More Poop Humor (You've been warned)

Recently, Zane and I visited a public ladies' room together and he wanted us to use separate, but adjoining, stalls.

Zane:  Are you pooping?

Me:  (giggle) Yes.

Zane:  It sounds like a squirty one.

Me:  Yep.  It sure is.

Zane:  (squirty-poop sound)  I'm pooping too. (pause) Nope.  It's just pee-pee.  Now that's what I call easy!

THAT'S NOT LOUD ENOUGH!

John and Zane were playing a game that they've played since Zane was about two. It's basically shouting "that's not loud enough" at each other until they roll over laughing. Tonight this game was taken to the next level with Zane's new-found competitiveness (usually just him declaring that he's won a race that you didn't know was happening) and John's very loud voice. It ended with Zane in tears, sobbing "Daddy, you won that game."

It's nice that John gets to win sometimes.

First Freeze-Head

Zane: What do you need your tongue for?

Me: Tasting.

Zane: It's like a conveyor belt. See, you can stick it out, put your food on it and pull it back in.

You never expect your husband to say...

"Your mom found a knot in my butt. She says she needs to work my glutes tomorrow."

boo.

Zane was in the bathtub for about twenty minutes and I had asked him twice to pull the plug. The third time was more forceful.

Me: Zane. Listen to me. Pull the plug - it's time to get out of the tub.

Zane: Arrgh! (pulling the plug and then looking at me very sternly) You're frustrating me, Mommy.

He continued to look me boldly in the eye with his knitted brow. He didn't appreciate my poorly suppressed snicker, either.

Zane's good friend, Adele, came for a visit today. They both ate a great lunch and played very well together, which was a nice departure for me. An overheard conversation follows...

Adele: That's not fair!

Zane: What does "not fair" mean?

Adele: It's like when a dog gets in the way. That's not fair.

Zane: What about "fair?" What's that mean?

Adele: That's like when you don't want something anymore. That's fair.

Fair enough.

Since watching the Pixar movie, Cars, Zane has become passionate about driving, speeding and what happens when you speed. He's constantly asking me if I'm speeding and then accusing me of speeding if I pass another car. He knows that if you speed, you will get chased by a police car and I think he's a little conflicted about this.

The other day we were driving on the freeway and the following conversation ensued...

Zane: Are you speeding?

Me: No, not really.

Zane: What does "not really" mean?

Me: Well, I'm going 65 and the speed limit is 60. So, I'm only speeding a little bit and that's ok.

Zane: What's a speed lemon?

Me: (giggle) Speed lim-IT. It's the law that says how fast you can go. The law says you can 60 mph on this freeway, but it's ok to go a little bit faster.

Zane: What's a law?

Me: It's a rule. So it's ok to break the rule a little bit.

Zane: It is?

Me: (C.R.A.P.) Um...no...it really isn't. I'll slow down.

Poop Humor

Zane, peering into the toilet...

"It's a grown-up. I dropped a grown-up into the lake."

Zane turns Four

New Mimi

Many of you know, and have seen, Zane's favorite stuffed toys - rats named Miss Heidi and Mimi. He used to carry around a stuffed guinea pig named Guinness but inexplicably abandoned him for the rats. After he discarded Miss Heidi because she was squishy and flat, I re-stuffed them so they were nice and fat and he renewed his dedication to the both of them.

With that in mind, and after two days of tie-dying shirts, I offered to tie-dye Mimi. Zane was immediately excited and we got on it. Done with the dying and with Mimi wrapped up in plastic wrap to wait the requisite 6-8 hours, Zane began regretting his decision. Not because she'd be rainbow colored (his favorite color), but because he couldn't have her RIGHT NOW and might not be able to have her when he went to bed.

Through tearful sobs, he declined my offer to go get another one at Ikea (because it would take too long). So, I pulled out the big guns, snuck into my secret-stash hiding place and pulled out a brand new Ikea stuffed rat that I was saving for a special-something surprise. That did the trick. Mimi was forgotten. Never mind that this one didn't look like Mimi (before or after her make-over). He had two nice fat stuffed rats and the world was right again.

Introducing: Black Mimi (his words, I swear)

Now to dig out the Little Black Sambo and Uncle Remus books that my grandmother used to read to me.

The Snowcone Won

Some things are just off limits

***Warning: this post contains references to TAMPONS***

Up until recently I've been able to keep my magical womanly time of the month relatively hidden from my unquenchably inquisitive little boy. Not because I'm embarrassed or ashamed of the gift that mother nature (Zane: or Jesus!) has given me, but because there's only so much that I'm willing to explain. I'm pretty frank with Zane when it comes to most things. I don't sugar coat too many answers and I have a really hard time lying to him even for a fun things like Santa Clause. He knows, for instance, that after a baby grows in a woman's tummy that she pushes it out of her vagina (ewwwww! was his response to this information). He hasn't asked how the baby gets into the tummy, thank god.

When it comes to tampons and what they're for and how they work? Not ready to open that can of worms. Just the thought of it makes me tired.

A few days ago, Zane and I were in a bathroom stall together (when, by the way, will I ever get to pee by myself again?). Zane peed first and as he was pulling up his pants and distracted by tiny little trash can in the stall I did my business (including tampon switch). I asked him to flush the toilet (which is his right and god help you if you forget that) and as he was reaching for the handle he glanced into the bowl to inspect things. He sees that which he did not deposit and the following conversation ensued...

Zane: Did you poop?

Me: Nope.

Zane: Did I poop?

Me: Nope.

Long pause. Wheels turning...

Zane: It looks like a sea monster.

Me: Huh. It sure does does. Let's go.

Whew.

Brand Conciousness

"Mommy! Look! This Hotwheel is a BMW! Look - it has a teeeeeny tiny BMW logo on the hood!"

Zane's breakfast yesterday: three bowls of frozen vegetables, including crinkle-cut carrots (still frozen, of course). Today's: tortilla chips.

True Dat

Yesterday, Zane said two things that really resonated with me:

"Bacon? Oh, that's my favorite!"

and

"I really don't like to frow up."

Both brought tears to my eyes for, obviously, very different reasons. Fortunately, one had nothing to do with the other.

Legs and Arms!

Zane drew a picture of himself and included arms and legs! He has, however regressed in writing his name (bottom of the page). Perhaps Saturday's head-bump is to blame.

Never leave a 3 year old alone with an Easter basket.

Me: How much candy have you eaten?
Zane: A LOT!

What's sweeter than a little boy in droopy underwear and a band-aid?

"I was remembering when I broke my tongue and had to go to the hospital room and the doctor fixed it with splitches."

Note: He does NOT remember this incident, as he was only a year old when it happened. He does, however, like to tell the story at least twice a day. Every time he says "splitches" it makes me giggle.

Overheard today...

"I need to go pah-tay. That's the Spanish of potty."

While we were building our new patio chairs: "Whew! Screwing is hard work! Let me take a rest."

Never thought I would say...

"Zane, please take your penis off the remote."

Zane writes his name!

Zane made a picture for John, put it in an envelope and asked me to write a note on it. After dictating the note (with much prodding from me), he decided that he would write his own name. I present Zane's first attempt at writing his own name:

The only thing that I actually drew was the 'o' part of the lowercase A. He then drew the "tail." He did ask for my help on the last lines of both the Z and the N and I just told him where to draw them. I love how he puts as many lines on the E as he can fit.

Poop Humor

Zane eats a lot of fruits and vegetables and is, therefore, "excrementally" prolific. He's full-on potty trained with the exception of naps and night-times when he wears a pull-up. He's also a boy. As a result, he tends to inspect his poop and reflect on it multiple times a day.

Looking into the toilet after having a slightly loose poop: "Huh. My butt has a lot of different settings."

Overheard in the bathroom after another loose poop: "Wow. I dropped a lot of kids into the lake."

Zane: (Doing the potty dance) I have to go potty!
Me: OK. Let's go to the porta-pottys.
Zane: I can't hold it!
Me: OK, well, I guess it's time for you to learn to go peepee in the water. Go tell Daddy.

Love

Zane: I very very very very very very very love you!

Me: Oh, my! I very, very MUCH love you, too!

Zane: I love you 100 feet! I love you 1000, 200, 30, 30! That's how much I love you!

Me: three minute warning, Zane!

Zane: Ok, Mommy.

Me: What did I just say?

Zane: I don't know. 10 more minutes.

Me: 3. Minute. Warning.

Zane: ok mommy.

Me: what did I say?

Zane: Thank you, Mommy.

A Cynic is Born

Zane and John were weeding our little rock "garden" by the front porch. Helpfully, Zane was selecting the pretty rocks and setting them aside. I came over to see what was going on and the following conversation tool place:

Zane: Look at all the pretty rocks! What kind of rocks are these?

Me: Well, actually, those are pieces of glass. (decorative, non-sharp-edged glass - don't call CPS)

Zane: No they're not.

Me: Yep. That's glass.

Zane: No it's not. Daddy! Mommy says that those rocks are glass.

It doesn't really matter what happened after that. Suffice it to say that my skepticism for all things (which, no doubt, was passed on to me through both 'nature' and 'nurture' and I have worn like a badge my whole life) has bitten me in the ass.

Yeah - laugh it up mom and dad.

A Perfect Saturday Afternoon

Faves

My current favorite word of Zane's: swannich (sandwich)

I'm sitting next to Zane and watching him play games on my computer.

Ever since he started playing games on my iPhone (and now my computer, which is kind of annoying because he's really too young to have his own computer, but, come on, I want to play on my computer!) he's done this thing that makes me laugh and wonder what's going on in that little brain. Whenever he's given a selection of items and tasked with selecting the "right" one, he selects every wrong thing until only the right one is left.

Is he being silly or obstinate? Or do all the other kids do this, too, and I'm erroneously thinking he's special? Or maybe he really IS "special?"

Random Picture + Conversation

Zane: I want a new Umizoomi. Mommy, can you download a new Umizoomi? Please?

Me: No, we have plenty. You can just watch one that we already have. Thanks for using your manners, though.

Zane: Oh. Can you upload one?

Reader

Zane read his very first word almost all on his own this weekend (I had to tell him that, in this word, the 'c' made the 'kuh' sound). He sounded out all the letters and read CROCS on his shoe.

And he didn't even just guess that it said Crocs because it was on a Crocs shoe. In fact, he hasn't yet figured out "context." Like, if we're in Starbucks and the word that you're reading is on the Starbucks sign (which you've recognized since you were about 8 months old) and the first part says STAR - you can pretty confidently assume what the word is.

Sarcasm aside, I'm proud of him.

Why does Buddha wear gloves?

Zane: (looking at Buddha figurine in bathroom) What's Buddha? Is he a superhero?

Me: No, he's just a person.

Zane: Why does he wear gloves? (No idea where that came from)

Me: Hmm...maybe it's cold.

Zane: Where does he live?

Me: Well, he doesn't really live anywhere. He's kind of like Jesus. You know how you learn at school that Jesus lives in your heart? Buddha does, too. They're a lot alike.

Zane: Why is it cold in your heart?

Me: Wash your hands, please.

Extra Fingers

A Facebook conversation reminded me of this conversation with Zane:

Zane: Mommy, why do I have five fingers? I only want a pinky and a thumb.

Me: Well, all our fingers help us grab and hold things.

Zane: (grabbing something with only his pinky and thumb) See? I only need a pinky and a thumb.

Me: OK. Well, all the other fingers are extras. In case you lose a pinky or thumb. It's nature's way of having back-ups.

Zane: Or Jesus's.

Cookies!

Many of you may have guessed that I am a bit of control freak when it comes to cooking. For this reason, I am very thankful for two things:
1. My husband will eat and enjoy everything that I make.
2. My mother and Zane's teachers cook with him (which means I don't have to)(yet).

Nonetheless, on this cold, wintry night, after our dinner of fish bites (sustainable) and Ore-Ida fast-food french fries, Zane and I decided that a) we needed cookies (or Scooby snacks, depending on who you ask) and b) it was too cold to go out so we'd have to make them ourselves.

After trying unsuccessfully to convince him that making cookies wouldn't be fun and that he should just watch Scooby-Doo while I did it, I bit the bullet, went into Zen Mommy mode and baked with my child.

Yea!

Scott's Tot

Zane: blah dee blah blah

Me: blah dee blah

Zane: blah?

Me: Well, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.

Zane: That's what she said.

No Nap

God help me if Zane quits napping.

Zane: Are you happy?

Me: No, I'm not. (understatement)

Zane: I can make you happy.

Me: Oh, really? How's that?

Zane: I'm going to hug you.

Me: (smile)

Diaper Addiction

We will soon be hosting a diaper intervention for our dear son, Zane. He is pretty much potty trained - no accidents with underwear all day at school, during naps, etc. He knows very well when he needs to pee or poop. He would just rather do it in his diaper than the toilet. Why? Because, as he says (and I really can't argue with his logic), it's easier. For him, that is. Our arguments of costliness, time-wastiness, environmental-badness and ickiness pull no heartstrings for him. Our stern looks and platitudes of being a big-boy bear no weight next to his laziness.

Case in point, our conversation this morning, shortly after he got out of bed...

Me: Let's change out of that wet diaper. (He will clearly need to wear an extra-absorbent diaper to bed at night for awhile as when he wakes up in the morning it weights about 5 pounds)(Right now that wet diaper is drooping to his knees and he has to waddle around the house)

Zane: Nope-ahs.

Me: Yep - you don't have to get dressed yet. Just put some underwear on. You can put your clothes on right before school.

Zane: But I don't like underwear. I'll put on a pull-up.

Me: Nope - you wear underwear to school.

Zane: But I. Don't. Like. Underwear.

Me: I know, but You. Wear. Underwear. To. School.

Zane: Well, I want to air it out. I'll just go bare bottom. (Come on - this is only marginally easier than underwear)

Me: Fine. But you have to put underwear on for school.

Zane: Okie-dokie-dees

All right, yes, I know that we are enablers. This intervention is as much for us as for him. That's why I bought our last package of pull-ups this weekend and warn Zane on a multi-daily basis that the dwindling pull-ups that he sees on his dresser are his last. That as soon as they're gone, it's all-underwear all the time (we conveniently leave out the night-time reprieve when discussing d-day). He seems to take it in stride. We'll see.