Or, you know, sleeping vibes. Because he managed to tear the thing that’s supposed to prevent the toddler’s from opening the door knobs off of the knob.
What a long, strange week it’s been for us.
Pretty much all I want to do right now is sleep. It’s 9 PM, and I’m all, “GIVE ME MY BED!”
You saw the adorable photo I posted on Tuesday of Butter helping LB up the stairs, right? I got video.
This week has also been an explosion of LB’s vocabulary. Tonight, he was building with block on our coffee table, and he looked at M, and said, “Help!” After M finished, LB told him, “Tank ouu!”
It’s also been a crazy week as far as potty training goes. Oh yes, LB asked to go sit on the potty.Kind of. He’s to the point where he will tap on his diaper when he needs changed and tell us he pooped. 99% of the time, the kid is right. Friday morning, he said that to me. When I checked him, he hadn’t gone, so I asked him if he wanted to sit on the potty. Heran to our powder room.
This is where the blackmail photos are going to come in for when he’s older: he decided he had to be completely naked to sit on the potty. That was fine with me. We sat in there for probably five minutes, and when it became apparent he wasn’t going to go [remember, this was a test run. I had absolutely no expectations.] I took him out and got him dressed. Not three minutes later, he stood at the fridge playing with his magnets and pooped.
That’s all I have for this week. Hope the memories made you smile.
My family was having a nice dinner earlier this week. LB was in his high chair getting noodles in his belly and sauce everywhere else. Butter had complimented me on that night’s dinner I had prepared. This had me in a great mood because three of the last four meals were deemed “yucky.” Trinity and I were eating and conversing when suddenly a thought popped into her head.
“Oh yeah, I have to watch The Amazing Race, an old friend is on it this time.”
“Anyone I know?” I asked.
“Jaymes, the singer.” She stared perplexed at me, knowing full well I have forgotten more than I remember about her past before we met.
I thought for a second and asked, “The guy who performed in Vegas, right?”
“That’s him,” she smiled, “He’s on a team of Chippendale dancers. That’s what he does now.”
A little insight on how my brain works. When someone says something to me, I think of a joke. I can’t help it. Humor has always been my only way to show off – not that I’m all that good at it – but that I’ve always been impressed by funny people, and hope to impress others with my own wit. In high school my humor was a distraction to teachers because of bad timing. It was annoying to fellow students, mostly because I told groaners & eye-rollers. They were “Dad jokes,” and not funny coming out of the mouth of an awkward teenager. In recent years I have become a father, and finally grown into my own sense of humor. Earlier this year a co-worker told me I must be a great father because I was awesome at “dad jokes.” It made me grin.
Now, back to the story.
“He’s on a team of Chippendale dancers. That’s what he does now.”
(My brain: “Chippendale” = antique furniture or cartoon chipmunks, let’s go with the chipmunks.)
“Chippendale, huh? Which one is he?”
“THE ONE WITH THE RED NOSE!” shouted Butter.
Chippendale off the ol’ block.