Dads are great

Dads are so much cooler than Moms. Only a Dad would wait until after baths are done, after teeth are brushed, and 30 minutes after bedtime was suppose to happen to break out the Otter Pops. BLUE and PURPLE Otter Pops at that. Dads would think this is a great treat to share with a two-year-old on a white sofa in a room that has nearly new carpet. Dads would never see a problem with this at all.

Moms, on the other hand, forbid sweets after teeth are brushed, strictly enforce bedtimes, and cringe at the very idea that there is a remote possibility something might stain the pretty new carpet.

Where Dads see an innocent bedtime snack, Moms grit their teeth over sticky, sugary, PURPLE AND BLUE stains. This is why Dads will always be way cooler than Moms--just ask my kid!!

(In slight defense of my husband, nothing was dripped on anything and no stains where created. BUT the potential was still there!)

Last Comic Standing

I'm not actually a fan of this particular show, but who needs TV when you have your very own Funny Man. Here are some of his latest jokes.

#1

Max: Momma, got candies?

Mom: No I don't.

Max: Got chapstick?

Mom: Nope.

Then he bursts into laughter and falls to the floor. He tells this joke at least four times a day.

#2

Max: Tickle back, Pickle Dog!! Tickle back, Pickle Dog!!

He runs through the house screaming this phase repeatedly and not only finds it hilarious himself, but all of his little friends die laughing over it too.

I don't get it.

I do, however, totally believe that he is telling dirty jokes that I'm just not understanding clearly. It may take me some time to figure out, but this old mom will get it eventually.

My Little Texas Tornado

Jeff was out of town and I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to take a break from my house maintainence duties. This is what can happen in ONE afternoon. Take this imagine and spread it though my ENTIRE house and you'll get a glimpse of the path of his destruction. And he's not even two!

Dynamite does come in small packages.

All Hail to the Honeybun

I try not to blog about my pregnancy because it's not exactly fun and entertaining, but today I must give thanks where thanks is due. As many of you know I am not very good at being pregnant and as excited I am about a new baby I am also sure that there has to be an easier way to get one.

So anyway, after three months of trying to find something that this little one will let me eat, I have found it---the honeybun. I've never been a big fan of honeybuns myself, but Jeff came home with a couple of packs of honeybuns (I assume for him, but oh well) and I helped myself to one. Now this was a very risky move on my part because I can't stand sweet things when I am pregnant. However, this indulgence paid off because the honeybun is now on my list )my very short list) of things I can eat that don't make me sick. I eat at least one honeybun a day now.

I was a little concerned that it may not be the healthiest thing in the world, but Jeff thinks that if I can keep anything at all down it can't be a bad thing. And since I've lost 15 pounds in the 1st trimester I figure I can afford a honeybun or two.

So thank you Mr. Honeybun Maker where ever you are. I love you!!

Would you like fries with that?

Went through the drive-thru pharmacy today to pick up a prescription. I had Max with me (of course). After the lady handed me my bag of drugs and I was driving off I hear a voice from the back seat, "Yay, Mama fen fry peeze." I told Max I was sorry but we didn't get any fries. He said, "Chicken?" Again I said no and he began to cry. I'm sure he just thought I was being mean and keeping the good stuff for myself. So I handed him the bag which he immediately dumped out in the back of the car. Then I hear his disappointed voice from behind me, "No fen fries. Why?"
Maybe we eat out too much.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms, mothers-to-be, grandmas, and all the wonderful women of the world who have a hand in raising our amazing little munchkins.
I have had a great Mother's Day today and I owe most of the credit to my boys. Jeff did a great job making today a special day for me, right down to the roses and the jewelry. You can never go wrong with those kinds of things. And as we speak, he is slaving away in the kitchen making a Mother's Day feast.
The topper today was what Max did for me. He's great. This morning he came in the room where Jeff and I were and said, "Daddy, help Mama vacuum." Jeff immediately looked at me as though I had something to do with this request (which I DID NOT). I have no idea where it came from, HONEST! Long story, short...My boys vacuumed the house today. I was touched.
Happy Mother's Day

I Want To Know What Happened To My Shoe

Ok, so I bought a new pair of tennis shoes a few months back. They weren't cheap. This is why I was annoyed when one of them came up missing last month. This wasn't overly surprising since Max is a shoe thief. He is constantly going through the house and my closet collecting shoes and relocating them to other areas of the house. However, after a month of looking for my left tennis shoe I began to wonder what might have happened. Did it get thrown away, fed to the dog, abducted by the sock elves that live in the dryer? What?

Well today I found my shoe. It was under the work bench in the garage. I would like to say the story ends there with a happily ever after...but it doesn't. My shoe is covered in purple and pink spots with some interesting yellow stains on it. Everybody in this house (Jeff, Max, Simon, Boudreaux, and the fish) have been interrogated with no results. I can't seem to crack any of them.

I repeat. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SHOE!!! I guess I may never know.

Who's Your Daddy?

As you all know, Max is very much a daddy's boy. This works out rather well for me most of the time. However, when Jeff is not around, we all must face the consequences. Jeff spent this past week in Guatamala for work and left me at home with a heartbroken little boy. All week, whenever something happened that Mr. Max didn't like, he would throw himself on the ground and scream "I NEED MY DADDY! I MISS MY DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY! or WHERE'S MY DADDY?" Great stuff.

I got to hear this at least 5 or 500 times a day depending on the amount of drama needed in any given situation. My response was always the same, "Yes, Max, we miss Daddy, but he has to be at work right now. But we still have to..." (wear our clothes, go to bed, not stand on the table, eat something besides jellybeans for breakfast, etc) You get the point. Max would eventually calm down and say "Yeah, Daddy at work." Well I thought my troubles would get a break this weekend when Jeff finally came home. I was terribly wrong.

That is still Max's tantrum of choice. For example, this morning Max was mad because he wanted to play with scissors and being the Mean Mommy that I am, I told him no. He began screaming about Daddy and I calmly pointed out that Daddy was sitting right next to him. He stopped crying, looked right at Jeff and said, "No, Daddy at work!" I had to laugh.

Later today, Max kept trying to run into the street (another new game we play) and Jeff grabbed him and told him to stay out of the street. Again the tantrum began. I wonder what the neighbors were thinking when they see my little boy screaming at my husband, "Go away, I need my daddy."

Hate to break it to you son, but he IS your Daddy. I would know. Besides you boys look too much alike not to be related!!

Can You Identify the Guilty Party?

Simon the Cat

Max the Boy

Boudreaux the Dog

If you picked the cute one in the middle, you are correct. I'll explain. This weekend Jeff and I were finishing some yardwork and Max was being the "Little Helper." When we are all outside, we have found that it is best to keep the dog inside since he and the cat don't get along. Well that was the plan anyway.

Now that Max has learned to open the front door by himself, he spent most of the day doing just that. After a while, I suppose this began to bore him, so he began plotting other things to do to entertain himself.

He started opening the door and yelling, "Doggie, outside! Doggie, come on. Go outside." Then he would turn around and yell, "Kitty Kitty in da house. Kitty Kitty get inside!" He had the dog sitting by the door inside and the cat sitting by the door outside, laughing hysterically as they growled and hissed at each other. I finally stopped laughing long enough to go over and stop things before they got out of hand, but before I got to the door, Max yelled, "Maxwell Owen close da door now!!!"

Lovely, isn't?!? Evidently, I did a better job training my animals than I did training my son. This does not bode well for Baby #2.