Time For Another Meme

Got this from Code Yellow Mom and while presently, I feel my creative juices (even for basic facts) are dried up, I'm gonna give it a whirl. Also, feel free, if you are a fellow blogger to do this one yourself.

7 Books I Love:
Sarah--OSC
Rebekah--OSC
The Good Earth
The Bean Trees
I do love me some Harry Potter reading
Cold Sassy Tree
Secret Life of Bees

7 Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
The Wedding Singer
Scarlet Pimpernel
Steel Magnolias
The Incredibles
Hitch
My Fair Lady
Sound of Music

7 Things I Say Often
I'll give you five hundred dollars if you....
Do NOT push your sister!
You may not wipe your own butt until you are at least 4!
Are you KIDDING me?
Does this pint of Ben and Jerry's make me look fat?
Oh my gosh could you be any cuter!?
Hi, my name is Angela, I'm a Cancer, this is my son Ben, he's a Gemini---would you and your son be interested in setting up a playdate with us?

7 Things I Love About My Spouse
Great conversationalist
Even better listener
He is muy intell-ee-hin-tay and loves to learn and pursues knowledge
He genuinely likes just about everyone, and even if he doesn't really that much, he is still genuinely kind.
He is responsive
He has running conversations in his head and sometimes forgets they are in his head and comments out loud and then realizes what he's done and doesn't get mad or feel bad when I fall out of my chair laughing
He is innately good at being a husband and father


7 Things I Cannot Do
Lose Weight---back off healthnut exercise fiends, I'll change it!
Get up early and be happy about it
Cartwheels
Yodel
Walk past a container of Ben and Jerry's without buying and partaking
Listen to talk radio without getting agitated
Tolerate elective stupidity
Dive
Be superficial or subject myself to it
Count

Things I Want to Do Before I Die
Lose weight
Yodel
Dive
Meet Ben and Jerry
Parasail
Go on a Cruise
Write a book
Become a psychic and go on Montel
Learn to Count

I Prefer Liposuction, Thank You Very Much

Before I begin my barrage of thoughts, I'd like to make a comment on comments. Maybe some of you don't know this. Maybe some of you do. My last post elicited 5 phone calls, all with the caller laughing heartily and choking out words like, "cake" and "icing" and "can't breathe" as I said hello. Maybe you are all like me and don't like to laugh alone. I understand. But what I need you to understand is this. The comment section of a blogger's blog is like the inside of a yearbook cover for a 7th grader on the last day of school. An empty one is not acceptable. And she feels dejected and lame and oh-so unpopular. But that doesn't happen. A 7th grader doesn't put herself in that situation and she will walk up to perfect strangers to get those "Hey, I didn't know you well, but I saw you sometimes in Civics and you seem cool" or "Stay sweet, have a great summer, see you next year, lylas!" Well, I draw the line, as a 30 year old woman who is mostly comfortable in her own skin, I'm not gonna crawl. But leave comments for pete's sake. And to make my point clear, from now on I will only be accepting phone calls from comment leavers.

Onward.

My title is what I have been thinking for the last hour or so. I went to the gym with Ben. I took him because I want to instill in him the deep and abiding love that I have for all things exercisely. What I instead gave him was my newly acquired, deep and abiding fear of treadmills. I FELL OFF THE TREADMILL. I really fell off. I didn't stumble, miss a step, catch myself, no sireebob, I fell off. I guess more fittingly, I fell ON it, and it quickly spit me off. Not nearly quickly enough for my wounded pride and bruised....well, this is a family-friendly blog.

It really hurt, and even though I was alone, my eyes of course darted around the room to hastily ascertain who else had seen my unsightly flailing off the 'mill. Only my son. And that will be embarrassing in time. It will undoubtedly come back to haunt me, like letting him pee in the woods and taking him to my 9 month pregnant doctor's examine has. "Treadmiwl? Treadmiwl? My mommy got sucko-punched by one yestowday---I saw four limbs go in 7 diffowent diwections!" I felt some consolation as I scraped my body off the floor and my upper thigh from the tread of the mill as I realized I had just created a blog topic. To make me seem tough in this blog, I got back on the treadmill and finished my "workout". Amidst my racing heart (not yet from the workout, for fear of the blasted machine), and Ben's queries, "Why did you falled mom? Why did you dood that? Why did your mouff go on that black thing, that's (d')susting mom, we don't do that..."

I spent the rest of my workout studying the treadmill trying to figure out how I fell as I did. I didn't figure it out. I didn't make it up. And if this wasn't a family-friendly blog, and if I didn't have some decency, I'd post a picture to prove it. I'm really not a clumsy person either---I have no explanation. When Jay gets home, I'm gonna ask him if we can return this nifty heart rate monitor he just got, and just put the money toward my lipo fund. There has GOT to be a better way.

My House is a Wreck, But the Silence is Flawless

Jay is swimming with Ben. Avery is soundly sleeping in her rootbeer sodden dress. And I am finally blogging. We have Jay's 14 year old brother staying with us for a few weeks and now computer time is shared between 3 computer-aholics. I also have to be very careful what I write about the said younger brother because in the 3 and a half days he's been here, he has "quoted" me 3 times from my blog. Like when I hauled him into the master bathroom to make him watch the kids while they bathed (ie, free childcare in a contained space) and he said, "Oh yeah, I see what you mean by a terrifically large and almost completely useless master bathroom." I sort of stopped cold. It's very odd hearing yourself quoted like that. I'm gonna try and not talk too much about him. My spouse, children, and random impression-leaving people are fair game, but he didn't ask to be blog fodder, so I won't force him to be. Plus I overheard him say to Jay, "So now that I'm coming to stay with you for a few weeks, Angela's probably gonna blog about me now." Sam, if you're reading this, go get me a Slurpy at 7-Eleven and never you mind what I write about you in my blog.

I have 5 gazillion things I'd like to blather on about, but I'm going to try and control myself. We had a family party in Missouri for Benjamin. One of my friends made Ben's cake. It was amazing. It was a crime to cut into it.

If I were completely internet/picture-posting saavy, combined with verbally succinct, I could post the picture of the "cake" I made for Ben's Texas party today that we had with a couple of friends and two of Jay's cousins here. It would just be so much more amusing to see them side by side. But alas, I'm none of the above so you have to wait a minute to see it.

We have some cute footage here of the 3-year-old showing off his new skill of holding up three fingers (I'm impressed because I was 23 before I mastered that skill). That combined with, "I'm free at last" made for some great party entertainment. I wish I had some pictures of my adorable 4 year old nephew asking me with wide eyes of delight and anticipation, "Is THAT a PINATA". When I told him it was he asked if he could please be the first to hit it. I said yes because that's what you do when you still haven't found a way to hang the pinata and your 1 year old is dumping out the pineapple plate and your birthday boy is peeing down the slide, and your so hot and sweaty and...

I'm quite certain that Avery still thinks my brother is her dad, which is okay for now but could present some social problems if the misperception continues into adulthood. Avery spent most of her time getting people to hold her or chasing various cats and dogs and screeching with delight. She said her first REAL word. I'm calling it real because she uses it in the right context, she'll repeat it, and we all understood it. It is "Cuatica" for Nautica, my brother's gigantic Siberian Husky. I totally could have made that breed name up, but it sounds good, right?

I adore this picture of Avery with Grandpa and a box of raisins.

About today's party. I just couldn't get my act together enough to even remotely plan or prepare for Ben's party. I was really excited about it because it was at a really cool spray/water park in a nearby town---but just the logistics of it all were overwhelming me. Going to Wal-mart at 10 PM to find "anything train" to put on cupcakes is your first clue. When I walked away from the cake department with 8 Spongebob toppers, I knew we were in for a long night.
Finally after looking for ANYTHING train to no avail my friend Amy thought of just doing a giant cookie and putting a little train and tracks on there. Brilliant. So we got a little train toy, a gigantic tube of cookie dough, and headed home. That should be simple, right?

Here's the interesting part of the story. I have icing dye, I have decorating tips, I have black icing in a tube---if you looked in my cupboard, you would think "Now there's a girl who knows how to decorate." Even just a simple, "Happy Birthday Ben" and not much more. You would think that. You would be sorely mistaken. I burned the first cookie. Jay, bless his heart, jumped in the car and got me another one in record time. I did not burn the second one. But by the time it was time to walk out the door, it was not cooled, nor decorated. No problem. I watched my friend Amy effortlessly decorate a gigantic cookie with cute little pink and green "flower" dots with pastel M&M centers. I can write a few measly words and some black lines. Please.

What actually happened was a full on war with a sandwich bag and red frosting. It was all over me, and nowhere it should have been on the cake. After poorly gauging the spacing on the cookie (hereafter to be referred to as the artistic attempt from hell cake), I had to settle for just writing "happy birthday" and not include Ben. What does he care, he's only Free, and won't notice. I step back from my work and groan at random splotches of red icing. I had already conceded that the lettering didn't have to look good, but random splotches, come on now---even Ben's gotta know that ain't right. Jay is standing nearby and either out of kindness and sympathy, or a desperate attempt to salvage any decency, offered to do the train tracks on the cake. I happily surrendered the decorating tools. I walked off muttering to myself about, "just because you have the tools, doesn't make you a craftsman."

I was applying mascara when I heard Jay blurt out something like, "Oh geez!" I didn't care. I can control my mascara brush, I can't control anything else. I finish my makeup (yes, I did say that the cake decorating commenced AFTER it was time to go, so what if I went and put on makeup AFTER that...) and walk back into the kitchen where Jay appears to have hit a bump in the road. Or the tracks. And he is in a bit of a skirmish with a blob of black icing, a butter knife, and his own body's manueverability. If I have laughed that hard ever, I don't know when. Okay, I know when, but I started laughing SO HARD. And I seriously can't stop. This was 4.5 hours ago and I have burst out laughing about 14 times since then. Not just Jay fighting with the cake, but the finished product was just ridiculous.

What's really funny to me though, is in all of my decorating ineptness, I have these incredibly talented friends. It was Amy's idea to put a train on the cake---so we had a topper train on hand.
I mentioned it to Jay and he immediately dropped the butter knife and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Not that a cute toy train was going to stop THIS train wreck, but whatever, we do what we can. I plunked the cute little train on top and we walked out the door.

I was still laughing when we arrived at the park and of course had to explain why. Jay's cousin said, "It looks cute, it's a little weird that the train is stuck in tar, but the rest is cute" That too keeps making me burst out laughing at random times. When Amy, who had conceived of the idea, showed up, she burst out laughing. I'm sure what she had in mind and what we produced were two very, very different things.

I Hesitate

to give you the forthcoming link because there are some of you who think I am witty and funny and captivating and write well and maybe even articulate; this woman puts me to shame. But that's okay. I am strong enough to let her be better. :) She just posted about Kristin Armstrong's opinion on marriage and such, and well, I just love what she had to say. So go check it out. That's what this entire post is about. I just ended a sentence with a preposition.

I really want to post about my THREE year old and other fascinating tidbits, but my living room is a veritable maelstrom of luggage, laundry, and litter. Yes, I could have said trash, but I must alliterate. My three year old DID discover that by throwing his arms around my neck and burying his face in me and saying, "oh, I just love you" he could get me to stay with him 2 minutes longer at bedtime. He is smart, but don't think I'm not smarter. I know what he was doing. And I ate it up. Oh yeah, and his uncle taught him to say, "I'm three at last, I'm three at last" which of course comes out, "I'm free at last..." I laugh every time he says it. He also has said at least 5 times today, "when I was two" which I think might replace his all-encompassing "yesterday".

Back in the Saddle Sweltering Heat

I have a couple of things I want to post, but I just came across this website you can do a celebrity match to your face. It's pretty darn hilarious. I'm sure it all depends on what picture you give it to match, but I've been flattered and insulted all at once with just a click of the mouse. This is how I look:

To keep the results "accurate" I put in three different pictures of me and these two came up every time:


The first one is Kylie Minogue (don't know who she is) and the second is Mollie Ringwald. Great big fat newsflash on that one. I've been told that I look like her since I was in pampers. Or at least since Sixteen Candles came out. Turns out though, I had to do a little work to find Ms Pretty In Pink, prettily clothed in any color. Hmmmm.

Anyway, while I don't mind being compared to these two, I must confess, some men made it on the list.


People just can't get past the red hair and squinty eyes. Whatever. One thing I will point out, that might not be readily apparent to the naked eye....these women spend considerably more time on their hair. Ron probably would, but he just can't.

I put in the cutest pictures of Ben and Avery that I could find.
The list of who Ben looks the most like goes: Rachel Bilson, Sophie Marceau, and Bic Runga. All females. The first male listed: Julio Iglesias. And I'm not real up to date on how that man looks, but in the photo they provide, it looks like a drunk, binged out, mug shot.
With Avery it's: James Doohan (trekkies love my daughter probably), Jerry Lee Lewis, Ulysses S Grant, and THEN Shirley Temple.

That's all. It was very fun for me to see that my son looks like an Asian model and my daughter looks like an 1870's United States President. They must get their looks from their Asian-Hispanic-Bearded-19th Century father because we all saw who I look like...

Oops, totally forgot to tell you the site---of course you'll want to see what kind of celebrity hotness you are yourselves!

Living La Vida Loca

We're off visiting the Grandma's and eating lots of late-night custard.
I'll be back!

Of COOOOUUUUUUUURSE

Monday morning we went to the park. After about an hour, Ben had to go to the bathroom. I stood and looked as far as the eye could see and there was no visible bathroom. There was a pool that was closed that probably had a bathroom. So I walked over to a little wooded area with Ben's innocent little hand in mine. My mind is racing, debating if I should do this, because I know once this experience is in his head, there's no turning back. In the few moments a child gives you between when they say they have to go, and when they actually go, I just didn't have enough time to think of anything else. I helped him pee in the woods. He giggled uncontrollably the entire time. This was the same park visit that Avery chased down a Hungarian grandmother with a bright red dye job and insisted that she hold her. So while Avery was being tended to by her self-designated nagymama, I took the time to talk to Ben seriously about outside peeing etiquette. He was prying his hands out of mine and craning his neck to look over my shoulder at the new kids who just showed up at the sandbox with sand toys, and was saying, "otay, otay, OTAY!" while I carried on with my superb parenting/teaching methods. I finally let him go and put the whole thing out of my head. It was just a small incident, hes not going to dwell on it, and he certainly isn't going to listen to my lecture on where it's okay to pee standing in a shroud of trees, where he just did.

Today is Wednesday. I have caught him 3 times outside with his pants down. I had to interrupt the writing of this blog to go retrieve him from the neighbor's yard, watering their lawn. I'm not entirely sure how to handle this, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. In the meantime, I hope none of my friendly neighbors get too offended while Ben learns protocol and I learn parenting strategies. After 3 different times of sitting on his bed and thinking about where he should go when he needs to go potty, I heard him outside talking to an older lady walking by to go get her mail. "Howya doin? I'm dood. See ya later!" I think, how cute is that little conversationalist? What I SHOULD have been thinking was, how shameless is that little exhibitionist! He had the entire conversation while communing with Mother Nature in his most natural attire.

ADDENDUM: Ben has left me a nice little suprise on our back porch. This might be too much information but the ensuing conversation MUST be reported.
Exasperated Me:Ben, what am I going to do? Do you need a spank on the bum to stop going to the bathroom outside, it's not okay!
Reasoning, but bare-bottomed Ben: But mom, if you fank me now it will be loud (opposite of soft), so only do it if it's soft
Me: I don't want to spank you at all Ben, but I don't know what to do about this!
Ben: Well, you tan dit a paper towel and pick it up with your hands and put it in the toilet and I can flush it.
Sarcastic Me: Oh, right, that will fix everything won't it?
Delightful Ben: Yep! It sho' does!

Help!?

The ABC's of Me

So, this is a game in the blogging world. It reminds me of when I first got into the internet, email world and I would get those forwards, "Send this to 432 people in the next 5 minutes and a really cool dancing....oh wait, I can't tell you WHAT will show up, but it will show up and within 5 minutes Bill Gates will call you and ask you to marry him and give you half of his fortune and believe me, my mailman's niece is a lawyer, and she said her boyfriend had this really happen to his aunt" Or the one where you write what time you start and what you are wearing, and answer all these random questions and then at the end you write what time you finished, and if you are still wearing anything. I thought those were so cool and I passed them along to everyone I knew. I soon learned that these emails were more prevalent than thousand dollar bills in Mr. Gate's wallet, and pretty annoying after the 32nd time in two days that you got one in your inbox. Well, I think these memes are cool and I got "tagged" by Traci so I'm gonna do this. Five extra points if you know what a meme is and how to pronounce it. Camille, bring it. Here goes:

ABC Meme
Accent: I do not have one. Unless I'm in another country. And then it's American
Bible book that I like: I really like Talmadge's Jesus the Christ that goes in depth with the New Testament books on Christ's life. Oh wait, what book IN the bible? Probably Esther cuz I LOVE the story of Esther, and Psalms.
Chore I don't care for: This really should be plural, but I'll settle for putting away laundry.
Dog or Cat: Jay and I have a prenup that solely states we will never own animals. I dread the day the kids get wind of the idea that owning them is a choice and start asking. Glad we have that prenup at least...
Essential Electronics: Computer and my hot chocolate maker. Not really. I really have one, and it's really cool, but it's not essential. And I do love a freezer.
Favorite Cologne: I learned recently that Jay didn't think cologne was used to enhance and for other's enjoyment, but to mask, so he's never worn it. I find that entirely amusing and would rather he keep that belief than start wearing scents I like. I don't know any scents by name. I usually end up complimenting someone's deodorant, so I just steer clear of that area all together. I used to love wearing Cool Water and then the scent made me nauseous when I was pregnant with Ben, and my love for it has faded, even though the nausea is gone. Sad.
Gold or Silver: If you're standing in front of me holding it, and it's in a jewelry box, it can be pig's hide and dirt, and I'll love it. Gold for wedding ring, but I do love a classy silver piece.
Handbag I Carry Most Often: Handbag? Handbag?! Handbags are for cute stylish girls who can still match their shoes and earrings and accessorize. I am a utilitarianist that hates baggage. In any form. A backpack is ideal, but even I have come to terms with the fact that at some point you gotta give that up. Oh to leave the house without diapers, wipes, sippy cups, change of clothes, snacks, baggies for poopies, baggies for banana peels...
Insomnia: Only when I'm pregnant and it makes me uncontrollably raging mad. Even the word insomnia makes me grit my teeth.
Job Title: Not feeling creative enough to come up with that.
Kids: 2 A boy and a girl in a tippy-canoe
Living Arrangements: undesirable. My husband stays with the Marriots and Ben invades my bed more frequently than I prefer. Oh, that's sleeping arrangements. I live in a great apartment with a closet converted to a bedroom and a terrifically large and almost completely useless master bathroom.
Most Admirable Trait: I just asked Jay over the phone and he said, "Making others feel comfortable". Could I get anyone some lemonade, perhaps a foot rub? Then he added, "With themselves."
Naughtiest Childhood Behavior: Well, as long as you all are clear that this was my CHILDHOOD and in my PAST and that I do have some excuse in being a redhead, I had a horrible mouth that said things I always immediately regretted, but could never retract or even stop from following up on if the instigator stuck around.
Overnight Hospital Stays: Two babies, and an ER admit that turned into gall bladder surgery. I never loved a hospital or morphine more than that night.
Phobias: cacophobia, ablutophobia, alektorophobia, coprastasophobia, soceraphobia, geniophobia, and arachibutyrophobia. These are only what's been DIAGNOSED.
Quote: "There's a saying in Missouri, if you don't like the weather just wait five minutes. In Blaine, with hard work, I think we can get that down to three or four minutes." Waiting For Guffman
Religion: LDS
Siblings: 6 brothers, 2 sisters
Time I Wake Up: When I hear Avery singing from her crib, or grunting as she tries to scale the sides of it. Or when I hear Ben whisper, "It feels like my eyes are open, tan I dit up?"
Unusual Talent or Skill: See, these are the kinds of things that make me feel like a dolt. I can't think of even a USUAL talent or skill.
Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: I really love vegetables but I really don't like celery. In any form.
Worst Habit: You know, I don't really have any bad habits. But maybe my husband or former roommates or siblings would be better able to answer this one. I may do a lot of bad things, but not really habitually.
X-rays: I've had a few. I fell down my marble stairs outside my studio apartment when I was 25. I was mopping them because I thought if I cleaned the stairwell really well, I wouldn't smell Smelly Fat Man all the time, but instead I just dislocated my tailbone and chipped my elbow. I had the imprint of stairs on my back and walked tilted to the side to accommodate my displaced tailbone until I had it fixed. When I had an x-ray done on my arm, the dr asked me if I was raised on a farm. When I asked why he thought that (I was not, by the way) he said because people who do hard manual labor when they are young tend to have larger bones, so basically he was wondering how a nice girl like me got big bones. He then showed me the x-rays of a small man and my bones were only slightly smaller. I might have been offended if it wasn't just plain, indisputable fact.
Yummy Stuff I cook: Oh, do we have to go here? I'm not that great of a cook. It's not bad, but it's hardly characterized as yummy. I make a mean ice cream cone, and a killer frozen daiquiri.
Zoo animal I Like Most: When I go to the zoo, I don't care if I see nothing else, if I see the monkeys. They are thoroughly entertaining to me. And so relatable...

Well, to keep in the spirit of this game, I tag Analiese. Tag, your turn to meme!

Nature VS Nurture

This is a topic that periodically crosses my mind. While earning my undergraduate in Psychology, it was a topic that was frequently discussed in my classes. As far as behavior and other debatable psychological issues go, I'm a fence sitter on whether something is born of genetics or nurtured through environment.

Now that I am married, and we've produced little offspring, the topic fascinates me even more. I find myself frequently wondering if one of my children's behavior is learned or just they way they're born.

When Jay and I were first married we lived in a little studio apartment in St. Louis. It was a charming, but tiny apartment. But that doesn't matter with newlyweds, right? One thing about living in such a small space is that you notice everything the other is doing or has done. One day early into our wedded bliss, I opened the refrigerator and found a bowl of white-grey sludge with a spoon stuck in it. I thought to myself, "hmm, I never knew Jay was the scientific experimenting kind of guy. Clearly he is performing some type of experiment here; there is no other explanation for this sludge in our fridge." Well, along comes Jay who sees the refrigerator open and sees the bowl, and before I can ask what type of experiment he's performing, he picks it up and finishes his cereal from 2 or 3 hours before. He eats in stages. I didn't yet know this about my dear husband. And it doesn't matter WHAT it is, he'll stop eating something when he gets full (novel concept) and will return to it when he's not so full. Ice cream (left out, mind you), hot soup, cold cereal, lumpy oatmeal....you name it, he's not above leaving and returning.

Well Ben does the same. Namely with cold cereal. He can nurse a bowl of mini shredded wheat for the entire morning. It's more than I can handle visibly. But I fall into the curse of motherhood where you get so desperate for your child to eat something besides fruit snacks and goldfish crackers, you let whatever "healthy" eating occurs, happen. No mind to its temperature, consistency, or vomit-like appearance.

Lately Avery has started showing her appreciation for yummy tasting food with a well-placed and emphatic "mmmmmm!" It's absolutely darling. And it's absolutely her mother. I am a verbal appreciator of food. I can be heard to say to Jay, "If this isn't the best thing you have ever tasted, don't eat it because I believe it is the best thing I've ever tasted and I don't want it wasted on a non-believer". Okay, I say something a little different, but my mother and mother-in-law read this blog. It's not to say Jay doesn't appreciate some foods, but I'm sure that Avery's expression at such an early age is "nature", and it is from me.

Lest you think all we do around here in our house is eat, here are some other behaviors. Learned, or just born that way? See if you can guess from which parent they get some of these traits, if either. Some of these traits are throwbacks from other relatives.

-------Both children take off running when they hear an authoritative "Okay kids, lets..."
-------Ben sings loudly and off key along with the hymns at church
-------Avery sings loudly on key
-------Both of their lyrics are unintelligible
-------Ben gleefully exclaims "I'm so happy that _____" about things like, new underwear, me returning from the store, bottles of Propel in the refrigerator. Jay's mom has a tape of him when he's only 5 talking about the new roller skates he got for his birthday. He exuberantly lists all the things he can do on them, like "jump, turn, stop..." and then he exclaims with the same kind of glee, "I can't believe all the things I can do!!" It's absolutely priceless. We say that phrase a lot around here.
-------When Ben is hungry or tired he turns into a completely different child/person.
-------When Avery's tired she gets snuggly, adorable, and just wants to be held
-------Ben loves to converse with ANYONE and says things like, "So, how do you like that red Gatorade?"
-------As I was typing this, Ben said, "I'm so happy you said, 'YES BEN YOU TAN HAVE A SNACK!!!' “Ben ALWAYS quotes me as yelling, no matter what I say or how I say it.
-------Ben can happily subsist completely on snack foods
-------Avery can eat her brother under the table
-------If you tell Avery to stop doing something or "no-no" she yells or cries and has to have the last word. It's none of your business from whom she acquired this trait
-------If you tell Ben no, mostly he says, "Otay" or "why" and moves on
-------Ben likes to clean
-------Ben has the memory of an elephant
-------Avery will always go to the highest bidder when she wants to be held. Today it was a Hungarian Grandmother at the park who had two nerf balls in her hands.

Well, I guess I could really keep going but somebody is turning into a different child and I WILL have the last word in this battle...

My Friend Oprah

Last week I sent Ben over to borrow some eggs from our neighbor. Later that day he really wanted to go over and play with her boys and instead of saying as much, went over to their house and asked to borrow more eggs. Unbeknownst to me. So their 6 year old shows up in my kitchen holding a carton of eggs, with their three remaining eggs. He says, "You can just have the rest, it's okay, really." I could NOT convince him that I didn't need the eggs. Ben stood there smugly because he had successfully lured a friend into our home.

But that is neither here nor there. Today I want to talk about Oprah. Most of you who read this know that I went to the Oprah show in February. Most of you know because in my jubilance of making the Oprah audience team, I wrote a poem. Although the emotions and expectations surrounding the poem writing have dissipated, my pride for my poetry-writing prowess has not. And so I'm posting it. Skip to the end if you must....

The Oprah Show
I was perusing the Oprah website,
As I am periodically known to do
Checking to see what was showing today
Since 4 o’clock seems to come so soon.

Would it be a rerun with a desperate housewife,
Mowing her lawn in a bra
Or an interview with Tim or Phil
Either one of those hottie McGraws

I could be persuaded by a specialist
Showing us our innards laid out
“This is what McDonalds biweekly will do”
With a name like Oz, he’s got clout.

Will it be tragedy or triumph
Today for my 4 o’clock routine
Will I be motivated to get in shape
Or enthralled by Lisa Marie?

And there on the site whilst checking the schedule
I saw what appeared an insignificant link
“E-mail for Last-Minute Reservations”
So I did, in indelible-cyber-ink.

Fast-forward the next day at noon
I’m on the phone with my friend
Call-waiting clicks stating “Harpo Inc”
And I frenziedly hang up on Jen.

Well, it was “Julie from Audience” calling,
They got the email I sent.
Two seats in Oprah’s audience were mine,
If I could show up looking half decent.

Well, the rest of the afternoon was a blur
As I called my family, friends and Jay
Telling them my news happily,
Just to see what each had to say.

I imagined I’d have a choice on who to take,
That I might “earn” lots of kindness, without question
But apparently blood IS thicker than water
And my sister eased me of this misimpression.

So in two weeks we are headed to Chicago
For a one day trip without kids
Truth be told, I’d go see anything
For a one day trip without kids!

Between now and then I have lots to do
The perfect outfit, I really must find
Something to slim, lift and separate
Is particularly what I have in mind.

And of course I will constantly be thinking
Of something appropriate to my age
Some way, some how, SOMETHING
That will get me up on that stage!!!

I can rise to the occasion when occasion requires, but I'm not a real prolific poetry writer like my blogging friend Shelah or this totally unique and very entertaining Midwestern Poet. But as I reread this poem, a part of my heart aches for that naive joy I felt, that uninhibited zeal, those sad, sad, unrealistic expectations of Oprah.

Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't disappointed because I didn't get a car, or her favorite things show (which by the way, I cannot watch AT ALL because I turn into this malcontent, coveting wretch) or even so much an interview with Bon Jovi (it's a sick, unexplainable kind of love, don't ask) or Tom Hanks. I was excited to be doing something new and something a lot of people didn't get a chance to. And I'd never really "met" or been in that close of proximity to a star. Plus I'd never been to Chicago and doing a little trip like that with my sister was just ideal.

Well, everyone knew I was going, but I scarcely followed up with details when I got back. Because I was let down. I've probably watched the Oprah show 5 times, and none of them in its entirity, since I went in February. Here's how I described it to my sister in an email...

The Oprah Show itself was a bit of a let down. We waited for nearly 4 hours because she decided to squeeze in an extra taping between her first show and our show (she normally does 2 a day). Not only did that add to our wait time, it was super obnoxious because we had to be very quiet for an hour or so of it because the studio was right next to where we waited. Oprah the billionaire can't get a sound proof studio and a waiting room big enough to accommodate her guests. She had probably 300 guests and only room enough for 250 of them. The other 50 people literally stood in the aisles, hovering over the seated guests. We had cards with numbers on them and thought we would get to file into the seats, based on those numbers, we were told that as well. The atmosphere was a bit too much for me. A bunch of women, all dressed to the nines, hoping or thinking they looked better than anyone else there. I was about to lose my mind in that environment, combined with 70 year old Joanne yelling in my ear every 7 and half minutes for everyone to be quiet. So, after getting there early, and clinging to our numbers thinking they would get us good seats in the studio, they called about half of the audience out early as "VIPs" which I started noticing meant, "Dressed really stylish and much more attractive than the majority" but dismissed it. Then when we finally got in, it wasn't "oh this crowd fill this section" it was "how many are there of you? Oh there's 3 of you and you all look quite nice, come right down here. And you there, with the hair lip and your friend with the goiter, go ahead on up there, behind that column." Sadly, my excess weight, combined with Sara's got us seats in the rafters. Then when we were settled, and coming to terms with our unattractiveness and not-quite-stylish-enough clothes, a member of the audience department leans over two older (and also not Oprah-classified-attractive) woman to a very attractive, young, tall, olive-skinned woman, in the MIDDLE OF THE ROW and asked if she could please leave her seat in the middle of the show if at any time a seat up in the ATTRACTIVE SECTION was vacated. At that point I was incensed. But what kind of clout do fat redheads in rafters have?

The taping was of Part 4 of the Debt Diet. Oprah was tired, and the topic was boring to her, and obviously not one she relates to. As a result, we got NO interaction or acknowledgement from her. Even a Miss America wave would have sufficed, but she had places to go, people to see. Plus I was in the nosebleed section, so honestly, even if she DID wave, I'm not sure I would have seen it. I was disappointed by the seating protocol. I was disappointed by the "pep" talk we got beforehand that assured us we were the greatest most valued Oprah audience to ever step foot into Harpo studios, and I was disappointed that "embellished" reactions were encouraged. Now when I watch the show I see all the gasps of surprise and bursts of laughter and ooohs of admiration as forced---as they may well be. I held true to myself and didn't laugh once if I didn't think it was funny. I did gasp and mutter my contempt for such indulgence when they showed the teenage girl with 73 t-shirts in her closet. But that is IT. I won't be bought so cheaply.

I would have slapped my knee loudly and guffawed heartily for a new car though.

So, I watched Oprah the other day when it had Lance Armstrong's ex-wife on there. She seemed very well put together and I liked her. But something Oprah did infuriated me. And I had to compose another letter for my friend (one-sided as it may be) Oprah. Here's what happened.Kristin Armstrong's marriage to Lance failed because she says she "lost herself". She was smart, educated, successful, and independent, owned a home, dog, car, and had a great job. She met Lance and left her job, sold her house, gave up her dog, and moved to France with him and had three kids fairly quickly. She said marriage is the biggest conspiracy. It may be for some. For me, pregnancy and North Dakota are still the biggest conspiracies. She goes on to say how she lost herself and how that wasn't good for her or her marriage. Then Oprah suddenly jumps in and says, "Oh yes! That's why I've never gotten married!"
PUHHHHHHHLEASE!
I know that we all have better things to do than to criticize some TV celebrity, but Oprah is intelligent, and influential and that comment infuriated me. Some mindless woman watching will take this as her cue to disregard her vows, and "find" herself, or some “independent” woman watching will take it as her cue to never marry because she can’t bear to "lose" herself. I am educated, independent, and successful in my personal endeavors and was all of that BEFORE I met my husband. I have become MORE that since marrying him. He helps me cut the crap, improve the good stuff, raise our children, eliminate bad habits, pursue good ones, reach my goals, and be so much more than I can be alone. It's not MARRIAGE that makes the woman lose herself, nor the husband, it's the woman. There are already so many screwed up ideas about marriage and disregard for its sanctity, it saddens me that Oprah contributes to it on her show. Maybe she'll let me pick her next book for book club.

Today I Have a Goal

It is to write a short post. I don't now why my posts are so blasted long. I think I'm fascinating, so I can make my way to the end, but bless you faithful readers who might not be as in love with me as I am with myself, and still make it to the end. And bless more the ones who leave comments. I will remember you when I win the lottery.
Have a nice day.

Waxing all Nostalgic

Ben is really into singing lately. Suddenly all the songs I sang to him since birth, are coming out of him. My latest favorite thing that he does is try to sing along with the theme songs from various PBS shows. He knows a couple, has a hard time keeping up with the speed of them, but others, he doesn't know at all and has no problem trying to sing along. So it turns into this loud, sing-songy, burble. Which is something that I have enjoyed entirely, since my youth.

In high school, I had a friend who desperately wanted to have more in common with me than another friend. I'm not just saying, that, there was actually a 4 day fight, complete with folded notes to support this claim, of who was a better friend with more in common. I was a goddess among my peers. I still vividly remember sitting at the cafeteria table and a song came on the jukebox (yes, in Independence Missouri, we had a "jukebox" in our cafeteria. It came complete with weekly letters to the school paper from the "cowboys" that not enough country was played to represent, and objections from the "freaks" that Metallica wasn't blasted often enough). I exclaimed how I loved this song and started singing along. She immediately chimed in that she loved it too and started "singing" along. It was much like Ben's attempts to sing along with the sloth from Big Big World. She always nailed the last word, and did so with gusto. To this day, I enjoy such performances immensely.

The stages of our lives are marked by songs of the time. Many of them we can still feel how we felt the first time we heard them. What is it about music that can prompt such intense feelings of nostalgia? One strain of Eric Carmen suggesting I turn my radio up and it Makes Me Lose Control. I'm back at 17, the weather is always perfect and my spirits are high. George Strait Crossing his Heart and promising too, takes me back to my greasy job at Pizza Hut where the pay was low and the pick-up lines were lower, but I didn't have a car payment, or a weight problem, or $3 gas, or guilt about whether I'm doing enough because I was FABULOUS. I'd give anything on some days for Jon Bon Jovi to lay me down in a Bed of Roses. That has nothing to do with music nostalgia, I'd really just like that.

So, I've thought of a few songs that mark different stages in my life.
My first year of college I decided to research Neil Diamond, my sister had always loved him and I wanted to see what all the fuss was. I discovered quickly. That sexy low-voice of Sweet Caroline fame won me over almost immediately. It was a double bonus that he sang my favorite UB40 song, long before they did. Who knew? I went to the library the last few weeks of my freshman year and brought home like 7 Neil Diamond CDs and listened to them all in one day. To this day, any Neil Diamond song takes me back to that ranch house basement apartment that helped create so many fond memories. I also listened to Air Supply Makin' Love outta nothin' at all like 72 thousand times in a period of a month. I still love that song. I often sound like Ben when I try to sing along cuz some of those words just don't make sense. Freshman year of college is where I met one of my dearest friends and so those songs take me back to a happy place where a cherished friendship began. She wasn't necessarily involved in all this marathon music listening, but the two are inextricably connected in my mind.

I first heard Celine Dion's Because You Loved Me on my mission. For some reason, that song moved me. We weren't supposed to listen to the radio, but one naughty day driving around in a minivan someone turned it on and that song was on. I begged to leave it playing. I was unaware of the new technology of putting radio controls in the back of vans and the girls in the back had a blast at my expense. My Aussie friend started messing with the tuner and the volume, and after switching it back 2 or 3 times I wondered aloud what was wrong with the radio. Analiese suggested it was a sign from God and I couldn't explain it, so I fell for it and turned it off. She kept a straight face for quite some time; but lost it when I became visibly distressed by this sign that God didn't want me listening to Celine on my mission. That song can still take me back to those days of strict discipline and pining for a "forbidden" song, and how much fun we could have with just the simplest thing.

James Taylor---reminds me of my brother Jonathan
DMX Up In Here---reminds me of my roommate Fanua, she said I brought whole new meaning to that song when I sang it. I only know the refrain.
Belinda Carlisle brings back all my teen angst.
Nobody by Sylvia reminds me of my sister Sara because 20 years later, we can still belt it word for word on command. Nobody ever actually commands it though. Your loss folks.
Any 2000-2003 good country song reminds me of my friend Dawn. I don't know why Dawn, they just do. We used to decipher strange lyrics for each other. I was once completely stumped by Kenny Chesney's "In our rock and roll t-shirts and our tipping at the bat at the youth" Dawn kindly informed it was "In our rock and roll t-shirts and our typically bad attitudes". That's what friends are for.
And the song that still melts my heart and just makes me feel everything is as it should be, no matter where I am in life, Shawn Colvin's "Never Saw Blue Like That".
The first time Jay reached over and took my hand, the words of that song flooded my mind. If there were ever a movie about me and Julianne Moore is me and Noah Wyle is Jay and they play this scene at a church fireside and both our moms are just a few seats away and he subtly, gently, and naturally takes my hand in his, we'll hear....And it feels like now, And it feels always, And it feels like coming home...
It still does.

Memories and A Photo Shoot

I have until the last chorus of Barney's "I Love You" song to blog. About two strains into Jay Jay, where we buckle up tight for a magical flight, Avery gets bored and wanders off for bigger and better things. I am both bigger, and better. If I type very quietly, maybe she won't find me. I come from a family of loud typists though, so that's probably not going to happen. Today's post was intended to be about a conversation I had with Ben yesterday. I took a reenacted picture of it this morning for purposes of captivating my audience and...well then it just turned into this adorable little episode of Avery posing for the camera and then a not so adorable pushing fight of who got to have their picture taken next. And yes it was a fight; Avery was pushing just as much. She was the first pusher.

Anyway, here goes. Yesterday I was standing at the bathroom sink brushing or flossing or applying or plucking and Ben came and stood next to me with a small pillow on top of his head. Not unusual, by any means.
See, it wasn't a contrived reenactment, totally appropriate.

He then begins an entire recount of something that I can't figure out, but is VERY detailed and specific. It goes something like this. "Remember when Daddy wore this hat and a black shirt and orange at the station in his red car upstairs?" He repeated several of those details; and based on past experience with this kid's insanely accurate and elephant-like memory, I was going way back in my mind to recall what he was talking about. Jay was nearby and I asked him if he knew what Ben was talking about. He did not. Ben kept repeating these details, with my encouragement because I was determined to make MY good memory work. He puts me to shame. I even started thinking of things Jay wore or did BEFORE Ben was born. Maybe he was looking down from heaven and recalling that. I'm not kidding, I was that desperate to recall and not be memory-upped by this little pachyderm brain. THEN he said something that suddenly brought it to my mind. I can't even remember what he said, but I suddenly realized the pillow "hat" on his head was Jay's black mortarboard, his "black shirt" was his black gown, and the "orange" was his golden tassel tassle hanging from his cap. The station was the building his graduation was held in, which he did drive himself to in his red car, and after walking down the aisle, he went up about 5 stairs onto a stage to receive his diploma. This was 13 months ago, when Benjamin was not quite 2. And not really talking either. Yeah, the kid's memory amazes me. My sister said, "Oh, I'm glad he's yours not mine!" and I said, "Whatever, I'm capitalizing on this for sure!" I'm not joking. We can teach him some obscure and meaningless lists of things to memorize and Letterman, HERE WE COME.

So, as I'm taking Ben's photo for this, Avery comes along and shoves him out of the way and starts chirping orders at me, complete with hand gestures. I'm sure she intended to be barking the orders, but she just has this tiny girly voice. I obliged.
Tell me this child isn't intended for the spotlight.
















I remind you, she's THIRTEEN MONTHS OLD.

Yesterday Jay plunked Avery on top of my big ol' exercise ball. She loved it and hung out there for nearly half an hour before she got plucked off to go to bed. I put her back on this morning to snap a shot of it, while Ben not so securely, held the ball still.

The wobbling and almost falling off made her laugh hysterically. I only wish that with this picture you could hear her shrieks of laughter that resembled a 1980 Chevy Citation trying to start in the dead of winter. Even Ben noted, "That sounds funny how she laughs."

Ben has started to back-talk a little. I ask him to do something and he says, "No. You do it!" He did it a few times last night and then again this morning. I said to him, "Ben, that's back-talking, and I don't like it..." He looked at me with his face all screwed up, because the face needs to do that to try and straighten out the screwed up statement that just went through his ears, and he says in a you-don't-make-no-sense-t'all tone of voice, "It's bag tacos ?" Yes Ben, I'm the one with the speech impediment.

We are sick sick people around here

First it was Ben with the spots, then Avery with the whining, then spots, now cough, and now it's Jay, with the whining, oh wait, I mean, he's just sick. He's really sick. Usually when he's sick, I forget he is because he just acts normal. When I'M sick, everyone within a 10 mile radius knows, and many many others who are further but can be reached by phone. So, when Jay mentions more than once he doesn't feel right, I'm imagining all sorts of horrible things being wrong. He says it's only the flu. It just looks different on me.

Really all it means is I have to clean up the dinner mess all by myself. I would leave it for when Jay is feeling better, but he's going out of town again tomorrow.

At dinner Ben said, very vegetarianistically "I don't like meat." I said, "since when?" and he said, "In five minutes."

I spilled all our leftovers as I was putting them away in the fridge.

I sent a couple of pieces of roast over to my neighbor's house (before I dropped it all on the floor) with Ben and found him 10 minutes later stomping through the mud, clinging to a kickball, and barely still holding the ziplock of roast. You can't trust a 2 year old to run your errands like you used to.

I stepped outside my back door a couple of days ago, when Avery was in the throes of not feeling well and this is what I found:

Avery is so my child. She found the first willing participant and flopped herself back to be held and coddled. I don't get to do much flopping these days, but I do dream.
Did I mention I spilled all the leftovers from dinner as I was putting them into the fridge?

I'm looking into paid vacation benefits for stay-at-home-moms. Do you know how long you have to work at this job before you get any?

This Evening

I came home to three Mexicans in my bathroom. Betcha never had that happen to you! Apparently my AC is broken, and if you're ever asked, it takes 3 to fix it. Here's the breakdown: One to do the work and two to keep him company.
While they worked and chatted in rhythmic spanish, I enjoyed a most delicious bowl of Vietnamese soup. It was a virtual melting pot in my little home. When I first came home and saw three of them in the little bathroom, talking and laughing, I thought I was funny when I asked them if they were having a fiesta in my bano. They didn't laugh as much as me, but maybe's it's because they didn't understand me. Or maybe I said siesta not fiesta...
Later while I was eating my most delicious soup, Jay called. I jumped up from the table and said, "I'll get it" and laughed quite heartily at myself. Again, they didn't laugh. Oh hum, at least I'm being entertained.

Kinko's, How Careful Art Thine Hiring Process

Today I took my kids to Kinko's. To laminate some papers. And trim them. What was I thinking? They were actually very well behaved, all things considered. The "worst" thing Avery did was walk circles around the copy machines with her screech of glee erupting every 7 seconds or so. Probably not what the other patrons of the copy center had counted on while they collated and copied. Ben's biggest offense was talking very loudly (which he does all the time) and taking Mother's Day cards off the display and "reading" them. Loudly. First I had to stand at the counter for 10 minutes while I watched 7, I repeat SEVEN employees mill around the inner sanctum of the counter, ignoring me. At least 4 of them were not actively involved in a task. It was a woman from the back, returning from a break, who finally helped me.

When I made my way over to the laminating machine, a nice older gentlemen who was there making copies, quickly relieved me of my bundle of papers and freed up my arms to plop Avery in front of the lego table right next to me. He then enticed Benjamin with the green copy button and let Ben "help" him make copies. It was so sweet and Ben felt like the quintessential helper when they were done.

Laminating took a little longer than I thought and while my kids remained very well behaved, I did have to intercept Avery from one of her screeching loops of joy, and this was the conversation Ben was having with his lego men. "How are you today!? It's very nice to meet you. I have to doe wead a blog. Do you want to wead a blog? Okay, I'm donna doe wead a blog!" Must ALL my business be broadcast loudly wherever we go, just because my son can talk now? I actually couldn't believe he was saying blog, and wasn't even sure until he repeated it the third time.

Another elderly gentlemen sitting just a few feet from the paper cutter I had moved on to, got pretty upset about something. He was taking it out on the one Kinko employee who had been helpful to me. He dropped a couple of certain lettered bombs, and spoke of male cow excriment in response to anything the Kinko employee said. He had a naughty mouth. I didn't know old people talked like that. I quickly scurried away with my kids for an interlude at the collating and binding area. Mostly because of Ben's habit of talking loudly and repeating everything he hears.

Ben remembered the gelato shop next to Kinko's from the one time we went there TWO MONTHS ago after Fedexing something to Jay. I had naively gone in there with Ben because I feel it important to explore all the cultural delicacies. Particularly those of the ice cream variety. So the last 10 minutes, Avery was making me hold her while I slid the large paper cutter down the board, Ben was loudly trying to make me "amember" the ice cream store so we could go again, the laminating machine had made me sweat, I was jumpy about the swearing senior returning before I was done, and I had to return to the Counter of Unhelpfulness. This time after only a 5 minute wait (I think Ben's loud reading of cards and Avery's discontent yells attracted attention faster) a man came to help me. We'll call him Jim. Because that's what his nametag said. He too was an older man. I think I may have been interrupting his smoke break. All I wanted was my pages bound together. Having done it myself a million times in college, I knew the process took about 3 minutes tops. He asked me when I wanted it done by. That question kind of caught me off guard because, surely he wasn't expecting me to say, "Well, it's 11:53, how does 11:56 sound to you?" So in hopes of encouraging a response like, "Let me go give this to 1 of the 6 people behind me who aren't doing anything and you can leave with it and not have to drag both your kids back in 2 or 3 hours for a 3 minutes job" I said, "As soon as possible please." And then folks, I kid you not, I got attitude from him. Right now, it's hilarious to me. In the moment, words like shocked, taken aback, dumbfounded more aptly described the moment. He did that shrug, combined with sort of thrusting your upper body forward that says, "Well WHAT!?" I am happy to state that I did not say, "Dude, YOU are the employee, I am the customer, YOU know how long a job like this will take, YOU know what time 'as soon as possible' means on the type of schedule you all keep around here, since you are clearly not going to make any effort to be efficient and do it as soon as what SHOULD be possible, then I'm gonna have to wait for you to tell ME what time 'as soon as possible is'." No siree, I politely said, "How about you tell me when that would be, and I'll come pick it up then."

He said 2 pm. But it's 4:05 and I haven't gone in yet. I'll show them.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery

And Benjamin sincerely loves the maintenance men. He has been imitating cleaning since before he could walk. When I'd wipe his face down with a cloth, after eating--he would snatch the cloth from me and begin an intense ritual of wiping down his highchair. For one brief period of a few days, at about 16 months we watched him use a paper towel to wipe down our dressers in our room, intermittent with "blowing" his nose into the paper towel. Not sure who or what he was imitating there, but it was funny to watch.

This morning at breakfast Ben bolted from the table upon hearing the lawn mower outside our window. Before I could even realize what he was doing, he was out in the yard, following behind the maintenance guy, with his little plastic mower. I didn't stop him because it was so darn adorable, and because I wasn't wearing anything "outside appropriate". Upon his return to his bowl of cheerios he informed me that next time we go to the "stoh" we need to get a blower.

I have been trying to imitate a real adult. I'm not sure yet if it's for me. But I decided that since Avery was bee-lining to the computer when she first woke up, and knows how to maneuver a mouse well enough to open 57 windows of Mozilla and can rearrange our entire desktop in one click, maybe I should spend less time at the computer. I am trying to imitate those skinny women with boundless energy who say seemingly insane things like, "Oh, I just need a good 7 mile run, that'll make everything better" or "No thanks, I don't want that hot, gooey, triple chocolate brownie, I had some wheat germ souffle before I came here."

In addition to maintenance men, Ben is imitating a leper. He got a high fever over the weekend with what appeared to be no other symptoms. I always forget that Benjamin is not a complainer. Never has been. Avery makes up for that in complaining about things like which hand I use to open a door (true story). Anyway, he could have had a headache or sore throat, but he never said as much. Then yesterday he broke out in spots, or "fots" all over his face and then in strange places on his body. His spirits have remained high, but he has to be quarantined for a few days since it's a highly contagious virus (sorry Avery, your next). When I told him he couldn't go to his friend's house he said, "I'm not sick, I went to the doctor!" On Sunday when I told him he couldn't have candy because he was sick and needed healthy food he said, "I'm not sick, I took medicine." The kid's a believer, you gotta give him that!
Here's Ben's rash:




And granted, Avery was only 4 months old, but look at the difference in expressions when she had a rash:













As long as my kids are learning, they will be imitating. The interesting thing about them imitating, is that I'm learning a lot too. I have learned that I say some pretty sweet things to my kids, even without realizing it. Ben greets Avery in her crib after waking from a nap, "Hello love, you look beautiful and I'm so happy to see you!" I've learned that I'm a computer-aholic. See above. I've learned that my husband says random things to Ben on PURPOSE, because of this imitation thing. The other night while changing Ben into his pajamas, Ben tried to dress without putting on underwear first. Jay's response was, "Wait Ben, you have to put on your underwear first, everyone wears underwear under their pajamas. Except for maybe Mongolians." Of course, the topic of Mongolians and underwear IS going to come up sometime in the future. I just hope he's with Jay when it does.
I apologize if I have offended any Mongolians with this story.