The Many Uses Of Legos + 1

How many uses can you come up with for Legos?
I have one more for you...

My sister spent minutes building a hollow tower out of Mega Block Legos.  She was so proud of her masterpiece.  When she left to get a Barbie to live in her tower, I took full advantage of the opportunity to utilize it for what I saw would be a better use...

Before anyone knew what was happening, I pulled down my pants & squeezed out what minimal pee I had left (as I had recently used the actual toilet to relieve myself).

Bet you didn't see that one coming...neither did my sister.

Train Thief

I Love Trains!  I am mesmerized by them.
Especially when they surround scale models of Detroit made out of Legos.

I happened across just such a train (and as an added bonus, a model of the highly useful "People Mover") today at Henry Ford Museum.  It had a feeble attempt at a security system with a three-sided gate and 80 year old security guards.

As I was following the train with my eyes, my body couldn't help but follow.  Being only thigh-high, I am able to maneuver through crowds much quicker than my Mom.  I followed that moving wonder all the way to the end of the gate.  It was then really no problem for me to squeeze my tiny body around the end of that movable gate and pick up the circling "people mover" from the tracks.
Almost simultaneously, my Mom picked me up, handed over the train, and offered her standard, "Sorry about that" to the disapproving looking Grandma-Guard.

They really should consider amping up security if they want to keep out two year old threats to Museum safety.

Booty Bump

I love making people laugh.  It's just who I am (as third-born, I didn't really have a choice).

I have come up with a hilarious new technique for making people laugh uncontrollably, while simultaneously embarrassing the crap out of my Mother.
It's the perfect scenario.

I have invented the "Booty-Bump" and it goes a little something like this:
I duck-waddle myself backwards into any unsuspecting victim, yell "BOOTY" & then pass gas on them.

The gas part is very stealth-like, so most don't know that's actually the purpose of the game (making it's execution that much funnier).  The waddle is just the diversion to get in backwards and have a more direct line of fire.

It is positively the funniest thing I do.  I actually fell over from laughter today because it's so comical.

So...if you see me shaking my tail feather in your direction, my Mom's advice to you is, "don't stick around to see what happens next".
My advice, "stand still and let the magic happen"!
My contagious laugh is worth the price you will pay.

GQ

Don't check your browsing history...you didn't accidentally leave the B-Blogs & navigate to GQ.

It's just me posing for my latest photo shoot with "1000 Words Photography".

That smart photo lady bribed me with the promise of one of my sweet, sweet addictions (Smarties) & I willingly conceded.

The smile & charm I get from my Daddy.

Not as easily photographed, the Chutzpah I get from my Mommy.

You don't speak Yiddish?  We don't either, but my Pappy looked it up & he says it reminds him of my Mom.

Whatever it is, I'm glad I've got it.

And so is my Mom...usually.

Flying Reindeer?

Just as unbelievable as envisioning a jolly-sized man squeezing down my chimney on Christmas Eve, today I met the beasts he claims to fly him around, pulling his sleigh through the air.
Fly? Right...These hairy creatures couldn't even stand when I went to visit them!

It makes me question, what other fabrications are my parents telling me?

Day 2 - The Ban Is Lifted

PIECE OF CAKE!  I even got a sticker for being so good.
I don't know what my Mom was so worried about; I know exactly what I am doing.

When I didn't want to be there, I just bit someone.
(PS~ Sorry if you were subject to being a pawn in my master plan)
After biting, they would (quickly) get my Mom...exactly what I wanted.

Now I look forward to a little time away from her.  She's always following me around and asking me what I am doing.
Give a boy some space!

My only complaint about my gym sanctuary is what tattle-tales they are.  They "report" every little thing, including my love of hand sanitizer.  Not the enjoyment I get from putting it on my hands, but of consuming it.
I guess my Mom can start planning my debut on A&E's Grammy winning series "Intervention".

Day 1 - The Ban Is Lifted

I'M BACK!  My temporary ban from the gym daycare has been lifted.  My Mom was able to leave me there for 60 whole minutes & I was an angel.
Now she can quit blaming me for those mysterious 10 lbs & take some accountability in her love of all things salty, crunchy & begin with the word "Lays".
Dear Mother, I lay claim to many of the wrongs you have encountered since my arrival into this world, but the junk in your trunk is all you sista'.

I'll let you know if I fall off the wagon tomorrow when she attempts a second day.
We shall see.

Christmas Steam Room

Wanting to show off my independence, I decided to take it upon myself to wash off the sticky residue left from candy cane I was FINALLY able to enjoy (thank you, Aunt Judy!)
I took myself to the bathroom, closed the door, locked it, and turned on the water.

Apparently 2 minutes is too long of a time to be out of my Mother's sight, so she came to find me.  When she heard the water running and discovered the door was locked, she calmly asked me to unlock & open the door.  Being unfamiliar with this new kind of lock (as we were at my Nanny & Pappy's house), it was much harder to unlock than it was to lock, especially with wet soapy hands.

Naturally, panic set in, and her voice started getting louder.  I know she means business when her volume gets turned up.
When she couldn't jiggle the handle hard enough to open the door (why do people do that, anyways?) she called upon my Dad.
Then the crowd stared to gather.
I'm at my best in a crowd, so naturally, I involved the entire family in my rescue.

If the question is "how many adults does it take to free a 2 year old from a bathroom?" I will tell you the answer is "5".

After approximately 10 minutes, the door was finally ajar, the steam had settled & I took full advantage of all of the comfort being offered up.
I even conjured up a tear or two for effect.

Evidently, the potential for flood, 2nd degree burns and a Nordic-style steam room is increased exponentially the longer the hot water faucet is turned to full-blast.
Note to self: when there are two knobs, use the hand you don't throw with to turn on the water.
Got it.

Just trying to give the extended family a little glimpse into the reality of the B-Blogs!
Merry Christmas!

Santa Is Watching

Just because things are hung high upon the Christmas tree, does not mean I can't see them.
I'm short, not blind.
All of those ornaments you call "fragile" are nestled well beyond my reach, creating a very top-heavy effect on our new indoor nature feature.  It's not the ornaments I care about...it's the red & white sticks of sweetness shaped like an upside down "J".

And that has become my new mission in life.

After many failed attempts to attain these candy sticks, I was forced to resort to drastic measures.
Needing to bypass the height issue, I drug the counter stool next to the tree and pushed it as close as possible.  After maneuvering past some pesky branches, my target was finally within reach.

It really was the perfect crime…if not for the cane-shape of the candy.

While attempting to remove the treat from the tree, it just wouldn’t come unhooked.
So I pulled.
When it still wouldn’t come off, I pulled some more.
That pesky little thing was attached in some way!
So I gave it a yank that would have removed the sword from the stone & some unforeseen circumstances put a wrench in my plan.

The Bad News: I fell off of the stool, hit my forehead on the floor, and the entire tree fell on top of me.
The Good News: I still had the candy cane in my hand.

Hearing the events at hand, my Mom quickly wiped, came to the scene of the crime & found the remnants of what was to be my greatest heist yet.

It didn’t take long to deduce what had transpired (she’s smart like that).
And after checking for any major contusions, placing the tree back to its upright position & cleaning up the shards of broken ornaments; guess what that woman did?

She took my treasure!

In a rage, I took off my underpants, spit on the wall & ran away.
Immature, I know, but I'm 2 and that's all I know.

Apparently, Santa is watching (at least that's what my Mom told me while she attempted to put my clothes back on).
Again with the creepy visions of a fat man sneaking around and keeping tabs on my every move to get me to be good.

If you're telling me I am going to wake up on Christmas morning to an empty stocking and no presents because of one minor infraction...
My reply: We shall see how tough you really are, Big Guy!

Schoolin' The Church Lady

Just another typical Monday, where we have to stop by the Church so my Mom can take care of - whatever it is she does there.
Lucky for me, I saw the big man, "Fader Len".  I don't get to spend too much time in his company on Sundays due to my parents' lack of tolerance for my enthusiasm in Church, as well as his obligations talking on the stage at the front of the Church.  So I had to run up to him & yell, "FADER LEN, NICE TO MEET YOU."  It is, after all, my favorite greeting.

Then it was off to the office of the Church Ladies.  My Mom usually lets me carry the "paperwork".  It's all very official, so naturally she trusts me with only the most important tasks.

If I haven't mentioned it before, the Church Ladies LOVE me.  Of course they do, what's not to love?

I made my customary entrance, yelled, "HELLO, LADIES", and after getting my usual sucker and cheek pinches, they asked if I have been a "good boy" this year.
(By the way, what is it with everyone asking if I've been good?)

Then one Church Lady asked, "Is Santa coming to your house on Christmas?"
My reply, "Dat Jesus' Birfday".
Lady, "And Santa comes, too."
Me, "Happy Birfday To Jesus!"
Lady, "I guess you're right."

You guess?!?
Aren't you a Church Lady?  Shouldn't you know such things?
Leave it to the children to school the Church Ladies.

Now THAT should count for some of those "good" points.

My Finger Painting Masterpiece

Riddle Me This, Mother?!?
Why would you bother to potty train me if you insist on keeping me in a cage while I sleep?
Of course, I mean that I still sleep in a crib, but essentially, it's a cage.
I can't get out at my own free will; I am a prisoner to my captors and am required to lay there until someone comes to retrieve me.

That being said...

Today was just one of those days that I was abruptly awoken by my bowels (not my favorite way to wake up).  Unable to take myself to the facilities, I was forced to relieve myself in the diaper I must wear during sleeping hours (that's a whole other set of issues I have with this establishment).

As a side note, our house is for sale.  My bowels, of course, do not care if we have a showing 30 minutes after they decide to wake me.  Because my Mother was frantically cleaning so we could scoot out before the prospective buyers arrived, she didn't hear me politely ask to be taken to the bathroom.  Needless to say, I didn't make it.

I laid there for what seemed an eternity.  Naturally, I got bored.

I decided to take advantage of the only available resource...a perfect match to the consistency of finger paint, my full diaper.

Not wanting to get anything on my bedding (that's just gross), I threw all of my linens on the floor and started creating.  I started with the slats of my crib.  Each individual slat had its own theme, but the entire masterpiece was called "Ode To Poo".

Not a lover of The Arts, my Mom didn't see the beauty in what I had created.  She mostly just cried.

I was quickly hosed off, dressed, and dropped at the house across the street.
After spending a few minutes at my Lady Abby's house, my Mom found her happy place and came back to get me.

Maybe this will prompt my parents to get me that Big Boy Bed I have been wanting.
If not, I have plenty more visions in my head of things to create, and the "finger paint" is in endless supply.

Do It Myself

I am going through a bit of a "do it myself" phase, so I would like to thank the cabinet makers for creating these ideal little "toe-holds" they placed on the front of each door.
Not to mention, they are on ALL of the doors, not just on the bathroom cabinets.
I am able to scale ANY cabinet in 2 seconds flat with the help of my monkey-toes.
I no longer need to bother my Mom when I need to do things like wash my hands, get some fruit or reach the spice cabinet.
That right, it's all within reach now.

As a side note, I am not completely sure what "oregano" is, but when sprinkled simultaneously with salt from atop a kitchen counter, it looks like some crazy nuclear snow storm.
("Nuclear Snow Storm" picture not available, due to the fact that my Mom thinks it may "encourage" my behavior if I see her photographing my naughty behavior.  That ship has sailed, Lady.  Snap away!)

PS~ As evidenced by my attire, my "do it myself" phase stretches to dressing myself as well.  I happen to think the muscle shirt, flower headband and silky blue Richard Simmons style sweat band will make a comeback on the runways for the 2012 season.  I am just a trend setter and visionary.

I think it's because I DO IT MYSELF!

I Am A Boy!

A little known fact...I am an Olympic Gymnast in training.  I have been studying my trade for many months now & I have already been called "the next Bart Conner".
Secretly, I like going to gymnastics because I am usually the only boy in class.
Today was one of those special days.

During our stretching time, we all sit in a circle on the mat & my teacher encourages us to make a straddle with our legs.  For those of you unfamiliar with gym lingo...that's when you spread your legs as far apart as possible, similar to a wishbone.
I am able to sit with my legs at 180 degrees.  Impressive, I know.
I am also able to stare at all of the girls attempt this feat of flexibility while I make astute observations.

With her legs in spread-eagle, I definitively told my teacher, "You a 'gyna".

My Mom was quick to TRY to correct (and hope no one else understood, due to my 2 year old accent) and said, "Yes, your teacher is a girl.  Brennan is a boy."

I was just a quick to correct her, so I stood up, pulled my pants down & yelled, "I A PENIS."

Yes, I am a boy.
More importantly, I know why I am a boy.
Now everyone else does too.
You're Welcome.

Holidays = Crazy + Warnings

When people say, "Happy Holidays", I've learned there's very little to do with actually being happy and more about people acting crazy & me getting lots of warnings.

Crazy Example #1:
My Mom & Dad brought a tree inside the house.  I don't mean a little plant, I mean a 7 foot tall pine.
Then, of all things, they strung it with lights...twinkly ones.
To top it all off, they put hangy-things & shinny balls all over it.  Just as a warning to anyone else who may be confused by this, they are NOT the kind of balls you throw.  Someone forgot to mention this important little tid bit to me, and I made the mistake of throwing one at my sister.  After bouncing off of her chest, it crashed to the floor.  I then thought, "what a strange ball"...so I got another one.  Guess what?  The same damn thing happened.  Who would make such an impractical toy?
Warning #1: Do not touch the ornaments.

Crazy Example #2:
The day after the tree went up, placed underneath I found a few of boxes wrapped in really pretty paper and tied with a bow.  I couldn't see what was in them, so naturally, I had to take the paper off to check it out.  Apparently, if the tiny tag doesn't say your name, you can't open it.
(PS~Grandpa, I have some very interesting information to share with you...call me).
Warning #2: Do not open the presents.

Crazy Example #3:
Now everyone is talking about being good and Santa might come to our house.  I've heard that when I go to sleep, he will come in the house via the chimney, eat our cookies, and leave everything I wish for under the tree.  Only one catch, I have to be a "good boy".
Lets put the creepiness of this issue aside for just a moment, and address the more important matter of physics.  I have sat on the lap of this man that they call "Santa".  If you are telling me that his 300+ pound frame is going to squeeze down the chimney with the jeep that I want, I may just rethink my behavior and try being good just to get a glimpse of that.
Now regarding the other little issue of being "good", isn't it all relative?  I have my moments, sure.  Who doesn't?  But does it count if it brings such joy to those who get the pleasure of reading about my day?  I think the minor embarrassment my Mom has to endure is worth the trade off for those loyal followers of The B-Blogs.
Warning #3: Be a good boy...or else.

I am not quite sure what to expect on this day called "Christmas", but until then, I'll report back with more of the crazy (which inevitably will be followed by  more of the warnings).

Man Cave

I'm home all day, every day surrounded by females.  And not the good kind, like my harem of hotties.  It's my Mom, my two sisters and the inevitable "play date" that they both have on a regular basis.  It's brutal.
Sometimes a guy just needs to escape to his own space, his sanctuary where he won't be bothered.  Today was no different.
I have a favorite little spot I like to call my "Man Cave".  It's nothing fancy, just a space to call my own.
My Mom calls it her dryer, but we all know how often that thing gets used, so needless to say, it's often vacant.
I made the mistake of taking my voice altering megaphone into my Man Cave, which aided in the discovery of my whereabouts and the abrupt end to some much needed "Me Time".

My Mom videoed her "Man Hunt" for the entire world to see; now I'll never get any peace and quiet.  I'm on the search for a new Man Cave...any suggestions?