Oh, To Be Three Again and 1234 Sad Story

I spend my days observing and interacting with kiddos, especially my own charmingly, spunky three year old.  And I have come to the conclusion that there are just so many things you can do as a three year old, and get away with it, strictly because of your age. 

The other day, I was watching Chase play with a child his age.  Both kiddos were sitting side by side having a pretend picnic when out of nowhere, Chase leans over and gives his friend a good, hardy, lick on the forehead and continued back to his picnic.  Neither of them flinched.  And I just sat back and thought, Huh? That was odd.  Don’t you wish it was age appropriate to just lean over and give your co-worker a slobbery lick on the cheek during a staff meeting? Or maybe not. (On a side note: I’m glad I’m self-employed and don’t have any co-workers to lick me during business hours.  However, I do get my fair share of licks throughout the day, regardless.)

The other night, my quirky three year old, out of nowhere, fell off the bed while he was sleeping.  He instinctually let out a scream, “Mommy!”  I, also instinctually, simply slithered out of bed myself, picked him up and placed him back onto his bed, all while I’m pretty sure he was still sleeping.  What if I feel out of bed and yelled out for my Mommy?  I’m pretty sure there would be one of two reasons why: 1. I am wasted out of my mind and I need to throw out an anchor foot when I crawl back into bed or I have finally hit my breaking point and need to be checked into a cozy white room with padded walls.  Either way, it would take days to recover from falling out of bed at my age, not simply seconds like a three year old.  

Footie Pajamas.  How come it is so adorable when a three year old struts around in a pair, but as soon as I put on one of my six pairs, my husband immediate has a look of shame in his ruggedly handsome blue eyes?  Why isn't it cute for a women, pushing 30, to zip up her loveable, soft to the touch, nighttime attire?   I mean, do we not all put our footies on one leg at a time? (On a side note: My husband calls my footie pjs birth control.  It’s like I’m doing my part to make sure the US isn't becoming over populated.  #moderndayhero)   

Wouldn't it be nice to be three again?

On an unrelated note:  Chase helped my parents pick out their Christmas tree, like he does every year with his cousins, Holden and Adam.  Well, I guess while driving through the rows and rows of Christmas trees at the tree farm, Chase nonchalantly asks my mom how much the trees cost.  My mom responded by telling him that they cost $60.  Chase put his head down and whispers, "Oh, my family doesn't have sixty dollars." My child sure knows how to kill the Christmas Spirit.  I guess Christmas tree donations can be sent to:

Chase Revermann
1234 Sad Story
Deprived Child, MN 12345

Don’t for one second pretend like you don’t wear pirate eye patches while playing in the snow.  My child cannot be the only one. 

Letters, Numbers and a Good Old-Fashioned Hashtag

Chase and I have been working on letters and numbers daily for quite some time now.  Finally, I think I have come up with the some valuable insight on how to teach these things…

Let’s talk numbers.  If you need to teach your child numbers, forget the flashcards and worksheets.  Just simply put a password on your Ipad.   How come we practice numbers everyday with no interest, but as soon as a numerical password goes on the machine that plays Netflix, numbers are suddenly something to be studied?  Genius. 

Now, let’s talk letters.  This one is even easier to teach then numbers.  There is no need to sing the ABC’s every day or pull out worksheets or personal whiteboards to practice letters.  All you need to do is take your child out to eat, excessively.  My child has learned that the letter “M” means McDonalds (and a happy meal toy of course), "B" and "K" from Burger King and “Q” from Qdoba.  It’s like my lack of cooking skills are a benefit to my child’s education (but not necessarily his nutrition).  I knew one day my slacking over the stove would pay off. 

No. I didn’t say I was proud that the Ipad password was the number breakthrough I've been waiting for or the fact that my child would rather learn about letters from a neon sign than me. But hey, every teaching method is different. Right? 

On a side note: Why is it that as I scroll through Facebook, my news-feed is covered with parents complaining about parenting, as if they are the only ones who have ever gone through it (and the only ones who need a nap)?  I can’t recall a single time my mother or her friends complained about missing a party due to having to take care of their children or needing a night out, or five.  And I've come to the conclusion on why I've never heard complaints coming from my parents’ generation about tending to the children they have created.  It’s simply because they don’t know how to properly use a hashtag.  #parentingissohard #butitmightbe #easierif  #istop #complainingand #beanadult

THUMP! (That was just the sound of me tripping on my sweatpants and tumbling off of my soap box.)  

Happy Hump Day!