This mother is a hamster

In the other room, I hear one of my kids saying, "I will fart in your dreams." The other kid comes back with "I will fart in your general direction."
I was trying to stifle my laughter, all the while supressing the urge to high five the one for the Monty Python reference.

Valentine's Day 2012 (part 2)

After the Christmas decorations were put away, my brain began to spin about Valentine's Day.  I looked around on the web for some sources of inspiration and came to this article showing how to make salt dough magnets. It passed our test of being ridiculously time-consuming, so we set out to make these.

Making the dough was very simple.  Since it closely resembled cookie dough, Connor didn't believe me that dough containing half a cup of salt would not taste good. Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to capture his taste test, though it closely resembled the time when he didn't believe me about lemon juice, as seen in this video.  When he finds the baker's chocolate in the cabinet, I will be sure to have the camera ready.

Cara rolling out the dough

Cutting out the hearts

After we had all of the dough cut into small and large hearts, we baked the dough for 2 hours.  When the dough had cooled, we began painting them with acrylic paint.  Since we were using quite vibrant paint colors, we ended up having to put about 4 coats of paint on each side.  Needless to say, our craft area was overrun by day-glo hearts for about a week.

Midway through the painting process

And here are the hearts after the painting was through. 
(Like the Chewbacca cup?)

When the million coats of paint were dry, I warmed up the hot glue gun and started gluing small hearts on big hearts.  Cara then took to the paint pens and personalized and decorated each of the hearts.  It was so sweet how she paid attention to what colors each of her friends liked and what design she thought they would appreciate the best.  

When she was done, we had sets of

pins

earrings

and bookmarks.

After all of the gifts were assembled, we cut up some card stock, glued a couple of pieces of different card stock together, used our heart hole-puncher, attached the hearts, and Cara wrote out some Valentine's Day greetings for each recipient. She even managed to include a personal joke or inside reference for each card, another detail that just shows you how thoughtful a kid she is.

This project was messy, less than economical, and very time-consuming.  Not only would I do it all again, I would look forward to it.  Cara and I get to spend some awesome one-on-one crafting time together.  We love this annual tradition so much, we've actually purchased some items for next year's Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day 2012 (part 1)

Let me just start this by saying, I like doing crafty things.  I don't consider myself extremely talented in this area, but I enjoy tasks where I get to use the left side of my brain.  The school that Cara goes to gives me the perfect opportunity to get those creative juices flowing every Valentine's Day.

At Cara's school, there are only a few guidelines for Valentine's Day.  First of all, no candy. Easy enough (and kind of a "no duh" rule in my mind).  As for the cards that Cara distributes to her classmates, no store bought cards. If your child is going to pass out cards, they have to be home/hand made.

Cara and I usually start talking about what she wants to make for her classmates right after the Christmas decorations are put away.  Last year, we iced and personalized sugar cookies and made card stock cards to go with them.  (Picture of the cookies before they were personalized found here.)  This year, we took on an even bigger project, which I will include in my follow-up post.

In addition to the valentines for classmates, the parents are encouraged to use this opportunity to make a valentine for their children. Here are our Valentines to Cara from 2011 & 2010.  I think this year's Valentine turned out pretty well. 

Division of Labor

At the end of a long day, my husband and I had retreated to the living room to relax.  Craig had just finished his beer and decided to be funny.

He shakes his empty beer bottle and looks at me.  I ask him if there was something he was trying to say and he says, "My beer is empty. You're the wife. It's your job to get me another one."

To which I reply, "If you were in need of a sandwich, THAT would be my job.  Getting your beer is why we have kids."

You Get What You Pay For

Anyone who has owned/operated a 4 1/2 year old understands that those kids think they know everything. In addition to believing that he's always right, Connor is ridiculously stubborn to boot. So, when you try to correct him on something that he thinks he already knows, it's a feat requiring more patience than, well, a bucket full of patience.  Couple that with the fact that he didn't come by that need to be right by accident (Hello, Genetics!) and we're talking some head-to-head debates that can last a looooong time.

Enter: Charlie.

Charlie is Connor's imaginary friend.  Now, this is not one of those imaginary friends that my child talks to or acts as though he can see him.  Charlie exists only in stories that begin with, "My friend, Charlie, says / has / does...."  Therefore, Charlie only exists to prove us wrong.

From my son's stories, we've determined the following about Charlie:

• He is 89 years old (though some stories puts him as old as 1,000)
• He has 29 kids
• His friends, besides my son, are named Farley and Black Jackson
• His grandmother is Grandma Jelly 
• His great-grandmother is Great-Grandma Dogstroller

Let me take you on a tangent with a promise that it is relevant.  Connor hasn't asked us how babies are born yet.  I'd like to say that this is because he is too young or because he hasn't really encountered many pregnant women or because he just doesn't care. Truth is, it's because he thinks he already knows where babies come from. Connor has developed an elaborate story about how his father and I bought him and his older sister at "The Kid Store".  They both came in boxes with their names printed on the outside of the box (a statement he made after I tried to explain why we gave him his name) and each of them cost $1.  He has even demonstrated the pose he made inside said box, which looks a little something like this.

One day, Connor was being a bit, um, challenging.  After having asked him a couple of times to sit down in his car seat so that I could buckle him, I gathered up my less-than-bucketful of patience and asked him, "When you don't listen to me, does it make me happy?" He answered, "No." I then asked, "Does it make me sad?" Again, he replied in the negative. I closed with the, "Does it make me angry?" question that he immediately confirmed. In typical know-it-all fashion, he added, "My friend Charlie doesn't get sad or mad. He only gets happy."  I reached into my bag of Charlie facts to say, "I guess all 29 of his kids must listen to him and do what he says." Before the smile of my verbal victory could reach my lips, he added, "Yeah, but his kids cost $100."

Nyan Cat

For those of you unfamiliar with Nyan Cat, let me warn you before I provide you with the link.  DO NOT watch this around your children. Nyan Cat has the ability to convince children that this inane video is entertaining.  The video is 3 minutes and 37 seconds, which is about 3 minutes and 36 seconds longer than you need to watch to get the idea.

Is the coast clear?  Are you kid-free?  Then click here.

Unfortunately, I DID watch this around my kids and this is what Connor drew in school yesterday:

And, when I got done shaking my head in shame, I hung that baby on the fridge along with a web address to the video so that he may one day watch it accidentally in front of his kids.

Shopping: Because Napping Would Have Been the Smart Choice

Nap time has always been a challenge with Connor.  So, I am thankful that my son is at an age where he doesn't always need a nap.   Each day, I weigh his need against the list of things that I need to get done outside of the house.  On this particular day, errands won.  Even as I type this, I can feel the wince that comes with the realization that this decision was going to bite me in the butt.  I wince A LOT.  

After I had picked Connor up from preschool, we headed to the library.  We took our time, picked out an armload of books, and then dropped the books off at the car.  The rest of this story should have read "and then we went home so that Connor could take a nap."  But it doesn't. (wince)

We get to the next store and there is obviously very little attention span left in my child. He had maxed out his listening skills and it was now time to unleash his inner donkey.  I notice this and, instead of turning around and leaving the store with him, we proceed to the toy section. (wince)  

Using the last of his manners, Connor asks, "May I please ride this toy train?" After telling him "no", I looked down to see him mounting the toy, proclaiming, "Too late. I already am!"  After I physically remove him from the toy, my son takes off down the aisle yelling, "Too bad, sucker!"  (This last one is a phrase he usually saves for the other driver when it's our turn at a 4-way stop.)

More physical removal, this time of my son from the store, and we are finally headed home.  There were several attempts at bargaining coming from the backseat.  He rambles about how he will "sit in my room but not in my bed" and he "won't fall asleep because I am NOT tired."  

Upon our arrival home, Connor has decided that I won't be able to make him take a nap if I can't actually get him into his bed.  Since I have the library books in my arms at this point, I opt for the old "fake-out" tactic. You know, the one where parents say they are going to leave even though they aren't in an effort to get their child to come with them?  Since this is a tactic I rarely use, it actually worked and he followed me about as far as the back porch.

I unlocked the door to the house, relieved my arms of the stack of books, and returned to the porch to give my son The Countdown.  At three, I walk over to pick him up for what has become a record number of physical removals of my son in any given week, and he says, "You should have counted to eighteen.  Eighteen is better!"

We get into the house and Connor is attempting to grab every piece of furniture, every doorway, and every wall that he can get his hands on while yelling, "I AM GOING TO RUIN THIS HOUSE!"  

I finally get him into the bed where he rants about how "I wish I was tougher than you".   After I explain to Connor how his tantrum has used up most of my patience, his rants then give way to some heartfelt apologies.  "I am one hundred sorry," he tells me with complete earnest and he squeezes me tight to illustrate his regret.  I assure him that he is forgiven and tell him that, next time we go out, he needs to mind me. With a voice full of sleepiness, he asks, "Can I show you how I can mind you at a play place tomorrow?"  "Sure," I agree.  (wince)