Before going to bed each night, Elijah is supposed to pick up all his toys. All his toys usually include a mountain of LEGOs on our rug, which take forever to pick up and so Elijah tries to avoid doing it as long as he can.

One night, after exhausting my pleading repertoire, I decided to switch it up and use threats. “If you don’t pick up your LEGOs, no bedtime movie today; straight to bed!” At this point, Elijah did the same thing he does every time I try a threat: he went to do what he was asked to do, looking at me in a concerned way – the way you look at a crazy person who is starting to have one of her “episodes” again. Clearly, it’s not the consequences of the threat that bother him – he is worried about my mental health. “Oh boy, you are getting all worked up again!! Here, here, look, I’m picking up my toys! Here we go! Ok, calm down now… it’ll all be ok…. there, there….”.

Once the LEGOs were (sort of) picked up, we went upstairs and I contemplated how to carry out the threat based on the latest status of toy pickup. To deny a movie completely seemed unfair, and yet he didn’t do what he was supposed to do, or at least not right away. When upstairs, Elijah (after a while) asked “Can we watch a short movie, Mom?” (Notice the ‘short’ qualifier. It’s not there by accident. The kid knows what he is doing….)

“Well”, I say. “I don’t know, Elijah… I mean…. You DID pick up your toys, but only after Mom had to ask you MANY times, and even THEN you didn’t really pick up ALL of them and I had to HELP you ALL the time and….”

At this point, my Wombat sits up on his bed, crosses his legs, assumes a serenely Zen face and says this:

“Hm. Well, what should we do?”

This phrase jolts me into surprised stupor, and so I stare at him in a did-you-really-just-say-that way, while he, seeing my confused face, decides to elaborate:

“Should we watch a movie, or should we go straight to bed? You need to decide!”

Having said all this, he stares serenely at me again, in a teacherly sort of way. After the stupor wears off, I crack up laughing because I cannot help it, and all the while he looks at me with the expression of “Well? Did you pick? Do you remember what the options where? Goodness, you are really something…. Focus!”

Clearly, the movie was the better option. That’s what I picked. He seemed to think it was a good answer. Phew.

Every 3-year-old wants a ticket to Hamburg for Christmas.  Trust me. What you see in these videos are scale models of the real thing. How amazing is that?!

“We don’t have a baby anymore. I’m looking at Amazon deals for babies, and nothing at all applies. That’s how I know.”

Ingy

Thanks so much to everyone who came to share Natie’s big day…. especially to those who shared their OWN BIG DAY with Natie. (It’s crazy how many people have a birthday on December 10! Clearly, only the best are born on this date. Our son is in impressive company.

Here is a movie of the festivities!

A great list of travel tips; I can personally vouch for this one in particular.

 Buy your own fruit. It sounds simple. It is simple. Just do it. You’ll love it. And I don’t mean, if there happens to be a fruit stand outside your hotel door you should buy some, because you need to have 9 servings a day.  What I mean is, find fruit and buy it. Make it a daily task that you’re going to track down a fruit stand, a farmers’ market (they’re not just in San Francisco) and get some good fresh fruit. The entire process will expose you to elements of daily life you would have otherwise ignored. Trust me: You’ll have memories from your trips to buy fresh fruit.

Before and after.  (I know.  I can’t get enough of these.  See more here).

A cute hair updo for the holidays.

Make your own liquid hand soap!  I know.  For some reason winter always brings out the home-on-the-farm mood in me.

Make your own snowglobe from a mason jar - great activity for you 3-year-old on a snowy day. I wouldn’t suggest involving your 3-year-old in making liquid hand soap with you, because if mentions it in school, they may call child services.  (“My mommy makes me make soap, and cook it on the stove, and then I sweep…”)

Cranberry Vanilla cocktails!  You can enjoy one once you’ve washed you hands of all snowglobe glitter with the newly-made soap.

A great playlist to enjoy your cocktail while you enjoy peace and quiet.  By the way, the piece and quiet probably mean that your child has now detached the mason jar lid from the snowglobe, and your house is covered in glycerin and glitter.  But it’s ok.  Take another sip.

Today, Wombat remarked in a comtemplative mood “It’s almost December”.

He happened to remark it at a moment when he had my full attention, and, thus, I immediately came back with “It’s already December, baby.”  (When I get an easy question, I make sure I answer it to rack up some points in this game.)  But, instead of congratulating me on my unsurpassed knowledge of seasons and their boundaries, Wombat grew agitated.

“No!” He said.  ”I said it’s ALMOST December!”

“Um…. No, it’s December already.  Right now.”

“NO! No, No, NO!!”

Me: confused face.

Wombat: “Miss Debra put up a picture on the wall of mountains and snow and the picture is for DECEMBER!”

Me: “Right.  So it’s December now.”

Wombat: “NO! Miss Debra says NO!”

At this point, tears are welling up in Wombat’s eyes, and he is enraged, and personally hurt, and I am so totally not prepared for this and even more totally unable to gracefully make it all calm down, as demonstrated by my next insightful statement:

Me: “I don’t think you were listening very well to Miss Debra, because I’m sure she said it’s December today, and that’s why the picture is up.”

Wombat: “GRRRRRRRRRR”.  Stomps foot.  Glares.  Swings arm.

Me: “Well, now….” <insert standard mildly-threatening speech about how this kind of Mommy-related instigation of violence is not viewed well by Mommy, and throw in naughty step for good measure>

Wombat, at this point, pauses in his fury.  He stares straight at me with big, brown, wet with tears eyes, which over a second acquire the steely look of resolve.  His conviction will triumph over my threats.  He KNOWS what he knows, and for God and country, he will not say lies that his Mom is spewing, even if a thousand naughty steps must be endured.  He enunciates clearly “IT. IS. NOT. DECEMBER!” and stomps once more.

And, true to my role in all this as some sort of day-of-month despot, I send him to the naughty step, where he sits, head held high and singing.  Singing, what I can only assume, is a call to arms.  Something along the lines of “Can you hear the toddlers sing, singing the song of angry tantrum, this is the song of people who shall not be told what month it is!!”  All I can make out though is a hum interrupted by mildly-threatening exclamation and “Mommy” appearing here and there.  Thank goodness Nathan cannot yet provide reinforcements, although, disturbingly, he immediately attempts to join his brother on the naughty step.  Even more disturbingly, whenever Elijah sings out one of those grunt-angry noise-”Mommy”-angry noise verses, Nate joins in at exactly those parts, with exactly the same volume and pitch of angry noise.

Wombat stayed on the naughty step for 20 minutes.  He was only supposed to be there for 3 minutes, but he kept moving every other minute.  I must say that overall he does not appear to be impressed with the timeout.  He doesn’t like sitting on the step, but it’s not like that’s going to change his convictions and principles.

What did change his principles, however, was a LEGO advent calendar that just happens to start on December 1.  Strangely enough, it’s ok that December’s here after all.  Mom the Despot may live to govern another day.  So help me God.