Big Boy Backfire!!

   When Wyatt turned three a couple weeks ago, he had a proclamation to make: He had entered the world of the big boys.

   "Wy three, Wy not two-half. Wy not little boy, Wy big boy." It was easily the longest story he had ever told with words. (You should have seen the story he told with his hands when his star balloon floated away. Tragic.) It was the closest thing he's come to a full sentence since that time he said "Why doesn't dad pay any attention to me when he's playing Nintendo, mom? It hurts my feelings." (Kidding!! He never said any of that stuff!! It was more like whine whine fuss fuss "dad pay me pease?" So there's no scarring of any sort going on in this home!)

   Well, I've been holding the "big boy" card over his head for a long time now. You see, his favorite people in the world are a pirate named Jake, a certain fire-truck driver named John (who he just calls "J" now, because they are on a nick-name level of friendship), and the four boys who live across the street. These boys are aged 5 - 13 or something, and I've talked about them before, so stop making me repeat myself over and over.

   Wyatt wants to play with them all the time, but when they are playing a real game of basketball or soccer or "throw the littlest one in a trash can," I tell him. "No, Wy, that's for big boys."

   Big boys. All he wants to be in the world is a big boy. So when he turned three, he was ready.

Big boys sleep with the sharks.

   But do you know what else big boys do? Poop in the potty. Eat their whole dinner. Go to bed without fussing. Grade daddy's papers. Pick up their toys. Make dinner. The list goes on and on.

   This worked for a while. Sure, he never once pooped in the potty for this reason, and he has no idea how to grade anything, let me tell you, but he went to bed well and put on his clothes and ate all his food and even made a decent roast.

   But now?! Oh no. The magic is gone. I asked him to take a bath, like a big boy, and he said "Wy not big boy, Wy little boy." It was horrible, Then, later we were at a two-year-old's birthday party, and everyone kept saying how the little punk was a Big Boy now, and Wyatt was kind of in shock. His eyes were all like "Wait, what, THAT'S a big boy? I was a big boy when I was two?! You've been lying to me this whole time. I still like you better than mommy, but this hurts." Shut up, eyes!!

   I had to do something. So you can imagine how awkward it was when I screamed "No! Jason is not a big boy! He's only two!! How can a two year old be a big boy!?" Jason wasn't really getting it, so I had to get down on his level and say into his face YOU. ARE. NOT. A. BIG. BOY. Then I turned and winked at Wyatt, grabbed some pizza, and left.

   Saved the day there.

Big boys take artsy photos. Wyatt grabbed his baby cow, put it on the couch, grabbed mom's phone, logged in with the password, opened up the camera app, took this picture. Big boy stuff. Cara still can't manage to get her thumb out of her iPhone pictures.

   Wyatt gets that the definition of "big boy" is very fluid. He's starting to use it to his advantage. He's very smart, which is a direct result of me sleeping with my head really close to his on most nights. It's going to be a problem, how smart he is. Because, if you haven't noticed, he's also really cute. So he gets pretty much whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. And he's also kind of spoiled by absolutely everyone who comes in contact with him. And he's just the best little thing in the whole world, so I guess there's no way this could turn bad.

See!! I wasn't kidding!!

   What do I tell him next year? That he's a super big boy? That he's a huge boy?! How many superlatives can I tack on to the front of the word "boy" to keep him maturing and growing as a person over the next 15 years?! This is going to be hard. Crazy, enormously, gargantuanly, insanely, immensely hard. Okay, maybe not that hard.

My mood: hoping I didn't ruin a pretty good friendship with Jason's parents. Or Jason.
Wyatt's mood: not wanting to poop like a big boy
Cara's feeling: bigger and pregnanter.
Listening to: Future Islands

New Skills!!

   Wyatt has been doing all kinds of fun new things lately. He still loves his walks and his cars and playing at the park and renaming all my files on the computer to "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasd", that hasn't changed, but this stuff is going on too:

   He's doing that fake-reading thing. Nick Miller once said "I'm not convinced I know how to read. I've just memorized a lot of words," and that's where we find our hero in this adorable little video:

   Ohmygosh that's adorable. Probably the cutest thing you've seen in days, right? Well, he also went to the dentist for the first time!! Since I am a great dad I don't miss important firsts like this, so I can tell you all about it.

Hanging out. Like a boss. You know how they say you are never more than eight feet from a spider? First: Gross. Second: Wyatt's never more than two feet from a car.

   We walked into the dentist's office at 6:00am and went up to the desk and said "Here we are!" and the dentist behind the desk was like "whoa okay great let's get right to it!" and Wyatt sat down in the chair and the dentist checked his ears and took his heartbeat and then brushed his teeth and then brushed Wyatt's teeth and gave him a shot of fluoride in the shoulder and wyatt didn't even cry! and then the dentist put on his dinosaur costume and made the "rawrr!" sound and Wyatt just loved that. Soon another dentist came in and was all "these are the best teeth I have ever seen on a kid." and I said "Well we brush them every week!" which probably isn't true and then they gave us our little ice-pick-for-your-teeth like they give everyone and OKAY FINE YOU CAUGHT ME I WASN'T THERE. YOU HAPPY!? I MISSED WYATT'S FIRST DENTIST APPOINTMENT BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY AT MY JOB WORKING FOR THE MAN. IT LOOKS LIKE I WILL NOT WIN "FATHER OF THE YEAR THIS YEAR" AND NOW I'LL NEVER HAVE A STORY TO SHARE ABOUT WY'S FIRST DENTIST TRIP. WHEN ALL THE OTHER DAD'S ARE LIKE "OH LITTLE AEDEN WAS SO BRAVE" OR WHATEVER I'LL JUST HAVE TO TRY AND MAKE SOMETHING UP AND WE CAN ALREADY SEE I AM NOT GOOD AT THAT AND I'LL PROBABLY JUST START YELLING LIKE I AM RIGHT NOW.

   So, yeah, Cara took him to the dentist. And Cara is the one he reads with. And Cara feeds him and does art projects with him. Great, Cara, we get it. You'll probably get a nomination for "Mother of the Month This Month" or something and we are all impressed. The worst part is, while she is collecting trophies, I still can't even get nominated for a "Best Mommy Blogger" award that I am sure is a real thing. They keep telling me I "don't have the right equipment to be a mommy blogger," and I'm like "what do I need an iPhone 4 or something?" Then they say "Grantina isn't even a real name - much less a girl's name - please leave us alone!"

   What else... what else. Oh, he loves to look for things he can't find, and walk around in circles saying "Oh no we went in a circle!!" Watch this boring video:

   There's one other skill that Wyatt has learned. For some unknown reason, Cara taught Wyatt to scream all his favorite noises in my face to wake me from my peaceful sleeps. It's the worst game ever, and yet it probably only endears her even more to the anti-dad voters on the board of Mom Of The Month This Month. Look:

 
   So there you go. That's my life, now. Getting screamed at and stepped on whenever I try to sleep at the wrong time, or in the wrong place. Now you know why I sleep during church. Or when I am driving. Or at work.

My mood: underappreciated and overworked!!
Wy's mood: don't let dad sleep!!
Cara's feeling: sore and cranky
Listening to: Red Hot Chili Peppers