Education

I took Preston to Half-Priced books Monday. The reason is - well, we bribed him for the chance at a funny video. The video was worth $5...I figure it'll be priceless in about 10 years.

Anyhow, prior to the excursion, I steel myself for what this will be - a long, drawn-out process of book choosing because "they do not have enough books," when in actuality they have too many. We get there, and the store is rearranged, so he spends 5 minutes insisting we're not in the kids section (surrounded by Curious George and dino books), while I try to get him to understand the meaning of "half-pint books" on the sign. Thank you, Half-Priced Books for your charm and wit...however, it does not help when pacifiying a 5 year old.

Anyway, I finally learn that Preston "isn't into fiction" because "it's just not his thing." As he sits on the floor perusing the dino books, in NON-fiction, he casually comments, "I am NOT getting that Presidents book." -- huh? Looking around I realize we're also near the history books, which he is normally very interested in, so I ask why. "Because I do NOT like Presidents." -- Why? "Because they are boring and they talk too much."

So, this is what you get when you force kindergardeners to watch the State of the Union address. Just sayin'.

Oh man...

When I came on to blog the funny thing P did this morning, I didn't realize it's been almost a year since the last time I posted any of his funnies. This blog isn't going to work the way I want it if I don't get (and stay) on the ball.

I'll do better. Ish.

We bought Preston an alarm clock on Sunday. It was at his request, even though I've been considering the idea for a while. Sunday night, his last words before I closed his door were, "I can't WAIT for my alarm at 7 in the morning." My last thoughts were, "Yeah, we'll see how long THAT lasts."

Preston unplugged and threw his alarm clock on the couch this morning. Apparently, he doesn't want it anymore.

The Quest for Turtle

So, it's been no secret that life in these parts has been less than - friendly. The fit throwing and tantrums have had me closer to the looney bin than I've ever been in my life. And yet, somehow in all the chaos, once again Albert finds a solution.

Preston has a responsibility chart. He's got about 7 things that he has to do in a day, and he gets a smiley for each day that he does it. The original bribe reward was money. He loves money to buy junk. I love good behavior. It's a working relationship. Anyway, apparently he doesn't love money as much as I love good behavior, because that only worked for a week. (I should note that my son is the master manipulator of "systems." If I haven't already blogged about time outs, I will later.)

The other night, after a particularly terrible fit at the dinner table and the subsequent talk, all three of us are snuggled on the couch to watch tv (his choice) for the only 15 minutes of free time Preston has before bed. It was Wonder Pets, which if you don't have children to have been tortured blessed by this programing, is about three school pets that save animals in danger during after hours. All non-chalant, Albert asks Preston if he could have one of those three animals as a pet, which would it be? (FYI, the choices are a duckling, a hamster and a turtle.) Without hesitation, Preston says turtle. And then my husband, whom I love dearly, leaves me somewhere between fainting and stabbing when he responds, "Well, if you can get all the smiley's on your chart for 4 weeks in a row, I'll get you a turtle." (In retrospect, I realized how HARD 4 weeks IN A ROW would actually be, and it seems like a pretty good deal. 28 days to break a habit, people.)

Anyway, I'm rambling, and all of this lead up is really for one tiny question that I got this morning on the way to his friend's house. We're having our morning discussion about not being upset and throwing a fit when I leave, because I have to go to work - and for once, he agrees to be calm about the situation. And after a slight pause, he poses this question:

"Mom, when I get a turtle, THEN what if I throw a fit?"

Great. So the post-turtle era is already in planning. Don't even try to convince me 5 year olds aren't dictators.

More talk of being a Daddy

I've blogged before of Preston's desire to be a daddy here.

We had dinner with my grandparents last night, and Preston told my grandma:

"I wish Albert would go to Heaven so I could hurry up and be a Daddy."