On punching, dictatorships, and stress

I think our decision to call Rex our 'Dominator-inator' miiiiiiight have backfired.
(Don't get the extra "inator"? Watch some Phineas & Ferb, or read about the Inator Inator, and come back.)

Lately, he has taken to punching any and all things resembling his father's face. Unfortunately for Steve, the only thing that resembles his face is, well, his face. He is starting to develop an abuse victim's persona.

"Me? I wouldn't hurt a fly... just a Dada."

I should preface all of this by saying that Rex only punches when he's really excited, or is being tickled... but I just don't think that matters to Steve, who seems to have been targeted by our youngster's two chubby fists. Why, then, can I not stop myself from tickling his chubtastic sides or running my fingers up his back like a spider while my Man Mate is holding him? Do I have some twisted desire to see him beat down by an 8 1/2 month-old? Or - and what I hope is much more likely - do I just enjoy hearing Rex's "uh-HYUCK"-like chuckles when I find a particularly tickle-prone spot?

Bruce, in timeless toddler tradition, has taken to giving direction. Lots of direction. Lots of direction followed by the stern threat of "... or I give you spank." Our decision to call him our 'Little Dictator' doesn't seem too far off, either.

"DO MY BIDDING!"

I don't know if other moms feel this way, but one of my biggest fears for our Little Dictator was that he would, instead, be more of a Little Punching Bag. He was never one of the wild, crazy, who-are-your-parents-and-why-are-they-letting-you-use-that-word-in-public? kids at the playground/mall play area, preferring instead to keep to himself and visibly flinch whenever someone ran too close to his personal space. The idea of someone picking on my Dookiedoo (ignore that - probably a source of mockery later) just makes my blood boil... but I just wasn't neurotic enough to fight his battles for him. I use past-tense because, now having TWO adorable little male loin-fruits, the desire to Hulk out and smash-bash any and every offending party has increased exponentially. Luckily for the little bullies on the playground/mall play areas, I have no desire to go to jail.

To wrap-up the post, I must give thanks for something that I realize I have taken for granted all my life:
A warm house.
Our brand-spanking-new gas furnace decided to crap out last Tuesday, leaving us with a frigid house and no idea what to do about it aside from drink homemade lemoncello (Mom and Dad), cry (Rex), meow (CatKirk and Butters), and ask to watch more 'Little Einsteins' (Bruce). Okay, I might have joined Rex on the crying front.
Turns out all that snow and rain the week before led to the spontaneous creation of Lake WhatTheHell in the crawlspace under our house, a lake that the sump pump wasn't prepared to deal with. The waters rose (to over a foot high) and flooded our furnace, and *POOF*! No more heat. Buh-bye warmth, hello layers.
After numerous emails, voicemails, text messages, and phone calls... and the passage of an entire week... we have heat once again, and no longer have to live in fear of one of the space heaters sparking and burning our house down while we're at work. It would just be too much to take right now.

SO, there you have it! A mini-update from your favorite mini-family. Until next time, be sure to floss and color inside the lines.

- Krystal

An open letter from The Squish to his Parents...

Dear Mama and Dada,

As I'm approaching the big two-point-five years of life, I thought it might be time for a little progress report. I overhear you talking about all of my accomplishments (of which, of course, there are MANY), and airing your frustrations (are you INSANE?)... so I think it's only fair that I, your benevolent Little Dictator, chime in at least once.

Here are some things I want you to take note of:

1. When I say "down", but am pointing 'up', don't be an ass. You know what I want, so why correct me? You're just embarrassing me in front of Bobo the monkey and the rest of my toys. Not cool.

2. Why must you call me out when I am pooping? I picked that corner of the room for a reason; it allows me the best view of the television while just hiding me from your sight so that I might do my thing. If I really wanted to learn how to use a potty, I'd ask you. Have you heard me asking you? No? Then back off and let a boy soil his shorts in peace. (P.S. - That potty, you know, the one with the duck face on it? IT CREEPS ME OUT. Not gonna use it.)

3. Mama, I know something is changing. Your belly is fat, it kicks at me when I'm sitting on your (increasingly smaller) lap, and you're eating more ice cream than ever. But whatever is going on, I don't believe you for one second when you point to your belly and say "There's a baby brother in there for you, Bubba...!" Oh, there's something in there, sure, but it sure as hell ain't for me. If I don't like it, I'm sending it back.

4. So what if I like crackers and chips? So what if that's all I want to eat? Maybe I'm proteinphobic... ever thought of that? You keep telling me that eating chicken and fish and that loafed meat stuff will make me grow big and strong like Dada... but have you ever stopped and LOOKED at Dada? The man's a hairy beast! Sure, I want to look like Dada one day, but I also want to enjoy my few years of hair-free bliss, thanks... and for all I know, he's hairy because he eats his protein.

5. Dada, tickle me more. I love it.

6. Dada, if you don't laugh when I punch you in the nuts, I'll stop doing it.

7. Dada, I think I love you the most... don't tell Mama.

8. Why am I allowed to color on my desk, table, and body, but not on the refrigerator, the floor, the couches or the cats? Is my skin less important to you than the food-cooler??

9. It's cute how you think you'll get me to sleep in my own bed when the "baby" comes. You're stuck with me, guys.

10. Have you noticed that I no longer scream bloody murder when you attempt to trim my nails, dislodge a booger, or change my poopy diaper? A little praise would go a LONG way.

11. Mama, I know I'm really independent right now... but I still love it when you squat down, throw open your arms, smile and say "MY BABY!" so that I can run to you. I think I love you the most... don't tell Dada.

12. I know that Granny is "Granny" or "Granmama", not "This"... but she's so fun to tease. I think I love her the most... don't tell Graddy.

13. You know why I'm not hungry for dinner? Graddy sneaks me cookies when you're not looking. I think I love him the most... don't tell Granny/Granmama/This.

14. I'd never tell you this to your face, but I kind of like signing things while I talk. Can we do more of that, please?

I love you both, even though I can't always show it. Then again, if you allow me to have a popsicle for dinner every night, I could be convinced to show it a liiiiittle more...

Mwah,
The Squish/Bubba/Dookiedoo/SquishFaceButtNugget

Your Loving Little Dictator...