Nekked Cheerio Hoarders

When Taylor got home from work he found a post-it note saying, “ARM YOURSELF” with a can of silly string underneath. A war ensued.

It was the second best decision made in our house this week – the other being the unnecessary 8oz of cream cheese we added to a white chicken chile recipe. Uhyesplease.

The Art of Nakedness

It doesn’t matter these days how many clothes I put on my 3 year old boy or how difficult said clothes are to take on/off. It doesn’t matter if they come with 14 buttons or none. Zippers or elastic. At some point during our day (usually at several points) I find myself saying, “Where did your clothes go!?” and/or “Put your underwear back on rightthissecond.”

The other day I sent said child outside to play in the backyard. He went out fully clothed wearing a shirt, shorts, socks, and shoes.

A few minutes later I peeked out the window and saw a discarded shirt.

Eh. Oh well. He had been playing with the water table and probably got it wet. Nobody likes a wet shirt.

Several more minutes pass and I peek out again.

Shorts are now laying in a pile on the patio. Oh, and a few inches away lie the underwear.

So I step outside to find this:

water table

“Dude. WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?”

He looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “Um, I dunno. But I really like to pee in the grass.”

Sweet.

And at that moment I realized an important parenting fact: clothes will forever be optional in a house of boys.

Speaking of boys, they eat a lot.

Cereal Hoarder

When I see the size of our linebacker 8 month old, Hutton, and watch him throw back 4 pancakes or an entire Chick-fil-A chicken biscuit in one sitting (true story), I worry for our financial future. Specifically, our future grocery bills.

FullSizeRender

This past weekend I snuck in the nursery at church to feed him. They pulled him from his class and handed him to me, the scent of Cheerio dust wafting after him. (Our children’s ministers knows the way to any young man’s heart is through his stomach.)

I settled in a back room to nurse him. Halfway through our nursing sesh, as I’m transitioning him from one side to the other, the dude wriggles his left hand free and pops a Cheerio in his mouth. POPS A CHEERIO IN HIS MOUTH. HALFWAY THROUGH NURSING. A Cheerio, quite honestly, I had no idea he had.

My favorite part is not just that he couldn’t wait the 3 seconds it took to continue eating, but that I saw clear premeditation in his eyes. He was holding on to that Cheerio for dear life just waiting WAITING to come up for air long enough to eat it. It was burning a hole in his hand.

And, really, what goes better with Cheerios than milk? Nothing.

He’s a genius. A hungry, impatient little genius.

So there you have it. Nekked Cheerio hoarders.

Just in case you needed a distraction from the Ebola freak out.

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