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?

Kid Friendly

Glad to see that my favorite restaurant has gone away from its original kid friendly environment and opted for a more sophisticated decorating scheme.  No more booths, just 3+ foot high backless, swivel stools at one long counter as well as free-standing (movable) leather bench/couches at shiny granite-like tables.
Brilliant.
Even the colors are tastefully neutral and sleek.  Oranges and browns have replaced the tired red and yellow of yesteryear.

What restaurant has smartly gone from kid's paradise to posh coffee house with free Wi-Fi?

McDonalds, of course!

While visiting this new hot-spot, my Mom sat my sisters and I in the brown leather bench/couch closest to the register so she could order our meals.
I decided to test the durability (and movability) of this sweet new piece of furniture and pushed it (with my two sisters on board) across the floor.  Being less than 3 feet tall, I didn't see the giant billboard sign advertising new "peppermint mochas".
The couch took out the sign, sending it crashing into a full mop bucket.  The mop handle then flung into the air, and like a bad game of "mouse trap" everything came collapsing to the floor.

With tears in her eyes, my Mom quietly said, "Make that order to go."

Luckily the manager thinks I'm "as cute as roly-poly" (whatever that means), and she couldn't resist my sincere "I sorry.  I clean up."

It didn't work nearly as well on my Mom.

PS ~ chicken nuggets don't taste nearly as good when they are served with a cold side of guilt.

Got Milk?

I learned so much today at Dairy Discovery.
I saw cows eat, pee & poop (not necessarily in that order).
I fed a calf from a giant bottle & much like all the other babies I know, they didn't mind sharing just a little sip with me (there was plenty to go around, no need for them to eat like a cow).
Finally, we visited the milking station...and that's when the fun began.
After the teacher took the "milkers" off the cow, she showed us where the milk came from.  She even drank right from the spraying cow.
Wanting to get in on that action, I walked next to the source & she squirted the warm, unpasteurized drink directly into my mouth.  That's when I saw them...ALL FOUR OF THEM!
I wiped my chin & yelled "PENIS MILK" (much to the teacher's amusement).
She said she had never heard it called that.
Really?  It just seems obvious.

Hang On

SWEEEEEEEET! I just discovered the BEST THING EVER!
After opening the door into the garage & directing me to get into the car, my Mom realized that she had forgotten her purse inside the house.  She then pressed the garage door opener & turned around to go back in the house to get her purse.

Seeing the door rise was all I needed to conjure up the idea that I should grab onto that baby & see where it takes me.  I ran to the door & grabbed the bottom lip for what was to be an AWESOME RIDE!

My Mom returned to find me dangling from the open door like a trained chimp.  I have decided that I have amazing finger strength and, I should mention, my Mom moves pretty fast in 3 inch heels.

Told you it was sweet!

Double Meaning

Having impeccable manners is just how I was raised.  So naturally, when my nose decides it has a mind of it's own and it runs uncontrollably, I need to take care of it.
I didn't realize that politely asking someone to help me with this task would cause such a stir.
After getting a Kleenex, I nicely asked my cousin, "BLOW ME?".
Upon hearing this, my Mother quickly tried to correct my question and said, "Please, help me wipe my nose."
No.  I meant, "BLOW ME."  No wiping, just blowing.
Once the laughter subsided, I thought, why is this so funny?
Then I decided, I didn't care.  Funny is funny, so I will make a song out of it.
It goes a little something like this...
"Blow Me, Blow Me, Blow Me, dadadadadadada.  Blow Me, Blow Me, Blow Me, dadadadadada." (repeat)

I sang this all morning, all during our shopping trip to Meijer and all through lunch.
My Mom has decided to try to ignore me.  Good luck, it's a catchy little ditty.

Feel free to sing along & teach others with uncontrollably runny noses the same song.  Maybe, just maybe they will get someone to help them out too!