Give The Kid an Espresso

I was at the drive-thru of the coffee place (aka my mothership) the other day, and after the lady's voice came through the magical ordering box thing asking what I'd like, my dear son leaned forward from the back seat, cleared his throat and said "Hi, can I have a medium snow white mocha, please?".

I tell ya, this kid learns so much useful information from driving around in the car with me. So much. What other two-year-old knows how to order the yummiest coffee drink in town and refer to completely idiotic drivers as bastards? The kid is well on his way. To what, I'm not sure, but on his way nonetheless. I was thinking about ordering him a little shot-glass sized mocha, but well...that would be stupid. And make me kind of a bad mom.

Although, when people get a look at Nora's eye, they probably question my proficiency as a mother anyway. Gravity is not so kind to new walkers so we've been hearing a lot of smacks, thuds and thump-thump-thumps lately. The other day she smacked her eye on her little rocking chair.

The rocking chair of doom.

I tried my hardest to get a good picture of the shiner under her eye but the little spaz refuses to sit still for pictures lately and most of them ended up being a little head-shaped blur with a puff of hair on top. This is the best one I could get, and you can really barely see the bruise. It's there, though, and she looks like a total hardass.

Yeah, you should see the other guy.

So, I took the kids to the grocery store yesterday. (Yay! Another grocery store story whereupon you all can read and snicker at my continuing self-torture!) We got there and Tate made a beeline for the miniature "Customer in Training" cart. Since it had been a couple days since I had felt like banging my head against the wall in frustration, I let him push it with the implicit instructions that he must stay by Mommy at ALL TIMES. I likened it to a Mommy dolphin and her little baby dolphin who swims along next to her all the time, frolicking merrily next to Mommy's dorsal fin, because he feels the most comfortable and safe next to Mommy. This earned me a completely blank stare from Baby Dolphin. Well, I tried.

So, this is what our shopping trip sounded like:

ME: "Ok, Tate, stay by me! No, over this--no, honey this way. Tate, over here! Watch where you're--honey, you can't run into people! Especially if they're 95! Ok, Tate let's--no, over here. This aisle. No, THIS aisle. Tate, watch out! Ok, let's get some--TATE! Watch out!!! No, honey, we don't need any asparagus. No, really--over HERE, Tate! Tate, where are you? Did you grab some crackers? No, over--TATE! Over here! Come on please! Stop ramming your cart into the deli counter, please! Where are you--no, do NOT run away from Mommy! Wait, we don't need 14 bags of shredded cheese! Let Mommy put those--stay HERE while Mommy puts them back! No, we don't take things out of other people's carts, honey. How did you manage to tip your cart over, Tate???"

NORA: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

TATE: "Hey. What's up. Hi. I got a cart."

He actually did a pretty good job, he just gets distracted by people. And pictures. And seeing himself in the reflection of the cases in the refrigerated aisle. He felt pretty studly, though, you could tell...pushing the HELL out of that cart around. Nora, on the other hand, thinks shopping carts are hateful metal contraptions out to eat her, and will spend every single second trying to climb out of the seat. I strap her in, but due to her and her damn contortionist ways, it's about as effective as strapping her in with a wet noodle. She usually ends up facing away from me, crouched on her knees with her butt up in the air while I hang on to the hem of her shirt, thus preventing me from being able to step more than 6 inches away from the cart. Those damn cans of diced tomatoes are always just beyond my reach. Bastards.

Eric took Tate to some Packer event...thing. Tate got to meet lots of Packer-type people. He seemed to enjoy himself.

Tate and...some Packer, I'm assuming.

I'm thinking this is another Packer.

No clue who this guy is, but I like how Tate seems to have his hand down his pants. Classy.