Life, death and woodchucks.

Lately, Alex has been VERY into questions and learning all about everything. It sounds super weird and morbid, but his latest fascination is death. Not particularly HOW people die (i.e. I'm not talking to my 5 year old about murder and guns and blood and gore), but what happens after you die "because you're old" ..and what it means to go to Heaven and to have your body die and be buried here on earth, but your spirit and soul in Heaven with Jesus. We covered a lot of that last week, talking specifically about his GG (which he can relate to and where most of the questions stem from because he knew his GG before he died--of old age--and understands his death and that GG is in Heaven but his body is buried on Earth in a cemetery).

Last night on the way home from daycare, he was very quiet. This is unusual, so I asked him, "Whatcha thinking about, bud?"

Right away, he responds with, "If GG's body is in the ground, but his Spirit is in Heaven with Jesus, how did it get there? How did they separate?"

Oh boy.

I know. He's five. FIVE. Being his Mom is hard sometimes because he thinks everything through. Thoroughly. Most kids would have been totally satisfied with the standard "body goes in the ground and spirit goes to Heaven" answer, but he has to know HOW that happens.

We spent the next few miles talking about that--him asking more questions and me giving the most honest, sensible answers that I could for his mind to grasp. I'm into reality as a parenting style. Judge away. He seemed completely satisfied with my answers, so I asked him one last time, "Bud, do you have any more questions for Mommy? I'll answer anything you want."

Giggling from the backseat, he asks...

"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

And that, my friends, is how we do in the VeeDub household. Deep, meaningful conversations about the afterlife straight into silly, unanswerable tongue twisters.

But if you were curious, the answer is: about 700 pounds on a good day, with the wind at his back.

On the expression of emotions.

As I've mentioned before, 5 has been quite the ride. Alex is so much fun at this age--like an adult in mini-sized packaging. I can't tell you how many times I have those "don'tlaughdon'tlaughdon'tlaugh" Mom moments when he retorts something back at me that's SO funny, but as a parent it's just something I can't set the precedent of laughing at.

He's also been REALLY into writing lately, which I love. As you might recall, we put a whiteboard in his new bedroom and he loves to doodle on it and leave everyone notes and "signs." At least once a day he'll peer over the railing of the steps and holler down to Joe or me, "How do you spell ______?" I love his love of learning and expression and hope it continues!

A few Sundays ago, he was NOT into taking his nap, but we still made him have quiet time and rest in his room. He wanted us to know he was NOT happy about it, and left us this:

It made my day. Not because he was upset or sad, but because he was able to express himself and his emotions so clearly.

Later that day, he told me he was feeling happy again and asked me to come into his room for a surprise.

Oh how my heart soared. He didn't even ask me how to spell any of the words. I'm so, so, so proud of my boy. And it was mutual--he just beamed with pride when he opened the door to his room and said "See Mom? I wrote that I love you and Dad because I'm not sad anymore." And the teeth on the face? I can't.

Kindness is King.

What kind of world do we live in that kindness is no longer considered the "norm"? Let me tell you a little story...

I was in Costco the other afternoon (maternity leave leads to a VERY glamorous life, I tell you). The lines were a little cray since it was just a few days after the recent Snowmaggedon here in the Midwest. Anyway, Harper and I were about 6th or 7th in a long line of people with full carts.

I noticed the man in front of me didn't have a cart or anything in his hands to purchase. Instead, he was on his cell phone frantically trying to reach someone. I assumed it was whoever had his cart elsewhere in the store filled with bulk wine, toilet paper and frozen pizzas and he was just simply holding their place in line. As he got closer to the cashier, his calls got more frantic to urge whoever was on the other end of the line to get to checkout ASAP.

Sure enough, just as it's his turn to hit the conveyor belt, his other half strolls up with a cart full. No biggie, right? They put their stuff on the belt, pay, and then it's my turn.

As I started to put my items on the belt, another woman came up to me and grabbed my arm to get my attention. I'm rather used to this when I have Harper with me--people stop me in the most random of places to tell me how beautiful she is, or to comment on her big eyes and mound of hair. But not this lady. She had other intentions.

She stopped whatever she was doing and came to tell me that she was SO surprised and proud of how I reacted to what had just transpired. She said that she would have read that man the riot act and told him to get to the back of the line. "You handled that so well, with such grace--and with a BABY in tow!" she said to me.

I thanked her because her words were genuinely kind and her intentions were true. But really? Really?!? What kind of world do we live in that having patience and treating others with kindness is considered NOT the norm? That when you witness something that seems so normal and so mundane that you go out of your way to compliment someone on it because it's NOT what you expected to witness? I was in a line, waiting my turn...just as others were. I had my child with me because I CHOSE to bring her to the store with me. It was just regular, normal life at a busy store.

Don't get me wrong, I was appreciative of the lady's comments and I do love that there are people in this world who go out of their way to lift up and compliment others. But I didn't do anything special. I did something that everyone else should have done...something that didn't deserve kudos or compliments. But my every day patience was viewed by others as being different or special. Have you ever experienced that?

I struggle with what happened not because it was bad or wrong, but because I want to be certain that in all things I am setting a good and right example for my children. And beyond them, that I am living my OWN life in a way that is calm and true to myself. Imagine if Harper had been old enough to understand the situation and I had acted the way in which that lady "thought" I should have reacted. What kind of example is that? What kind of world is that?

I'm not super sure where I was going with this post, other than it was something I wanted to share to encourage others to practice every day patience and kindness. Slow down. Be kind to others. Say "please" and "thank you" - - because, after all, you never know who you might inspire and you never know what sort of battles those around you are fighting. Be blessed!

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

It's birthday bootcamp, bitches!

For day 1, I got a massage that never happened, the current issue of People magazine, and this card:

Joey thinks he's reeeaaaaaaaaaallly funny.

Oh, and regarding the massage...it will happen later this week; do not fret my pets. They are in the process of moving locations so all the appointment times got jacked up.

In unrelated news, this weekend Joey and I discovered something wonderful in the world of parenting that I can only assume all of you have known about all along and have simply been hiding it from me: INDOOR BOUNCE HOUSES. Um, hi. These places are remarkable. On Saturday when it was cold as balls and we were desperate to get Alex out of the house, I started searching online for something indoors that didn't include a pool, a McDonalds playplace or a Mall playland. Because swimsuits, SARS and righteous parents are not my jam.

It was the best $8 we've ever spent. We discovered a Bounce U location just a mere 5 miles from our house (but there are tons of different ones out there) and Alex adored it and was sweaty as a fat guy in a sauna after a mere 60 minutes of play. And better? Every other Friday night they have a "Parents' Night Out" where you can drop your kid off (and leave!) from 6-9 pm for $20. TWENTY DOLL HAIRS. That's nearly free and now I'm obsessed with owning an indoor bounce house place. Standby while I start Googling "how to own something" and also ask Joey how to purchase business-related injury insurance.

How we're different.

When it comes to raising Alex, I'm definitely the dreamer and Joey is the realist. Which, in fact, is a nice little balance because that means Alex will grow up to be a logical person who has the vision to see the other side of the rainbow.

For instance, Alex sees a water tower and instantly calls it a balloon. He and I play imaginary about all the things we could see from up in the balloon, and when we're done with that, Joey tells him that's it's actually called a water tower and explains how it works.

Or this morning, when Alex found Joe's old watch in a box and thought he discovered the world's greatest treasure. He went on and on with me about how he found a "new watch" and how he is such a great finder of things, and I told him he could be a pirate on a ship collecting treasures. When he went downstairs to tell Joey about his "new watch treasure," Joey explained that it was actually his watch, but he was sure glad Alex helped him find it.

I think it's important to have balance as parents. If Alex had two of me, he'd grow up to be a space cadet with a degree in underwater basket weaving and spend his life chasing unicorns. And if he had two Joeys, he'd probably end up with lots of wedgies and wearing a pocket protector. But since he's got both of us, he can still chase unicorns and dream big, but will always be the smartest pocket protector-wearing person in the room.

Life lessons.

Alex has recently been asking for a new game. Specifically, a very, very quiet and calming game called Hungry Hungry Hippos. I can only assume it's from the same toy designer who invented the ball popping "vacuum" cleaner. I hate that person.

Anyway, I thought about letting someone get it for his birthday (can't even talk about the f-o-u-r) and then we opted instead to use it as a little life lesson. We told him he had to earn his new game by doing special chores and helping around the house...which, to my surprise, he was SUPER excited about.

So after a weekend of cleaning up toys, helping with dishes and being a VERY good listener, off we went to the toy store. As luck would have it, there were two left on the shelf (and it was on sale!). My sweet boy asked if we could also buy one for Aunt Jane, since hers was "just a little bit broken." Of course we agreed and he was able to use his special weekend of helping to also bring a new toy to his friends at daycare. Two life lessons, one stone, & one happy Momma.

I think I'm getting the hang of this parenting thing!

Gymnastics as a metaphor for growing up.

I firmly believe that in order to be a decent human being, you must experience life. Like, truly and deeply live your life bravely, boldly and confidently.

Alex is bold, but he's not very brave. For example, when other kids are playing "throw the ball in the pool" at Aunt Jane's house, Alex is prancing around a tree, flailing his arms and singing "I'm running arounnnnnd the treeeeeee, Mooooommmmmm." (<--Which I LOVE and adore and will encourage him to continue to march to the beat of his own drum. So step off the judgment train, mmkay?) And we're learning confidence. Like when we're at the park and he has trepidation about going down a big slide...but then he musters the courage and does it and we cheer him on like he's won gold in London. #thoseparents

Because that's what parents do. It's what parenting is. You encourage your kids, whether they fail or succeed. And if they fail, you dust them off for another go 'round when what you REALLY want to do is lock them in a bubble for the next 10 years. Until other kids aren't mean anymore. Until germs don't exist. Until life is always easy. Until no one breaks their heart. Unfortunately, that world doesn't exist.

So instead of the bubble, I'm choosing to do the next best thing: Let him do everything in this world that he wants to do. Except diving. He can't be a diver. All I see is smashed faces into diving boards. No diving. I want him to try new things and experience things that are outside his comfort zone.

At 60 that might mean a trip around the world. At 50 that might mean white water rafting for the first time (Hi, Dad). At 40 it might mean a red corvette. At 30 it might mean becoming a Dad or getting a new job. At 20 it might mean falling in love for the first time. At 10 it might mean mastering a new Lego creation.

And at 3, it means gymnastics. Learning to take instructions from someone other than Aunt Jane and Mom. Learning to make new friends in a strange environment. Learning how your little body can do new and scary things. Essentially, learning to be brave, bold and confident.

Joe and I sat in the parents' viewing loft last week during his very first class amazed at how he's grown. Amazed at how this thing we created embraced a new challenge. He listened so well, paying painful attention to what his teacher asked him to do. He tried so hard, wanting to be good at everything and to earn the praise of his teacher. And not once did he look up to the balcony for reassurance from Mom and Dad. He was strong, confident, brave and ADORABLE.

I'm not entirely sure how I'll be brave enough to let him go for the many, many milestones we have ahead of us. But I know that I will continue to try to be the best Mom I know how to be to help him achieve any of the milestones that he wants to achieve in life. But for now, galloping around a tree in Jane's backyard is all the milestone I need...but this once a week gymnastics business is a step in the right direction.

And for your viewing pleasure... (I recommend making the first one full screen, as it's too cute to not be life sized.)

Why being a Mom is awesome.

If I wrote a list, it would probably be eleventy trillion items long, so I will share today's awesomesauce in pictorial form.

Please note that this photo doesn't include the 4 Cars that will be in his
Easter Basket or the entire mini collection I just scored on ebay for $2.

The fact that I can name EACH of these Cars characters (from movies 1&2, thankyouverymuch) without so much as skipping a beat is both something I never thought I would say, and something I am also so proud to say. Alex loves him some Cars characters--and we've had so much fun scouring every store in every city we've been in over the last 2 months to find new ones. I've spent more hours than I care to admit on ebay, looking for the gems that you can't find in stores anymore.

But the time I cherish most is the 30 minutes (or more) every night that we spend playing Cars. We drive them around in circles around the house and take them on adventures in the backyard. They are frequent guests at dinnertime, and 2 of them get selected every night to get tucked into bed with him. They're part of our family, in a weird little way.

It's kind of stupid how much I love these little Cars. And if I'm honest with myself, it's not the actual Cars I love. It's the adventures we take them on and the time we spend together hunting for them. It's the memories we're creating. I know all too soon, the Cars will be collecting dust in a box in the closet and there will be a REAL car in the driveway he likes better. 

That got depressing quickly, didn't it?

Anyway, I forget what my original point was...because in my head this was a really funny post about how I can name every Cars character in my sleep. Yesyesyes. That was it. And that, my friends, is why being a Mom is awesome.

And then I laughed so hard I peed.

As we do every night, Joe and I peeked into Alex's room last night before we went to bed. Usually we see him snuggled into the tiniest ball in the corner of his crib (he sleeps like his Momma). We remove the 3,214,327,832,890,432,890,432 Cars 2 characters that he must have with him every night, give him extra smooches, turn on his humidifier and crawl into bed ourselves.

But last night was something special. Last night, we saw this:

I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants. Where did his jammies go? To be clear, I know that some kids are super fans of being naked and/or taking off their clothes. Alex has never done this, and actually likes to layer his clothes and would wear footie pajamas with socks and a tee shirt over them if he had his druthers.

I wiped away the tears streaming from my face and doubled over on the floor trying to stifle my laughter to keep from waking my sweet, naked boy. After we calmed down and took a picture (parents of the year!) we got him dressed and went to bed.

This morning, I asked the little pipsqueak why he took off his jammies in the first place. He simply responded, "Mom, I just didn't wanna wear 'em anymore."

And that's that.

Hump Day.

Blah. I find that even Starbuckies is unmotivating today. If it helps, I typed "globber dot com" in the address bar about ten seconds ago...so just trying to get into globber blogger to type this post has been a trainwreck. Happy Hump Day, indeed. Pffft.

And to be fair, I don't really have all that much to talk about. We did experience a "first" this morning -- when asked to brush his teeth (a task typically completed with shining success due in part to the help of Thomas the Toothbrush Train), Sassypants Alex put both hands on his lips and boldly proclaimed, "NO. I will NOT brush my teeth, Mommy!"

It probably didn't help matters that I busted out in laughter instead of remaining calm, cool and collected. Parenting fail.

The good news is his teeth are brushed and we all survived. Perhaps the terrible twos are just a little late knocking on our door.

I could be writing to you from jail.

Because last night, I almost killed someone. For real.

Allow me to set the stage...

The VeeDubs were shopping at our local Meijer store, filling our carts with various items needed for the week ahead. We had just entered the laundry soap aisle and Alex was squealing with delight because we had just given him a Dum Dum sucker to occupy his time and energy.

A spinster in her late 30s rounded the corner and due to a large structure pole of the building and the exact placement of our cart ('buggy' for my East Coast readers) she couldn't get down the aisle.

Joe moved our cart, and just as she passed us Alex squealed again - a cheerful (and loud, I will admit) cry of delight because HE was special enough to get strawberry sugar on a stick from his Momma.

The woman (henceforth referred to as GB=giant bitch) rolled her eyes so far back into her head and threw her hands in the air while audibly scowling with disgust, "I am SO glad I don't have kids."

Oh, GB. You now have Momma Bear's full attention. GAME ON.

My quick-as-a-mousetrap husband beat me to the punch and retorted, "Well, that's probably a good thing because it sounds like you wouldn't be very good at it."

She scooted past us as I responded to Joey (loud enough so she could hear), "Well, she is a delightfully cherry old maid, isn't she?"

After about an 8 second pregnant pause, GB offered another nugget of brilliance, "It looks like you two aren't very good at it either."

I SWEAR TO CHEEZ-ITS, if Joey had not literally pysically restrained me by my arm at that moment, I would have lunged at her jugular and knocked her out cold with a value size bottle of Tide.

I have never, ever, ever been so livid in all my days. How DARE she judge me or my husband and our parenting skills? Alex was not bothering anyone. He was not hitting, punching, cursing, screaming with anger or even running around wildly. He was sitting like a superstar in the front of the cart, nomming on a sucker with the excitement of a two year old little boy. And it's not like we were in the friggin' library. It was a motherflipping supermarket--full of energy, noises, people & families. If you want a sound-proof and uninterrupted shopping experience, get on Alice.com or hire it done. Or wear your headphones like my weird normal sister used to do. Whatever works. But don't get your panties in a bunch when my child is being all kinds of adorable and fun and not disturbing ANYONE but himself.

Even as I type this, my blood pressure is rising...

GB should count her lucky stars we didn't run into her again. I would have either kicked her in the face after I went to the shoe department and put on some spiky cleats or kindly asked her to have a hysterectomy and go home to her cats to live the rest of her days in misery. Or maybe both. I just can't be sure.

C. All of the above.

As you may recall from this post, Alex is pretty spectacular when it comes to answering questions and getting the answer right.

So last night when Joe and I were struggling with a restaurant selection for dinner, we naturally turned to our brilliant son to narrow our two finalists down to one.

"Alex, do you want Five Guys or Logan's?"

"Logan's."

Another test, just to be sure.

"Alex, do you want Logan's or Five Guys?"

"Five Guys."

Hmmph.

"Alex, do you want steak or hamburgers?"

"Hamburgers."

"Alex, do you want hamburgers or steak?"

"Steak."

'Twould appear that our little smartiebucket was just selecting the second option we gave him. So Joe tried another test...

"Alex, who do you love more, Daddy or Mommy?"

"Mommy."

"Alex, who do you love more, Mommy or Daddy?"

"Mommy."

BOO YEAH.

_______________________

And because smart kids wear suspenders, here's an extra helping of cute for you today.

Poop pit crew.

So last night before we went to bed, Joe did the uge and checked on Alex to make sure he was all snuggly warm and comfy in his crib. He started to cough as he walked out of the room, indicating a smell of a certain odor.

It appeared that the little man had pooed in his jammies, which, in hindsight, has never actually happened. I thought he was incapable of pooping in his sleep...now I know this to be untrue.

Not wanting to be horrible parents, we stood there dumbfounded/paralyzed for a minute or two debating what to do. Wake him and use the changing table? Attempt to change him in the crib? Spray some Febreze and hope for the best?

Opting for #2, we dropped the crib rail and went to town. In one, smooth motion lasting 30 seconds or less, I unzipped his jammies, Joe lifted his legs and wiped away the goodness as I swooped the new diaper under his tooshie and packaged him back into a bundle of jammie warmth. All while he snoozed and didn't move a muscle.

And somewhere off in the distance, I heard the crowd cheering, "the Van Wormers win the pole position!!!"

This isn't to say this was my proudest parenting moment, but it's close.

Slip 'N Slide.

Yesterday as I was preparing a delicious and healthy meal for my spawn (read: mac 'n cheese & blueberries), he was cheerfully roaming around the house pushing his "lawnmower" (aka the most annoying ball-popper, ever). Anyway, at some point when I moved from the kitchen to the dining room, the mower got quiet and he began singing and squealing to himself in the kitchen. I remember thinking to myself at that moment how adorable he is...

As I came around the corner, oh what to my wondering eyes did I see? Said spawn, sitting and sloshing around in a POOL of olive oil. Like, a Costco bottle of olive oil. On my kitchen floor.

I had no words at that moment. I believe what I stammered to Joe was, "Oil. Floor. Towel. Help!" and he came scurrying around the corner to help.

In hindsight, it's actually quite hilarious that the monster was able to open the cupboard (the only one in the kitchen without a child lock), lift the bottle from the shelf to the floor and unscrew the lid.

The upside to all this? I won't need to put baby lotion on him for at least a week.

Trick Or Treat!

October is just around the corner. Seriously, how did that happen? Anyway, I should probably just come out right now and admit that I'm not all that big into Halloween. Costumes creep me out and I find nothing entertaining about adolescent girls finding any lamesauce excuse to skank out a simple cat costume. Or a nurse. Or a referee. Or a clown. Yes, a clown. I've seen it.

But I digress...and realize that my attitude about Halloween has to change now that I have spawn. Since Alex is still too young to pick out a costume for himself, I've been racking my brain for the last few weeks to find something suitable/hilarious/fun/adorable. I've once again exceeded my own expectations.

Alex loves, loves, loves, loves 'Mickey Mouse Clubhouse' on the Disney Channel. He's now even to the point where he'll start the 'Hot Dog Dance' if he hears the tune playing in the other room. It's ah-DOOR-able. I, on the other hand, am not a huge Disney person. In fact, there's probably not one piece of Disney paraphernalia in our entire home.

Oh...but the things you do for your kids...

Yeah. I found that little gem on Craigslist for a mere $15. It's a Disney brand costume in perfect condition. He adores himself in it. I find it to be absolutely hysterical. Win, win.

There is nothing (and I mean nothing) funnier than a baby in a costume.

Oh, and as for Joe and me? We'll be unapologetically sporting these come the eve of October 31.

Things I Was Totally Unprepared For.

I think it's safe to say that parenthood by definition involves being totally unprepared for what any given day might bring you. One day, your kid is just lying on the floor like a bump on a log, and the next he's rolling over and goo-goo-gah-gah-ing at his bff the WIPpo. We're clearly well past the rolling milestone around these parts, but it seems as if Alex is learning something new every time I turn around. One of these days he's going to start spouting off long division on the way home from daycare and I'll either a) crap my pants right then and there, or 2) drive into a small bush. Neither are suggested, obvi.

He can feed himself (and loves to!). He can crawl up the stairs (panic ensues!). He no longer needs formula (hello there, wallet that has money in it again!). Basically, he's changing faster than I can keep up. And while it's amazes me to watch him, I often look back on videos and pictures of those first few weeks and wonder where my baby went. Wipe the tear. Continue blogging.

As I said, he's been up to some serious mischief over the last few weeks. But I'll let him tell you all about that...

I can pull myself up on things, which

is very fun. Did you know picture frames

make a loud BOOM when they crash to the ground?

I do now, and so does Mommy.

I got my first big boy haircut!

I love all the fun toys at Aunt Jane's Daycare.

Beep! Beep! Comin' through!

(This was obviously taken before my handsome haircut.)

Daddy put in my big boy carseat on Saturday morning,

which explains why I'm testing it out in my jammie-jams.

I went schwimming in a BIG pool for the first time.

It was so much fun and I loved going underwater.

I like to wear handsome big boy clothes and eat licorice. Yum!

Charming, no? In other news, he had his 12 month checkup a few weeks ago. Still right on target in all areas. I credit the licorice for this, mostly.

12 Month Checkup - Weight: 21 lbs. 7 oz. (25-50%ile); Length: 30 in. (50-75%ile); Head: 46.8 cm. (50-75%ile)
9 Month Checkup - Weight: 19 lbs. 9 oz. (25-50th %ile); Length: 28.5 in. (50-75th %ile); Head: 46 cm. (50/75th %ile)