the boy knows how to make an exit...

shortstack and fm were in our bedroom the other day talking about different, less snotty ways of saying, ‘i’m not in the mood’ to do whatever it is that he is avoiding at that moment. i walked into the room and feeling a little left out, i suppose, i just had to go ahead and open my big mouth.

‘yeah, i agree with daddy.’
‘well, i agree with myself.’ [he turned around and walked right out of the room...]

note: he wasn't pissy or anything, he was just matter-of-fact, in a take it or leave it kind of way.

proof that as a parent, every single thing you do is potentially ‘scarring’...

shortstack and i were in the kitchen bouncing his favorite purple soccer bouncy-ball to each other. i bounced it to him, but he wasn’t ready yet and the ball bounced off the cabinets and right back to me.

‘you weren’t ready, were you?’
‘no, i was just gaining weight.’

[i’ve been making him get on the scale about once a week because he’s so close to being too heavy to use the built in harness straps in his car seat. i’m not even going to discuss the effect my safety consciousness is having on my child’s future weight issues, ok? i’m trying to keep him as safe as possible for as long as possible, so shut it! besides, its an almost daily battle to try to convince him that little boys don’t really wear make-up, and even little girls don’t wear it either—he’s ok with just the chapstick...for now.]

i can see...

i'm sitting in the front bathroom going about my business with the door open, as usual. i look up into the mirror and see shortstack bouncing across his bed in the sliver of a view i have into his bedroom.

'i can see you jumping on the bed.'
'no, you can't'
'is that because you're not jumping anymore?'
'no--you're just looking at yourself. i can see you.'