With Apologies For The Non-Posting

Y'know, sometimes it's hard to imagine I contributed anything to the boys' gene pool. I'm not suggesting any kind of shenanigans, it's just that they're good looking, intelligent, seemingly athletic kids, and I'm like ... half of one of those.

Then there are times that my influence, intentional or otherwise, is undeniable. Take, for example, what happened just the other night. Michael runs into the family room wearing his underwear and the mask that came with the Robin costume he got for Halloween. "I'm Super Naked!" Connor runs in right behind him, wearing just his underwear and the Batman cape and cowl from his Halloween costume. "I'm Bat Naked!"

Apparently, Super Naked has the power to make other people naked. Bat Naked still just pretty much throws imaginary batarangs (nakedarangs?), with their now standard "nyow-nyow-nyow bang!" sound effects added in. Also, one of them (I don't recall which at the moment) was wearing his Superman Returns chones, and I found myself kind of not-so-excited about a big picture of Brandon Routh on my kid's butt.

Anyway, I can't believe it never occurred to me to ask my power-granting friend Citrus-Man to give me the power to make other people naked. I'm sure he'd have had NO problems with that one. Right, pal?

Yudolph the Yed Nose Yeindeey

I don't really understand why this has happened, but Connor really seems to have gone backwards in some of his speech development, especially his increased inability to make the "r" sound. We're not too concerned about it, since it's certainly not unusual for a 2 1/2 year old to have this problem, but it's pretty clear that he's having more trouble now than he was a few months ago. But, to be honest, it can be pretty entertaining at times.
"I'm Cowboy Conney."
"Cowboy Conney?"
"No! Cowboy Conney!"
"Cowboy Connor?"
"Yeah, Cowboy Conney!"

I think the one that makes us laugh the most is "beeps."
"Excuse me, I had a beep."
"A what?"
"A beep."
"buuurrrp"
"I had another beep!"
And then he laughs, and keeps trying to burp, because he thinks it's the burps that are entertaining us.

I also find all kinds of amusement in his insistence that he's not fun.
I'll say "Connor, I like you. You're fun."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you are. You're all kinds of fun."
"No I'm not!"

But as you can see, he is mistaken ...

Ladies' Man

We were at the park today, and for some reason Michael was being kind of shy and didn't want to play with a girl who was there. Really, he just ignored her as best as he could. She'd get close and he'd run. Eventually, Connor played with her and Michael just sat by me "to talk," but it certainly seemed like he was more interested in protection than conversation.

I asked him what his deal was. Usually he's the one trying to get the other kids at the park to play with him. He said, "I don't want one more girl friend. I already have TONS of girl friends. I don't want 1,000, I already have 100!"

But really, can you blame them?

Tragic!

Who knew that Sesame Street vitamins would lead to one of the oddest things I've ever heard anyone say?

Connor: "Can I see Cookie Monster?"
Michael: "No, he died in my mouth."

That would be the Cookie Monster-shaped vitamin.

I hope.

Turning Point?

I remember a time, probably in the early 80's, when we were settling into the family room to watch one of our 12 channels (on our snappy new TV with a REMOTE CONTROL!!). My Dad sat down in this super-sweet dark brown vinyl chair, and the bottom of the chair broke loose.

Dad said "Maybe I should lose some weight."

So the other day I was leaving the house on my way to a job interview. And that meant that my shirt was tucked in, which is a decidedly rare thing (and I now understand why my Dad wore so many Hawaiian shirts when I was growing up).

As I head out the door, Michael says, "Dad, your tummy sure is big. Do you have a baby in there?"

Maybe I should lose some weight.

Acute Olfactory Senses

The other day, this conversation happened in our family room:

Michael (completely out of the blue): Guess who I smell?
Angie: Who?
Michael: Amberle!
Angie: You can smell Amberle?
Michael: Yeah! Even though she's very far away.
Connor: I smell Amberle, too!

Oh, Amberle. Time for that bi-weekly shower, I guess.

Oh, and I found a way to put this picture on my (old and camera-free) cell phone. I just figure everyone else would want it, too.

All You Need To Know

We've got this game, which usually spins out of "chase" or hide-and-seek. One or both boys run into their room, and I come in behind them, and they're under a blanket. And then usually Michael says "talking blanket here," and Connor repeats it. So I talk to the talking blanket. "Hmm, I'm looking for Michael and Connor. Have you seen them, talking blanket?" Sometimes I get a straightforward "They're under me," and sometimes they try to steer me in the wrong direction, "You should check in the closet."

So a couple of weeks ago we had a role reversal, and Michael was chasing me. I ran into his room and hid under a blanket, and when he came in I said "Talking blanket here!" Michael said, "I'm looking for my Dad. Have you seen him?"
"I don't know. What does he look like?"
"He has eyes, and a nose, and a mouth, and Jesus made him."

And sure, he didn't mention the sideburns, but I can let that go, just this once.

Superheroes In Training

Independence Day

This is the first time I've been the parent of a 1 1/2 year old (give or take) who is a second child, so I don't know if this is standard or not. But more and more Connor is insisting on being independent.

"Connor do it" and "I do it" are coming out of his mouth pretty frequently. For instance, he might refuse to be fed something, but will eat it just fine if he's feeding himself. It shows up when it's time to brush teeth, get dressed, play with Play-Dough(TM), and a bunch of other places. And while I'm glad that he's already learning to take care of himself (yesterday he ran into where Angie was, said "Pee!" and took off his diaper. She took him into the bathroom and he took care of business.), I find that it also makes me a little bit nervous.

After ten years of youth ministry and conversations with parents I've seen the troubles that can befall someone who insists on doing things their way. I know this isn't quite as annecdotal as most of my other posts, but I've really been thinking a lot about this lately. And the real concern I have is that, based on what I've seen, people who are ardently independent are much more unlikely to learn from other people's mistakes and insight. They tend to need to learn things themselves, which often involves making mistakes that hurt. And that's really what I keep coming back to. I want my kids (including those in my youth ministry) to be able to avoid the pitfalls that I've found, and that other adults with influence in their lives have fallen into. I don't want him to have to do things on his own so much that he has to endure more heartache and trouble than he needs to.

And since I'm only 10 years away from Connor the Jr. High student, I think I'd better quit writing and get to prayin'.

Thanks for enduring my not-so-amusing rambling. Next time I'll have a wacky story or funny picture. Promise.

Childlike Faith

So each night one of the last parts of the bedtime routine is a time to pray together. Michael prays most nights, and his prayers are almost entirely thanking God for things. Lately we've been asking Connor if he wants to pray, and he often does.

Connor's prayer: "Mom. Dad. Amen."

It's just really, really cool.

Something's Wrong With This Picture

As the boys and I sat around the table this morning, tellin' stories and talking about nothing in particular, I noticed something that didn't seem quite right.


Anybody else think it's odd that I'm the only one whose cup has a lid?

The Epiphany Of A Three Year Old

We're sitting at the table tonight eating dessert (chocolate-cherry cobbler, thanks for asking), and suddenly Michael realized something.

"I can't see my head!"

"I can see your heads, Mom and Dad, but I can't see my head!"

And he seemed to be genuinely shocked and bewildered at this realization.

I thought about taking the opportunity to tell him that he had a skeleton living inside him, but thought I'd save that for an opportune moment down the road.