Have I mentioned that my two-year old is developing the attitude of a teenager? A teenager trapped in a cute little body with a cute little voice, but still teenager-ish behavior nonetheless. Being little and cute makes it a little more tolerable. If he acts like this at thirteen, let me just say it will not be quite so forgiveable. You're probably thinking, "He's only two, he can't be that bad." I don't know where this attitude is coming from, but Cale has it. Just last night, I told Cale to do something and he said, "you can't make me". And what could've been the best teachable moment...the moment when I said, "Oh yeah, let me show you how I'll make you..." was a flop. What did I do? My jaw dropped as I wondered where he learned that phrase that I will probably hear many more times in his young little life. He's only two. He's not suppossed to say thingsl like that. Yep, I froze. And I completely missed the moment. Oh yeah, we talked about it later. But, if the wrath would've come down in that exact moment it probably would have been much more traumatic and memorable.

Tonight we went to eat at McCalisters. I didn't feel like cooking. Big surprise. I don't EVER feel like cooking and if we were rich we would eat out every-single-night. And I would have my clothes laundered. And I would hire a weekly maid. It would be nice to be rich (gazing off with faraway look as suddenly I'm no longer typing) Hey,snap out of it. Ain't gonna happen. Okay, back to the subject. Cale has a really bad habit of getting loud when we get into any type of resturant. Really loud. Obnoxiously loud. I don't know if it's a "hey look at me" attention-getting thing or if he just gets that excited. We're trying to work on using a quiet voice but I don't think two-year olds have volume controls. In the middle of eating, Cale decided he wanted to try one of the olives from Carl's sandwich. I knew he wouldn't like it, but he went for it anyway. After a few seconds of chewing, he decided it was "yuck". So, as he started to spit it out, and with lightning speed only a mother or the Road Runner from those old cartoons can have, I put my hand up to catch it (the perks of being a mom). Well, I caught it. I guess I should clarify. I caught some of it. I took my hand away and then Cale decided to blow the rest of the olive-slobber-mess out onto the table. Thank goodness he was sitting by Carl and not me. This is the second time he's spit food out in a resturant, so Carl swatted him, which like a domino effect, caused him to start screaming at the top of his lungs. I could feel myself shrinking into the booth, hoping noone would notice. Because Cale wouldn't stop screaming, Carl scooped him up to head to the bathroom. Cale knows what this means. The whole way to the bathroom Cale kept loudly saying, "Daddy, don't spank me. I stop crying. Daddy please don't spank me!" I wanted to hide under the table at this point. But, I was holding Keaton and I figured it would be hard to get myself and a four-month old under a table. Plus someone would call SCAN on us for sure, then. I kept thinking, "maybe people will see that we have another little one and cut us a little slack." At least I didn't really know anyone there. Wait a minute. It's Russellville, of course there had to be someone there that I knew. As we were getting up to leave, I saw a teacher that I work with. With what I'm sure was an awkward, embarrassed smile and chuckle I said, "Ha..ha...I bet you heard us over there." I think everyone probably did.

On the way home, for some reason unknown to us, Cale started saying, "I don't love you, Daddy." I think two-year-olds sit around and think about how to get a rise out of adults. Cale loves reactions. I think it gives him a sense of power. Like he's pulling the puppet strings. I explained to him that we don't say that and that it makes others feel bad." I really think I got through to him because Cale followed up our pep talk with "I don't love you, Mommy." Strongwilled. Then, as if to put the icing on the cake, he said, "I don't love Jesus." It's like he knew that would be the worst thing he could possibly say. Now, I normally wouldn't tell people about my child saying something like that, but he is only two and is still trying to understand who this Jesus is that we talk about and say our prayers too. (At the moment Cale's a little confused and uneasy, that Jesus lives in the ceiling...Cale's interpretation of Heaven, or that Jesus is in his belly...Cale's interpretation of "Jesus lives in your heart") I tried explaining to Cale that we love Jesus and that Jesus created us. In his agitated two-year-old way, Cale was insistent that Jesus was a girl. No idea why he said that. I think he just wanted to argue. I kept telling him, "No, Jesus is a man." He just kept replying in an irriated tone, "No, hers a girl, not a man!" Poor kid is so confused.

When we got in our garage, Cale told me once again that he didn't love me. So I swatted his leg, scooped him up, and took him to the time-out chair where he screamed and cried the entire time. When it was time to get up, I squatted down beside the chair, and asked Cale to explain to me why he had been put in time- out...just like I always do. But, this time instead of explaining in his cute little sniffly voice, he turned around in the chair, and said, with his back to me, "I don't want to look at you." So, he earned himself a spot in time-out awhile longer.

It was a rough couple of hours, but by bedtime Cale was back to being an angel. Well, at least a pretty good boy. He was funny and full of "lovins", as he likes to say.

Being with a two-year old is like being around someone with multiple personalities, ADHD, and OCD, all wrapped up in one. One minute it's great, the next awful. One minute full of love, the next minute mad at the world. Constantly bouncing off the walls. And the rituals. Oh the rituals. Like shutting the door when we leave Nonna's. Opening up his own gum wrapper. Turning on his light in the morning. If even one is forgotten or interrupted somehow, we have drama.

As much of a trial as he was this evening, we love him like crazy. It's funny how that works.

May

Wow. It is finally May. The time of year every teacher looks forward to and every parent of school-aged children probably dreads. Secretly, I'm sure. Summer vacation is just around the corner. Can I get an amen? Every August, I think back to May and wonder why I didn't feel more excited and relaxed knowing that I was about to get some time off. But every year, May is one of the busiest times at school and there's no time to just sit back and bask in the sweet reality that school is going to be over soon.

This year, May seems even more busy, especially since I'm trying to finish things up in my classroom but also begin to prepare for being in the library. It feels like I have too many things on my mind and no one thing is getting enough of my attention and focus. I'm pretty much scatter-brained right now. Not that scatter-brained isn't my normal day-to-day mentality, it just seems I've just taken it up a notch or two lately. Not good. And my procrastination level is at an all-time high. Also not good. I've got clothes in the laundry room that have been waiting to be ironed for weeks. Oh, I still iron every so often right now, but there are two shirts that I avoid each time I begin to iron. Those shirts have been sitting there since early April. I do not want to iron them. They're button down shirts that come out of the dryer so wrinkly, you would think they had been wadded up in a ball for years. I despise ironing them. In fact, I usually won't wear them because I know that I will end up having to iron them again. What's worse is, there is a pair of shorts that has been hanging in the laundry room, all wrinkly, since last July. No, really. July. But, in my defense, when I took them out of the dryer all those many months ago, I knew that I would soon be too fat to fit into them since I was pregnant. So, I just left them hanging there. Through the fall and winter months every once in awhile I noticed them, hanging there amongst sweaters and pants. But, I knew I didn't need them at the time, so I figured, "why bother?". And now, those shorts just seem like a permanent fixture in my laundry room. I don't know what I would do if nothing was hanging on my clothing rod. Maybe I'll get all crazy one day and try it.

Things at home have been a little chaotic as well. Cale, the bundle of joy that he is, has been a little tempermental lately. Okay, a lot tempermental. Anything and everything causes an all-out temper tantrum right now. It feels like he cries twenty times a day. His crying, screaming really, is usually accompanied by kicking of legs and flailing of arms and, if things are really terrible, occassionally flopping face down on the floor. And it's over ridiculus, seemingly unimportant things. Let him stick a piece of ice to his tongue, pull skin off his lip as he rips the ice away, and have blood dripping down from the wound...no tears. But, let me cut his Pop-Tart in half in an attempt to make it easier to eat...and all heck breaks loose. He's hard to understand right now. One thing I know is that he wants complete independence. C-O-M-P-L-E-T-E. He puts things that I open for him back in the wrapper just so he can be the one to take them out. He must open every door himself and shut every door himself, and if I forget, I'm in for a punishment. Punishment in the form of a two-year-old temper tantrum. Yikes, the worst kind of punishment.

Sunday, as we were about to eat dinner on the back porch, I sat Keaton down in his walker...not that he can actually make it move now, but he loves to be sitting up where he can see all the action. As we were eating, Cale got up and started playing. I didn't think much of it until I looked up just in time to see "Baby Hulk" lifting Keaton's walker up and flipping it over on its side. With Keaton in it. On the concrete. I have never moved so quickly, but I was still too late. I watched as the walker landed and Keaton's head, thankfully slowly, hit the hard, concrete porch. I'll tell you the truth I just about went all "Mama Hulk" on Cale. I think I even turned green. I grabbed Keaton and swatted Cale several times while yelling, "You can't do that! You can't ever do that!" Of course Keaton was screaming and then Cale was crying. Thank goodness, no one was really hurt. I think Keaton was just a little stunned. What if Cale would've pushed Keaton off of the porch? It makes me sick to think about it.

Just when I thought Keaton was safe. Lesson learned: I guess a baby is never safe with a two-year-old around. Never.

Last night Carl and I decided to take Cale to see a movie. We tried about 6-7 months ago, Toy Story 3, and ended up leaving after only fifteen minutes. We were a little nervous this time around, but Cale has been to the movies a few times with his Mammaw and has done well, so we were willing to give it a try. On the way to the movie we got a call from my sister saying that she was taking her girls to see the same movie, Hoodwinked 2. Cale was pretty excited when he found out Abree and Kenzie were going to be there. I was a little nervous up until the point the movie actually started. Cale wouldn't sit down and was being a little rowdy. But, the minute the lights dimmed, he was in a trance. I never would have believed he would sit there the way he did. His eyes almost never left the movie screen the entire movie. About halfway through he leaned over and said he wanted a snack (aka popcorn and coke) It was so cute to watch him reach his little paw in the bucket, pull a much-too-big handful of popcorn out, and shove it in his mouth...all the while his eyes never leaving the screen. As silly as it may sound, it was a monumental moment for us. Now we know that we can take Cale to a movie, he can happily sit through it, and he truly enjoys it. This is probably the first of many family movie outings for us.


Cale has been saying some silly things lately. I think he's finally to the age that he knows it gets a laugh if he says funny things. Sometimes when I ask him something, I can see the wheels turning in his mind, thinking about the perfect silly response. On the way home from the park the other night, Cale suddenly said, "Daddy, you're driving too fast. You better slow down, or a 'pop car' will get you." Then I asked him, "What will the cop say to Daddy if he pulls him over?" Cale replied in a very deep, growley voice, "I'm going to get you, Daddy!" Then, I asked Cale "What will Daddy say to the cop?" Cale quickly responded, "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin." I sure hope that's not what Daddy says if he gets pulled over.

The other morning, as Cale was sitting by Carl finishing his breakfast, he let out a rather loud poot. I said, "Cale was that you?" He said, "No, it was you Mommy." Then, he turned to Carl and said, "Mommy just pooted in her panties", to which Carl reponded with uncontrollable laughter. Feeding the fire, aren't we there, Daddy? Who knows what Cale says about us when we're not around. So, to clear things up any misconceptions you might have about us after talking with our son...Cale has developed a little habit of stretching the truth or just twisting it up completely. So, if he tells you something embarrassing about us, then you should just assume it's not true. None of it. All fiction. Even though half of it probably really happened.

The other afternoon, Cale was sitting in Carl's truck. He loves to pretend he's driving. Makes him feel so big. He spotted a pack of gum in the cup holder. He asked Carl if he could have some gum. Carl said, "One piece". Yeah right. You can't tell a toddler, "only one" and then leave the entire pack in their reach. Carl said he turned his back for about two minutes. When he looked back in the truck, Cale was sitting with nine gum wrappers lying around him. And he didn't have a huge mouthful of gum. He did what I assume most 2-year olds do...he swallowed all of it. Each and every piece. We haven't noticed any side effects of it...yet.

This post is mainly about Cale, but Keaton is very much a part of our lives too. He's beefing up and grinning like crazy right now! He smiles so much...more than Cale at this age. All you have to do is hold Keaton up, facing you, and he grins and coos. He still wants to be held...a lot. But if you're holding him and looking at him, he's pretty content. We're really starting to get attached to Keaton. We've loved him all along, but now he's finally getting some personality.

I noticed a lot of people posted about Easter and I completely forgot to. We had a really good Easter this year. Cale loved waking up to the overflowing Easter basket sitting outside his door. Sundays are always hard around here, getting everyone ready on time, avoiding meltdowns...you know how it is. Well, I was determined on Easter to not feel rushed and to actually be on time, for once. *Snort*...yeah right. So, I woke up earlier than the boys, showered, and began getting ready. I was almost completly ready before anyone else awoke. Success. But, somehow we still managed to be rushed in the end. I was really wanting to get an Easter pic of the boys before we left. Keaton spit up on his initial Easter outfit just minutes after being dressed. More like drenched. I tried to handwash it and throw it in the dryer, but who was I kidding...there wasn't enough time for all of that. So, a little disappointed, I scrounged up another outfit...outfit number two.

Just as we were about to go outside for the picture, already being a minute or two past the time in which we needed to leave, Keaton had a dirty diaper. No big deal really. I didn't panic, just headed to his room to change him. But, then as I opened his diaper I realized it wasn't just any dirty diaper, it was a blow-out. If you're not a mom and you don't know what that means, you soon will when you have one of your own. It was all over Easter outfit number two. At this point, I was beginning to hit that panic-level that I hate to reach...especially on Sunday mornings. I tried to get the oufit off of him without making a mess. Unsuccessful and nearly impossible with a onesie. So, I cleaned Keaton up, but left everything else to be cleaned up later. By this point I was a sweaty, stressed mess.

So, we ended up being about 15 minutes late for church. Grouchy, sweaty, and with no Easter picture. About halfway there I calmed down, cooled down, and realized that little things don't matter. Funny ending to the story. When we picked Keaton up from the nursery, he was no longer in Easter outfit number three. No, he was pantsless with a plain, old onesie that the nursery workers must have found in the bottom of his diaper bag. Outfit number four. Yes, another blow-out.

Welcome to our not-so-perfect life. Some days are just like that, even on Easter Sunday. And I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.