If Men are from Mars...

If men are from Mars, then that explains why Wyatt makes absolutely no sense to me. Keep in mind this child has only been 4 years old for a little over a month. We have been watching caterpillars in our front yard for a couple of days. They are everywhere! Some are furry and white, and some are the usual yellow and black. I have been explaining the caterpillar's life cycle to Wyatt, and showing him what a chrysalis is. One of the furry yellow and black ones has begun to make its chrysalis next to the hinge side of our front door. Very cool. Wyatt is now extremely protective of all caterpillars, and has really begun to develop an appreciation for them. Just a little while ago, he came into the house screaming and crying about a caterpillar, so I went outside with him to check. I still have no idea what the fuss was about. He kept crying and going on about how a crab killed and ate the furry white caterpillar that was on our impatiens plant, and how the crab is hiding in a hole. I tried to get him to show me the hole, or the crab, but no luck. Sigh. Only tears.

Most of you who know me really well already know that Wyatt is at a stage in his life where it's best that he not be taken out into public. There are a few reasons for this:

1. He sometimes screams, "No! Help me! Somebody help me!" as I'm stuffing his flailing body into the car and strangers stop and consider calling 911.
2. He sometimes screams, "Hush, Mom! I told you NO!"
3. He sometimes screams, "Stop! I'll beat you silly!", just like he did at Mardel yesterday while a bunch of older ladies stood around and stared in horror.
4. He likes to run away.
5. He is extremely (and I mean EXTREMELY) loud.

Today we went out and ran a couple of brief errands, including stopping at Barnes and Noble. Wyatt, of course, didn't want to leave because there was a really cool Thomas train set in the kids' section. Let the screaming and fighting commence. I spanked him in the parking lot and told him that he had to spend some time in his room after we got home, and that's exactly what happened.

When I went to tell him that he could come out of his room, he said, "Mom, it's broken."

"What's broken?" I asked.

"I said it's broken, Mom!" Geez, cranky.

Sigh. "What is broken, Wyatt?" (Losing my patience.)

"This." He ran his finger all along his chest and stomach. "My heart is broken."

All I can say is, I'm glad a hug and a burrito with salsa and cheese can mend a broken heart.

The Only Female in a Male Household

It has been a very long time since my last post. I explained to a friend of mine it was because nothing remotely interesting has happened to me lately, and the cat seems to be mellowing out. After today I got to thinking about my experiences as a mother to two boys. I know several moms out there who are the only female in an all-male household, and I wonder if they have the same experiences as I do.

First of all, there's the issue with my bra. Now, you could have a little girl and still have this problem. Oh, the bra. Not just for boobs anymore. It makes a great harness for little ones who ride on your hip. I'd have to estimate that at least half of the Oklahoma City metro area has seen my bra collection. When I'm carrying Ben, he grabs hold of the bra cup just like it's some sort of handle. A lot of the time he misses and just grabs my shirt. This is where the flashing begins. He'll tug on the shirt and voila! Everyone around me sees the bra. Last night I was at Target in the checkout line, not paying any attention, until I hear a man say, "whoa". I look down and half my bra is exposed. Great. Shake it off. Shake it off.

Then there's the issue of the makeup. All kids like to watch their parents do stuff, like watch their dads shave, and their moms fix their hair or put on makeup. I have a baby gate in the doorway of the bathroom, and the boys like to stand there and watch what I'm doing. This has resulted in Wyatt stealing my mascara and doing some serious beautification to himself. Ben's time hasn't come yet. He can't climb the gate.

Finally, the feminine products. You can read an earlier blog post about pads, when Wyatt thought putting one on his foot would make his headache go away. Today he fell and skinned his knee. Just a few minutes before I started this post, he came out of my bathroom with a pantyliner stuck to his knee. He told me he found a band-aid.

"Look, Mom! I found a band-aid!"

"What? That's not a band-aid." Then I noticed Phillip had just got home from work and was in the front yard. "Hey! Go show your dad your band-aid." I said.

Then Wyatt took off out the front door just as I realized Phillip had brought someone he works with home. I don't think I had ever met the guy, and this wasn't exactly the encounter I wanted him to remember me by.

"Get back in here, Wyatt!!!" Then Wyatt cried, of course, 'cause I had to peel his band-aid off.

Being the only girl makes me some strange, fascinating life form. Almost alien-like in my own household.

Caskets, Golf Carts, and Ice Chests

Yes, that's right. Caskets, golf carts, and ice chests. Somehow, the three have come together in this very twisted, hillbilly tale. I thought I have seen all things redneck, but I've gotta say, this takes the cake.

Yesterday Phillip was at work when one of their regular customers came in. Phillip works with oil field and farm equipment, mostly, but sometimes the guys get stuck with some random requests, such as the one he was presented with on this day. Where was I? Oh yeah. This guy backed his truck into the shop and asked the workers to unload this thing. What was it? A casket. Phillip's like, "What are you doing with a casket?" and the other guy said "I got it for a hundred bucks." I don't know about you, but one thought comes to mind: who's gonna be selling caskets? I mean, it's not something that people have an extra of.

Oh, I just have this old casket lyin' around. I guess I'll sell it.

Well, I thought I was gonna use this casket, but I think I've changed my mind...

It's not really the color I wanted...

I've already got 3 caskets. This one's just getting in the way.

I thought it was a buffet table. The handles are kinda awkward.

Okay, on with the story. So they unload the casket, and the guy wants Phillip to put an axle on it and a tongue (or whatever it's called) on the other end, so it can be like a trailer of sorts. He had stripped out the inside bedding, and wanted to put sheet metal in it so it could be used as an ice chest that he could rig up to his golf cart at the lake. There ya go. A casket full of beer being pulled by a golf cart.

Dude, if you're gonna drink that much beer, I guess you will need the casket after all.

The Roof, the Roof, the Roof is on Fire...

Okay, so the roof wasn't on fire...but the kitchen was.

Kristin, my lovely cousin-in-law, and I decided to spend a leisurely afternoon shopping. I needed some new summer clothes, but it was funny how I came home with a $10 shirt for myself, and several new outfits for the boys. I'm sure that happens for every mom out there. Well, I found the cutest shirt for Ben, but the last one (which happened to be Ben's size) was on the creepy mannequin kid. As Kristin and I are hijacking and undressing the mannequin as quickly as possible, Phillip calls me and asks what to do for dinner. "Cook the frozen pizza" was my reply. I'd say about 10 minutes passed until Phillip called me again a second time.

"What's in the oven?" he asked me.

"Uh, pizza?" Seriously, what kind of question is that?

"No, I mean, what was in the oven before the pizza?"

Oh crap. The events that unfolded this day were completely and totally the cat's fault (indirectly). Had we not had a thieving, cupcake stealing cat, the plastic serving container and leftover cupcakes would have been saved from the oven's blazing heat. You see, after having cake outside for Wyatt's party, my mom put the leftovers in the oven, just so that the cat would stay out of it. Since we don't use the oven as a storage place, I totally forgot about it. Phillip went to preheat the oven for the pizza, went outside with the boys for a while, then came back in to an oven on fire. Nice. The neighbors across the street lost their house due to a fire last summer. Now they have a spectacular, gorgeous home. I was thinking that maybe Phillip should have just turned around and went back outside. Heck, why not just take a walk down the street? But no, Phillip in his courageous fire-fighting efforts put out the blaze, and we still live in this awesome 1985 house. However, there is no dark chocolate fudge cake left. Sniff.

Wyatt + Jalapeños = Wet Bed in Morning

Okay, so yesterday was Wyatt's birthday party. He turned four two days ago, although he has been telling everyone for the past two years that he is five. I wonder if he'll still be five when he turns six. Anywho, the party went all right, except for when Wyatt tried to push his cousin off the ladder of our very large playset outside. Mr. Kitty behaved himself. He had a great time showing off and playing jungle cat in our shrubs and bushes. A few people made comments about the crazed look in his eyes, but everyone who lives in my house has that look.

Last night we decided to go eat at On the Border with some family. Wyatt has this "thing" about wanting to try what everyone else has. He was particularly curious about the jalapeño slice on top of Phillip's chili relleno. He wouldn't let it rest, so Phillip finally gave in and let Wyatt try it. Painful agitation ensued, as Wyatt frantically drank his entire drink, then mine, and ate tortillas and chips to try to make the sting go away. I wonder if he will listen the next time we warn him that something is hot. Poor little guy. His eyes were all watery, and he was just so little, cute, and innocent for that moment. He never cried, which surprised me, because I know how bad those peppers can sting! Well, after drinking an enormous amount of liquids, we made him visit the potty several times before bed, but alas, our efforts were futile. We awoke this morning to the chore of stripping the bed and starting the laundry.

Cows are our Friends

I just sat down to start writing this entry when I heard a lot of rustling from the kitchen. I got up to go see what was going on. Benjamin was unrolling all of our kitchen trash bags and throwing them away. Anyone else out there have kids who are obsessed with throwing things away? I've had pots, pans, spoons, TV remotes, clothing, shoes, you name it--thrown away. Then dug out of the trash by me. But that probably does explain why we are so short on silverware. Anyway, while I was digging trash bags out of the trash (ironically), Wyatt was telling me that he wants to get a pet goldfish, and he wants to name it "Poochie". Okay. He has been wanting a lot of different pets lately. He really, really wants a guinea pig, and he often begs me to take him to Petco so he can look at them and dream.

On the way home today, we passed by the usual farmland and fields of cattle. "I want the cows to come over and play in the backyard, Mom," said Wyatt.

"Oh yeah? Do you think that's a good idea?" I asked him.

"Cows are nice, Mom. I told you. They go 'moo'".

"Cows taste good," I said.

"Cows taste good?" he asked. There was a little confusion in his voice. He changed the subject. "I want a guinea pig."

Tortilla Destruction and Birthday Parties

Tortilla Destruction: no, I'm not talking about Phillip at a Mexican restaurant. I'm talking Homestyle Mission tortillas, just purchased from the local Walmart, innocently waiting on the countertop for Saturday night dinner...sabotaged by kitty kitty. Yes, he was patiently waiting for me to let my guard down. He had been such a good kitty for the last few weeks, that I didn't even think twice when I set a bread-like product on the kitchen counter, leaving it vulnerable to the thieving feline. I've gotta give him props, though. He waited until we were all in bed asleep before the attack. Phillip found the demolished package in the corner of the kitchen floor. Perhaps one reason it seems Buster has been so good lately is because he's been going outside to play with the boys in the afternoons, and we leave him out all night. He never runs off. He sleeps in one of our outbuildings, then comes back in when I call him in the morning. I've been sleeping a lot better without cat claws or teeth in my feet during the earliest hours, or waking to the sounds of him acting a fool.

Wyatt's 4th birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. Unlike many parents out there, I have not fallen victim to the insanity of hosting a party at such devilish places as Chuck E. Cheese. Is it just me, or does it almost seem like a competition? Who can host the best party? Who really cares, as long as the kids have fun? Please, people. Don't you know how much parents hate going to Chuck E. Cheese? I will be having Wyatt's birthday party in the backyard, just like I do every year. I serve semi-homemade cake because it tastes so much better than store bought, and it's much cheaper. We get a pinata and let the kids beat their frustrations out on it, we have a sandbox, a water table, a huge fort with a rocket slide (shoots you out at high speeds), and one of those horse toys on springs. Parents bring their lawn chairs and we sit and talk and relax. No one will steal or molest our children. It isn't crowded. We all take care of each other's kids. To me, that is so much more enjoyable. Plus, the kids don't have to battle with strangers or mean kids to have a turn at a game or something elsewhere. I hope Wyatt will always enjoy having a party at home.