My New Favorite Number

You know how you always have a favorite number? Mine has always been seven. I don't really know what started this tradition, but it's just always been that way. Until now.

My child sat down with his daddy the other night and just started counting out loud. He's been practicing with the babysitter on counting to five, but he usually just stops at three. Then it was six. When he sat down, he was at six, and then he kept going...
"seben.... ATE.... nien.....ten.....uhlebun..... tweff...... tertee..... YEAH!!!!"

All the way to thirteen! My Little Man is just two months shy of his second birthday and he already knows how to count to thirteen! Holy cow!
I heard him from the other room, and thinking it was a coincidence, didn't get my hopes up or anything...
But then he did it again, and again, and again over the next several days.
My hubby thought we might have a genius on our hands, but I had to remind him that it's great that he can memorize the order of the numbers, but the main thing is that he needs to connect it to a number of things, and be able to count objects, not just memorize the order.
As if my child is understanding exactly what I am saying to my husband at that exact moment, he starts counting the buttons on the edge of our sofa, touching one button for every number he says out loud. Once he hits thirteen again, though, there were still more buttons, and this messed him up so he just started naming off his favorite numbers, in no particular order anymore. Either way.... HOLY COW!!!
I guess I don't have to worry about his listening and memorizing skills! :)
So, I guess it's Lucky 13 for me for a while, until I can get him to keep going farther!

American Ugh

That's all I have to say.

I don't do the live commentary like I've enjoyed so much on Tracey's blog, so I'm hoping that she'll do this show the justice it deserves. Because it deserves to be erased from my memory and never revisited again.

Almost all of them sucked. A few of them did a few good things, but all the rest were not great. None of them were stand-out at all. I can't decide which one I want to go home first.

Ugh.

So, I think I'm going to go to this website and deal with my repulsions there.

Come and Gone

This weekend, my grandfather flew in from California to come and visit us.
As much as I was worried about how this trip would go, I have come to the decision that it could have gone a lot worse, and I am sooo thankful for the husband that I have, who can keep up a conversation about something he has no interest in by asking the right questions and making the right comments. This is something I cannot do, and I have no interest in learning how to do it, because I still have no interest in making conversation last about a topic that I have no knowledge base about, nor do I care to begin one.
But, the fears I had about the visit were never an issue, and everything went over very well. Little Man behaved himself, and really made me proud of him.
Grandpa would start coughing (cigars catching up to him, he says), and every time, Little Man would say, "Bless You, Papaw!" And I would have to tell him thank you, because it was so small and sweet that poor Grandpa couldn't hear it.
Papaw is what Little Man calls both of his grandfathers, but this weekend, I didn't really want him calling my grandpa that, because Mom and I were worried that Grandpa would start thinking that Little Man was his grandson, not his GREAT grandson. So, everytime we would talk about something Grandpa had or was doing, we would say, "Mommy's Grandpa" and Little Man would say "Mommy's Pompa." It was very sweet.
We got pictures of them outside, and playing cars together on the table, and a picture of Mommy and her "Pompa" and Little Man all together, so that years from now, he will have a face to put with a name, and know that Mommy's Pompa came all the way from California just to see him and his mommy and daddy.
I guess I have another scrapbook page in the making now, we'll just see if I can get the time to finish it!

Here He Comes...

To wreck the day!!!

Not really. But you know how you have a routine, especially when it comes to your nighttime getting-ready-for-bed routine. And every single night, I get started in the routine, and then always at the same time in my routine, he steps in the way, and starts HIS routine! What the heck? And no matter how much time I start my routine before he starts his, he is STILL in the bed and under the covers every single night before I am! How does this happen? Argh...

Maybe I should start getting ready for bed before dinner, and then I could have the bathroom all to myself!

What's the protocol?

We have family pictures tonight for the church photo directory. The last time we took pictures for this was about two years ago, because I was pretty pregnant at that point. Now, we have a third person in our picture, and I have to plan a wardrobe for three people.
Two years ago, I wore a nice blue maternity blouse and had my husband wear a blue plaid shirt. I should not have picked the plaid. It was too busy for the picture.
Every year, we do a Christmas family picture, but not in Christmas clothes. One year we wore white shirts with jeans, and then this year we wore blue shirts again.
Blue seems to be the only thing that we all look good in, and that we all have. I wish my husband would wear a red or a maroon or something like that, but then I don't think I have a shirt that color for my child. ARGH! I don't like this kind of planning.

Would it be bad if we all wore blue again?
I can't keep thinking about all of this because I have to find enough make-up to cover the scab that's still on my nose... I hate pictures. I like taking them of my child, just not me, too.

Any suggestions?

Murderous Intentions

They must have had a fight.

They probably argued about something stupid that she'll regret later.

But, she kicked him out, and made him leave the safety of their comfortable home. She shouldn't have done that. But she didn't know that I saw him, sitting just outside the entrance, waiting until she calmed down enough to let him back inside. And I have no sympathy. You get kicked out, you show your face, you become fair game.

So, I picked up a magazine and swatted that spider. And then wiped him off the wall to make sure that he was really dead. Then I went for her, because she stuck her head out to apologize and let him back in.

Too little, too late.

But, she was faster than I was, so I'll just have to get her later.
I hate spiders.

The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly

The Good: I got an e-mail yesterday congratulating me on passing the written part of my comps test, and I even passed it well enough to be cleared to take the MMT test. YEAH!!!

The Bad: Yesterday in class, a student thought he was mad enough at me to throw square puzzle pieces at me, until one finally connected at the bridge of my nose, breaking skin, causing it to bleed and leave a big mark, so that every kid in school wants to know what happened and who did it. Unlucky for them, I don't bleed and tell, so they'll just have to wait for the rumor mill to come around their way.

The Ugly: My husband wanted me to press charges, but I won't, so instead I just wrote him up and he's being suspended for three days. Just moments ago, he came in to my room to apologize again and talk to me, and I know he's sorry, and that it won't happen again. But, if it does, he's not only out of my room, but out of school. That should be enough to keep him in line for the rest of the year. But, my tears are all gone, I have no more, and Lord have mercy on the pour soul who smarts off to me today. Hell hath no fury like a wounded teacher.

A Loss of Innocence

I was going to write about the innocence of my child’s first encounter with a lizard today, but instead I have something else to tell you about.
I officially “lost” my child today. We went to Layne’s birthday party today, and my child was actually a non-violent participant in the event. I was afraid that he wouldn’t be, considering he fell asleep four minutes into our ten-minute drive, but he pulled through and was not horrible. That does not mean I am saying that my child showed everyone what an angel he can be, but he also didn’t show his worst side.
But, I almost did.
I was sitting on the floor watching Layne open gifts, and watching my child wander around the edge of all the activity, finding other toys to play with since he couldn’t go outside again. I looked at the cute shirts that Reid and Layne got, each one blaming someone else for whatever was done. I looked back to my child, and then noticed that I didn’t see my child. Knowing that he was only moments ago four feet away from me at the opening of a hallway, I figured he went down the hallway to the bedrooms. So, I searched, each room, and in between each room, looking down the hallway. After I still didn’t find him, and he still wasn’t in the mix of kids opening gifts, then I got scared. Maybe he found something in the laundry room, but I didn’t hear him, so it must have been something “good.” It was good all right, because he found an open door that led him to the outside. The outside that is the front yard, not the safety of the fenced-in backyard. I have never had fear like the fear of an open door and a missing child with a highway on the other side of the trees. I turned the corner and found him, trying to climb into a little car outside. Tears of relief immediately filled my eyes, as I grabbed my child to me, telling him that he had scared me. Did he care? Heck no! He was more upset that I had picked him up and taken him away from the car! I brought him back inside and made sure that the door was shut, then let him go back to finding toys inside while I used the safety of the laundry room to learn how to breathe again and wipe away my tears.
The hardest part was telling my husband how the party went, because as I was telling him, I got all teary-eyed again, and all he could do was laugh and say, “You lost our son!”
Meanie.

Diarrhea of the Mouth

This phrase is totally disgusting, and yet it describes some things so perfectly well that I must use it.
For example, after school, I go to the sitter's and pick up Little Man. After watching him play with the other little boys for a minute, and talking to the sitter to see how his day went, we load up in the car for the ten minute trip home. Usually, I try to interact with him about what he sees, or who's house he was at, or what color the truck was that drove by, those kinds of things.
Yesterday, I didn't feel like talking because I had a headache. But, Little Man didn't see the need in being quiet. He talked and talked and talked.
About what?
I have no clue!
He went from red trucks, to Blake's truck, to Blake's sleeping, to making snoring sounds, to making cow, pig, chicken, duck and horse sounds. From there he talked about seeing horses and cows, and then colors that he knows, and then something about Daddy, and then he named every person he knows, and then he just started screaming, all because that's what came to his head.
It reminded me of being in college, and those English teachers that told us to just write down whatever was in our heads, whether it made sense or not. Stream of conscienceness exercise or something like that. Funny. My child is almost two and doing the things we did in college. I don't know whether to be impressed by my child, or depressed that in college that was a hard thing for me to do.

Carolina Ditzy

Okay, I usually don't blog about watching a TV show, but tonight I just can't help it. On AI tonight, little hillbilly girl Kellie Pickler tried to come out of her little country shell and sing something a little more "risque." Never mind that the girl shouldn't be singing in front of a live audience, let alone on TV, but she's cute, and giggly and the boys like to watch her bounce up and down when she gets giddy.
On a previous show, she talked about eating calamari, and Simon teased her about how she said it. Tonight, Simon called her "a naughty little minx." She promptly asked Simon what a "minx" was, who couldn't do anything but giggle. Then at the end, she told Ryan she was a "mink." To which Ryan asked her if she had anything interesting for lunch today, and she said she had a new fish, a "SAL-mon!" All Ryan could do was respond, "okay" and turn away to give the numbers to dial. I was cracking up! Here they are, making fun of this little girl and her little accent and big city ignorance, and all she does is stand there bouncing, giggling, and making little boy dreams come true. My husband responded by saying that "even though she can't sing, we should keep her around for the laughs!"
Thank God for live TV, and for TiVo!

Over. Done. Finito.

I am done.
There is nothing more I can do.
It is now all in the hands of the graders.
Let them be merciful.

I know I didn't make a perfect score, but all I am praying for is an 80. If I make an 80, then I will be allowed to take the Master Math Teacher test in order to add one more certificate to my resume.

But there is no feeling like the feeling of turning in the one test that sums up three years worth of work. Three years worth of one weekend a month, and six weeks each summer. Of leaving my two-week old son for eight hours a day for six weeks while I attempted and successfully conquered Calculus and College Geometry. Of sitting in a handicapped bathroom stall pumping every couple hours because I hurt every time I thought/talked about him. Of making friends with women and men that I never would have met if it hadn't been for this class, and that I wouldn't have made it through these past three years without.

None of this would have been possible without the ever-present, ever-helpful support of my husband, my mother, and my mother-in-law, who always took care of my child when I had class or a test, or needed to study, or anything else that I needed to do to get this done.

More to come when I find out what I made on the test. But until then... I'm done. It's over. No more classes, no more books, no more homework! YEAH!

* Edited*
Please let me also include in my thank you anyone else who lent a helping hand... including my sister, Amanda Sue and her hubby, and other wonderful people that kept my child while I was at school. Please accept all apologies of forgetfulness or omission of names as it was not my intention to leave anyone out. :)

Daddy's Boy

Here is the conversation that occurred between my child and I this afternoon... "M" is for Mommy, "L" is for Little Man.

L: Where's Daddy?
M: Daddy went to the doctor to fix his boo-boo.
L: Oh. Okay.

(Five minutes later): L: Where'd Daddy go?
M: Daddy's at the doctor.
L: Oh. Okay.

(Fifteen minutes later... I know... exciting)
L: Daddy doctor.
M: Yes, baby, Daddy's at the doctor.
L: Kiss?
M: Thank you for my kiss.
L: Bye - Bye. (waving)
M: Where are you going?
L: Doctor!

Who says that kids don't know when you're around and when you're not?
Too bad he doesn't ask for me like that when I leave.

Animals of All Kinds

I couldn't help it. I've been going through withdrawals, and so I decided to get my fix and then go back to studying, I promise. I've already taken a break, of sorts, from studying this morning, so I can't spend much time today doing much else.Plus, yoday has been an even more beautiful day than yesterday, with the highs supposed to be in the low 80's. I want to finish and then go sit outside!
Today, my hubby and I decided to take Little Man to the zoo. We decided to go to the smaller, closer one today, rather than the one more than an hour away and a little bigger. I've been to the bigger one several times already, with school trips and what-not, but I had never been to the closer one. So, we packed up and headed out. And yesterday, in conversation with his best friend, my hubby invited them along too. Unfortunately, my half of our friendship couldn't come along because she had class, but we got to take little Dillon instead. It was fun! The first time I took Little Man to the zoo, he was really too little to understand anything and for him, everything was a dog. So, this time was neat, because he knows that an owl hoots and a lion roars and then he could see a real live one, instead of the cartoon version. The cute part was that he called the turtles Franklin. HA! He did really well the whole time! He walked around and held our hands, he would ask to sit in the stroller when he got tired of walking, and he looked intently at the snakes and anything else that moved enough to catch his eye. It was sweet.
When we had seen it all and decided we were hungry for lunch, we got back into the car, where I was reminded that not all men have grown up, even when they have had kids. I prayed and prayed the whole way home for God to grant me temporary hearing loss, so that the things that my hubby and his best friend were discussing would not fall on ears that didn't want to hear such things. Why is it that men are so different from women in every possible aspect? On our way home, there was a car pulled off to the side, and a man/boy (we couldn't tell age) was standing next to his car relieving himself in broad daylight. No Joke. This then rendered up a whole slew of stories of when the two "men" in my car had done the same thing, either sharing personal stories, or reminding each other of "that time when..." Oh goodness. It was sad. I can't believe I had to sit and hear all of that. And I couldn't turn the radio up to tune them out because both little boys were asleep through the whole ride. Why did I have to say I'd drive?
Anyhow, we finally made it back home, so that Little Man could take a real nap, and that my husband could mope around wishing he was still hanging out with his friend and sharing stories. I, on the other hand, am back to studying that animal I call Math.