Happy 'stache-o-ween!

Guess which one is mine?

Nerd alert.

Warning: this is a political post that has nothing to do with politics, I promise. Mostly because political rants and right/left soapboxes on the Internets make me want to punch a kitten in the face, but I digress.

But related to politics, Joe has commandeered a nerd fest amongst his group of homies called the "2012 Yard Sign Election." Basically, whenever anyone sees a sign, sticker or public display for (or against) any candidate, they email or text Joe. He keeps track of it in what I'm pretty certain is the nerdiest spreadsheet ever to exist.

Pie charts. Bar charts. Line graphs. Pivot tables. This thing has it all. It's nerddom at its finest. I get a wedgie and a swirly just looking at the thing. But the cool thing is, it's not really political at all--but it is cool to see which candidate has the most visible support on our local streets and roads.

This is real. And it hurts my brain.

Brave little boy.

You know how some little boys are "all boy"? Like, they run into walls full steam ahead and jump off the backs of couches onto stacks of pillows? Yeah. My kid's not like that.

I've referenced it before--he's very careful with his movements and isn't a fan of heights at all. He won't even walk down a flight of stairs if it's the grated metal kind where you can see right through them.

We're starting to see him becoming braver as he creeps closer to 4. In fact, at the park yesterday he went down the slides all by himself! Even headfirst! He told me he "went the fastest, Mom!" and "It was so amazing!" (Everything is "amazing" these days. I love life through a 4 year-old's eyes.)

Meanwhile, at Disney...

The Greg and the Joette recently took a 'lil pilgrimage to Orlando, where they've been basking in the glory of Disney World WITHOUT THEIR CHILDREN OR GRANDCHILDREN. Rude.

Over the course of their little vacay, I got no less than 948 pictures and videos from my Mom, in what she believed to be "sharing the experience" with us, and what I actually just discerned as rubbing it in. Kidding, Mom, kidding.

Anyway, here is the funniest sequence of photos from the week, with captions direct from my Mom.

"See the big monkey with his leaf?"

 "This is how he looked after he finished it!"

Go Tigers!

The Detroit Tigers are going to the World Series, baby! And the kiddos at Daycare are just as excited as the grown ups. Look what they did today - a parade!

Our Angel Tree.

Joe and I kind of always knew we wanted to get something rather special and permanent to remember our sweet tWIPs and precious bdub. Tattoos are extraordinarily painful and since I am the largest wussie on planet earth, also completely out of the question.

We had a lot of ideas, but ultimately the idea of something living--that we could see every day--was a requirement. And, as luck would have it, we've got a big ol' lot of sod just waiting for some life and landscaping.

And so, a few weeks ago, we drove on over to a nursery (ironic, no?) and got us a tree. Alex calls it our "angel tree" and I think that's rather appropriate. Here it is:

It's a sugar maple, so it will turn really beautiful vibrant shades of red every fall. I love it for all that it is and all that it stands for. It really is a tree of life.

And so this post isn't all sappy-wappy, here are some obligatory adorable photos from the weekend: a tractor ride at Franklin Cider Mill and trying on Daddy's new glasses.

The peer pressure of Greek yogurt.

I genuinely consider myself to be a trendy person. I like to at least know what the cool kids are up to, even if I don't actually participate in the reindeer games. (See also: Uggs, leggings & ombre hair.)

And this new cultural craze around Greek yogurt is something even I cannot ignore. So says advertising and the Internets (and we all know if the Internets say so that it MUST be true!): It's healthy! It's full of calcium! It's exotic & creamy and LOOK! John Stamos even says so!

And, seriously. If John Stamos says I should do it, I'm going to listen. Simple as that.

Let's be clear: I love, love, love the Ben & Jerry's version of Greek Yogurt. So why wouldn't I like the original gangster versions from the likes of Chobani, Fage, Oikos and other ridiculous brand names that no one in their right mind can actually pronounce? 

The quick answer? BECAUSE IT IS AWFUL.

People, I tried. I honestly did. I wanted so badly to fit in with the cool kids and have a trendy and delightful snack of Greek yogurt around 11 am, pulled from a thirty-one monogrammed lunch bag just before I performed a brisk walk around campus in my Lulu Lemon spandex and then sped off in a white Lexus SUV. But here's the thing: I don't have a thirty-one lunch bag; Greek yogurt is awful; spandex is a privilege, not a right; and damnit, I drive American and white cars are awful.

Ask the nice men and women at Kroger: I've purchased every brand, every flavor. It blows. It tastes like sour cream because it IS sour cream. With fruit. And even John Stamos can't trick me of that. Sour cream belongs on nachos, baked potatoes, tacos, chili and other savory, non-breakfast item. 

I caved to the peer pressure and look how it turned out for me. Probably $30 wasted on pretend, fruit sour cream and roughly 20 activations of my gag reflex. John Stamos? You've lied to me. I feel so very, very betrayed. It's a good thing you still have that hair and those dimples, otherwise we'd be finished. FINISHED, I tell you.

Now, back to watching 'Full House' reruns and dreaming of the good ol' days...

He comes by it naturally.

Getting into a morning routine in the new house has been interesting. You see, in our old house, everything was no more than 10 feet from anything else. When we were getting ready in our one bathroom in the mornings, Alex's room was three steps away. If he was up and watching cartoons, that was six steps away. If we wanted a glass of water from the kitchen, 15 steps. You get my point.

So, mornings in the new house have just taken some getting used to.

I'm not sure if it was the transition from crib to big boy bed, but this kid is NOT a morning person. (See also: gets it from his Momma.) Anyway, the new part of our morning routine (after 17 songs, turning on all the lights, opening his shades and finally just pulling him out of bed) is that he gets dressed and comes back into our bed to sleep some more.

I'd by lying if I said I wasn't tempted to join him.

For example, I give to you Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning of this week, in pictures:

I get it, kid. I toooooooootally get it.