Carson-isms

"Oh my cow!"  The blending of phrases I heard after Carson shot the already mounted deer head hanging on our wall with his Nerf gun. What a good reminder that someone is listening to expressions I say, and quickly catching on. 

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"Mom, I forgot my phone number!"  When he realized he left is toy phone at home.

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He was near tears and frantically tugging at my leg when I hit the power button on our vacuum. As the swirl of the brush began to slow and the roar of the machine died down, I leaned to his level, asking what had happened to make him this upset.

Mooooom," he wailed, his voice quivering, "my puppies! You swept them up!"

We fished around in the canister, looking for those furry, imaginary friends, and surprisingly found them, tucked in against the hair balls and dust bunnies. Carson said they were okay, then I asked him their names. We decided on Selena and Fredrick. 

They were with us the rest of the day, chasing me as I finished vacuuming, nearly getting swept up again. Nipping at my heels while I put away the freshly laundered and neatly folded baby clothes. Somehow they managed to ride along to town too, where grocery shopping and banking and a trip to the car wash were all in order.

We were half way home when I heard it again, that quivering and desperate voice... "We forgot the puppies at the post office! Mooooom, you've got to turn around!"

Those puppies don't even chew on things, yet they were about to exasperate me. 

I reached over, my hand grasping thin air in my diaper bag, and... Tada! There they were, the two naughty puppies Carson thought he had forgotten.

"Silly puppies..." he cooed, when I handed Fredrick and Selena back to him. "You were playing hide and go seek."  It was relief that swept over me. We wouldn't need to alert the Sheriff or the Dog Pound... Our lost imaginary friends had been found.

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Without fail, if I make email (oatmeal) for breakfast, at least one person will request thirds. And if we go to Oak Leaf Cafe for a treat, at least one person will ask for a cookie with brain-kills. (Sprinkles.)

Carson-isms

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!" 

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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.

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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.

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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!"

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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.

Things That Were Caught in my Filter

Some people wish they would learn to keep their mouth shut, to not blurt out exactly what they're thinking about the topic at hand; I, however, most often wish I'd work up the nerve to say exactly what is on my mind. In real life I'm maybe a bit over polite, pretending what someone did or said did not bother me, when the truth is on the inside I'm fuming mad or slightly irritated or silently amused. Too many things get caught in my filter, and today my friend, I'm letting them out. Be warned: This might turn into a series of posts, because gosh, I've stuffed things for so long.

I said share! And if I told you to share, that means you've got to give it to me. 

It was Wednesday, June 29th, 2016, at approximately 10:18 AM, Eastern Standard Time. How did I remember these unimportant details so vividly, you ask? The answer is simple; every Wednesday at Salvation Army is practically like Black Friday at Target -- the place is swarmed with customers wanting to get the best deals before someone else snatches them up. Common courtesy is thrown aside as people rifle through the racks of clothing and household goods, searching for the items that are half price. You see, on Wednesday all but one color tag is discounted. And I know it's approximately 10:18 because doors open at 10:00 and we weren't on time.

That voice you heard telling my son he needs to share, that's coming from a small child of 3 or 4 years. He's got gorgeous hazel eyes, skin that's glowing from the summer sun, and a tussled mop of brown curls. The only thing this handsome lad doesn't have going for him is his whiny and obnoxious attitude, which is less than handsome.

This all started a few months early when our dogs got a hold of several of Carson's sandbox toys. When we stumbled upon Lightening McQueen he was so mangled and messed up we had to send his bumper in for DNA testing to identify that it was really him. Needless to say, Carson was devastated. As I dried his tears, I silently thanked the Lord that it was only the 19 cent thrift-store McQueen car that was destroyed and not those vintage Tonka truck and skidloader toys I'm sort of fond of, and promised Carson that the next time we got to Salvation Army I'd let him pick out a few new toys to replace the ruined one.

Carson doesn't forget a thing. As soon as we pulled in the parking lot he eagerly told me he was going to pick out a new car!

And so there we were, in the infant and toddler section of the store. As I sorted through little girly rompers and jumpsuits, Carson sat playing among the toys. He had a yellow school bus and a yellow dump truck in his possession, not really caring about the rest of the scattering of blue and green and pink plastic toys around him, as he tried to decide of the two which one was going home with him.

You need to share, give it to me! The little boy began to tug and pull on the dump truck in a desperate attempt to pry it from Carson's grip. There were many other toys around him, but he had eyes for only one.

Don't grab it, I firmly told the child. But he's not sharing! And when I say share, that means share! the once-handsome-but-suddenly-ugly child whined. He was trying to manipulate me and I knew it. There are plenty of other toys here for you to play with. Find something else.

Find something else. It was that statement that sent the child into a full thrown tantrum. He cried and screamed and whined on that dust-bunny covered corner of the store. In an instant the adults in his life, the ones who hadn't been supervising him very well, were suddenly present. Oh what's wrong? Why are crying? Cooed his older sister in a sing-song voice. Did somebody hurt you? He continued to cry as his mother said, rather loudly so I would hear too, It's that little boy, he's taken all of the toys for himself and won't let Johnny have one.

Now this is where the story changes a bit. Remember I told you about my filter that caught what I was truly thinking? In reality Carson and I picked up those toys and walked away, but in my mind it played out so very differently. And I want to tell you about the differently part.

Now back to the story...

... It's that little boy, he's taken all of the toys for himself and won't let Johnny have one. I don't know where Johnny got his handsome looks, but I do know where he got his ugly entitled attitude from. It was in his mother's genes too.

I couldn't take it. I wasn't going to let her get away with her rude behavior. It was time for an object lesson. My dad always said the best way to remember things is to see them play out, and it's true. To this day I still remember the many children's church stories and activities because he was always so good at acting them out. So I guess you could say what happened next I got from him.

Her cart was filled with half off clothes and treasures. I couldn't help but wish I had found a few of them first. While she was still loudly stating that her poor son didn't have anything to play with because my son - the one who only had two of the hundreds of toys in the store - had taken them all for himself, I reached in to her cart and began to help myself.

What do you think you are doing! She yelled when she finally noticed, reaching for her items that were now beginning to fill the bottom of my cart. You need to share! I told her, grabbing another t-shirt in the process. It was a few sizes too large and sort of grandma-ish, but I pretended I still wanted it. And when I say you need to share, that means you have to give it to me.

I continued to empty her cart in to mine, and when she tried to stop me again, I did it, I acted exactly like her son. I threw myself on to the floor and began crying and screaming and saying that I wanted those goose dinner plates with pink ribbons and flowers on them. When she told me to get up, that I was embarrassing myself, I screamed a little louder.

By now there was a crowd gathered around us, and when she finally said, Take the darn dinner plates and shut the ( H-E-double hockey sticks) up! I calmly removed myself from that dust-bunny covered floor at the corner of the store, told her I changed my mind and didn't want her dinner plates after all, and walked away.

I hope she remembers this little object lesson, because if she keeps babying her son whenever he doesn't get his way, he's going to grow up to be as embarrassing of an adult as that young mom with two small children in the corner of the kids section at Salvation Army on the 29th of June at 10:18 AM.


(If you're still wondering, we got the yellow dump truck.)

Carson-isms

Friday afternoon Herm asked if I had planned out what we would have for supper yet; I hadn't. He then suggested that we go on a family date to Kindred Fare, a new farm-to-table style restaurant we had heard only rave reviews about. While we are eagerly anticipating the arrival of our little one we've been trying to make the most of this period of waiting by doing fun little outings, things won't be as easy once the child does arrive, whenever we get the chance. I quickly agreed to that idea. As we were heading out the door Carson insisted on wearing his "Arnge Shoes" -- orange flipflops that fail to stay on even though they have an elastic band that stretches around the backs of his feet. Just minutes after being seated at our table the flipflops were kicked off. I let him go barefoot the rest of the meal, but when we stopped at Walmart on our way back home he had to put the flipflops back on. Running across the parking lot to the Lawn + Garden entrance, Carson lost the one for his right foot. That didn't stop him though, so I picked it up and off we went, with one shoe on and one shoe off. A sales clerk stopped him shortly after we entered the store, asking where his shoe was. Without even missing a beat, he looked directly at her and said, "I have a flat tire. I need a tow truck!" She and I both burst out laughing, and she told him that she used to drive a tow truck. Suddenly she became a hero in his eyes, and now, whenever he loses a shoe he tells me his tire is flat.


One night as I was tucking Carson into bed his little tummy rumbled slightly, and I asked him what was up. "Oh mommy," he replied, "It's just the baby kicking."


Ever since we found out that I was pregnant, Herm and I have both been very verbal with Carson, explaining to him that there is a baby growing in my belly and that he is now a big brother. I've taken him along to almost every appointment with my midwife, and together we listen to steady rhythm of the heartbeat. I press his hands against my stomach so he can feel the kicks, and I have tried to point out other babies, both of friends and of strangers, hoping that he will be able to grasp what is happening, and that this will make the transition from being an only child to having a sibling much easier. He seems to understand what is going on, and is so excited to meet the baby. Over the past several weeks there has been a lot of talk about the baby finally arriving, and I think he might have been catching on a little bit more than I realized, for one day after supper as I was cleaning up the kitchen and working on putting away the dishes he sat on a chair in the dining room chatting with me. Mid conversation he told me that the baby should be coming soon because my water broke!
I think perhaps he is learning too much about all of this while eavesdropping on adult conversations. And no -- just for the record my water is still very much intact.

What I Heard Myself Say

No Carson, frogs don't drink wine.

I was working in the kitchen. Carson and his two froggy-friends were there too. The froggy-friends, however, were confined to a 3 gallon pail.

Carson was excitedly telling me all about his frogs; with each hop and jump I was informed. It was a thrilling afternoon for him, it's always fun when you have a new pet or two to play with.

He was trying to play host, I would suppose. I didn't ask if he checked ID's for the frogs.  I'm sure he realized they weren't so comfortable with their new surroundings and wanted to make them feel welcome. Whatever the motive, he pulled a bottle of unopened wine off of the shelf and pretended to pour it over each frog. Again and again he poured.

And that's when I heard myself say, No Carson, frogs don't drink wine. 

I laughed at how silly that sounded and immediately my memory jogged back over the past week or two... conversations with a toddler can sometimes sound like this:

Hey, get your feet out of the toilet bowl. That's not how you go potty.

Where did you put my credit card? You know, the one with an airplane on it. Yeah, you had it last.

Open wide, here comes the Choo-Choo Train.

It's your turn to flush the toilet... wave bye-bye.

How's the milk? No, silly not mommy-milk... your milk. The cows milk!

 

 

The conversations made complete sense, I'm sure... Unless you were in another room overhearing it and had no idea what was actually going on. 

Life with a energetic and super friendly toddler is never dull, and I love every minute of it.

What about you: Tell us about something silly you recently heard yourself say?

Baby Chatter + the Breastfed Monkey

(aka Carsonisms)

This series is to record the funny things my Little Man says or does so these moments are not forgotten. But it is twofold; my hope is that the stories will brighten your day too, whether you are a parent or not. Enjoy!

 

 

     In an attempt at slowly weaning Carson from breastfeeding, I began limited nursing to naptime and bedtime. He soon caught on to this and began begging to go night-night at all times of the day. Usually by 8:30 pm he is tugging at my hand, trying to pull me to his room, while rapidly blowing kisses at Herm. One night in particular he wasn't very tired and was feeling playful. After he had finished nursing, he decided that his stuffed sock monkey on the bed next to him needed a turn. He pressed the monkey up to me and began making slurping sounds, laughing. Apparently his monkey was still hungry, because he clasped the monkey-hands and signed 'more' before pushing the monkey back in for seconds. 

     The past few weeks have been very intense. Carson was working on a few new teeth, and along with that he was running a really high fever, had a runny nose, and pretty bad diaper rash. He wasn't sleeping well at night or at naptime. Needless to say, we were both miserable and exhausted. On what was the worse day of this whole ordeal, I had rocked my screamed child for two hours in an attempt to comfort him before he finally went down for an afternoon nap. And that evening at bedtime, it was the same thing all over again. He didn't want to be held, but he didn't want to be down. He didn't know what he wanted. In total frustration, I placed my face in my palms, trying hard not to burst into hot tears myself. Still screaming, Carson pulled my hand away from my face, said 'boo', chuckled at his joke, and continued on in a fit of tears.

     Carson was getting antsy at the graveside service for my cousin and her baby. He had done well at the viewing and funeral service, but he couldn't take much more, he was ready to run.  I let him down and he ran over to a little girl about his age and tried to grab her hand. She pulled away from him, so he picked a dandelion and handed it to her. As she timidly reached out for the flower, he swiftly pulled it back, turned around, and walked the other way. I guess they were both playing hard-to-get.

What stories of childish ‘isms’ do you have to share?  Comment below!

Carson-isms

Children, in my opinion, are the best comedians out there. Their humor is honest and innocent, untainted by the crude jokes and innuendos that so strongly influence our culture.

There are a few bloggers I follow who regularly post about the funny things their children say or do. Some of the stories literally have me crying from laughter, they are so hilarious.  But even before blogs existed, my mom was documenting these moments to pass on to me and my siblings ... Like the time my dad scolded me for being naughty by using my full name. Without hesitation, I retorted, "My name is not Sarah LeAnn Weaver, Daddy LeAnn Weaver." And when I found out that I was going to be a big sister, that there was a baby in my mom's belly, I was quick to let everyone know there were cookies in mine.

I am so thankful my mom made an effort to record those moments, and I want to do the same for my children. While Carson isn't speaking yet, (at least not in a language I comprehend) he does come up with things that have Herm and I both laughing until our sides ache. He is a child full of mischief and humor, and I know that there will be many moments I will want to remember.

So, this starts a new blog series about the darndest things kids say, and for now, I'll call it "Carson-isms".

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The other day I was working in the kitchen, preparing supper. Herm had just arrived home from work and Carson was trailing him through the house, copying his every move. As Herm walked through the kitchen, heading for the dining room table, he gave me a little 'love slap' on the butt. Without missing a beat, Carson reached up, slapped my butt, and continued on his way to the table too, just like daddy.

A few days later, we were enjoying a slow evening at home, and decided to watch a movie. Herm had gotten up from his usual spot on our reclining sofa to adjust a few settings or grab the remotes. Carson quickly scooted off of my lap and sat in Herm's spot, feet propped up, just like Herm's, but not even close to reaching the reclining footrest, snickering, because he knew his daddy would probably sit on him or at the least tickle him until he moved.

I am also realizing how often I must yell at Rambo, our dog. You see, he is almost 4 years old, but he still acts just like a puppy -- jumping up on me, chewing through shoes or toys left on the deck unattended, 'watering' my basil plant and other herbs, and digging in my flower beds. I've realized that the tone I use with him is harsh and raised, because now, whenever Carson is talking to Rambo, he, too, uses the same strong tone, yelling "Bambo!" even when Rambo is being mellow and well-behaved.

What stories of childish 'isms' do you have to share?  Comment below!