Today I got a taste of the terrible twos.
Our day ended with an epic battle between mother and son over the Easter eggs that he had strewn all over my parents’ kitchen. I got him to pick up all but three. Those last three eggs were still sitting on the floor next to the basket that they belong in when we left this afternoon. Our drive home was a time-out. He got another when we got home (as promised).
I read somewhere recently that kids this age are just jerks a lot of the time. I’m lucky in that my child isn’t a jerk most of the time. Apparently though, when he cares to make his jerk move (such as looking me in the face as I ask him to pick up the eggs for the eight-thousand and first time and saying “No” clearly and with purpose) he sticks to his guns. I spent about 40 minutes of the last part of our day at my parents’ house putting him in time-out for two minutes, pulling him out and giving him a chance to put the eggs away, having him refuse, and then putting him straight back into time-out.
There was yelling (mine). There was rude defiance (his). There were tears (also his).
In the end no one really won. All I can hope is that somewhere deep in his synapses he got the message that although he may have the capability to be a stubborn little jerk, he comes by it naturally and I can hang in there with the best of what he’s got to offer.
The other option is that I just leave him in the pack-and-play in Sarah’s bedroom with the lights out until he turns eighteen. One more good day of this and that may be the option that wins out.
This morning we headed over to Haygood and met up with the Moores so that Liam could participate in his first Easter Egg Hunt. I had to head out for a haircut so I missed Liam’s encounter with the Easter Bunny, but I got there just in time to see the egg hunt commence. Liam caught on pretty fast (although he was very happy with the stickers in his eggs, whereas Walker was smart enough to learn that if they didn’t make any noise when he shook them they didn’t contain any candy). We even swung by the airplane park on the way home. It was a good morning. Here are some pictures.
I wasn’t there for the Easter Bunny part of the morning, but Matt said that Liam was very excited about meeting him until it was his turn…
“So you’re the Easter Bunny, huh…?”
“Ummm, Dad? I’m not so sure about this…”
“This is as good as you’re gonna get, Dad.”
Walker and Olivia had their turn:
Liam apparently spent most of the time before I got there running around the gym like a wild man:
Walker joined in:
Let the hunting begin:
Heading to the airplane park:
It was quite windy in the bleachers today:
“Oh! My ears!”
Here’s hoping that the rest of the weekend is this beautiful!
I understand that legally you are allowed to call us at our home (although we are on every possible do-not-call registry) because we have an account with you. What I want for you to understand is that I can rectify that situation very quickly.
When you call repeatedly (and with rude people on the other end of the phone) after I’ve told you to stop doing so, you aren’t helping your case. When every time you call you only ask for my husband (although the only account we have with you is a joint account, which in case you weren’t aware means that I also have access to this account and I AM CAPABLE OF MAKING DECISIONS ON BEHALF OF THIS ACCOUNT BECAUSE IT’S EVERY BIT AS MUCH MY MONEY AS IT IS MY HUSBAND’S) and when I identify myself you say you’ll call him back another time, you aren’t helping your case. When you try calling back to the house FOUR DIFFERENT TIMES IN ONE DAY and each time I tell you that my husband isn’t available, then ask if I can help you only to have you nearly hang up on me (before I slip in yet another request for you to STOP CALLING MY HOUSE), you aren’t helping your case. When every time you call (at last count this was 7 times in the past 2 days) you do so between normal business hours when it’s clear that MATTHEW CONNOLLY IS AT WORK, you just look like morons (oh, and you’re not helping your case).
Up to this point I have been very polite. This is your notice that the politeness is not going to continue. I am over it, I am over you. What you ought to do is to pray that the next time you call this house you get my husband, because he’s much nicer than I am. If you’re not that lucky I make no guarantees.
Shannon W. Connolly
Liam: [Belches loudly and with purpose.]
Shannon: Bless you!
Anyone who says pregnancy brain isn’t real clearly has never been pregnant.
To celebrate the gorgeousness that was today, Liam and I met up with Jessica and Walker at the Gardens. I spent most of the time leisurely walking around with the decaf coffee I treated myself to this morning, but I snuck in a few pictures here and there. Here they are:
Walker takes advantage of the world’s slowest slide and rests on the way down:
Checking out Peter Rabbit’s Den:
A little stir crazy in Mister MacGregor’s watering can:
At some point Liam decided it was time for hide and seek and commenced counting:
Walker joined in, but grew bored very quickly and moved back to playing with the sand:
Chillin’ with Mr. Chicken:
Riding Mr. Chicken:
Riding Mr. Cow:
Checking out the waterfall:
Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and it was a great way to spend a morning!
Now I’m no “designer” but being in my second pregnancy has given me some insight into your profession that I hope you don’t mind me sharing.
First off, wanting to have a low-cut front (so as not to pinch anything important, like the fetus) does not mean that that same person wants a thong (really? seriously?) or a backside that’s cut so tiny that you might as well have made it a thong, because it has the same effect.
Secondly, although it is true that many pregnant women (including myself) do not enjoy being bound or pinched, this does not mean that making a pair of underwear without any elastic around the legs is the solution to that particular problem. The only thing elastic-less legholes accomplish is another thong re-creation (which takes us back to my earlier point).
Lastly, those tents that you used to declare the only acceptable maternity undergarment? Remember those? With enough fabric to clothe a small village? There are still a few available options in this vintage style and they create the dreaded panty line straight across the gut, which is possibly less flattering than the usual location of a panty line (a problem for which the thong was originally invented, which brings us full-circle).
I know I am not unique in this area. I am not the only pregnant woman who walks around all day long doing unladylike things in public in a vain attempt to rectify the uncomfortable situation. So on behalf of all pregnant women, both present and future, I’d like to ask you to go back to the drawing board. Otherwise a boycott’s coming and nobody wants that, least of all me.
Today we headed to Decatur for Touch-A-Truck Day. Liam really enjoyed himself until the other children found the horns. And the sirens. And began engaging in an unspoken contest to see who could make the most obnoxious noise. At this point we headed over to the park. Liam had a ball and I’ve got my fingers crossed that it results in a great nap.
We arrived early (I know, we were shocked, too…) so we decided to walk around the Square for a bit. Liam loved the giant lights in front of the courthouse:
And the gazebo:
And the ramp on the gazebo:
And the ceiling of the gazebo:
“Look, Mama! A square and some rectangles!”
A boy and his Pop:
A boy and his Grammie:
“I see you, Mama!”
Bring on the trucks!
Getting up into the cab:
“Look at all the buttons!”
Aftermath of the first siren (he was carried for most of the remaining time we spent with the trucks):
Testing out the stairs on the fire truck:
Whozits and whatzits, and whirlygigs, oh my!
Brief siren respite:
Garbage truck (that face Liam’s making is totally warranted, by the way):
Riding the garbage truck with Dad:
Ahhh, a swing:
Just what the doctor ordered:
Spinning with Dad:
The steep slide:
It was a great morning and now it’s time for a long nap for everyone.
At the tender age of two, Liam has learned to stall at bedtime by asking for water and trains. I think this means he’s advanced. Or sneaky. Whichever…
I’m crying while watching The Biggest Loser.
[Scene: I’m in bed still trying to will myself the energy to face the day and Liam’s sitting on the floor next to the bed playing with the back massager that I’d already told him to put down. I was getting ready to take action when I heard the following…]
Liam: Hmmm. Let’s see. How does dis work? I don’t know, let’s find out! Oh, crackers! I can’t figure it out. I think it’s broken. It doesn’t work. Practice and practice? Press dis button? Keep trying? Oh well, it’s broken.
Once an engineer, always an engineer (albeit with an unfortunate ‘giving up’ issue, but he can work on that…hopefully).