Sharing

J and Daddy are eating toast for breakfast. J says "daddy, need more toast. Bunnies outside are hungry. They wake up and need eat bre'fast. I put toast outside."

Too big...

This morning J asked to play outside. When I said yes, he asked if he could ride Lightning (his powerwheel). Our driveway is very steep, and we're not comfortable letting him ride it down the hill. So, usually Matt carries it down for him. I've told him numerous times that mommy can't carry it down the hill, only daddy can. I reminded him of that today.

He looked crestfallen, but got over it.

On the way upstairs for nap, he says "after nap, go outside and play. But no ride lightning. Mommy too big to get him!"

Guess he thinks I'm huge.

Arachnophobia

We dealt with our very first bout of nightmares last week. I say nightmares, but technically it could have been actual spider sightings. We'll never really know.

J woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Of course he cried for daddy (I've trained him well). And as my husband is amazing, I shook him awake (under the guise of 'but I'm too pregnant to get out of bed') to rush to our child's rescue.

Through the monitor I hear J tell Matt that he's scared and needs to sleep in mommy's bed. Matt is exhausted and sort of brushes him off. But in the morning, J sticks to his story. Upon opening his bedroom door, I'm bombarded with the following run-on sentence: "mama, I scared, daddy tell me lie down, there spider in my crib, no like crib!" He's convinced said spider is still there. And being the heroine that I am, I fake smash this fake spider and fake throw it away. He's still not convinced and refuses to nap in his 'spider crib' that day.

So, we decide now's as good a time as any to make that 'boy big bed' transition. We tried once over the summer, with disastrous results. But this time I have a secret weapon at my disposal. This weapon is called BRIBERY and it's one of the most suitable parenting tools available. Matt and I bought a box of 8 Cars characters. And each morning, after a successful night of sleeping in his boy big bed, he chooses a car as a reward.

Thus far it's been just what he needs to convince him to sleep in the bed. But tonight, as Matt is driving him home from the grocery store the following conversation takes place.

Matt: J, when we get home, you can watch one show and then it's time for sleeping. And in the morning you can make a new car pick.

J: Ok daddy. I go home, watch Mickey, sleep in boy big bed. And daddy fix crib. Daddy fix crib in 2 minutes and I get crib back.

So now I feel rather guilty. Poor child didn't ask to become an older brother. And let's face it....there's no other reason to force him from the bed he loves, but to pass it onto baby brother.

End of an Era

J has always called football "wussball". Not sure why, just one of those weird mispronunciations that I secretly encourage because I think it's cute.

So, when he asked if he could play ball outside I asked if he wanted to play wussball. He looks at me like I am the dumbest person on the planet.

"No mama, not wussball. Football!"

Saint Valentine

Scapegoat

When J woke up from his nap today I heard a 'thunk, thunk' noise on the ground. This typically signifies him throwing his nuks down. Sure enough, a minute later, he's yelling "Mama, I drop my nuky on ground!" I make my way to his room and open the door, pretending to be upset about the "dropped" nuks.

Me: What are your nuks doing on the ground?

J: Oh, just frow 'em.

Me: Who threw them?

J (looking at me with a straight face): Baby brudder frow 'em!

At this point I can't keep a straight face anymore and I burst into laughter. Poor baby brother, not even here yet, and already a scapegoat.

With a little more confidence in J's brothering skills, I'm adding this picture from December. He's holding baby Jesus. So maybe there's hope yet.

Turkeys

J has really started to develop a sense of who he is. He can fake emotions to get what he wants and he can express his feelings. Last week, we were watching the kids. I asked him if he needed to tinkle. He didn't respond.

Parker: J, she said do you need to tinkle?

J: (I think misunderstanding P's pronunciation of tinkle) No Parks! I NOT a turkey. I just J!

We all started cracking up. So now, anytime you ask him if he's a turkey he'll tell you "no, I just J". I don't think he's nearly as amused as we all are.