In Wyatt’s world, a new car costs EIGHTY-NINE DOLLARS!  So does a new lego set. Wyatt has become a little money-obsessed and wants to know what everything costs.  I try to tell him the truth, or at least estimate to my best ability (which, let’s face it, is poor at best most days).  When driving out of the car dealership the other day while browsing for a new car to pack in THREE children, Wyatt questioned why we did not leave the parking lot driving our new car. I told him that it takes a little more planning and money to buy a new car, and that generally you don’t just go to the store and pick out a new car like you would if you were buying, say, a toothbrush.  Of course, then he wanted to know HOW MUCH a new car cost, to which I honestly replied, About 40,000 dollars. His eyes got about the size of saucers and he proclaimed, That’s a LOT of dollars! So true my boy, so true.

In Wyatt’s world, if you are not tired, you do not need to go sleep. EVER.

In Wyatt’s world, there are good guys and bad guys. No in-between guys.

In Wyatt’s world, it’s OK that you don’t eat your veggies, because a piece of toast will make you huger. (Yes, that’s like huge, but bigger, which = huger)

In Wyatt’s world, making your bed earns 3 stars instead of the traditional 1 star that other chores earn.  And mom should earn stars for making her bed too, according to Wyatt.

In Wyatt’s world, brushing your teeth is optional.

In Wyatt’s world, everything can be fixed with tape.  Not medical tape, or even duct tape, but standard Scotch tape.  He gets a little obsessed with putting on band aids sometimes, owie or not, so every once and a while I tell him a little white lie that we are out of band aids.  To which he then requests a piece of tape.  The other day we had the following conversation while getting in the car for school:

ME: Did you get your seatbelt all buckled?

WYATT: Almost, but my hands are falling off the bones.

ME: Really? That sounds like a serious condition.

WYATT: Yeah. I just need tape.

I don’t know how may times I cried and fretted and worried over Wyatt’s speech delay. I vividly remember praying, Dear God, if you will just let him speak to us so we can understand – I will do anything! ANYTHING! Can I take this back? Most of the time, Wyatt’s stories and antics are HILARIOUS. And I do enjoy a good conversation as much as the next person. But sometimes, I just want quiet. SILENCE!! I find myself saying, Can we not talk for like 2 minutes? How about we sit here and look at this book – with no talking – for just a bit. To this request I usually get a slew of questions about WHY we should be quiet. Huh? Why? You don’t wanna talk? Is Brooklyn sleeping? Where are we going? How about 1 minute? Just never mind. Is it too much for a mom to want a bit of quiet now and again? Apparently I should quit bringing loud children into the home, huh?

So last week we took Wyatt on a special outing. Just Wyatt, mom and dad. We went to see the walking with the Dinosaurs at the Civic Center here in town. Wyatt was pretty excited, and I think deep down he was ecstatic that he didn’t have to share mom and dad with Brooklyn for just a little bit. He never said it, but when we left he asked why she was staying home, and when I told him that the Dinosaur show was just for big kids, he responded, Cool!

We got to the arena and it was pouring cats and dogs so we hurried our way in and made our way through the THOUSANDS of people to find our seats. First, of course, we had to buy a $20 thing-a-ma-jig that lights up. You know, the important part of the show.

And here he is three days later. Still hanging on to the thing-a-ma-jig…

Once to our seats, Chris left to go get some food, or something. He came back with a t-shirt and program for Wyatt (and minus $50). While he was gone, just as they announced that the show was going to start in 5 minutes, Wyatt announces he has to go potty. I’m like NOW? You just went? Didn’t you? Ok – Let’s go quick! I have NO IDEA where the rest rooms are, nor how badly he has to go. We push through the mobs of people and find some bathrooms not too far away. Of course the men’s bathroom has NO line, and the women’s has a line out the door. I contemplate letting him go in the men’s but foresee bad things with this decision, so we opt to wait in line. As we are standing there he tells me he is going to potty in his pants, he has to go so bad. My anxiety is starting to elevate, and I can feel myself getting redder. Really? We paid LOTS of money for these tickets, your light-up-toy, and you are going to pee in your pants for the first time in FOREVER, and we are going to miss the show, huh? This is SO my luck.

He must have said it loud enough because the women in line infront of us (like 25 of them) let us go first. He gets into the stall, insists on having the door open, and pees a tablespoon into the toilet. Hmmm. Was he really going to pee his pants, or was this just a tactic to budge in front of the line? Well played, my child. Well played. He comes out of the stall, pants down – which for some reason embarrasses me even more. We wash up, and are on our way back to the seats. We have even made it in time so we don’t miss the start of the show! Nice job Wyatt!

The entire 2 hour show, Wyatt talked and asked questions and made comments. There was an older couple sitting next to us who seemed quite amused by his constant chatter, I hope it didn’t bug everyone else. Because the more I told him to SHHHHHH, the louder and more frequent the questions and comments got. My particular favorite moment was when one of the dinosaurs was looking into the crowd towards the bottom of our section, and Wyatt announced (loudly) That dinosuar is there, ‘cuz he wants to EAT PEOPLE! I think our entire section got a giggle out of that one.

I am just so impressed that Wyatt was able to sit through the entire show and intermission. He sat IN HIS CHAIR, the entire show. This is quite the accomplishment. Even if he did talk, continuously, through the whole program.

The first time:

Doctor: It’s a beautiful baby BOY!

Me: I told you!

The second time:

Doctor: It’s a GIRL!

Me: Really? A girl? We had a girl!

So you can imagine my surprise when the morning of my ultrasound, Chris says “I had a dream last night that we found out the sex of the baby. And it wasn’t that bad!” I was like, “So you want to find out now? What’s going on?” He then proceeded to tell me that it was up to me. We could find out, or wait, whatever I wanted. Well, I was having NO part of this.  After all, decision making has never been my thing.  Knowing the sex might be fun.  I could plan a little bit, we could go to the hospital with a “going home outfit” that isn’t green or yellow – you know, all the important stuff.  On the other hand, the suspense and surprise is what has made the last two births so…. interesting.

So we get to the ultrasound and we still haven’t decided yet. As we are in the waiting room, Chris is still pestering me if we are going to find out or not. Well, now, Mr. I-never-want-to-find-out-the-sex-and-last-minute-I-am-going-to-throw-you-for-a-loop I STILL HAVEN’T DECIDED, OK?  We enter the exam room and the technician asks us THAT question and of course I am like, “um, oh, um…I think so?”

Well, since Wyatt was with, we ultimately decided that we WOULD find out the sex. For him of course. The boy wants to know if he is having a brother or a sister. All for him. Of course. Thanks for taking that decision out of my hands kiddo.

So as the tech gets to “the shot” she pauses the screen and says, “Now, are you sure you want to know?” Chris and I both look at the screen, and were like, “Well – it’s a boy!”  Pretty obvious.  So, now it has been confirmed what I already knew. IT’S A BOY.  My instant sure must be good, because I have known with each of the babies what their sex would be. Now this time, it is confirmed a bit earlier and I kind of feel weird, like I know a secret that I shouldn’t know.  But, it is fun telling everyone!

I do have to go get a recheck in a month because they were unable to get clear pictures of the baby’s (his) heart and spine. My doctor assured me that they didn’t think anything was wrong, but he was just laying funny and squirming around a lot so they couldn’t get a good look. Of course, I’m trying not to worry, but, if you know me AT ALL, you know this is not possible.  I’ll just try to keep it cool for the next MONTH. Are they crazy making me wait this long?

Anyway, for months we have been trying to get Wyatt to help us name the baby. I don’t think he really grasps the concept, because every time we would ask him what we should name the baby, he would respond, “What’s it’s name?” Considering that his closest friends are named Teddy, Puppy, Snakey, and Sock Monkey – naming a baby might be a bit beyond him at this point.  So now that we know it’s a boy, I have been trying to get Wyatt’s opinion on baby names again.  He seems to be convinced that we should name this one Boy Brooklyn.  I tried explaining to him that we need to pick out a BOY’s name, and Brooklyn is a girl’s name, and well, your sister is named that, so let’s pick something else out, OK?

Me: What are we going to name your brother, Wyatt?

Wyatt: Um, it’s like a Boy Brooklyn.

Me: No that’s Brooklyn’s name. And it’s for girls. What boy’s names do you like?

Wyatt: Hmmm….. Well, how about Steve?

With no further ado…. I present……Steve?

I used to think it was kinda cute.  It’s a little much now.  So, I started telling him that he should, “add it to your Christmas list!”  To which I got the usual response, “Huh? What’s that you say?”  So I got out a piece of paper, wrote Dear Santa on it, and had him show me a couple of things in his toy magazine (those ones that come with every toy on the planet) that he liked.  I then told him that if he was a good boy, Santa would bring him a nice toy for Christmas. (OK-who are we kidding, TOYS-plural)

Well, this idea he liked!  Only problem, every time the phone rang he would ask, “Mom? That Santa?” Or every morning when he woke up, “Santa here now?”  Then I got really smart and told him that Santa wouldn’t come until we got snow. Wouldn’t you know? The next morning there was snow on the ground.  In October.  I thought I had more time for him to forget about this!  I’m still trying to explain this one to him.

Set the scene: Wyatt is strapped in his car seat and I can not resist giving him a kiss….

MOM: (Giving Wyatt a huge smooch on the lips) I LOVE KISSES!

WYATT: MOM! No kisses!

MOM: I love kisses! I love kisses!

WYATT: No, mom! I don’t need kisses!

MOM: But I love kisses! I do! I do!

Wyatt: Mom, you kiss dad! Not me!

Set the scene: Wyatt has started singing “Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo”-type songs for just about everything lately. He’ll dangle a toy in front of Brooke and say nah-nah-nah-boo-boo, you can’t reach it! or sing nah-nah-nah-boo-boo, I’m gonna eat you! to his breakfast.  I tried for about a week to ignore it, hoping it would go away. It didn’t…..

WYATT: Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo, you can’t get me!

MOM: Wyatt, that’s not nice to tease.

WYATT: That’s not teasing. Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo…

MOM: That is teasing, Wyatt. Please don’t do that anymore.

WYATT:  Nuh, uh! Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo (quieter)

MOM: (reaching my breaking point of a week filled with nah-nah-nahs) If you say that again ….I’m going to… wash your mouth out with soap.

WYATT: Huh? What’s that you say?

MOM: Um…. I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap.

WYATT: You put soap in my mouth? And it makes bubbles? (thinking) That’s FUNNY!

MOM: (silence… why did I even say that? I’m not going to wash my three-year-old’s mouth out with soap. Obviously)

WYATT: And then the soap goes in my mouth, and the germs go away?

MOM:  Um……

Set the scene: Bath time one night. Wyatt is really obsessed with doing things for himself, including “washing himself”. So I pour soap in his hands and let him scrub…

MOM: Okay, Wyatt. Wash up good. Make sure to get your butt, too.

WYATT: And my penis too?

MOM: Sure. (I call Chris into the bathroom) Did you teach Wyatt penis ? (in a whisper)

DAD: No. Why?

MOM: (still whispering) He’s talking about washing his…..penis.

WYATT: I’VE GOT A WIDDLE (little) PENIS!

DAD: Wyatt, you should never say you have a little penis. You should always say you have a big one.

WYATT: (laughing) No, dad! It’s a widdle one!

CHRIS: I wouldn’t tell that to people Wyatt. Let’s say it’s a big one!

WYATT: No, dad…..It’s a medium one!

Case in point: Last night I thought it’d be fun to let the kids take a bath together, Wyatt is always asking, but see, I have this fear of DROWNING MY INFANT.  Now that Brooklyn can sit up pretty good on her own, I thought what the hell.

So I cheated. I used the bumbo chair to hold Brooke up.  I TOTALLY DO NOT RECOMMEND DOING THIS.  See I have to say that, because the chair actually floats, even with the baby in it, so if you fill the tub full enough, it CAN tip over with baby in it.  But I sat right there and monitored closely.  Anyway, Wyatt is a pretty perceptive kid and noticed that once the tub was getting full Brooklyn was getting a little tippy in her bumbo.

Mom! Hold her chair!

Geez, OK.  Thanks for the parenting advice kid.

No Mom! Use two hands!

Alrighty then.  I could not lift my hands off that chair for even a second without Wyatt making me feel like a third rate parent.  Needless to say the kids didn’t get that clean during bath time last night.

(Notice how he has his arm holding onto the chair at all times? Kind of cute what a protective older brother he is becoming already.)

It seems like even playtime is getting a bit bossy. 

Mom, stand here.  Chase me.  No, like this, mom.

I finally stopped our play and said Can you not be so bossy, please? His response was Huh? What that you say?

Now, I know that kids like things just so, but it’s getting a bit ridiculous.  It seems I can’t even fold the laundry without Wyatt instructing me how to do a better job. See mom? Like this.

Apparently bossy is not a word he has figured out yet.  I believe we have a Berenstein Bears book that deals with this…..

**New August photos in the album – more to come tomorrow***

Speaking of the stomach flu and puke…. The last time Wyatt threw up we had an interesting conversation about it that I feel the need to share.

WYATT: (shouting from his room around 1 am) MMOOOOMMMM!

ME: (opening his door) What’s wrong honey, do you have to go potty?

WYATT: I spit out again. All over my bed!

(“spit out” is what he calls throwing up – not sure how that got started)

ME: Oh no. Let’s get some new jammies on ok?

WYATT: Yeah – spit out is NO FUN. It got all over me too!

(I get him changed, sheets and blankets off his bed and get him tucked into his sleeping bag on his bed – no more clean sheets after a week of the flu)

WYATT: Mommy, you eat boogers and nails, you get sick and BLAH you spit out then!

ME: (stifling a laugh) Oh, did you eat boogers and nails before you went to bed?

WYATT: Yep. And I get sick now.

ME: Well, let that be a lesson to you then.

WYATT: Huh?

ME: Never mind, get some sleep kiddo. See you in the morning.

Poor Wyatt got the worst of the stomach bug out of all of us. Brooklyn’s lasted for like 4 hours, mine was about 24 hours, and Wyatt was still randomly throwing up (pizza, apple pieces and fruit snacks – YUM!) two days after his started. I’m hoping we are out of the thick of it now. One can only hope, right?

Breakfastsnack {brek-fast-snack} (n.) – Because “supper” or “dinner” is way too close to bedtime which means there’s a possibility of ending playtime in the near future, every meal is a now breakfastsnack.

MOM: Wyatt what would you like for supper?

WYATT: No supper, mommy. I want breakfastsnack.

Swiper {swi-pur} (n.) Refers to four legged hairy members of the family and their inability to control stealing dirty diapers for snacks.

As the dog snatches a diaper off the nightstand right in front of our eyes, “Swiper! No swiping!” (Any Dora fans out there?)

Mommytasking {mah-me-task-ing} (v.) The ability to take on more than one mommy-related job at one time.  Example: Feeding the baby, eating breakfastsnack, catching up on last month’s TV shows you missed and blogging simultaneously would be considered mommytasking. (Can you guess what I’m doing?) Daddies, unfortunately, are incapable of this feat.

Stinky Skunk {stinkee-skunk} (n.) Any bad smell. Most often referring to actual skunks, bathrooms recently used, outhouses, baby poopy diapers.

WYATT:”Mom! There’s a stinky skunk in dad’s bathroom!”

Baby Burrito {bay-be bur-reet-oh}(n.) The fine art of excellent swaddling.  It would not be considered a true baby burrito if the child can free themselves on their own free will.  Made easier in recent years by the addition of Velcro to the swaddle blankets.

MOM: Chris, did you put Brooklyn in the baby burrito before bed?”

DAD: Of course. What kind of show do you think I’m running here?

The baby burrito

Anyway, word on the street is that the person with the most comments attached to their Momfinitions Blog wins some cold hard cash – so silent readers out there, if you like my momfinitions post a comment for me!!

The other night I took the kids to a friend’s house for dinner.  Wyatt was being his usual wild-self, and could barely sit still in his chair for dinner. In the process of his wiggling he managed to fall off the dining room chair.  He fell backwards and bonked his head pretty good on the hard wood floors. I immediately screamed, “Oh my gosh! He hit his head really hard!” (Flashbacks of June 2008 – ambulances. . .  CT Scans . . . concussions . . . OH MY!)  I quickly put Brooklyn down and went over to him still lying on the floor.  I asked him if he was okay, to which he replied, “I almost dead.”

We were riding in the boat late last month with both the kids. A flock of seagulls flew over the boat and Wyatt exclaimed, “LOOK! BIRDS! WHERE’S MY GUN?!”

On the way home from school one day just prior to the fourth of July, we drove by an area where they were setting up a large tent to sell fireworks in.  Wyatt sees the tent and proclaims, “Look mom, a big tent! You make that FOR ME?” I love that in his own little world, everything is for and about him.  The best part – he thinks it’s from his mom.

Wyatt sees the cleaning lady the other morning (we are usually gone before she arrives).  He says to me, “Who’s that?” then to her, “You cleaning my house?”

Wyatt and I were napping at my parent’s house last weekend, in my aunt and uncle’s room they were staying in.  My aunt had breast cancer and had her wig sitting on the night stand. I see Wyatt peering at the wig through slit eyes.  He says to me, “Mom, what’s that?” I reply, “Um, it’s a wig.” He says back, “I touch it?”  “Uh…..no. Go to sleep,” was my reply.

Wyatt loves having his arms and legs and back “scratched” before going to sleep. “Lightly tickling” is a better description.  Apparently at daycare, when he is having a hard time settling down for nap time, one of the girls sits with him and scratches his back to help put him to sleep.  So when we have our snuggle time at night, he usually requests “scratch my back”, or “scratch my arms.”  I started scratching his back the other day and he scolds me for doing it over his shirt (“No. Under the shirt, mommy“) Geez, OKAY. When I obey his request, he demands, “Use your nails.” Then looks over his shoulder at me, “You got nails, mommy?” Sadly, no.

Pretty much everyone he meets, he will ask, “What’s your name?” They will tell him and ask what his name is.  He ALWAYS responds proudly, “I Wyatt H.”

Wyatt is an extremely picky eater, has been for about 1 1/2 years now.  We are making some breakthroughs, like the other night he ate an entire grilled pork chop.  I was so pleased, a week later I made THE EXACT SAME MEAL.  He took one look at the pork chop and declared, “That’s disgusting!” I talked him into trying a bite, reminding him that he really liked the pork chop last week.  He did, but gagged through the whole thing. Drama. Usually when he doesn’t want to eat something, he will declare, “I sick.” then I will tell him that if he is sick, he needs to go to bed and rest.  Some days he will choose to eat, others he will go and lay in his bed. This reminds me of a story from Chris’s childhood. Apparently he hated some type of vegetable, and his dad told him that he had to eat the vegetable or go straight to bed for the night. Chris looked his dad straight in the eye, and marched up to his bedroom at 5pm, where he spent the rest of the evening in bed. Like father, like son, I guess. (Stubborn, Stubborn, STUBBORN!)

Wyatt has become quite the bargainer.  When I say, “Five minutes until bedtime!” He responds, “No, ten minutes?” When I am trying to get him to eat his dinner, I will say something like, “Four more bites and you can be done.” (Even though I told myself I would never do this to my child, but when you have a 30 pound 3-and-a-half year old . . .)  Wyatt will respond, “One bite.” Then I’ll come back with “Okay, three bites,” to which he will suggest, “two bites.” Then I remember that I am bargaining with a three year old, and go back to my original “four bites.” BECAUSE I AM THE MOM AND I SAID SO. Told myself I’d never use that one either, but it totally comes in handy. Another line I’ve used….“Because it’s the rules. I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.” I know, I am a total cliche parent. Whatever works, I guess.

For some reason he will not get out of bed until I open his door and let him know it’s time to get up.  I believe he thinks there are dinosaurs lurking under his bed and needs to see me to know it’s OK to put his feet over the side of the bed.  I let him believe this, because it keeps him in bed.  I guess I shouldn’t say I let him believe it, but more like I just don’t argue with him.  Parenting at it’s best.

So every morning, I open his bedroom door and say, “Good morning sunshine! Did you have a good slumber?” I get a variety of responses.  Here are some of them:

“I get up now?”

“Let’s play candy land” ( my personal favorite)

“Daddy still sleeping?”

“Brooklyn awake?”

“I need chocolate milk”

“I got wet biper (diaper)”

“My sock fell off”

“Timer goes off now?” (They use a timer at school for “time outs” and when it goes off, he can get out of time out.  Apparently, sleep is one giant time out)

“I need fruit snacks”

Those are just a few of my favorites. Sometimes he has these complex stories, I assume he’s refferring to dreams he was having.  Most mornings, I’m too busy rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to fully comprehend what he’s talking about.  Love my boy.