Milo loves to sing. (Kind of like his crazy mama.) He’s been learning the song “I am a Child of God” at church and it is really cute. When he sings it right. Usually he doesn’t. Like tonight he was singing the first line over and over again like this – “I am a child of peanut,” “I am a child of peanut.” It’s stuff like that. “I am a child of cat mustache,” “I am a Thomas Percy Toby,” etc. But I have to say my favorite was this one: “I am a Jesus Crayon Pencil.” I’ve been giggling about it for days. But you know, in that time I’ve had the opportunity to delve for deeper meaning in that little phrase. I mean, the song “I am a Child of God,” is really about how special and valuable you are, right? So, “I am a Jesus Crayon Pencil” kind of connotes the same thing. I mean, think of the possibilities! A Jesuscrayonpencil would be extremely special and valuable. So you see, I’m not failing his spiritual education after all.
Jesuscrayonpencil draws on water! In color.


Growing up, my dad always hated crowds. Like, HATED. I never really got it – I mean, what’s the big deal? Till now. Crowds + Parenthood = Agoraphobia. The other day at the children’s museum, we were the unwitting victims of a school holiday. There were kids everywhere. It was loud. It was stressful. It made me hate the human race. When we finally escaped and were loaded into the car, I knew the kids were going to pass out on the way home due to the sheer exhaustion that results from being surrounded by that much shrill, horrible energy. So, like any self respecting mother, I turned the music up way loud (The Black Keys – Milo’s favorite) and opened all the windows to gently encourage them to stay awake.

It didn’t work.

I turned around to find Walter asleep like this.

car seat


  Next time we’ll check the school schedule first.

I feel happy! I feel happy!

Probably the saddest thing Walter does these days is try soooo hard not to be put to bed. He’ll be tired and cranky and maybe crying and I’ll say something like, “Uh-oh, Walty, I think maybe you are tired. It’s time for bed, sweetie.” And he will look at me in wide-eyed terror and scream “No! No! I not tired! I not go to bed righ’ now, OK???” And I’ll say cheerfully, “But honey, you are so cranky and see how you’re crying and you feel bad? That means you’re tired!” (Because, you see, I know how effective that kind of logic is on kids.) And first he’ll give me a look of disgust before turning and running away but when that doesn’t work out he’ll take a few shaky breaths and wipe his eyes with open palms and say in this stab-you-in-the-stomach little voice, “I better now, Mommy. I better.” And if that doesn’t knock over your tough-mommy tower of blocks, then I don’t know what will. So I let him play until the process starts over again (around 3 minutes) and this time I forcibly pull him from the room all while he’s shouting, “I better now, Mommy!!! I better! I be-heh-heh-terrrrrrr!!!!”


And it all seems strangely reminiscent of the following… (beware of naughty word at :52)


I feel happy! I feel happy!