Trick-or-Treat, Smell My Feet....

So, Chase struts into daycare this morning and announces to his daycare provider, “I’m going to pull down your underwear.”  (Insert the sound of me smacking the palm of my hand on my forehead, repeatedly.)

I guess someone (Cough-Emily Revermann-Cough), didn’t realize Chase would only remember the creepy ending to this beloved Halloween rhyme before she taught it to him last weekend:   

“Trick-or-Treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat.  If you don’t, I don’t care, I’ll pull down your underwear.”

I apologize in advance to anyone that my child verbally assaults while trick-or-treating. 

 

On a side note:

When Chase and I were at the library yesterday, Chase was pretending to eat cookies.  A mother sitting next to us on the child sized picnic table asked Chase if he baked his pretend cookies.  Chase replied, “Oh no, my mommy just buys them at the store.”  Chase then looked at me and rolled his eyes as if signaling to me that the stranger was making up the fact that cookies can be homemade. 

My cooking.....

I spend a fair amount of time scrolling endlessly through Pintrest looking for just the right crockpot meal to serve my little family of three.  I am actually pretty obsessed with my crockpots (yes, that is plural- I have 3 crockpots- one for each family member. Cute, huh?).  I feel like when I die, my body should be cremated and put into my small little red crockpot, which is clearly my favorite one. 

Although, I think my crockpot creations are simply beautiful, my teeny tiny tot doesn’t agree with me. 

 

I usually start some sort of crockpot creation (creation may not be the right word- I am probably confusing “creation” with “experiment”) in the morning before I leave for work.  It cooks all day and fills the house with a wonderful aroma.  Well, I think it’s a wonderful aroma; Chase on the other hand does not.  He usually enters the house at 3:30pm after a long day of playing and napping and usually asks, “Hey, Mom.  What’s that bad smell?” But don’t worry. This doesn’t hurt my feelings.  My crockpot and I have become pretty immune to the negativity around our masterpieces at this point.     

Well, the other night I made chili in the crockpot.  I put Chase’s bowl on his placemat on the kitchen table.  Chase climbed up into his spot, took one look at the bowl of chili and said, “Oh, no thank-you. It looks digesting… and wet.”  He proceeded to climb down from his chair and scamper off into his room to play.  Well at least he is trying to be polite about my awful cooking, right?    

I ate chili alone that night. 

Chase must have been feeling bad about not eating my chili because the next night when I decided to make a cake he was actually quite proud of me.  As I pulled the cake out of the oven, I notice Chase out of the corner of my eye standing by our kitchen table, almost out of sight- as if he is supervising me from a distance- just far enough away to make a quick getaway in case my cake explodes.  As I set the cake on the kitchen counter I hear Chase shriek in delight, “Yay! Mommy, you did it- great job!”

Apparently, he didn’t think I could actually pull off baking an entire cake.  

My little Sully the monster. 

Too Much Mommy Time?

I am starting to fear that maybe my child spends too much time with me (and females in general)… 

Exhibit A:  After we got home from daycare today, Chase asked me if I would “take off his bra.”  (Sorry bud- since you have my genes, there will never be a need for a bra.)

Exhibit B: After I strapped Chase in his car seat this morning and started backing out of the driveway on our way to daycare, Chase let out a scream, “Stop, Mom! I forgot my purse!”  I guess you never know how many checks you need to write out to your toddler friends on the swing set or how many coupons you will need for snack time.  

   

Exhibit C: Chase asked me to put a necklace on him tonight (and of course I did- I also tried to put a headband on him too).  After his necklace was clasped, Chase looked at me and asked, “How do I look? Great?” Doesn't every boy wonder how his necklace looks?  

Is this enough evidence?

Lasso

Chase is really obsessed with listening to me tell him stories that I make up- I do this when I can’t stand one more minute of Dora the Explorer.  The stories usually consist of a little pirate boy named Chasey who sails the ocean blue in search of long lost treasure (pretty original huh?) or about the old Daddy who peed in his undies (which just so happens to be Chase’s personal favorite).

But the other night Chase decided he wanted to tell me a story for a change and this was his story (verbatim)......

“Once upon a time there was a little prince named Chasey, who lived up high in a castle.  Then he lassoed a princess and trapped her forever.  The end.”

Yikes-  I don’t know if I have been watching too many episodes of Criminal Minds, but I’m thinking I may need to report this to the FBI so they can keep him on their “too watch” list in case any princesses get abducted and trapped forever.   I’ll tell you one thing- I may never feel comfortable turning my back to him ever again and never will I buy him a lasso (I can cross that off of his Christmas wishlist).

Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!

There's nothing like the Hair of the Dog to get you feeling good for daycare on this chilly Tuesday morning. 

Most parents would think that letting their child drink out of a shot glass at 6am would be inappropriate parenting; luckily for me (not so much for Chase) I am not most parents.  

This morning while looking for a can koozie for Chase's sippy cup (What? Don't most 2 year olds request a can koozie around their sippy cups so their tiny little fingers don't get cold? I have no idea why my tiny tot may be a little odd.), he spotted a little "Chasey sized cup" and knew he had to have his apple juice in it.  And, in an effort to avoid a temper tantrum before the rooster crowed, I rinsed out the shot glass (for fear of left over vodka still remaining inside) and poured his apple juice inside and guzzled it, he did.  

Hey, at least I made him say cheers and toast to not having any accidents in his undies today (Now that I think about it, that was the exact toast I raised my glass to most nights in college, because frankly, no one likes "that girl" who pisses herself after 19 shots.  Any who, I think I'm getting off topic...)
Happy Tuesday!   

Hello Tootsie

So the other day Chasey-poo (yes, I actually call him that and no it isn't strange) and I were at the store.  Chase was sitting in his stroller and was clearly bored but it’s not like I didn't provide him with adequate entertainment.  I provided him with a snack size bag of Cheetos (I say that like it wasn't the size of his head) and my phone to play Stupid Zombies.

He must have devoured all of his Cheetos and passed every level of the game because he got bored and decided to strike up conversations with nearby strangers.  He told a teenage girl he liked the color of her shirt; of course it was pink.  He asked another woman why she had orange hair (actually, I was glad he asked- I was wondering the same thing- but she didn't answer).  After she didn't respond, he announced that he likes curly hair (go figure).  But all of those conversations were normal (and only fifty percent were offensive).

Then, I saw that Chase made eye contact with a gentleman walking towards his stroller.  My heart started to beat faster because I could sense Chase was waiting until the gentleman got closer to blurt something out, which would probably be inappropriate and I knew I didn't have time to cover his mouth.  Chase waited until the gentleman was in clear hearing distance (he has great timing like that) and greeted him with a, “Hello Tootsie.” 

I thought to myself, “Oh crap, how am I going to pretend like this didn't just happen?”  The guy stopped, his face became the color of a tomato and he power walked away from us in the other direction- luckily, he was the one who pretended this didn't happen.  I knew after this greeting, we needed to scram… so scram we did.  I pushed Chase's stroller right out the door and headed home; where no one, besides family- who hardly judges him- can hear his speak.  

I still have no idea why my child continuously hits on gentleman in public places, but it’s starting to worry me…