Dinner with Dinosaurs

I knew something was up when Super Wy brought in an upside down laundry basket to sit on instead of the dinner chair. After taking our seats, the boys started growling.

Holy Terror looked at me, "I'm a carnivore!"

"But you're eating mac and cheese too, Honey. That makes you an omnivore."

"NO! I'm a dinosaur. I'm a carnivore!" He growls and takes another bite.

"Okay...Daddy, take away the mac and cheese. He's only a meat eater. He doesn't eat non-meat."

"Wait...I eat everything," Holy Terror decides.

"Then you're an omnivore. Lots of dinosaurs ate both." I'm not sure if this is a lie, but sacrifices must be made and it's one uncertainty I'm willing to live with to ensure they eat their dinner.

"Yeah, I'm an omnivore."

Super Wy bites into a slice of steak dripping in ketchup with only his mouth. After several bites and a scowl at the vege's and mac and cheese he growls and says, "I AM a carnivore."

...Can't win them all, I guess...

The Real Superman

Holy Terror and I settled onto the counter stools at the Foster Freeze with our treats. It was our Mommy-Son date before I headed off to my business trip. It was his first time ordering a sundae.

"You like it?" I asked.

He smiled. "Yup. Dad can make this for me...just like this." He waved his hands and gives that know-it-all Norris look. "Better, probably."

"Probably."

Later on in the discussion, he looks around at the car posters. "When I get bigger, I'm going to have a hot rod that's all these colors."

"That'd be cool."

He nods in and tosses that cocky grin. "Yup. And Dad's going to make them all go really fast."

After treats, we took a walk around the park. "Let's holds hands because it's evening."

"Well," he says with a confident and reassuring look. "If bad guys come, Dad will be there and he'll kick their butts...and I'll call the cops and Dad will make sure the bad guys get arrested."

"Really?" I try to sound serious. "But Dad's not here right now." I was hoping he'd say I could protect him...Nope

"Well, Dad's teaching me how to grow up. So, I'll be able to kick their butts...and you can call the cops."

"Okay. Sounds good."

...No wonder they believe in Super Heroes...their Dad is one...

What's My Name?

The boys sprawled out on my bed, watching their Saturday bedtime movie. I sat working on my latest novel. When Will Ferrell was dancing and singing the show toons to keep dinosaur bird babies sleeping, Holy Terror inched over and looked up at me.

"Mom, Mom. How did you know my name?"

I looked down, perplexed. "Because you're my son."

"No. How did you know it was my name when I was born?"

"Oh." I stopped to think about it. Holy Terror's very detailed and answers have to be just right or all heck breaks loose. "When you were in my belly, growing, Mommy and Daddy looked at a whole bunch of names. LOTS of names. Then, one day, we read your name out loud and Mommy and Daddy paused, felt something shift in our hearts...and knew that was you. You were Holy Terror."

He smiled real big and snuggled into me. "I told your heart from inside your belly."

...I love talking with my kids. They make life so simple sometimes...

Reality Check

We stood in line. The kids all decided what they wanted and then changed their minds at least twice. Two people stood in front of us, a business guy pretending he wasn't in a fast food line and a punk guy with a lot of tattoos.

Holy Terror looked up at me. "I want the toy this time."

I shook my head. "No, Honey. Those are rip-offs."

This is usually the end of the conversation...up until now.

"Mom. I really want the toy in the bag."

I look into those beautiful blue eyes, so sturdy and resolved to the toy. Sometimes, they just have to learn on their own. "Okay. I'll get you the toy."

We ordered, waited forever, then sat at a table. Eating, Holy Terror and Super Wy kept a hyper eye on the bags still containing their toys. After scarfing down their food they wiggled in their seats.

"Toy! Toy!"

"Okay." I pulled out the toys, pulled them out of the plastic wrappers, and held them up. "Here are the toys."

Holy Terror just stared at the stuffed Waldo, his face crestfallen. Slowly, his eyes slid to mine. "That's it?" I nodded. He slumped back in his chair. "What a stupid rip-off."

"Yeah."

As Ready as We're Gonna Get

Last night I cut his hair. We'd let it grow out over the summer and Holy Terror looked like one of the Beatles. Each snip was a reminder our family was reaching another phase of life. Not only our family, but Holy Terror himself. The first year is such a leap in growth.

*Sigh*

We couldn't keep him the Little Man forever. Oh, my heart wishes we could. Our little quiet mouse that first year grew into the hyper Huckleberry. Now, he'll reach out and start the seed of who he'll make himself into.

Yeah, we'll still have a big part for the many years. But this is the beginning. It's the first moment he finds something outside of the home. The first life bubble Mom and Dad didn't create and doesn't fully manage.

Those first 5 years before formal school are important for a reason. You are their sole world. Their only mentor. The one who decides where they hang and with who. Now, the teacher will slowly emerge as the main advisor. She'll have all day...we'll only get the evenings. He'll make friends of his own fruition. We'll only know them after the friendship has been initiated.

Oh, I'm getting all worked up. You'd think, as my third child to reach school age I'd be ready. Well I'm a goober, okay. I can't help it. I must over analyze, worry, and fret over every milestone.

...Mother, stop laughing. I hear you all the way over at my house...

Infamous

I hurry out of work. Halfway to the car, I run into a co-worker I hadn't seen in a while. We catch up on work news and kid news. I tell her about Holy Terror's kindergarten assessment.

"Oh yeah. Holy Terror." She laughs. "I'll always remember him as the little redhead who asked Santa if he and Frosty loved each other...and if they kissed."

...Only 5 and already infamous...

If you haven't been following for a while and wonder what I'm talking about, here's the post.

Meeting Mrs. Teacher

Holy Terror had his kindergarten assessment Wednesday. Needless to say, Hubby and I were a little worried. It's not that Holy Terror's a bad kid. Far from it. He's just...hyper.

Okay, okay. Sometimes he can make you think of the redhead from Problem Child, but most of the time he's just earnestly hyper and curious.

I drove home to meet them and we walked to school, Holy Terror leading the way. He got diverted, as usual, needing to know the what, whys, and hows of the neighborhood. When we finally got to the school, we entered his classroom and there waited Mrs. Teacher.

With a quick smile, wave, and "hey" he was quickly attracted to the classroom sites. Desks, chairs, wall calendars, reading area, toy area, whiteboard...On Mrs. Teacher's gesture, Hubby and I stayed in the background as she attempted to wrangle him to the curved table for his assessment.

I shouldn't say attempted. Mrs. Teacher was Mrs. Awesome Teacher. Guiding him without making him feel directed and adjusting conversation without making his questions feel ignored. They sat and she got started. We held our breath.

Holy Terror did fabulous! He cruised through writing his name, blasted through the colors, counted his way through numbers, and even complimented her on her prettiness.

The kid was a pro. Hubby and I sometimes feel people aren't going to be able to handle Holy Terror the way we can. It's always surprising and refreshing to see that, yes, Holy Terror does just fine in the real world beyond the Norris Ranch.

...Now we just have to stress over the first day...

Don't be Sad

I sat on the couch crying. It was the scene from Steel Magnolias where they unplug the daughter's life support.

Holy Terror walks into the front room from the hallway and stops quick, staring at me. He looks around nervously, seeing what could be bothering me. He climbs up onto the couch, cuddles against my arm and grips my hand, petting it with his other.

"Mom? Why you sad, Mom?" Tears water his eyes, ready to spill over.

"It's a sad part of the movie." I point to the screen, my eyes pouring tears while I sniffle my nose.

"We change the movie so you not sad. I don't want your heart to be sad."

I laugh through the tears. "It's okay, Honey. It's one of my favorite movies. I like to feel sad at this part because I would be sad if that happened to me as a mommy."

He looks up at me with his skeptical face. "You want to be sad?...That's silly."

But he stays right there next to me until the sad part is over, his one arm wrapped around my arm and holding my hand.

What a sweetheart.

Pop Goes the Kernal

Holy Terror watches the microwave from the counter as I toss in the popcorn bag and hit start.

The timer counts down. At about 25 seconds...Pop. Pop. Pop.

His eyes light up and we do the "popcorn dance". He pauses halfway through. "How does a popcorn grow?"

I put my thumb and forefinger together, the gap a kernal size. "The microwave starts and the kernal gets warm."

I lean closer, his eyes fixate on my fingers. "Then hot."

I lean closer still. "Then hotter."

I gather a breath. "And then....POP!" His body jerks as if shocked and he giggles.

I shrug and hold back my laughter. "Then it blows up into a piece of popcorn."

"Mooommmm!"

...heee hee hee...

Lost in Translation

"When I get to Super Daycare's house, I'm going to tell her I love her," Holy Terror says as I help him tie his shoes.

I smile. Super Daycare was the little boys daycare lady for a long time and they still go every so often to visit and love it.

"Then, I'm going to tell her she's beautiful," he adds.

"Aren't you just a regular Don Juan," I say with a laugh.

Holy Terror looks quizzically at me. "What's a Don Juan?"

"Don Juan's are boys who say pretty things to girls to make them feel good about themselves," I reply, tapping his shoe. Intrigued, he smiles and I continue. "So, are you a Don Juan?"

"Yes," he answers. Parkour Boy comes in. "I'm a Don Juan."

"What's a Don Juan?" Parkour asks while looking for his jacket.

"A boy who does pretty things to girls."

Parkours halts and looks at me, shocked.

....uh, yeah. That knowledge didn't transfer quite right.

No is an Answer

Dr. M looks at us and smiles, "Okay. Height, weight all good and in the 90th percentile. Eyesight excellent. Hearing excellent..."

"Really?" Hubby and I say together in surprise.

"Yup. He's just got a case of selective hearing. Very common I find." Dr. M smiles and turns back to Holy Terror sitting on the exam table.

She goes through the usual physical. Thyroids, joints, ears, belly, and so on. There's a bit of awkwardness with the...well, you parents of boys know that part...

Still reeling from this bit of "weirdness" Dr. M has him stand up and plant his feet, then stands behind him and says, "Okay, now bend over and touch your toes."

"No," Holy Terror gives his - very successful - icy stare and steps away to face her.

"I just have to check your spine."

"No." He's got his shoulders stiffened and looks ready to defend his boundary at any further provocation.

I've been through this before with my oldest and am trying very hard not to burst into laughter. My husband's eyes are gleaming with amusement.

Hubby takes the lead and leans towards Holy Terror, man-to-man like. "Dr. M just needs to see if your spine's straight, Buddy."

"No." It's all very black-and-white, no nonsense here. No.

"Okay. No pressure. What about I see if the ear flusher is ready and come back?" Dr. M gives me a smile over Holy Terror's head and starts to step out. She's been with us since the first and is completely amazing.

I have Hubby hand me Holy Terror's pants. I hold them out to him. "What if we have your pants on? Then will you let her see your back?"

He stares at the pants for a moment and then nods. "Ok."

Now, if he'd still said no...

Stinkin' Line

I hurry through the sliding entry doors of CVS and start looking for the items on my mental list. Parkour's holding Super Wy's hand and I've got a tight grip on Holy Terror.

(Holy Terror + Store = Potential Time Bomb Waiting to Happen)

"Oh man, Mom. There's a huge stinkin' line. Check out will take forever," Parkour Boy says under his breath to me.

I nod agreement as my hopes of a quick trip are crushed.

We are passing the incontinence aisle when Holy Terror pipes in with, "What are those?"

Now, anyone who knows Holy Terror knows he was not born with volume control. So, everything he says is one notch away from a yell.

"They look like diapers, but why are old people on them?"

"Shh, Honey. Don't worry about those...and keep your voice down," I say, tightening my grip a bit to ensure he doesn't leap over for a better look.

We go through and pick up everything and I prepare for the wait in line with one teenager and two crazy toddlers.

We stand behind about eight people with full carts and baskets.

Holy Terror tosses a big sigh and groans, "Man, this is a stinky line."

Holy Terror and his loud voice rides again...

Brushing Teeth

I'm in the process of editing when I hear Holy Terror growl with aggravation. Looking over the top of the laptop, I see him leaning into Drake. He's trying to get something in the dog's mouth. Next to them is a cup of water.

"Drake, open up," Holy Terror commands in his most serious tone.

Drake shakes him off.

"I'm trying to brush your teeth...they have to be clean."

Holy Terror holds up Drake's lips and tries again. Drake shakes him off and I see that it's a toothbrush in Holy Terror's hand.

"Drake!"

Dog grumbles at him, sighs, and rolls over away from him.

"Fine. I'll brush Connor's teeth." Holy Terror heads over to our other dog.

"Whose toothbrush is that?" I ask, not sure I want to know.

"Drama Queen's," he says off-handed.

...Oh boy...

Patience is a Virtue Holy Terror Does Not Contain

Sunday Morning. Just awake, Parkour Boy stumbles into the kitchen in search of food. Holy Terror has been in watch for him for almost two hours, and pounces.

“Billy, let’s play Star Wars Lego game!” He hops from foot to foot, looking up at him with big, round blue eyes.

Parkour Boy grabs the cereal and heads to get the bowl. “I gotta eat first, Buddy.”

“Let’s play now! Come on, Billy,” Holy Terror begs, doing a light tapping stomp.

“No, I gotta eat first.” Parkour Boy grumbles, sitting down at the breakfast table.

Holy Terror runs over to me, very upset. “Billy said we couldn’t play video games!”

“Give him a moment to wake up and eat.”

“But he said no!”

“I didn’t say no. I gotta eat first,” Billy clarifies through a mouth full of Fruit Loops.

“Moooommmmm!” Brenny wails.

“You’ll play when he’s done eating.” I look down at his cute, yet distressed, little face. “Be patient.”

Holy Terror shakes his whole body in a convulsing motion. “I can’t be patient!”

…Don’t I know it…that was like asking a whale to walk.

Talk with the Big Man

The little boys had been preparing for almost two days for the meeting. Excitement and nerves were electrifying at The Norris Ranch. Last years encounter didn't go so well.

Only 2008 Evidence:

I don't even have a photo of Holy Terror. He walked nervously up with the elf then stumbled backwards as Santa reached down from his perch to pick him up, followed by a half crazed run back into my arms and the refusal to let go of my leg.

So this year was important. The stakes were high for both of them. There was no messing around about it.

Gifts were on the line...

I met the family in front of my work where the annual tree lighting and Santa visit was held. Santa always arrives to light up the hospitals beautiful tree.

After selecting some yummies, getting in the line, we visited with friends and coworkers and waited.

The crowd started to murmur then rumble as they spotted Santa arriving in the back of his slick classic truck.

The boys were on the edge. Bouncing around, flipping all over the place. Their energy levels were on the verge of exploding.

After a considerable wait in line it was time. Super Wy grew rather quiet and took my hand voluntarily as he watched the kids ahead of us finish up with the big guy in red. I took them together, they are brothers in arms after all.

And they did it!

After the discussion of Christmas gift needs, Super Wy is about done at this point and saying so. Nevertheless, Holy Terror decides to chat it up with the Big Man.

"Are you and Frosty friends?" he asks.

"Why yes, we are," replied Santa.

"Do you love each other?" Holy Terror continues.

Santa flickers a glance my way then looks back at him. "Y-yes, of course."

With big innocent eyes, Holy Terror comes to the home run question, "Do you kiss?"

I hear the wonderful, full laugh of my husband in the background and a few nervous ones from the Christmas faeries.

"U-uh...no. We don't kiss." Santa lets Super Wy slide off his knee and pats Holy Terror's lap. Nudging him towards my outstretched hand, Santa remembers his closing line. "Okay, you have a Merry Christmas."

...and exit stage right...quick.

The Apple Tree

It's late in the evening and Hubby and I are catching up on each others day. Hubby relays a Holy Terror story for me.

Little man came running in excited. "Daddy, daddy, daddy! Come see!"

Daddy followed him out to the back part of the yard where Holy Terror proudly pointed to some muddy dirt.

"Look Daddy, I put my apple seed in the ground and now we'll have a great big apple tree in the back yard."

A couple hours later, Hubby's friend is over and Holy Terror showcased his first gardening endeavor.

"Cool buddy. Are you going to swing on it when it gets bigger?" he asked.

"No. When it grows up I'll have all kinds of fresh apples to eat," Holy Terror said, thrilled.

As Hubby is relaying this story to me, there's an expression of overflowing pride. He gestures with his hand. "You don't understand, honey. He's one step away from growing his own food. If keeps up with taking care of the seed, it means he can survive and provide for himself."

I chuckle and kissed him. "Okay, proud papa."

Losing Your Marbles

I could hear Holy Terror arguing with Billy in the frontroom...it was getting heated. Finally, he comes stomping into our room where we're still laying.

"Billy won't let me play with those little balls!" he cried.

"They're marbles, honey, and are Billy's," I replied.

"But I want to play with them!"

"His marbles are very important to him and he doesn't want them lost," I said.

...Really, does anyone want to lose their marbles?!