Finally -- an Adventure!

Over the weekend, Little Boy and I went to L.A. to visit a friend who just had a baby.
Big Boy stayed home with MrDartt to do fun Big Boy things that Little Boy is too little to do.
Little Boy and I flew in a little tiny airplane that had propellers. Propellers.
I'm pleased to say that he's a very good traveler. On the way to L.A. (it's about a 1.5-hour flight), he ate lunch then fussed a little, then wrestled me for about three minutes before sleeping for about an hour. He woke up about 10 minutes before we landed and cried for about five minutes as we descended and, I assumed, his ears popped.
The visit with my friend was very nice. She picked us up at the airport, and then we had lunch with my roommate from college. The baby is adorable, of course. We had some good girl time, which was nice. I haven't seen my friend in almost four years!
The only mishap we had was in the security line at LAX -- I'd set his carseat on top of the stroller so I could push him through the airport. The seat and the stroller don't actually go together and as I turned around to pick up the suitcase, the stroller broke, sending the carseat tumbling to the floor, with Little Boy in it!
Luckily he was strapped in, and as the carseat flipped over and over again, he just gave a startled cry. When I turned him over he looked at me like, "What the heck just happened, Mom?"
The man who had lurched forward as he saw the carseat tumbling off the stroller, in an attempt to catch it, said, "Geez, he's a tough little guy. Didn't even cry."
(Probably he was thinking, "And you're crazy, lady!").
These two women were saying, "Oh, my God!" in hushed voices. Then they avoided making eye contact with me.
Anyway, after that I put Little Boy in the stroller and hooked the carseat onto the rolling suitcase and awkwardly made my way through the airport.
During the flight home, Little Boy ate some cookies, drank some milk, and played with toys and an empty cup. He got a little restless at one point and threw himself backwards. He hit his head on the window and cried for a few seconds, then realized how fun that was and did it over and over for a while.
Other than that, he was awake and happy.
When we got to the airport, Big Boy was excited to see us through the window but as soon as we got inside, he was more interested in inspecting the tag on my suitcase than he was in a happy, hug-filled reunion.
Now I've had my adventure fix and I can wait a while for another one!

The Bumblebee - an update

Just a quick update on the bumblebee situation: last night after I put the boys to bed I came upstairs and he was flying around the living room. He finally showed his face.
I couldn't find the fly swatter so I chased him around the house with the dustpan and finally he landed on the wall next to the sliding glass door.
So I swatted him and he fell on the floor but his legs were still moving in slow motion. My mom was there and she asked, "Is he dead?"
"Not yet," I said.
I gave him a few more swats with the dustpan, then I scooped him up and threw him on the back porch.
This morning, that was the first thing Big Boy asked about -- he wanted to know if I'd caught the bee and put it outside so it wouldn't sting him.
I forgot to mention the great example of sheer hysteria I set for him when the bumblebee got into the house. He opened the door and it flew in and I totally freaked out. I was like, "Oh, no, Oh, no, there's a bee in the house!"
And then the bee followed me into the kitchen, where I flinched and tried to duck away from it, screaming.
Idiot.
So of course Big Boy is scared too.
Good thing I got rid of that bumblebee.
The tiny, very loud fly is still here.
And so are about a dozen moths I let in last night when I tossed the bee outside.
Oh, well.

Freaking Out

Right now, there is a HUGE black bumblebee in my house. He's been in the garage all morning, and when I was out putting a load of laundry in the washer just now, Big Boy opened the door between the dining room and the garage, and the HUGE black bumblebee found his way into the house.
Unfortunately, there also is a tiny, very loud fly in my house right now. The tiny, very loud fly is buzzing all over the living room, literally crashing into windows, making me think it's the HUGE black bumblebee every time. I keep flinching, thinking the HUGE black bumblebee is going to come after me in anger because he can't get out the window.
And even worse, I can't find the HUGE black bumblebee anywhere. I want to find him so I can smash him before the boys get up from their naps. But he is hiding. He is using the tiny, very loud fly to fake me out, and before I know it, he'll swoop over and sting me.

Shopping Carts

Call me nosy.
I LOVE looking in people's shopping carts at the grocery store and trying to guess what kind of family they have, what kind of lifestyle, what they watch on TV, you name it.
Like yesterday I saw this tall blonde lady and she had about 18 loaves of bread. Seriously.
I'm thinking she probably has a whole brood of little kids at home and she lines the bread up on the counter, slaps bologne on every other piece and throw the sandwiches together before tossing them down on the long table where all the kids' little hands eagerly grab for the food.
I saw this man and his wife -- he was short with big muscles and a mullet and she was small with big, 80s-style hair, and they were buying crackers. Just crackers. Maybe they had a bunch of cheese and wine at home and they were going back for a romantic evening. They were singing aloud to "Glory Days" while picking out their crackers ... maybe they were planning on taking themselves back, you know?
There was this other lady who was probably in her 60s, and she had on these white cotton short shorts with fake black leopard print and red flowers, with this crocheted top, tucked in, with this huge belt. She was overweight and pale and her legs were very wiggly. Also she had on high-heeled sandals with more crochet. Her fingernails and toenails were done perfectly. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. Her makeup was applied just so.
She asked me very politely if she could step in front of me (I was waiting in line) because she wanted Wintergreen TicTacs, which were on sale, and the line she was in did not have any Wintergreen.
She had a very high voice. I didn't even see what was in her cart and I'm afraid to say, I didn't want to.

"Newlyweds"

I've been doing this new thing where I take my computer and go to a coffee shop and work for several hours, sipping a coffee, powering through my writing with no laundry, dishes, children or dogs to distract me.
I did this on Saturday afternoon, and partway through my writing, I saw a couple coming in the door. They were probably in their late 70s or early 80s, and they were holding hands as they walked through the parking lot.
He opened the door for her.
"Thank you, my dear," she said to him as she walked in.
"You're welcome, sweetheart," he answered.
They walked up to the counter, discussing what they'd order this time, and the guy working there asked if they'd have the regular. They said yes, and she went to sit at a table. Before she got there, she realized she had all the money, so she said, "Oh, honey, here you go," and gave him the money.
He paid and waited for their drinks while she sat down. He brought her drink to her, and she thanked him, so sincerely.
They started chatting it up with the kid who was working there, asking him the name of a newer employee who wasn't there that day. "He's a nice guy," said the kid. "I've known him for a long time."
"Oh?" the woman said, "for how long?"
"Since junior high," the boy answered.
"That is a long time," the woman said, then pointed to the man and added, "I've known him since junior high."
WHAT?!
The way these two had been acting, I could have sworn they were newlyweds or in the dating game. Nope. If my guess was right and they really were in their 70s or 80s, then they have known each other for 60 years or so.
And they chatted away the whole time they were there, talking about this and that ...
I just hope that after MrDartt and I have been married for that long, that we still hold hands, thank each other for things like opening doors and bringing drinks, and have conversations like we're just getting to know each other.
Who ever said romance was dead?

Doctor's Visit

After two days of Little Boy's barking like a seal and wheezing between pitiful cries, we took him to the doctor this morning to make sure he wasn't having trouble breathing.
I felt kind of silly because I just took the boys to the doctor 10 days ago to make sure they didn't have ear infections (mostly Little Boy, because he was so fussy and cried for five hours straight one day).
When the nurse practitioner came in, I told her I promised we're not going to turn into one of those families where she sees our name on the chart and thinks, "Oh, no, not them again."
She laughed but then Little Boy started coughing and she said, "Geez, it's a good thing you brought him in."
He just has croup, which is inflammation of the airways. It was serious enough that the nurse practitioner thought he should have a dose of steroids (and I trust her because she rarely recommends medicine, and only if it's necessary). So she asked about his appetite and I said it hasn't been good.
She recommended a shot.
Uh oh.
So the nurse came in and gave Little Boy a shot.
He cried for about 30 seconds, and then was okay.
Big Boy and I have talked about shots before, because Curious George gets a shot in one of the stories we have. But the concept must be kind of abstract to him still, because when we got back in the car, he asked, "Why did that nurse poke a hole in Little Boy?"

The Contest

For the past month or so, my husband and the members of his "team" at work have been competing in an ab contest -- whoever has the best six-pack at the end of the month will win the money in the pot (each contestant put in $20).
During the past month, this contest has caused a teeny tiny bit of marital strife -- the money spent on protein powder and "No Explode" (a scary-sounding workout enhancer) and the time spent on workouts during the mornings when I'm trying to get ready and MrDartt is pumping away while the boys run rampant -- but last night was the best. The contest was supposed to end yesterday.
MrDartt came home and announced that the contest had been extended another month, because some of the contestants want more time. He's been in the lead, because he's the only one who's been working out and dieting (he has lost weight and put on muscle and he looks great, by the way).
Another reason for the contest extension: waiting on the judges.
"Who's judging?" I asked casually, even though I've had my suspicions from the start.
"All the girls in the office," he responded, just as casually.
Uh huh. I had mentioned this possibility a month ago, and he denied it would happen.
"Who decided they'd be the judges?" I asked.
"I think they kind of decided when they heard about the ab contest," he said.
Of course, he places the blame on them...but in a male-dominated office, it's probably exciting to all of them to be called on for such an honor.
Is it just me, or is this annoying?
All but one of the contestants have wives/fiancees, and could have come up with some way for US to judge the contest (maybe by taking photos or something).
But I suppose having the women in the office judge is way more exciting.
I don't want my husband lifting his shirt for anybody other than me.

Going Potty With Grandpa

My poor dad.
Yesterday I was making a delicious sour cream chocolate cake for my friend who just had a baby. I'd bought sour cream, but realized after I put it into the batter that I didn't have enough left in the container for the frosting. So I called my dad because he was out and about, and asked him if he could pick up some sour cream for me.
He brought it over and then Big Boy wanted to show him the big new bed. When they were downstairs, my dad asked Big Boy if he could use the bathroom. Of course, Big Boy said, "sure," and so my dad went in. Big Boy asked if he could come, too. I didn't hear my dad's response, but then I peeked down the stairs and thought I overheard Big Boy playing in his room. A few minutes later I realized they were in the bathroom together.
I called in and asked my dad if he wanted to send Big Boy out, and he said, "Well, it's too late now."
They emerged a couple seconds later.
Then, last night, when I was helping Big Boy brush his teeth, I noticed that he'd put the stool normally in front of the sink over next to the toilet. I asked him if he'd gone potty when grandpa was here and he said, "Yep, we were taking turns."

Too Smart for My Own Good

Big Boy is officially too smart for my own good.
He throws a toy. I say, "We don't throw toys." He says, "That was a toss."
He hits the wall. "We don't hit the wall," I say. "That was drumming," he says.
He colors on the wall. "We color on paper," I say. "This is beautiful art work," he says.
He's supposed to be eating. World's slowest eater, by the way. He's taking a bite about every five minutes, talking and playing in between. "Eat," I say. "I am eating," he says, displaying the bite still in his mouth. "There's a bite in my mouth right now." Meanwhile, he is talking, singing, running around the living room, you name it. But he still has that bite in his mouth.
"If you finish your cereal, you may help me make a cake," I say. Whack. His cereal, previously perched on the table, is now on the floor, the milk splattered across the kitchen, the bowl upside down. "My cereal is gone. I can't eat it. Look, it's on the floor. Can I help you with the cake now?" he says.
Seriously? Already?
He's sitting at his picnic table, turned to face away from the table, with his feet in the plant. "Sit down at eat," I make the mistake of saying. "I AM sitting down," he says.
Help!

Terrible TERRIBLE Manners!

Yesterday we took Big Boy to the blue park, which has the scary slide. I'd promised him that next time we went to the blue park, I would leave Little Boy home so that I could go down the scary slide with Big Boy.
MrDartt ended up coming with us, and he held Little Boy while I went on the play structure with Big Boy.
The scary slide is a high, twisty, covered slide.
So I climbed up the little ladder with the tiny opening to get up to the scary slide, and got Big Boy on my lap. There were two kids playing at the bottom of the slide, so before we went down, I said, "We're coming down! Excuse us!"
After we'd already started heading down, the little girl (probably about 7 or 8) started climbing up the slide. Let's face it: I'm already too big to be going down this darn slide, and it's nearly impossible to stop myself, with Big Boy on my lap, from sliding right into this little bratty girl whose parents obviously aren't watching her (or don't give a hoot about her manners) even though they're sitting at a nearby table in plain view of what's going on.
So then I said, "Excuse us, we're coming down."
And she said, "You can just go past me. Go on."
And she tried to move to the side.
Of course, the slide is not nearly big enough for two children and one adult to fit through one place. We made it through and she climbed up.
The second time we went down the slide, she did the same thing, only this time, she made it almost three quarters of the way up before we were one quarter of the way down. When we met her, I said, "The slide is for going down."
"I know," she said.
I said, "Why don't you turn around and go down? There are a lot of people behind us, waiting to go down."
Again, she tried to move to the side so we could go past her.
Another kid, waiting at the top of the slide asked her, "Is that your mom?"
I turned around and said, "No, that is not my kid. My kids would not have such terrible manners."
"No kidding, I know," said one of the older girls who was helping a younger boy on the play structure.
The little girl with terrible manners ended up walking back over to her mother after that, getting a drink and sitting down for a while.
Of course, she came back after that and continued her slide-climbing.
I know every kid wants to climb up every slide now and then, but I just think it's so rude that she was climbing up even when she knew other people were going down!
Am I just expecting too much from kids on a playground?

Zero Tolerance

With high hopes of correcting Big Boy's suddenly-outrageous and terrible behavior, I have implemented a Zero Tolerance policy with regard to the four-rule Rule List we came up with (and ceremoniously decorated).
The rules:
1. Be a Good Listener.
2. Talk Nicely to Everybody
3. No Throwing Things
4. No Hitting, Kicking or Scratching (Big Boy came up with that one on his own).
If Big Boy breaks a rule he either gets timeout, or I take something away (like one of the two stories we read before naptime and bedtime).
Unfortunately (or fortunately) I've found that this Zero Tolerance Policy means Big Boy is on timeout most of the day.
Yesterday Big Boy got out of bed at about five minutes to seven.
He was on timeout by 7:05.
"Was that a throw?" I ask as a truck flies across the room.
"Yep."
"Timeout."
Then he gets on timeout and immediately says, "I'm sorry for throwing the truck, Mommy. Can I get off timeout?"
I set the timer so he knows when he can get off timeout.
Then, when the timer goes off, he says, "I'm sorry, Mommy. What am I sorry for?"
"For throwing the truck."
"I'm sorry for throwing the truck, Mommy."
"Okay. You can get off timeout."
He gets off timeout and starts picking leaves off the plant.
"Please stop picking leaves off the plant."
(No Change)
"Please leave the plant alone. You are not being a good listener. That is the first rule on our list."
(No Change)
"Timeout."
"Sorry for pulling leaves of the plant, Mommy. Can I get off timeout?"
Who knew it would be so hard to follow four rules?

So Embarrassing!

Hugely embarrassing.
Yesterday at a playgroup, a very nice woman showed up, who hasn't come to many activities lately, maybe because it's summer and her oldest daughter hasn't been in school. Anyway, she has four daughters and she had three kids with her. She's also been a foster mom.
Two of the daughters were participating in the storytime, and the third kid was in the baby seat the whole time. The third kid was wearing a blue and green outfit with frogs on it.
So at the end of storytime, the mom was holding the little baby. I said, "Who's this cute little guy?"
She said, "This is Charlotte!"
Foot in the mouth, totally. Charlotte is the baby she had several months ago. Granted, Charlotte was wearing boys' clothes. But still! It's like I totally forgot that she had that baby. I should have known that was Charlotte. To make myself feel better, I keep telling myself that we haven't seen them in a long time, and that Charlotte is way bigger now than she was the last time I saw her.
Terrible.
Unfortunately, at the house where we were having the playgroup, there wasn't anywhere for me to go and hide!

Rules

Yesterday during a visit to the pediatrician's office, the boys' pediatrician said we should make a little poster with rules on it for Big Boy. She said even though he can't read yet, we can go over the rules and he'll know they're posted on the wall. She said to put up only three or four rules. If I could put up as many rules as I wanted, here are a few I'd like to see him follow (and I know I should phrase them positively, like "use only an inside voice" but for brevity's sake ...):
1. No screaming
2. Be nice to your brother (no pushing back on his head until he falls over, screaming)
3. No throwing food, clothes, toothbrushes or liquids on the floor
4. No digging with your feet in the plant's dirt, saying, "drill, drill, drill" and knocking potting soil on the floor
5. No taking the cushions off the couch when guests are here, revealing the coins, puzzle pieces and pens (and dirt) underneath them
6. Finish all food on your plate, every time
7. No changing your mind -- when you ask for milk, don't ask for apple juice immediately after (Vice versa)
8. No taking off your diaper without telling anyone
9. No getting into the refrigerator without telling anyone
10. No getting out of bed before 7 a.m.
11. No shaking your sippy cup so the drink splatters all over the place
12. No watering the plants by yourself
13. No getting 13 blankets out of the linen closet because you are looking for a washcloth
14. No crying when you're on timeout
15. No talking or asking for stuff when I am trying to watch ONE news item on TV
16. No pulling the cat's tail, unless she is going potty in the plant because she doesn't like the new litter box with the lid on it
17. No getting clothes (especially dresses) and shoes (especially high heels) out of my closet and parading around the house in them (because the dresses drag on the floor and get walked on and the high heels are dangerous ankle-twisters)
18. No opening the drawers on the entertainment center
19. No sitting on my lap when I'm a:on the computer or b:eating
20. No shutting your brother's fingers in the doors of the entertainment center when you finally shut them after having been asked not to open them in the first place
21. No hitting or kicking
22. No spitting
23. No making messes of any kind anywhere in the house

That's about it for now. Do you think I'm asking too much from someone who hasn't reached his third birthday?

Finding Delight in Otherwise Undelightful Things

I make many small discoveries each day, thanks to Big Boy and Little Boy.
I have learned that if I don't find them charming or funny, they'd drive me totally crazy.
Here are a few:
There is a Cheerio lodged in between our phone and the little clip on the phone.
My little travel jewelry box is filled with Play-Doh.
My toothbrush is in my bathtub.
About half of the dog's food is in his water dish.
There are a dog-water handprints on the window next to the dog's dishes.
The dish towel is in the sink with the dirty dishes.
There is a sticky Fruity Cheerio in the medicine dispenser cup.
My letter confetti (that you put in the envelope when you send someone a card or letter) is out of its bag, in a neat little pile on the weight bench, as well as scattered on the floor below.
Puppy dog stickers are stuck in various places -- the coffee table, MrDartt's belt, the couch ...
The toilet paper has been completely unrolled from the roll and is piled underneath where the roll hangs.
The cat food dish is overflowing, her water dish is filled with cat food and there is cat food all over the floor.
Of course, all of these things don't usually happen at once, but at any given time, you'll find several of them happening in our household.
Just delightful!

The Terrible Threes

So, Big Boy will not turn three until October, but just like when he was approaching two a year ago, he's gearing up for three with a bunch of really terrible behaviors. Friends have told me that three is worse than two, and if the past week is any indication, it will be for Big Boy, too.
Here are some of the behaviors:
This morning, when it was my turn to sleep in, he came into our bedroom and MrDartt got up. "I don't want you to get up, Daddy," he said. "I want Mommy to get up." MrDartt responded, "Well, it's Mommy's turn to sleep in." Big Boy ran all the way around the bed to wind up and kick MrDartt in the leg.
A few days ago, Big Boy was going to take his post-dinner shower. Before he got into the shower, he chose a green towel. After his shower, he said he didn't want a towel; he wanted to walk around naked and wet. So I walked out to the living room. He chased me all the way, screaming, "I want the green towel!" So I went back into the bathroom (my own mistake) and got the green towel. He screamed, "I don't want the green towel!" So I walked back into the living room. He chased me again, screaming, "I want the green towel!"
Two nights ago for dinner, Big Boy said he wanted fish sticks. So we cooked the fish sticks and cut them up and put them on a plate. We set them in front of him on the counter (we usually eat at the kitchen counter, which has bar stools). He threw his fork and slid the plate across the counter. "I don't want fish sticks!" So I put them in the fridge. "I WANT MY FISH STICKS!"
Seriously.
I've read before that sometimes toddlers just aren't really sure what they want. That's why they change their minds frequently.
Bull.
They know exactly what they want, and they want to make their parents crazy.

Big Boy's New Bed, and Teeth

Yesterday, Big Boy got a new bed. It's a loft bed with stairs up one side and a desk on the other side. When we went to the furniture store and saw the bed, he was so excited and he kept asking for a stairs bed. We'd already planned on getting him a loft bed and that was pretty much the only one they had at the store, so it worked out perfectly.
Anyway, we watched the delivery guys set up the bed with their drills, and Big Boy spent the rest of the day working on the bed, with his own drill, hammer, pliers and wrench.
Throughout the day, when he misbehaved, I told him maybe he wasn't a big enough boy for his big bed, and maybe he wasn't going to sleep in there. I told him maybe he could sleep in Little Boy's crib.
And at dinner, I told him he was getting a bath and he said he wanted a shower like a big boy. But then he asked for help taking bites of his grilled cheese sandwich. I said, "If you're not a big enough boy to eat your sandwich by yourself, then maybe you're not a big enough boy to take a shower."
He said, "I'm a big boy, look at my teeth."
He opened his mouth (full of grilled cheese, of course), and pointed to his teeth.

Making Whoopie Makes the News

It does, apparently.
The other night I was watching the news, and the news anchor started out a new story announcing that some people in some faraway state (maybe Arkansas?) were having really hot sex. He went on to explain that they were about to have sex when their house caught on fire.
Cut to the guy involved.
This guy is toothless. He hasn't shaved in about two weeks. His hair is bushy, gray, unkempt. His eyes are huge. His mouth is moving constantly (think someone on meth) and he is, very seriously, explaining to the news person behind the camera that he and his wife were about to make love when their bedroom caught on fire.
"I was naked," he says, "and she was in her underwear."
Okay, I did not want to think about this guy making whoopie with anybody and I certainly don't want to picture him naked (no, they're not one and the same to me).
Turns out one of them dropped a lit cigarette on the floor during foreplay.
What I want to know is, when did a small house fire, contained to one room, become national news? It only became national news because the people involved were having sex when it started.
I cannot believe the man would talk to news cameras for this story, and I cannot believe stations across the nation would air the interview. Totally humiliating for the guy (if not, it should have been) and totally disturbing for me (and probably the millions of other people who saw it).

Lesson in Child-Rearing

I learned a crucial lesson in child-rearing yesterday: if your child has been showing interest in looking at his poop every time you change a poopy diaper, do NOT, under any circumstances, let him walk around the house in a diaper.
Here's what will happen: said child will poop in his diaper, then swipe some of his poop onto his finger to look at it. Then he will sneak off to the bathroom and wipe the poop on the toilet paper, which he will leave on the roll. Then you will change his diaper and say, "yuck," and he will say, "is it diarrhea?" and you will say, "no, it's just bright green," and he will say, "I just wiped my bright green poopie on the toilet paper."
After you change his diaper and wash his hands and your own, you will discover that he did, indeed, wipe his bright green poopie on the toilet paper, which is still on the roll in your bathroom.
You will be extremely relieved that you found the poopy toilet paper before you used it, and you will learn not to let your child, who has been showing interest in looking at his poop, run around in a diaper.

My Grandpa

Last night, when I was changing Little Boy's diaper before putting him to bed, he put his hand over his eyes, as if my changing his diaper was the worst possible thing he has ever been made to endure.
The movement reminded me so much of my grandpa -- his nickname was Grumpy because he was usually grumpy. He'd walk into a room and say, "What the hell's going on in here?" If he heard a story he didn't like, he'd say, "Jesus Christ" (He was Jewish), and put his hand over his eyes, just like Little Boy did last night.
My grandpa died during my pregnancy with Big Boy. I was six months pregnant. I know it's selfish of me to wish he'd lived long enough to meet Big Boy, and even longer to meet Little Boy -- I just know he would have gotten a kick out of them.
When I first told him I was pregnant, he was so happy! I'd called my parents right away to tell them, but I'd waited to tell my grandpa in person. I could hardly wait. His eyes got big and they filled up with tears. Later, he once said to MrDartt, "MrDartt, how's your fat wife?"
He would have loved how Big Boy talks nonstop and wants to do everything himself and how Little Boy waves at everybody while smiling this goofy, nose-wrinkled smile.
But most of all, I would have loved to point out to him all the things they do that remind me of him.

Barack Obama on TV

The other morning as MrDartt turned on the TV, Big Boy asked, "Daddy, are you going to watch Barack Obama on TV?"
This is how you know our president is on TV a lot.
Whether you like him or not, he's on TV all the time. I've never seen a guy hold so many press conferences. Someone told me it's because he wants to have a very transparent presidency.
Then, a few minutes later, Barack Obama was on TV giving a press conference. It was just a coincidence, of course, but then Big Boy asked, "Who's that guy?"
So we were able to show him who Barack Obama is.
The point here is that when your almost-three-year-old can rattle that name right off, you know it's a real household name.

Summer: Tough on a Marriage

One of my friends recently asked me if I thought the season of raising small children was a hard season of marriage. I know she wasn't talking about nature's seasons, but you know what's a hard season for my marriage? Summer.
Here's why: summer is a great time for starting a project. Last summer it was a patio. It's a beautiful patio. But to make it, MrDartt had to spend weekend after weekend out in the front of our house, tearing up sod, leveling the ground, laying sand and then laying brick. One brick at a time. I was hugely pregnant at that time, so I was stuck hanging out alone inside with Big Boy, unable to help or contribute in any meaningful way.
This summer, it's the shed. MrDartt's friend bought a house that came complete with a shed. The friend didn't want the shed, and MrDartt offered to take it off his hands, all the while telling me, "This is great! We'll get a free shed and we can store some of the stuff from our garage in there!"
Well, guess what? The shed is not free. I'm not even counting the gas money we spent for MrDartt to make the one hour drive several times to go dismantle the shed and bring its parts to our house. But we had to pay for concrete for the footings, as well as enough wood to build a whole new house. There's plywood for the floor. There's two-by-fours for the walls. There's wood to fix the broken trusses. More plywood for the roof. Then we have to buy roofing material since all the shingles were thrown away. Plus, MrDartt is out there every weekend, building that darn shed. MrDartt's brother, Uncle S, has been over helping MrDartt with the shed. Slave labor, as a birthday gift to MrDartt, thanks to Uncle S's wife, Aunt L. At least this year, Big Boy is able to go out and play while they work on the shed, but now I'm relegated to watching Little Boy while they work on the shed, and I'm unable to contribute in any meaningful way. And I want to contribute, believe it or not.
At least MrDartt has conceded that we've saved only about $90 worth of siding materials, compared to what we'd have paid if we bought all the materials new ourselves.
I told MrDartt, no more big projects for at least two years.
We already know we need to relocate our wisteria to a place where it won't eat our siding, but that shouldn't be too big of a job if we wait until it's not in bloom.
So last night at dinner, he says, "There's just one more project I want to do."
Uh oh.
This is how it always starts.