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?

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.