It's all about the marketing

I am afraid the 1 p.m. naptime for Sawyer is a thing of the past. Truth is, he's just not ready to sleep at that time. Unfortunately, he's also not ready to lose his nap, as he can fill an entire vat with his whine. So right around 2 p.m., I tell him it's time to go to his room for "quiet time." He can bring any toy or books he wants to, much to his surprise. And the only rules are he has to be quiet and he can't get out of bed. We've done it all this week, and each time, he has eventually fallen asleep. The best part? Hearing him say "Mommy, I love quiet time!" several times a day. Am I a genius or what?

The good child

Never thought I'd type those words about Sage, but there you are. She has been such a joy lately. She still isn't really talking much (although she has her own sounds for things, including an "aaah" when she wants a drink or is talking about water) but she is crying a lot less and is becoming quite the clown.

These pictures were taken at The Flower Fields in Carlsbad. It was a gorgeous day, and ranunculas are my new favorite flower!

The Proof is in the Poopy

Maybe. This is my latest theory on my darling little spawn of Satan. He is still having a tough time pooping. Specifically, and sorry if this is TMI but really this is my blog so you already know what you're in for, he prefers to poop standing up. And while wearing his underwear and shorts. He usually will not inform us verbally that he has to poop until it is actually sticking out like a curious turtle.

We are on to him way before that, as he does a very distinctive poop dance (come to think of it, I might have waxed poetically about this in some previous post) that involves him clenching his butt as if he's trying to hold a $100 bill in there and dancing around on his toes. This process can sometimes stretch out for hours until the poop finally makes its appearance. And in the interim, his behavior can escalate. Probably because he's uncomfortable. Nothing that taking a good healthy shit won't cure!

So yesterday, when he was supposed to be napping, he instead killed one of his fish by throwing a heavy sock into his tank right on top of the poor little guy. He eventually got up and pooped - then slept for a few hours.

Today, after viewing the poop dance, I let him stay up and play. Eventually, he went outside to "play" and pooped (in his underwear). I soon after sent him to his room for "quiet time." I told him he could read his books or play nicely in his bed, and that he did not have to sleep. He complained a bit, but eventually, he was in there with a couple trains, and within 30 minutes, he was sound asleep. Still is sleeping.

And his aquarium is blissfully free of little boy debris.

Poop = happy kid. An equation to live by.

Is he a psychopath..or is he just being 3?

That has been the burning question around these parts the past couple days. Just when I was congratulating myself on surviving Sawyer's second year, even going so far as telling people that 3 has been so much more delightful, my darling boy has had a series of transgressions that leave me wondering if he's too young for electroshock therapy.

A few highlights:

1) Clocking his sister in the head. She proceeded to bawl, and when I pointed out to Sawyer that he hurt her, he stared at her like she was a science project. No remorse.

2) After a morning at the aquarium during which he was a perfect child, he decided he didn't want to take his nap. Instead, he arrived at the top of the stairs and announced he did poopy and peepee - in his pants. After cleaning him up in the downstairs bathroom, I ran upstairs to grab him a clean pair of underwear - only to find he had used the 10-gallon aquarium in his room as a repository for paper, toy cars and glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs. The three fish that we've managed to keep alive for the past few weeks were not amused. Nor was I.

3) I interrogated him with compelling questions such as "why did you put stuff in your aquarium?" just so I could hear equally compelling testimony such as "Because I did. He dared to smile. There was not a single tear shed. By him, anyway.

4) I decided he was not going to nap (and I really didn't want him in his room)so I put him in timeout at the bottom of the stairs. He then stood up and ran into the bathroom and closed the door. David arrived home, and I sent him into the bathroom, where he found Sawyer dipping a full roll of toilet paper into the radiation-blue, chemical-filled toilet water.

5) He somehow survived the rest of the day. He fell asleep in our bed for an hour or so, had dinner and finally, at 9, he was in bed. He was not allowed to have any of his "friends", which include two stuffed sharks, a dolphin and Shamu. I checked on him at 9:30, and he was still awake. In fact, he'd been busy - PUTTING CRAYONS AND MORE CARS INTO THE AQUARIUM!!!

No amount of yelling, taking things away or prolonged time-outs make a dent in this kid. He simply does not care. Couple that with no impluse control, and you either have a psychopath in the making, or an adorable 3 year-old boy..

Shake that thing

Sage's first milkshake!

Another badge of motherhood

So I'm bending over, trying to tuck my muffin top back into my pants, and I can't help but see the OLD LADY WRINKLED SKIN bagging below my belly button.

I just read a story in the paper yesterday about this morbidly obese man who went to have the gastric bypass surgery but had to have his pannus (no, this is not a typo) removed. The pannus is "an apron of abnominal fat that hangs below" the knees.

Now, I'm not saying I'm anywhere near to requiring a panniculectomy, and I obviously don't want to make light of a serious medical condition (altho it is kind of interesting that it has a name and a procedure). However, gravity just might pull my OLWS in an all-out sprint with my saggie baggies to see which reaches my knees first