There have been quite a few changes in Carson's life over the past three months. He's taken it, for the most part, in stride, and as he learns and processes these changes it's all I can do not to burst out laughing in front of him.

For instance: Shortly after Brooklyn was born he asked if he could feed her. She is breastfed exclusively, and I had only given her a bottle of pumped milk once, while we were traveling. I had told him that I need to feed her but that he would be able to hold her afterward. He kept persisting, saying he wanted to be the one to feed her. Finally I asked how he intended to that. "Mom," he said in an exasperated tone that hinted at my ignorance for not already knowing, as he pointed to a nipple, "with my little milks!" 


Me:"What would you like for lunch? A sandwich?"
Carson: "I would like a moomie. A queen moomie." 
Me: "No, you can't watch the McQueen movie."
Carson: *sighs* "No mom, a queen moomie. In a cup."

My child actually requested veggies, in the form of a green smoothie, in a cup, and somehow I completely missed the gist of the whole conversation.


It's somewhere between 6 and 7 AM. I'm in the bathroom, going about my business (TMI, much?) and getting ready for the day. Carson, never groggy-eyed in the morning, comes hopping out of his room. As he passes the the bathroom he yells, "Hey mom, are you pooping?" "Yes."
I hear some shuffling in the kitchen, and a few minutes later he proudly brings me an M+M that he got out of the jar on the very top of our refrigerator. "Good job, mom! You did it." He high fives me, because we are in the thick of potty training, and we both know pooping in the potty is the hardest and it deserves a reward.


We were taking a family day, something that doesn't happen as often as we wish it would. The kids are both buckled into our Tahoe, the snacks and whatever we might need for the outing are packed, and we are off. As Herm and I chat, we start to flirt with each other a bit, sort of like we always did before we had kids. No sooner had he slipped his hand across the console and onto my thigh, when a little voice from the back seat called out, "Dad, stop it! BOTH hands on the steering wheel!"


The kids and I are out running errands when we passed a police car. That same little voice calls out from the back seat, "Mom, you better slow down. He's going to get you."
My two year old has suddenly become my conscience.


  1. I feel like this kid needs his own comedy show. :) So funny!