All right, enough is enough! I have many short beginnings of blog posts from the last few months that I never finished, so I'm going to plop all the tiny, tiny tidbits into one messy entry.... because that is what I have time for.
AND THEN THERE WERE TWO. IN ONE ROOM.
We finally fixed the sleeping arrangements a few months back by moving Colton into a twin sized bed and moving Casey from the crib into Colton's firetruck toddler bed. They now share a room and it's gone pretty smoothly. But the first night, they (or Casey... maybe just Casey) had a lot of fun with the concept of having a BRUDDER in the same room at bedtime. Shawn and I laid down the law before we said goodnight. Stay in your beds, and only talk for two more minutes. (Like a two-year-old has any concept of how long two minutes is.) We tucked them in, then raced downstairs to turn the monitor on to listen to the conversation (and this is the only part I managed to write down a few months back before I forgot about it):
Shawn: I know the first thing we're going to hear when we turn on the monitor is "Casey! Stay in your bed!"
Monitor on.
Colton: Casey! Stay in your bed!
(muffled noises, giggling, Casey mumbling...)
Colton: Casey, you're not going to be talking all night, are you? We can't talk all night. Okay?
Casey: .................. Chicken butt!!
REMEMBORY
Apparently I don't have one. A 'remembory', that is, which is Colton's word for memory. Shawn and I recently broke out the Memory game, a gift from Memere to Colton for Christmas. This game shines light upon the radiant intelligence of a child, and casts shadows upon my feeble, dried up brain.
Colton is THE SHIT at this game. At first, I was like "Duuude, he's only five, let's take it easy on him." Now I am fighting for my life in this game, and he annihilates me at every turn. There was one game in which he got sixteen matches, and I got two. TWO. Granted, Mackenzie was fussing and making that horrible, high-pitched complaining noise for half of the game, causing my brain to be on overload and totally impatient to escape the situation. But really-- that's my excuse? Even without Mackenzie (and possibly maybe a little bit of wine), I just got my ass whooped. By a five-year-old.
UPDATE: I have won since then, by the way............ I just wanted to put that out there.
CASEY TALK
I have a Tourette's-like problem of saying "What the heelll?" and for some reason not being able to child-proof it out of my vocabulary. Casey caught wind of this, and it became his new favorite thing to blurt out (with a thick drawl-- 'what the heeeyy-uuulll?"). I continuously correct him on this-- "Casey, you don't say that. You say 'what the beans?'" Somewhere along the way, he became confused. Twice recently I've seen something strange and said, "What the beans??" and he gasps and says, in a hushed voice, "Mama. You don't say that. You say 'what the hey-ull.'"
(Side note: I wouldn't say he has a drawl, but words that end in L come out that way. Grill is gree-ull, rail is ray-ull... and I run on a treadmee-ull.)
And now that I'm playing with my blog, I'll add one more recent kid conversation. Casey was hiding behind the curtain the other day, waiting for Colton to find him. I was in the kitchen and I hear this:
Colton: You don't need to hide from me, Casey. I can smell your farts, so I know where you are.
Casey: (giggles)
Okay, okay, one more thing. Yesterday, Mackenzie learned to crawl and clap her hands in the same day, and I'm pretty sure she waved hi to Shawn today. She was a baby, and then she was a little person. Just like that.
