You Be The Judge

Last week The Boy and I went to see my friend at her work to get something notarized. She works in the local courthouse. While we were there, The Boy, who was in his pjs, mind you, announced that he needed to go poopoo. I looked at my friend. She pointed around the corner "just use that bathroom to the right" she said, casually, because she has kids and knows they need to poop. "Isn't that the judge's office?" I asked. 

"Yes, but he's not here. It's fine. I promise." Okay. We went through his office into the bathroom. The Boy was very curious about whose bathroom we were in. He asked me what a judge was. He got a little play city for his birthday complete with jail, so he's just learned what a jail is. My mom told him it was were bad guys go, but the therapist in me had to say it's where people who make bad choices go. Give a guy a chance, right? (#OITNB) 

So anyway, he asked what a judge was. I thought it was a little premature to explain the 3 branches of the government, so I just told him that the judge tells the police who to take to jail. "Is he the boss of the police?" he asked. "Yes." I said. His robe was hanging on the back of the door. I pointed to it and showed The Boy that the judge wears a robe like the one we saw. He was thoroughly impressed. "Can he talk?" he asked, as he sat on the pot. "Yes." Then, as if a robe-wearing-boss-of-the-police couldn't get any cooler, The Boy said in awe "Does he have a PENIS?!" "Yes", I said, trying not to laugh. 

That's all he needed to know. This guy is the boss of the police, wears a cape to work, talks, and has a penis. I think The Boy has found his dream job. 

An Almost Three Year Old

I haven't written in a while because a) I am exhausted, and b) nothing that interesting has been going on. I could write and tell you about our trips to the grocery store and the library and the likes, but that wouldn't be very entertaining for either of us.

The Boy WILL BE THREE NEXT WEEK. Oh Em Gee. Can you believe it? I can't. In case you don't have one, let me tell you a little bit about almost three year olds.

~ They ask questions about everything. All the time. Questions like "are wolves shy?" and "what's a minivan?" and "How jump can you high?" and "Can people save banana chips (for later)?" and "Why can't we get naked in front of the neighbors?" and "What are cucumbers made of?" and "Who is the boss of squirrels?"

~They talk. All. The. Time. If it's not questions, it's monologues about super heroes and cars and dishes and dogs and magic and Santa and blankets and Harry Potter and friends on rocket ships and a monster named Franken-celery, and that time we went to that place where we did that thing.

~They melt down. Not just about nap times and what to eat, but about other legitimate things, like a strawberry touched their mango, or their ice is too cold, or the blue spoon not being clean, or not wanting to go HOOOOOOME from the PLAYGROUNNDDDD or lightening bugs not being out during the day, or the pillow not laying the way they want, ie "waying cwazy" or not being able to find Hawkman's other wing after they THREW Hawkman's other wing.

~They think poopoo is hilarious. I really thought we would somehow dodge this one by not having any reaction to any potty words. Want to go on a poopoo ride? Sure. You want poopoo for lunch? Great. But it didn't work. Even a little. In fact, almost three year olds say poopoo 400 times a day, and then tell you 454 times a day that they just said poopoo words.

~They move. It's nonstop. We went to a three year old birthday party last weekend and they are all like gnats on speed. They ride scooters in the house. They do flips off their beds. They run until their little faces are red and their hair is dripping with sweat. They scoot on their bums down the stairs just to climb back up and start over. And they NEVER get tired.

~They tell jokes. Jokes that sometimes flop on execution. Jokes like "what do you get when you cross a cocka doodle doo? Time to get a new bed!" And lots of jokes where the punch line is "poo poo."

~They have their own sense of style that can't be beat.

~They are the sweetest. They give hugs and hold hands, and say things like "mama, I love you to the top of the moon" and they offer to kiss your booboos and they thank you for fixing their snack and ask you to marry them, then once you say yes they tell you they're kidding.

That's Almost-3-Year Olds in a nutshell.

Last week in preparation for The Boy's birthday I asked him some interview questions that I hope we will repeat each year and see how his answers change. Here they are.

How old are you? 

"Two and a half"

What’s your favorite thing to do? 

"eat pasta"

What do you want to be when you grow up? 

"a powice officifice"

What’s your favorite food? 

"cucumbers and pasta"

What’s something you’re good at? 

"pwaying puzzles"

What makes you laugh? 

"telling joke-es"

What’s something scary?

"a dinosaur or a monster or a witch"

Who’s your best friend? 

"Violette"

What do you like to do with your family? 

"pway outside"

Where do you like to go? 

"to a rocket ship"

What do you like to learn about? 

"poopoo"

The Cult that is Chuck E. Cheese

Two weeks ago we survived what I'm sure will be the first of many Chuck E Cheese birthday parties. Whew. Y'all, that sh- is real. When we first got there, there weren't many people. It was calm. Except for the lights and games and sounds and dancing mice. The stuff that trances are made of.

The Boy explored all the games. He cuddled up with Barney. He drove a monster truck. We were fine to just let him sit on all the games, but then the birthday girl's parents GAVE HIM TOKENS.  Tokens that you put in the machines to make them go and beep and flash, and then our ruse was up. Chuck E. knows what's up. Step one of running a cult: offer cool things to lure them in.

 

He saw the animatronic Chuck E. (Does anyone else wonder what the E stands for? Edward? Elijah?) and wanted to be in a show with him. He is SO my kid. Step two of having a cult: have a powerful and mysterious leader.

How cute is the birthday girl??

When he wanted to play basketball with The Husband, we just put him up on the game a la Tom Thumb.

Gradually more and more people started arriving. There were four (four!) birthday parties and a soccer team. This is how a grain of sand must feel in an hour glass. If the hour glass is loud and lights up and all the other sand grains are running. I do not think the fire marshall would approve of this.

One of the other birthday girls was named A'merri-ca. We all sang Happy Birthday at one time to all four of the birthday parties. It was crazy.

Employees came through, shouting to follow them for free tickets. We did. As though we even needed tickets to save up to cash in to get a Chuck E. Cheese keychain. I know this scam. But I drank the Kool Aid, and I was convinced that our cult leader Chuck E. was right in knowing we needed tickets. For free! Step three of having a cult: be authoritative. We blindly followed, and did a Chuck E. line dance with our fellow cult members that ended with Chuck E. throwing tickets at us, and us scrounging on the floor to get them. It was like the kid version of 10 minutes past last call at a degrading strip club. Step four of having a cult: degrade your members.

That's us in the back, line dancing with a mouse. 

And when the birthday girl was feeling a little shy (aka smart) they let The Boy have her turn in the ticket wind tunnel. He got approximately 2 tickets.

When A'merri-ca got in the wind tunnel, her mama was screaming "stuff 'em in your shirt!" She must've had some of that same Kool-Aid. Then another kid went, and her mom (or someone) got in the tunnel with her. That's at option?? You mean to tell me I locked my kid in a wind tunnel alone and I didn't have to? And I never even questioned it. I'm pretty sure step five of creating a cult is isolate children from their parents. OMG. And now we're in. 

Halloween

We had several Halloween activities this week. The first was The Boy's Halloween carnival at his preschool. It was hilarious. There were games and prizes and costumes. Oh the costumes! Is there anything as cute as a tiny costume? On the way to the party he kept saying we were going to his birfday party.

Here's The Boy, a shark. Someone asked if it was a KKK costume. Costume fail. 

Here's the back for clarification. I've never seen a KKK suit with fins and a tail. Well, I've never seen a KKK suit. 

Here he is with his girlfriend Minnie Mouse. 

And here he is giving someone the stink eye. 

This is what happens when you tell a group of preschoolers at the cake walk to walk around in a circle when the music comes on.

I'm pretty sure they were thinking this was a crazy idea us adults came up with. 

My mom took him to the fall festival at her church. 

The Husband challenged him to go down the inflatable head first, and this happened. 

He should know by now not to challenge him to any daring feats, because he will do them. Don't worry, he's okay. And don't show my mother-in-law that one, she'll have a heart attack.

On Halloween night we went to his cousin, Darth Maul's, for trick or treating in their neighborhood.

  

The Boy decided at the last minute to nix the shark suit and go trick or treating in his skeleton pjs. Plus he had to add his superman cape and a spiderman mask of his cousin's that he found. The result was a little like a Mexican wrestler in the back of a pickup truck. 

Happy Halloween!