Today was picture day . . .

Big boy beds and underpants

Coy has been busy transitioning from the baby world to the land of the big boys for a while now.  But, about 10 days ago, he decided to jump head first into big boy world and leave all things baby behind.  Just days before his new big boy bed arrived, he decided that he also wanted to wear big boy underpants and assume all the responsibility that goes along with it (well, some of the responsibility anyway . . . )

And here we are now, nearly two weeks later, and I have a bed sleeping, underpant wearing 2 1/2 year old.  Tate, of course, was thrilled.  Coy's big leap into big boy world had some fringe benefits.  He got the top bunk.

Look! They're not torturing each other . . .

The helmets were there, though, just in case . . .

One down, 19 to go

One month to the day after turning 5, he lost his first tooth.  Or should I say, his father ripped his first tooth from his mouth.  

And for those of you willing to watch, I got it on video . . .

The big 5

Two weeks ago, he turned five. I still get teary and slightly nauseated when I think about it.
To add insult to injury, yesterday he informed me that he has his first loose tooth.  Happy Birthday, Tate.  And please, try to stop growing so fast.  It's making us both old.

Snow Day 2011

Yes, the news reports are right.  Yes, we got snowed on again.  Which brings up the looming question in my mind which is "WHY IS IT SNOWING AGAIN IN TEXAS?!?!" 

 One of the biggest benefits of living here is NOT having snow to deal with.  We've got about 6 inches, enough to have some fun sledding.  I guess as long as it only happens once a year, I can manage.  Now, let's hope that it goes away quickly.

Of course, I DID NOT manage to get a picture of a brilliant "Only in Texas" moment in action, so I will ask you to use your imagination. . . . What does a clever Texan use as a sled on rare snowy day?  You'll never guess, so I'll show you a picture. . . .

That's right.  A broiler pan, or more specifically, the bottom half of the broiler pan.  It actually was not a bad option.   It worked much better than the Rubbermaid tubs that were popular last year

Here's some sledding footage of Tate:

Pete and Re-Pete

Southerners, by nature, have very colorful expressions and words. Add in the southern accent, and you've got a party for your ears.  Living in the south for 6 years, I have come to love these expressions and words as much as I love to mock them.  I have even picked up a few of them in my everyday language, as it is not uncommon for me to use "y'all" and "yes, ma'am".  I will even admit that occassionally I catch myself about to say "fixin" - as in "I am fixin' to leave" (I gasp in horror anytime this happens).  I blame my close friend, Dawn.  She is just about as southern as they come.  On a scale of 1-10, where 1 is Arnold Schwartzenegger and 10 is Scarlet O'Hare, she is a 9.  And she is a plethora of colorful southern expressions with the perfect southern accent to complete the package.  But, of all the expressions I have been exposed to from Dawn, it is this one that I heard from a complete stranger that sticks with me. . . . let me put it in context.

Brandon and Tate walked into our realtor's office back when we were buying our new house.  As they opened the front doors, the receptionist said (in her smooth southern accent), "Well, if it isn't Pete and Re-Pete!"  And the other night, when Brandon and Tate walked into the club for dinner, it never seemed more true.

"Pa-jam-as" or "Pa-jom-as"?

You ever have those times in your life when something is happening and you wish you could hit pause, then rewind, and record the moment that you are living in to watch later when you need a little pick me up?  One of those moments happened tonight, and since they have yet to invent real life DVRs, I will have to settle for writing about it. . . .first of all you need some background info.

A while back Tate said to me, "Hey Mom, did you know that another word for pajamas is pajamas?" (Where he pronouces "jam" in the first instance, like in "strawberry jam", and the second instance "jam" rhymes with mom)
I said "Sure.  It's actually the same word, some people just pronounce it differently. We call them "pa-JAM-as", but other people call them "pa-JOM-as".  It's the same word, just said differently.  There are a couple of words that are like that."  Tate replied, "Yeah, my friend Kate at school calls them "paJOMas".  That's funny, right?  "paJOMas"!?! . . . . . fast forward to today.   

We are getting ready for bed, and Tate hollers to me in the bathroom, where I am brushing Coy's teeth.  "Hey Mom, where are my "paJOMas"? . . .   I can't find my "paJOMas"? . . . . My "paJOMas" were right here and now my "paJOMas" are gone."  Now, each time he says the word "paJOMas" (where the "jam" rhymes with "mom"), Coy laughs.  And, it's not one of those giggles, or chuckles, or superficial laughs.  Its a belly laugh.  A true genuine, warms your heart, makes-everyone-in-room-laugh kind of laugh.  The kind of laugh that only a kid, actually a toddler, can truly pull off.  And each time Tate says "paJOMas", Coy laughs harder, which only makes Tate say it more, and the whole moment made me laugh.  It actually makes me laugh just thinking about it.

If I could record and save this moment for replay later, I would use it when I need a reminder of just how sweet they can be . . . like when Coy is screaming at a decibel level so loud, the neighbors mistake it for the tornado sirens, because I put his pancakes on a green plate, when clearly I should have known that TODAY he MUST HAVE THE ORANGE PLATE.  But, I digress.

From the mind of a 4-year old . . .

Tate:  Mom!  You are missing it.  You have to turn right there. 
Me:  I can't turn there, buddy.  There's a median in the road.  I have to turn up here. 
Tate:  BUT WE ARE MISSING IT!
Me:  It's OK.  We will go up here an do a U-turn.  See?
Tate:  Cool.

(Fast forward a week . . . )

Me:  Tate, I am going to go up here and turn around like I did before.  Do you remember what that is called?
Tate:  Yeah, Mom.  It's a ME-turn.

An Interview with Tate and Coy

A month or so ago, I recorded this interview with the boys, mostly in an attempt to capture the way they talk, and what they say about things at this age. As I expected, it takes some unexpected turns, and ultimately makes me smile throughout. I hope you enjoy it, too.

A conversation with a 4-year-old

Me:  Tate, did you hear what I said?
Tate:  Umm, yeah?
Me:   Well then, what did I say?
Tate:  Hmmm ..... ummmm.....hmmmmm.  I don't know.
Me:  Then you weren't listening.
Tate:  Well, actually Mom, I HEARD what you said. I just wasn't LISTENING very good.

And I thought I had to wait until he was fourteen to hear that response . . . . Lucky Me.

1000 words

You know that saying, a picture is worth a thousand words?  Enough said.

Go ahead and nominate me for Mother of the Year

Yeah, that's right.  I bought these for my children.  And it wasn't a spontaneous purchase.  It was a very methodical-went-to-4-different-stores-to-find-them kind of purchase.  You see, the kids have a game called "punch", where they take their fists and beat them on one another's chest.  Some might call it boxing.  But, they both love it.  And surprisingly enough, it almost never ends in crying.  So, I let it fly.  They are boys, right?

Then, a couple weekends ago, we were at a birthday party.  Coy turns to Tate and says, "Yet's pay punch." At which point, the fist throwing and laughing begin.  Nearby, a father of two young girls is overcome by a horrified look.  I feel like I have to explain.  I say, "we have a game called "punch" at our house.  They love it."  To which he responds, "Umm, yeah.  If my kids hit one another, I tell them to stop."  I think he may have keeled over and died had I told him the name of another of the boy's favorite games - Bite My Finger. 

So, I bought the punching bag and inflatable gloves.  The gloves at least discourage them from hitting with their bare fits. They'll have their teenage years to explore that.

Our little fish

You may or may not remember this, but last year Tate was not a fan of swimming (click here if you need a reminder.)  In fact, a trip to the pool was not an enjoyable experience.  We spent most of the time coaxing Tate into the pool, and the rest of the time trying to get him to let his guard down and have fun.  And never would he have done this. . .

It all changed after one, I repeat ONE, swimming lesson where we discovered that the biggest impediment to his swimming was the fact that he didn't like to get water in his eyes.  A simple introduction to goggles and we can't get this kid out of the pool or off the diving board.  In fact, the only coaxing that happens now is maybe "Hey Tate, why don't you take a break from jumping off the diving board and swim in the kiddie pool so dad can take a break."

A self-portrait

A Mother's Day Interview with a 4-year-old

This interview came home with Tate from pre-school, along with a flower in a finger painted pot.  The flower in the pot I expected, the interview I did not.  Now the real question remains . . . in the mind of a 4-year-old, is 12 old?  Is 20 pounds a lot or a little? 

I guess I have "THAT" kid after all . . . .

When I was pregnant with Tate, I remember being advised on more that one occassion how there would be a time when he would insist on wearing something totally off the wall. You know, his superman pajamas to the mall, his turtle neck sweater and cowboy boots in July, or in my case, his swim goggles to the Arboretum.

I was actually quite proud of myself. I didn't insist that he take them off. I did as I was advised and just let him have his moment. I even happily obliged when asked to help him put them on and fix them when they would slide of his head. I wasn't embarassed. In fact, I was honored to be the mother of "that" kid and smiled proudly with every whisper.

And, of course, took lots of photos. Because before long, girls will come knocking and I can't think of a better way to send them packing . . .

Tonight's gonna be a good night

We all know Tate can sing, but did you know he can also dance?

Filling up buckets . . .

This post probably needs some background information.  Here it is:  the kids have a book called "Have you filled a bucket today?".  It is a very sweet book about doing and saying nice things to others.  When we do this, it fills up someone's "bucket" and you are a "bucket filler".  The "bucket" being this imaginary bucket we all carry around.  And of course, if you say mean things or do mean things to others, you are being a "bucket dipper".  You get the point. So, we inevitably talk alot about filling up buckets. . . .

So, I was taking Coy's photo wearing his brothers shoes (see previous post).  He was hamming it up, pulling his big cheesy smile and saying "ssheeez".  I laughed and said "Coy you are filling up my bucket."

From the next room, I hear "Mom, do I fill up your bucket?"
Me:  "You sure do, Tater. Especially when you are being a good listener" (you can never remind about that too much, right?).  "Now, let's go upstairs and get dressed". 

I turned around to put my camera down, Coy ran out of the room to find his brother.  I made a split second decision to bring my camera with me.  I headed for the stairs, rounded the corner, and stumbled into this:

Me:  "Whatcha doing, Tate?"

Tate:  "Fillin' up Coy's bucket."

Seeing double . . .

Tate's best friend, Layton, also got a "bumblebee thing with the power" for Christmas. Need I say more?

Actually, there is one thing more.  Layton calls Tate "Tape". It makes me laugh everytime. So, when I look at this photo, in my head I hear, "I'm gonna shoot you, Tape!"