Another one bites the dust...

Or could also be titled:  I thought we were over this Max!

He proposed!!!

Today, while I was frantically rushing to get us to Stake Conference on time, Max decided it was finally time to make his intentions known.  He knelt down on one knee, grabbed my hand and said, "Mamma will you marry me?"  I quickly accepted, kissed him and helped him pull on his underwear.  One of my favorite proposals. ever.

Toilets: The common denominator

Toilet #1--Inappropriate use
Does anyone else's Husband sing songs about B.M. in the toilet?  Just wondering.  Anyway, on a totally different point.  I consider myself a fairly nice, non-judgemental person--with the notable exception of the lady today in the gym bathroom doing inappropriate stretching.  I did judge her. (Who stretches in the bathroom?  We are at the GYM for goodness sakes.  They have mats and stuff for that.  Also, if you can't do it on a  public mat, you shouldn't do it in the public bathroom.)  Seriously though, I try hard not to judge people and make snap decisions about them.  I like to give them a chance.


Toilet#2--Feeling like one
The two people who read my blog, might remember a post I made a few posts back about a woman, her boobs and her brand-spanking new intimate hardware, ahem.  I would include a link to the afore mentioned post but I am to embarrassed and also very lazy.  Yesterday, while Max was improving his speech, I was reminded of what a shit I can be.  I had a nice conversation with the lady, let's call her Madame M.  Anyway, Madame M is lonely, has learning disabilities and was crying about how bad she feels that her son can't speak.  And the cherry on top, (TA DA) this lonely woman is my NEIGHBOR.  I really wanted to crawl under my chair and hide.  I felt like I was back in High School with zits and toilet paper attached to my shoe.  In my thirty-odd years, I still haven't learned anything.  I invited her to book club and I will no longer hide behind a book during Max's speech therapy.


Toilet#3- Breaking
A couple days ago, I was bragging to my cute SIL about how Max takes himself to the bathroom.  Well, this is what can happen when you leave your 3 year-old alone in the bathroom:  

(Let's not even talk about the aiming issues!)








Toilet #4--Missing 

My heart is literally breaking for this sweet kid.   Jackson is reading a book to Max in this picture.  He is also having his own potty issues of which he is so embarrassed he can't look me in the face to tell me about them.  In fact, he stands behind me so I can't see him.  It is starting to affect him at school and he is feeling ostracized by his classmates and friends.  He cried.  I don't know what to do.  I am trying to help him solve the problem but it is tough.  It hurts me.  It really, really does.





And to echo my Husband's favorite potty song: "BM in the TOILET!!"

I don't hit.

Max says, "Type my name!"  I oblige.  Max also says, "I not happy (if) you eat me."  I don't eat him.  Max says looking at the computer screen, "Two my name, you want you name Mom?"  I do.

Yesterday:

Max: People like me.  I don't hit (pronounced: heeeeet.  Like a Latino. In fact, I often wonder if he would have any speech issues if we lived in Mexico, spoke Spanish and drizzled Dulce de leche on everything we ate. Yum.)

He proceeded to prove how much everyone "liked" him by waving at every alpha-male with facial hair, bulging muscles and a skeleton tattoo in our vicinity.  Okay, they weren't all skulls and crossbones.  These men were scary though.   I certainly wanted to remain anonymous and had they looked at me the wrong way, I would have tossed my purse in their direction and ran.   But I think he may be right.  Do you know that everyone of those hard-looking men smiled sweetly and waved back?   Amazing.


I like my conversations with Max.  Sometimes they are the best ones I have all day.

And, no, I don't wash his face or comb his hair. What would be the point?

Do you ever have those days...

when good people, doing good things, annoy the ever-living crap out of you?  And friendly people make you want to run for cover?  Or when you are just plain ornery and anyone with half a brain and some talent make you feel grumpy?  


Just wondering.  Not that I feel that way...

A post about Max

"Mom,  I wanna bog about ME." (While watching my write the previous post about Kate.)

E:  Okay.  What's your favorite food?
M: Haw Dog
E: What else do you want me to write about you?
M: Um....Poopy. (Big grin and runs off.)


And that's the end of the post about Max.

Dear Kate,

You climbed in bed with me last night--a bad dream.  You said the book you were reading, A Wrinkle in Time, "freaked" you out.  I reached out and pulled you in bed.  I held you close and listened to your breathing as you fell asleep.  It's been awhile.  I remembered when you were first born and we would sleep together.  You would lay curled up on my chest.  You fit neatly between my chest and my belly button.  I liked to have you there. Your Dad would wake up and tease me because you were never in the bassinet that I insisted was essential.  I would watch your chest rise and fall, rise and fall.  I would marvel at your tiny legs tucked so neatly underneath you.  I would gently run my index finger down the length of your back and stroke your head, your ear, your cheek. I would stare at your sweet face and wonder who you would be come.  Sometimes I would cry--loving you so much hurt.  I felt so vulnerable.  I realized I would do anything--and more than I thought I was capable of-- for you.     I wondered...would you ever twirl around for me in a pink tutu?  Would that fuzz on your head grow long?  Would you be stubborn?  Would we giggle over a chocolate chip cookie one wintry afternoon?  I would imagine us together--older.  But I could never really see.  It was beyond the scope of possibility in those quiet moments that you would grow or change.
You made me--reinvented me--a newly minted mother.  Last night, you could not fit on my chest.  I put my arm around you and held you close.  You needed me.  I layed awake and marveled at the beauty of you--arms, legs, ears, fingers, dirty nails--inhaling your "stink" as you would call it.   I find I am astonished at how much I love you.  It still hurts.