In Memoriam...Timmy the Caterpiller

Timmy

Born: undetermined Died: undetermined
Short-term resident of Chase's porch

Timmy was a black and orange caterpillar. He was found by Chase.
Chase built him a home with a lasagna pan, some grass and dirt, and a custom bed. It only took a couple of escape attempts before Timmy was content to live in his pan.

Timmy was a good caterpillar, and a good pet. He did not make a single mess in Chase's house. He did not leave any "gifts" on Chase's front yard. He was incredibly inexpensive to feed, dining on leaves from Chase's tree, they think. He provided Chase and other neighbor kids with many wonderful minutes of oohing and aahing, staring, and poking.




Timmy, in his fluffy prime



Timmy's aluminum home




Timmy was survived by what Chase and the other kids thought was a baby caterpillar found in Timmy's home. Turns out it was just an emaciated Timmy. He had shrunk to less than half his normal size. If it weren't so sad, it would be very funny.




Farewell, Timmy. Rest in...pieces.

Black Widow Strikes Again

About a year ago, I told Chase that his pet frog was dead. Turns out, it wasn't. However, two weeks later, Froggy did kick the bucket when we held a toilet-side service and sent him off with a one-flush salute.

About a week ago, I told Chase that his pet caterpillar, Timmy, was dead. Turns out he wasn't dead either. Chase told me the next morning that Timmy must have just been scared of me. Could have been fear, 'cause today...Timmy's really dead.

So, as it turns out, I am usually right. Just a little too fast.

Caterpillar obituary to follow soon.

Honesty

C: What color are Pinky's eyes? (stuffed animal from my own childhood)

M: Well, they are mostly brown, I think. They are kind of brown and kind of green.

C: What color are my eyes?

M: A BEAUTIFUL brown. I love your big brown eyes. What color are my eyes?

C: Well, they are mostly green, a little bit of brown, and a lot of red.

M: (spoken while sliding off bed into prayer position) They are red because I am so tired. I am so tired that I am done being a mommy for tonight.

C: (spoken through a groggy yawn) Yeah. I'm too tired to be Chase anymore tonight, too. Good night, Mommy. Love you. See you in the morning.

CPA

While I was at "work" the other day, this Cutie-Patootie Angel-boy donned a pair of his dad's protective eye-glasses, stole the last cookie out of his dad's private stash, and began crunching some some numbers while crunching his cookie.



Is it just me, or is this CPA just a titch on the adorable side?

Accidental Dentals

In my previous post, a before shot of Chase's hair could be better served as an after shot of Chase's tooth-capade. Chase has lost 5 teeth since October. His teeth seem to be in a hurry to exit his little mouth. Either that, or we seem to have found a near barbaric, yet seemingly effective method of extracting teeth.

His last three exiting teeth have been "punched" out. Literally.

#3 by Dad's elbow during a tickle fight

#4 by a neighbor's elbow during a, uh, well, whatever it is that boys do

#5 by a friend's elbow during a wrestling match


#5 was pretty sad for Chasers. After an FHE activity with some friends, Chase took a blow to the face while wrestling with their kids. The tooth was gone. The grass received a pat down by six sets of hands...in the dark. Chase was pretty tearful at the thought of losing his lost tooth, until we offered a more romantic end to his tiny pearl. Instead of it being lost forever in the grass, maybe he swallowed it. Yeah, he swallowed it. A much better story. Tears stopped immediately.

At bedtime, a simple letter of explanation was written to the Bringer of Money:

Dier tooth fery

I lost my tooth when I waz resling with my frens

luv Chase


I just have to say, the Tooth Fairy really loves this little boy.

Oh, and if you need help removing any loose teeth from your children, stop on by. We'll start a fight on the front lawn. Results guaranteed.

Patches

A few days ago, this handsome dude came out of nowhere and asked me to make him bald. After I swallowing my tongue, I was finally able to wrap my brain around making the wrap around his brain a little less hairy. With his hair having recently been cut, it really wasn't all that hairy to begin with.



In this second before picture, I dare you to focus on his hair, and not the mayhem happening with his dentures.



After bravely choosing the #1 guard, the buzzing commenced. This stinker was so excited to be getting buzzed that he asked to get up after almost every pass on his head, to go check himself out in the mirror. Along with a hairy trail leading to and from the bathroom, we ended up with patches on his head, caused by my constant interruption of thought pattern.




I you can believe it, I got a serious case of the giggles while cutting this client's head. He looked like he had been in an intense altercation with an angry cat.

When I grabbed my camera to take a picture of the mayhem now happening on top of his head, Chase said, "You need this for your blog, huh, Mom." I am sooooo transparent.



The after shot.

While thoroughly enjoying his new, massive absence of hair, Chase was perplexed as to why his head wasn't as smooth, and as hairless, as his Grandpa's.

Baby steps, son. Baby steps.

Scripture Power

The other night, at a late enough hour to claim "the nice Mom", my insomniac son came in and sheepishly asked if he could read his scriptures in bed. How could "nice Mom" not come back for a brief and tender moment, long enough to grant permission for such a noble request?




Such a sweet pea.

Window Pains

I looked out the window, and what did I see?

I don't know, 'cause I can't see out of my windows.







No, that is not a flurry of fluffy white snow flakes. It's not the trail of pelting, pouring rain drops.





Those are my windows.

Dirty, dirty windows.

They're driving me crazy.

But you know what might drive me crazy even more?



Washing them.




So, I'll just wait until summer.

For now, I'll go inside and scrub my muddy mud room floor.


Oh, never mind.

It's called a mud room for a reason, right?

Mother Bear in the Outfield

Yesterday was Bub's first baseball practice. Something we have all been looking forward to for a very long time. At first glance, Coach seems enthusiastic, teammates look excited. All is well. For a few seconds, anyway.

Right off the bat (punny punny), things so south. Let me painfully insert here, that these boys are only 6 and 7 year old.

They gather in a circle to introduce themselves. The kids start by introducing themselves with vulgar potty talk. As they run into the outfield, the child who reveals himself as the most vulgar monster, turns around and SPITS in my son's face as he's running. Did I say spit?!? YES.I.SAID.SPIT.

Coach breaks them into groups of three for throwing practice. Oh, joy. My son gets grouped with Mr. Monster. He hurls the ball as far as he can past Chase, so Chase has to run and go get it. While my son is running lackey, Monster starts calling him gross and demeaning names for not being able to catch his amazing throws.

My husband seems to have the ability to put up with a lot, all for the sake of not making a scene. I, however, am Mother Bear. Hear me roar. I have my child's innocence to save.

I get up and head out into the outfield, with hands on hips, lips zipped, sunglasses blazing. Monster seems to shrink back to the normal size of a 6 year old. For a few minutes.

Coach sets up pitching machine. Mother Bear returns to her lair. Husband is mortified. Only other Mom there watching practice, proceeds to tell me that boys will be boys and eventually I need to learn to lighten up and let the boys be boys.

EXCUSE ME?!?

Would you like me stick my head in the sand while I am at it? No thank you!!!!

I was ready to get UP and yank my son OUT. Against my better judgement, I was convinced to stay calm and sit down. Breath, Mom.

The boys are spread in outfield positions, while taking turns at bat. They were given a quick pep talk about being a team and using encouraging words. Those words were lost among the louder vulgar ones. The obscenity is now reaching a new level, pushing the limit one syllable at a time closer to the edge of the cliff. And, to top it all off, the colorful monologues are being joined with grabbing of one's body parts, and graphic thrustings of others.

The coach and assistant coach have smiles on their faces, happy to hear the sing-song bantering of a team out in the field, not wanting to ruin the vibe with something as nasty as reprimand, I can only assume. Not wanting to make waves. Move over then, angry motorboat with HUGE waves coming through and,

I AM READY TO KILL.

I am not a big fan of PC. In my opinion, that is why these kids are the way they are. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. That easy. If other parents want to get their knickers in a bunch because I dared to say anything to their children, then be my guest and YOU TAKE CARE OF IT! If not, then move over, Bacon. Here comes something meatier.

Instead of blowing my cork, I am somehow convinced to keep my cool. So, in my only defense, I start talking about the situation, really, really loud. Aimed in the coaches direction. Real tough, right?

Yeh, not really caring if I am becoming the Cardinal's nightmare team Mom. With the way things went last night, you may not have to worry about having this Mom and her child anywhere near your team. I will either pack up my son and head for the hills (or the city office), or I will kindly extend my services as Babysitter in the Outfield, who will also moonlight as Teacher in the Outfield, Officer in the Outfield, Disciplinarian in the Outfield, and Soap Dispenser in the Outfield.

But, one thing you can bank on me not doing anymore?

KEEPING MY MOUTH SHUT!


I AM MOTHER BEAR!!
HEAR ME ROAR!!

Fuzzy Duckys

A return to blogging after several days of no blogging, would not be a return to blogging without a funny quote from my favorite subject to blog about...right?



My bub has fallen in love with fuzzy chicky babies. He thinks they are just "absolutely adorable." His words, exactly.

During a torrential down pour yesterday, he asked me if little chicks like the water. I, being the Mom and all, should know the answer to this...and all other questions that will most likely end up on the table during the next 20 years. So, I answered something like this,

"Well, I bet they do like a little water. They probably like to walk around in water that covers their feet, but I bet they don't like to be covered in water. They..."

Smart Mom was about to conclude with..."probably aren't very good swimmers."

Smarter Child jumped in with..."Yeh, I don't think they are really very waterproof."

Well, look who knows so much!