Uploaded a bunch of pics on Shutmyfly - if perchance you didn't get my group email and already see them, and want to do so, by all means chase the link to Team Tinsley May 2004 Shutterfly action.
Friday, May 28, 2004
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
The future is now...
We purchased a DVD player. Actually a combination DVD/VCR player. For those who read the Brother Bear = Tootsie post, you know of my struggle re: the purchase of a DVD player and my stance against the man (read: Blockbuster Video). Rebel yell people, I'm getting the last middle finger in the air to Blockbuster (or as I say, Cockbuster), after buying a DVD player, Team Tinsley promptly joined Netflix. No more rental $cratch from me to them! Bring on the DVDs! For those who rent a lot of DVDs - check out Netflix, it rocks the roll.
The Elder Boy, as described in other posts, is becoming very vocal. As my Lovely Bride recently said, 'it is like someone flipped a switch', his motor skills, and vocabulary have fast forwarded. She is spot on, and it is wild to witness. I can't tell you how nice is it to be able to communicate verbally vs. trying to do the toddler charade thing which can be trying for parent(s) and child. I'm no Dr. Spock (the baby expert, not the Vulcan), but I think when the kiddos can start telling you what they want vs. having to mime, do charades, etc. life becomes quite a bit easier on everyone. We still have meltdowns (emphasis on WE) from time to time, but for the most part, better communication make it easier for everyone around Casa Tinsley.
One of Ethan's new words is rewind. Up until we purchased the new DVD/VCR we had an old, crappy, VCR player. Ethan had shoved all kinds of shit into it. Coins, food, sticks, the list goes on and on. The end result was that the VCR didn't work very well. It took forever to rewind or forward. Had tracking problems with many of the Elder Boys favorite movies. It really did suck. So, out comes the new DVD/VHS player. I reconfigured the TV area so the player is above the Elder Boys reach. Ready, steady, GO. Our first DVD was The Cat In The Hat from from Netflix.
After the first viewing, as normal, Ethan was in the NOW, and wanted to 'watch it again please.' He has no patience (the Tinsley curse) and in the old days became quite upset when the end credits rolled. Now that he has command of 'rewind' - he will say , 'watch movie again please', followed by 'rewind' - As described before the old VCR was slow to rewind, and even though he had command of the language, understood that it was rewinding, the evil green monster of impatience would often rear its head because the VCR was SLOW!
No more. Technology, has solved (some could argue it created it in the first place, but that is a deeper point than this here BLOG post can tackle this Tuesday AM) the issue because as you probably know, you don't really have to rewind a DVD. Simply enter the scene number and hit enter and BAM - you are there, I'm talking right now, this minute.
The look on Ethan's face was priceless. 'The future is now Boy' (that's what I told him) - and his reply: 'Yeah!'
As for The Cat In The Hat, I thought it was pretty bad. But, Ethan gives it two thumbs way up, he loves the part where Thing 1 and Thing 2 are introduced. He has quickly embraced our new technology, and after that particular part is over, he will say 'AGAIN.' I hit 10 (that's the scene number for those playing along at home) and enter and bam...Again, NOW. I'm the freaking George Jetson of Richardson, Texas.
Until I BLOG again...Screw Blockbuster!
The Elder Boy, as described in other posts, is becoming very vocal. As my Lovely Bride recently said, 'it is like someone flipped a switch', his motor skills, and vocabulary have fast forwarded. She is spot on, and it is wild to witness. I can't tell you how nice is it to be able to communicate verbally vs. trying to do the toddler charade thing which can be trying for parent(s) and child. I'm no Dr. Spock (the baby expert, not the Vulcan), but I think when the kiddos can start telling you what they want vs. having to mime, do charades, etc. life becomes quite a bit easier on everyone. We still have meltdowns (emphasis on WE) from time to time, but for the most part, better communication make it easier for everyone around Casa Tinsley.
One of Ethan's new words is rewind. Up until we purchased the new DVD/VCR we had an old, crappy, VCR player. Ethan had shoved all kinds of shit into it. Coins, food, sticks, the list goes on and on. The end result was that the VCR didn't work very well. It took forever to rewind or forward. Had tracking problems with many of the Elder Boys favorite movies. It really did suck. So, out comes the new DVD/VHS player. I reconfigured the TV area so the player is above the Elder Boys reach. Ready, steady, GO. Our first DVD was The Cat In The Hat from from Netflix.
After the first viewing, as normal, Ethan was in the NOW, and wanted to 'watch it again please.' He has no patience (the Tinsley curse) and in the old days became quite upset when the end credits rolled. Now that he has command of 'rewind' - he will say , 'watch movie again please', followed by 'rewind' - As described before the old VCR was slow to rewind, and even though he had command of the language, understood that it was rewinding, the evil green monster of impatience would often rear its head because the VCR was SLOW!
No more. Technology, has solved (some could argue it created it in the first place, but that is a deeper point than this here BLOG post can tackle this Tuesday AM) the issue because as you probably know, you don't really have to rewind a DVD. Simply enter the scene number and hit enter and BAM - you are there, I'm talking right now, this minute.
The look on Ethan's face was priceless. 'The future is now Boy' (that's what I told him) - and his reply: 'Yeah!'
As for The Cat In The Hat, I thought it was pretty bad. But, Ethan gives it two thumbs way up, he loves the part where Thing 1 and Thing 2 are introduced. He has quickly embraced our new technology, and after that particular part is over, he will say 'AGAIN.' I hit 10 (that's the scene number for those playing along at home) and enter and bam...Again, NOW. I'm the freaking George Jetson of Richardson, Texas.
Until I BLOG again...Screw Blockbuster!
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Thursday, May 20, 2004
I'll get you me
Playing chase with Ethan last night. Chase involves me running into the hallway and or the front room, and then Ethan comes looking for me (out of the den) saying "where daddy, where daddy go?" It is very cute. I'll jump out and scare him, he screams and runs back to the den. Repeat the process. When I grow tired of playing this game, or my attention is diverted by the Little Warrior, who has the coolest little scream thing he does these days - I love it. I got to figure a way to record it and post it here. Speaking of the Little Warrior, it seems most of the Blogging is about the Elder Boy, mainly because he's older and into more stuff - don't think for a minute, dear reader, that Wyatt is a bump on the log. He is amazing in his own right (just like a Daddy to say) and in many ways a lot more demonstrative then his brother at the same age. Back to Ethan. When I divert from playing chase...he always says: "I'll get you me."
Pronouns are a bitch for little kids...or at least for E. He obviously means I'll get you and or You get me. But, he says "I'll get you me." Classic.
Other news. Roe Jarman, the Boy(s) Great Grandpa is coming into town this weekend. Be the first time Great Papa and the Little Warrior have met. Mr. Jarman just turned 86, and I for one think its cool that he is getting to come to town to see two brand new Great Grandkids (Wyatt of course, and Carter Kincaid the Boy(s) new cousin.) Funny, I've been telling Ethan that Great Papa was coming to town. He wasn't getting it. Missing the Great distinction and thinking I meant Buddy, who Ethan adores. I finally, told him last night, while Carter was at Drunco - Great Papa is Mimi's (Mimi is Linda - you need a flow chart to keep up) Daddy. The look he gave was priceless...like wow, She has a daddy.
Until I BLOG again...Boogaloo.
Pronouns are a bitch for little kids...or at least for E. He obviously means I'll get you and or You get me. But, he says "I'll get you me." Classic.
Other news. Roe Jarman, the Boy(s) Great Grandpa is coming into town this weekend. Be the first time Great Papa and the Little Warrior have met. Mr. Jarman just turned 86, and I for one think its cool that he is getting to come to town to see two brand new Great Grandkids (Wyatt of course, and Carter Kincaid the Boy(s) new cousin.) Funny, I've been telling Ethan that Great Papa was coming to town. He wasn't getting it. Missing the Great distinction and thinking I meant Buddy, who Ethan adores. I finally, told him last night, while Carter was at Drunco - Great Papa is Mimi's (Mimi is Linda - you need a flow chart to keep up) Daddy. The look he gave was priceless...like wow, She has a daddy.
Until I BLOG again...Boogaloo.
Friday, May 14, 2004
The Revenge of Matt Pogue...
When I was in sixth grade, Ms. Carroll's class, Matt Pogue volunteered to read Where The Red Fern Growns in front of our class. Where The Red Fern Grows was a popular book in our parts. Both the book and later the movie were set in Oklahoma. The author was an Okie. In fact, Sand Spring's (my home town) very own Jeanna Wilson (one grade ahead of me) played the little sister in the 1974 movie version of the film. She plays a part in my own little demented game of Six Degrees of Separation.
Dig this. I knew Jeanna Wilson who was in the movie, Where The Red Fern Grows. Beverly Garland played her Mom. Ms. Garland played Barbara on the TV show (one of my favorites) My Three Sons, which also starred William Demarest, better known as Uncle Charlie. Mr. Demarest was in the 1964 classic, Viva Las Vegas with ELVIS! If you know me well, you know it always comes around to Elvis. I'm a freak. Freely admit that. But, if my math is correct (it usually isn't) that is four degrees of separation between me and the King! Thank You, thank you very much.
Back to Matt Pogue, who by the way, had an Uncle who was an actual Astronaut, he wrote a book How Do You Go To Bathroom In Space. For about a week, Matt read Where The Red Fern Grows . It was our story time. Late in the day. Matt would go up in front of the class and read for about an hour, while the class listened, wrote notes, slept, shot spit balls, drew nasty cartoons, etc. I'm assuming most have either read the book, or seen the movie - it isn't a happy ending. There is a grisly accident, and later, the two dogs die. Pretty sad stuff, not as sad as say, Old Yeller, but pretty sad. Matt started crying when the dogs died. Remember, he is reading to the class. Gets to the sad part, and just starts balling. So bad, he can't continue. Suddenly, his droning narrative is replaced with sobbing. I'm talking hard sobbing. So bad, he can't catch his breath, has to leave the room and go into the hall and be comforted by Ms. Carroll. As you probably guessed, this wasn't the smartest thing to do in front of 20 or so six graders. Damn, kids, me included, are cruel and callous when they are in a pack. We gave Matt Pogue shit for years. He didn't live it down until High School, and then, it still would pop up from time to time. To this day, part of me laughs when I tell this story. I don't tell the story to make fun of Matt. I'm not laughing at him, or even with him for that matter. Hell, I don't even know where Matt Pogue is these days. Last time I saw him was in September of 1993 at Tom Brandt's wedding. We were pretty good friends in High School and College, and then drifted apart as people often do. The thing is, I've thought of him often the past week, since Carter had the strength and resolve to do the right thing, and put Sophie to sleep.
I have a deep sadness, that I don't know how to express. I need to go out into the hall and cry (I could pass on the comforting from Ms. Carroll - I always thought she was a maniacal bitch.) I keep looking for Dog Dog. In the old places. The house seems emptier. Her bed is gone, and her space by the hearth is now being used by the Little Warrior's saucer. Her food tray/bowls are gone from the dining room. There's no click click of her nails on the hardwoods. No attempts to eat Ethan's left over crumbs, and scraps during and after dinner.
I usually ramble, and then say, but I have a point. Here it is. I'm not sure about my point today. I just know that I'm deeply saddened by the loss of a dog and not sure how to express it. That is why I'm thinking of Matt Pogue - or his sixth grade version. Even at that young of age, he had the courage to express himself.
I'll leave you a quintessential Sophie pic. The story: I'm giving Ethan a bath. Dog Dog was always a nervous dog. In the early days (this is an older pic - dating July 2002) with the Elder Boy, she'd come back during bathtime to check on us. If she ever got nervous she'd always walk the floors, do her rounds in the house. Just something she did. The click click of her nails on the tile/hardwood floors of our home. I caught her here, in this pic,, looking in on us at bathtime. I miss the click click sound.
Until I BLOG again...
Update - Ethan question - off and on since Sophie was put to sleep.
Cue the sad music.
Ethan: Where Sophie?
Me: Sophie's gone Son.
Ethan: Go find her. Find her. Find her. FIND her!
Me: Dog Dog's gone for good. She's dead (not sure If this is the right thing to tell a 2 year old? He doesn't get the concept.)
Ethan: Sophie?! Sophie?! (calling out to her, like she's in another part of the house, or out back.) Find her. FIND HER!
---------------------------
Kroger parking lot - out of the blue
Ethan: Find Sophie. Gotta find Sophie.
Me/Carter: She's gone Son.
Ethan: Miss her.
: (
Dig this. I knew Jeanna Wilson who was in the movie, Where The Red Fern Grows. Beverly Garland played her Mom. Ms. Garland played Barbara on the TV show (one of my favorites) My Three Sons, which also starred William Demarest, better known as Uncle Charlie. Mr. Demarest was in the 1964 classic, Viva Las Vegas with ELVIS! If you know me well, you know it always comes around to Elvis. I'm a freak. Freely admit that. But, if my math is correct (it usually isn't) that is four degrees of separation between me and the King! Thank You, thank you very much.
Back to Matt Pogue, who by the way, had an Uncle who was an actual Astronaut, he wrote a book How Do You Go To Bathroom In Space. For about a week, Matt read Where The Red Fern Grows . It was our story time. Late in the day. Matt would go up in front of the class and read for about an hour, while the class listened, wrote notes, slept, shot spit balls, drew nasty cartoons, etc. I'm assuming most have either read the book, or seen the movie - it isn't a happy ending. There is a grisly accident, and later, the two dogs die. Pretty sad stuff, not as sad as say, Old Yeller, but pretty sad. Matt started crying when the dogs died. Remember, he is reading to the class. Gets to the sad part, and just starts balling. So bad, he can't continue. Suddenly, his droning narrative is replaced with sobbing. I'm talking hard sobbing. So bad, he can't catch his breath, has to leave the room and go into the hall and be comforted by Ms. Carroll. As you probably guessed, this wasn't the smartest thing to do in front of 20 or so six graders. Damn, kids, me included, are cruel and callous when they are in a pack. We gave Matt Pogue shit for years. He didn't live it down until High School, and then, it still would pop up from time to time. To this day, part of me laughs when I tell this story. I don't tell the story to make fun of Matt. I'm not laughing at him, or even with him for that matter. Hell, I don't even know where Matt Pogue is these days. Last time I saw him was in September of 1993 at Tom Brandt's wedding. We were pretty good friends in High School and College, and then drifted apart as people often do. The thing is, I've thought of him often the past week, since Carter had the strength and resolve to do the right thing, and put Sophie to sleep.
I have a deep sadness, that I don't know how to express. I need to go out into the hall and cry (I could pass on the comforting from Ms. Carroll - I always thought she was a maniacal bitch.) I keep looking for Dog Dog. In the old places. The house seems emptier. Her bed is gone, and her space by the hearth is now being used by the Little Warrior's saucer. Her food tray/bowls are gone from the dining room. There's no click click of her nails on the hardwoods. No attempts to eat Ethan's left over crumbs, and scraps during and after dinner.
I usually ramble, and then say, but I have a point. Here it is. I'm not sure about my point today. I just know that I'm deeply saddened by the loss of a dog and not sure how to express it. That is why I'm thinking of Matt Pogue - or his sixth grade version. Even at that young of age, he had the courage to express himself.
I'll leave you a quintessential Sophie pic. The story: I'm giving Ethan a bath. Dog Dog was always a nervous dog. In the early days (this is an older pic - dating July 2002) with the Elder Boy, she'd come back during bathtime to check on us. If she ever got nervous she'd always walk the floors, do her rounds in the house. Just something she did. The click click of her nails on the tile/hardwood floors of our home. I caught her here, in this pic,, looking in on us at bathtime. I miss the click click sound.
Until I BLOG again...
Update - Ethan question - off and on since Sophie was put to sleep.
Cue the sad music.
Ethan: Where Sophie?
Me: Sophie's gone Son.
Ethan: Go find her. Find her. Find her. FIND her!
Me: Dog Dog's gone for good. She's dead (not sure If this is the right thing to tell a 2 year old? He doesn't get the concept.)
Ethan: Sophie?! Sophie?! (calling out to her, like she's in another part of the house, or out back.) Find her. FIND HER!
---------------------------
Kroger parking lot - out of the blue
Ethan: Find Sophie. Gotta find Sophie.
Me/Carter: She's gone Son.
Ethan: Miss her.
: (
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Polly want a #@$%ing cracker?
I like to cuss. To borrow a great quote from the holiday classic, A Christmas Story:
"My father worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium, a master."
That pretty much summed it up for me. But, then we had kids. Actually, before we had kids, we had friends who had kids and it quickly became apparent that my F-dash-dash-dash days needed to be in the rearview. I needed to break my cuss habit. Quick. So, I tried. Even before Boy #1 could talk, I tried to watch what I said in front of him, and in general. I'm human, I've failed on occasion, but overall I cut back from a two pack a day type habit, to a few puffs, here and there. None to soon either, the elder Boy is now in the parrot stage. Repeats most everything said. The biggest obstacle for me is my temper. Again, to quote A Christmas Story:
"I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed.
That generally is when I'll let a bad word slip. At other times, my fondness for cursing gets the better of me, and I say a no-no without much thought, only to see the Boy(s) nearby, and realize that my cussing in no es bueno.
It is amazing to hear what you say repeated back to you from the mouth of a two year old child. Often funny, sometimes sad, and on more than one occasion, scary. I have a hard time seeing myself in either the younger or the older Boy(s). People say they look like me, especially the Little Warrior. I don't see it. I see more Carter. I see my parents at times. Mom in Ethan's eyes. Dad in Ethan's strong physique and in Wyatt's face. But not me which is strange since many say I look like my parents. The point, yes, I have a point, is that, what I do see in the Boy(s) are my actions. The good, and the bad.
Never is it more evident than when Ethan repeats something that he has heard me say.
I'm working late tonight. Long day away from the home fires. Hard evening, work is work, greater things are on my mind. Dog Dog is out of food. For those who've read a Cup Closer To Death, well, sadly the cup is empty.
Until I BLOG again...Light a candle, say a prayer for Dog Dog...Sophie.
"My father worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium, a master."
That pretty much summed it up for me. But, then we had kids. Actually, before we had kids, we had friends who had kids and it quickly became apparent that my F-dash-dash-dash days needed to be in the rearview. I needed to break my cuss habit. Quick. So, I tried. Even before Boy #1 could talk, I tried to watch what I said in front of him, and in general. I'm human, I've failed on occasion, but overall I cut back from a two pack a day type habit, to a few puffs, here and there. None to soon either, the elder Boy is now in the parrot stage. Repeats most everything said. The biggest obstacle for me is my temper. Again, to quote A Christmas Story:
"I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed.
That generally is when I'll let a bad word slip. At other times, my fondness for cursing gets the better of me, and I say a no-no without much thought, only to see the Boy(s) nearby, and realize that my cussing in no es bueno.
It is amazing to hear what you say repeated back to you from the mouth of a two year old child. Often funny, sometimes sad, and on more than one occasion, scary. I have a hard time seeing myself in either the younger or the older Boy(s). People say they look like me, especially the Little Warrior. I don't see it. I see more Carter. I see my parents at times. Mom in Ethan's eyes. Dad in Ethan's strong physique and in Wyatt's face. But not me which is strange since many say I look like my parents. The point, yes, I have a point, is that, what I do see in the Boy(s) are my actions. The good, and the bad.
Never is it more evident than when Ethan repeats something that he has heard me say.
I'm working late tonight. Long day away from the home fires. Hard evening, work is work, greater things are on my mind. Dog Dog is out of food. For those who've read a Cup Closer To Death, well, sadly the cup is empty.
Until I BLOG again...Light a candle, say a prayer for Dog Dog...Sophie.
Monday, May 10, 2004
What's so fine about art...
When I made my 34th Lap around El Sol on Mother Earth I can say without a doubt that up to that point in my life I had changed a total of 3 diapers. That is a strange thought considering that now, I've changed roughly at least one diaper (often more) a day since January 17, 2002. I'm not very good at Math, so someone else break out the slide ruler and figure out how many diapers that is over the past 2 years. My point is this, I went from never changing diapers, to it being a normal part of my day. Just something I do. Heck, Carter is the real hero in this diaper saga, she changes more than me being a stay-at-home Mom. But, I'm a pretty progressive Daddio and have changed my fair share of diapers. I can honestly say, I'm not bothered by the poop, or the pee. I have a rot-gut stomach, so that sort of a thing don't bother me one dang dog bit. What does bother me about diapers, aside from their cost, is this: asinine diaper art.
For me, nothing adds insult to injury to a bad diaper changing episode than to take off a Boy(s) pants and to have to look at some goofy ass kid art on the front of the diaper. Why? As far as I can tell, when the kids are really small, they are oblivious to the artwork. Boy #1 is now old enough to know what is going on - and he doesn't give a shit (pun intended) about the artwork. He doesn't have a favorite. I don't get requests for the "monkey with the drum" one. So, Poor Daddy (Me), having to mop up a bad bowel movement and ending on the lovely note of staring at a seal with a horn. What does a seal with a horn have to do with anything? Who thinks this crap (my puns are shit too) up...does Huggies (our brand of choice, mainly because you can get it by the gaggle at Sam's Club) have a team of artists on staff? Do these artists sit around and pitch concepts? "Hmmm, Fred, what we need on the size 5 diaper collection is a horse with a toothbrush. Toddlers love horses!"
Do they have artwork on Depends? Now I realize incontinence is not funny. But, if I'm an older adult who is having leakage issues, a cartoon might be the thing I need to make light of the problem? Probably not. I'm sure I'd be pissed (will the puns never end) at the insolent behavior of the diaper manufacturers. They probably and rightfully realize that adults don't want to see silly cartoons on the front of their diapers. If that is true, wouldn't it stand to reason that adults don't want to look at the goofy cartoons on the front of their kid's diapers?
Until I BLOG again...Peace.
For me, nothing adds insult to injury to a bad diaper changing episode than to take off a Boy(s) pants and to have to look at some goofy ass kid art on the front of the diaper. Why? As far as I can tell, when the kids are really small, they are oblivious to the artwork. Boy #1 is now old enough to know what is going on - and he doesn't give a shit (pun intended) about the artwork. He doesn't have a favorite. I don't get requests for the "monkey with the drum" one. So, Poor Daddy (Me), having to mop up a bad bowel movement and ending on the lovely note of staring at a seal with a horn. What does a seal with a horn have to do with anything? Who thinks this crap (my puns are shit too) up...does Huggies (our brand of choice, mainly because you can get it by the gaggle at Sam's Club) have a team of artists on staff? Do these artists sit around and pitch concepts? "Hmmm, Fred, what we need on the size 5 diaper collection is a horse with a toothbrush. Toddlers love horses!"
Do they have artwork on Depends? Now I realize incontinence is not funny. But, if I'm an older adult who is having leakage issues, a cartoon might be the thing I need to make light of the problem? Probably not. I'm sure I'd be pissed (will the puns never end) at the insolent behavior of the diaper manufacturers. They probably and rightfully realize that adults don't want to see silly cartoons on the front of their diapers. If that is true, wouldn't it stand to reason that adults don't want to look at the goofy cartoons on the front of their kid's diapers?
Until I BLOG again...Peace.
Monday, May 03, 2004
Thanks
I'm a pretty affectionate Dad. I have no qualms hugging and kissing my Boy(s), because they are in fact Boy(s). On the downhill side of 36, I still kiss my Pop, when saying Hello and Goodbye. Always have, always will. I've never been a macho kind of a man's man in that sense. In fact, humorous side story. When Carter first met me, the very first time. She thought I was funny. I'm talking in the Slingblade'' sense of funny.
He's funny, you know. Not funny "Ha-Ha", funny queer. He likes to go with men instead of women. That makes him not able to fight too good. He sure is nice, though. He's from St. Louis, people who are queer get along better in a big town. I wish he liked to go with women, I'd rather he be Mama's boyfriend than Doyle.
To steal another popular culture line, "not that anything is wrong with it." I'm all about lighting your own fire in that sense. Do what you got to do...just do it nicely, without harming others, etc. Ok my point. I'm affectionate, huggy and kissy with the Boy(s). So, the other night, it is night night time for Boy #1. We're are in the big bed that is in his room (he still sleeps in his crib which is on the other side of the room.) Reading books. Nightly ritual for us. Start in the big bed, and after reading books, I put him in the crib, etc. We had finished the first two or three books sitting next to each other. When he said, "Lay down Daddy." I did, and he cuddled up to me for the down home stretch of read books. As he snuggled up to me, I kissed and hugged him tightly and said, "You are my Boy." He replied, "Yes." I then told him, "I love you with all my heart." He said, "Thanks."
I don't know why I find that so funny, but I do. He says thanks quite a bit now.
If you give him juice, milk, a toy, and even if you say I love you, you get Thanks in return.
Until I BLOG again...coo-coo-cachoo.
He's funny, you know. Not funny "Ha-Ha", funny queer. He likes to go with men instead of women. That makes him not able to fight too good. He sure is nice, though. He's from St. Louis, people who are queer get along better in a big town. I wish he liked to go with women, I'd rather he be Mama's boyfriend than Doyle.
To steal another popular culture line, "not that anything is wrong with it." I'm all about lighting your own fire in that sense. Do what you got to do...just do it nicely, without harming others, etc. Ok my point. I'm affectionate, huggy and kissy with the Boy(s). So, the other night, it is night night time for Boy #1. We're are in the big bed that is in his room (he still sleeps in his crib which is on the other side of the room.) Reading books. Nightly ritual for us. Start in the big bed, and after reading books, I put him in the crib, etc. We had finished the first two or three books sitting next to each other. When he said, "Lay down Daddy." I did, and he cuddled up to me for the down home stretch of read books. As he snuggled up to me, I kissed and hugged him tightly and said, "You are my Boy." He replied, "Yes." I then told him, "I love you with all my heart." He said, "Thanks."
I don't know why I find that so funny, but I do. He says thanks quite a bit now.
If you give him juice, milk, a toy, and even if you say I love you, you get Thanks in return.
Until I BLOG again...coo-coo-cachoo.
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