You will like crafts

Since it is Easter this week, I Googled all sorts of Easter crafts that Zach and I can make! Who is excited? ME! Last week we made some bunny flags for our Easter decorations. I read about here and that mom described the activity as mainly for the mom and just a little bit for the kid. Just my type of crafts.

So I drew triangles on paper and Zach and I set about painting them. That kid loves to paint. He really loves for YOU to paint a letter Z for Zachary as well.

Once they were dry I cut them out as well as the head and ears for the bunnies. I happened to have some batting laying around waiting to become bunny heads and ears. I had some googly eyes as well to make our bunnies come to life. Then Zach glued some in place on the flags. He only wanted to do about 3 then he was “all done” with this activity. I will let you guess which one he did…

I like to call his the Salvador Dali bunnies. I strung them together and they look pretty cute on our mantel. And it makes me smile when I look at it.

He asked me the day after we finished if we were going to make more bunnies. No sir, not until you are a wee bit older buddy.

But egg shaped sidewalk chalk and hand printed chicks? YES. I have already purchased the plaster of paris and tempura paint.

Picking Time

No, this is not a post about how Zach has learned to pick his nose….though that is true and gross. This post is about how I forced Alex into the car suggested that we drive to Alvin to pick strawberries on a gorgeous Saturday. I may or may not have had a mini-pregnancy breakdown that morning about how Alex did not help me off the couch and instead made Zach do it (which was very funny at the time). I can neither confirm nor deny that might have contributed to Alex being willing to go anywhere so I would not cry again. Because I am a hormonal basket case.

Either way, we loaded up that morning and drove about 30 minutes into Alvin to Frobergs Farms. The farm sits on about 2 acres of strawberries fields and while they have other fruit and veggies available to purchase, most everyone was there for the strawberries.  You buy a bucket for $1 and then fill up the bucket. We filled ours for $7 which was a little over 3 lbs. Zach (and Alex) had a good time finding just the right ones. There are signs about not picking the green ones but as Alex said, our bucket was filled with a span of not ripe, perfectly ripe and overly ripe thanks to the picking choices of a 2 year old.

We ate as many strawberries as we could then I made them into a crumble cake for Easter. Now every time Zach eats a strawberry he says “I picked it!”. I just let him believe it.

Despite the highly skeptical look he is giving me,

I promise he stuck his head through all on his own.

Busy Little Boy

What a busy weekend we had last weekend! And what zero pictures I took of it all. Luckily others captured my child while taking pics of their own. Saturday Zach and Alex met their friends Scott and Tyler at a “members only” event at the zoo at 8am. (Thanks to my parents we are members) Alex actually set the alarm to get up which NEVER happens on the weekends. We like that baby to sleep as long as possible.

They were gone for 2 hours. Apparently they hit McDonalds for pancakes first then the zoo. Tyler arrived with his red wagon which Zach quickly decided he wanted to ride in as well, leaving Scott to pull both boys while Alex pushed an empty stroller. Naturally. Mini-Scott and Mini-Alex pictured thanks to Scott.

After Zach napped played in his bed for an hour he and I went to Caroline Hull’s first birthday party – complete with bounce house. That little boy was soooo sweaty. Besides the birthday girl he was the littlest person there. Luckily there were super sweet big girls in the bounce house so they didn’t get too out of control with a little boy flopping about inside. Here he is “helping” the birthday girl play in her water table. He and her cousin were filling the tub with ice water. Sweet baby girl was just laughing and splashing.

Sunday we drove to Magnolia to visit my freshman year roommate Jessie and her family, which includes this rolly-polly delight, Olivia.

The entire way out there Zach said “I go Wivia’s house”. He was super sweet with her and she was very sweet to share her toys with him. I was so excited to see Olivia after stalking her on Facebook. It was surreal hang out with Jessie and to see our babies playing together. The last time we really hung out we were 19 and motherhood was the furthest thing from our minds!

He is still talking about Wivia, how he drove her car, how he took off his shoes, but not how he sneezed, twice, on her blocks. Still sorry about that Jessie…

A Madman

I really feel like living with a 2 year old is like living under the oppressive regime of a dictator *.  When they come into power everyone is so excited! Change is good! They are so happy and fun and when you hear them talk you feel like you could listen for hours. Then the tide turns….you have done something to anger the dictator and instead of acting rationally, he starts screaming, throws himself on the floor and all hell breaks loose. Plus he wanst to talk all the time. No matter if you are talking or if you don’t want to hear him. Talking to your spouse could highly anger the dictator. But once you bow to his demands you are immediately back in his good graces, all seems to be forgotten and you just hold your breath and pray that you can keep him happy.

*Note: This blog post could be very offensive to anyone who has lived under the regime of a dictator. Or to my child once he can read. But as I have said before, he can talk to me when he is the parent of a two year old and if I am wrong… well, seriously people, I am not wrong.

So this is just a one hour snipit of my life with mini-Stalin:
4:45  Pick up Zach from school. He is thrilled to see me! Runs towards me and hops on into the car. We chat about his day, he has pulled hair (again). We talk about it, we sing, the world is golden.
5:00  We hit the pet store to get food for Norman. He is darling, wanting to look at the birds and fish, sits super nicely in the cart and beams at the people around him. Doesn’t really want to leave, but agrees that Norman is hungry and we need to take him his food.
5:25  Someone has parked too close to me so I have to put him in the car from the other side and have him climb into his seat. This is initially met with glee and joy, laughing and chatting with me as I load up the dog food.
5:26  The joy is gone and he is furious that I am serious about him having to sit in his seat. I squeeze between the idiot car next to me (with my 6 months preggers belly) telling him to either get in the seat or I will put him in the seat, because I am my mother. Finally he gets in and we are off
5:30  I have to break the news that we don’t have time to go to the park. We have to get home so he can eat by 6 and save us another meltdown. Cries of “Park, I go park! No home, Mommy, no home!” happen all the way home until I appease him with some applesauce. But he is still not fully happy with me.
5:45 We get home and he is happy once again, to play “tennis” with my tennis racket and tennis ball by hitting it along the ground.
5:46  Breaks down into hysterics that I cannot do the same with the plastic bowling pin he has given me for my racket since I also need to sit down.
5:50  Calms down enough when I get the tennis ball out from under the couch for him with his “help”
5:55  Throws down both the racket and ball saying “I ready” in response to my “Are you ready for dinner now?” question but immediately starts crying when he sees that his spaghetti is made with penne pasta not angel hair.

I will not bore you will the next hour when he didn’t want to take a bath, then did not want to get OUT of the bath; he didn’t want to put on his diaper, didn’t like the pajamas I picked but was then very pleased to read on the  “big bed”.

The only saving grace in our lives under this regime is the sweetness of putting him to bed. He and I rock and whisper to each other about our day. What we liked, what we are going to work on for tomorrow (usually hair pulling and napping). His little head is resting on my shoulder and he just gazes at me with those big, big eyes and I forget that I wanted to run away screaming.

Then when I put him in bed we discuss what he is having for breakfast the next morning. It is always “I have waffles, milk, water AND juice. AND JUICE MOMMY!”

He never has juice. But every night I tell him that he will. Maybe this is why the dictator cuts me no slack…